Page 5 of A Season Beyond A Kiss (Birmingham #2)

A HALF HOUR LATER , J EFF STEPPED DOWN FROM the landau with all the smiling aplomb of a monk and faced his wife with glowing eyes as she moved near the door.

They exchanged secret smiles as his fingers squeezed hers meaningfully.

Handing her down, he drew her arm through his and escorted her into the three-storied building, which, he explained as they entered, his friend had purchased five years earlier.

According to him, Farrell Ives had reserved the upper two floors of the structure as his own private living quarters, leaving the ground level to be utilized solely for his haute couture .

As Jeff further expounded, Farrell normally employed eight people, the most important being a young widow, Elizabeth Dalton, who was solely responsible for making the patterns for the new designs and supervising the seamstresses.

She assisted her employer in managing the shop and had many other duties that verified her importance.

As a rule, Ives’s Couture staffed six other seamstresses and a strapping youth who took care of the cleaning chores when he wasn’t fetching and toting.

In spite of the limited personnel, the shop supplied most of the haut monde and style-conscious ladies in the Charleston area with stunning wardrobes for the changing seasons as well as modish frocks and lavish gowns any time of the year.

Dainty accouterments were also readily available on the premises and didn’t need to be ordered unless a customer had something specific or extravagant in mind.

Jeff ushered Raelynn to a cozily furnished sitting area located near the entrance of a pair of spacious hallways.

Long tables, laden with beautiful fabrics in different textures, colors, patterns, and weight, were angled against the walls of both.

The smaller corridor provided offices near the front for the employer and his assistant.

Behind these were cubicles for fittings.

Private sewing rooms for the seamstresses divided the larger hall, at the end of which was a large window of small-paned glass that framed a carefully tended garden.

A nearby passageway led to the back door and, off to the side, a stairway supplied access to the upper stories.

Through the doors of the nearest two seamstresses’ rooms, Raelynn espied two dummy forms bedecked in fashionable gowns of breathtaking beauty, readily evidencing the talent of the couturier.

At the entrance of the last cubicle, a tall, dark-haired woman, of about a score and five, stood talking with its occupant who remained hidden from view.

Upon espying the new arrivals, the brunette quickly made her excuses and, with an ebullient smile, hastened forward to greet them.

“Mr.

Birmingham, how good it is to see you again,”

she averred in mellifluous tones.

Her dark eyes fairly glowed with a brilliance that matched her smile.

But then, with an openly gracious manner and a beauty charmingly enhanced by a pale yellow empire gown, she truly seemed imbued with a radiance of her own.

“Elizabeth, you’re looking as enchanting as always,”

Jeff declared, with debonair flair sweeping his hat before his chest and clicking his heels in a concise bow.

His own broad grin evidenced his unquenchable pride as he slipped a hand behind his wife’s back and made the introductions.

“May I present my bride, Raelynn.

My dear, this is Mrs.

Elizabeth Dalton.

She manages the shop for Farrell with the greatest of ease.”

At such praise, Elizabeth softly hooted and banished his claims with a graceful wave of a slender hand before facing Raelynn.

“I’m thrilled to finally meet you, Mrs.

Birmingham.

Mr.

Ives has literally been singing your praises ever since the happening outside our shop.”

Raelynn’s pained smile evidenced her chagrin.

“Oh, dear, I was in hopes that no one would remember that, but I suppose my expectations were a bit farfetched, considering the number of people who collected around us that day.”

Elizabeth tossed her head in amusement and laughed.

“When there’s a member of the Birmingham clan involved, my dear, you can be fairly certain that he’ll reap a goodly share of attention from Charlestonians.

Still, when a lady has been bequeathed with your fine looks, Mrs.

Birmingham, you needn’t bear the name of a prominent family to gain everyone’s notice.

‘Twill surely be yours wherever you go.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dalton,”

Raelynn replied with a gracious smile.

“You’re very kind indeed.

And may I say how pleased I am to finally be visiting Mr.

Ives’s shop.”

The blue-green eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she admired the elegant interior and, with a womanly appreciation for beautiful things, the bolts of costly materials displayed on the nearby tables.

“This definitely looks like a woman’s paradise.”

Warm laughter spilled melodiously from the dressmaker’s lips.

“Oh, it is, absolutely, but please, Mrs.

Birmingham, do call me Elizabeth.

I’d feel especially honored.”

“The pleasure is mine, Elizabeth,”

Raelynn warbled.

“And I’d be equally gratified if you’d favor me by addressing me by my given name.”

Elizabeth grimaced ever so slightly.

“You have a beautiful name, to be sure, but if you wouldn’t mind, while we’re here in the shop, I should use the more formal address for the sake of the other employees.

Mr.

Ives insists that his seamstresses show proper respect to his customers, and it makes it easier for them if I abide by that standard as well, at least while I’m here.”

She chuckled as she added, “He even has them calling me Mrs.

Dalton, a formality he considers needful for maintaining discipline in the ranks.

If I didn’t know better, I’d be inclined to think he was once a seafaring captain.

He certainly runs a tight ship here.”

Jeff chortled at such a farfetched notion.

“I’m afraid your employer would be hopelessly lost with a compass and a sextant, Elizabeth.

He’s too much of a landlubber.”

The three joined in a moment of mirth before the older woman swept sparkling eyes down the length of Raelynn’s gown.

It had been among the prettiest day dresses that Ives’s Couture had recently sold, and she was delighted to see it being worn by such a fetching lady.

“Mr.

Ives’s business will surely reap a wealth of benefits once the city’s populace catch a glimpse of you bedecked in his fashions, Mrs.

Birmingham.

In praising you, Mr.

Ives went so far as to claim that you were just as beautiful as your sister-in-law.

I was sure his assertions were exaggerated until today.”

Raelynn’s radiant cheeks evidenced her delight over the woman’s compliment.

“Heather is so gorgeous that I must accept it as a tremendous honor to be compared to her.”

“As well you should, Mrs.

Birmingham,”

Elizabeth readily rejoined.

“I can’t imagine another lady in the area as attractive as the pair of you.”

Raelynn tilted her head thoughtfully as she considered the brunette.

Obviously the woman had reservations about her own beauty, but Raelynn was more than willing to enlighten her.

“Have you taken a look at yourself in a mirror lately, Elizabeth?”

The other clasped a hand to her cheek in sudden dismay.

“Oh, dear, do I have a smudge or something on my face?”

“No, of course not,”

Raelynn reassured her with brimming amusement, totally taken with the woman’s lack of vanity.

Elizabeth Dalton was a slender, dark-eyed beauty who could definitely hold her own in the realm of feminine pulchritude.

“My question was meant merely as a tribute to your own exceptional comeliness, nothing more.”

Realizing her blunder, Elizabeth flushed a deep shade of crimson, but promptly shook her head, denying the possibility that she could compare with such a winsome pair as the Birmingham women.

“Thank you for your kindness, Mrs.

Birmingham, but you just don’t know how beautiful you are.

I could never hold a candle to either you or your sister-in-law.”

Raelynn reached out and gently laid a hand upon the other woman’s arm.

“If I were you, Elizabeth, I wouldn’t place any valuable tokens wagering on that assumption.

There’s no question you’d lose.”

Jeff offered his wife support in that premise.

“Raelynn isn’t just being kind, Elizabeth,”

he assured the woman.

“She’s being truthful.

In fact, my advice to you would be to place your bets on the opposite end of that spectrum if it comes down to such a wager.

You’d clearly come out a winner.”

Elizabeth waved a slender hand before her face, making much of her attempt to cool her burning cheeks.

“Take pity on me, both of you,”

she pleaded with an effervescent laugh.

“You’re making me blush.”

Raelynn came readily to the woman’s defense by turning the subject elsewhere.

“Since being bestowed a fair sampling of what your seamstresses make here in the shop, I haven’t ceased to admire what was purchased for me.

As recently as a year ago, I enjoyed designing many of my own clothes.

Of course, that was while my father was still alive and we were able to afford far better clothes than the gown I was wearing the day Jeff rescued me from my uncle.

My couturier in London was gracious enough to translate my sketches into very fine examples of what I had created.

When my family fell on hard times, he paid me for my designs and boldly claimed them as his own to his customers.

I really didn’t mind since he kept raising my fee to keep me placated, but I’m afraid I’d be hard-pressed to fashion clothes as sumptuous as the ones I’ve recently been wearing.

I understand that Mr.

Ives actually made the selections when Jeffrey sent Mrs. Brewster over here to buy me clothes. The milliner

was simply gushing over Mr.

Ives’s talents when she came back to her shop.

She said she had never realized before that day that such a talented entrepreneur was residing right across the street from her.”

Amusement tugged at the corners of Elizabeth’s lips.

“Yes, Mrs.

Brewster did seem in a rare dither here that day.

I don’t think she had ever actually taken a close look at Mr.

Ives before she came.

He definitely has a way of awing some women when they see him face to face.

But in regards to your clothing, Mrs.

Birmingham, Mr.

Ives would never have left another to choose your gowns and other accouterments considering that your husband and he are such close friends. Yet I must be honest. There weren’t that many garments on hand at the time, so it was a fairly simple task to make the selections.”

The woman continued with a casual shrug.

“Usually we make only what our customers order, but an unusual situation developed after the garments were finished.

I shan’t mention any names lest I embarrass the fine people involved, but the young lady for whom the gowns were originally made was left bereft of the funds to pay for them by an unfortunate incident.

It seems that her brother had laid out the total sum of their recent inheritance on a race in which a stallion he had raised from a colt would run against one other horse.

The stallion was indeed very fast.

I saw the black race once myself.

The brother had high hopes of doubling their combined fortune when he was lured on by the challenges of another who seemed a novice on the subject of fine steeds.

Unfortunately the brother’s stallion was found dead in the stall the morning of the race, allowing Mr.

Fridrich, the owner of the second horse, to win the purse without his entry even running. Mr. Ives saw no need to burden the girl any more than

she was already over the loss of her wealth by demanding payment.

If there was a culprit in this tale, then both Mr.

Ives and I share the belief that Mr.

Fridrich’s hired henchmen poisoned her brother’s horse.

Frankly, I think the man should be horsewhipped for what he did.”

“I assume that’s none other than Gustav Fridrich,”

Jeff queried.

When he received an affirmative nod from the woman, he voiced his opinion with acid distaste.

“I agree about the horsewhipping, Elizabeth, but then, I personally think the man should have been locked away as soon as he stepped off the boat from Germany.

Many Charlestonians have suffered because of him, and I have a feeling that many more will fall prey to his schemes.”

“I understand from Mr.

Ives that Mr.

Fridrich was the one responsible for kidnapping your wife,”

the brunette replied.

“After hearing such rumors about him, I’ve become convinced the man is no less than a scoundrel.”

“A devious reprobate if ever I saw one,”

Raelynn agreed and then heaved a sigh, feeling immensely sorry for the pair who had lost their livelihood.

“I sympathize with the young lady and feel a measure of remorse for having benefited from her ill fortune, but I’ve been enjoying the clothes so much, Elizabeth, that it’s hard for me to feel too regretful.

Not only are the garments beautiful beyond description, but I was greatly impressed by the great care and attention that went into making them.

I’ve never seen finer needlework anywhere, even in England.”

Jeff laid an arm about his wife’s shoulders and grinned down at her.

“Farrell’s talent for designing ladies’ finery cannot be denied, my dear, but Elizabeth is primarily the one responsible for the care that goes into every stitch.

She was once a respected seamstress in her own right before she lost her husband.

Now she imparts much of her talent and expertise to the other women who work here.”

Laughter spilled from Elizabeth’s soft, pink lips.

“Oh, dear, I’m afraid all this flattery is going to go to my head, and Mr.

Ives won’t like that at all.

I’d better go upstairs and inform him that you’re here.”

She swept a hand to indicate the chairs and settee that provided a cozy sitting area in the hall.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable while I’m gone.

I’ll be back shortly.”

Raelynn hastened to plead, “If you wouldn’t mind, Elizabeth, I’d really enjoy taking a closer look at all the lovely fabrics I’ve been eyeing since I came in.

Is it permissible?”

“Oh, absolutely, Mrs.

Birmingham,”

the woman eagerly encouraged.

“You may find something you can’t do without.”

She cast a mischievous glance toward Jeff before advising his wife, “Keep in mind that it’s an appropriate time for ladies to plan their wardrobes for the fall season.

We have some wonderful velvets in deep, rich hues that would be positively stunning with your auburn hair.

We also have a dark turquoise that would be especially gorgeous on you, and though most women shun black until they become widows, with your fair skin and hair, it would be divine.”

Jeff rolled his eyes heavenward and moaned in feigned distress.

“I can see it now, stricken by poverty in the prime of my life.”

Elizabeth’s eyes danced impishly.

“Oh, but, Mr.

Birmingham, just think how grateful Mr.

Ives would be if you made him a wealthy man.”

Jeff scoffed lightheartedly.

“As if he weren’t already.”

In the woman’s absence, Raelynn strolled to the far side of the hall to examine several silk brocades that had drawn her attention.

Everywhere she looked, she found herself in awe of the materials on hand.

There were fabrics of such exquisite texture, beauty and quality that she could only imag ine the cost of having just one gown made from any of the bolts of cloth.

Displayed on top of an ornate bookcase was a collection of small mannequin dolls garbed in miniature versions of fashionable costumes that could be ordered.

Residing behind the lead-partitioned glass doors of the cabinet were countless leather-bound volumes of fashion plates, drawings and detailed sketches of patterns.

If a patron couldn’t find anything pleasing in these books, as outlandish as the notion seemed to her, Raelynn had no doubt that the gifted couturier would prove amenable to designing something especially elegant, no doubt at a more extravagant cost.

Smiling up at her husband as he drew near, Raelynn swept a hand about to indicate the many tables laden with velvets, silks, woolens and heavy satins.

“I must say, Jeffrey, I never expected such an abundance of imported fabrics here in Charleston.

Your friend must have invested a fortune in the materials he has available here.”

“Farrell prides himself in offering his clientele not only the latest fashion but the finest cloth from which to make them.

He’s quite a dapper fellow himself.”

Raelynn remembered Farrell Ives as the man who had magnanimously supplied her husband with the coins to buy her from her uncle after the latter had tried to sell her to Gustav Fridrich.

Jeffrey had offered an exorbitant sum for her, one which Cooper Frye had found too tempting to refuse.

By extending a temporary loan to Jeffrey, Farrell had saved his friend the trouble of fetching the money from his shipping company several blocks away.

His help had speedily concluded the matter.

Raelynn could recall very little detail about the people who had formed an ever widening circle around them that day, but she had no difficulty conjuring a mental image of the couturier.

He had literally stood head and shoulders above most of the onlookers, equally matching the height of the Birmingham men.

A flawlessly trimmed Vandyke beard had accentuated his handsomely chiseled features, and she was of a mind to think that with his closely cropped, sun-streaked brown hair and vivid blue eyes, he was every bit as admirable looking as her husband or his brother, Brandon.

Only Jeff could tell her more about the clothier.

“You said that you and Mr.

Ives are very close friends, did you not?”

“Aye, love.

I’ve known him since our youth.

His talent for designing clothes and choosing the right fabric to complement them came mainly from his own desire to dress well.

His parents were much poorer than those of his rich, snobbish cousins, and he was often made the laughingstock of his kin because he had to wear their hand-me-downs.

He repaid them by learning to use his fists and gained a reputation as a fighter ere he reached a full score of years.

He proved successful in that sport and, after a few years, saved enough from his boxing matches to hire a seamstress to make his designs.

That was perhaps seven or more years ago.

Even from the beginning, it was evident Farrell was no simple clothier.

He was too talented to settle for ordinary fashions. Eventually he became known as Mr. Farrell Ives by those who had once laughed at him. He was certainly a good man to have on our side when we stormed Gustav’s warehouse. He helped us win the fray.”

“What lies are you telling your pretty wife now, Jeffrey me dearie?”

a deep male voice queried in laughing amusement, momentarily startling Raelynn.

She turned just as Farrell Ives ducked his head beneath the low lintel of the doorway leading from the narrow passageway into which Elizabeth Dalton had disappeared moments earlier.

“That you’re proficient with your fists and a pair of pistols,”

Jeff replied with a chortle as he strode forward with a hand outstretched in friendship.

“Haven’t you learned by now, Fancy Man, that you can’t hide out from all these women you’ve hired? They’re bound to find you sooner or later.”

The two men clasped hands in a hearty handshake before Farrell grinned.

“It’s not the seamstresses that worry me, Jeffrey dearie,”

he murmured, “but a widow who has obviously set her heart on finding herself another husband.”

Had they been alone, Jeff might have probed for an explanation, but he was anxious to make the introductions.