Page 12 of Miss Pauline’s Perfect Present (Double-Dilemma #3)

C ooper had felt as if he was going to cast up his accounts the moment Mr. Meyer stepped into the room.

He didn’t think he had been doing anything wrong—after all, Miss Dawkins was in partnership with Mr. Meyer, and the workroom was empty.

But clearly, he’d misjudged. Or had it been Mr. Gordon who did that?

Whoever it was, they were in the basket now.

And, now, his basket was worse than anyone’s.

He’d lost his job. Meyer would be sure to blacken his name throughout the tailors’ establishments in London.

What would he do? He supposed he’d have to go back to farm labor.

He’d worked so hard to get away from that, to establish himself in a trade he was passionate about. Now, it was all for nothing.

That wasn’t the worst of it, though. As he helped Mr. Gordon, Mr. Kenton, and the earl of Bridlington pile the crested barouche high with bolts of fabric—and the earl, to his surprise, worked right alongside them with no discernible hesitation and despite his decided limp, not even insisting that the footman standing behind the carriage help them—his heart plummeted into his stomach.

This would be the end of any hope he might have to win Miss Dawkins.

She was a successful businesswoman, the most admired modiste in the ton.

It surprised him a bit that she would think that not fulfilling the anonymous order could seriously damage her reputation.

With the backing—and design genius—of Lady Bridlington, the ton was unlikely to be put off.

Somehow, though, it was important to her. Important enough that she felt she must stay awake all night and sew.

“Is there room for the three of us?” Lady Bridlington asked, her voice light and touched with humor.

“Yes Ma’am,” Cooper said, and reached his hand out to help her in. But the earl got there first and tenderly assisted his very pregnant wife into the vehicle. Seeing him grasp her with his hands on each side of her torso, Cooper was just as glad he hadn’t been called upon to do that.

Miss Carp climbed up without any assistance and Miss Dawkins was about to do the same. Should he let her? Would she welcome the help, or disdain it now that he was an unemployed nobody? Be brave, he admonished, and put out his hand to her.

Miss Dawkins took it and looked at him with troubled eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she climbed up slowly and turned to settle herself against the squabs.

Sorry for what? Cooper wondered. Sorry she would have to end this budding flirtation with him? Did she see it as that, or was he kidding himself? Sorry she’d been the unwitting means of depriving him of his livelihood? Perhaps he was nothing more than a useful implement to her.

The barouche set off in the direction of Madame Pauline’s.

Cooper stood watching it for a moment before noticing that Mr. Gordon and Mr. Kenton stood next to him.

He shivered and rubbed his hands together.

He hadn’t stopped to put on his greatcoat and hat, and it was no warmer today than it had been all week.

“Let’s go and join them, shall we?” Gordon said with forced cheerfulness.

The three of them went back inside to put on their winter gear. Cooper said, “Are you sure she’ll—they’ll want me there? I’m no longer a journeyman tailor.”

Mr. Gordon took hold of Cooper’s arm in a strong clasp and said, “Taking away a position does not take away a man’s identity. You are and always will be a journeyman tailor. And Pauline needs you.”

Cooper gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Then what?”

“Then it’s up to you,” Gordon said, tapping the side of his nose.