Page 6 of Miss Pauline’s Perfect Present (Double-Dilemma #3)

T he way she bit the side of her thumb and knitted her brows when she was thinking—why did he find it so beguiling?

Or no, it wasn’t that so much as that it made him wish he could somehow solve whatever problem caused that frown on her face.

He wanted to smooth her brow with his fingers.

Or perhaps with his lips. And the fact that she had to look away from him, that meant something, didn’t it?

But his stupid unruly tongue! How leather-headed! He had to go and tell her that they wouldn’t be able to complete this order she seemed to be so worked up about. So what if it was the truth? Saying it didn’t help. Mr. Gordon was right to bite his ear off.

But Miss Dawkins hadn’t done that herself.

Her shoulders had slumped for a moment, then she squared them and straightened to her full, unimpressive height.

The look on her face when she marched to the desk and mended the quill to write her note was hard determination and pure exhilaration all mixed together.

Her keen eyes faced it head on. She did not flinch from the problem. She reveled in it.

What a woman! She could do anything. He’d heard a lot about her since the first time he saw her and had wanted to know more.

Then this opportunity fell into his lap.

The thought made him imagine for an instant what it would be like for Miss Dawkins to actually occupy that lap and he had to shake himself.

It was enough that he would be going to her workshop, to the location that meant more to her than any other in the world—if he’d judge her right.

Cooper knew that kind of zeal. The feeling of having to master something, of pushing as hard as you could to make it work.

And by God he’d help her this night. If she didn’t think it was impossible, he wouldn’t think so either.

He’d fly to Bruton Street on wings of yearning.

He watched her now, bent over a table writing fast. It took her no more than a minute or two to pen the two separate notes.

She folded each of them and held them out to him, not quite looking into his eyes.

He walked over to her and grasped the notes.

Their fingers touched, and in that moment her eyes opened wide and looked into his for a split second before once again turning away.

See me, he wanted to say. I see you. In that instant he glimpsed something inside her.

Sorrow. Fear. Desire? But then she had shuttered herself and reached into an opening in her skirt, drawing out a heavy key, which she held out to him.

Her hand was so tiny compared to that chunky bit of wrought iron! Cooper wanted more than anything to grasp her fingers and raise them to his lips. Instead he simply took the key and bowed.

“There’s two letters there. One is for the maid at the shop, so she don’t think you a thief. The other must be delivered to Berkeley Square. Is there an errand boy left somewhere in this establishment?” Miss Dawkins asked.

“Y-yes. Jem. He’s likely here.” Cooper said, yanking himself out of his daydream.

“Give him this note and have him deliver it. Then you’ll have only the one stop. Now go! Or are your legs frozen to the floor?” Her voice sharpened toward the end.

“Of course, Ma’am,” he said. Was she angry?

They both remained immobile for a moment longer. Cooper was not tall. Standing next to Miss Dawkins like that, though, he felt like a giant. He could probably tuck her under his arm, he thought, and it made him smile.

“Cooper! You’ve got what you need, now go!” Mr. Gordon flicked the measuring tape in his direction and it snapped like a whip. How did he do that?

Cooper had no time to waste, so he rushed out and hurried through the corridors in the shop and warehouse to the little storeroom where he was sure to find Jem, the errand boy who all but lived there. Perhaps he had another home, but as far as Cooper knew, he never went to it.

Jem was almost indistinguishable from the sacking stuffed with wadding that served as his bed, tucked into an alcove between the storeroom and the pressing room.

Not more than twelve years old and small for his age, Jem had developed the talent of falling asleep wherever he was almost as soon as he closed his eyes and waking up to full alertness just as easily.

Cooper stooped on his haunches and shook his shoulder gently. Jem’s eyes shot open and he stood so fast he almost knocked Cooper over. The lad had all his clothes on. “Take this to Lord Bridlington’s in Berkeley Square.”

“Should I wait for a answer?” Jem asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“No. At least, she didn’t say.”

The boy rammed his cap on his head, yanked his coat off the peg above his sleeping mat and thrust his arms through a garment that was in no way adequate protection from the bitter winter wind.

Then he ran off, letter in hand, before Cooper could offer him a warm scarf.

There’s holes in his shoes, Cooper thought, seeing the flash of the soles of his feet as he sprinted away.

He didn’t know for certain what Miss Dawkins had written to Lady Bridlington, and at that hour, he doubted the lady would read it.

She’d get it in the morning, and that might be soon enough to conjure up some reinforcements.

He guessed that the question was about bringing seamstresses back from their days off to work, and paying them well above their usual wage.

It was how Madame Pauline’s operated—unlike Meyer’s.

Mr. Meyer squeezed every bit of effort out of his employees and paid them as little as he could get away with.

Many stayed only to gain enough experience to apply for a position at Weston’s.

Cooper had tried for one initially, but his stupid unruly tongue had let him down there as well.

He’d actually had the nerve to criticize one of Weston’s designs and offer a suggestion of how to improve it.

Cooper sighed and fetched his own warm cloak from the peg in his usual workroom, which he shared with two other tailors who were off in their lodgings no doubt enjoying a comfortable rest. He would have to be quick about his errand.

She was counting on him. She, Miss Pauline Dawkins, the woman who, for some reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he just happened to care about probably more than she would ever know.

He would get her and her employer out of an impossible predicament—or die trying.