Page 52 of The Gentlewoman Companion (The Gentlewoman #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

J ames’s steps echoed into a dimly lit guildhall as he approached a long oak table, where sat five wigged men wearing expertly tailored jackets.

Behind them hung a large gold-framed image of open scissors painted over a red background.

These tailors were as serious as any set of peers arguing over an act of parliament.

The oldest of the men spoke, likely the Guild Master. “My Lord Halverton, we are pleased by your presence, but be forewarned, your petition will not be accepted.”

When James had repeatedly entreated the local tailor to receive Meg as an apprentice, the favor had been declined.

Mr. Sloan had refused to plead the case to the guild, saying it was an impossibility.

In a last, despairing effort, James had undertaken Meg’s case himself.

Their father had let her down, but he would do whatever it took to see her ambition take shape.

James bowed his head. “My Lords and Masters of the Fraternity of St. Anne of the Tailors, I humbly beseech you on behalf of a gentlewoman, Miss Margaret Cooper, my ward, who desires to bind herself in apprenticeship to the tailor Mr. Peter Sloan. Already capable with the needle, Miss Cooper has cared for herself and her brother with proceeds gained by the craft. She wishes to advance her skill and learn under the tutelage of a master.”

“It is contrary to the Fraternity to suffer female entrance and would set a dangerous precedent,” one of the men said. “I am sure you understand, for there are no women polluting the House of Lords.” The men snickered.

James was tempted to tell them he would give his mother his seat if circumstances permitted. Instead, he drenched his tone in humility. “She does not desire an apprenticeship to infringe upon your order but merely to improve her craft. She promises she will restrict her clientele to women.”

In response, they grumbled about mantua makers and females taking business.

James added, “I understand that should you accept Miss Cooper, she will not benefit from guild membership. Nevertheless, I will assume responsibility for paying the annual guild fee, so the Fraternity might profit from her education as with other apprentices.”

The men conferred, their heads shaking, their complaints growing louder. They would deny him, an unfathomable possibility.

“Gentlemen,” James said, “you are aware that in 1709 the Merchant Taylors lost their suit against mantua maker Elizabeth Philips. The tailor’s guild does not have a monopoly on female garments.”

The Guild Master thundered his fist against the table.

“To the detriment of our sacred fraternity! This! This is why we refuse you.” Spittle flew as he raged.

“Females should not be privy to the mysteries of the guild. Take Miss Cooper to London and apprentice her to one of the hoydens who practice our trade.”

James had made this suggestion himself, but Meg insisted she’d never seen a more brilliant tailor than the one who created his mother’s gowns.

She wanted Mr. Sloan’s tutelage. Further, Samuel would attend school in Gloucestershire, and Meg would not agree to live so distant from her brother, even if it meant relinquishing her dream.

James must convince the guild. He leaned forward and placed his fingertips on the table in front of the guild master, his stomach knotting.

He cleared his throat, taking a moment to question what he was about to do, then said what only desperation could pull from him.

“In addition to the annual guild fee, I shall donate a monetary gift to the guild. You will not be disappointed.”

As one, the men leaned back in their chairs. The guild master drew assent from the others with a look.

“Let us create a contract,” the guild master said.

After finalizing the agreement, James stepped from the guildhall into a damp afternoon. He had just bribed them, an act he believed unethical. Because it was. There were probably hundreds of deserving young women who lacked the means to pay their way into an apprenticeship.

He mounted Goliath and urged him through the streets and onto the road homeward.

After relinquishing the House of Lords, he had adopted the same corrupt behavior he despised in his peers.

His bribery clung to him, insidious and sour, twisting at his insides, but he did not regret it.

He did not flinch. He didn’t turn on his heel and retract his promises.

He’d been desperate and impulsive and done the only thing within his power.

Much like Louisa.

What a thought! To compare his little payment to what she had done. It was hardly the same.

Was it?

He was jittery, still shaking off residual anxiety from his meeting with the guild and lacking the capacity to think of Louisa.

That was a lie; he thought of her constantly, missed her every moment.

He did not doubt that she had needed time away from him to heal, but how much time?

When they’d parted two months ago, he was certain an interval of separation would clear away the confusion he felt at trying to reconcile the brilliant young gentlewoman he knew with a girl who could elope.

But it hadn’t. It pained him to know she had put herself into the arms of another man. The same recklessness that he admired in her had evolved into something repugnant. What else was she capable of?

But her absence clawed at him. It was a chasm he greeted every morning upon waking, and it expanded throughout the day as he unconsciously made notes of things he longed to tell her. If he could wish her there in that moment, he would.

If she appeared, would he love her? Trust her? Could a desperation similar to the one that had led him to bribe the guild have driven her to believe eloping was her only option? Perhaps.

On the open road, he spurred Goliath into a gallop, his thoughts racing as quickly as his mount.

He thought of wild-eyed Louisa, who had filled her room with smoke and shut the door on his face.

He loved that woman. He remembered that with a voice replete with compassion, Louisa had asked him to tell her about his father, then listened.

He loved that Louisa. He loved the Louisa who did not understand her own cleverness.

He loved the Louisa who studied and learned, advised and consoled. That was the Louisa he knew.

He was not acquainted with the Louisa of before, though he had caught a glimpse of her in the letter he’d read.

Every action she had taken previous to their meeting had made her the person she was.

The person he loved. Nothing else mattered; what a fool he’d been in letting her go.

But he did not see a clear path to getting her back.

A month after securing the apprenticeship for Meg, James seated himself beside Samuel for their weekly visit to the vicarage.

A bang sounded from outside, and Tom charged through the door holding a small wooden box.

James, past expecting politeness from the boy, was not surprised when Tom projected his voice as if he were speaking to someone on the other side of a river.

“Sam! Look at this.” Tom slid onto his knees and held the box beneath Samuel’s nose.

“Tom,” Mr. Kent said, “greet Lord Halverton, then you may take Samuel outside.”

But the boys were already huddled around the box, digging through dirt to find worms and beetles.

“Did you know there are so many sorts?” Tom asked. “I thought ants and roaches and flies were all God made.”

“Tom!” Mrs. Kent spoke sternly but quietly as Susan napped on her lap.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” Tom made a deep, clumsy bow toward Lord Halverton. “How do you do, my lord?” Before James could respond, he and Samuel were out the door.

“He seems happier every week,” Halverton said.

“They are a joy,” said Mr. Kent.

“They are noise and laughter and happiness,” said his wife. “It is the music I’ve longed for. Thank you, my lord, for thinking of us.” She pressed her cheek to Susan’s.

“Not at all,” James said. Though not without difficulties, Tom and Susan were beginning to blossom under the love and order that ruled the vicarage. “It’s a fine, warm day. Would you mind if I take the boys to the pond for the afternoon?”

“Tom is a blessing, but I daresay no one will complain if he’s out of the house a good while,” the vicar said, smiling at his wife.

James followed the boyish racket around the side of the house and ushered the boys to the donkey carriage. Thinking of Louisa, he allowed Samuel and Tom to take turns with the reins and listened to them chatter about the differences between London and the country.

At the pond, James helped them prepare their fishing rods. “Stick the worm straight through the hook,” he told the boys.

They cast their lines and waited on a fallen log.

“Now we must be quiet so as not to scare the fish,” he said.

Tom leaned forward and opened his mouth, then closed it and sat back.

Perhaps it was cruel to force silence on these boys who were so eager to be together.

But he did not dismiss them. There was a lesson in stillness, a strength that came with sitting in one’s mind.

Beside him, the boys broke into stifled laughter.

If Louisa were with them, she would know how to join in their fun and pull him into it. Without her, he was too serious.

The boys were poking each other and trying not to giggle. James swallowed a reprimand. When they’d arrived at Lundbrooke, it had been winter. Spring in the country was a foreign experience for children who had been raised in a city made of bricks. How would Louisa make this outing more diverting?

“Have you ever skipped rocks?” James asked them.

“Shhh! We are fishing,” Tom said.

Samuel burst into laughter as bright as sunlight.

“Do you want to fish?” James asked.

“Not if we have to be quiet,” Samuel said. “We have a lot to say.”

“Come, I’ll show you something else.” They abandoned their poles and blinked up at James. “A ball bounces on the floor, but did you know that rocks bounce on water?”

“That’s foolishness.” Tom waved him away.

James found a flat rock and a rounder one. “Which will bounce better?” He placed the rocks in their hands.

“They’ll sink.” Samuel handed the stones back.

“Eventually.” James sent the round rock skipping over the pond.

“It jumped!”

“But only twice. Count the bounces.” He threw the flat rock.

“Seven!”

The boys were hopping around him, begging to be shown the trick. In a few minutes, their stones were leaping across the water.

The moment brought his father to mind. Samuel frequently inquired after their father, curious about the man who had helped bring him into the world.

On more than one occasion, James had caught the boy looking up at the late earl’s portrait.

It was natural to be interested in one’s father, but James struggled to know what to say about him.

The distrust and bitterness he’d developed for his father had dissipated somewhat, but a dull ache of betrayal remained.

At the pond, better memories emerged. “Our father used to take me here,” James told Samuel. “He was a great sportsman. On a horse, with a mallet, a gun, or a fishing pole. He outdid everyone.”

Samuel nodded, his face becoming serious. “I will be like our father, then. Will you show us how to fish? I can be quiet.”

James’s chest tightened.

“Let’s go fish,” Samuel said, pulling his friend toward the fishing rods.

They set up for fishing once again, and true to his word, Samuel was silent and kept Tom in check.

Their lines freshly baited, they fished with more success, keeping the bigger fish and throwing back the smaller until the line held enough fish for supper.

That night, James visited the nursery to bid goodnight to his little brother.

“Thank you for today…brother,” Samuel said, turning James’s heart to a pool of wax.

James nodded. “Good night, little brother.”

He turned to leave, but Samuel asked, “Was our father as kind as you?”

How to respond? His father had certainly been diligent in caring for James, yet he had not cared for Margaret and Samuel as he should have.

But hadn’t James just done something reprehensible in the name of kindness?

He did not want Samuel to only know a father of lies and infidelity.

He deserved to know the praiseworthy parts of his father so he could pattern himself in a better way.

“Our father was a caring, good father to me, but no one is perfect. I like to think he would have shown you every kindness if he had brought you home to be raised here.”

He descended the stairs to the parlor, where Meg waited for him. She had been looking for furniture, and they had not spoken all day.

“Did you find everything you need?” he asked her.

“I did, thank you, but I wish you had consulted me before leasing that apartment.”

Meg had gone to London to hire a trusted neighbor from Rosemary Lane as a housekeeper. While away, the building had come for lease. “You are right, of course. I was worried it would be let before you returned. I did not imagine you would take exception to it.”

“The lodgings suit my needs. It’s the attached shop that worries me. Mr. Sloan doesn’t want to apprentice me and will not take kindly to my owning a shop across from his. I will make an enemy of the person from whom I most need support.”

“It isn’t a shop yet and won’t be until you finish your education, but when it is, everyone visiting the tailor will notice you. It’s good for business. Until then, keep the windows curtained. You can use it to store supplies for your future shop.”

“All right.” She bit her lips together as if trying to contain a smile.

James raised his brows in question.

“I accept the challenge to impress the county with my skill and will not put your efforts to waste. There is no need for Mr. Sloan to think well of me.”

He laughed, but a quiet pride unsettled him.

What had begun as obligation or even penance had evolved into a deep satisfaction that ran above the still tender ache of his father’s infidelity.

Within his admiration for Meg’s resilience was found the peace of healing as the bond between him and his sister strengthened.