He blinked at her, turned red. “Some ridiculousness about her clients wanting things no one else has. And since everyone wears my fabrics—” He snapped his mouth shut, turned on his heel and marched from the room. “It’s my shop. Not hers. By law. But she’s smart. She’s created something I could not. I must trust her judgment. Even if it angers me.”
Such trust. Impressive. Not even Maggie’s own brothers had trusted her to help them solve the dilemma of their parents’ finances. If Mr. Blake trusted his daughter with her corner of the business even when it went against his wishes, that spoke highly of her. Henrietta was smart, wasn’t she, and likely had much in common with her brother. Did Tobias know that? She scurried after Mr. Blake. “It must be nice to have your family in the same line of work as you.”
His head dipped low so that she almost could not see it over his shoulders as he descended the stairs. “Mine wassupposedto be a family business, but your husband cannot bring himself to be serious about a damned thing.” He whirled around to face her at the bottom of the stairs. “I suppose I should apologize for using such harsh language.”
She waved away his non-apology.
“But I shan’t. You may be a lady, but you are part of this family, and we do not mince words.”
A sharp desire to teach this man a lesson pricked her every nerve. How dare he so lightly disparage Tobias when he didn’t know his son at all! Everything she’d learned about him this day helped her further understand why Tobias refused the man’s help and set out to build a life of his own. “Then I will not mince words either. Your fabric is lovely, uniform indeed, but it’s missing something.”
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I run the most successful textile company in all of England, soon to be Europe as well. I fail to see how I’m missing a thing.”
“Do you remember Tobias’s waistcoat? The one he wore at our wedding?”
He sniffed. “Hard to forget an abomination like that. And silk.” He shivered. “Silk weavers are the worst. Think themselves artists.”
“I cannot speak to that, but surely Tobias’s waistcoat proves they have a point. It’s quite a spectacular piece of clothing.”
Mr. Blake closed his eyes, as if assessing the memory of the garment. He opened them slowly, his gaze softened. “I suppose if you strip away that green cravat and the good-for-nothing man inside, I could see how you could call it beautiful. Artful, even.”
Maggie nodded eagerly, encouraging the train of thought.
“The colors are more than questionable, of course. How, though, does Tobias’s waistcoat speak to whatever it is you think my fabrics are missing?”
“The answer isinthe waistcoat.”
He doffed his hat and scratched his brow. “You think my bolts too boring? Uniform, you said.”
She grinned. “Fashion for men currently is too tame. Beau Brummel narrowed men’s choices to greens and blues and buffs with some room to play in waistcoats. And while our married women may wear color, our poor debutantes are confined to white and pastel.”
“You know much about high fashion for a lady who’s spent all her years in the country.”
“I receive London papers.La Belle Assemblée. And I’ve heard your daughter lecture a time or two on the subject. My point is that we should not shy away from color but embrace it. As Tobias does.”
“My business is built on getting the finest quality materials to the greatest number of people. Color, design—they do not align with this goal.”
“It’s an admirable goal.” Everyone needed clothes, and most did not have the funds to buy extravagantly. But was there not also room for something less mechanized? “Must efficiency require the loss of human creativity and beauty?”
“My son has married a radical.”
“Am I? How delightful! In my house, I’m perhaps the least radical of us all—except for Raph, of course. Even I consider him boring. My family considersmeshockingly conservative.” But yes, perhaps she was radical compared to the likes of Mr. Blake and Robert Lockham.
Mr. Blake stroked his chin, a gesture she’d seen Tobias do a hundred times. “From whom, I wonder, does Tobias procure those waistcoats? Do you know?”
Maggie smiled over her shoulder and sailed down the rows and machines and those who worked them.
Close behind her, Mr. Blake spoke. “You’re not going tell me, are you?”
She swung around to face him but continued walking backward. “I’ve had a lovely time today. Thank you so much for showing me around. I feel much more enlightened.”Muchmore enlightened. “I am sure all of this knowledge will be useful.”
He shook his head, looking as if he wanted to say something but didn’t. “Ithasbeen a lovely time, and you’ve given me much to think on.” He scrutinized her, but … was that a mischievous glint in his eye? “I ought to tweak your nose, Miss Maggie.”
Ithadbeen a mischievous glint. She smiled. Mr. Blake and his son were much more alike than either of them would care to admit. She exited the factory and filled her lungs with fresh air.
Mr. Blake leaned against the door frame, eyeing her. “Does your husband know you came here today?”
Her husband happened to be waiting outside. “Of course.”
