They were all silent for a while. Then Mr. Kenton cleared his throat. “I say, Ma’am, why did you say you could meet this order? It’s impossible.”
Pauline turned to the presser, not mincing her words. “We do it or Lady Bridlington’s investment goes out the window.” She knew it was an exaggeration, but something kept pushing her to demand the impossible of herself—and them.
Aloysius said, “Is there no one you can call upon to come and do some of the sewing tomorrow? One or two of your girls, perhaps? Of course, that doesn’t solve the problem of the missing cloth.”
Pauline bit the side of her thumb as she thought about it. She would have to pay them a lot to make it worthwhile. And then it might make the order so expensive that whoever it was for wouldn’t want to stand the nonsense—despite having said in the order not to spare any expense. People believed that until they saw the final bill, in Pauline’s experience. And what about the second pelisse?
Gussie—Pauline still thought of her that way, even though she had to call her My Lady now—generally trusted her to make all the business decisions, and the shop was very profitable. It was profitable even while paying decent wages to the seamstresses and cutters and never stinting on materials and quality. But this one order could end up being a terrible loss.
“I have to ask her,” Pauline said, half to herself, half out loud.
“Ask who?” Cooper and Kenton said in unison.
“Never you mind!” Pauline snapped at them, and then instantly regretted it. There was no need to be so mean. She didn’t know Kenton, and whatever Cooper had said or done in the past, however his mere presence disturbed her equilibrium, he showed himself willing to assist her now.
She turned to Aloysius. “I do think I may have enough merino back at my workshop to get us through,” she said. “I’ll go and get it.”
“No you won’t!” said Aloysius in his most astringent tone.
“Why not?”
“You can’t afford to take any time away from sewing. We can send someone else.”
Pauline looked around at the few bodies assembled in the workshop. “Who?”
Mr. Cooper cleared his throat. “If you’ll trust me, Ma’am, I can get there quick, and I know what we need. Pelisses are my specialty—or they were before I came to Meyer’s. And I can’t get on with my work until we have the material.”
Pauline, who still hadn’t looked directly at Mr. Cooper, found that she couldn’t avoid it any longer in the circumstances. Their eyes met for the second time that evening. The soft expression in his was unmistakable, as was their brilliant blue color, and Pauline quickly looked away and toward Aloysius, afraid she’d already started to blush. “Very well, Mr. Cooper.”
He came closer to her and held out his hand. She looked at him blankly.
Aloysius said, “He’ll need a key. And a note so your maid doesn’t think he’s a thief.”
Now Pauline’s cheeks burned. Of course. She recovered as quickly as she could and said, “In the meantime, we all need to keep working. I’ll start on the gowns. Mr. Kenton, would you be willing to begin sewing the cloaks?” Pressers had to have good sewing skills in order to work their way up to that important position. He might be a little out of practice, but the cloaks were the least exacting job. “I have to write the notes before I start stitching. Is there writing paper, pen, and ink anywhere?”
CHAPTER 5
The 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 toknow 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.
