A Hand for the Duke

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“Margaret, don’t you dare! You have a lovely figure, but more than that, you are a sweet, intelligent person. Any gentleman would jump at the chance to marry you—and not just for your dowry. That woman was wrong. Don’t give her another thought,” Warwick said, pulling out his handkerchief as one tear began to make its way down her cheek.

Margaret accepted it from him and then swiped at her tear. She proceeded to twist and turn the piece of cloth in her hands. “But she said—”

“Where did you find this awful mantua-maker?” Warwick asked, cutting her off.

Margaret blinked a few times while looking up at him. “Cousin Sonora has used her for years.”

“Well, it sounds as if the woman ought to retire. She is out of date, and rude as well. No, you need to find someone else.”

“But I don’t know anyone else,” his sister cried.

“We’ll find someone for you,” Martin said.

“Yes. Martin will find someone for you. Someone young who knows the proper fashion for both court and ballroom.”

“Wait, I’m going to find someone?” Martin asked, clearly not happy with this turnaround.

“Yes. You did just say that you would,” Warwick said.

“No, I said we, meaning you,” Martin argued.

“Me? I don’t know any mantua-makers.” Warwick didn’t even bother to turn around to address the man. Instead, he gave his sister’s hands a squeeze. “Martin will find someone for you. Don’t you worry. There is no need for you to return to Warwick. You’ll do just fine with the right woman.”

“Cousin Sonora would be a lot happier—” Margaret started.

“I don’t care what Cousin Sonora wants. She is here to chaperone you, and so she will.” That came out a little more strongly than he intended, but their cousin was turning out to be a lot less useful than he’d hoped.

“She truly dislikes being out in public. It makes her itchy, she says.” A twinge of humor lit Margaret’s eyes, much to Warwick’s relief.

“Itchy?”

She nodded. “She even begins to scratch at her arms if we’re out of the house for more than a few minutes.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Warwick said.

“It’s actually sort of funny. Oh, I know I shouldn’t laugh at her affliction, but honestly, have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Never. I think she’s making it up. She just doesn’t like being in public,” Warwick said, shaking his head ruefully. If there were anyone else who could chaperone his sister, he would happily call on them, but there was no one. His father’s sister had passed away a number of years ago, and his mother hadn’t had any close female relatives.

“It’s quite possible. I can’t blame her. I don’t love being out in public either, and now I’m going to be the very center of attention at this ball,” his sister said, beginning to look worried once more.

“I know you don’t like so much attention, but you do love to dance. Just think of all the fun you’re going to have,” he offered.

“I don’t—” she started.

“Now who is being silly? You love to dance! I’ve seen you do so any number of times when Mama invited people over,” he argued. True, they’d been very small gatherings, and only close friends had been invited, but he distinctly remembered watching his sister laugh and have fun as she danced. It had made him happy just to see her begin to come out of her shell.

“Yes, but Mama’s not…” Tears filled his sister’s eyes once more.

It had merely been two years since their parents had succumbed one after the other to influenza. A more difficult winter they’d not had in years. Margaret herself had gotten sick, but thankfully recovered, being young and in excellent health. Their parents had not.

“I’m here with you, Margaret. I promised you that I’d be here, didn’t I? And have I ever not kept a promise?”

“You’ve always been wonderful,” she admitted.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. You continue on with your preparations, Martin will find you a mantua-maker, and everything will be fine.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve got time to go about searching for the right woman. I’ve got—” his secretary started.

“The budget can wait, Martin. We only have two weeks before the ball,” Warwick reminded him. “You will find a modiste today.”

“Wie Sie wünschen, Mein Herr,” Martin said, standing and clicking his heels together as he bowed low.

Warwick just frowned at his man, but Margaret began to giggle. “I do love it when you do that. Do you still remember your German, Martin?”

“Natürlich, Ich werde meine Mutterspache nie vergessen, Lady Margaret,” he answered, giving her a little wink.

“Ausgezeichnet. Ich hoffe, Sie tun es nie,” she answered.

“I have no idea what you two are saying, you do know that?” Warwick interrupted.

Margaret giggled, and Martin gave her a conspiratorial wink.

“You know I learned the language myself just so you would have someone to speak with, aside from your father. Especially since someone,” she turned and looked at Warwick, “refused to do so.”

“I was learning French, Latin, Greek, and Italian! I refused to learn yet another language,” Warwick protested.

“But you could have spoken it with Martin, and no one but the two of you would have understood each other, like we just did,” she argued.

“And you,” he pointed out. “You would have understood us.”

“Well, yes, and me.” She gave him a broad smile. “But that means Martin and I have a secret language you will never understand.”

Warwick sighed. “So, what did you two say to each other?”

“Oh, nothing,” his sister said, clearly pleased with herself.

Martin laughed. “I will do my utmost to find you the best modiste in London, meine Dame.”

Margaret lost a little of the happiness in her eyes at the reminder but accepted his words with a nod of her head. She gave Warwick a little kiss on his cheek, then left the room.

As soon as she was gone, Martin turned back to Warwick. “Where the hell am I going to find a mantua-maker? I haven’t the least notion about ladies’…” he waved his hands ineffectually in the air, “things.”

Warwick stood. “I haven’t the foggiest. What did you and Margaret say to each other?”

Martin sighed. “Nothing of import, but I know you, and you’re not going to stop asking until I tell you.”

“No.” Warwick waited for an answer.

“I told her that I would never forget how to speak German, and she said she hoped I never would. Are you happy?”

“Yes.” He sat down at his desk.

“Wait, I’ve answered you, now how am I supposed to find a modiste?”

“I told you. I have absolutely no idea. I don’t know about these things either. You figure it out.” Warwick went to go back to his work. This was why he had a secretary, to do that which he simply didn’t have time to handle—like finding a modiste for Margaret.

“But she’s your sister!” Martin protested.

“Yes, and I’m your employer.”

~March 25~Christianne stepped down from her coach outside of Layton’s drapery shop at Covent Garden. Unlike most ladies, she wasn’t at all tempted to go into the shop to peruse the latest poplins. Unlike her daughter, sadly, she had no interest in fabrics and fashions. No, she was more of a people person, and in particular, people who she cared about.

She, therefore, proceeded next door and climbed the stairs to the first-floor flat above the bank where she’d managed to secure lodgings for her daughter. Tina herself answered on the first knock.

“Don’t you have someone to answer the door for you?” Christianne asked after they’d gotten through the regular pleasantries and she’d been admitted into the drawing room. The room smelled like cotton, and it was no wonder—aside from the small seating area, most of the room was taken up by a large table covered with bolts of material. More stood against the walls, carefully arranged by color.

“No. But that’s all right, I don’t need anyone. I’ve hired a daily to clean and cook in the afternoons,” Tina said, sitting on the lovely new pale green sofa Christianne had insisted on buying for her. Tina indicated she should take the comfortable matching chair.

“You will tell me if you need any funds,” Christianne said, giving her a warm and, she hoped, motherly smile.

Tina smiled back at her indulgently. “I think you’ve done more than enough already.”

“I could never do enough. You’re my daughter,” Christianne said, wanting to reach out and touch her. She was too far away, however, so she simply had to convey her love through her eyes and hope that Tina would recognize it. They had only just begun to get to know each other, and Christianne wanted so much to have the opportunity to continue to do so.

The problem was that Tina was still so reserved around her. Christianne was doing everything she could to make her feel more comfortable. She had lavished time and money on the girl, and now, she supposed, she just had to be patient and allow for all that she’d done to take root in her daughter’s heart.

Tina’s gaze dropped to the bare wooden floor at her feet. “I appreciate all that you’ve done.”

“Stop. We agreed that you were not going to continue to thank me, didn’t we?” Christianne reminded her.

“Yes, we did.” Tina looked up and gave her a timid smile. “However, I cannot not thank you once again for hosting that party for me. Four dresses were ordered and not one of the ladies who ordered them asked how much they would cost!”

Christianne laughed. “No, naturally, they would not. I only invited those who I knew could easily afford the most expensive gowns. You should feel free to charge them handsomely.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!”

“No, truly, you must. If you charge too little, they’ll think that the quality isn’t good.”

“But if I charge too much, they won’t come back and order more or recommend me to others,” Tina argued.

“That’s true. You should charge just a little higher than average so that they feel they’re getting something special. I should think about twice what I paid for the gowns you made for me,” Christianne said, thinking it through.

“Seriously? Twice?” Tina asked, shocked.

“Oh, absolutely! Those were ordered from a little village seamstress. These gowns were ordered from a London modiste. It’s completely different.”

“But I made your gowns the same way I’m going to make these. Although, I will go to these ladies’ homes for their fittings rather than ask them to come to me.”

Christianne shook her head. “That makes no difference. The point is where you are and the fact that your services are exclusive to only the best of the haute ton.”

“But they aren’t—”

“Yes, they are. You be sure to tell your clients so. Everyone likes to be thought the best of the best.” Christianne lifted her chin to emphasize her point.

Tina laughed. “I think I’m beginning to understand. No matter whether it’s true or not, I will tell my clients that the dresses I make are exclusive to only the best, the highest members of society.”

“Exactly! Now, do you think you’ll be able to finish the dresses you have orders for within two weeks, by the start of the season?”

“Oh yes, without any problems. I should be able to contact the ladies who ordered them and arrange to go to them for fittings in a week.”

“Excellent. I’m still quite thrilled you got so many orders,” Christianne admitted.

Tina gave her a smile and a little shrug. “I was actually hoping that with seven ladies present, I would get more.”

“Well, these things always start off slow. Truly, these women are taking a chance on a complete unknown merely on my word.”

“Yes,” Tina said slowly. She kept her eyes lowered, but Christianne could see a frown was creasing her forehead.

“Is there something on your mind, Tina?” Christianne asked. She couldn’t help feeling as if there was something her daughter wasn’t telling her. She’d gotten this sensation a number of times over the past few weeks as she’d helped Tina prepare for her London debut, but so far she hadn’t had the nerve to ask.

When her daughter looked up, her eyes were glassy with tears. She quickly blinked them away and started to shake her head.

“There is something! I knew it, and I’ve known it ever since you came and asked me to bring you to London. Tina, you can tell me anything! I know I’ve told you that before. Please, trust me,” she said, practically pleading.

Tina closed her eyes for a moment. “I’d hoped to sell more gowns. I need to.”

“Need to? I don’t understand. If it’s the money I’ve advanced to you…”

“It’s not the money. At least, it’s not I who needs it or…or wants it.”

“Is there someone else?”

Tina sniffed and looked away. “My foster-father,” she said very quietly.

“Mr. Rowan? What need does he have for money? I’ve paid him well every month since you were born.”

“Yes, but he wants more, or at the very least not to lose that to which he’s become accustomed. Apparently, you told him when you handed me over to him that the money wasn’t for him, it was for me, to pay for my upkeep.”

“That’s right. I didn’t want him to think of the money as his, but as yours,” Christianne agreed.

“And you said that you would go on giving me this money for the rest of my life.”

“Yes. I’ve always planned on supporting you.”

“Well, he wants to continue receiving that money. The only way for him to do so is for me to be his responsibility,” Tina explained.

“Well, yes, but you aren’t any longer. You’re an adult and therefore your own responsibility,” Christianne said.

“Right, which is why unless I pay him as much as you gave me, plus another fifteen percent, which he figured I would earn from my business, he’s going to force me to marry his son, Caleb, who will then get the money as my husband.” A tear slid down Tina’s cheek, but Christianne could barely breathe.

“The nerve of that man!” she finally managed. “But he couldn’t possibly force you to do that.”

“He can. He threatened to write to every paper in London telling them of my parentage if I didn’t. We’d both be ruined!”

“Blackmail!” Christianne nearly screeched.

Tina could only nod sadly. “Now you see why I need to earn more money, why I need to get more business. He gave me two months to make my business profitable enough to give him what he wants. If I can’t, he’ll come and drag me back to Northram Commons to marry Caleb.”

“Two months! But that’s not nearly enough time!”

“I know, but he didn’t give me the opportunity to argue with him.”

Christianne collapsed back against the sofa. “What are we going to do?”

“Get me some more clients.”

Christianne was silent while she furiously tried to think of how to do that. Perhaps another party? But no, she’d already tapped out the meager store of ladies she could possibly ask. This was what came from keeping apart from society for too long.

“I’ve already made friends with the shop girls and the owner at the drapers next door. They’ve agreed to recommend me to any customers who ask.”

“But that’s wonderful!” Christianne said, sitting up again.

“I hope so.”

“And word is bound to spread as more and more people come to town and see your beautiful work,” Christianne offered.

Tina managed a little smile, the brave girl. “Quickly, I hope.” She paused for a moment. “Can I ask you a question on a different topic, something that’s been nagging at me?”

“Of course!” To be honest, Christianne had had more than enough of the current one.

“Who was that man who joined us at the party?”