Jade Lee - Wedded in Scandal

“Exactly!”

“But maybe I should relook at our prices nevertheless…”

“Aiee! It’s like you were that first year,” Wendy said. “Always worried, always questioning. I thought you’d growed out of all that. And now here you are, after one conversation with a bloody lord, right back to oh me, oh my, are we fools for doing this?”

Helaine swallowed, realizing her friend was right. Five years ago, the young seamstress had been filled with passion and hope. At seventeen years of age, Wendy had possessed the strength of a woman five times older. As an apprentice to the previous owner, she had sewn Helaine’s one and only ball gown. From Helaine’s dress design, Wendy had recognized Helaine’s talent and begun thinking way back then. When Helaine’s father had destroyed everything, it was Wendy who had sought her out and suggested the dressmaking business. She had everything arranged almost before Helaine had known what was happening. She’d even had the wherewithal to spring Helaine and her mother out of debtors’ prison, though heaven only knew how she’d managed that. Wendy had never told her how that happened, and it was the one secret that remained between them. But that one shadow could not dampen the love Helaine felt for her friend. Their current success was wholly due to Wendy’s belief in both of them. And because of her, they were now owners of a dress shop with clients from the ton .

But it was a house built upon cards. Their most elevated client was Lady Gwendolyn and her future in-laws. It had been quite the coup to get the lady to buy just a single gown two Seasons past. And then she’d purchased a few more last Season. And now, as a miracle from the heavens, the lady wanted her entire trousseau! If this order went well, it would be the making of their little dress shop.

But if it all fell apart now because of one arrogant, high-handed brother, then there would be no stopping the disaster. There would be no more elevated clients and no more steady flow of customers. And given that they barely made it through from one week to the next now, there was nothing to keep them from the poorhouse.

“Stop it!” ordered Wendy without even looking up from her work. “I can hear your brain yapping all the way over here.”

“I didn’t say a word,” returned Helaine stiffly. It was a pretend anger because they really were the best of friends. And because they had only each other to rely upon. If either failed, they both failed.

“But you be thinking and worrying yerself to death and I won’t have it. Got the milliner’s daughter Francine coming tomorrow, and we need you to design her something that will get her wed.”

Helaine sighed, the sound coming from deep within her. “I’m not sure anyone can do that.” The girl was fat. Not even plump, but decidedly fat, and she had a mean temper to boot. The first could be hidden. The second made any efforts at dressing moot.

“Well, if you can do it, then we’d be established for sure.”

“Wendy—,” Helaine began, but her friend just shook her head.

“Jus’ talk to the girl. You can tell her things about how to be sweeter.”

“But there are some things—”

“Tut-tut!” the girl said as she pointed her needle straight at Helaine’s heart. “They can’t all be like Lady Gwen. You just think on that and not our prices. Teach that fat girl how to be nice on the inside, and then she’ll find her man.”

Helaine plopped down by the worktable and pulled out her sketchbook. She didn’t need it. She already knew what would look best on Francine. “It’s not about being nice,” she said as much to herself as to the seamstress. “It’s about feeling happy inside. Then nice is easy. As is husband hunting.”

“There you go,” said Wendy with a grin. “You just teach her that and we’ll be rich. Easy as stitching a straight line.”

“Well, maybe for you,” said Helaine. Her stitches had always wandered willy-nilly.

“Fine then,” said Wendy. “Easy as drawing a straight line. And that I know you can do.”

That she could. Now if only she could get someone to pay for their talents. Then they would be rich. Or at least not a half breath away from the poorhouse.

It was that fear that carried her through the night and into the next morning. Years ago, she and her mother had spent two nights in the poorhouse. Two nights crammed into the same bed with a rail-thin mother of three. Two nights of starting at every noise and holding her mother while the frail woman sobbed. Thankfully, they were both exhausted from a day spent doing prison labor—pounding hemp into rope—that at least they managed to sleep on the second night. And then Wendy had rescued them, offering them her home until the business turned a profit. And slowly, their life had changed.

Helaine and her mother had rooms of their own now, right above the shop. And if they didn’t own anything of value anymore—it had all been sold six months after her father’s disappearance—at least they each had a bed, food on the table, and a little coal for the winter. It was more than many had in London, and Helaine was grateful for it every day. And terrified it would all disappear on the morrow.

That was the fear that pulled her from her bed at dawn and sat her down at her worktable to sketch. And that was the fear that drove her to work on Lady Gwen’s trousseau, sketching a new dress for her wedding that would emphasize every detail of the woman’s beautiful body. And that was the fear that had her setting down six new designs before Miss Francine while the girl was munching on crumpets and spilling cream upon the paper.

“But wot ’bou’ m’ ’ck?”

Helaine leaned forward. “I beg your pardon?”

The girl set aside the crumpet and dusted off her fingers. “Wot about my neck? Won’t it pinch?” she asked, pointing to the full collar.

“Oh, no. Not this material and not when Wendy sews it. Trust me, Francine. It shall look divine.”

The girl was obviously not convinced. Her face pinched up and she reached again for the crumpet. “But it’s so plain. Not a ruffle or rosette anywhere.” She stuffed another full bite into her mouth. “Mama says at least with the rosettes, the men will look at the decoration and not me.”

Helaine blinked, shock reverberating through her system. “Surely your mother doesn’t say that! The men are supposed to look at you, Francine. How can you possibly think to attract a man if they are looking at the rosettes and not you?”

Francine didn’t answer as she stuffed another bite into her mouth. But her eyes did, and her body. Her gaze dropped to her lap, and her body slumped in the seat. She was the picture of a depressed, downtrodden woman. Helaine knew the look. She understood the need to hide yourself any way you could. After her father was exposed as the Thief of the Ton, she had done everything but put a bag over her face as a way to hide.

“It never works, you know,” she said gently. “Nothing can hide who you really are. No laces, flounces, or even the best rosette that Wendy can make will hide who you really are.” Then she leaned forward and lifted the girl’s chin. “And Francine, nothing should.”

The girl didn’t believe her. She sat there in slumped misery. “I’m fat, Helaine. No one wants a fat wife.”

“No one wants a mean wife, Francine. I have seen many fat girls get married. Many ugly girls, too. Fortunately, my dear, you are not ugly and not exactly fat yet, either. And you have the advantage of something special.”

Francine wrinkled her nose. “Yes. My father’s money.”

“No, silly!” Helaine said. “A talented dresser. Come, come. Put down that silly crumpet and let me show you the truth. Let me show you what I see when I look at you.”