Christine Johnson - Groom by Design

She gulped. “They’re ruined.”

“They’re just dresses.”

“Just dresses? They’re not just dresses. They’re tea gowns. Expensive ones. What will I do?” She pressed her hands to her face, nauseated at the thought of how much this would cost.

“I’m sorry,” he said more gently. “I wasn’t thinking of their value. Let me help. Since the whole thing is my fault, I’ll replace them. Is there a store in town that sells comparable gowns?”

Ruth shook her head.

“Then let me bring you some catalogs tomorrow.”

“No!” Even though Mrs. Vanderloo had bought these from a catalog, she would insist Ruth replicate them exactly, using the same or better materials at no charge.

His forehead furrowed. “I assure you that the catalogs are from the finest stores. Select any gowns you wish. Cost doesn’t matter.”

If cost didn’t matter, then he must indeed be rich.

“I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense.” He held the unmarred sleeve of the georgette gown next to her arm. “If I may make a suggestion, I’d choose a different color. Ivory doesn’t suit your fair complexion. Rose would better bring out the color in your cheeks.”

“But—” Ruth began to protest that the dresses weren’t hers when the peculiarity of his statement struck her. Few men could tell rose from blush. To most, both were pink. Yet this stranger clearly knew the full range of colors and hues. “Are you an artist? It’s not every day that I meet a man who understands color.”

He laughed. “Who doesn’t like a little color? Don’t worry. I’ll set things right. What do you say? Will you let me buy the dresses?”

The offer was incredible, especially when Ruth was to blame. “That’s not necessary—”

“Of course it is. We’ll get two that highlight your fine features.”

“But you don’t understand. The dresses aren’t mine. You see, I’m a seamstress, and these belong to a customer. I was supposed to deliver them before five o’clock so she’d have them for her garden party tonight.” Ruth broke off, acutely aware that she’d started blathering.

The man glanced at the Fox Dress Shop sign over the door, and a look of dismay crossed his face before he reined it in with a taut smile. “Then I’ll let your client choose the replacements.”

“You would do that?” Ruth tried to wrap her mind around such generosity. “But it isn’t your fault, and Mrs. Vanderloo is quite particular.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that suggested he smiled often. “Of course she is. But together we can persuade her that it’s to her best advantage to accept the replacements.”

Together? He was going to go to Mrs. Vanderloo’s house with her?

She must have been standing with her mouth agape, because that smile of his turned into a grin.

“I ran into you,” he said. “It’s only fair that I offer the apology.” He extended an arm. “Shall we?”

Ruth couldn’t breathe. This handsome, wealthy stranger wanted to escort her down Main Street in front of everyone. No man had ever done that, and this one didn’t even know her. Such a thing was not done. Tongues would wag. Ruth pressed her hands to her hot cheeks and pretended to check her hat in the window. Behind her, the stranger still held the dresses, and inside the shop her sisters grinned like monkeys.

They thought she was flirting.

She whirled away from the window and straight into the arms of the handsome man. Oh, no! She’d done it again.

“I’m sorry.” She backed away, her face blazing hot. “I didn’t realize you were standing so close. I—I was just checking my hat.” She patted it for emphasis.

The elegant suit, the gold cuff links, the silk handkerchief. A man like him would never be interested in a wallflower like her.

“You look quite presentable.” His easy smile warmed her in the most unnerving way.

It was just a compliment, she told herself. Nothing more. She was the one who’d let reason fly away on the wind. No doubt Jen’s ridiculous marriage idea had precipitated such lunacy. He just happened to match her criteria exactly. What if...? Ruth shook her head. Instead of fantasizing about relationships that could never happen, she should concentrate on the business at hand.

Mrs. Vanderloo was her customer. Ruth should handle the situation alone, but the man’s offer of two new dresses might appease the difficult client. The dress shop couldn’t afford to lose her business. Ruth had no choice but to accept. Of course, she would pay him back for the gowns. That should settle the matter.

“All right. I accept.” She might have to concede that point, but she didn’t need to take his arm. “I’d better lead the way.”

* * *

Sam Rothenburg’s day had progressed from bad to worse. First, the train had been late. Then he’d arrived at the store to find construction days behind schedule. When Miss Harris, the secretary, told him that his father was threatening to make a progress inspection, he had to find a way to spur the out-of-town crews to work faster, or Father would yank him off the project. Sam had proposed this store. He had to make it work.

He’d promised the work crews a bonus for finishing early, and they’d sped up. Then three crewmen dropped an expensive display case, shattering the glass and snapping the oak framing. Sam had left rather than lash out at the workmen. Head down and boiling with frustration, he never saw the shy, delicate creature step out of her shop.

She looked a few years younger than him. She was slender and rather plainly attired, and her gaze fluttered this way and that but never directly at him, rather like a frightened bird. Sam had never considered himself intimidating. The thought almost made him laugh. If she only knew how powerless he was. But she didn’t know him. No one here did. Per Father’s orders, no one would until after the store opened.

So he withheld his name and hoped she hadn’t seen his dismay when he learned she was a dressmaker. The moment Father realized a dress shop stood next to the future site of Hutton’s Department Store, he would crush it. Sam felt a little guilty. This lovely woman would soon find herself out of a job. That was why he’d offered to replace the gowns. It didn’t cost much to ease his conscience.

She hadn’t accepted his arm, however, showing an independent streak that impressed him.

He hurried to catch her. “You’re quick on your feet.”

She ignored his comment. “I suppose I ought to know who you are.” Her gaze never left the boardwalk ahead.

Sam swallowed his initial concern. This lady couldn’t possibly know who he was or what type of store would soon open next to hers. Father would not have given the Pearlman city council the Rothenburg name, thus no one could know a Hutton’s Department Store was opening in Pearlman. Father liked to make a spectacle of every grand opening. That was why the store windows were covered and an out-of-town crew hired. He even went so far as to use a holding company to purchase the property. Well before the Hutton’s Department Store sign was revealed, people’s curiosity would be piqued. It was a marketing ploy that had worked well in the past, and Sam expected it would generate the same response here. For now, no one must know the Rothenburgs were involved, including one lovely dressmaker.

“You can call me Sam.” No last name just yet. When pressed, he’d use Roth, but the shortened version of their name that they’d adopted during the Great War never sat well on his tongue.

“Sam.” On her lips his plain name soared. “Samuel. Like the Old Testament prophet.” Faint pink still tinged her fair cheeks. “I’m Ruth. Ruth Fox.”

Fox Dress Shop. With dismay, Sam realized she must own it. The unease returned. The arrival of a Hutton’s Department Store tended to drive local clothing stores into extinction. His family’s stores gave the common man or woman the chance to improve his or her station in life by providing fashion at affordable prices. Thanks to Hutton’s, a housekeeper could dress like a Vanderbilt at a fraction of the cost. In the past, only the well-off could afford to hire a seamstress or tailor. Those wealthy clients could continue with their hometown shop, but they usually abandoned the local tailor for the quality and value of Hutton’s merchandise. Progress was inevitable. It could also be painful.