Lily George - A Practical Partnership

As they neared the shop, John squinted to read the sign leaning up against the wall. Siddons Sisters Millinery Shop.

Siddons.

There was surely but one Siddons family in Tansley Village—and he and Jane were visiting one of them now. After Father died, John had no idea what he had to do, and frankly, he hated trying to figure it out alone. There was no one to turn to but Paul Holmes, an old friend, for advice on getting his affairs in order and for taking over the proper management of a vast estate. Paul had welcomed the Reeds to Kellridge Hall in Tansley. John and Jane had been enjoying the hospitality of Paul and his wife, Becky Holmes née Siddons, for the past two days.

“I say—” he began, but the young woman ignored him, opening the door to her shop with a flourish.

“Please come in,” the woman said, ushering them both inside. She removed her bonnet, displaying a coronet of tightly wound chestnut braids. Funny, it was not a fashionable style in the least, for women of his acquaintance preferred Grecian styles, or long, tumbling ringlets. Yet despite its severity, it suited her rather well.

Jane stepped in hesitantly. “It is rather more like a home than a shop.”

The milliner drew a chair before the hearth and stirred the fire. “I’ll have tea ready in just a moment,” she called as she bustled about, retrieving the tea things from a nearby cabinet.

John watched her flying around, and once again, that mischievous urge tugged at him. “I’d rather like a chair, too, if you don’t mind.”

Jane shot him one of her I-shall-throttle-you-if-you-don’t-behave looks, for his mild-mannered sister loathed his jesting nature. He thought he would be able to get away with his outrageous behavior, since Jane had not chided him earlier for goading the milliner, even though he’d been teasing her since she first walked up and started talking to them. He returned her look with his I-shall-force-you-to-a-London-soiree eyebrow raise, for his sister’s weak point would always be her hatred of all social events and functions. Jane’s cheeks reddened and she shifted her gaze to the fire.

“Oh, of course,” the milliner replied. Though she trotted over obediently enough, he caught the sarcastic curl of her lips. She was playing at being polite although he could see it wasn’t exactly aimed toward him. That knowledge ignited the spark of jest within him.

“Thank you.” He sank into the chair she drew up and crossed his legs with the practiced elegance of a dandy. “I prefer sugar with mine. And a biscuit.”

She nodded, biting her lip as though biting back an acerbic insult or two, and he was hard-pressed not to laugh. She was jolly fun, whoever this Siddons girl was. Being in her company could almost make him forget that the weight of the world—or at least, the weight of his family’s good name—now rested on his shoulders.

“Pay my brother no mind,” Jane spoke softly to the milliner. “As I said before, he loves to tease. And he’ll be happy with any kind of tea you have. I know. His tea appetite is simply appalling. Father used to say he would eat us out of house and home.”

The milliner shot Jane a grateful look, and her small smile tugged at his conscience. He didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. As she swished past him to retrieve the tea things, he tried to give her a wink, but she was looking in the other direction.

“You have the advantage of us, miss,” he observed, taking off his gloves and holding his hands to the fire. “You at least have heard my sister and I bickering enough to know our given names. But we know nothing of you, other than that you are a rather direct shop owner. Are you a Siddons, then?”

“I am Nan Siddons,” she replied, graciously enough, as she set the tea table before them.

Nan. He’d vaguely heard Nan mentioned in passing around Kellridge. Always her name, it seemed, was coupled with work.

“I am Jane Reed, and this is my brother, John.” Jane stepped in gracefully, taking over the flow of conversation as she assisted Nan with serving the tea.

John watched his sister, working with Nan so easily, talking to her as though they were old friends. Jane had never responded this effortlessly to strangers before. Jane was as quiet as a church mouse, bookish and given to playing endlessly on her violin. Her impending debut—once they were out of mourning, of course—was the cause of much consternation in their home. Yet here, in the comfort of the Siddons Sisters Millinery Shop, she was holding her own quite well.

He accepted his teacup from Nan with a nod of thanks. This sudden change in his sister’s demeanor gave him pause. Perhaps Nan was the right person for this job after all. Not just for one bonnet, but for every agonizing step in preparing his sister for her London debut. Her calming nature, along with her candid manner, made her quite a good candidate as his partner in this venture thus far.

Much as he turned to his friend Paul Holmes for assistance in wrestling with his father’s vast estate, could he turn to Nan Siddons for assistance in transforming his shy, reluctant sister into a diamond of the first water?

He eyed her over the rim of his teacup. The color in her cheeks rose, and she twitched in her chair, moving so that he could only see her in profile.

“Let us discuss the matter of your bonnets,” she said to Jane in a brisk tone. “What, do you feel, is lacking in the bonnet you have now?”

“Nothing, really.” Jane cast a reproachful look at John. “My brother feels I should be more fashionably dressed. I don’t feel it’s right, since I am in mourning.”

“You dressed plainly before Father died,” John scoffed. This was a familiar, and tender, point of contention between them. “When our mourning period ends and you go to London for your debut, you simply must dress as a young lady of your station should. No more unadorned gowns and simple hats. If I have to rise to the occasion, taking over as man of the family, so should you rise to the occasion of being a typical well-bred young lady.”

“Whether it’s fair or not, people judge a woman by what she wears,” Nan put in quietly. “Here, in Tansley, a young lady can dress in basic, practical attire. In fact, my shop caters to the women of the village. My hats and bonnets are sturdy, rather than elegant, because I want them to last a long time. But in London, you will be compared to other young women, and if you look shabby, it could reflect badly on your family.”

“It would reflect badly on me as head of the family,” John added pointedly. Nan understood his position, even if his sister did not, and for that he was ridiculously grateful.

“So the intent of dressing you well, or at least to a certain outside standard, would have two purposes. First, and most important, to make you feel more comfortable in your role as debutante.” Nan took a sip of her tea. “Second, to assure your place in society as you try to find a husband.”

Jane made a tiny groaning sound. John sighed. This was further than he’d ever been able to get. Normally by now, Jane would’ve fled. A tiny ray of hope shone into his soul. Nan Siddons could help him. Perhaps, if he could convince her to come, this one aspect of his new role would be a success. He might be a scoundrel, and he flirted with atheism, but all the same, he could do well at one thing in his life. It would be good not to be a bitter disgrace to his parents’ memories.

But could Nan produce the kind of fashionable clothes that a London debut would require? He studied her once more. She was neat and something in her demeanor was attractive enough, but she would never be called stylish. He looked around the room, peering at the bonnets in various stages of creation. These were, as she indicated, sturdy and practical. Not at all suitable for, say, a ride along Rotten Row.