footfalls on the stairs. “I have watched you these many years, Edith. And what I have learned is that if I want to catch a husband before I’m a bitter spinster from whom desperation flows like the Thames, all I need to do is the exact opposite of what you do.” Dorcas lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs.
Edith gaped after her sister. Bitter? Desperation? How dare she, the impudent child!
She squared her shoulders, lifted her skirts, and ascended the stairs in a slow, deliberate pace. Did they all talk about her and call her a desperate, bitter spinster when her back was turned?
She would show them. Before the season ended, she would be at the altar—and she fully intended to become Lady Thynne, not Mrs. Carmichael. Her American cousin might have caught the viscount’s attention, but she would never keep it. Not if Edith had anything to do with it.
Caddy sent Alice down to the waiting cab with their sewing kits and stayed to help Miss Dearing’s maid remove the pinned gown. She wrapped the silver-and-green silk in white muslin while the maid helped Miss Dearing dress for dinner in another of Caddy’s creations. The deep purple satin brought out the coppery highlights in the American’s hair, and Caddy congratulated herself on choosing the color for her.
“I shall bring the gown out for a final fitting a few days before the ball, Miss Dearing.” Caddy stepped forward and adjusted the lace along the scooped, off-the-shoulder neckline of the dinner dress.
“Thank you, Miss Bainbridge. I look forward to it.” Miss Dearing extended her right hand.
Caddy reached out and shook it, amused by the American’s unusual ways. No woman of Caddy’s acquaintance, including her clients, would ever have considered shaking hands with her. But she liked the idea that Miss Dearing, an heiress to a railway fortune if the rumors were to be believed, saw Caddy as an equal. Someone to be respected and proud to be acquainted with—not someone to be hidden away, shunted off through servants’ passages and back doors.
She gathered up the bundled gown and departed, taking a moment in the hallway to get her bearings and remember the direction to the service stairs.
With the bulky bundle over one arm and using her free hand for balance against the wall, Caddy sidestepped down the narrow, steep stairs, watching her footing carefully. With Mother’s illness—real or feigned—Caddy could not afford to incur any additional medical expenses by falling and breaking an arm or leg. Nor could she afford to be out of work while she recovered. Best to be overly cautious.
She was almost to the lowest level when someone came barreling up the stairs from below. The passageway would have been just wide enough for two to sidle past each other, but not with the additional bulk of the gown.
Caddy pressed herself against the wall, ready to apologize for blocking the way. But the man who stopped on the half-landing below did not look like a servant. Not in a silk waistcoat, fawn breeches, tall boots, and a perfectly tailored hunting jacket.
“Well, who have we here?” He came up two steps until he stood directly below her. “I’ve not seen you around before.”
Caddy dipped her knees into a curtsy as best she could, given her awkward balance and the narrow space. “I do apologize. If you will let me pass, I will be out of your way directly.”
He stepped up onto the same level as Caddy. He didn’t tower over her the way a certain handsome doctor did—no, he was mere inches taller than she. And she could smell the spirits on his breath mingling with the nearly overpowering scent of his cologne. She took shallow breaths, trying to keep from gagging over the effect of the combination in such a confined area.
“Let you pass? No, I do believe I will keep you here with me so I can get to know you better.” He looked her up and down. “You’re not wearing the usual afternoon gray gown of all of the other maids, so either today is
Edith gaped after her sister. Bitter? Desperation? How dare she, the impudent child!
She squared her shoulders, lifted her skirts, and ascended the stairs in a slow, deliberate pace. Did they all talk about her and call her a desperate, bitter spinster when her back was turned?
She would show them. Before the season ended, she would be at the altar—and she fully intended to become Lady Thynne, not Mrs. Carmichael. Her American cousin might have caught the viscount’s attention, but she would never keep it. Not if Edith had anything to do with it.
Caddy sent Alice down to the waiting cab with their sewing kits and stayed to help Miss Dearing’s maid remove the pinned gown. She wrapped the silver-and-green silk in white muslin while the maid helped Miss Dearing dress for dinner in another of Caddy’s creations. The deep purple satin brought out the coppery highlights in the American’s hair, and Caddy congratulated herself on choosing the color for her.
“I shall bring the gown out for a final fitting a few days before the ball, Miss Dearing.” Caddy stepped forward and adjusted the lace along the scooped, off-the-shoulder neckline of the dinner dress.
“Thank you, Miss Bainbridge. I look forward to it.” Miss Dearing extended her right hand.
Caddy reached out and shook it, amused by the American’s unusual ways. No woman of Caddy’s acquaintance, including her clients, would ever have considered shaking hands with her. But she liked the idea that Miss Dearing, an heiress to a railway fortune if the rumors were to be believed, saw Caddy as an equal. Someone to be respected and proud to be acquainted with—not someone to be hidden away, shunted off through servants’ passages and back doors.
She gathered up the bundled gown and departed, taking a moment in the hallway to get her bearings and remember the direction to the service stairs.
With the bulky bundle over one arm and using her free hand for balance against the wall, Caddy sidestepped down the narrow, steep stairs, watching her footing carefully. With Mother’s illness—real or feigned—Caddy could not afford to incur any additional medical expenses by falling and breaking an arm or leg. Nor could she afford to be out of work while she recovered. Best to be overly cautious.
She was almost to the lowest level when someone came barreling up the stairs from below. The passageway would have been just wide enough for two to sidle past each other, but not with the additional bulk of the gown.
Caddy pressed herself against the wall, ready to apologize for blocking the way. But the man who stopped on the half-landing below did not look like a servant. Not in a silk waistcoat, fawn breeches, tall boots, and a perfectly tailored hunting jacket.
“Well, who have we here?” He came up two steps until he stood directly below her. “I’ve not seen you around before.”
Caddy dipped her knees into a curtsy as best she could, given her awkward balance and the narrow space. “I do apologize. If you will let me pass, I will be out of your way directly.”
He stepped up onto the same level as Caddy. He didn’t tower over her the way a certain handsome doctor did—no, he was mere inches taller than she. And she could smell the spirits on his breath mingling with the nearly overpowering scent of his cologne. She took shallow breaths, trying to keep from gagging over the effect of the combination in such a confined area.
“Let you pass? No, I do believe I will keep you here with me so I can get to know you better.” He looked her up and down. “You’re not wearing the usual afternoon gray gown of all of the other maids, so either today is
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