burden on Clara. Since the doctor forbade me to continue on at Tiffany’s, she’s had to carry my share of the expenses. She’s barely able to afford our rent, let alone my tuition at the Art League.”
“Why have you and Clara never mentioned your financial worries? Didn’t you consider that I might be able to offer assistance or advice?”
“Our mother taught us not to bother people outside the family with our troubles. But to be honest, Mr. Driscoll, you seem more like my family than some of my actual relations.”
Touched by the girl’s unaffected openness, he slipped an arm around her thin shoulders. “Surely there must be something I can do to ease your troubles?”
“I was thinking …” She looked away, suddenly shy. “… that as a man of business, you must know a great many people. Perhaps you might inquire whether any of them have need of a governess or a lady’s companion?
“It’s gentle work, and I am amiable. My embroidery and sewing are above reproach, I read well, and I have a neat hand. I could pour tea for guests, and see to it that the lady of the house took her medicine at the correct times. I might even be able to manage the household, if it didn’t require physical labor.”
The buoyancy that was her nature returned. “When I’ve earned enough, I could take up my art lessons again without being a burden.” She touched his arm, a sudden anxiety overtaking her. “Mr. Driscoll, I don’t think it would be wise to mention this to Clara. She feels we trespass upon your time and goodwill far too often as it is.”
Driscoll kissed both her hands. “I won’t betray your trust. I shall put my mind to finding a solution to your predicament. You needn’t worry another moment.”
“Are you certain? I’d feel terrible if this were in any way an imposition.”
“Not at all. In the meantime, go upstairs and pin on your loveliest hat. We’ll go to Tiffany’s together to fetch your sister. The exercise will do you good.”
He watched her climb the stairs, hardly able to suppress the urge toshout for joy. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Dictates of society being what they were, offering financial assistance to the Wolcotts would require that he first ask for Clara’s hand in marriage. The prospect sent his heart racing.
He went to the cabinet where Miss Todd kept the sherry for medical emergencies and poured himself a good measure. Once married, he might help Clara establish a small shop-studio of her own, one in which she and Josephine could produce all manner of artistic froufrou. With their artistic talents and his business acumen, such an enterprise might even prove profitable.
His spirits soared at the thought of playing the role of benefactor. The effects of the sherry having worked on him, he was sure his life was about to take on new meaning.
She knew she should put the piece away, but could not—at least not while the sun was still shining. Holding the glass to the light, Clara admired the reflected patterns of red and yellow dancing across the walls.
“What do you have there, Miss Wolcott?”
Startled, she instinctively thrust the piece inside the crate and threw her apron over the top. In the doorway stood the last two people in the world she wanted to see. Had it been Mr. Tiffany alone, she would not have felt such foreboding, but the sight of Mr. Mitchell made her stomach cramp with fear.
“I asked you a question, Miss Wolcott.” Mitchell pushed past Louis. “I expect an answer. What are you hiding there?”
Before she could respond, he tossed aside her apron and grabbed at the fragile glass. At the sight of his clumsy hands mauling her work, Clara pushed him aside and plucked the shade out of the crate. She held the glass lampshade to the last of the day’s light. Immediately a kaleidoscope of color lit up every corner of the room. A shaft of red fell across Louis Tiffany’s face.
“Mr. Tiffany!” Her voice was urgent. “If you would
“Why have you and Clara never mentioned your financial worries? Didn’t you consider that I might be able to offer assistance or advice?”
“Our mother taught us not to bother people outside the family with our troubles. But to be honest, Mr. Driscoll, you seem more like my family than some of my actual relations.”
Touched by the girl’s unaffected openness, he slipped an arm around her thin shoulders. “Surely there must be something I can do to ease your troubles?”
“I was thinking …” She looked away, suddenly shy. “… that as a man of business, you must know a great many people. Perhaps you might inquire whether any of them have need of a governess or a lady’s companion?
“It’s gentle work, and I am amiable. My embroidery and sewing are above reproach, I read well, and I have a neat hand. I could pour tea for guests, and see to it that the lady of the house took her medicine at the correct times. I might even be able to manage the household, if it didn’t require physical labor.”
The buoyancy that was her nature returned. “When I’ve earned enough, I could take up my art lessons again without being a burden.” She touched his arm, a sudden anxiety overtaking her. “Mr. Driscoll, I don’t think it would be wise to mention this to Clara. She feels we trespass upon your time and goodwill far too often as it is.”
Driscoll kissed both her hands. “I won’t betray your trust. I shall put my mind to finding a solution to your predicament. You needn’t worry another moment.”
“Are you certain? I’d feel terrible if this were in any way an imposition.”
“Not at all. In the meantime, go upstairs and pin on your loveliest hat. We’ll go to Tiffany’s together to fetch your sister. The exercise will do you good.”
He watched her climb the stairs, hardly able to suppress the urge toshout for joy. It was the opportunity he’d been waiting for. Dictates of society being what they were, offering financial assistance to the Wolcotts would require that he first ask for Clara’s hand in marriage. The prospect sent his heart racing.
He went to the cabinet where Miss Todd kept the sherry for medical emergencies and poured himself a good measure. Once married, he might help Clara establish a small shop-studio of her own, one in which she and Josephine could produce all manner of artistic froufrou. With their artistic talents and his business acumen, such an enterprise might even prove profitable.
His spirits soared at the thought of playing the role of benefactor. The effects of the sherry having worked on him, he was sure his life was about to take on new meaning.
She knew she should put the piece away, but could not—at least not while the sun was still shining. Holding the glass to the light, Clara admired the reflected patterns of red and yellow dancing across the walls.
“What do you have there, Miss Wolcott?”
Startled, she instinctively thrust the piece inside the crate and threw her apron over the top. In the doorway stood the last two people in the world she wanted to see. Had it been Mr. Tiffany alone, she would not have felt such foreboding, but the sight of Mr. Mitchell made her stomach cramp with fear.
“I asked you a question, Miss Wolcott.” Mitchell pushed past Louis. “I expect an answer. What are you hiding there?”
Before she could respond, he tossed aside her apron and grabbed at the fragile glass. At the sight of his clumsy hands mauling her work, Clara pushed him aside and plucked the shade out of the crate. She held the glass lampshade to the last of the day’s light. Immediately a kaleidoscope of color lit up every corner of the room. A shaft of red fell across Louis Tiffany’s face.
“Mr. Tiffany!” Her voice was urgent. “If you would
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