An Unlikely Suitor (9 page)

His face turned serious and he reached to touch her hand. “Not at all. Forgive me if I’ve offended you. I agree with your view about shallow conversation. I would honestly enjoy speaking with you in depth about any subject of your choosing.”

Rowena felt like a fool. For she knew nothing about Formosa, and for him to specifically mention the tragic love story
Romeo and Juliet
 . . . But then, a far different subject sprang from her lips. “How do you feel about our obligation to marry? Don’t you find it awkward?”

Edward’s raised eyebrows revealed surprise. But once again, he put her at ease. “It’s awkward and rather embarrassing, and yet . . . you are a charming woman, Miss—Rowena. If I am obliged to follow my parents’ instruction, I’m pleased you are its subject.”

Rowena felt tears threaten. “You are the kindest man.”

He shook his head. “But I’m not. All credit to kindness comes about because of you.”

She was unused to such compliments, to any compliments, and it made her fear they were offered out of pity. “I know I’m not like other women.” She realized she was looking down at her leg, and quickly looked up at him.

He took her hand fully in his and offered a reassuring squeeze. “No, indeed you are not. Thank God.”

Indeed.

That’s exactly what she’d do: Thank God.

Suddenly the curtain parted, and Mrs. Flynn came into the workroom. She strode to Lucy’s side and spoke softly. “Please come with me, Lucy. Miss Langdon is wearing your gown.”

“Does it fit?”

“Just come.” She walked toward the curtain.

The moment of truth had arrived. Lucy’s nerves sprang to attention. She smoothed her hair. She vaguely heard soft words of encouragement from the other women.
Please let the dress work.

As soon as Lucy entered the room she knew her prayer had been answered. Rowena Langdon walked toward her, her hands outstretched, her face beaming. “You? You’re the one who created this miracle for me?”

Lucy glanced at Mrs. Flynn. Had she actually given Lucy the credit?

Mrs. Flynn avoided her gaze. Lucy turned her attention to Miss Langdon, allowing her hands to be taken up. “So you like the dress?” Lucy asked.

There were tears in the girl’s eyes. “I have never felt so pretty—never felt pretty at all.” She smiled. “Until now.”

Rowena’s mother put a hand on her daughter’s arm as if a bit uncomfortable with the contact she’d made with Lucy. “We are indeed grateful, Miss . . . ?”

“Scarpelli,” Lucy said. “Lucy Scarpelli.”

In spite of her mother’s preference, Rowena held on to Lucy’s hands a bit longer. “Can you rally the same magic for all my new outfits?”

Mrs. Flynn interrupted. “It’s not magic, I assure you. There are many hours involved and much tedious handwork,
mademoiselle
.”

It was obvious the woman was working toward an extra charge of some kind. Lucy would’ve done the work for nothing. Just to know she’d helped Rowena feel pretty was payment enough.

The bell on the front door announced a new arrival. All heads turned to see Mr. Standish.

“Good morning, ladies. Mrs. Langdon, Miss Langdon. How nice to see you both.”

His greeting was reciprocated.

He studied Rowena’s dress. “My, my,” he said. “How lovely you look.”

Rowena beamed. “It’s Lucy’s doing. You are aware of my . . . dilemma, Mr. Standish, but now . . .”

He made a turnaround motion with his finger, his gaze glued to the garment. “To that I say,
what
dilemma?” Her revolution complete, he took her hands and kissed them. “You are lovely, my dear, and this dress only accentuates your beauty.”

Miss Langdon blushed. And though it seemed Mr. Standish’s flattery was a bit overboard, upon a second look, Lucy saw he was right. She’d considered Rowena a pretty girl, and the dress removed any awareness of her infirmities, but it seemed with that removal was an addition—a glowing countenance that indicated the woman standing before them was confident and worthy of admiration.

Lucy felt a wave of pride rush over her. And awe. She’d undertaken the task of fixing Rowena’s dress as a challenge, to prove herself
to
herself—and others. But to know she’d achieved something far beyond the sewing . . . had touched the wearer, had changed her . . .

Mr. Standish turned to the mother. “Are you pleased?” he asked.

“Very. It seems Miss Scarpelli has accomplished what no other seamstress has been able to achieve.”

An eyebrow rose. Mr. Standish looked upon Lucy. “You are responsible for this dress?”

A long explanation swept through Lucy’s mind, yet she simply replied, “Yes.”

“Bravo, Miss Scarpelli. You never told me you were so skilled at fitting.”

I didn’t know I was.
She shrugged. “I enjoyed working with Miss Langdon.”

Rowena perked up. “And I with you, Miss Scarpelli.”

Mrs. Flynn interrupted. “Actually, we have many skilled seamstresses who can work—”

“No,” Rowena said. “I want Miss Scarpelli to sew all my things.” She turned toward her mother. “Don’t you agree?”

Mrs. Langdon sighed. “Yes. I do believe that’s the way things should proceed.”

Mrs. Flynn shook her head. “But Miss Scarpelli is new here and should go through more training. Plus, she has other work assigned—”

Mrs. Langdon’s eyebrow rose. “Work more important than a wardrobe for my daughter?”

They all looked to Mrs. Flynn. Lucy almost—but not quite—felt sorry for her. There was no way she could deny Mrs. Langdon’s request.

Mr. Standish stepped in. “Your wish is our command, Mrs. Langdon. Miss Scarpelli will be in charge of your daughter’s wardrobe.” He looked at Mrs. Flynn. “Correct, Madame?”

“
Oui.
I’m certain something can be arranged,” Mrs. Flynn said.

“Will be arranged,” Mr. Standish said.

Mrs. Flynn hesitated, then gave in. “Will be arranged.”

He nodded. “I’ll come in tomorrow to check on the progress.”

Mrs. Langdon plucked a thread from her daughter’s sleeve. “Now let’s have Rowena try on her other outfits so Miss Scarpelli can make more of her alterations.”

Lucy tried not to smile.

But failed.

The unfortunate aspect to being Rowena Langdon’s personal seamstress was the amount of work it entailed. Nearly thirty outfits ranging from walking ensembles to ball gowns. The ball gowns would be the most challenging to alter because the bare arms and décolletage made extra padding harder to hide. At least the fashion tended toward having a short puffed or ruffled sleeve for evening wear. The sleeveless styles of a few years previous would have been far more difficult to adapt.

The fortunate aspect to being Rowena Langdon’s personal seamstress was her company. The girl was surprisingly candid—especially when her mother commandeered Mrs. Flynn and Dorothy to fit her own costumes and Lucy and Rowena were left alone in one of the private fitting rooms.

“I am to marry, you know,” Rowena said as Lucy worked to adjust a blue day dress.

“Congratulations.”

“No congratulations are due—as yet. I misspoke. I am not yet betrothed, but my parents have agreed with his parents—in theory—that the two of us would make a good match.”

Rowena did not sound enthused. Lucy would have liked to ask if she loved the man, but knew that would be too presumptuous.

Rowena continued. “A proposal is the goal of this year’s season in Newport. Edward and I are to fall in love and, as Father says, seal the deal.”

Lucy hated the air of resignation in Rowena’s voice, yet knew the wealthy had a fondness for arranged marriages. There were some advantages to being poor.

Though not many.

Rowena gazed in a mirror while Lucy worked on the train of her dress. “This is the first time I’ve been excited about getting new clothes. That’s your doing, Miss Scarpelli.”

Lucy spoke through a mouthful of pins. “I’m glad I could help.”

“It’s extremely important for me to be beautiful so Edward likes me and . . .” She looked over her shoulder, seeking Lucy’s eyes. She lowered her voice. “He needs to desire me.”

Lucy nodded. Attraction, desire, love. Attraction always came first, but as far as the other two? Which came first? It was not something a woman could control. Actually, there wasn’t much about the whole courting experience that anyone could control—which was yet another reason Lucy was glad to abandon the notion. Why would anyone choose to be a part of such a confusing, haphazard association?

Rowena turned forward again. “I have absolutely no idea how to be desirable in that way. It isn’t in my nature.”

“Nor in mine,” Lucy said.

“Really?”

“I’m far too practical to be flirtatious.”

Rowena laughed. “And I’m far too impatient.” She sighed deeply. “I’m so glad we met, Miss Scarpelli. I see God’s hand in our friendship.”

God’s hand? Friendship? Although Lucy enjoyed Rowena’s company, she hadn’t allowed herself to think they were friends. As far as God bringing them together . . . ?

Rowena was waiting for her response. “I’m glad we met too, Miss Langdon. And I—”

“Call me Rowena,” she whispered. “At least when we’re alone.”

“Rowena,” Lucy repeated.

Calling a wealthy patron by her first name. Perhaps God
was
involved.

Sofia pricked her finger and put it in her mouth. How appropriate. For once again, Lucy was the subject of praise and Sofia was merely her little sister, or even worse than that, completely ignored.

Why didn’t you think of a way to help a customer? Why didn’t you stay up all night to work on it?

Sofia shook the questions away, for she had no good answers. The truth was, she wasn’t creative like Lucy, nor as hardworking. To willingly forfeit sleep was absurd.

Then you’ll never receive praise. You’ll never get anything special if you don’t push yourself. Sacrifice a little.

The voices in her head needed to be silenced, so Sofia set her sewing aside, slipped one of her novels into the fold of her skirt, and escaped to the back room.

“Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,” she said under her breath. “She gets everything. No one even thinks about me.”

“Except me.”

Sofia whirled around and saw Bonwitter watching her from the shadows. How appropriate. She knew from her stories that evil always lurked in the dark. If she’d known he was there today, she never would have risked the storeroom.

Without another word, she headed back to join the others.

He lurched forward and stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Let go!”

He pulled her close. “I prefer you to your big sister any day.” He ran a hand over her bottom. And squeezed.

With all the energy she possessed, she shoved him away.

The memory of his hand upon her body followed her as she ran into the workroom.