LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      “I don’t mean to be impertinent,” he began, and both Nan and Jane shot him disbelieving glares. “But how can we be certain that you can create a fashionable bonnet?”

      Nan squared her jaw and set her teacup down with a defiant clink. “Let me show you my sketches.”

      She leaped gracefully from her chair and bustled over to a wicker basket, pulling out sheet after sheet of foolscap. “My sisters and I started our business making bonnets and hats to order for The Honorable Miss Elizabeth Glaspell and her friends.” She held out a sheaf of papers, and he accepted them. “These are my sketches. I worked with the gowns Miss Glaspell already owned, creating bespoke bonnets that matched perfectly, as though they had been crafted at the same time.”

      John nodded slowly, perusing the sketches. As he finished looking at each sheet of paper, he handed it over to his sister. Assessing her work from the male perspective, the hats and bonnets looked stylish enough. The women of his acquaintance would not be ashamed to be seen in them. Judging by Jane’s smile, she was satisfied with Miss Siddons’s skill, as well.

      Jane’s smile was the first real sign that his sister was beginning to thaw a trifle when it came to choosing any garment that might show her off on the Marriage Mart. Jane was slow to accept change, however. If he insisted on more than just a single bonnet today, she would likely dig in her heels and vow to stay at their country home as a spinster forever.

      “Very well,” he began, casting the rest of the sketches aside. “You may make one bonnet for my sister. Something to go with the gown she has on. If that works well, we may have other commissions for you. But I want to see your handiwork first. After all, these are mere sketches. I’d like to see the finished, fashionable result.” What he proposed was true, after all, and if he made it sound as if he was unsure of Miss Siddons’s talent, Jane might well jump to her defense.

      “I’ll create a sketch this evening,” Miss Siddons replied with a snap, two red spots appearing on her cheeks. “I think Miss Reed’s dress is perfectly suited to mourning, and I shall look forward to creating something to bring out her natural beauty.”

      John grinned. He couldn’t resist. Miss Siddons was just walking that line between trying to get a difficult customer’s business while maintaining her dignity. She was doing a smashing job of it, too. He touched Jane’s arm. “Come, Jane. We’ll leave Miss Siddons to it, then.”

      Jane cast an apologetic look at Miss Siddons and rose. “I am certain it will be more than lovely. Thank you for your time.” She shook her head at her brother, pursing her lips.

      “We’ll come back for the sketch later,” John added. “I assume you can have it done in one evening?”

      “You assume correctly, Mr. Reed.” Miss Siddons gave a defiant lift to her chin.

      His admiration for her restraint and her confidence surged, but he gave no outward sign of it. He trusted few people, and admired fewer still. So often, he had seen the reality of human nature—its pettiness and its greed. The people he kept company with in London were perfect examples of this, but they were all good for a laugh. Laughter was his most prized pastime, because it made him forget about Mother. He could forgive a great deal if it took his mind off Mother’s death. He shut off his thoughts with a snap. He could not show his admiration. After all, if Jane saw him weaken, then she might, too.

      “Glad to hear it.” He gave a brief nod and followed his sister out the door.

      * * *

      Why had she promised John Reed that she could come up with a sketch by morning? Nan scrubbed her hand wearily over her forehead. Because he goaded you, that’s why. She longed to wipe that smug expression off his handsome face. Handsome? She shook her head. Whether he was good-looking or not had nothing to do with her current misery. Since the pair had left her shop just a few hours ago, she’d done nothing but ponder over the lines of Jane Reed’s simple gown, trying to come up with an idea that would set Jane’s small but regal bearing off to perfection.

      The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven o’clock. She was due to have supper with Paul, Becky, Susannah and Daniel over at Kellridge Hall in less than an hour. In fact, Susannah and Daniel would come by in the carriage sooner than that. As a spinster, Nan had to rely on her wealthy wedded sisters’ largesse when it came to transportation. The shop, even at its most profitable, had not allowed Nan the funds to buy her own horse and buggy.

      Nan heaved a gusty sigh. What a day it had been, and it wasn’t over just yet. Not only was she creatively stymied, but she needed to put her frustration aside and pretend to enjoy yet another interminable family dinner.

      Not that she hated her family.

      It was just so difficult, watching her lovely older sisters with their doting husbands. Susannah’s small son would likely stay behind in the nursery, but her sister Becky would be there, her pregnancy just beginning to show under the high waist of her voluminous skirts. All her life, Nan had followed the path that seemed predestined for her, as the youngest, plainest and most sensible of the trio of Siddons sisters. She would be the one with a practical head for business. When her tempestuous sister Susannah finally surrendered to Daniel Hale’s charm, she’d left the shop behind for Nan and Becky. However, Becky was far too impulsive and romantic for such a prosaic occupation, and soon fled the millinery shop to become Paul Holmes’s wife.

      As the business at the shop settled, it created a pleasant enough rhythm for Nan’s life. She thought she could be satisfied with the lot she was handed. Even when Becky told her of her pregnancy, Nan fought back a rising tide of jealousy. She was simply never meant to be a wife or a mother.

      Once the village shop engaged the French milliner and her business began its sudden plummet—well, that was another matter entirely. Here she was, alone and with only her business to support her. She was beginning to question whether or not she even liked hats, which was entirely beside the point. Nan Siddons was the practical woman of the family, and managing the millinery shop was her destiny.

      What

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