A Practical Partnership. Lily George
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with you standing, as though you might bolt from the room at any moment.”
“My apologies.” He pulled a spindly wooden chair up so that he could sit opposite her. “I know we can convince your sisters. Have no fear.”
The corners of her mouth quirked. “You’ve not spent much time in my sisters’ company. They are not as easily persuaded as you seem to think. That’s not the only thing that makes me hesitate, however.” She waved her hand as though brushing the matter of her stubborn sisters aside. “There is also the matter of my shop. I don’t see how I can continue running it efficiently if I am to be staying with Miss Jane in Grant Park.”
He smiled with relief. Was that all she was concerned about? That silly little shop of hers? “Oh, I am certain I can pay you more than that tiny place can make in a year.”
Nan’s posture grew rigid and her expression hardened, making her look more like a spinster than he had ever seen her. “Do you really think so?” Her words, though perfectly polite, were an icy challenge.
He leaned back in his chair, studying Miss Nan Siddons from the top of her braided coronet to the tips of her slippers peeking out beneath her skirts. She was a bit of an enigma. Talented, to be sure, and far too intelligent to stay hidden away in a country hat shop, toiling away for years and years on the same ugly old bonnets. She was spirited beneath the mask of stolid composure she always wore, and she hated being teased.
He knew for a fact she couldn’t bear to be made fun of, and that thought attracted him at this moment more than anything. Nan Siddons could be jolly good company if she let herself go just a bit, and the only way he could force her to relinquish some of her prim airs was to tease her quite hard. He glanced over at the doorway. No sisters, either his own or hers, were present to interfere or tell him to stop.
“I do think so,” he responded, a slow grin spreading across his face. “In fact, I know so. Why, if I paid you to create one gown for Jane, you’d get a bigger profit than you have these few months, I think. Why else would you have come running after my sister and me, trying to snag us as customers, if you weren’t desperate for cash?”
Nan’s steady gaze faltered, and as she stared at the floor, her shoulders sagged just a trifle. Why wouldn’t she speak up? He wanted a spirited debate with her.
“I don’t see why you need to consult with your sisters, either,” he continued, leaning closer in toward her. “After all, you had quite a bit of trouble getting them to care about your shop last night. Why do you persist in asking for their permission?” Nan seemed a decisive enough person. Why did she persist in asking her sisters for consent, as though she was a child? It was so strangely out of step with the rest of her straightforward, efficient behavior. Her candor was one of her most appealing characteristics. Why hide it?
“Because...” she trailed off, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I suppose I feel I must.”
“Aren’t you your own woman?” He raised his voice a little in challenge. She needed to let go of this ridiculous notion that she must ask blessings of her sisters. She needed to drop that mask of practicality and deference, and revert to her usual frankness. If she did, then he would see that feisty side of her that he enjoyed so much. “You’ve run your own business for long enough, I daresay, to determine whether or not you can do as you choose with your life.”
“I don’t know...” The expression on Nan’s face walked a fine line between anger and triumph. She was rising to his bait, and at any moment, she would agree to his challenge.
Life would not be dull at Grant Park if he could spar with Nan Siddons. Why, he might be able to submit to the yoke of being master if he could look forward to a few moments of skirmishing with her a little every day.
He would try a bit of a different tactic. “Of course, if you’re scared—”
“I’m not afraid,” Nan snapped, and she rose from the settee. She began pacing, her slippered feet making no sound on the rich Oriental carpet. “If I could only make you understand. My sisters and I have always been quite close. The shop was Susannah’s and she left it to us. It’s been our hope of independence all these years.”
“Times change.” He rose, too. Why was she holding back? “Your sisters don’t need the shop anymore. You won’t either, if you have any sense. Do you really want to be chained to a dingy little shop for the rest of your life, making ugly old bonnets for tired old women—”
Nan spun around on one heel and slapped him, hard, across the face. “They aren’t ugly!”
As he touched his burning cheek, Nan fell back a step, breathing rapidly. “Oh, forgive me. I am so sorry. I should never have struck you. I just couldn’t bear to hear the shop spoken of that way.”
He had pushed too far, teasing her more than she deserved. In his haste to help her declare her independence, he had reached Nan’s limit. “No, don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have said that. Jane says I am too harsh.” He eyed her carefully, rubbing his sore cheek. “Do you still want to work for me? I should say, for my sister?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, as though gathering strength. Finally, she looked up at him as though really seeing him for the first time.
“Yes.”
Nan trudged up the pathway that led to Kellridge, her valise banging against her hip with each step. The Reeds had offered to pick her up at the shop in the carriage, but somehow, she could not accept their kind offer. For a journey of this magnitude, she must put one foot in front of the other. Striking out on her own was just the way to start this new phase of her life.
To some, it might seem as though she was merely walking to Kellridge, where she would meet the Reeds and ride off with them to their country home. But this meant so much more. Meeting them and leaving Tansley from the shop would seem too hasty, abrupt even. This walk provided distance. Though she had spent the past fortnight working to put the shop in order, thereby allowing it to hum along smoothly in her absence, there was still a tug at her heart as she closed the shop door behind her.
She would be home to check on things in another fortnight, before returning to the Reeds’ home.
She must remind herself of this fact. This was not the end of her life in Tansley. She would be back soon, but it just wouldn’t be the same.
Life would never be the same again.
She inhaled deeply, breathing in the brisk spring air. Winter was leaving for certain, and yet there was still an icy, keen edge to the wind. This was a perfect time of the year for new beginnings, if one believed in poetic comparisons. She was striking out on her own as cautiously and yet as willingly as a sprout pushing its way up from the earth.
Nan stifled an internal groan. She was becoming as ridiculously poetic as Becky.
As she picked her way down a particularly rocky vale, her foot slipped on a rock. She tripped and slid down the last bit of valley, nearly losing her valise along with her footing. She skidded to a stop and tugged at her dress and cloak. She must have looked so ridiculous. What a way to begin her new attempted independence. Falling down was inefficient when one was hoping to land firmly on one’s feet.
“Nan! Are you quite all right?” Jane’s voice echoed in the valley. Nan glanced around and caught sight of her friend making her way down a steep path, one that led to some of the smaller, nearby farms. “I thought for certain you were going to fall.”
“So did I,” Nan replied with a smile. She picked her way over to Jane’s side, taking care to keep from sliding down atop an avalanche of pebbles. “What are you doing out here? I thought you would be at Kellridge, making last-minute preparations and saying your goodbyes.”
“No. I—I had a few friends I wanted to say farewell to before we left.” The color rose in Jane’s cheeks until it reached