“Tea!” she huffed. “What am I to say to tea?”
Wendy had returned to her stitching. “What is there to respond? Go buy that oriental stuff and say thank you, all sweet like, so that he’ll give you some more.”
Helaine sighed. If only it were that simple. “He will think I accept everything else about him then. Everything else he wants.”
Wendy didn’t even spare her a glance. “He wants what he wants. All men do. More fool him if he thinks accepting some tea is the same as saying yes to everything else.”
“True,” she said, knowing her friend’s logic was sound. Except that she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to be more careful in her response. Exactly how would he interpret it if she went ahead and picked out new tea? Or, more dangerous yet, the tea he suggested?
“Unless…,” said Wendy, her voice taking on a sly tone that made Helaine glance up. “Unless you want the same thing ’e wants. Then I’d be much more careful in what I pick. Then I’d be choosing a tea that was sweet and spicy, jes’ like he said.”
“But that is exactly the kind of tea I like! The oriental kind that tastes exotic and special. He will never believe that I picked it out because it is just what I want and not because he suggested it. Ugh!”
Wendy burst out laughing at Helaine’s disgusted sound. “You are thinking too much about it. Buy the tea. Enjoy it! And maybe you’ll enjoy a mite more at the same time.”
“I cannot,” Helaine said, regret dragging at her every word. “I simply cannot.”
Wendy shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if it were me, I’d get the oriental blend.”
“If it were you, you’d pick up your mum’s favorite black tea and not think two snips about it.” That was because Wendy was of a practical mindset. And usually Helaine was, too. But not now. Not when it came to the devilishly handsome and vastly intriguing Lord Redhill.
She was still thinking about the problem the next morning when the first of three messengers arrived. Not letters, not notes, but actual messengers from the top three fabric merchants in London. All of them sent senior clerks who informed her most solicitously that they would welcome her business on credit. One even told her that his firm had set aside a special blue silk just for her perusal.
Unlike the tea, this was a gift she could not afford to refuse. She instructed each clerk that her agent would be contacting them shortly, then she dashed off a note to Irene. With this type of leverage, her friend would be able to negotiate incredible deals. Finally, their little shop had hope of success. So she decided to express her gratitude to his lordship. But how? Perhaps at her favorite tea shop.
She found the proprietor of the tea and medicine shop to be in an excellent mood. Mr. Withers was a generally pinched and tiny man, worn down by the day-to-day difficulties of trying to survive. His shop generally serviced struggling workers, and he was besieged daily by desperate people hoping to get miracle medicines for cheap. To have someone of Lord Redhill’s status visit him was exactly the boon everyone in business prayed for. And she could tell by the width of his smile that he had no intention of letting any link to Lord Redhill disappear. Which meant, of course, that he was intent on maximizing his connection with her.
“Mrs. Mortimer! How pleased I am that you came to visit today! Do you know I have been mixing a new special blend? Pray try it. I had you in mind when I began it, you know. You have always been such a delight whenever you visit. Why, just the other day…”
“Please stop,” she said. Once she had expected such immediate attention as her due, but now she found it unsettling. She had been walking into this shop for years now and rarely exchanged more than the most cursory pleasantries. Such overflowing of words from him left her distinctly uncomfortable. “I have merely come for some tea.”
“Yes, yes, the oriental blend.”
“No. Please.”
“Oh, dear,” he moaned, his face positively drooping with dismay. “He told me you might be difficult. He said I should insist, though. Indeed, he told me if you didn’t come here today that I was to send on the blend anyway to your shop. Please don’t make me do that, Mrs. Mortimer. My dear Millie would have to make the delivery, and you know how her feet ail her so.”
His dear Millie did indeed have aching feet, as did everyone else in this area of London. “Mr. Withers, I wish to purchase some tea to send to his lordship. By way of thanks.”
“Of course, of course! I was just mixing a special blend, as I said. One especially for lovers,” he added with a wink.
“What? No!” She should have expected this. She’d forgotten that she was no longer the daughter of an earl, one who could receive a gift from an admirer without people assuming the worst. But not now. Not as Mrs. Mortimer. Her gift of tea meant something else entirely. “His lordship and I are merely acquaintances.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, nodding his bald pate. “Discretion is always important.”
Obviously he didn’t understand that discretion meant going about business as usual. Not scraping and fawning over her.
“My purchase, Mr. Withers?”
“Yes, yes. As I said, my special blend.”
“Absolutely not! I wish something else. A dark tea, I believe.”
“An Earl Grey, perhaps? That’s very masculine.”
She nodded. But it needed something else. Something that was reminiscent of his lordship. “What if you add extra bergamot? To make it especially strong.”
“Yes, yes, but a bit overpowering, don’t you think?”
Exactly like his lordship, in her opinion. But Mr. Withers had a better idea.
“Perhaps we could soften the brew a bit. Add a touch of lightness, perhaps? A fruit or a spice?”
She didn’t want to admit that Lord Redhill had a lighter side, but she knew he must. He had a sister who adored him, and by all accounts he was the strength behind the title. “Raspberry,” she abruptly said. She had no idea why she thought a small bumpy fruit was appropriate for his lordship, but it just seemed to fit.
“An excellent choice!” Mr. Withers crowed.
“How much will a small tin cost?” she asked.
“Oh, my, I’m sure you don’t want a small tin.”
“I’m sure I do,” she returned firmly, knowing she would have to bargain quite sternly from now on. Once the local merchants heard that she was sending and receiving presents from Lord Redhill, the price for everything would soar.
Sure enough, Mr. Withers quoted an exorbitant price. She countered, and the bargaining went on tediously. In the end, she had to threaten to find another shop before he came to a reasonable cost. Eventually it was done, and “poor Millie” was thrilled to deliver the package herself despite her aching feet. All it took was for Helaine to seal the note that was to accompany the gift; then she added another missive for Lady Gwen and a third for Dribbs. She handed over the last of her meager coins. Fortunately, they were expecting payment from Francine’s father at any moment, so they wouldn’t starve for long. Or so she hoped. In the meantime, she needed to maximize the business she already had.
It was time to start discussing Gwen’s wedding shoes. A dress was just a dress, after all, even if one did get married in it. Most brides wore their dress again every Sunday afterward to church. But what the newly married truly cherished, what lay on the mantel for their daughters to exclaim over, were the wedding shoes. There would have to be ample room on the sole for the minister to write the bride and groom’s name, along with the date. The fabric would have to be delicate enough for a beautiful bride, but sturdy enough to be worn all day if need be. And the color had to exactly match the gown.
Which is why she headed directly for the Shoemakers’ shop. But when she arrived at their door, she received quite a shock. The store was closed. Helaine was a breath away from leaving when she heard the babe.
A child was wailing, and from the desperation in the sound, she guessed he had been crying for some time. Helaine could not go in through the store, but she knew the right stairs and climbed to knock on the door to the rooms above. No one answered, but when she tried the latch, it opened easily. Surely the Shoemakers would not have simply gone out and left the babe alone, would they? Surely not.