Chapter 173
Philadelphia, 1764
The dirt road had turned to mud with the spring rain, soaking everything and clinging to his boots, making each step feel as if he were lifting a thousand pounds off of the ground. The horses must’ve felt the same way, dragging the wagon to town. If they hadn’t been out of some necessities, Christian would’ve waited to go, but he knew how important it was to his mother to have the items on her shopping list, so he’d fought the weather to come procure them. If he’d gone a little further into town, he could’ve benefited from the newly paved roads, but Christian had his reasons for choosing this particular shopping area, and little of it had to do with the fact that his mother preferred this neighborhood.
A break in the showers was a welcome change for everyone. As he stomped his boots off on the wooden walkway, the sound of chatter hit his ears. Suddenly, the streets around him were full of people. Hay sprinkled over the deepest trenches by those who maintained the roads would be helpful for others coming to fetch necessities. Looking around, he saw lots of well-dressed ladies heading into the dress shops and bakery. Perhaps some of Philadelphia’s finest were out doing more than buying ingredients for baking and home maintenance.
One of the items on his mother’s list was lace. She was working diligently on his sister’s wedding gown and wanted a specific ivory ribbon to finish up the decoration on the sleeves. He’d studied it closely before leaving to come to town so he’d be sure to get the right one. While sewing was not interesting to him, patterns were another story altogether, and Christian was confident that when he saw the same one, he’d know it.
With a deep breath, he approached Mrs. C. DuBois’s Dress Shoppe, an establishment his mother frequented in better weather. The rain didn’t bother her one bit, but Peter refused to let her go “Gallivanting about in the muck and mire in front of others.” Elizabeth bit her tongue when he barked at her that way. Christian hadn’t heard his mother disagree with his father in many years, not since that night he’d nearly been killed by that Vampire in the woods, the last time he’d gone hunting, the last time his mother had worn pants.
Inside the store, Christian heard chatter and giggles. He peered through the window, and a head full of blonde curls immediately caught his attention. She was here, working today, just as he had hoped. The realization both thrilled and terrified him at the same time. While he could’ve stood and gazed at the girl for hours, he’d have to find a way to speak to her. The last time he’d asked for her help in getting his mother’s fabric cut, he’d accidentally asked for “sink patten” instead of “pink satin.” She’d laughed but hurried to help him anyway, as was her job.
He thought her name was Daphne, though he couldn’t be sure. Eavesdropping wasn’t his best quality either. When Mrs. DuBois was there once as he stood near his mother, waiting for her to decide on a pattern, he’d thought he’d heard the shop owner call the blonde girl by that name. She might’ve said something else. Not that Daphne rhymed with many other names. Perhaps she was merely scolding a part of her leg that was being uncooperative that day—a daft knee. He wanted to ask her, to say, “By the by, beautiful creature, what is it you’re called?” But attempting to let those words pour from his lips would no doubt be a disaster.
Deciding it was now or never, and that never really wasn’t an option because his mother truly did need the lace, although he could go get the other items on her list and come back later…. No, it was now. Never wasn’t an option. Christian pushed through the door.
Daphne, if that were truly her name, was standing near a brunette with eyes so large she resembled a doe and another blonde whose waist was larger than his grandmother’s, looked up at him and smiled. Did she recognize him, or was she just being polite? Was it possible she’d been waiting for him to come back to the store? It had been a few weeks.
“Good day,” she called. “I’ll be with you momentarily.” That smile of hers lit her face, her pink lips turning up perfectly, her white teeth catching the rays of sun they were all so happy to see out at last.
“Thanks you,” Christian muttered and then cleared his throat, hoping she hadn’t noticed his mistake. He thought he saw a flicker in her eyes, but she said nothing about it, only turned back to the other girls. She was attempting to convince the large woman that she needed an extra two yards of the fabric she’d picked out if she wanted her seamstress to have “plenty to work with.” He felt sorry for Daphne for a moment. It must be so difficult to speak to these rotund women, to let them know their figures simply wouldn’t work in the latest fashions, and if they insisted on trying, it would cost them more. Not that either of the women looked as if they were hurting for funds. While many of the rich and powerful families of Philadelphia lived elsewhere, the healthy economy brought on by trade and the port benefited many residents beyond the big wig politicians and others who lived in their large homes nearer the Delaware River and William Penn’s perfectly planned park.
Christian wandered over to the lace. He saw the pattern his mother needed immediately. Once the shopkeeper was free from her current clients, it wouldn’t take her long at all to help him. Then, he’d go on his way, running the rest of the errands. Who knew when he might see her again? A wave of longing washed over him as he envisioned her here every day, smiling that dazzling smile at whatever gentlemen wandered in. Perhaps she already had a courter. Perhaps she was only working here until she was married herself, and then she’d be off to join her husband in a large house in a better neighborhood than this. It would be just his luck that he’d fall for a woman who’d already been claimed by another. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Whether she was or whether she wasn’t, it wouldn’t do to fret about it.
His hands were clean. He’d made sure of that before he’d come in. That last thing he wanted was to dirty his mother’s lace. It was bad enough he couldn’t help but track some mud into the boutique. He wasn’t the only one to do so. The floor needed to be cleaned. His eyes danced around for a mop. It shouldn’t have surprised him that Daphne didn’t keep her cleaning equipment out in the open. She was far too sophisticated for that. Besides, even if there had been a mop handy, would he have grabbed it and cleaned the floors? That would be absurd.
“I am being absurd,” he murmured, staring at the lace but listening to the conversation. It seemed fitting that the large woman’s name was Fanny. He heard the other woman call her that, saying, “Fanny, you truly should listen to the expert. I would get the extra yardage. Just in case. If you end up not using it for your gown, you can always use it for something else. Perhaps a handkerchief.”
Yes, Fanny Fatsworth, listen to your friend, he thought. Stop monopolizing the expert’s time.
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