Page 31 of A Stranger’s Promise

Heart still pounding, she collected the children and hurried back to the castle with the promise of extra biscuits for their afternoon tea. They ran up the path, one dark head, one red, as Charlotte followed. They’d no sooner crossed the castle lawn and arrived at the kitchen door when a maid shaking a sheet from a window above called down, “Best hurry, Charlotte. The dressmaker’s been waiting, lass.”

Charlotte frowned, puzzled, but nodded her thanks as she herded the children up the servant stairs and into the nursery. Dressmaker?

They entered the nursery and Charlotte noted the three large, iron-banded trunks stacked next to a slight, middle-aged woman with prematurely white hair, a pointed chin, and warm brown eyes who perched on a three-legged stool. The children hurried to the trunks and began to examine them.

“What’s all this?” Charlotte asked.

“Losh, the trunks are for you, Miss,” Meg exclaimed. “Day dresses, evening dresses, and a ball gown, as well.”

Charlotte looked at her, confused, and the woman rose spryly to her feet. “I am the dressmaker, my dear, and I am delighted to meet you, Miss Atchenson.” She crossed to Charlotte, then grasped her hands, lifting and spreading them wide. “Now, twirl in a circle for me.” Charlotte didn’t move and the woman grasped her shoulder and turned her. “What a fine figure you have.” She clucked her tongue in admiration. “We shall dress you like a queen.”

Charlotte pulled free and said, “I am no queen, madam. I am the governess. I feel certain the children are your clients. There’s been a misunderstanding.”

“Fanny, my dear. Please call me Fanny,” the woman quickly replied, her eyes crinkling in the corners. “And, yes, there does indeed seem to be a misunderstanding, but it’s not mine. Lord Cassilis did hire me to sew the children’s wardrobes. Their trunks are in their rooms

“That was Lord Cassilis’s doing?” Charlotte murmured. So, the man had taken her reprimand in the carriage to heart.

Fanny shot her a look. “He was quite adamant that I sew full wardrobes for both of them. I and my seamstress didn’t sleep a wink, I tell you.” She laughed and shook her head, then her expression shifted. “I have also been paid to sew a ball gown and all the rest—not children’s clothing. And not just any ball gown, my dear, but a most bonny one.” She hurried to the trunks and unclasped the lid of the one on top. When she tipped it up, Charlotte froze as crimson silk spilled from the chest.

“I would have been here much sooner.” The dressmaker touched the material to her withered cheek. “But it took some doing to find this particular shade. Such a lovely color.” She set the cloth aside, then pulled a length of crimson brocade from another trunk. “We will sew a sumptuously elegant, dainty creation, my dear, and we’ll trim the puffed sleeves with this brocade, as well as pearls, netting lace, and ribbon—”

“Crimson?” Charlotte finally managed to say.

Fanny gathered the material back into the trunk and shut the lid. “Lord Cassilis expressly asked for crimson silk.”

Lord Cassilis? Charlotte blinked. A crimson ball gown? How had he known? “It must be an error,” she said. It had to be—or else she’d divulged much more that night in the library than she’d thought she had. She winced at the idea.

Fanny’s sharp brown eyes smiled. “Much more than a ball gown, child. His lordship has commissioned me to supply your wardrobe, as well. I am to sew morning, visiting, and walking gowns, a riding habit and stockings, spencers, a pelisse for each—”

“Thedevil, no—” Charlotte swore, then clamped a hand over her mouth in wide-eyed embarrassment.

The dressmaker and Meg laughed. Even Oliver grinned wickedly.

Charlotte grimaced and lifted a warning finger at him. “My mistake is no excuse to not mind your tongue,” she warned, then faced the dressmaker once again.

The woman cut her off before she could say more. “You are welcome to ask his lordship, as you please. When I spoke with him earlier, he mentioned you might object. Told me to tell you to come right down to the library. I imagine he’s still there, love.”

Charlotte’s heart began to pound. She’d been trying to avoid him. She hesitated. “I shall be quick,” she promised, then left.

Minutes later, she stood before the library’s solid oak door. With a critical gaze over her blue gown, she smoothed her skirts and scowled at the frayed hem. Yes, she sorely needed clothes, but serviceable items, and, most definitely, not a ball gown—and a crimson one at that. She flinched. Crimson? Had she told the man her every secret?

“Enough, Charlotte.” She bit her lower lip to steel her resolve and knocked sharply on the door.

It opened before the third rap. Charlotte blinked. Lord Cassilis stood on the threshold as handsome as ever in a white, puffed-sleeve linen shirt with an ivory waistcoat and a pair of dark gray trousers.

“Miss Atchenson.” The low timbre of his voice turned her insides to jelly. He stepped back and he waved her in. “Come in. What a delight to see you, at last.”

“My lord.” She curtsied, then entered.

He shut the door, then faced her. “You have been avoiding me of late.”

“Not at all, my lord.” The lie sounded gruff and false, even to her own ears. “The seamstress is under the impression that she is to sew a wardrobe for me and—”

“She is,” he cut in with a smile.

Charlotte paused. The warmth of that smile could melt the coldest of hearts. She cleared her throat. “My lord, it is too much—”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he interrupted again.