The Roberts family was attending. Serenity and Wallace had returned from Virginia for a visit. Serenity’s midsection was well swollen with child, which at first seemed not amiss until I counted months, and remembered their marrying without much of the usual delay or planning. Depending upon when the babe came, I realized, it might have been made soon after his leaving me at the docks. Perhaps even before. Perhaps that would explain the level of distress the family had shown me? Others whom I met from Virginia that evening, men and women alike, had come quite bedazzled in lace. Wallace, of course, was dressed to his fullest flattery. As Serenity sat, swollen and pale, he danced, his carriage perfect as it had been before but now slowed and meticulous with the Virginia planter’s mien, so that he caught attention from men and women alike.
I tried to avoid their presence in order to have a pleasant time. Alas, that was not to be. During a lull in the dancing, Lady Spencer sent Portia Roberts to ask me to come to her side. When I did, Serenity and Wallace stood by her, along with another woman I did not know, a dark-haired woman with high cheekbones. She wore an exquisite gown of the same fine cut and craft as Lady Spencer’s yet without the ermine trim befitting a lady’s status. When she introduced me to the seamstress Johanna Parmenter, Mistress Parmenter bowed slightly lower than I had, and smiled most courteously.
As we began to talk, Cullah excused himself and said he had to speak with Lady Spencer. I knew of this, of course, for he wanted to ask her blessing on our betrothal. It seemed needless to me, but since she favored both of us—and that was her own choice when she could have easily banned me for the spurning by her son—I would be thankful indeed for her blessing.
Mistress Parmenter led me, taking my arm in hers, away from the Spencers to an alcove. “I asked to meet you for a purely selfish reason, Miss Talbot.”
I smiled, trying to place my emotions in reserve the way Lady Spencer did. “How may I please you, Mistress Parmenter?”
“I must know where you got the fabric you wear. France? It looks French. It must be. But you have paid a fortune for it and yet wear it so modestly. Perfectly elegant taste. Most women would add so much ruffle they hide the beauty of the fabric for which they have paid so dearly.”
“I would rather not say whence it came.”
“I must know. I swear I will keep your secret. Was it contraband? Oh,” she said, turning around me, as if inspecting a model. “Your lines are sleek and yet in style, and the ribbon, so subtle. But I apologize; it is not comely to observe so closely. It is only that I am allowed by Lady Spencer to come here to observe the fashions, so as to keep her in perfect currency of habit.”
“Oh. You are a dressmaker?”
“I am.”
“Then I will tell you the fabric for this gown came from my own hands and loom. I am a weaver.”
She frowned with a critical eye, leaning close to my bodice without any shame. “And who embroidered?”
“I did it myself.”
“Alone?”
“I have worked on this for many weeks. I am not by birth a craftswoman. I am permitted to wear this, even by sumptuary propriety.”
“I should say you are. But, la, you have been taught by a master.”
“I suppose. Some of what I was taught I have refined out of stubborn intention to create the finest cloth.”
“Do you have more? I will pay you twelve shillings a yard for this.”
“I have only some left, perhaps five yards. I would sell it for fifteen shillings. Each yard.”
“Done. When will you have more?”
“Do you want it exactly as this? I could create indigos and cream, or crimson, besides this purple.”
“The purple is divine, but I will take anything you create. Twenty yards of any color will do. Did you make your hoops and panniers, too? I thought as much.” Suddenly she leaned her head away from me, observing me again but with a strike of scorn on her face. “You are, then, a competitor.”
“I wist not, madam. I have no wish to fit ladies’ gowns and keep up with style. I would sell you my cloth, only spare me from having to sew tucks and whalebone for some lord’s spoiled daughter with bad taste and too much coin.”
Mistress Parmenter laughed and tapped her cheek lightly with her fan. “If you will promise to sell only to me, I will give eighteen shillings a yard. You may vary the design as you choose, as long as the amount of embroidery is about the same as this. Excellent work. I will not press you for speed, but if you will allow me to say that I purchased the cloth you wear from a specialist in France, so that I may show it and speak of it, I will have orders waiting within a week for everything you bring. We will both be well suited.”
“I prefer not to lie.”
She smiled and gave a low laugh through closed lips. “Then you will not. I will handle that for us both. If any asks you, simply say what you wish and shake your head at the boldness of a woman in business for herself. Let them think what they may.”
“I am sure I will have twenty in a month or less.”
“Excellent.” She threaded her arm through mine again and led me back to the dance floor where the dancers were in form for the final turn of a rondo. “Lady Spencer will direct you to my shop. There is no storefront or sign on a street. I work from my home, with fitting room and all. It allows a certain mystery which ladies who can afford my services find attractive. So, we shall work in mystery, too, in trust, with nothing written. I will trust you and you will trust me, and if at any time you do not feel so, you need only say and our contract will be dissolved.”