“Well,” said Miss Hayworth, leaning close, “it looks like it should be an easy enough fix, thankfully. You may go early to take care of it.”
I stared up at her in confusion. “Take care of it?”
“Yes, yes. It’s a quick mend. Go now, and you probably won’t be late for Mister Bricker’s lesson.”
I didn’t move right away as I let the impact of her words sink into me. “A quick mend,” I repeated.
Annoyance filled her features. “Yes, now go!”
Spurred by her command, I hurried out of the classroom, taking only small satisfaction from Clara’s outrage. When I was alone in the great hall, I surveyed my skirt’s tear and felt despair sink in. For anyone else, this probably was an easy mend—unless you’d never mended anything. I’d occasionally done fancy, very fine needlework, and if she’d wanted me to embroider flowers on the dress, I could’ve managed that. I had no idea how to mend something like this, but dutifully borrowed one of the manor’s sewing kits and went to my room.
There, I found a housemaid cleaning. I retreated, not wanting her to see my ineptitude, and instead chose to work in the conservatory. It was unoccupied; the music teacher wouldn’t be here for two days. I unlaced my overdress and settled down on a small sofa. I wriggled out of the voluminous garment and spread the fabric over my knees. It was a light, rose-colored wool, suitable for our late spring weather. It was thicker than the fine silks I’d embroidered, so I randomly chose a larger needle and set to work.
My maids had always threaded my embroidery needles for me, so that alone took time. And once I started sewing, I knew it was hopeless. I didn’t know how to seamlessly mend the tear. My stitches were uneven and badly spaced, creating obvious puckers in the fabric. I paused and stared at it morosely. My regular excuse about being a lady’s maid wouldn’t get me out of this. Maybe I could make up a story about how my abysmal sewing skills had gotten me dismissed.
The sound of the conservatory door opening broke my rumination. I feared someone had come to check on me, but to my astonishment, it was Cedric who entered. Remembering I was in my chemise, I promptly exclaimed, “Get out!”
Startled, he jumped back and nearly obeyed me. Then, curiosity must have won him over. “Wait. Adelaide? What are you doing? Are you . . . are you . . .”
“Half-naked?” I draped the overdress over me. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
He shut the door, looking more curious than scandalized. “Actually, I was going to ask . . . are you sewing? Like with a needle and everything?”
I sighed, irritation overcoming my embarrassment. I wondered what he was even doing here. He’d stopped by the manor only once since my initial arrival. “Can you please go before this situation gets any worse?”
He moved closer, daring a hesitant look at the dress I was clutching to me. The torn part of the skirt hung near my knee, and he knelt down to get a better look. “You are sewing. Or well, something sort of like sewing.”
The dry remark was enough for me to ignore his being so close to my leg. I snatched the torn skirt away from him. “Like you could do any better.”
He straightened up and sat on the couch beside me. “I could, actually. Let me see it.”
I hesitated, unsure of giving up my coverage—or revealing my ineptitude—and then finally handed the dress over. The chemise I’d worn under it was deep blue but still thinner than modesty allowed. I crossed my arms over my chest, angling myself away as best I could while still managing to look over and observe him.
“This is a quilting needle,” he said, pulling out my stitches. “You’re lucky you didn’t tear holes in this.” He replaced the needle with a smaller one and threaded it in a fraction of the time it had taken me. He then folded over the torn fabric and began sewing with neat, even stitches.
“Where did you learn to do that?” I asked reluctantly.
“There are no doting maids at the university. We’ve got to learn to make our own repairs.”
“Why aren’t you there today?”
He paused and glanced up, carefully keeping his eyes trained above my neck. “No classes. Father sent me out to get status reports from here and Dunford Manor.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a lot to say about my progress.”
His response was a smile as he returned to his work. His hair was casually unbound today, framing his face in soft auburn waves. “I’m afraid to ask how this happened.”
“Defending Mira’s honor once again.” As I spoke, I realized with a pang what the accusation had been—and his role in it. I had to avert my eyes briefly before turning back to him. “Clara was being typically mean.”
This caused another pause as he looked up with a frown. “Are they still harassing her?”
“Less than they used to, but it’s still going on. She handles it well, though.”