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Phoebe had dealt with many awkward situations in her fifty years. This one ranked alongside when she’d first come out into society and had met her father’s mistress at a ball and realising they were the same age. The very idea of a mistress went against all the grain. It was distasteful that Jacinda might put her in the same group as ... well, her peers. Most men in the ton had mistresses, often discarded after a year or two and replaced with a younger, sweeter model, on a never-ending cycle as they got bored with each one. After their wives produced heirs, they often chose a similar path.
Phoebe had always believed she could never do that to a person, except Jacinda’s comment made her investigate whether that was true or not. She’d spent the decade since Lord Merryam’s death having affairs with people at the Soho Club, not restricting herself by gender—the Soho Club did select people by their ability to pay for the services there so she tended to only meet her own class—and yet, one comment from Jacinda had her questioning her own morals. This was ridiculous.
Just as she was about to figure out how to put on her day gown by herself, the door opened and Jacinda walked in, followed by a petite dark-skinned woman, and a procession of several other women of varying ethnicities.
Jacinda issued instructions to the group of women, who grabbed fabric and pins, and began to create a gown from calico. Many, many, fingers brushed against her stays as they pinned and poked at her while they pleated the fabric around her. Jacinda watched, and occasionally made adjustments or comments to each of the women. She was a good leader, kind and thoughtful, and Phoebe readjusted her view of Jacinda. Or rather, she found herself embarrassed to realise that while she thought she’d always been thoughtful to her servants, that she didn’t actually understand their daily lives. Jacinda spoke to each of her seamstresses differently, with an individual understanding that demonstrated her knowledge of their lives.
After an hour of standing stiffly, Phoebe was dreaming of sinking into a soft chair and putting her feet up, then the seamstresses stepped back, and Jacinda inspected the final product.
“Give your address to Margs, my business partner—” Jacinda waved in the direction of the dark-skinned woman. “We will attend your house with the gown for the next fitting in four days, the day prior to the ball. Margs will prepare an invoice for you. I realise it’s not the done thing, but we expect full payment before you will receive the finished gown.”
It was unusual—arrogant—to expect payment prior to producing the goods, and yet Phoebe found it uncomfortably arousing to see Jacinda value her product so highly.
“What about?” Us?
“When you know what you want, feel free to visit for a fair discussion. I expect your honesty.” Jacinda stared at her, as if waiting for Phoebe to protest. Phoebe’s appreciation of Jacinda continued to grow.
“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness.” She wasn’t quite sure what had happened, or what she’d said to upset Jacinda, or even if Jacinda was still upset.
“You can dress now.”
“I’ll need your assistance.”
“Fine.” Jacinda glanced at Margs who bundled all the seamstresses out of the room, but not before she’d shot Jacinda a telling look. Phoebe wanted to know what they were going to say about her later.
“Damnation. I feel like a recalcitrant child being scolded by a parent.”
Jacinda raised one eyebrow. “I don’t have time for your puzzling comments. I’m trying to run a business here.”
“Did I do or say something wrong? I’m sorry if I upset you.”
Jacinda scoffed. “I don’t want your non-apology. Or your frown.” With a big sigh, Jacinda squared her shoulders and glared at Phoebe. “We had one night together, on an even footing when neither of us knew each other’s class. And now you’ve come into my place of business, propositioned me, and tried to smooth things over by purchasing an expensive gown. I’m not a curiosity. I don’t need you to throw your money around to impress me. I want to be treated as your equal, not your dirty lower-class secret. I don’t want to be a rich person’s mistress. I have a business to run, and you need to get onboard or stay out of my way.”
Phoebe nodded. “Understood.” She wanted to write down every word so she could think about Jacinda’s words very carefully.
“We will send word when the gown is ready for the next fitting.”
“You’ll need my address.”
“Send a servant with the details. This conversation is over.” Jacinda grabbed Phoebe’s day dress, helped her into it—without touching her—and quickly did up the hooks down her spine. When Jacinda’s breath whispered over the back of Phoebe’s neck, Phoebe shivered. It took a feat of focus not to lean back towards Jacinda, and as she left the shop without another word between them, she was weighed down by disappointment. In herself. If she wanted more of the vibrant connection with Jacinda, she needed to understand what she’d done and said wrong.
A few days later, Phoebe was still clueless. No amount of introspection had revealed why Jacinda so annoyed with her. Phoebe had lived a good life, had risked scandal as a young lady, before enjoying a solid marriage to a man who’d adored her, and now she was being challenged by someone who knew their worth. It added a fascinating element to one single physical moment together, and Phoebe wanted more. She sat at her desk and wrote a message.
Madame Fabriquer,
My desires are simple. I wish to spend more time with you, to understand you, and to use my position in society to help you.
Yours,
Viscountess Merryam, Lady Phoebe.
She sealed the message into an envelope and sent a servant to Cheapside to deliver it. Rather than sit here, pretending to read as she waited for a response, she ordered a hackney to take her to Adeline’s school near the Soho Club. She could spend a few hours reading to the children and it would be useful.
***
Jacinda read the note from Phoebe with interest. From the moment, Phoebe had let her gaze slip sideways during their discussion over the dress, Jacinda had pushed and pushed to try and figure out why Phoebe wasn’t telling her everything. The satisfaction at watching her squirm never came and in the week since then, she’d suffered through Margs’ teasing. Now she could show this note to Margs and they could plan how to grow the business with Phoebe’s help; because despite all her reticence, she wanted to spend more time with Phoebe. Not many people kissed like her. And no one had ever offered to tie her to a bed and thoroughly kiss her ... everywhere. It wasn’t just the offer to do it. Phoebe had promised her pleasure and she’d delivered. Was it greedy or foolish to want more with someone from a different class to her? Was it simply the novelty of being with someone who could make her body feel so good?
She stood up and walked into Margs’ office. “I need to visit Lady Phoebe.”
Margs smirked. “To negotiate?”
“If only it were that simple. She sent me a note.”
“And you will run to her at her command?”
“She has offered to help promote Madame Fabriquer.”
Margs lost the disbelieving expression and tapped her fingers on her desk. “Good. Obviously she wants to bed you again. This is good. We can use that desire.”
Jacinda ignored the jest about Phoebe’s underlying implication around spending more time together... in bed. “I’m not sure I want to be so calculating.”
“Honey, you need to be. This is her world, her class, that we wish to have as customers. She is trained to put her class above all else. Even if she doesn’t intend it, she will find it very difficult to unlearn that socialisation. We ... You need to remember that, at all times.”
“I was already worried that she saw me as a curiosity, someone to slum with, and I’d almost talked myself out of that as being my own issue.”
“And now I’m reinforcing your worries? Good, because they are real. This world lets Dukes get away with anything, and it punishes the rest of us for the smallest infringements.” Margs was correct. People were transported to Australia all the time for simply trying to feed themselves. Yes, Margs had good reasons not to like Dukes and their power, yet even with that bias, she was still correct. Her very existence—her life—effectively demonstrated that power. This wasn’t some theoretical concern for her.
“I’m torn on what I should do.”
“What matters the most to you?” Margs had a knack for knowing exactly how to get to the truth of a problem.
“This.” Jacinda gesticulated at their shop.
“Then utilise this connection for the shop. The rest will fall into place if you put your needs and your goals first. If it’s meant to be with Phoebe, it will work out. Until then, get what you need.”
Jacinda nodded. “Thank you.”
“You need to change before you head out.”
“Excuse me?”
“Think strategically. Wear something that shows the world who you are and what matters to you.”
Jacinda should’ve thought of that herself. She couldn’t turn up to a Viscountess’s home wearing one of her everyday work dresses. She needed to wear a day gown that demonstrated her design skill and showed her innate value to Phoebe. It needed to be a dress that said, “I respect myself. You need to respect me too.”
She knew exactly which dress would do the trick neatly. “The walking dress with the painted Indian muslin, paired with a velvet jacket in matching blue.”
“An excellent choice. It shows off your design skills and the quality of fabrics we exclusively source.”
An hour later, Jacinda stood on the steps to Phoebe’s impressive home and tightened her jacket around her shoulders. After a pause, she knocked. A butler answered the door and held out a silver platter for her calling card. Thankfully, Margs had superior penmanship and had hand-drawn the card for this occasion. She hadn’t been pleased that Margs had used one of her fabric scissors for cutting out the card, but the end product was worth the annoyance of blunting her scissors. The butler showed her to a room, and she stood next to the chair rather than sit on it and wrinkle her dress. She’d splashed out on a hackney cab to get here, and had stood up for the whole journey, so her dress would arrive in perfect condition with not a wrinkle to be found. Good fashion required some discomfort and now her arms were tired from holding on to the sides of the carriage for balance. No amount of reminding herself that she’d done this for Madame Fabriquer, not because she wanted to make a good individual impression on Phoebe, made any difference to the flurry in her stomach.
“Oh goodness. I didn’t expect you to respond in person to my note.” Phoebe bustled through the door with a huge smile on her face. If a smile could make a person feel wanted and adored, this smile achieved it. Jacinda almost forgot why she’d come here.
With a deep breath, she smoothed down the fine muslin of her day gown. “I want to discuss your offer to help Madame Fabriquer.”
“To help you.”
“Madame Fabriquer is a construct; I own half and Margs owns the other half.”
To Phoebe’s credit, she didn’t blink at that information. “I want to use my position in society to help you with your business goals. Please let me.”
“And in return you want me to be your mistress?” Jacinda needed clarification on what Phoebe expected. In her experience no one did anything for nothing.
“No. I’m so embarrassed that I implied such a thing.”
“And?”
“It was disrespectful to mention helping your business in the same breath as stating that I’d do it for kisses. Obviously, I want the kisses, but it’s not a transaction.”
“Is that an apology?”
“Yes. I’m sorry that I messed up. I’m sorry that I implied I wanted you to be my mistress in return for helping your business.”
Jacinda nodded slowly. She waited for a few breaths. “Where to from here?”
“What do you want? I should’ve started with that, not rushed in without listening.”
Jacinda didn’t appreciate having that question turned back onto her. “Margs asked me the same thing.”
“And?”
“Perhaps I’m greedy—”
“I can’t imagine it?”
“I want everything. I want to be the modiste for the haut ton... The one everyone must use. I want to see my best friend Margs thrive. And, for my sins, I want to bed you again.” She just didn’t want one to be reliant on the other.
Phoebe blushed. “You can have all those things and they don’t need to be a transaction. I want to kiss you because you are delightful. I want to help you because it matters to you, and I have the means to do so. Those two things don’t need to be beholden to each other.”
“You’d help me even if I didn’t want to kiss you?” Jacinda needed to clear. It was too good to be true.
“Yes. Look at that gown. The world should see your talent. My admiration for you and the way you conduct your business continues to grow every time I spend time with you. If you wanted nothing more from me, that would be reason enough to help you.”
“What do you get from it?”
“The pleasure of seeing someone talented succeed.” Phoebe lifted her chin. “I don’t have many talents of my own.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Jacinda almost blurted out that Phoebe had a very talented mouth.
“It is. I’m old enough to know myself well enough to understand that my true gift is to lift other people’s talents. From the moment I saw you at the Soho Club in that dress, I knew that whoever made that gown wasn’t just a brilliant seamstress but was someone who listened to her client. The gown was everything Lady S desired. It’s a rare skill indeed to be a good listener.” Phoebe paused for a moment, keeping her gaze firmly on Jacinda. “What happened afterwards was a bonus, not a reason to expend time and energy on showing the world how wonderfully talented you are.”
Jacinda nodded as the clarity of Phoebe’s logic started to infuse her mind. “I can remake this gown to fit you.” She wanted everything Phoebe offered, and more, yet she couldn’t quite ask for what she wanted. Was it too much to hope that they might enjoy a relationship together?