Peggy hefted her bag with her broken shoe in it and pulled her cloak tightly about her shoulders as she thought about having the shoe repaired. All the better to be prepared for a swift departure. She made her way out into the frost-soaked morning, thinking perhaps it might even be possible to glean some relevant information about the local residents while she commissioned the cobbler’s work. A young, supposedly orphaned lad from out of town who had been sent from a convent to aid in fieldwork or whatever sort of additional hands a small country farm might need would be few and far between in these parts. Someone must remember his arrival only four years before. She was counting on it.
The cobbler was a pockmarked young man with a stall that could hardly be classified as more than a drafty lean-to that was braced against the side of his small home. The door shut out the wind, but it was rather cold in the building with the want of a fire.
She learned that he was new to the area himself and far more interested in finding out what sort of goods the tinkers had brought to the market square than answering her questions. She soon learned that he was new to the trade as well, and as such was not yet in the way of crafting shoes. He was only barely skilled enough to repair the damage that had been done during her travels. Still, her heel was mended, and that was all she had needed. If only he might be convinced to answer one or two more questions so that she might ascertain who best to approach next, she would be happy.
She had nearly given up hope of collecting any useful information from their encounter when the door opened and they were approached by an exquisite young lady with golden hair and startling green eyes. The combination was enough to declare her a diamond of the first water in even the most competitive of London seasons, but her wide, genuine smile led Peggy to believe that she would not place much stock in such titles based on features alone. A true lady would not smile at her so. Perhaps she too was a daughter of a tradesman.
In the few moments it took for the lady to greet the bumbling cobbler, Peggy, who considered herself a fair judge of character, had decided that this female was a pure, unsullied soul. A rarity in Peggy’s experience. The poor cobbler, who had dipped into a bow so low that his cap tumbled off into the dusty clutter at his feet, blushed as red as a tomato while he attempted to brush the cap off upon his knee. He only succeeded in spreading the damage to his trousers, which flustered him further. The lady averted her eyes and pretended not to notice. Furthermore, she did not find humor in his discomfort. She did not even move to feign a stifled laugh. She simply focused her attention upon his collection of tools and began to talk, giving the young man time to collect himself without an audience.
“I wondered if you had found the time to mend the seam on my slipper?” the young lady asked by way of distraction. Her golden-yellow gown, just a shade darker than her hair, was a shock of color against the dull backdrop of the shop. The pastel would normally mark her as unwed, and Peggy thought it strange she was not accompanied by a groom or chaperone. Perhaps she was simply a young bride. Of course, this small village was not London, but still, a young lady should be chaperoned if she were unmarried.
“Of course, there is no hurry if you haven’t,” the lady continued. “I am aware that I had instructed that I wouldn’t require it for at least a fortnight, but I thought that I might as ask since I found myself in the village.”
The cobbler ducked his head in shame. “I meant to hop a wagon to the big house and tell you,” he began sheepishly. “I might’ve broken the buckle a bit, but I was able to order a match through the catalogs. It arrived two days past, but I haven’t put it on yet.” He was speaking at an increasing pace as if afraid of her censure, and all the while his cheeks continued to darken. “I truly am sorry, M’lady. I know it was a foolish error, but I promise I am getting better. If you’ll still accept my work, I can have it done within the hour. At no cost, of course.”
Without warning, the young lady turned her piercing eyes upon Peggy, who had not meant to listen in on the conversation but could not have excused herself before she had paid for her own services.
“And you,” the lady asked. “Have you been well served by this cobbler?”
Peggy was at first shocked by the question, so she fumbled to hold up her boot so that the lady might look upon the repaired heel for herself. “I have no complaints. He was efficient and well-mannered,” she replied, noting the sigh of relief from the cobbler, who had perhaps been unsure if he had done a fair job of conversing with a female customer.
“I am pleased to hear it,” the lady said with a nod. She smiled and pulled a coin from her wristlet, pressing it into the cobbler’s callused hand before her. “I am perfectly satisfied with a new buckle. I appreciate your initiative in ordering a replacement. That is just the sort of workmanship for which Lord Belton was hoping to expand the shops in Riversbend. We appreciate you joining our small town and encourage you to continue to master the trade.”
“Thank you.” The cobbler beamed and bent once more at the waist. “Thank you a hundred times over. And please, tell his lordship that I find myself most at home here.”
The lady turned to make her exit but stopped to wait for Peggy to complete her payment. “You’re not from around here,” she said with a tilt of her head, the gesture indicating that Peggy might walk with her if she pleased. She did.
“I’m not really from anywhere.” Peggy laughed. “But yes, I have only just arrived.”
The lady looked askance, just seeming to realize that Peggy was quite alone.
“Just arrived? With the peddlers?” The lady’s brow shot up in surprise when Peggy nodded. She sighed, a secretive smile drifting across her lips. “My own father would never allow such a thing,” she said, shaking her head. “It must be so romantic to travel from town to town, to see all the sights—the excitement—and meet new people every few days.”
“I would not call it romantic.” Peggy laughed. For herself, romance was the very last thing on her mind as she made the lengthy journey from London to Riversbend. Not once had she looked upon a strange man’s face and felt even the smallest inclination to flirt. She’d felt eyes upon her, looks of male appreciation cast her way, and had pulled her cloak around her to hide her womanly curves. She had resolutely turned and walked in the opposite direction each and every time a man paid her notice. She was an attractive enough female, with thick dark brown hair, and was thin enough but soft, with the womanly curves that had presented themselves after her body had gone through the transition of carrying and birthing a child. But Peggy was old—eight and twenty to be exact. Too old to be bothered with thoughts of a husband. Perhaps five years ago, before her captivity and while Adam had still been young, but now she saw little point in the effort. No one would want her with a child, and she was not giving up her son. She had plans of her own and would not allow them to be disrupted by a stranger who thought he knew what was best for her.
The young lady at her side, at the very least a handful of years her junior, was still in the prime years of romantic musings. Of course, she would think that traveling cross country with a group of troubadours and traders would be a life filled with excitement. While there certainly had been men and women enough who found their comforts in each new village, most of those in the party were families, exhausted from the constant pulling down and setting up of their wares and sleeping under little more than a waxed canopy.
“Are you married to a gypsy?” she asked with a bit of trepidation. Clearly, the thought—combined with Peggy’s fine clothing—had confused the lady.
“No,” Peggy said.
“Then, how does one find themselves in such company? Your husband must be very accommodating.” The lady giggled. “I swear, I’d have horses after me within the hour!”
It was then that Peggy realized that the young lady thought that she too was a member of the gentry, a married lady. That would be expected, given her age. Peggy glanced down at her gown, the cast-off of a very wealthy duchess, and laughed herself.
“I’m no lady of noble birth,” she revealed, “and I have no family left to send horses after me, husband or otherwise.”
The lady hummed to herself before looking upon Peggy with a sadness beyond her years. “I suppose that the care of my family, and sharing moments with them, can make up for my lack of adventure.”
Peggy smiled, though she did not entirely agree with the sentiment. “If you have a loving family, then yes,” she replied. She might have given the indication that she had no living relatives, but the reality was that she had none with which she ever cared to associate again. She had chosen to take to the road rather than seeing her father again. She had chosen Adam over her father once, and given the opportunity, she would choose the same if she had to do so again.
The lady’s features transitioned from pensive to mischievous. “Did you enjoy traveling with this group?”
Peggy nodded.
“Have they exciting wares?”
Again, she gestured the affirmative.
The lady giggled. “Then I suppose I have some shopping to attend to. If you have not noticed, several of our shops are still without merchants, and many are without merchandise. I haven’t been able to buy ribbon in half a year at least.”
“There are ribbons aplenty in the tinker wagons.” Peggy grinned. “Mabel has a secret collection she only brings out for special customers. I am sure that I can persuade her to part with some.”
“I feel my purse becoming lighter already.” The lady laughed as they left the cobbler’s poor shop. “Do lead me to the purveyor of ribbons,” she said as she waved Peggy ahead of her.
Peggy smiled and led the way towards the wagons as the woman spoke. “Allow me to introduce myself,” she said politely. “I am Honora Belton of Whitefall Manor,” her new acquaintance said.
“Lady Honora,” Peggy whispered, surprised.
“I know I must look affright, but we don’t stand on ceremony.” She lifted her skirts slightly to show sturdy boots. “After all, we don’t even have respectable sidewalks.” It was true parts of the streets that weren’t cobbled were given over to mud. In fact, with the recent rains, the dirt of the side street was becoming rather soft.
Lady Honora held out a gloved hand. “Please,” she said. “Call me Nora.” She gave Peggy an appraising look.
“Margaret Williams,” Peggy replied with a dip of her head and slight curtsy.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Margaret,” the lady replied.
“Peggy to my friends,” Peggy added.
“Peggy then, and I do hope we will become friends,” she said while hooking her hand through Peggy’s bent arm.