Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Day 4
Day 5
Day 6
Day 7
Day 8
Day 9
Day 10
Day 11
Day 12
Epilogue
About the Author
Afterword
Copyright © 2019 by Tabetha Waite
Cover Art Design by Wicked Smart Designs
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with VellumI’ve always enjoyed stories by Charles Dickens, who celebrated the unsung, common-born heroes. In honor of his works, I hope you enjoy my Regency take on those a little less fortunate.
Chapter 1
London, England
December 4, 1815
Miss Pleasant Hill stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her gaze riveted on the sign in the shopkeeper’s window. She ignored the weight of the basket in her arms, the jostle from the passerby, and even the cold chill of icy wind mixed with tiny pinpricks of ice that flew at her face and coated the covering on her hair. None of it mattered, because that sign was the answer to her prayers.
While Pleasant stayed plenty busy as a washerwoman and caring for her sick mother and three younger siblings, taking on another position as an apprentice for a cordwainer was something that would require little effort. Her father had been a cobbler in Ireland, so she already had experience in how to repair shoes, even if she’d never manipulated the leather from scratch to create a specific design.
But with this bit of extra income, it might just be enough to give her family the Christmas season they all deserved.
She set the basket on her hip and pushed open the door, glancing up at the silver bell that heralded her entrance. Beside it was a clump of festive greenery.
“Mistletoe,” she whispered, as the lovely, welcoming heat of the shop enveloped her, followed by several familiar scents.
“May I help you?”
Pleasant turned her head at the sound of the smooth, even timbre of the masculine voice. But instead of seeing a face to go with the sound, no one was behind the counter. She took a couple steps forward and saw the profile of a man’s body on the other side of a wooden beam. He was sitting on a crude stool with an apron draped over his common clothes, and was using a burnisher to shine the bottom of a boot.
But it wasn’t what he was doing, so much as his appearance that had arrested her attention and made her tongue abruptly stick to the roof of her mouth. Unlike most shopkeepers she’d met in London, he was younger, likely in his early-thirties, if she had to guess. His dark hair had yet to turn gray, although it was lighter in spots, as if he’d spent a lot of time out-of-doors. Without any facial hair, his strong jaw was clearly defined, and when he turned his head to look at her, she was surprised to find that his eyes were as green as hers.
She wondered if he might be as fascinated by her as she was with him, but when his gaze flicked along her form without any sort of interest, her hopes fizzled away. “What can I do for you, miss?” he asked almost impatiently this time.
Finally, Pleasant found her voice. “I’m here to inquire about the apprentice position.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I see.” He set aside the boot he’d been working on, laying it on a wooden shelf with several others, and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands. He tossed that on the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, causing the muscles in his upper arms to tighten under his shirt.
