Pleasant grinned widely. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him in appreciation, but she refrained. “Thank you, Mr. Reed.”
He then quoted her a wage that was more than what she could have possibly hoped for.
During the next hour, when customers didn’t interrupt him, he showed her where things were, and when he seemed satisfied that she was comfortable, he said, “I’ll leave the first pair of half boots in your capable hands, Miss Hill. If you have need of me, you have only to come out front and ask.”
“Yes, Mr. Reed.”
Pleasant took a seat on a stool similar to her employer’s, although she had a table to work from. There were already several pre-cut pieces of nankeen hanging up about the room in varying shades. For the most part all she had to do was thread the laces and attach the soles to these pieces, a procedure she was already familiar with.
For the next few hours, she toiled over her task while the bell above the shop door tinkled methodically. She was working so intently on her third pair that she didn’t realize it when she was no longer alone.
“I thought you might like some lunch—”
Pleasant jumped and effectively stabbed herself in the finger with the needle. “Ow.” A bright red bead of blood began to form, and she quickly shoved it into her mouth, so that it wouldn’t drip onto the light green cotton she had been sewing.
“I’m sorry,” Mr. Reed said from behind her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Here,” He held out his hand to her. “Let me see it.”
“’Tis fine,” she mumbled around her finger, but when he gently tugged on the appendage, she reluctantly surrendered. She couldn’t help but notice that he’d removed his apron, leaving him in only a plain lawn shirt, breeches and boots, making him look rather dashing. Her cheeks instantly warmed, so she was glad he wasn’t looking at her.
Instead, he frowned at the slight injury and pulled a white handkerchief from the pocket of his trousers. Pleasant’s eyes widened at the sheer quality of it…right before he pressed it against her finger. “Hold this there. It will help stop the bleeding.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, although she couldn’t stop using her other hand to rub the soft cotton between her fingertips. She had never felt anything so fine, and now she had probably ruined it.
“It was a gift,” he said, as if reading her thoughts.
“It’s very nice,” she murmured. “I’ll launder it today. Perhaps I can get the stain out before it sets in.”
He shrugged. “It’s not dear to me, so if it doesn’t come clean, I won’t be heartbroken.”
Pleasant wasn’t sure how to respond to that curt statement. He must not have either, for he handed her a package. “What’s this?” she asked.
“Something to eat.” He glanced at her form. “You look like you could use it.”
She didn’t think it was a compliment, but she took the item from him nevertheless. “I’m more sturdy than I might appear,” she returned. But as she unwrapped the packaging and spied a scone, her mouth instantly began to water. She couldn’t remember the last time she had indulged in something so delicious. She took a bite and couldn’t stop a moan of pleasure from escaping. “It’s lovely,” she sighed. “Where did you get it?”
He stared at her for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was saying, but then he blinked and muttered, “The bakery down the street.” He held out an apple, which she accepted gratefully. Until then, she hadn’t realized how hungry she’d been.
“Thank you. I will pay you back for the expense, of course—”
He waved a hand and cut her off. “You’ve deserved it. I nearly forgot you were back here, and then I find that you’ve already completed two orders for some rather special customers. Lady Thistlebury and her daughter will be quite pleased their boots are early.”
He inspected her work and nodded in approval. “Very well done, Miss Hill.” He glanced at her, and his green eyes twinkled. “I think we shall get along quite nicely.”
Warmth seeped into Pleasant’s cheeks again. “I think so too, Mr. Reed.”
Once again, Cornell’s chest tightened. It was a rather foreign sensation, to be sure, for while he had been attracted to any number of women over the years, had partaken of his share of liaisons, they had usually been experienced courtesans who were more than willing to share their experience, and their curvaceous wares.
And yet, here was this slip of a girl, who had known loss and hardship, and was still able to live up to her name.
Pleasant.
In all of his travels on the sea, stopping at different ports across Europe and Asia, he had never met anyone like her. And suddenly, he wanted to know so much more—starting with the color of her hair, which she kept bound and out of view.
He reached out and gave the covering a light tug. He expected to see some sort of mousy brown, but instead, her hair was a deep, rich auburn, a shade so fascinating and unexpected, that for a moment, he couldn’t speak. It made all the difference to her complexion, turning her wan skin warm and appealing, and her eyes into hypnotic emeralds. “Beautiful.”
He wasn’t even aware he’d spoken aloud until her forehead puckered rather adorably. “Pardon?”
Instead of repeating what he’d said, he tossed the rag to the side. “I don’t want to see that on your head anymore.”
“But, I—”
“No. More,” he reiterated.
She sighed. “Very well. I won’t wear it in the shop.”
While he considered it a travesty for such a lovely sight to be hidden at all, he had to admit that her duties as a washerwoman might be easier if she kept her hair out of her face. He offered a brief nod and strode back to the front of the store.
Unfortunately, the rest of the day didn’t pass in the unassuming manner for Cornell as the first half had. He found himself staring off into space more times than he cared to count. Not even when he’d been on the ship, waiting for the wind to pick up the sails, had his attention drifted off so poorly. Then again, he hadn’t found his interest piqued by any of his crewmen either. But neither was it the first time he’d ever noticed a woman with striking red hair.
But combined with Miss Hill’s pitiful backstory, something that even Daniel Defoe hadn’t likely concocted in his imagination, and her willingness to work her fingers to the bone just to provide a decent holiday for her family…needless to say, it certainly made him rethink his entire character.
Exactly how long had it been since he’d spoken to his half-brother who lived right here in London?
Cornell gritted his teeth. He had to stop this awful self-doubt. It would get him nowhere. Besides, one would have thought he’d grown a stiffer backbone after years in the navy. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t witnessed his share of loss, tragedy, and death. Or that he was incapable of understanding struggle. He’d grown up doing all sorts of odd jobs just so he could help his mother make ends meet. When she’d passed, he was only fifteen. Without any other option open to him that he was amenable to, he’d signed on as a cabin boy, and worked his way up the ladder until he finally made captain, a spot he’d held until this past July when he’d finally decided he’d had enough of blood and battle to last a lifetime. So, he’d returned to English soil and opened his shop at the beginning of August, and for the past four months had already built a steady following that he was proud of.
Although that decision might have never come to pass if it hadn’t been for the death of his father…
