Sweet Rogue of Mine (The Survivors #9) - Shana Galen Page 0,26
of the other fripperies other girls had. She always wore plain, serviceable dresses. That was what she had planned to make this time.
“That sort of pattern does not suit you at all,” Mrs. Northgate said when Pru described her vision.
“But that’s the sort of dress I am wearing right now,” Pru pointed out.
“I know, and I think we should burn it.”
“I can’t burn all my dresses,” Pru said, reasonably. “I won’t have anything to wear.”
“You will have this one to wear.” Mrs. Northgate held up the fabric. “Now, that vicar of yours will probably not like this, but we need a lower neckline.”
“A low neckline?” Pru’s eyes widened.
“Not low. Lower. And ruffles and a ribbon at the bodice. Your bosom is small, but we can make it look more substantial with some additions and padding.”
“But won’t that mean people are looking at my bosom?”
“That’s the point, my girl. Pay attention.”
She went on to describe a narrow skirt and tight sleeves. Apparently, these features would show off her trim waist and give the illusion of lush hips. After an hour or so, Pru stopped arguing and simply did as Mrs. Northgate told her. By the third afternoon, when she arrived, Miss Northgate and Miss Mary simply called, “Grandmama, that girl is here again!” and told her to go up to the boudoir.
They’d reached the part of the process where Pru was sewing the pieces of the gown together. Mrs. Northgate said her eyes were too poor to do much sewing these days, but she saw every misplaced stitch Pru made. She also insisted on showing Pru how to sew ruffles and flounces, and Pru heartily wished she had never been shown as they were time consuming and detailed. She could hardly complain, though. Not only was Mrs. Northgate gracious—if that was a word that could ever be applied to Mrs. Northgate—enough to direct Pru’s efforts, she had also given her a bit of ribbon and lace to add to the dress.
Not to mention, she liked coming to the Northgate house much more than sweeping clean floors at the vicarage or being shooed out of the kitchen by Mrs. Blimkin. The sewing was really not so bad once she found a rhythm. Mrs. Northgate often did not mind if Pru chattered on, but on this day Pru had been there several hours and had run out of things to say. She was sewing quietly, allowing her mind to run where it might. Often it went back to that day in the informal gardens at Wentmore when she had met Mr. Pope. She wondered how he was faring. The Northgates’ son, George Northgate, had reported to his grandmother that the work on the house was coming along fairly well. George had been sent to offer the laborers cider and apples at a price during the midday break and at the end of the workday. He did not report having seen Mr. Pope, but he had told his grandmother everyone kept a watchful eye out as they expected he might emerge from the house at any moment and shoot them all dead.
Pru thought perhaps George Northgate feared that, but she imagined the laborers were too busy to think much about anything other than their work. She should know after all these days of laboring at sewing. But it did rankle that even the son of the well-to-do Northgate family had found a means to earn extra coin, while she still wore boots with holes.
If only she knew how to hammer or patch roofs. Perhaps she could help the housekeeper—was there a housekeeper?—put the inside of the house to rights. But then she would be taking work away from the daughter of a family who probably needed it. She would have done the chore for free if it meant she could see the inside of Wentmore or have another chance at a peek at the peacock. But traipsing through gardens and singing songs and sewing ruffles would be of no use to Mr. Pope.
And then Pru knew what would. She stabbed her finger with her needle and yelped in pain.
“I told you to be more careful!” Mrs. Northgate had a handkerchief at the ready, handing it to Pru before a drop of the blood welling on her finger could fall on the fabric.
Pru wrapped her finger. “Thank you. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“I should say not.”
“It’s just that I had the most wonderful idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.”