A Mistaken Match. Whitney Bailey

nodded. Pride stirred in her middle.

      “Handmade lace and embroidery are rare skills around here.”

      “It isn’t as difficult as it appears. I am far more impressed with your quilt work.”

      Delia’s dismissed Ann’s compliment with a wave of her hand. “Everyone quilts. My baby sister is already better than me. But lace like this!” She chewed her lower lip. “I wish I could buy this piece for the shop today.”

      “Buy it?” Ann’s voice rose half an octave. She paused and continued in a more ladylike tone. “You believe you could sell my lace?”

      “Certainly. But I’m only an apprentice. Mrs. Williams, the shop owner, would have to make the decision to sell your work here. She’ll be back tomorrow. Can I keep this and show it to her?”

      James stepped forward. “Is it really all that special? That kind of lace, I mean?”

      “Absolutely!” Delia stood and held the handkerchief a few inches from his nose. She traced a slim finger along one of the scallops. “See this pattern? It was made by embroidering scores of stitches, one on top of the other, to build up the design. There’s no backing to guide it, like bobbin lace, just a needle and thread. Lace like this requires true talent.”

      Ann’s mind raced with figures. It would cost one or two dollars a week for a boardinghouse. Twenty-five dollars to repay James for her steerage ticket, followed by the agency fee—the price of which she couldn’t even guess. Still, she’d brought with her several dozen handkerchiefs. If they fetched half a dollar each, she might have some hope of supporting herself.

      “Do you have any idea how a handkerchief like this might be priced?” Ann could barely contain the tremor of excitement in her voice.

      Delia walked to the window and held the handkerchief in front of the glass. Sunlight streamed through the embroidery and painted a patterned shadow on the floor. “It’s hard to say. We won’t have many buyers in New Haven for something so fine, but we are getting more customers from Columbus. And it’s English-made, which is very popular.”

      Ann laughed. In England her work was maid-made.

      Delia looked up when she laughed and smiled back. “Five dollars.”

      It was good Ann remained seated. Otherwise she might have fainted. Had she heard right?

      James coughed and backed into another dress form. “Did you say five dollars?” he croaked.

      “Like I said, I’ll have to check with Mrs. Williams, but I think that’s how she’d price it.”

      Ann’s head was spinning. “When will you know?” she breathed.

      “You’ll be at church this Sunday?”

      Ann looked to James. He nodded.

      “Wonderful. I can tell you then if Mrs. Williams is interested. If she is, I’m sure she’ll wish to meet with you.”

      Ann moved through the pleasantries as if in a trance. It was only when James lightly touched her elbow that she realized they were leaving. She returned Delia’s hug goodbye, and allowed James to guide her to the door. Once on the sidewalk outside, with the shop door safely shut behind them, James let out a long, low whistle. His green eyes met hers and he squeezed her elbow. “Five dollars!” he said, as if it were a fantastic secret between them.

      His excitement added to her own. She drew a deep breath to retain her decorum. “Mrs. Williams might not think it’s worth so much.”

      James laughed. “Even a few dollars is a lot of money for some old handkerchief.”

      Ann stiffened at the comment. “Needle lace takes years to learn and countless hours to create a few inches.”

      “I believe you. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

      James’s loose hair flopped over his right eye and he hadn’t yet raked it back into place. The sight positively unnerved her. It was hard to concentrate as he gazed at her through the sand-colored strands. Why hadn’t he swept it back?

      A realization flickered. “You intended for me to meet Delia, didn’t you? She was the new friend you mentioned?”

      “Delia or Mrs. Williams. I thought you’d find something in common with them and could make a friend during your short time here.”

      “And you like it? The needle lace, I mean?”

      He raked the hair from his forehead and met her gaze straight on. “Beautiful but impractical.”

      A shiver coursed through Ann’s shoulders. He wasn’t just talking about the handkerchief.

      James extended his arm toward the wagon, and helped her alight onto the seat. “Where’d you learn it?”

      “Hmm?” His strong hands had touched her lightly as he held her palm and arm, but the phantom sensation of his touch remained. Her other hand throbbed lightly from its burn, only serving as further reminder of the last time they touched.

      “The lace. Who taught you how to make it?” James hauled himself onto the wagon seat and flicked the reins.

      “We were instructed in basic embroidery at the orphanage. When I entered service, I took handkerchiefs out of my mistress’s dresser and studied the needlework. Later, I would copy it.”

      “Why were you in an orphanage?”

      James didn’t know he’d asked Ann two questions. She’d lived in an orphanage twice in her life, but for very different reasons each time. Explaining the reason for her first stay was easy. Even thinking of telling him about the second made her stomach hurt. “Why are American children sent to orphanages?”

      James squinted at Ann through dark lashes and nodded slowly. “Of course. I apologize for the callous question. You lost your parents. I’m sorry.”

      His voice grew soft as he apologized. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his hand. To let him know she appreciated his words. The hand closest to her rested palm up on his knee, the reins slack upon his fingers.

      He caught Ann staring at them and gripped the reins.

      Ann averted her eyes. “Delia seems like a nice girl.” She’d seemed like more than a nice girl. A few minutes with her and Ann felt she’d found someone she could confide in.

      “All of the Ludlows—and the Renners, for that matter—are good people. You’ll get to meet many of them at church.”

      “You aren’t going to make me stay home? Hide me away until you hear from Mrs. Turner?” she teased.

      James blushed. “I told you we’d tell everyone the truth. Or at least most of it. We met through an agency and you’re staying with me and Uncle Mac to see if we suit. There’s really no other way to explain why you’re living in my house. Besides, half the people in town seem to know already.”

      He was right. Mr. Davis hadn’t so much as blinked when James directed him to charge her purchases to his account. She now saw how ridiculous her inquiries regarding positions of service in New Haven had been. To all of New Haven, she would always be the intended Mrs. James McCann. It would be too awkward for any of them to hire her on. If she wanted a new position, she’d have to leave. Not only would she be starting yet another new life, but it must be far away from here.

      Ann played with the hem of her sleeve and her breath caught in her throat. She must handle this next topic delicately. “We haven’t yet discussed the terms of my staying with you.”

      He shot her a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

      Ann swallowed hard. “I—I don’t have much money at the moment, to pay for room and board. However, if my handkerchiefs fetch as dear a price as Delia believes, I can repay you for everything. My passage. The agency’s fee.”

      James