Unraveled (Turner #3)(10)

He looked up at her approach, and his face lit. “Miss Darling. You survived. How did it go?”

“As well as you might expect.” And that was all he was going to get from her. “I do hope that Old Blazer is well.”

Jeremy gave a halfhearted shrug. “He’s got a bit of a head-cold. Or, at least, that’s what he said. Mama says he’s just malingering. But you haven’t told me anything. I worry about you.”

Old Blazer wouldn’t have worried about her. He would have been worried about the gown she’d borrowed, and he’d have been grumbling already about the length of time she’d had it.

But Jeremy was so serious, so intent on doing everything right. Nothing made an easy friendship more awkward than a man who wanted to help.

“Don’t,” Miranda said. “Nothing happened.”

He had enough to worry about as it was. The last thing he needed to hear, after that unfortunate business with George, was that Miranda had found herself hip-deep in trouble with a magistrate.

He gave her a sad-puppy look. “If you really don’t want to talk of it…”

“It’s over,” she said shortly. “I survived. I’d rather forget it all.”

It was impossible to forget. When Lord Justice had taken hold of her today, he’d not caviled about the matter. He’d grabbed her wrist with a firm, strong grip. She could still feel the warmth and pressure of his hand.

In contrast to Lord Justice’s dark, fine coat, Jeremy was dressed in serviceable—but fading—brown. He didn’t frighten her. He hadn’t threatened to toss her in gaol.

“Did you like the gown?” he asked.

“It suited the occasion.” She dipped into her skirt pocket and slid a half-shilling across the counter. That practically gutted her remaining stash of coins.

“No, no.” He shook his head. “I can’t possibly charge you for the loan. It was just a few hours that you had it.”

“You’re running a business, Jeremy. I’m a customer. I have to pay you, or you don’t make any money.”

“But I know how much you needed it.”

“When a customer needs something, good business sense requires you to charge him more, not less.” Equal in importance was the fact that Miranda owed enough favors. Owing favors had landed her in this tangle in the first place.

“But…” He sighed and ignored the coin. “You’re a friend. You don’t need to be a customer. I have few enough friends as it is.”

“We’ll be better friends if I act like a customer when I’m a customer. I don’t want to impose on anyone. You, least of all.”

“It’s not—” He cut himself off, shook his head. “Bother. You don’t have to trade for everything.”

She ignored this. “We still have business to do, Jeremy.” She reached into her basket. “I’ve brought another wig.”

He drooped. “Um…we haven’t sold the last two yet.”

“This one is the best so far.” How she managed to speak so calmly, Miranda didn’t know. The payment for Robbie’s schooling would be due in a few weeks. Shortly after that, she’d need to hand over the rents. Dread coiled inside of her, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she reached into her basket and pulled out her latest creation. “The hair is blond. It’s long, and it’s got the loveliest curls. I’ve fixed the hair up, but I can redo the style.” She held it out to him. “Some vain, elderly lady will want to reclaim her youth with this.”

Jeremy didn’t reach for the wig. “I…well, there’s no way to say this. Old Blazer is talking about getting rid of the wigs altogether. If they’re not going to sell, he says there’s no point in giving them valuable room in the store.”

“They’ll sell,” Miranda said airily, even though her breath jarred from her. Smile, and make it look easy. “And what’s more, they sell the hats. I should charge you a commission on the hats your customers purchase—they’re so much more appealing atop a head of hair, don’t you think? The instant a woman walks in the shop, she can imagine what the hat will look like on. Once you have a customer thinking of what she’ll look like in an article of clothing, you’re that much closer to a sale.”

“That’s true.”

Miranda stifled a sigh. Old Blazer would never have admitted that. He’d have bargained to the end.

“I’ll just set this one up, then, next to the others.”

Jeremy didn’t object to this piece of importunity, and so she arranged the wig—her third unsold wig. Her arrangement with Old Blazer paid her a percentage of each sale. Well enough in good months—more than she’d get selling her wares directly to shopkeepers. But in bad times… She had enough sewing work that they wouldn’t starve. And Robbie made a few pennies—that would pay for coal.

But they were looking at lean weeks ahead. Lean weeks, with winter coming on. If her luck didn’t turn, they might get down to thinning out the gruel until it was more water than sustenance.

In response to that, her stomach growled.

Behind her, Jeremy cleared his throat. “It’s been weeks since your last sale. You…you don’t need money, do you?”

She set a bonnet atop the golden hair. “You’re a shopkeeper, Jeremy, not a moneylender.”