stepped into the room as the innkeeper withdrew.
Lord Brookmore stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb. ‘Preston is known for its cloth. I simply took advantage of this fact. I sent a man ahead.’
‘The cloth is beautiful.’ She gestured to the pile. ‘But there is clothing here, as well.’
The innkeeper spoke up. ‘My wife took up the challenge, miss. She found a dressmaker who had dresses the buyers never collected. I will send my wife to assist you whenever you wish. She has a seamstress on hand to address any alterations.’
Rebecca could not find her voice. Lord Brookmore had gone to a great deal of trouble and expense for her, so unlike how other men had treated her of late. Her brother begrudged any expense and had only arranged the marriage in order to be rid of her.
Lord Brookmore spoke. ‘You must select what you like, Miss Tilson. As many pieces as you like. When we get to Brookmore House a local seamstress can make whatever you need.’
She smiled at him in wonder. ‘This is so generous.’
His face stiffened. ‘I am clothing my nieces’ governess. You need clothing and I am well able to provide it.’
She walked back to his side. ‘I am so very grateful.’ She touched his arm and it seemed as if the warmth of his kindness spread all through her.
The innkeeper broke in. ‘Shall I ask my wife to attend you?’
Rebecca lifted her hand away. ‘Yes. Please have her come at her convenience. I will just wash off the dirt of the road.’
Lord Brookmore stepped away from the doorway. ‘I will leave you now. Send word when you wish to dine.’ He turned to the innkeeper. ‘May we have a private room for dining?’
‘I’ll see to it, m’lord.’ The man bowed again and left them.
Rebecca did not wish for Lord Brookmore to leave. ‘What time would you wish to dine, sir?’
‘Whenever you wish.’ His tone softened. ‘I need to clean up, as well.’
But neither of them moved. His blue eyes seemed to pierce her, reaching parts of her that felt vulnerable and raw. Perhaps he really could see inside her. He certainly was able to anticipate her needs and discern her emotions. When had a man ever been able to do that? She’d been used to demanding what she needed.
Lord Brookmore averted his gaze and took another step back. ‘I will leave you now.’
She watched him enter his room and close the door behind him. Only then did she do the same.
* * *
By the time Rebecca had stripped off her riding habit and washed off the dirt of the road, the innkeeper’s wife and the seamstress knocked on her door.
‘I am Mrs Bell, dear.’ The woman was small and round, with a kind face and warm voice. ‘This is Miss Cox. We were told of your misfortune. You poor creature!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, well. Let us see what we can do about providing you with some clothes to wear.’
The two women helped Rebecca out of the corset and shift she’d been given in Moelfre and into the undergarments that Mrs Bell had brought her. Two of the shifts fit her very well and one of the corsets was near perfect and so much more comfortable than the one from before. There was a nightdress that would be heaven to sleep in and two day dresses that fit her well enough.
One needed only minor alterations, which were accomplished on the spot. The other, the seamstress promised to have ready by the morning. With the help of the two women, Rebecca chose a length of wool for a winter dress and another for a cape. She picked out some plain white cotton for some aprons and caps and a print for another dress.
The ship had carried two trunks full of her clothing. She’d packed walking dresses, morning dresses, carriage dresses, dinner dresses, nightdresses and ball gowns. She had hats for all occasions and several pairs of shoes and gloves. Her undergarments had been made of soft linen. The wardrobe had been worthy of an earl’s daughter and soon-to-be wife of a baron.
These makeshift clothes were—serviceable. But they were also more dear to her than all of her lost dresses. Because of the thoughtfulness behind them.
Her father had indulged her with the finest clothes and jewels—all lost now—but he’d been unable to stand the sight of his daughter after her mother died. She’d reminded him too much of his beloved wife.
When Mrs Bell and Miss Cox left her, Rebecca took the pins from her hair and brushed it out with the brush Lord Brookmore had purchased for her. She rearranged it into a simple coil at the back of her head, as Claire had done. She wore the dress that the seamstress fixed for her, a dress of plain grey.
She glanced at herself in the full-length mirror that had been provided for her.
Her breath caught.
She saw Claire Tilson.
Donning the lavender gloves Lord Brookmore had purchased for her in Moelfre and the paisley shawl, she glanced at her image again and felt a little more like herself.
She left the room and knocked on Lord Brookmore’s door.
He answered it in his shirtsleeves and looked even more handsome than when wearing his well-tailored coat, waistcoat and neckcloth.
‘Miss Tilson,’ he said in some surprise.
Oh, dear. This was a bit improper of her. ‘You said I should let you know when I was ready to dine.’
‘I assumed you would send word.’
Yes, but it had seemed silly to send someone else with the message when she was right next door. Besides, she had seen her father and brother in shirtsleeves on occasion—but they did not look at all like Lord Brookmore.
He quickly donned his waistcoat and buttoned it.
She averted her gaze. ‘I can return to my room, if you would prefer to eat later.’
‘No. No. I am quite ready.’ He put on his coat, pulling at the lapels and the cuffs to straighten its fit. He threw a neckcloth around his neck and managed to tie it into a reasonably neat mathematical.
He paused, his eyes scanning her. ‘That is one of the new dresses? It looks well on you.’
Her face flushed at the compliment. Why should she react so to such mild praise when most men’s flattery left her cold? Who had ever complimented her when wearing such a plain garment?
* * *
Their dinner was a lovely relaxed affair and Rebecca marvelled that there were long moments when she did not think of the shipwreck and when she quite forgot she was supposed to be a governess.
When Lord Brookmore’s eyes lit upon her, it seemed as if her insides would melt. She’d met other handsome men, but he was so much more than any man she had ever met.
How ironic that she should meet him as his lowly employee and not as a suitor. As Lady Rebecca she would have been acceptably eligible to him.
