The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel by Carla Stewart

Author:Carla Stewart [Stewart, Carla]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: FaithWords
Published: 2014-06-03T00:00:00+00:00

Gloomy, wet days followed, and instead of walking to the shop in Mayfair with Hazel and Marcella, Nell took the bus with them. Her assistants joked and pointed out sights along the way. The horses on their morning exercises in Hyde Park. The street markets. Bobbies with their rounded hats and whistles. Hazel giggled and asked if they remembered to bring a jumper and a brolly. A sweater and an umbrella.

Riding the bus, Nell scanned the streets for an incidental sighting of Quentin. She debated whether she should call him. He’d said she should, but perhaps he was merely being polite. He hadn’t contacted her. The thing that galled was that he’d chosen Simone. Or perhaps it was just a friendly relationship. Nell wanted to know more, but then again, she didn’t. And she knew that’s why she wouldn’t call him. He knew where she was. She would wait.

She did, however, enjoy talking to her grandmother on the telephone every Sunday afternoon. Nell smiled when she remembered the first telephone being installed at Marchwold Manor and her grandmother’s amazement at the “newfangled” invention. Her grandmother still hadn’t gotten over shouting into the mouthpiece.

“You don’t have to shout, Grandmama. I’m not on the other side of the Atlantic, you know.”

“I know you’re not, dear. But you’re not here, either. Why don’t you put that dear man you work for on the line so I can have a word.”

“His room is on another floor. And besides, we’re building our client base, hoping to get some commissions for those who’ve been invited to the royal wedding. A lovely woman was just in the shop yesterday who I think is close to engaging us for her royal wedding hat. It’s quite exciting, isn’t it?”

“Such a to-do. Your aunt Vivian’s got herself worked into a right lather about it. Fretting she and Preston wouldn’t be invited, and now stewing like a pot of prunes that her gowns won’t arrive from London in time to get alterations done if they’re needed.”

“If she comes to London, be sure and give her my number. Maybe I could make a hat for her.” She knew that would never happen. Aunt Vivian, a London socialite before marrying her uncle Preston, had always treated Nell like she was an orphan someone left on the doorstep.

“And one for Josephine. She looks lovely in a hat. Something in blue to match her eyes.”

Josephine? Gramma Jo had been dead since Nell was four years old. Just the mention of her name brought a sour taste in her mouth. Had Grandmama gone daft? Jane had mentioned frail, not that her mental faculties were failing, too. And Nell desperately hoped Grandmama would be able to verify if what Nell remembered—or thought she remembered—held any truth.

“Grandmama, don’t worry. It will be perfect, I promise. I have to run now. I love you.”

“I’ll see you next week then.” Click.

No, not next week. The wedding wasn’t for another month, and there was still work to be done.

* * *

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