“That is exactly what I thought.” Then he turned to gesture to the women behind him. “I thought perhaps one of these might serve better.”
She looked at her servants and abruptly realized she had missed that every single one wore a dress pin. All were empty except for one the upstairs maid Alice wore. It sported a poorly done paper cut of the daffodil. Good lord, was that the paper cut she had fashioned yesterday? She thought it was and was horrified by her own lack of skill.
“I thought this vase would work,” he began.
“I am a terrible artist,” she murmured, then she focused on the pin vase. “The petals are the right size, but not the right weight. The stem is—”
“Still too narrow?” he asked as he plucked the flower from the vase. Alice blushed a fiery red, but Gwen focused on the paper flower. He’d wrapped the stem in a scrap of rag to thicken it.
“The opposite,” she responded. “It’s too large now.”
“Ah. Hmmm.” He held out his hand to Mr. Callatos who passed him a pair of scissors and another sheet of foolscap and held them both out to her. “Would you make another one please?” he asked.
She frowned. “Paper cutting is not one of my skills.”
“Nor mine, obviously. But you have a better eye than I do for botany.”
She couldn’t argue that, so she took the scissors and bent to her task. “A real flower would be better,” she said as she began to cut.
“Just give me an idea of the size,” he coaxed. “It doesn’t need to be exact.”
She hated things that were not exact. That was where problems always lurked. Inexact statements always led to inaccurate conclusions. But she didn’t quarrel. She’d learned long ago that she was unique in that assessment, and so she did what she could to adjust his cutting. Then she handed it back and Alice plumped up her chest as he set the new flower in her pin. Unfortunately, it toppled sideways in the wider mouth of the vase.
“Oh dear,” he said.
“That pin will not work,” she said, stating the obvious. “Unless you wish to add other flowers or leaves to make it stand up more.”
He shook his head. “I want it to be the daffodil alone.”
She always thought that the simplest answer was the best. Meanwhile, she had to seal her mouth shut while he stepped down the row of women, dropping the paper cutting into each pin while the ladies pinked beneath his attention. She knew he was murmuring something to them. Cook even giggled. But the exact nature of his flirtatious behavior was hidden from her, for which she was both grateful and annoyed. What did she care if he whispered something scandalous to the parlor maid?
After each woman, he would step back and survey the picture. He complimented her looks—whicheverherit was—but his eyes seemed to be on the pin and flowers. Each woman preened under his regard, Cook no less than the younger ladies, but in the end, he shook his head.
“I cannot think which shape is best,” he said. “They all look lovely.”
“Because you are not thinking about the use of the vase.” She stepped over to a cold teapot and brandished it aloft.
The women all looked alarmed by her movement, probably because she was known for occasionally being so absorbed in a task (usually a book) that she poured tea into the saucer rather than the cup. Or onto the table all together. Rather than terrify them, she passed the cold pot to Lord Sayres.
“Would you please put water in the vases?”
He understood immediately. Brandishing the teapot, he headed for Alice but they both could see that the spout was much too large and the vase too narrow. “It will spill all down her front,” he said. “Do you fill them first and pin them on later?”
He obviously had not worn one of these before. She had and had declared them useless, frustrating things. Even if she succeeded in getting a watered flower onto her dress, it nevertheless spilled when she sat down or stood up or walked across the room.
Webster knew just what to do. The woman might be too stiff in her idea of how a lady should act, but her maid was a genius when it came to dressing. Gwen gave her a nod, and the lady pulled out a bowl of water. She pulled the pin off herself and dropped it into the water to fill it up, then held her thumb over it to stopper it. His lordship watched with an interested look.
“A small piece of cork would work best, I should think,” he said as he glanced back at Mr. Callatos. The man nodded even as he stepped around to watch Webster’s work.
With her thumb over the top, she crossed to Gwen and pinned it on her just over her heart. The perfect place, her mother had once said, to accent the bosom. Then Webster pushed the paper flower into the waiting vase. That completely ruined the paper cut, but it wasn’t worth saving anyway.
“Very clever,” Lord Sayres said as he inspected the vase from every side. “I see why you wanted fabric that wouldn’t show water stains. But how well can you move with it?”
Gwen breathed deeply, lifting the pin with every breath. It didn’t spill.
“No, no,” Lord Sayres said. “We need to see how it will work with you dancing.” So saying, he grabbed her arm and set a hand on her waist. “Callatos, a waltz, if you please.”
Immediately the tinker began to hum. He had a beautifully rich voice that la-dee-dum, la-dee-dummed a tune. Meanwhile, Lord Sayres held out his hand to her.