Lady Esmeralda hummed a soft tune as she closed her shop. The early morning sun was far too bright, and had it not been for a small errand she was to make, she would have taken her umbrella with her. She hummed something of the tune Moonlight Sonata, occasionally offering gentle greetings to peasants, hawkers, and marketers alike.
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She reached her destination—a fabric tool shop. She gave a curt bow before stepping inside.
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“Lady Worthington. It is lovely to see you this morning,” she greeted, as the elderly woman led her further in to sit upon the plush emerald couch.
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“All sentiments shared, darling,” Lady Worthington’s voice carried the tone of age and wisdom. Her white hair was arranged in a low bun, a style she had never changed. “What has brought your beautiful presence to my shop this morning?”
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Esmeralda gave a small chuckle. “Oh, do not flatter me, Lady Worthington.”
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Lady Worthington let out a hearty laugh. “Who said anything about flattering, dear? My son would be quite smitten if he were to find you here.”
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Esmeralda’s eyes widened as a small smile tipped her lips. “Lady Worthington! Do not make strange assumptions.”
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“Whose son would be smitten if they found whom?” Lady Worthington’s son, Bassett, stepped into the room, stopping briefly in his tracks as he caught sight of Lady Esmeralda.
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“I told you so,” Lady Worthington said with a shrug, as though her statement had just been proven.
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“Wonderful morning to you, Lady Esmeralda.” He gave a curt bow, which Esmeralda returned as she stood.
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“Lovely morning to you as well, Sir Bassett,” she replied with a small smile as Bassett took her right hand to place a kiss upon it. It was a fortunate thing she was wearing gloves.
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“Oh dear, I have repeatedly insisted you address me without the title,” Bassett chuckled, letting go of her hand as it fell gently to his side.
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“It would be unintelligibly rude of me to do so, Sir Bassett. A young man such as yourself deserves a well-earned title,” Lady Esmeralda replied softly.
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“Well, I am certain you are right,” he ended with a chuckle. “Did you come to buy needles?”
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“Yes, definitely,” Esmeralda nodded. “And threads, as well as tailor’s chalks. I suppose you have them all in stock as of late?”
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“Yes, darling,” Lady Worthington replied, stepping to Lady Esmeralda’s side to guide her to the thread section. “These are the newest collection, dear. What colour has your preference?”
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“Oh, what lovely colours you have stocked today, Lady Worthington. I would prefer the claret and ecru.”
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“Perfect!” Lady Worthington reached for the threads of the requested colours. “I suppose you are working on something bloody and like the sun?”
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Esmeralda understood the jest and laughed. “They go pleasantly well with each other, do you not think so?”
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“Oh, I most certainly do, dear.”
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After they selected the threads, they moved on to the needles and chalks. Lady Worthington gave Esmeralda a generous discount, for which she was most grateful. After paying, she departed the shop, the hem of her azure skirt held in one hand and the bag of purchases in the other. She continued until she reached the elegant yet humble abode of Lady Redwyne’s shop.
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“Lady Redwyne. Lovely to see you this morning. You, particularly, are looking exquisite,” Esmeralda chuckled, stepping further into the shop.
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Lady Redwyne laughed a hearty sound. “Oh dear, do not flatter an elderly lady this morning,” she said as she led Esmeralda into the room.
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Lady Redwyne’s shop had little cupboards lining all four walls—each section hosting different colours and kinds of materials. It was a sight for Esmeralda, should her eyes ever tire. The shop was one of the largest in Isolde’s Market.
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“Oh, I surely am not flattering, but speaking truth,” she cooed, causing Lady Redwyne to laugh again.
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“What colour would be of your preference today?” Lady Redwyne asked.
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Esmeralda’s eyes travelled about the shop. As Lady Worthington had said, she was indeed working on something both bloody and sunny. “A silk claret with a silk ecru, Lady Redwyne.”
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Lady Redwyne began her search while Esmeralda continued to gaze around. There was no painting or anything particularly homely in the shop, and she wondered why. There was hardly a shop she had entered of late without finding a family portrait—but then, it was not her place to ask.
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“Perhaps I would like to add—”
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“Lady Esmeralda!” a young voice rang from the entrance, and in came a little girl with the same black hair her mother possessed—Jemima, Lady Redwyne’s daughter.
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“Jemima, you did not attend school today?”
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Jemima’s lips thinned as she looked to her mother, who was returning to Esmeralda with the requested materials.
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“Jemima was given three days of rest by her tutor for punching a lad directly on his nose,” Lady Redwyne explained, dropping the materials onto the couch.
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Esmeralda managed to stifle the gasp that nearly escaped. “You punched a lad, Jemima?”
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“I most certainly was not giving him my apple,” Jemima pouted.
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“It was just an apple, Jemima, and I gave you two that day particularly,” Lady Redwyne said, folding her arms.
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“No, Mama. If I had given him my apple as he requested, it would make me a target for bullying.” Jemima sighed. “Why succumb when I can fight?” she murmured, but her mother heard her and gasped audibly, glancing at Esmeralda as though she had misheard her daughter.
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“My word! You do not speak in such a manner as a lady!” Lady Redwyne admonished quickly. “Oh dear, I have your older brother to blame. Go back to the shop.” She waved the girl off, and Jemima waved at both her mother and Esmeralda before hurrying off to the twin vegetable shop Lady Redwyne owned.
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“What a day,” Lady Redwyne sighed.
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“Well, it is lovely that she can defend herself. Not every lady can, these days.”
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After a brief exchange with Lady Redwyne, Esmeralda returned to her shop, set her goods upon the couch, and properly opened for the day. She set out both wooden mannequins and dressed them in elegant gowns for handmaidens. These were not dresses made to order, but rather garments a lady could purchase directly if she wished not to bother with fittings and sewing delays.
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It was no secret that Esmeralda made only women’s dresses. With already so many tailors and seamstresses creating garments for men, she saw no need for competition.
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After setting her shop in order and neatly packaging Lady Morley’s dress—the one she had been working on the day prior—she finally sat behind her sewing machine.
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“Oof. I forgot to ask Jeanette what colour she would prefer,” she sighed, then shrugged. “I shall perhaps do that later in the day when she arrives.”
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Having made that note in mind, she sought one of the emerald fabrics she had on hand. She would begin work on her own gown first, since no lady had yet come to request a commission.
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A few hours passed before there came a knock at the door—and before she could beckon the visitor in, Lady Morley had already invited herself.
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