Mr. Thompson was the solicitor managing the castle trust. Charge whatever you like was a convincing argument.
“How will decorating an indoor tree change people’s lives?” she asked instead.
“Not everyone in Cressmouth is in a position to reap the rewards of tourism. Until now! We have endless hills of evergreens. What could be a better souvenir than a tree from the village of Christmas? Mr. Thompson has signed a document granting all year-round residents the right to sell a generous quantity of evergreens from five percent of the castle woods, to be replanted every spring. Not everyone will take advantage, but those who wish to... can.”
It was a worthy cause. Angelica had no time to take on another project, but saying no would be admitting to weakness—and letting her neighbors down. The ball was held the Wednesday before Christmas, making it only five days hence. If she didn’t already have so much else to do…
“If we can pull this off,” Noelle continued, “which we will, with your help—everyone will know you were the one to design the golden holly sprigs with red-jeweled berries.’” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “All the wealthy tourists will want to take home adornments of their own, designed by the same artist. You, Angelica! They’ll brag to all their friends and your name will be on everyone’s lips.”
Angelica’s name on everyone’s lips.
This was what she wanted. What she had worked so hard for, and for so long. She wanted recognition. She wanted tourists to flock to her door not because she was the only jeweler for miles, but because she was the only jeweler they wished to do business with.
“Eve will put it on the front page of the Cressmouth Gazette,” Noelle was saying.
The rest of her words sounded as though they were muffled by water. Cressmouth’s population might be small, but the gazette reached thousands of homes outside the village. Everyone who visited subscribed, as did countless more who took their Yuletide holidays vicariously through the antics printed in the monthly broadsheet. It might be on a small scale, but Angelica’s name would be known nationwide.
All she’d have to do was give up her chance to be with her family.
She straightened her spine. There would be more Christmases in the future. Angelica would have enough money to take the entire clan on holiday thrice in a year anywhere they wished.
“All right,” she said. “Golden holly with jeweled berries. The most beautiful—and expensive—Yuletide adornments ever created.”
Noelle squealed and clapped her hands together. “I’ll pick them up for the grand ball on Tuesday. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This will be marvelous.”
She dashed from the shop before Angelica could say another word.
The interior filled with silence.
Mr. MacLean arched a golden brow. “If you didn’t have time to sell me a bucketful of hair combs...”
“I know,” Angelica said. “I know.”
How was she meant to explain it to him?
She took a deep breath. “This may sound conceited, but I work hard because I know how talented I am. Seven years ago, I vowed to create a name for myself at any cost. This is part of that cost, and my chance. Once my designs are respected all over the land, I’ll have earned the right to relax, to be proud of myself, to do as I please. But until that day... I have work to do.”
She expected him to launch into a thousand questions. Why the vow? What cost? Why seven years?
Instead, he surprised her by giving her an unsettlingly serious stare, followed by a short, decisive nod.
“I have no use for Christmas,” he said slowly, “but I understand vows and ambition. I’ll leave you to it.”
He strode out of the exit just as abruptly as Noelle, pausing only to give Angelica a little bow before disappearing through the door and into the falling snow.
She stared after him for far too long before she remembered the half-finished necklace. Angelica tried to return to her task. There would be no eating or sleeping until the Cruz pieces were finished and delivered, and she was free to start on the adornments for the castle tree.
But the shop felt empty without Mr. MacLean in it. As though when he’d left, he’d taken all the air with him. It was just Angelica now, alone, with no sounds to accompany her but the pounding of her heart.
She wished he’d stayed.
She was glad he left.
How could she miss a total stranger? She couldn’t. It was impossible. She would shove him from her mind. No more thoughts of Mr. MacLean until after Christmas.
By then, he would be long gone.
Chapter 3
Jonathan opened all three of his trunks and bent over their contents.
It was strange to possess so many items. When he entered his room and saw three large trunks sitting there, it felt like he’d walked into the wrong guest chamber.
Over time, he would become used to it. He had to. If all went according to plan, he’d spend the next year or more traversing Britain with trunks full of Calvin’s creations, convincing haberdashers and other shopkeepers to become distributors for the fashionable new Fit for a Duke ready-made collection of men’s apparel.
If Jonathan performed his role well, Fit for a Duke’s affordable order-by-catalogue fashions would be ubiquitous in no time. Jonathan’s name would be right there on the cover. He would no longer need to prove himself. His success would speak for itself.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Its alarm had awoken him at half past eight, as it did every morning. There was no sense wasting daylight. He glanced outside just long enough to see the sun rising through the falling snow, and quickly allowed the curtain to close. There would be no further exploring until business matters were resolved.
Calvin would be here at any moment, likely with several new trunks of affordably priced high fashion, every bit as impressive as the last. Today, they were to
