Guy doubled the already generous tip he always gave the shine, and received a hearty thanks before continuing on his way.
He was on Providence Street, nearly to the millinery, when he spied Rose Gardener looking into the windows of a closed storefront.
“Good day, Miss Rose, what are you doing this fine morning?”
She started. “Oh! Mr. Hardy. Good morning. I was only looking.”
He regarded the empty display window. “Shopping for dust kittens?”
Rose giggled. “No. It’s silly. Just a daydream I have.”
“You want to own a store? A rival millinery?”
“Of course not! I would never be disloyal to Mrs. Glover. She changed my life when she hired me. I would’ve been plucking chickens like my mum and sister. Shut up in a dark, smelly factory for all my days, no doubt, if I hadn’t met Mrs. Glover.”
“How did that happen?”
“I’d saved my spare change to buy a book at J.T. Huggett’s shop. Mrs. Glover reached for the same one. We had a laugh over it and got to talking about business, for the volume was about business practices. She said she required an assistant at her shop. I applied right away, even though I knew nothing about fashion or sewing. But Mrs. Glover didn’t mind about that. Told me it was better to start from scratch. She could teach me millinery, but couldn’t train anyone to be a hard worker. She told me I was ‘filled with determination and motivation.’ No one had ever said anything like that to me before.”
Rose paused to draw breath, the pansies on her hat quivering with the passion of retelling the tale of her idol. “Truly, she changed everything for me.”
Guy nodded. “I understand precisely.” He looked from her to the empty store. “But now you’re ready to take flight on your own. What sort of merchandise would you sell?”
“The truth is, sir. I’m a flower girl at heart. Used to go with my old granny to Covent Garden to sell posies from a tray. We hardly earned nothin’—anything, but oh, how I loved to sort through what was left after the florists bought the best blooms brought in fresh from the country. I’d watch them choose the brightest, richest colors and most fragrant flowers. My fingers itched to create the glorious bouquets they would sell from their shops. But Granny and I made do with fading leftovers.”
Guy thought of poor girls with bedraggled posies who often approached theatergoers and pressured the gentleman to “Buy yer lady a nosegay, mister?” How often had he waved them off without a second thought about their hopes and dreams and needs.
“Have you the capital to rent a storefront?” he asked.
“No, sir. It will be years, if ever, before I could afford to rent and stock a store. As I said, it’s a daydream only.”
“What if you had an investor? That might make the dream a reality.”
The young woman frowned. “No bank would give me a loan and where would I meet someone willing to invest as a partner.”
Guy spread his hands. “You have one before you now. Give me your pitch. How would you set up your shop? How would you build your clientele? Speak to me of profits and losses and that sort of business jargon with which I am woefully unfamiliar.”
Rose’s eyes were huge. “Are you joking, Mr. Hardy? If so, it isn’t very nice.”
“No. I would absolutely consider going into business with you, or offering a loan at a very low rate. Whenever you could afford to pay it back would be fine with me. No fees. This street seems busy with shoppers every time I come here, and there are no other florists nearby.”
Her eyes shone. “I—I don’t know what to say! I can’t believe you’d do such a thing. It would be a miracle sent from ’eaven.”
“Write a proposal and give it to me next time we meet. I promise I will seriously consider the matter.”
“But it would be too ungrateful for me to leave Mrs. Glover after all she has done for me.”
“I’m certain she would applaud your new venture. She could hire another assistant, although it’s unlikely that person would be as dear to her as you are.”
Rose regained her composure and wiped tears from her eyes. “I would say the same of you. Whenever she speaks of you or is expecting you to call on her—even though she doesn’t know I know that’s what she’s waitin’ for—her eyes glow. It ain’t—it is not my place to say, but I think her feelings for you are quite strong.” Sweet Rose suddenly gave Guy a glare. “If she’s only a lark for you, don’t lead her down the garden path. I won’t stand by and see her hurt. Understand?”
Guy bowed his head. “Yes, Miss. I might not seem like the sort one can depend on, but with Hattie, I find myself becoming quite a different person. I will try to do right by her.”
Rose studied his face as if reading it for the truth. At length, she nodded. “Awright then.”
“May I ask one thing?” Guy said. “Do you treat all your potential investors this way?”
“Har, bloody, har. Ain’t you a laugh.” Rose relaxed sufficiently to address him like a sister—if one’s sister had a Cockney accent that occasionally flared up.
Guy tipped her a wink and offered her his arm. “May I escort you to work?”
“No thanks. As Mrs. Glover says, it wouldn’t appear proper if a customer spotted us walking together. Anyway,” she peered through the smeary glass pane at the vacant store, “today is my day off, and I’m putting together a business proposal just now.”
Guy left her with a bow and continued on to the millinery.
Customers were both going in and coming out when he arrived. One glance through the window told him this was not the time to bother Hattie. The place was crowded. Without her assistant, Hattie flew about the shop helping customers. He
