Ember adjusted the silk handkerchiefs, each fold exact and measured. Through the window, she spotted Lady Blackwood among the morning crowd, her silver hair and rigid posture marking her as clearly as any banner. Her pulse quickened, but she kept her movements steady, remembering her father’s lessons.
The brass bells chimed as Lady Blackwood entered. The scent of jasmine filled the shop. Ember curtsied with practiced grace - enough to show respect, but not subservience.
“Welcome, my lady,” she said, her voice clear. “Would you care to see what’s newly arrived from the eastern provinces?”
Lady Blackwood’s jeweled hand cut through the air. “I’m familiar with eastern silk, child.”
“These are different, my lady.” Ember lifted one handkerchief into the morning light, revealing the subtle patterns woven within. “This weave matches what the queen’s own needlewomen use.”
Lady Blackwood’s expression shifted. She touched the silk’s edge, rings glinting. “The border is… passable.”
Ember recognized the tone of a merchant’s game. “The border tells more than you might think, my lady. See these patterns?” She traced the design. “Crushed pearls mixed with indigo dye. That’s what gives it this sheen.”
Lady Blackwood studied the price tag. Ember pressed on, “It would suit your blue damask - the one with silver thread. The pearl-dye catches light the same way.”
“You’ve seen my damask, have you?” Amusement tinged Lady Blackwood’s words.
“At spring festival, my lady. None could miss it.” Ember selected another piece with a slightly different pattern. “This one would match your cream silk.”
She arranged two more handkerchiefs, showing how each piece enhanced the others. “Each one serves its own purpose, but together they shine brightest.”
Thomas stood nearby, watching. His silence carried approval as Lady Blackwood examined each piece with growing interest.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Four pieces then?” The noblewoman’s fingers lingered on the silk. “Wrap them properly.”
“Yes, my lady.” Ember reached for the tissue paper, each movement precise. The wrapping mattered as much as the sale - her father had taught her that much.
As she tied the final ribbon, Lady Blackwood’s mouth curved slightly. “Well handled, child. Your father trained you well.”
The shop bell rang as Lady Blackwood left with her wrapped purchases. Ember released a slow breath, her fingers still sensitive from handling the fine silks. She adjusted the remaining displays, aware of the unusual quiet that had settled over the usually bustling market street.
“Fletcher’s girl handling Lady Blackwood herself!” The whisper carried through the shop window.
“And her ladyship actually listening to her suggestions,” another voice added. “A child, no less.”
Ember kept her eyes on her work, smoothing a length of crimson silk though her cheeks burned. Through the window, Master Cooper and Willem abandoned their own customers to stare, their mouths slightly agape.
Thomas’s ledger closed with a soft thump. He crossed the shop in quick strides and swept her up, spinning once before hugging her close. She breathed in the familiar scent of cedar and ink.
“Well done, my clever girl,” he murmured against her hair. “So very well done.”
Ember pressed her face into his shoulder, grinning so wide her cheeks ached. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, warming them both as they stood together.
“I remembered about the pearl-dye,” she said. “And matching the new pieces to her existing ones.”
Thomas set her down but kept his hands on her shoulders. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You did more than remember. You read her perfectly. Better than I could have.”
Warmth spread through Ember’s chest at his praise. Outside, the market street resumed its normal rhythm - haggling voices, rattling carts, the steady pulse of commerce. But something felt different now, as if she’d crossed some invisible threshold.
“The way you guided her choices,” Thomas said, straightening her apron. “That wasn’t just selling silk. That was skill.”
She touched the counter where the handkerchiefs had been, recalling each careful word and gesture that had led to the sale. The thrill of it still tingled in her fingers.
“Can I help with the afternoon inventory?” She reached for his ledger, enjoying the familiar leather beneath her fingers.
Thomas ruffled her hair. “Of course. Though I suspect you’ll be running this shop yourself before too long.”
Ember smiled and opened the ledger to today’s page, studying the neat columns of numbers. She imagined adding her own entries, marking her own sales. The future seemed to stretch before her, full of possibility.
Thomas watched her work, his hand resting gentle on her shoulder as she began to count.