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find a way out too? Where’s the harm in having aspirations to better ourselves? Once I get things going we could rent a house on Gooseholme, or in one of Kendal’s yards.’ Livia smiled, reaching up to kiss his cheek, but he jerked his face away.
    ‘I haven’t time to listen to all this nonsense. Some of us have a living to earn,’ and turning on his heel, he stormed off down the stairs.
    Exasperated with this display of stubborn hypocrisy, Livia called after him. ‘Exactly, so what’s wrong with my earning a living too? It never bothered you before when I helped Jessie with the knitting.’
    ‘That was different, you were no good at it,’ he shouted back. ‘And you weren’t my wife then.’
    ‘I’m not your wife now, and maybe never will be at this rate!’ Almost the moment the words were out of her mouth, Livia wanted to pull them back. They were met with a long silence, followed by the slam of the door.

Chapter Three
    Livia had always enjoyed visiting the store and paused before entering to allow herself time to carefully examine the window display. ‘Still too overcrowded and busy,’ she muttered to herself. Every corner was crammed with goods: linen tablecloths and pillow slips, a blue Chinese dinner service, ladies wraps and furs, gloves, shoes and capes jostling with golf bags and gentleman’s check socks, autumn sweaters and summer straw hats. Even the season was unclear, as if heralding in a new one while still trying to catch up on lost summer trade. Nothing was ticketed, and the entire muddle overlooked by mannequins with knobs for heads dressed in frilled frocks more suited to a garden party than a cool September day.
    So much for Grayson’s qualifications in window dressing.
    Livia had resolved to waste no time in presenting herself that very afternoon before the redoubtable Miss Caraway, looked upon as something of a dragon by the staff. She’d no idea whether the work would be easy or not, and Jack was right when he said she’d been useless at helping Jessie with the knitting and weaving. Hopefully, shopkeeping was much less complicated than trying to operate a loom, or a knitting pin?
    Filled with new optimism and a firm belief in herself, Livia pushed open the door and went inside. At all cost she meant to hold fast to her dreams.
    She glanced about her, wondering where Miss Caraway might be, or if one of the many page boys in white gloves might point her in the right direction. As ever she found herself watching, fascinated, as an esteemed customer was met at the door by the principal floorwalker in his smart morning suit. Bowing deferentially, he exchanged a few polite words, presumably to ascertain madam’s requirements, before escorting her to a counter. Once he’d ensured that she was comfortably seated, and after yet more obsequious bows, he left her in the proficient care of a shop assistant.
    ‘What a lot of fuss,’ Livia muttered to herself. ‘Why can’t a customer be left free to explore the store and view the goods on her own, without interference?’
    ‘Because it would be entirely lacking in dignity and taste not to attend upon a customer with proper decorum. And most presumptuous of Angel’s to assume a customer would be unable to resist whatever she chances to find.’
    Startled, not realising that she’d actually voiced her thoughts out loud, Livia found herself face to face with the dragon herself. ‘Oh, Miss Caraway. I didn’t see you standing there.’
    ‘Clearly not.’
    Blushing to the roots of her hair, Livia instantly and profusely apologised for her careless remarks, claiming complete ignorance in such matters.
    Miss Caraway tartly agreed, biting her tongue against further comment as she was all too aware that she could hardly reprove the owner of the premises for voicing her opinion on it.
    Before she quite lost courage entirely, Livia asked if she might have a word. ‘In private, if you please.’
    ‘I was warned you may be calling,’ Miss Caraway