She stood very still in the dark shadows, waiting. The minutes stretched out into an agonizing, completely unbearable eternity.
Every single time the cheerful shop bell chimed at the front door, Delaney held her breath. Her muscles tensed instantly. She peeked very carefully through the small gaps in the fabric rolls, only to hear the dressmaker greeting normal, wealthy country customers.
First, it was an older baroness looking for fine silk gloves. Then, it was the loud, demanding family member of a local viscount who frequented the shop, demanding a brand new, highly expensive ballgown for the upcoming London social season. The cheerful, mindless chatter of the wealthy women felt entirely wrong and incredibly jarring to Delaney. They were discussing fancy parties, country dances, and silly local gossip, while Delaney was standing in the dark shadows, waiting for physical proof of high treason and cold-blooded murder.
