- -
- 100%
- +
She bowed her head. ‘It pleases me that you think I have inherited some small measure of my father’s talent.’
‘It is more than that, I am sure. You said your father died before you were born.’
‘Unfortunately, yes, sir. In a robbery.’
‘Then you have taught yourself the skills necessary to honour him.’ The marquess nodded in approval. ‘It shows a keen mind and an excellent understanding of current styles.’ Then he frowned. ‘But there was a robbery, you say?’ He glanced around him, as though measuring the security of the vault doors against threat.
She smiled and shook her head. ‘Not in the shop. He was set upon in the country while delivering stones to a client.’
‘You would never take such risks yourself, I hope.’
Since that threat had come from the dead man whose name she had taken such care to remove from the shop window, she was sure that she would not. From now on, there would be no other name on the shop but de Bryun, therefore no risk of villainous partners. ‘I take a great deal of care to be sure I am not put in the same situation as my poor father.’
He smiled again. ‘That is good to know. But if you find yourself in need of p-protection...’ He stopped when he realised how the offer might sound, ‘I mean, in need of a strong arm to d-defend you, you must call upon me immediately and I will come to your aid.’
Suddenly, the poised rake who liked to flirt with her seemed totally out of his depth. She understood the feeling. At his offer, her heart had given another inappropriate flutter and she had very nearly sighed aloud. For a moment, it seemed they were both utterly lost in the confusion and hopelessness of their situation. The attraction between them was strong, but she dared not call it love. When a rich and powerful man became infatuated with a woman so far beneath him, the future was inevitable, and far more like this accidental offer of protection than the earlier offers of marriage.
She gathered her poise and smiled to put him at his ease, again. ‘If I am in difficulty, of course I shall seek you out, Mr Standish.’ From the outer room, there was the distant ring of a bell and the sound of female voices. Her sister, and her friend Lady Daphne Collingsworth, were enquiring after her, in the main shop.
If they caught her spending too much time with the marquess, they would bother her over it just as Mr Pratchet did. It would be even worse should they suspect how she truly felt. She must bring today’s meeting to a premature and unwelcome end before she became so foolish as to reveal herself.
She rose, to signify that she had other customers to attend to. ‘Thank you so much for your kindness. But as I said, there will be no more robberies. I am perfectly safe.’ She held the case out to him and he replaced the necklace. ‘Would you like this wrapped? Or perhaps we might deliver it to you.’
He rose as well. ‘No need. I will take it now, just as it is. You shall be receiving the balance we agreed upon from my bank, later in the day. When I come again tomorrow morning, you will be here to greet me and will sell me some earrings to match this necklace.’
‘You may be sure of it, Mr Standish.’ She held open the gauze curtain, so he might exit the salon.
As he passed Justine and Daphne in the main room, his demeanour changed, just as it sometimes seemed to when others were present. His smile was cool and distant and he offered the briefest bow of acknowledgement. He did not so much as look at Margot as she escorted him to the door, signalling a clerk to hold it open as he approached. It was as if their conversation had never taken place. Then he was gone.
Once the shop door closed, Daphne reached out to clutch her arm. ‘Fanworth, again?’
‘Mr Standish,’ Margot said firmly. ‘I respect his desire for anonymity.’
Justine looked worriedly out the shop window at the man’s retreating back. ‘These frequent visits are becoming worrisome, Margot.’
‘But the frequent purchases are not,’ Margot said in response. ‘He is one of my best customers. If he tells others the source of the piece he has just commissioned from me, I expect a sharp uptake in trade.’
‘No amount of money will make up for a lost reputation,’ Justine said, in a dire tone.
It certainly had in Justine’s case. Margot bit back the response. It was horrible and unfair to her poor sister, who had suffered much before finding a man who adored her, despite her unfortunate past.
Instead, she took a deep breath and said, ‘I am taking no risks with my reputation. We are in a public place in full view of half-a-dozen people. He comes here to buy jewellery. Nothing more than that.’ There was no reason to mention the private jokes, the innuendos, and worst of all, the florid proposals he offered her on an almost daily basis.
‘No one needs as much jewellery as he buys,’ Justine said, stating the obvious. ‘He is a marquess. And you are not just the daughter of a shopkeeper. You are a woman in trade.’ Though she had been just that a few short months ago, Justine spoke as if it was something shameful. ‘There can be nothing more between you than commerce, Margot. Nothing honourable, at least.’
‘I am fully aware of that,’ Margot said, in a tired voice. It was a painful truth, but she did not wish to think of it any more.
Justine was staring at her, her gaze holding and searching, as she had when Margot was a child and caught pinching sweets from the kitchen. ‘See that you do not forget it. Because I would not wish to see you succumb when he finally makes the offer he is likely to.’
‘He would never...’ Margot said, trying to sound more sure than she felt.
‘Such men are all the same, when it comes to women beneath their class,’ Justine answered, just as resolute. ‘Though you claim the marquess is amiable and kind, his reputation in the ton is quite different. He is the proudest member of an already proud family. His blood is as cold as it is blue and he holds all of society in disdain. He has hardly a word to say to his equals, much less his inferiors.’
‘That is not how he acts when he is with me,’ she said, wondering what it meant.
‘If he behaves differently when he is with you, it is a ruse to weaken your resistance. When he is done toying with you, he will attempt to collect you, just as he has the pretty baubles he comes here to purchase.’
It was more than that. She was sure. Perhaps he did want something more than jewellery. But it had risen out of genuine affection. She was sure when he finally made his offer, it would be more than just a conquest to him. But Justine would not have believed that, had she been witness to his behaviour, only moments ago. He had angled after her shamelessly. And she had allowed it.
She had allowed him to be too forward. If so, he would think less of her. Perhaps he assumed that she was as free with others as she was with him. If that was so, things would end exactly as her sister predicted. He would use her and discard her. She would be lucky if the only damage left in his wake was her broken heart.
For now, she would give the answer her sister wanted to hear. ‘I will be on my guard,’ Margot said, avoiding her sister’s gaze. For if Justine looked at her, and into her soul, she would see the truth that Margot was unable to hide.
She had fallen in love with a man no more attainable than the moon.
Chapter Two
Damn and hell.
If you need pruh-pruh-protection...
What had he been thinking? To use those words made it sound as if he intended a dishonourable offer. Since the lady in question laughed at his offers of marriage, the last thing he needed was for her to think there was some darker, ulterior motive for these visits. And even worse, he had stumbled over the word, making it sound as if he was afraid to say them.
Stammering idiot.
He’d been called that often enough, as a youth. At times like this, he still had to remind himself that it was not accurate. Stammering and idiocy had no link. One could be the first without being the second. One could even control the first, with practice and care.
Stephen Standish, Marquess of Fanworth, strolled through the gauze curtain and back into the regular shop. As always, it was like stepping from a dream of paradise into the harsh light of reality. At the counter stood Miss de Bryun’s sister, giving him a disapproving look. The woman was almost an equal in looks to his own dear Margot. More importantly, she was a sister-in-law to the Duke of Bellston.
He returned a look of equal coldness which prevented the need for speech, but offered a barely respectful bow to show he knew of her family connections. To the others in the shop, he offered nothing more than a sweeping, disdainful glance. He felt them shrink ever so slightly in response.
It was not as if any here were likely to address him. They would not dare. But he had grown so used to avoiding conversation of any sort that the attitude came as second nature. Better to let the world assume that you could not be bothered with them, than to call you a fool should your tongue tangle during an unplanned sentence.
He walked down the street, away from the shop, holding his scowl and aloof stare like a shield before him. He was the heir to a dukedom. There was nothing his father or the rest of the world could do about it. That alone was enough to keep him safe and untouched by the opinions of those around him.
But if one refused to speak for fear of embarrassment, one walked alone. It made him miss, all the more, his time in the shop with Margot de Bryun. Who could have guessed a chance encounter with a shopkeeper would have altered his world and his future?
A month ago, he had come into her shop meaning to purchase a trinket for an actress he was planning to seduce. He’d left two hours later with an emerald bracelet in his pocket and the target of his affections totally forgotten.
At first glance, it was the beauty of the woman waiting upon him that had given him reason to pause. Red-gold hair, playful green eyes, and a figure far too perfect to be hidden behind a shop counter. But it was her smile that most affected him. He could not have been more dazzled had he stood on the street and stared directly into the sun.
‘May I help you?’ she’d said. It might as well have been a choir of angels, for all he heard.
It had made him careless. He’d attempted to be glib.
‘Miss de Bryun, I presume?’ At least, that was what he’d meant to say. And as usual, when presented with a combination of Bs and Ds and Ps, his speech had failed him altogether. In a moment of profound cowardice, he’d dispensed with his title and given her his surname, hoping that it might still be possible to slink away, unnoticed.
She had not been like some people, when presented with such a disaster. She had not tried to help him by finishing the sentence. Nor had she looked at him with pity. Her smile had not dimmed an iota. Instead, she had waited patiently for her turn. And then she’d purred, ‘If you please, Mr Standish. A gentleman who is about to spend as much as you are must call me Margot. Now come into the inner salon and I will pour us a glass of wine. Then you will tell me what it is you desire.’
What did he desire? Her. For ever. From that moment on. It took no great skill to bed a woman, but had it ever been so easy to talk to one? She had questioned him about the taste of the woman he wished to impress and about his own. She did not so much as blink at the pauses in his speech when he struggled for a word. And then she had presented him with a bracelet which she assured him was worthy of the temptress he described.
It was formed as a serpent. Each linked section had been studded with emerald scales. Moonstones were set for eyes. It had been so flexible it had seemed to slither as he held it, almost as if it were alive. The little jaws opened to clamp the tail and hold it closed.
When he’d realised she was the artist responsible for the design, he had questioned her for more than an hour until she’d explained each joint and hinge, and showed him sketches for other works. She had promised to show him the workroom, should he come again. And of course, he had returned, again and again. He had met the craftsman, learned the names of all the tools and expressed such curiosity about all elements of the business that she’d joked he was well on his way to managing the shop himself.
While he had learned much about jewellery making, Margot de Bryun was still a mystery to him. He knew she had a sister, but little more than that. Since she clung adamantly to the de Bryun surname, he doubted that there was a husband waiting in the rooms she occupied above the shop. But might there be a lover, or perhaps a fiancé, ready to greet her when the shop closed?
It did not matter. He might want her to be as sweet and innocent as she appeared on the day he finally found the right words to make her consider his proposal. But even if she was not, he would marry her the moment she agreed.
And if she refused marriage? Then he would dispense with propriety, dazzle her with his rank and wealth, and seduce her, right there on the white velvet of the divan. When she had been loved near to insensibility, she would be much more agreeable to a permanent union. He would wear down her objections and he would have her and keep her.
Generations of breeding informed him everything that was wrong with the situation at hand. He supposed it was the same for Margot, since she treated his advances as little more than playful banter. But common sense informed him, even louder, all the things that were right about such a marriage. He could talk to her. For when would he ever find another woman so perfect?
Society could go hang. She made him happy. And by the smile that lit her face each time he walked in her door, the feeling was mutual. They were in love. They would marry. The rest was not important.
His family was a concern, of course. But he cared no more for the duke’s opinion than he did for society. The plan was already in place that would win his mother to his side. Once they had married, and Margot had given up the shop to be his marchioness, her past would be forgotten.
* * *
He returned to his apartments with his head full of dreams, only to be dragged back to earth by his butler’s announcement. ‘Lord Arthur Standish is waiting for you in the drawing room, my lord.’
‘Thank you.’ Stephen’s first impulse had been to curse in response. His brother was quite good company, in the evenings when they were both the worse for drink. But in broad daylight, it was all too easy to see his flaws. To see him now would tarnish all the pleasure of his visit with Margot.
As expected, he entered the drawing room to find Arthur sprawled in the best chair by the window, a large glass of brandy already to his lips. At the sight of his host, he paused to raise his drink in salute. ‘Hail the conquering hero, returned from Montague and de Bryun.’
‘Not Montague, any more,’ Stephen corrected, moving the brandy decanter to the other side of the room. ‘What do you know of my visits there?’
‘All of Bath knows of it by now, I am sure.’
‘And why is that?’ Stephen could guess the answer. He reached past his brother and opened the curtains wide to let in the morning sun.
Arthur groaned at the sudden brightness, grabbed up a decorative pillow from the divan and disappeared behind it. ‘How does Bath know of you and the shop girl? I make sure to remark upon it whenever I have a chance.’ The empty brandy glass appeared from behind the cushion, waving as if a refill was expected.
Stephen grabbed the pillow and tossed it across the room to fall beside the brandy bottle. ‘It is a wonder that anyone listens to you. You are so often in your cups that you are hardly a reliable witness.’
The shaft of light that hit the younger man caused a shudder and a squint. ‘I only tell the story to those similarly inflicted.’ Then he grinned. ‘On holiday, it is not difficult to find people who overindulge in the evenings and then drink their weight in the pump room the next morning hoping for a cure.’
Stephen grunted in response. He was on the verge of losing his temper, and with the excitement would come the stuttering. He fixed his brother with a warning glare.
Arthur paid no attention to it, walking across the room towards the brandy. ‘But enough of my flaws. Let us discuss yours.’
Stephen ignored both the drinking and the comment, but redoubled the intensity of his glare.
‘How is Miss de Bryun today? As beautiful as always, I assume?’
‘It is no concern of yours.’
Arthur pursed his lips and gave a small nod, as if the statement was a confirmation of his suspicions. ‘Have you made her your mistress yet? Or does the rest of Bath still stand a chance with her?’
‘I have no intention of making her my mistress,’ Stephen said, though his body hummed softly at the suggestion. ‘And, no, to the second question as well. The lady is virtuous.’ He spoke the next slowly, so that Arthur might hear the warning. ‘You would do well to remember the fact yourself.’
‘All women begin as virgins,’ Arthur reminded him. ‘But it is easy enough to rectify. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit and discuss the matter.’
This was quite enough. Stephen kept his tone low and menacing, then let each word drop slowly from his mouth, each clear and in the proper order. ‘You will regret it. I assure you.’
‘Threatening me?’ Arthur laughed.
Stephen responded with a grim smile and silence. It was usually enough to set his opponent out of sorts and rendering a hasty apology. But when the man in question was Arthur, there were no guarantees.
‘If our father cannot scare me into behaving, then you stand no chance at all. Now, to the matter at hand. You are far too concerned with this girl, Stephen. I quite understand the attraction. She is a beauty. But if you do not have an understanding with her, to be so possessive of her makes no sense. It is not as if you can marry her, after all.’
His impending marriage was not Arthur’s business. The comment was not worthy of a response. But silence no longer served to smooth the conversational road. The lack of denial gave away far too much of his future plan.
Arthur noticed it and very nearly dropped his glass in surprise. ‘That is not what you intend, is it? You mean to marry her? His Grace will never approve.’
‘His Grace can be damned,’ Stephen said. Those words, though inappropriate for the scion of the family, never came with difficulty.
‘Well, think of the rest of us then,’ Arthur said, looking mildly horrified. ‘It will embarrass the entire family if you run off and marry a shop girl. You cannot make someone like that the next Duchess of Larchmont.’
‘She is not a shop girl,’ Stephen said, a little too sharply. ‘She owns the establishment. A different class from us, certainly, but hardly a menial. And once we are married, she will not have a need to keep shop.’ He had more than enough money to keep her in jewellery of her own. ‘Her sister married a Felkirk,’ he added. Once the shop was closed, they would play up the connection to the Duke of Bellston and the marriage would not seem so remarkable.
But Arthur was still so shocked that he put down his glass and gave his full attention to the conversation. ‘You truly are serious.’ His brother was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You really mean to do it? I understand that you do not listen to Father. The pair of you loathe each other. And what am I but to be ignored? But think of our sister. Her reputation will suffer for this.’
‘Her father is Larchmont,’ Stephen said, frowning at the mention of their father. ‘If she survives that, what harm will my marriage do her?’
‘What of Mother? You will break her heart over this.’
‘I most certainly will not,’ Stephen said. ‘Louisa and Margot will be like sisters, once I’ve introduced them. And I have just the thing to placate Mother.’ He reached into his pocket for the jewellery box.
Arthur looked even more shocked. ‘You got the duchess a gift from your ladybird’s shop?’
‘She is not my ladybird,’ Stephen said, struggling to maintain his patience. ‘And this is not some idle trinket.’ He opened the box and produced the necklace. ‘It is a replacement for the Larchmont rubies. And it is one of Margot’s own creations.’ He offered it to his brother, still quite pleased with the result. ‘If you do not tell me the thing is magnificent, then you are a liar and I have no time for you. Margot is amazingly talented. I will not hear otherwise.’
Arthur was silent for a moment, then nodded in agreement. ‘It is a beautiful thing, to be sure. I am sure Mother would appreciate it.’
‘Would?’ This doubtful answer sounded almost like his brother meant to add a ‘but’ to the sentence.
Arthur did not speak for a moment, but took the necklace to the window, squinting again in the brightness, before his eyes adjusted. ‘How familiar were you with the necklace that was stolen?’
‘Enough to have this made,’ Stephen replied. ‘It is not as if I spent my youth fishing in Mother’s jewel casket, as Louisa did.’ He glanced at the necklace in his brother’s hands. ‘It is close enough, is it not? The stones seem about the right weight. The pearls are new, of course. And the setting is lighter. Still, it is as impressive as the original.’
Arthur gave him a worried look. ‘That is not what I mean. I saw the insurance report. It had a description of the stones. There is a flaw in the main one, right near the corner.’ He held the necklace up to the light again and the sunlight cast a blood-red shadow through the ruby and on to the floor. ‘And this has one as well.’ He looked back at Stephen again, sombre this time. ‘This is not a close match, Brother. This is the same stone.’
‘The one that was stolen?’ The necklace in question had been gone for almost two months. It was his mother’s sadness at the loss that had brought this idea into his head.
‘Taken from the house in Derbyshire,’ his brother agreed. ‘Strangely enough, the stones found their way into the hands of your Miss de Bryun. If I were a suspicious man, I would think that you had given them to her.’
‘Of all the cheek.’ Family connections did not give Arthur the right to hurl insults about over something that had to be an innocent mistake.
His brother held up a hand in apology. ‘I know that it was not you. Someone sold them to her. If she is responsible for the buying and selling in that shop, she must know the source and, therefore, the thief. It is quite a coincidence that she sells them back to the very family that lost them, is it not?’
‘Only that, I am sure.’ If Arthur was right about the origin of the stones, it was beyond strange. Margot claimed to choose her stock with care. There was nothing in her manner to suggest that she might be guilty of trading in stolen goods. And that the family’s own jewels should find their way home without some comment from her... ‘She knows nothing of my family,’ he said, relieved to have found the flaw in Arthur’s logic.
His brother responded to this with sceptical silence. ‘Do you really suppose that is true? Many people in Bath know who you are, Stephen. You cannot think that a marquess travels unnoticed by society.’
‘I make no effort to trade upon the title.’ But neither did he act like an ordinary gentleman. When he was not speaking directly with Margot, he behaved just as his father did: as though the rest of the world was far beneath his dignity.
‘Surely someone must have remarked upon seeing you there,’ his brother said quite reasonably. ‘You said yourself that her sister is connected to Bellston.’
He had seen the sister more than once and she had acknowledged him as if she knew perfectly well who he was. Had he expected her to remain mum on the identity of the man visiting her shop? She must have told her sister. ‘Even if she knows who I am...’
‘Then it is still an amazing coincidence that she put these very stones back into your hands. How much did she charge you for them, I wonder?’