Night Storm (Bones & Gemstones Book 1)

by Tracey Devlyn

  She nodded toward the paper. “What do you have there?”

  “Plans for expansion.” Buchanan smoothed his hand over the parchment. “I’ve purchased the empty storefront next to Hallwood’s and plan to tear down the wall between the two.”

  “To do what? I’ve been in Mr. Hallwood’s shop. He has everything you need.”

  “But not everything we desire,” Lachlan said quietly.

  Charlotte stared at her former chess partner. An undercurrent of tension pulsed around him, belying the calm, still figure he presented. From the moment he’d made his presence known, Lachlan hadn’t taken his eyes off her. The intensity of his regard made her feel…uncomfortable.

  “I want to create an environment not dissimilar to what many experience while taking the waters in Bath,” Buchanan cut in, severing the uneasy connection between her and Lachlan. “Rather than have customers come in and pick up their medicines and leave. I want them to dally, linger, enjoy all that we have to offer.”

  “What else will you offer?”

  “Anything that promotes individual well-being. A reading nook, a cup of tea, an herbal neck rub.”

  “It sounds lovely.”

  “I got the idea from you.”

  “Me?”

  “Your father mentioned how welcome you make your customers feel by always having sweets and sample sachets on the counter and giving them a place to sit and read the newssheet while you’re finishing their order. I simply expanded upon your idea.”

  “My father told you all that?” She hadn’t realized he’d even noticed the small improvements she’d made.

  “He’s very proud of you, Charlotte. Your mother would be too, if she were here.”

  The backs of her eyes burned. From time to time, she wondered what her mother would think of her handiwork. If not for Jane Fielding’s single-minded determination to send her daughter to Buchanan, Charlotte’s present situation might have been vastly different. For one thing, she might have married Cameron by now, with a baby in their near future.

  She tried to envision that other life. With Cameron. But the image was hazy, disjointed, out of reach.

  “Where did you go, lass?” Lachlan asked near her ear.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your thoughts took you far away.”

  Embarrassed, Charlotte glanced at her mentor, who appeared more curious than insulted. “Forgive me. I’m somewhat preoccupied today.”

  Concern lined Buchanan’s face. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes.” She searched her mind for a viable reason for her daydreaming, one that did not involve Cameron and babies. “I treated a gentleman for a rather nasty stab wound and continue to second-guess my efforts.” She shook her head. “Please forgive my inattention. Let us discuss your plans for expansion.”

  “Is the gentleman you treated on the mend?” Buchanan asked.

  “Slowly, yes.”

  He smiled. “Then there’s no reason for you to doubt yourself. Every injury or illness has its own unique qualities. You have excellent instincts, Charlotte. Allow those instincts to guide you while your knowledge and experience show you what to do.”

  She nodded, warmed by his praise. “Thank you, sir.”

  Buchanan indicated the chair. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  She sat, and Lachlan moved to take a seat across from her. She listened to Buchanan’s plans for developing a premier apothecary shop, specializing in medicinal compounding, soaps and creams, fragrances and herbal teas, and relaxation. Immediately, she constructed a mental image of the establishment. Every detail, from the treatment room for minor injuries down to the arrangement of fresh flowers on the waiting room tables, came to her full-fledged and all too real.

  Even so, she could not see herself standing in the midst of such splendor and innovation. She’d always had a simple life and wanted little more than a simple, uncomplicated future. If she helped her mentor with this endeavor, her future would be transformed into a journey she knew nothing about.

  “Do you see now why we need your assistance?” Buchanan asked.

  “Everything you mentioned is incredibly exciting, but I don’t know how I can help you.”

  “Outside of the initial implementation, I would want you to oversee the day-to-day operation of the shop.”

  “But I have no experience with the other areas you mentioned.” She sent him a self-deprecating smile. “I don’t even wear perfume. All I’m good for is compounding and caring for people.”

  “And managing a successful business,” Lachlan added. “From what I understand, not only did you save your father’s dying apothecary shop, you brought it back to life.”

  Charlotte’s cheeks heated, though she pressed her point with her mentor. “Have you considered what your customers would say once they learned I did not finish the last year of my apprenticeship with you?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Because the lack could affect your customers’ faith in my abilities.”

  “Has it been an issue for you yet?”

  “No, but most of my customers have known me since I was a little girl. No one in Mayfair will have an inkling of who I am.”

  “Their knowing you might help; however, familiarity does not secure trust. Actions do.”

  “With all due respect, I think you’re making too light of my lack of formal credentials.”

  “And I think you’re making too much of them,” Buchanan said. “If it comes up—and that’s a large “if”—I believe most will understand why you couldn’t finish your apprenticeship. They will even admire you for placing your mother’s health before all else. If anything, the circumstances will make them trust you more, not less.”

  “Not everyone will be so understanding. You know as well as I do that those few can be the most vocal and most damaging—especially to a new business.”

  “You are determined for this not to work,” Buchanan said with a knowing smile. “I am equally determined to sway you.”

  “Please don’t misunderstand. I’m honored you would consider me for such a wonderful opportunity.” She clasped her hands together. “But my incomplete apprenticeship and lack of years of experience must be considered, as does my limited knowledge of the ways and habits of the peerage. I know enough to get by in Covent Garden, where a stray lord or lady might wander. Mayfair, on the other hand, would be crawling with dukes, earls, countesses, and the like.”

  “I’ll teach you,” Lachlan said. “I became quite familiar with the aristocracy’s idiosyncrasies while studying at Eton.”

  “Also, if you would like to complete your apprenticeship,” Buchanan said. “I will work with you over the next year to finish it. There was very little left for me to teach you. You would simply have an unconventional ending. Since you’re the only female apothecary I know, unconventional should not be new to you.”

  “You would be willing to do that for me?”

  “You have been doing a great job so far, and word of your abilities has spread farther than you know. You might not have confidence in yourself, but I certainly do.”

  Charlotte searched her mind for other reasons not to accept Buchanan’s generous offer and found only one—her own self-doubt. Part of her wanted to accept. To throw caution to the fire and see if she had the mettle to bring Buchanan’s vision to life.

  The other part of her had many questions. What would become of her shop on Long Acre? She couldn’t very well be in two places at one time. Her father had made it clear when he left that he would not return. The shop held too many painful memories of her mother for him.

  As proud as she was of Piper, her assistant was still too green to run the shop. What would happen if she closed her business and failed at the new one? Would she have the fortitude to begin anew? How would she ever hold her head up again in her Covent Garden neighborhood if she abandoned them for greater riches? And, more important, what did she want for her future?

  “What do you say, Charlotte
?” Lachlan asked. “Will you join us?”

  The rich timbre of his voice was far more mesmerizing than she had recalled. She wanted to say yes. More to please her mentor than anything, though she didn’t want to disappoint either of them.

  But if she agreed without being fully committed, she would fail—the business, them, and herself. She had a lot to consider. This offer was unexpected and she needed time to think it through.

  “May I have a few days to think on it? Besides myself, I have my customers and my staff to consider. I also need to evaluate whether or not I can competently manage two shops.”

  Buchanan’s hopeful expression drooped a little. “Of course. Lachlan and I will be in London until after the holidays. If you do not give us an answer before we leave, we’ll call on you on our way out of town.”

  “Thank you. I hope you understand…”

  “I do,” Buchanan said. “Lachlan and I have been working on this for a few months now. I can’t expect you to alter your life inside of an hour.” He winked. “Though that would have been very convenient.”

  “I very much appreciate the extra time. When do you wish to open the Bond Street shop?”

  “If the renovations stay on schedule, we should be able to make a March reopening.”

  Charlotte rose, and the men followed suit. “Whatever my decision, Mr. Buchanan, I want you to know that your faith in me means a great deal. It always has.”

  “You make it easy, my dear.”

  Before she became teary-eyed at his support and concern, Charlotte said her good-byes.

  “May I walk you to the door?” Lachlan asked.

  “Of course, thank you.”

  Once the library door closed behind them, Lachlan offered his arm. She wound her hand around the crook of his elbow.

  “Why are you so keen on this Bond Street venture?” she asked. “I’ve never known you to be particularly interested in your uncle’s business.”

  “In all honesty, I have as little interest in medicine as my uncle has interest in the law.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He was silent a moment. “Two reasons, I suppose.”

  “Number one?”

  “To do something for my uncle, for a change. After my father passed away, Uncle Angus swooped in and filled the gap. He made sure my mother and I wanted for nothing. This Bond Street shop will make him happy, and, for once, I’m in a position to help him.”

  “Your uncle often spoke of your accomplishments and how proud he was of you. I’m sure your assistance with the legal side of this project has set his mind at ease.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Number two?”

  “To see you.”

  She smiled up at him, expecting to find a teasing glint in his dark eyes. What she found was a low flickering flame that would take very little encouragement to ignite into a roaring fire. The sight made her think of Cameron and how the lamplight had danced along his back as firm muscles rippled beneath smooth, warm skin.

  Need coiled in her stomach the way it always did when she thought of Cameron. For a while, in Scotland, she’d managed not to think of him at all. She now realized Lachlan had something to do with that effort. Kind, handsome, stable Lachlan who’d asked nothing more from her than friendship—and the occasional chess game. Now he looked upon her with the same intensity Cameron always had, and it scared her witless.

  So she did the only thing she could think of—she retreated into their former banter style, acting as though she had never noticed his interest. “I must warn you, I’ve been practicing my chess game. Do not think my winning our last game was blind luck.”

  He said nothing more until she was bundled and ready to leave. Dismissing Mrs. Hodder, he held the door open for her. “My uncle is having a few people round on Thursday evening. Would you come as my guest?”

  Charlotte hesitated, and the reason she hesitated made her chest burn. Had Cameron not reentered her life a few days ago, she would think nothing of accepting Lachlan’s invitation. But she would not give Cameron control over her happiness again. She almost hadn’t survived the last time.

  Resting her gloved fingertips on his arm, she said, “I’d be delighted to join you.”

  A satisfied grin slashed across his face. “I’ll collect you at seven.”

  “Until Thursday, Lachlan.” She made it only a few steps before he called her name. “Yes?”

  “You don’t need any fancy French perfume. You have a beautiful scent all your own.”

  Chapter Four

  “Do you think we’ll have time to sneak in to see some of Felix’s audition?” Piper asked, a few days later as she transferred yesterday’s herb shipment into smaller containers to be housed in the cabinets behind the counter. Each container was labeled with the herb’s Latin name so that similar plants would not be confused.

  “Barring any emergencies, I see no reason why we cannot.” Charlotte accepted a filled container labeled Valeriana and placed it in its alphabetical position on the shelf. “Did he appear anxious this morning?”

  “I should say so.” Piper smiled. “For the first time ever, he awoke on his own and was out the door before I even rolled out of bed.”

  “He’ll do fine. He’s been practicing his lines for days.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy since before Father left.”

  “Then we’ll make sure he remembers this moment, always.”

  The bell chimed over the door, heralding the arrival of Mrs. Dimwicker. One of the shop’s regular customers, the pleasant, kind-hearted lady battled a battalion of ailments on a monthly basis. Some imaginary, some extraordinary. Some all too real.

  “Mrs. Fielding, thank goodness you’re here. I have a terrible pain in my stomach.” She pressed her fingers over her middle.

  The bell chimed again, and a tall, well-dressed young man entered. Lord Stonecrest’s valet. Charlotte glanced at Piper, saw the color rise on the girl’s cheeks.

  “Mrs. Dimwicker, would you mind stepping into the back room? Piper will ask you a few more questions while I take care of Mr. Evans.”

  Assessing the situation with one keen sweep of her eye, Mrs. Dimwicker said, “Of course, take your time.” She rounded the counter. “Well, not too long. The pain, you know.”

  “I’ll be with you in five minutes, ma’am,” Charlotte assured her.

  The woman smiled before disappearing behind the curtain.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fielding,” Piper whispered with a croak in her voice. She cleared her throat. “But I’ll take care of Mr. Evans.”

  Charlotte eyed the ornate wooden box she kept beneath the counter. Until this moment, Piper had avoided having anything to do with the contents of the box. Understandable, given the sensitive nature of their use. Only wealthy gentlemen, with certain needs, purchased the items that she kept stowed away from her regular customers. Or, sometimes, like today, they sent their servants to fetch a month’s supply.

  “You’re sure?”

  Piper nodded. “If I’m to have my own shop one day, I mustn’t be squeamish about such things.”

  Squeezing her assistant’s arm, Charlotte went to the back room to see to Mrs. Dimwicker. She paused on the other side of the curtain, angling her head to listen.

  “Good morning, Mr. Evans,” Piper said with only a slight quaver in her voice. “Your usual order?”

  “Yes, miss.”

  A sense of pride filled Charlotte like warm chocolate flowing into a cup. Even though only a few years separated her and Piper, there were times like this when she felt like the proud mama. Or, more appropriately, the big sister. Seeing that Piper had things well in hand, Charlotte went to talk with her best customer.

  “Miss Scott thrives under your care.” Mrs. Dimwicker set down her reticule and removed her gloves. “She’s going to make a fine apothecary one day.”

  Something clattered against the countertop in the other room. Charlotte met Mrs. Dimwicker’s eyes. They both clapped their
hands over their mouths, stifling a knowing laugh.

  “Poor thing must be as nervous as a virgin in a den of knaves.”

  Charlotte recalled all too easily the embarrassment of selling her first French letters to a gentleman. Pounding pulse, shaking hands, flaming face, and all. She also knew negotiating such a mortifying transaction wouldn’t be the worst thing Piper would face in her chosen career.

  # # #

  After eating a light luncheon at Hamlin’s outdoor café, Charlotte and Piper made their way to Russell Street and strolled beneath the theater’s long colonnade. They came to a set of wide double doors, and Charlotte let them into the dimly lit passage that led to the backstage entrance.

  “Can they not afford to light another lamp?” Piper complained, glancing behind them.

  Charlotte shared her assistant’s apprehension. One lamp illuminated the entire corridor, leaving much to shadow. The dark corners alone weren’t enough to excite her imagination. It was the unclaimed sounds echoing down the dark passage that threatened her unaffected façade.

  “Most people arrive through the main entrance,” Charlotte said, adding a lightness she didn’t feel to her tone.

  “I still don’t know how you managed to get us inside. I’ve heard the theater manager is rather selective about who’s allowed to see any part of the play before opening night.”

  Although Charlotte charged a modest fee for her services, some clients still could not afford payment. In these instances, her clients would offer an exchange of some type. A loaf of freshly baked bread, a door repair, a backstage view of The Sacred Tree. Charlotte didn’t mind. The exchange allowed her clients to maintain a sense of dignity, and she always received something special in return. “I’m quite certain Mr. Riordan knows nothing of our visit.”

  Soon, they came upon the theater’s interior door. Following her source’s directions, Charlotte tried the handle and found the door locked. She checked her timepiece. One fifty-five—they were right on time. “Peter said he’d be waiting for us.”

  A few months ago, Charlotte had been called to the Stephensons’ home to care for Peter’s eleven-year-old sister. She’d come down with a horrible cough, making her throat too raw to eat anything but broth. Charlotte had prescribed a decoction of hyssop, rue, and honey, and within a few days his sister was consuming solids again.