by Lauren Royal
“We were just leaving,” Amy assured her.
The dressmaker stuck her head back into the shop. “Une minute, Lady Priscilla, s’il vous plaît.” She hurried through the salon and into the back, murmuring “Merci, mesdemoiselles” as she went.
“Please let it be another Priscilla,” Kendra whispered, her hand on the curtain’s opening.
“What are you talking about?” Amy whispered back.
Kendra froze and stared at her. “Lady Priscilla.”
“Lady Priscilla?”
“Colin’s Lady Priscilla.”
“Oh…”
Amy wasn’t at all sure she wanted to meet the illustrious Priscilla, but she hadn’t much of a choice, as Kendra grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the shop.
“Lady Priscilla.” Amy had never heard Kendra sound so sickly sweet, nor seen such a false smile plastered on her face. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”
“Lady Kendra.” Priscilla’s voice was cultured and emotionless, as though she ran into acquaintances everywhere and nothing ever surprised her. She leaned over and pecked Kendra on the cheek; a casual kiss between ladies was de rigueur upon meeting. “I didn’t know you were in town. Is Colin back as well?”
“Oh, no. You know how he feels about the City,” Kendra said slyly.
“Yes, but he was here barely a day last month.”
“He’s very busy at Greystone. Perhaps you should visit him there.” Kendra’s suggestion sounded sincere, although she’d told Amy that Priscilla loathed Colin’s rustic home. “I’m sure he’d be glad to see you.”
“Goodness, not in the state that place is in. Although I’d consider an invitation to Cainewood.” Priscilla’s cool gray gaze moved to Amy. “Who do we have here?”
“Forgive me for failing to introduce you,” Kendra said smoothly. “This is Mrs. Amethyst Goldsmith. Amy, meet Lady Priscilla Hobbs.”
Amy watched Priscilla look her over and instantly dismiss her as untitled and insignificant. “I’m glad of your acquaintance,” Priscilla said with a small bored bow.
Amy opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. The very sight of Priscilla had rendered her speechless. Dear heavens, if Priscilla were Colin’s idea of the perfect girl…
Titles aside, she was Amy’s complete antithesis. Priscilla was tall where Amy was diminutive, fair where she was rosy, straight where she was curvy, and cool where she was emotional. Priscilla’s hair was blond, short, and styled, while Amy’s was dark, long, and unruly.
And those were just the obvious differences.
Amy hadn’t known it was possible to hate a virtual stranger. She felt like a sorry example of a human being, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. If witchcraft weren’t a sin, she’d surely be casting a spell forthwith.
Kendra nudged her with a discreet elbow. “I-I’m glad of your acquaintance,” Amy managed to return.
Priscilla’s pretty arched brows drew together. “Mrs. Goldsmith is a friend of yours?” She looked directly at Kendra, as though Amy weren’t there, which Amy wished were the case.
“She’s been staying with us since the fire. She lost her family and their jewelry shop.”
“Their shop?” Priscilla’s expression showed just what she thought of the Chases befriending a merchant, but the look also radiated resigned indulgence—as though the Chases were known to be rather eccentric.
“We’ve known Amy for some time,” Kendra stated defensively. As her fingers moved to the center of her neckline, where she’d pinned the bow-shaped jeweled galant that was her gift from Amy, a glint came into her eyes. “Our family has acquired much jewelry from hers. Colin especially.”
“Colin?” Priscilla frowned. “Colin has never given me any jewelry.”
Though Amy knew her friend was deliberately misleading Priscilla—Kendra must know Colin had bought only her locket and the ring for himself—she decided to play along. “I can assure you that Colin often purchased jewelry, since he always asked for my assistance.”
“Well then, perhaps Lord Greystone is waiting until after we are wed to gift me with it,” Priscilla said.
“Perhaps.”
The single word was a challenge, but apparently Priscilla chose not to see it that way, since she looked straight past Amy to where the seamstress waited between the parted curtains. “Madame Beaumont, you are ready?”
“Certainement, my lady.”
“It was a pleasure seeing you, Kendra,” Priscilla said on her way into the fitting salon.
No such pleasantries were directed at Amy, who evidently was beneath common courtesy.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Priscilla,” she called out pointedly, if insincerely. But the curtain closed before Priscilla could reply, assuming such was her intention.
Somehow, Amy thought not.
“What a rude girl,” she whispered to Kendra. “That is your brother’s intended?”
“In all her glory.” Kendra took Amy’s arm as they headed into the street.
“I suppose this has been a bad day for her,” Amy suggested, searching for a possible excuse for Priscilla’s behavior.
“I doubt it. I call her Priscilla Snobs, you know.” They shared a companionable smile before Kendra continued, “It makes Colin furious.”
“Whatever does he see in her, I wonder?”
“You’re not the only one.”
Seeing their approach, Jason’s coachman rushed to open the door. “We’d like to visit the New Exchange now,” Kendra informed him before climbing into her brother’s wood and leather carriage.
The coachman took her by the elbow to help her in. “As you wish, my lady.”
Amy followed slowly, still thinking about Priscilla. She hadn’t known what to expect, but Priscilla had turned out to be so perfectly upper class that any lingering unrealistic dreams Amy had harbored were swept away. No mere attraction could entice Colin Chase to trade such an aristocratic paragon for plain Amy Goldsmith.
Even though she couldn’t wed Colin whether he wanted her or not, it was a depressing thought. As she dwelt on it, she nearly missed the voice that called from down the street. The shocked, all-too-familiar voice.
“Amy? Amy! Can that be you?”
“I wish they’d hurry and rebuild the Royal Exchange,” Kendra lamented from inside the carriage. “It was so much better than the New Exchange.”
Amy hesitated but a moment before rushing inside to join her. She pulled the door shut before the startled coachman had a chance to close it.
“What’s happening, Amy?”
“Shh! Don’t say my name out loud.” She tugged the curtains over the windows, cursing the heavy traffic that perpetually clogged London’s streets. “Oh, why can’t we get going?”
The carriage gave a small lurch as it started into the center of the busy street, but it was too late. Bang! Bang! A fist hit the door, and the driver reined in the horses.
“Amy! I know you’re in there!”
“Hey!” The driver jumped to the street with an audible thump. “Keep your hands off Lord Cainewood’s carriage!”
Through a slit in the curtains, Amy glimpsed carrot-colored hair, but she needed no confirmation. Having worked with him for five years, she would have recognized Robert Stanley’s voice anywhere.
“I don’t give a care whose carriage this is!” she heard him yell. “Amethyst Goldsmith is inside, and I must speak with her.”
Amy bit her lip. The door opened and the driver asked, “Mrs. Goldsmith, do you know this gentleman?”
She decided to pretend she was surprised. “Robert!” She jumped out and wrapped her arms around the freckled man in a hug that was halfhearted at best, but she hoped would be convincing since she’d never been overly affectionate with him. “’I’m so glad to see you’re well—I’ve been wondering about you,” she gushed.
And it was true, in a way. Robert had been in her life a long time; she was relieved to see him whole and healthy.
“Your lette
r didn’t say where you were,” Robert said doubtfully, setting her away from himself. “Did you at least tell your Aunt Elizabeth? I wrote to her to find out, but I haven’t heard back yet.”
“Yes, I wrote to her,” Amy said slowly. Dear heavens…it hadn’t occurred to her that Robert would contact her aunt. He would have found her even in Paris. She hadn’t credited him with such resourcefulness.
No, she corrected herself, she’d known all along that Robert was intelligent, though a bit unimaginative. The truth was, she’d done her best not to think of him and what he would do at all.
“I’m sorry,” she said now, meaning it. “I should have found you to discuss matters. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was…mourning. Devastated.” She took a deep breath. “What have you been doing?”
Robert shuffled his feet on the slushy ground. “Looking for you. Helping my father a little. Drinking with my old chums at the King’s Arms, mostly.” Shaking his head, he grabbed her by the shoulders. “I vow and swear, I cannot believe I’ve found you. I thought I’d never see you again.”
When Amy didn’t respond, he paused, apparently considering.
“Were you ever going to try to find me?” he finally asked in a slow, suspicious tone.
Amy looked down at the street. She wished he’d let go of her, but he had her shoulders in an iron grip. A faint, stale smell of ale washed over her; she could taste it in her mouth. “Of course. I—I just got to the City,” she hedged. “I’ve been staying with friends. Out in the countryside.”
“Friends? Friends I don’t know about?”
She lifted her head and shot him a bold look. “There’s much you don’t know of me, Robert.”
“I’m coming to see that,” he returned, dropping his arms to fold them across his chest. “Our wedding date passed, as you know. We shall have to reschedule.”
Amy stared at him. “Did you not read my letter?”
“Wedding date?” Emerging from the shadowed corner of the carriage, Kendra stuck her head out. “Amy?”
Amy turned to her gratefully; this talk of weddings was making her ill. “Kendra, this is Robert Stanley. Robert, my friend Lady Kendra.”
He aimed a curt nod at Kendra. “This is your friend?” he asked Amy bluntly. “The one you’ve been staying with?”
“Yes.”
“Fancy carriage.” He said it as though it were a crime to own one.
“It belongs to my brother,” Kendra explained.
“Lord Something-or-other?”
“The Marquess of Cainewood.”
Robert blinked and frowned, as though he were trying to remember something, then gave a quick shake of his head. He turned back to Amy. “So…when do you want to get married?”
“Never,” she said quietly.
“You were promised to me.” Robert’s voice was low and deep and even more quiet than hers.
Too quiet.
Though Amy looked at him defiantly, she was shaking inside. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had to make him understand she had no intention of becoming his wife. “My father is dead. Everything has changed for me. And”—she lifted her chin—“and I don’t have to marry you.”
“Blast it, Amy, you’re supposed to be mine. I waited and waited. The shop was supposed to be mine, too, but now it’s gone. The inventory…” His eyes lit up. “Where is the inventory?”
Amy swallowed hard. “I don’t want to marry you, Robert.”
Robert’s jaw was set. His pale blue eyes flashed with menace. “Where is the inventory?”
“I don’t have it.” Her voice wavered, but it wasn’t quite a lie. She didn’t have it here.
“I don’t believe you. I went back to look, but found not a trace. No molten metal, no diamonds in the ashes. And diamonds don’t turn to ash.” He took a step closer. “Where is it, Amy?”
“I don’t have it,” she repeated shakily. “I—I have to go now.” She turned to enter the carriage.
He grabbed her by the upper arm, swung her around, and dug his fingers in painfully. “The inventory is mine. I worked five years for it. Where is it?”
Amy winced and threw a worried glance at Kendra, spurring her friend into action. Kendra planted herself firmly in the doorway of the carriage. “Leave her alone!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “She doesn’t have it!”
Visibly shocked at this outburst, Robert turned on Kendra. “You stay out of this! It’s not your concern!”
Kendra’s eyes narrowed recklessly. She came down from the carriage in a flash, curling one hand into a fist, which she propelled expertly into Robert’s face. “Leave her alone, I tell you!”
Robert’s pale eyes bugged out, and he dropped Amy’s arm to grasp his rapidly reddening jaw.
With a triumphant grin, Kendra grabbed Amy’s freed hand. “I haven’t three brothers for nothing!” she informed nobody in particular, then jumped into the carriage, pulling Amy after her.
Amy stuck her head out and pinned Robert with a disdainful look. “Five years? My family worked five centuries for that jewelry. You learned your craft and were paid a fair wage, as well as bed and board. I owe you no more, and you’ll never have more, Robert Stanley!”
She slammed and latched the carriage door.
Robert beat on it with both fists. “You’re mistaken, Amethyst Goldsmith! I’ll have the inventory yet, and you as well. You just wait!”
Inside the darkened carriage, Amy hunched over on the bench seat, covering her head with her hands so she wouldn’t hear him. After what seemed an interminable wait, the vehicle jerked and began moving.
Amy straightened. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized, massaging her upper arm. She was certain to have marks from Robert’s fingers.
“It’s not every day I get to practice my boxing.” Kendra’s laugh was shaky. She rubbed her bruised fist ruefully. “Gad, was he ever surprised!” She pushed open the curtains, and sunlight flooded the cabin. “Are you all right?”
Amy nodded mournfully. “I cannot believe what a perfect beast he was! And to think I almost married him.” She shuddered.
“You never told me you were betrothed.”
“I wanted to forget it. I never wanted to wed him in the first place—it was all my father’s doing.”
“He’s so…he doesn’t fit with you.” Kendra’s face turned contemplative. “He looked as though he might have an engaging smile when he’s not angry, but he’s quite…short. Of character and of stature. I cannot imagine you with him. Now, you and—”
“He always scared me a little,” Amy interrupted Kendra’s musings. “He lived with us as our apprentice the past five years, but we’d been promised since we were children.”
“Did you like him at all?”
“At first, until I got to know him. He had strong ideas of what he wanted in a wife, and they didn’t mesh with mine. Still, I could have done worse, and my father was insistent.” She shuddered again. “I’ll never marry him, especially not after this,” she declared vehemently. “Never, never, never.”
Kendra frowned. “Your aunt won’t expect you to wed him, will she?”
Amy thought a moment. Aunt Elizabeth was a warm, motherly type who wanted to see everyone around her happy. And she’d never been particularly fond of Robert. “No,” she said at last. “No, I don’t believe she will. Or my uncle, either.”
“Then you’ve nothing to worry about. Robert doesn’t know where to find you while you’re staying with us—”
“And I’ll be gone soon. Very soon.” The sooner the better, she thought morosely.
Her time in England was really at an end.
Kendra leaned over to touch her hand, then suddenly grinned. “Five centuries?”
Amusement lightened Amy’s mood. “Well…perhaps I exaggerated, just a little.” When her eyes met Kendra’s, they both burst out laughing.
FORTY-TWO
ROBERT’S ALCOHOL-laden brain was trying to tell him something. Surrounded by his chums at the King’s Ar
ms, he was drinking too much and eating too little. He felt sick. Still, something in the back of his head was working its way out.
Kendra. Kendra. He took another swig. Was there not…
Yes! That worm Greystone had a sister named Kendra.
They’d come into the shop only once, but the way the fellow had looked at Amy, and Amy’s flushed reaction, still burned in Robert’s memory. He hadn’t paid the sister any attention, having no taste for red-headed girls, but this could easily be her.
He rubbed his aching jaw. This Kendra, with her iron fist, didn’t look much like Greystone. His hair had been black, and his eyes were a darker green than hers, too. She was petite, and the worm was tall—so tall that Robert had felt intimidated, although Greystone had ignored him.
Well, the sister intimidated him, too. Now.
Yes, she must be his sister. He squinted his bloodshot eyes, trying to better picture them both. They shared the same facial bone structure, he was sure of it, and the same shape eyes. And they both had the same cocky self-assurance.
And they were both “friends” of Amy’s.
Amy. Pretty, elusive Amy. She’d promised to marry him. For five long years he’d sat at her father’s bench, with the promise of Amy and her riches in time.
The time had come. She was in London. If she wouldn’t wed him willingly, he would have to force her. There were places he’d heard about, “privileged” churches where a man could marry a woman without posting banns, without taking out a license.
Without her consent.
He turned to the man next to him, one of the many who spent their evenings in this popular middle-class tavern. “Hey,” he said, surprised to hear the word wavering, “have you knowledge of a privileged church? Not too far?”
“St. Trinity, in the Minories,” the man answered.
“St. James in Duke’s Place is another,” a man sitting across the table put in. “They’re the only two, I think. Claim they’re outside the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London and can therefore make their own rules. M’sister was wed at St. James.”
“Against her will?”
“Nah. She was just in a hurry. Got a predated certificate, too, so the babe wasn’t early.”