Brentwood's Ward

by Michelle Griep

  And several guns cocked behind him from aboard deck.

  Facing death wasn’t new, but it never failed to ramp up his heart rate. Nicholas skewered Norton with a stare. “Call them off, or prove yourself to be worse than Sedgewick.”

  The captain’s jaw contracted. Tension twanged the air as real as the four warning bells off London Bridge.

  Finally, Norton lifted his eyes to the men aboard his ship. Without a word, hammers eased back.

  Nicholas released a breath and tightened his grip on Skully, lest the man think Norton’s gesture would slacken his resolve.

  The captain scowled. “Monday night I was at the Bull’s Head, meeting with a merchant, Thomas Gilroy, of Mandrake and Gilroy. He paid for Sedgewick’s shipment, at half rate of course, and cut me a deal for a new trade. Square it with Mr. Gilroy if you don’t believe me.”

  Norton stepped forward, leaving no room to doubt his claim. “My papers are cleared, and I’m sailing today.”

  That the captain hated Reginald Sedgewick was plain enough—but his alibi was easily confirmed. Mandrake’s office was just down the block. Nicholas could confer with Gilroy before the captain’s spyglass caught sight of the estuary.

  “I suppose you’ll need your first mate, then.” Nicholas released his hold and stepped back, giving Skully plenty of swing room should he feel the need for retribution.

  The first mate didn’t disappoint, but the captain stayed the man’s arm with a curse. “We don’t need more trouble, Skully!”

  Nicholas sidestepped them both. “Good day, gentlemen.”

  Ignoring the foul barrage of name-calling as he stomped down the dock, he wondered how much money one must lose to instill such a passion. Exactly how much the captain had lost was anybody’s guess, but gold was nothing in comparison to how much Emily or Jenny would lose if he didn’t find the real culprit.

  And soon.

  Beeswax rained onto the envelope, each drip puddling into a melted pool. If Emily squinted so that her eyelids were just about closed, everything blurred, making it look like a splotch of molten gold—a far brighter hue than the colorless gray outside her bedroom window. Before the wax hardened, she picked up the brass seal and pressed the Payne family crest into the center. There. Signed and sealed. Now to deliver. She hoped Millie was home—and that Nicholas Brentwood hadn’t instructed the man across the street to stop her from paying a call.

  A slow smile curved her lips as she peeked out the lace sheer at the miserable-looking fellow. Standing under a tree for the better part of the morning, soaking up drizzle like a giant fungus, surely he couldn’t be enjoying himself. Her smile grew. She could remedy that. With a few bats of her lashes and maybe a giggle or two, she’d gain an escort to Millie’s.

  She stood and crossed to a wardrobe solely committed to hats. Just opening the doors sent a thrill racing through her tummy and wafted the fresh scent of lavender into the room. Her friend Bella collected shoes, Millie men, but bonnets? Ahh. She’d take a new bonnet any day and every day had she enough space to store them.

  Placing a finger to her lower lip, she scanned the shelves of hatboxes. Her eyes caressed each one like a lover returned from sea. Most were tall, some short, several fairly wide, but finally she settled on a pale pink box with gray stripes and freed it from its wardrobe prison. She padded over to her bed, anticipating the moment when the lid lifted and a brilliant flash of a puffed red crown would—

  “I’ve a mind to dismiss you now!”

  Mrs. Hunt’s voice slid through a crack in the door adjoining Emily’s room to Mary’s. Emily paused, hatbox in hand. What could the maid have possibly done wrong? Her ankle, considerably shrunken but yet painful, certainly kept her out of the way.

  But perhaps that was the issue.

  Setting the box on the end of her bed, Emily turned and crept to the door between her chamber and Mary’s. She missed most of Mary’s reply, except for a few sniffles that punctuated her last words. “You can’t blame me for being laid up.”

  “I don’t.” The housekeeper’s tone, though quieter, was still terse. Emily imagined the accompanying scowl etched onto Mrs. Hunt’s face.

  “But that doesn’t get your work done,” she continued. “Betty and I are doing double-time what with your chores and ours. I should think that you could at least get through that pile of mending in a timely fashion.”

  “I was hired as a lady’s maid, Mrs. Hunt, not a seamstress for the entire household. That my sewing skills don’t meet your approval is as much out of my control as healing my own ankle.”

  Emily stifled a gasp then leaned closer. Even without a visual, this was as entertaining as a night at the theater.

  “That sort of cheek will send you packing,” Mrs. Hunt’s voice hardened. “And without a reference, I might add.”

  The threat jerked Emily ramrod straight. She knew that tone. She knew those words. Mrs. Hunt hadn’t spared her own daughter—Mary wouldn’t stand a chance if she pushed her situation any further. Though she wouldn’t miss Mary to such a degree as losing Wren, she had grown accustomed to the girl. The thought of breaking in yet another lady’s maid was tiresome.

  Emily shoved open the door and sashayed in. “Mary, dear, would you mind reading to me today? Everyone else is too busy, and I feel a headache coming on. I’m so glad you’re available like this. Oh!” She fluttered her hand to her chest and widened her eyes at Mrs. Hunt. “I didn’t realize…Did I interrupt something?”

  The housekeeper’s face was pinched so tight, even Emily flinched.

  Smoothing her hands on her apron, Mrs. Hunt darted a glance at Mary before she answered. “I suppose I’m finished here, miss. I am late for a meeting with John as is.”

  “Oh? He is returned?” Thank the Lord! Casting off her plan to sweet-talk Mr. Red Beard, Emily swooped over to Mrs. Hunt, letter outstretched. “Would you see that this is delivered to Millie Barker as soon as possible?”

  If the woman’s face scrunched any more, her eyeballs would be lost. “I’ll have John see to it.” But before she disappeared out the door, she volleyed a parting shot at Mary. “At least the butler has resumed his post.”

  Mary sagged in her seat near the hearth, a heap of garments draped over the rim of a basket at her side. “Thank you, miss. You’ll never know—”

  As the girl sat there, eyes shining with tears about to spill over, Emily couldn’t help but be reminded of the day Wren had sat in the very same spot, telling her the ugly truth of a fate that could have easily been hers.

  She swallowed the sour memory and forced a smile that belied her words. “I know more than you ever should.”

  Chapter 15

  The following morn, Emily opened the door and finally—finally—escaped the house. Intent on a shopping spree as triumphant as Trafalgar, she had to discipline herself not to skip to the carriage.

  Hours later, fingering a pair of amethyst drop earrings, she wasn’t so sure about a victory. After three stores, not one package sat in the carriage. She’d been uninspired at Dalton’s Lace and Glove. The clerk at Fairmont’s outright ignored her, and it still vexed her as to why Rollins Slipper & Shoe had suddenly instituted a new policy of pound-notes-up-front.

  She set the earbobs onto the glass counter and heaved a sigh. Posted near the front door, Nicholas mimicked her. The sound satisfied. The earrings did not. Purple, though her favorite color, wouldn’t give her the dazzle she hoped for with her golden ball gown.

  “These aren’t quite right,” she told the clerk behind the counter—who promptly sighed as well.

  As the narrow-nosed fellow replaced the jewels, she sidestepped down a ways, her gaze traveling from stringed pearls to emerald pendants. Leaning in for a closer look, she blinked. A glimmer flashed at the corner of her eye. She turned her head to look, and her jaw dropped.

  There, beneath the glass, a universe of tiny stars sparkled, lit by a ray of sun reaching through the front window. Her breath caught as she eyed a tiara sprinkled with diamond chi
ps. Whoever wore that crown would be the queen of the ball—and she’d long since felt she was royalty.

  Noting her interest, the clerk pulled out the magnificent piece and held it aloft. Brilliant glitters of light dotted her vision, so stunning her lips parted and thirst parched her throat. For a second, she was speechless.

  He lifted it higher and looked down his thin nose at her. “Should you like to try it on?”

  To her right, a green skirt swished into view. Emily glanced over. Eyes wider than a beggar’s ogled the sparkles on the tiara. And next to the gaping girl, an older woman—presumably her mother according to the droop of her jowls—stepped forward. The pair looked like bloodhounds on the hunt.

  And her tiara was the prey.

  Emily jerked her face back to the clerk. “No need. Package it, if you will, please.” She upped her volume. “I shall take it with me.”

  Boot steps thumped across the floor. Nicholas Brentwood drew up alongside her, blocking the sunshine and snuffing out some of the glitter of her new headpiece. “Do you really think that’s wise, Miss Payne? A fine jeweler such as Asprey’s will send an armed delivery—”

  “Don’t be silly.” She pasted on a pleasant smile, all the while keeping track of the duo on the trail.

  “Excuse me,” said the clerk. “I shall return shortly.” He took his long nose and the tiara with him, backtracking down the counter. Either he sensed the coming battle, or he simply went to box up her piece.

  Emily watched until he disappeared through a side door then turned on Nicholas. “I see no need for delay. You are armed, are you not?”

  The creases of an impending—and by the looks of it, quite magnificent—scowl started at the corners of his mouth. “I was hired to protect you, not a frivolous piece of jewelry.”

  “It’s not frivolous!” She stamped her foot. An infantile reaction, but gratifying in every respect save for one.

  It made the bloodhound in the green pelisse step closer with a look of hope in her eyes.

  Emily lowered her tone. “That tiara is necessary, not that I expect you to understand. What would you know about a woman’s accessories?”

  He folded his arms, a common lecture stance her father often employed. “If you can’t catch the eye of a man without the aid of trinkets, then I suggest the man’s not worth catching at all.”

  “It doesn’t hurt to embellish the package.”

  “I beg to differ. For you see, Miss Payne—” he bent toward her, so close his breath warmed her ear—“your package needs no further embellishment.”

  The quiet words sunk deep, sending ripples out to her fingers and toes. A compliment? From him…for her? Now that was as stunning as the tiara—

  Or was it his unwavering gaze that suddenly seized her heart?

  She turned and faced the glass case before he noticed his effect and was rewarded by the return of the clerk. Immediately, her brow puckered. Why did he carry her sparkles unwrapped? And who was the buttoned and bowed man next to him?

  “Miss Payne?” The other man’s shiny black eyes fixed on her. His dark frock coat clung tight, leaving a wide opening in front where a white starched shirt stretched over his belly. A snowy cravat looped into circles at his neck. All in all, he looked like an illustration she’d once seen of a penguin.

  “Yes, I—excuse me.” She snapped her gaze back to the long-nosed clerk. With one hand he straightened the velvet bedding beneath the glass, and with the other, replaced the tiara. What a dolt. “Perhaps I was not clear. I should like that boxed up.”

  The clerk’s lips parted, but the other fellow spoke. “Miss Payne, unless you can produce a banknote for five thousand pounds, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait. There is an unpaid balance on your account.”

  The man’s words rattled around in her head like rocks in a tin can. She had to wait? What did that even mean? She returned her gaze to him. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  “Mr. Davitt.” He lifted his chin, and if his chest puffed out any farther, one of those buttons would pop. “Manager of Asprey’s.”

  “Well, Mr. Davitt,” she matched the pretentious tilt of his head. “There must be some misunderstanding. Whatever the balance is, rest assured my father will see to it as soon as he returns to town.”

  “Miss Payne,” Nicholas’s voice curled into her ear from behind, “we should leave.”

  She cut him a sharp glance over her shoulder. “You, sir, promised to shop all day.”

  Then she forced a smile she didn’t feel and dazzled it on Mr. Davitt. “Now then, please deliver the tiara—”

  “I’m afraid that is out of the question.”

  His refusal pulled her gloved fingers into fists, but popping a penguin in the chest just didn’t seem right. Poking at his pride, however, was altogether fair game. “Apparently you don’t understand, sir, so I’ll speak slowly and clearly that you may follow along. My father, Mr. Alistair Payne—that’s p-a-y-n-e—is a name to be trusted, and when he hears of this insult, you’ll be lucky to find yourself the manager of the thimble store in Cheapside.”

  If the man’s nose lifted any higher, a nosebleed would follow. “Allow me to be plain. Until the account is cleared, there will be no further deliveries or purchases from Asprey’s. I bid you and the gentleman a good day.”

  “But—”

  Mr. Davitt spun, the tails of his frock coat whapping the counter. The clerk merely sniffed. And a combined gasp—both female—came from the left.

  Ignoring them all, Emily traced the outline of the headpiece with one finger on the glass. The tiara sat so near yet was trapped beyond her reach. Her whole head ached, knowing the snug feel of those diamonds nested in her hair would never be a reality, leastwise not in time for the Garveys’ ball. And if she didn’t land Mr. Henley this season…moisture welled in her eyes, blurring the glittery little universe into washed-out gray. What was to become of her? Live as a spinster in her father’s house until death? If he allowed her, that is.

  To her side, the horrid girl stifled a giggle—a girl who might very well purchase that crown and live happily ever after.

  Unlike her.

  “Emily.”

  She spun. Had Brentwood seriously used her Christian name? In public?

  “I suspected that might grab your attention.” Half a smile tipped his mouth. “Let’s go.”

  He offered his arm. Walking out of here would admit defeat. But honestly…what choice did she have?

  The solid muscle beneath his sleeve lent her strength, enough to straighten her shoulders and force her eyes dead ahead as they crossed to the door. The burn of the girl’s stare scorched her back.

  Outside, as Nicholas led her down the block to their carriage, other shoppers bustled by, each trailed by servants carrying packages and parcels. She flexed the fingers of her free hand. Why did emptiness weigh so much? What was going on? She’d never been refused service. She’d never tasted the hot green sting of humiliation quite so bitterly.

  Deep in thought, she slowed her steps. Nicholas gave her a sideways glance.

  “Don’t fret. It’s for the better that you didn’t purchase that gaudy bit of frippery. Your smile’s brighter than any tiara.” He nudged her. “Come on, let’s see it.”

  She lifted her face to him. “Are you trying to be kind, sir?”

  A grin slid across his face. “Is it working?”

  Her lips twitched, but she pursed them. “Not yet.”

  “Well then, I shall have to try harder.” He stopped in front of their carriage and waved off the driver then reached for the door himself. Once opened, he turned to her, his smile fading. “I meant what I said, you know.”

  Her brow crumpled. “What…that the tiara was too frivolous a trinket or too gaudy?”

  “No.” He locked eyes with her. “I meant that you don’t need diamonds to attract a man.”

  The sincerity of his words shivered through her. She’d heard flattery before. Enough to distinguish counterfeit from real. For all his blus
ter, Nicholas was genuine in a way she’d never experienced—a way that drew her in and wrapped around her shoulders.

  He broke the spell with a nod toward the open carriage door. “Shall we?”

  When she clasped his offered hand, a queer shot of heat raced up her arm. She smoothed her palm along her skirt as she seated herself—a vain attempt at wiping away his touch, for to admit his effect would be scandalous. But the action did nothing to remove the sound of his voice directing the driver outside.

  Immediately, she popped her head back out the door. “Stop first at the Chapter Coffee House, if you please.”

  Nicholas looked up at her from the street. One of his brows rose—only one…his I-know-something’s-up look. “Since when are you interested in political or literary debate, Miss Payne?”

  She slunk back inside the safety of the carriage and busied her hands with pressing the wrinkles from her skirts. Just because shopping had been a dismal failure, didn’t mean the rest of the day must be a loss.

  She had larger battles to win than Trafalgar.

  Chapter 16

  The carriage lurched to a stop in front of the Chapter, but the thousand swirling thoughts in Nicholas’s mind kept right on rolling, even as he opened the door and delivered Emily to the threshold of the coffee and chocolate drinking establishment. Was he doing the right thing? A woman of Emily’s caliber ought not deign a visit to a coffee shop, so something unique was obviously pulling her in. Not that she’d admit to it. Her pretty lips had remained sealed the entire ride, and she’d taken great interest in staring out the carriage window, humming a little tune.

  Among those how comes and wonder whys, he was preoccupied as well with their shopping experience. Either the merchants’ aversion to offering Emily service meant that Payne’s debts had finally caught up to him, or word of her father’s death had leaked out. And if common shopkeepers knew, it was only a matter of time before Emily discovered it—

  A truth, he determined, she should hear from his lips and none other’s. He’d never overridden a directive from the magistrate before, but this time, he just might have to.