by Rose Gordon
Once she was down, Simon climbed out of the carriage and offered Rae his hand.
“Where shall we start?” Lady Drakely asked.
“The confectionary,” said Kate, leading her middle sister to jump up and down in agreement.
“All right,” Lady Drakely said, reaching for the two girls’ hands. “How about if we drag your papa to the confectionary while Aunt Henrietta and Mr. Appleton go pay Mr. Edwards a visit.”
“Mr. Edwards?” Simon asked, offering his arm to Rae.
She placed her fingers in the crook of his arm. “The tailor.”
Lord Drakely offered his arm to his eldest daughter and fell in line with the rest of his family.
“I have a feeling Mr. Edwards isn’t the man you have set your cap on,” Simon mused when her family was out of earshot.
Rae snorted. “Not at all.”
“Then which shop shall we actually be paying a visit?”
“Mr. Edwards’ shop,” Rae said quietly.
Simon reached his free hand across his chest and covered her hand with his. “Oh, that shall be just lovely,” he said in the most noble tone he could muster, lifting his nose in the air as high as it’d go. “I do hope you’ll be able to contain your excitement at seeing the brown, black, and grey swatches.”
“And what of yellow?” She eyed him askance. “I think you’d look very dashing in either canary or mustard.”
“Do you plan to dress to match?”
She scowled. “Yellow is not my color.”
“No, pink is.” He waited a moment then added, “See, there it is again.”
She knit her eyebrows. “Pardon?”
“Your cheeks.”
Her free hand flew to her left cheek and she scowled at him. “You have a disease, did you know that?”
“I wouldn’t consider it a disease to find enjoyment in making a young lady blush.”
“I would.” Her tone was full of conviction. “I’m sure others would, too.”
“Who? Those who’ve chosen to live out their life in a convent?”
“Just so.”
A cloud of dust swirled around the hem of Rae’s green skirt. She slowed her steps.
“Is something wrong?” Simon queried, matching her steps.
“No,” she said quickly.
Simon stilled and looked around them. “Is he here?” he asked in a stage whisper.
“No,” she lied, her stomach knotting into a tight fist. She gave his arm a little tug. “Let’s go in here and talk terms.”
“Terms?” Dutifully, he followed her lead toward Goldberg’s and then opened the door for her.
Rae walked inside the old familiar tearoom, noting how everyone was looking at them. She silently counted to five to calm her nerves and flashed Simon and the rest of the room the best smile she could at the moment.
“Are you sure you want to be in here?” Simon asked quietly by her ear, his hand finding a resting spot on the small of her back.
Ignoring the shiver skating up her spine, she nodded. “I used to come here when I was a girl and well—” she shrugged. “Things are different now.”
“Shall we scandalize them all further and order, then?” Simon suggested.
“Of course.” Rae tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Their lemonade is quite unmatched.”
“And what of their biscuits, I wonder.”
“They’re all right.” She grinned. “Mama’s are better.”
“Mama?” Simon asked before ordering them each a lemonade and a plate of biscuits. “You never speak of your mama.”
“She’s always increasing. Not much else to say.” She looked at him. “Biscuits and lemonade? Interesting combination.”
Simon turned back toward the clerk, grimacing. “Could you bring out a pot of tea with the biscuits? It seems the lady finds sweet and sour at the same time not to be to her liking.”
Rae shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.” She took a seat in the chair Simon pulled out for her. “You know as well as I do you’d be choking and hacking up those biscuits— Is something wrong?”
“No, no.” Simon took a seat in the chair opposite her. “I’ve just never heard a lady describe ‘hacking up biscuits’.”
Rae flushed and forced a shrug. “Well, it pains me to be the one to ruin your image of me, but ‘round here, there aren’t many ladies, and I am no exception.”
“Praise the Lord,” Simon burst out. “Ladies are tiresome.”
“And me?” She couldn’t believe she’d asked such a thing!
“Oh, you’re tiresome, but for a completely different reason.”
“That reminds me,” she said, leaning back so the footman could put their lemonades on the table. “We need to discuss our terms.”
“Terms?”
“Terms, plans.” She waved her hand through the air and pulled off her glove. “Same thing.”
Simon impaled her with his emerald eyes.
Smoothing her skirts, she licked her lips. “The way I see it, if I allow you to help me with my…er…” she looked around the room to make sure no one was paying attention to them— “goals,” she finished smoothly. “I think I should help you with yours.”
Simon started. “Mine?”
She nodded.
“I don’t have any goals.”
Despite her best efforts not to, Rae giggled. “Yes, you do.”
“And what would those be?” he drawled then took a deep drink of his lemonade.
“Children.”
Simon choked on his lemonade. “P-pardon,” he sputtered, slapping his chest. Hard.
“They terrify you.”
Simon choked for another reason now.
How had she known that?
“I wouldn’t say they terrify me,” he said as evenly as he could.
She gave him a dubious look and raised her hands in the air. “All right, perhaps they don’t terrify you.” She dropped her hands. “We’d hate for anyone to think a man such as yourself has an ounce of fear.”
He frowned at her. “That’s not—”
Rae waved him off. “It’s of no account. What is—” she bit her lip and lowered her voice— “is that you don’t know what to do or say around children.”
Simon’s frown deepened. “Why does that matter?”
“Because one day you’ll have one…or ten of your own and you’ll need to know how they behave.”
“They don’t,” Simon said flatly, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or cringe at the way Rae’s grin hit him like a jolt of lightning.
“You have them pinned there. But—” she sighed— “that’s where your knowledge ends.”
“And now that my shortcoming where children are concerned has been thoroughly exposed, I ask again, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything,” she said sweetly, running her index finger around the top of her glass. “I shall teach you how to talk to children in exchange for your help with my goal.”
Simon stared at her. “Are you cracked?”
Rae’s lips thinned into a tight line “No.”
Her stiff reply tore at his heart. Simon raked a hand through his hair. “My apologies.”
“Are as lacking as your abilities with children,” Rae commented. At some point during their last exchange the tea and biscuits had arrived. She snagged one and pulled it apart then cocked her head to the side. “Why is that?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly, annoyed.
“Do you have siblings?”
“No,” he said through clenched teeth. He sighed. “One.”
Rae popped the rest of her biscuit into her mouth and made a rolling motion with her hand.
“There isn’t anything more to say.”
“If you treated him with the same cold indifference as you talk about him, I understand the strained relationship.”
Irritation bubbled inside Simon. “That’s enough.”
She blanched at the sharpness in his tone.
“I apolog—”
“Stop apologizing.” Rae poured them each a cup of tea then set the teapot down with a dull thump. “It’s a waste of breath if you don’t mean it.”
“If you’re trying to shame me, it won’t work.”
“If you’re trying to annoy me, it’s working perfectly,” she said with a smile.
“I’m not trying to annoy you.” He grabbed one of the warm biscuits off the plate and bit into it. “I don’t understand what my relationship with my brother has to do with anything.”
“All I did was ask about him,” Rae said quietly.
Simon let out a deep exhale. “I’m so—”
Rae held up a finger to stop him.
Simon reached for her hand and pushed it down. “I mean it this time. I am sorry.” He drank his entire cup of tea in one swallow then put his cup down with another deep exhale. “Giles—Lord Norcourt—is my half-brother.”
Rae folded her hands and gave a slow nod.
Simon had no idea how much she already knew, but what did it matter what he told her? “We didn’t grow up together.”
“He’s significantly older than you, no?”
“Seven years.” Simon twisted his lips. “I think.” He half-expected Rae to make a comment about his not knowing being further proof of his inabilities. “I don’t know a lot about Giles,” he admitted, relaxing his shoulders and leaning back against the backrest of his chair. “My mother once told me when she was married to Lord Norcourt, they had a son, but he’d had his life’s cord wrapped around his neck.” He swallowed uncomfortably. “Foolish boy that I was, I just assumed that meant I was her only living child.” He felt his lips twist bitterly and he was powerless to stop it. “Apparently, all that time I had a brother living in an orphanage.”
Rae could understand why he’d assumed such. Mama’s last baby had been born with a similar condition and hadn’t survived the night. “And you just learned all of this earlier this Season?”
Numb head to toe, Simon did his best to nod.
“I see how that could put a strain on things,” she concluded, reaching across the table.
Simon looked down to where her hand rested on his forearm.
“He’s betrothed to a young lady who has a child, yes?”
Simon wondered how she knew that then dismissed the thought almost immediately. No doubt by now every private detail of Lucy’s life had been printed in the scandal sheets. “Seth.”
“Assuming Seth already likes you,” she said with a wink. “You need my help to keep him liking you.”
At that, Simon grinned. “Again, you have me pinned.” He covered her hand with his. “And it’s unnerving.”
She brushed her thumb across his arm. “It’s my gift.”
“Along with talking to children,” he added.
Rae snorted. “When you’re the second eldest of nine children, you don’t have a choice but to acquire such an ability.”
“Gads.” Simon grimaced. “So many?”
“My mother didn’t know how to act if she wasn’t increasing.” Rae picked up another biscuit. “Even now,” she said, breaking a chunk off and popping it into her mouth. “Enough about my family, let’s discuss yours.”
“I’d rather not.”
Rae playfully wagged her finger at him. “You won’t be finding favor in that boy’s eyes with an attitude like that.”
Simon sighed. He and his parents might not be getting along, and he might have a measure of disdain toward Giles, but Rae was right, Seth would soon be part of his family. “Do I have to gain his esteem?”
Rae wiped her lips then set her napkin down. “No. You don’t have to.” She reached for her reticule. “But how do you think he feels?”
10
Rae might have laughed at Simon’s unhinged jaw if she knew in her heart that his expression was borne solely of innocence.
She bit her lip, unsure if she should further explain her meaning.
“Are you ready to introduce me to your Prince in Shining Armor?” Simon asked suddenly, pushing to his feet.
Rae’s face warmed. She’d hoped by lingering in the tearoom she’d be able to avoid Simon seeing Mr. Fisher.
Simon gripped the back of her chair, his earlier befuddled expression now replaced with amusement.
“Just so we’re clear, I’m not introducing the two of you,” she said as she stood.
“Mmmhmm,” was his only response until they got back out into the sunshine, then, “All right, where is the handsome chap.”
“How much sugar did you put in your tea?” Rae wondered aloud.
“Enough to cover the bitter taste.” He guided her to the street then stopped. “Which way to your prince?”
Repressing a sigh at his insistence, she reluctantly pointed her finger to the left.
“All right, let’s go surprise him.”
Surprise him? Rae dug her heels into the ground. “Simon, I meant what I said. I have no intentions of introducing you to him.”
Simon frowned. “And why not? Does my presence embarrass you?”
“No,” she said quickly, then frowned at him. “Are you mocking me?”
“No. Why would you think that?”
“Because of my choice.”
“Your choice?” he echoed, the same befuddled expression from the tearoom coming back over his face.
“Mr. Fisher isn’t a prince in shining armor,” she said between clenched teeth. Swallowing the last ounce of pride she had, Rae pointed to a shop across the street and three doors down. “He’s the one who makes it.”
Simon’s eyes followed the invisible line that extended from Rae’s finger. His lips moved but said nothing.
Nervous anticipation built within Rae. What would he say about her interest in a smithy? “As I said earlier, he’s not my prince,” she whispered when she didn’t think she could take the silence for another second.
Silence was Simon’s only response.
Why is he staring at me like that? “Not all girls dream of growing up and marrying a prince,” she said irritably.
“You’re awfully defensive of your choice,” he said quietly. Then, without allowing her a chance to respond, he started walking in the direction of the smithy.
Not wishing to be dragged behind him, Rae put her feet into motion her heart slamming wildly in her chest.
Simon snorted.
She poked him in the side with her elbow. “What was that for?”
“One minute you’re as bold as a lion and the next you’re as skittish as a house cat.”
“I’m not skittish!”
He grinned at her then winked. “No? Excited to see your lover again?”
Rae’s blood turned to ice and she nearly tripped.
“Forgive me.” Simon’s cheeks pinkened. “I shouldn’t have said…” His blush deepened and he forced a shrug. “It’s my curse, I’m afraid: speaking before thinking.” He guffawed. “Perhaps that’s why I send the ladies into another’s arms,” he said beneath his breath.
Rae squeezed his arm in reassurance. “I’m sure that’s not what it was.”
Simon pulled to a stop and looked down at her, his eyes wide and his eyebrows halfway to his hairline. “Oh? Then why was it?”
Despite herself, she giggled. Then quickly tried to recover her composure, unsure whether he was trying to be humorous. “Perhaps you come off a little forward,” she suggested weakly.
“Perhaps,” he allowed with a slight frown that only lasted but a split-second. He reached for the dented, brass doorknob in front of him. “Ready?”
“No.”
Flashing her wry smile, he twisted the knob and flung the door open, revealing to the pair the dusty, dank smithy shop she knew so well.
A hard lump formed in Rae's throat as her eyes wandered around the room. Scratched and dented tools she didn’t know the name of hung on hooks all over the room. Some were long and pointed, others were odd-shaped tongs. A few looked like hammers of various weights
. All were dirty and well used. But each had a specific place.
Just like her.
Another round of ice filled her veins. “Let’s go,” she said—in her mind, for her mouth wouldn’t actually move.
But her feet would.
“Do you need something, gov’ner?” the gruff man sitting behind the anvil asked, wiping his hands on his filthy apron.
Simon gaped at the man. Whether it was because Rae had just abandoned him alone with her beau or the fact that this was her beau, he couldn’t decide.
Thinning hair, leathery skin, grease smears on his sweaty face, three days’ worth of stubble on his chin, and threadbare clothes with holes that didn’t look like he’d attempted to mend. This was Rae’s Prince Charming?
He could scarcely believe it.
Then again, Isabelle had preferred a liar with an ungentlemanly streak and Lucy had preferred Giles—that didn’t need any further explanation.
He blinked to clear his thoughts. “Yes, sir. I was wondering if you…” He looked around the room, hoping an idea would come to him for something to ask the man about. Nothing.
“Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”
“Right.” Simon stuffed his hands into his pockets, his fingers brushing the edge of one of his calling cards. “You’re a business man, I see,” he said easily, withdrawing the card for his pocket. “My name is Simon Appleton. I work in London and manage investments. I’m here visiting Lord Drakely and thought I might come to the village and see if any of the local business owners were interested in purchasing investments.”
The smithy scoffed and banged his hammer down against the tip of metal he was holding over the anvil. “Visiting Lord Drakely, you say?”
“That’s right.” Simon slipped his card back into his pocket.
“Do yourself a favor and go back to London.”
“Pardon?”
The smithy, banged his hammer three more times, then set it down on the stool next to him with all the care of a man handling a brick of gold. “Lord Drakely’s sister-in-law is trouble.”
“Trouble?” Simon echoed, cringing at the way he was starting to sound like Mr. Flanagan’s parrot.
“The worst sort.” The older man scowled. “Henrietta Hughes will do anything she can to trap a man into marriage.”