Raising her chin, she said, "While that was very considerate of you, I'm afraid I only brought limited travel funds with me."
"I do not know how clothing is priced in America, but I believe you'll find that it is quite inexpensive here in London. Remarkably so. Especially wools. All those sheep wandering about the countryside, you know."
Although she suspected that what constituted inexpensive to him would differ vastly from her definition, a spark of hope kindled in her. If what he said was true, perhaps she could afford one new gown.
The carriage halted. "Here we are," Lord Robert said with a winning grin. "Let us see what fabulous bargains Madame Renee has to offer."
********
Geoffrey looked at the ring resting in his palm, then raised his gaze to Redfern.
"There it is," Redfern said. "Had it sewn into her petticoat, she did. Right clever hiding spot. But not clever enough." He grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels, a smug grin creasing his face.
"Where is the box?" Geoffrey asked in a perfectly controlled voice.
The smug grin faltered. "Box?"
"The ring box." A slow thumping commenced behind his eyes. "You were to retrieve the matching box as well. Was the ring not in a box?"
"Yes, but-"
"So where is the box?" He enunciated each word very clearly, striving to ward off the red haze he felt draping over his vision.
"I suppose it's still in Mrs. Brown's bedchamber."
"You left it behind."
A flash of unease flickered in Redfern's eyes at his glacial tone, but then a defiant look crossed his ruddy face. "I left it behind," he concurred. "Took the ring out of it to make sure it were the right bloody ring this time, then tossed the box on the floor like the piece of trash it were. All rusty and dented it were-not any sort of a matchin' box to that fine ring. You said nothin' about a bloody dented, rusty box. 'Get the ring and its matchin' box' is wot you said, and there"-he jabbed a stubby finger at Geoffrey's palm-"is the bloody ring. There weren't no matchin' box." He jutted out his chin. "I held up my end, and now it's time for you to hold up yours. I want my blunt. And I want it now."
Geoffrey's fingers curled around the ring, the cool metal digging into his palm in an effort not to wrap his fingers around Redfern's throat. With studied nonchalance, he crossed to the fireplace, then crouched down to affectionately stroke Thorndyke's fur.
"Tell me, Redfern, do you value your life?" he asked in a soft, conversational tone.
When he did not receive a reply, he looked up at Redfern, who stood still and silent as a statue near the French windows, his jaw tightly clenched.
Finally Redfern answered, " 'Course I value my life. But I ain't takin' all the blame here. You should have been more specific about the damn box."
"You will recall to whom you are speaking, Redfern, and guard your tone as well as your insolent tongue." Geoffrey forced in a deep breath to calm his fury. "Clearly I overestimated your capabilities."
"You did not. Just some unfortunate circumstances-"
"Have thwarted you, yes, so you've said. Well, allow me to explain this, and I shall endeavor to put it in terms even you can understand. I want the box the ring was in. I don't care how you get it. You will receive not so much as a farthing from me until I have it. If you fail to get it for me, you will die." With a final fond pat to his pet's head, Geoffrey rose. "Any questions?"
A muscle in Redfern's jaw ticked. "No, my lord."
"Excellent." He inclined his head toward the door. "Willis will show you out."
The instant Redfern quit the room, Geoffrey walked to his desk, forcing his steps to remain calm and measured. Slipping a small silver key from his waistcoat, he unlocked the bottom drawer. Then, opening his fist, he dropped the ring inside. It hit the wood with a hollow thud. He then relocked the drawer and pocketed the key.
Crossing to the decanters, he poured himself a brandy. To his disgust, his hands shook, sloshing several amber drops onto the rug. He quickly tossed back the potent liquor, swallowing the obscenity that threatened to roar from his throat. The urge to break something, to throw something, to destroy something with his hands nearly strangled him, and he quickly poured himself another drink. He then wrapped his hands around the crystal snifter to keep them still. Calm. Must remain calm.
With the second brandy burning down to his gut, he started to feel a bit steadier, regaining the control that imbecile Redfern had nearly disrupted.
The box. Sick panic clutched him and he squeezed his eyes shut, beating it back, forcing himself to think rationally and plan his next move.
Had Mrs. Brown discovered the secret of the box? Exactly how much did she know? It had appeared she knew nothing about his secret, but he had to know. And if she didn't already know, might she not still learn the truth? What if she discovered the false bottom in the box now that the ring was gone? What if she gave the box to someone? Or threw it away and it was found by one of the servants? The only way he could be assured that his secret would never come to light would be to destroy the box and its hidden contents himself.
Still, why had she not returned the box to him? Did she realize its value? Did she indeed intend to blackmail him? But if so, why had she not already made a demand? Or was that her ploy-to bide her time, like an animal stalking its prey, waiting to strike. She’s trying to drive me mad.
Well, she would not succeed. And he'd not leave his future up to chance with Redfern. He needed to take action. Immediately.
Crossing to his desk, he withdrew a sheet of ivory vellum and composed a quick note.
Dear Alberta,
I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed our conversation this morning, and how much I appreciate the efforts you went to on my behalf regarding the Shelbourne ring. Although the ring is gone, I was wondering if perhaps there might have been a ring box? Other pieces in the Shelbourne collection are housed in boxes fashioned specifically for the piece, and it occurred to me that the ring might have had such a box. If so, I would like very much to have that, as a memento.
I would be honored if you would join me for dinner this evening at eight o 'clock. This would give us an opportunity to become better acquainted, and you could bring the box along with you, assuming it exists. I anxiously await your reply.
Yours,
Geoffrey Hadmore
He sealed the letter, then rang for Willis. Handing over the missive, Geoffrey said, "See to it that this is delivered at once. The messenger is to await a reply."
As Willis quit the room, icy determination settled over Geoffrey. Either he or Redfern would get that bloody box. And by this time tomorrow, Mrs. Alberta Brown would no longer be a problem.
Chapter 9
Two hours after leaving Mrs. Brown in Madame Renee's expert hands, Robert reentered the modiste shop, a tinkling chime above the door announcing his arrival. He'd spent the intervening time with his solicitor. Assured that the rebuilt smithy was thriving and Nate's family provided for, eased, just a bit, the vise of guilt squeezing him.
The front of Madame Renee's was empty. Clearly Mrs. Brown and Madame Renee were in the rear, which, as he knew from previous visits with Caroline and Mother, housed the dressing and alteration areas, as well as two large sewing rooms. Removing his hat, he opted to stand rather than attempt to settle himself on one of the horribly uncomfortable chairs. He shot a baleful glare at the tiny lavender velvet seat cushion. He knew from experience that his buttocks would hang over the side. Good God, how did women manage to perch themselves upon such ridiculous furniture? It seemed fashioned more for a canary than a human.
Wandering about the bolts of colorful material, he noticed a deep sapphire-blue satin. Knowing it was Caroline's favorite color, he made a mental note to mention it to her. He'd passed stripes and solids, patterns and prints, when his gaze was caught by a striking coppery-bronze color. Pausing, he ran his hand over the luxurious material. Silk, exceptionally fine and delicate. And the color… bold yet delicate, shimmering with gol
d highlights. It was truly extraordinary.
An image flashed through his mind… of her… wearing a gown fashioned from the material, the color glowing against her creamy skin, accentuating her golden-brown eyes and the rich chestnut of her hair.
As if the mere thought of her conjured her up, she entered the room through the curved archway leading from the back, Madame Renee directly behind her. The shop owner's sharp eyes glanced down at the silk bolt his hand still rested upon.
"Is eet not tres magnifique? Zee finest silk, and zee color!" Madame Renee kissed her fingertips in dramatic fashion.
Mrs. Brown's gaze wandered to the material, and Robert caught the glimmer of wistfulness that flickered in her eyes. "Gorgeous," she agreed with a sigh. She then appeared to regain herself. "But not for me."
"Were you able to find something to suit you?" he asked, sliding his hand from the soft silk.
Before Mrs. Brown could reply, Madame Renee raised her brows. "Surely you did not doubt zat Madame Renee could assist her?"
He held up his hands in mock surrender. " Not I. Never."
"Actually, I was very fortunate," Mrs. Brown said. "Madame had two black bombazine gowns that someone had ordered, then canceled."
"Most annoying," Madame said, making a tsking sound. "But my loss is Madame Brown's gain. Because zee client cancel, I am forced to sell at a large discount. Zee gowns require only minor alterations and will be sent to her later today."
He was disappointed but not surprised that she'd opted to purchase only black gowns. His glance wandered back to the bolt of coppery silk. She'd look breathtaking…
He gave himself a mental shake. Good God, having her look any more breathtaking was the last thing he needed. Indeed, he'd be wise, and certainly better served, to imagine her with a sack over her head rather than draped in low-cut, sheer material.
After saying good-bye to Madame Renee, they climbed into the carriage. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," Mrs. Brown said as they settled themselves on the gray velvet squabs. "I'd thought to perhaps purchase one gown, but her prices were so reasonable, I decided to buy two." She offered him a half-smile, and his heart, quite ridiculously, thumped in response. "Thank you very much for bringing me there."
"My pleasure. And don't apologize for me waiting. Indeed, it was a fraction of how long Caroline and Mother normally take. I made good use of the time by attending to some business matters that required my attention. And speaking of business matters… was there anything else besides seeing Shelbourne that you needed to do in London?"
"No. My business here is finished."
"Then I propose we depart for Bradford Hall tomorrow morning. That would allow for the delivery of your gowns, give us both sufficient time to pack our belongings, and allow me to send off some correspondence that needs seeing to. Does that meet with your approval?"
"Yes, that is fine."
"Excellent. And that also gives us the rest of this lovely afternoon to enjoy. Given the exceptional weather, I thought you might like to see Vauxhall."
Mischief flickered in her eyes. "Vauxhall? Is that a breed of hat-nesting pigeons?"
He laughed. "No. It's a pleasure garden across the Thames. Acres of shady walking paths, and particularly nice this time of year with so many flowers in bloom. Would you like to go?"
"I'm very fond of flowers. A visit to Vauxhall sounds… lovely."
Another smile touched her lips, and his idiotic pulse galloped away. Lovely, his inner voice repeated as his gaze roamed her face. My thought exactly.
*********
Strolling along a wide graveled walk, Allie breathed in the cool, earth-scented air, then heaved out a sigh of pleasure. Stately elms lined both sides of the avenue, forming a delightful canopy of shade through which fingers of sunlight filtered. Birds flitted from branch to branch, warbling their summertime songs.
"This is called the Grand Walk," Lord Robert said. "Running parallel on our right is South Walk, with Hermit's Walk to the left. Up ahead we'll come to Grand Cross Walk, which runs through the entire garden. We'll turn there to go to the Grove."
"What is that?"
"A square surrounded by the principal walks." He pointed through the trees. "You can see it over there, where those pavilions are. There's also a colonnade in the event of inclement weather, and dozens of supper boxes."
Intrigued, she mused, "So people come here in the evenings to stroll among the lighted trees and dine… What a delightful thing to do."
"Indeed, but there is also entertainment. Orchestras, singers, fireworks, battle enactments, grand parties. Several years ago I saw a woman named Madame Saqui walk along a tightrope affixed to a sixty-foot pole, all to the accompaniment of a fireworks display."
"It sounds marvelous. And exciting." Looking up, she noted the hundreds of globe lamps placed in the trees. "It must be lovely when the lamps are illuminated."
"Very striking. Elizabeth says it looks as if glowing faeries hover in the trees." He looked down at her and smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to return this evening? To experience the garden's nighttime splendor?"
She hesitated. The thought of seeing the lights, hearing the music, was so incredibly tempting…
Yet she could vividly imagine the intimacy and romance such a setting would induce. And the temptation of the man next to her…
At Madame Renee's, she'd nearly succumbed to the desire to splurge her meager funds on something colorful, or even a pastel-knowing in her heart that even more than wanting to wear something pretty for herself, she wanted him to see her garbed in something pretty. She'd resisted-but barely. The black gowns were the most affordable, and they would serve to discourage male attention, as they had for the past three years. Add to that the fact that her heart's rate tripled at the mere idea of strolling with him through the darkness, the only light coming from the shimmering lit trees… no, it was not a good idea.
"Thank you, that is very thoughtful, but I'll need this evening to prepare for our journey tomorrow."
She fancied she saw relief flash in his eyes at her refusal. Did he feel it, too, this disturbing awareness that held her firmly in its grip? Had he realized the folly of them being alone together in the dark?
They turned a corner, and a large grouping of rosebushes caught her eye. Grateful for the distraction, she said, "I don't know where I've ever seen such a colorful profusion of roses." Attracted by a particularly vivid pink bud, she paused to bend over and breathe in its heady scent.
"Wait until you see the formal gardens at Bradford Hall. They're really quite spectacular, and contain what seems like miles of roses. Whenever I smell the flower, I am reminded of Caroline and my mother. They both wear the scent."
Straightening, she fell back into step beside him, nodding. "I understand precisely what you mean, associating certain smells with certain people. Whenever I smell freshly baked bread, I think of Mama. The aroma of tobacco always brings Papa to mind. And whenever I breathe in lilacs, I think of-"
" Elizabeth," they said in unison, then both laughed.
Lord Robert shot her a quick smile that set her heart to fluttering. "Whenever I smell leather," he said, "especially a leather saddle, I think of my father. My very earliest memory is sitting in front of him on his horse, Lancelot. Father was an expert horseman, not to mention incredibly patient. Taught all of us how to ride. Even Caroline."
There was no mistaking the affection in his tone. "Tell me more about your father."
All hints of amusement slowly faded from his expression, leaving behind an unmistakable melancholy. "I don't know quite how to describe him other than to say he was a great man, and noble in a way that had nothing to do with his title. He was well respected by his peers, adored by his wife, and loved by his children. Strict, yet reasonable. Generous with his time, funds, and affection, and fair with his tenants. Slow to anger, quick to laugh, and unlike many men in his position, devoted to his family."
Her fingers, resting on his forearm, flexed in sympathy. "He sounds
like a wonderful person."
He nodded. "William, Austin, and I… even as boys we always strove to emulate him. To this day, I believe we still do. I know I do, although if I'm able to be half the man he was, I'll consider myself blessed." He paused for several seconds, then continued, "His death was so sudden, so unexpected. So horribly shocking. He appeared in perfect health, yet his heart just… stopped."
The husky emotion in his voice swelled something inside her… sympathy, yet something else she could not quite define. Something unsettling. Until this moment, she'd believed that he was not a serious man, that he was merely frivolous and carefree. Yet the way he spoke of his father, of wanting to be like him, bespoke a depth she hadn't considered he'd possess. A depth she found dangerously, disturbingly attractive.
"Do you know," he said, pulling her from her thoughts, "my father asked my mother to marry him, right here in Vauxhall? It was a favorite family story, told every year on their anniversary." He pointed to a stone bench under a majestic elm. "Father swore they were sitting on that bench. Mother, however, always corrected him, saying it was a seat near the north border of the gardens." A chuckle rumbled from him. "It was a continuous source of good-natured ribbing between them, an argument that always ended with Father winking at Mother and saying, 'It matters not where I asked, only that the lady said yes.' "
She couldn't help but smile at the loving picture his words painted in her mind. The wistful sadness in his eyes called out to her, urging her to replace it with the mischievous laughter she was used to seeing there.
"Very romantic. Very unlike my parents." Leaning closer, as if she were about to impart the most confidential of matters, she asked in an undertone, "Can you keep a secret?"
His brows rose. "Of course."
"My mother proposed to my father."
He stared down at her for several seconds, then, as she'd hoped, his lips quirked upward. "Never say so."
She laid her free hand over her heart. "I tell you the truth, sir. Mama and Papa had known and loved each other from childhood. The summer Mama turned seventeen, she waited and waited for Papa to propose to her, but he was waiting for the perfect moment. Deciding she'd grow old before his idea of the perfect moment ever arrived, Mama took matters into her own hands and asked him."'
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