by Amy Quinton
The room was quiet for a full minute before Stonebridge resumed pouring his drink. When he could speak, he said, “Nor I. Right, then. All the more reason to make haste. Oh, and make sure you don’t cross paths with Miss Radclyffe and Aunt Harriett on your way. I’ll hold onto these documents until your return.”
“And what am I to say to Miss Radclyffe when I do see her? She’ll be expecting these items upon her arrival to Town.”
“I’ll leave the explanations up to you—you’re the charismatic one, remember? I’m sure you’ll think of something. But for now, officially, the lockbox turned out to be empty.”
* * * *
The seated man shuffled his feet beneath his desk and squirmed, red faced, as he tried to suppress a cough. A cloud of smoke billowed over his shoulder and swirled about his head, making his eyes water and his lungs burn. The cloaked man standing behind him took another long draw of his cigar. The cloaked man would kill him without hesitation should he demand the man cease smoking or even suggest discomfort because of the smoke.
“We understand that Miss Radclyffe arrived at the bookstore…unexpectedly,” came the gruff voice from behind him.
The seated man looked straight ahead and spoke to the emptiness before him, for he was not allowed to look upon the man standing behind.
“I-It was unexpected to be sure. B-but my man said there was nothing left for her to find; the place had been cleared of everything by the time she arrived.”
“Good. However, Himself is not pleased. There are too many loose ends about for our comfort. Your job was simple: keep Miss Radclyffe in hand and under guard.”
“And I am. I shall. She is here by invitation of Lady Ross, who is powerful in her own right…”
“Silence! I did not ask for excuses. Do what you must to bring her back under your control.”
“O-Of course.” The seated man released a sigh of relief. For a moment, he had been worried his life would end here…tonight.
“Secondly, Himself is concerned that you have not secured the duke’s loyalty. I trust we will be hearing news of an engagement in the near future?”
“Absolutely, without a doubt.”
“Further, to prove your loyalty, we have a new task for you, a new…problem…that needs to be resolved. Dansbury. His appearance in Oxford was most distressing to Himself. We want you to take care of it.”
The seated man’s relief at being spared was short lived, as a document, landed on the desk before him. The fancy lettering of the heading stood out clearly despite his watering eyes—brought on by the smoke still encircling his head, not fear, of course:
Writ of Execution
The seated man paled. Dansbury would not be an easy man to kill.
Chapter 16
London, Bond Street…
Two Days Later…
Grace exited Lady Harriett’s carriage at the start of Bond Street and drank in the scene before her. As far as the eye could see, flags and bunting hung over the street—attached from the second floors of shop buildings on the left side and across to their counterpart on the right. And it wasn’t just the English flags dancing about in the breeze. Flags representing all of the allied forces who fought on the continent and helped bring about the defeat of Napoleon Bonaparte just a few short weeks ago hung there as well. The flags, along with colorful lanterns, brightened the street and gave it a festive air. It was a vibrant sight to behold. Also, in the air was a sense of joy and expectancy as people anticipated the return of British troops from Toulouse and elsewhere in Europe.
Her eyes watered with pride at her fellow Englishmen and their support of their troops. And she was proud of the British troops who'd proven capable and brave.
“Did you really sell the pearls?” inquired Bessie, her chaperone for today’s outing. Lady Harriett was tired from their journey and needed to rest.
“I most certainly did. They were Beatryce’s, and they were fake. You know that’s the only reason they gave them to me in the first place. Besides, I needed the money to purchase a new journal to replace the one Beatryce threw in the fire, so it seemed especially fitting.”
They had arrived in London yesterday. Grace had sold the pearls that same day, for she had no sentimental attachment to them whatsoever. Even if she had held a fondness for the pearls, they did her no good hanging out amongst her unmentionables when she had very little money to her name. Therefore, she sold them without a second thought.
Being in London was a true stroke of good fortune. It provided her a golden opportunity to further her plans for her future, and she intended to make use of every moment of her time here doing just that. Despite the setback of her father’s store being auctioned off, she put her faith in Dansbury and trusted that he would take care of everything as promised.
The Becketts were vehemently against the idea of her setting up her own fashion house, but they couldn’t force her to abandon her plans, either. Besides, Oxford was far enough away to minimize the risk of scandal, but not so far away as to be too remote to earn a living dressing society’s fashionable set. The Becketts just needed to get over their pretensions.
She only had a month until her birthday, and her time here was limited. She had no desire to ever be dependent upon her aunt and uncle again. Thus, over the next month, she needed to establish contacts, seek out commissions, research reputable suppliers, and eye the competition. It was a lot to do in such a short amount of time, and she had to do it all without raising suspicions. It helped that she was staying at Lady Harriett’s house instead of with the Becketts.
There was little time to waste, but still, it was difficult not to stop and ogle every shop they passed. It was amazing what one could find to buy in London. Anything one might imagine could be found here. And each and every store had elaborate window displays designed to entice shoppers to enter and browse the various wares.
Bessie and Grace walked past at least ten different shops before they came upon their first clothier.
“All right, Bessie. You know the plan. Keep a vigilant eye out for Beatryce, the duke, or Aunt Mary while I question the staff. After witnessing the lengths to which Beatryce will go to stop me, we cannot be too careful. I don’t want to find out just how far the Becketts are willing to go, yet I do not intend to live under their thumb for the rest of my life, either.”
“Yes, miss.”
* * * *
“Bessie, one more stop and we can go home. I’m that exhausted,” sighed Grace as they approached Madam Beaumont’s House of Fashion.
They had visited numerous shops throughout the day with little time to rest. Now, her head was swimming with facts and ideas. She was surprised they hadn’t run into Beatryce at all today, for she was aware via Lady Harriett that the duke had planned to take Beatryce about Town for the day.
She forced thoughts of him from her mind. She damn well refused to be hurt by the thought of him and Beatryce together and having fun. She had accomplished too many of her goals on this outing to ruin it now by thinking of him.
Her anxiety increased as the day wore on, though; she anticipated running into Beatryce at every stop, and it was the thought of an unpleasant altercation with Beatryce that set her nerves on edge. Not the thought of running into him, of course.
As they entered the last shop, she was immediately impressed by the atmosphere. The furniture and displays were situated such that one felt compelled to browse. Yet the colors were soothing, inviting one to relax and be at ease. Even the gentleman’s waiting area, though more masculine than the rest of the shop, fit in with the décor and appealed to her senses with its leather chairs and dark, wood tables, at least the parts she could see from the door.
Grace walked through the shop taking her time and noting every little detail along the way. She passed the gentlemen’s waiting area without looking too closely. She was focused on the accessory display at the moment, though she’d come back to furtively look over the other on her way back through.
She was just m
aking notes in her journal when she heard a well-known voice speak above the background sounds of the shop.
“No, I don’t think you understand. I must have this dress ready by tomorrow.”
Whoever responded did so quietly, so as not to draw further attention from others in the shop.
Oh, God, Beatryce is here.
Thankfully, Beatryce was in another room being measured for a new gown and couldn’t know Grace was there as well.
She needed to leave. Immediately. Knowing Beatryce’s behavior when she was displeased, Beatryce could suddenly step out of the dressing area at any moment just to make a scene, and if she did, she would spot Grace straight away. Then, Beatryce’s suspicions would be instantly aroused, for she knew Grace had no money with which to purchase anything.
Grace backed up, afraid to take her eyes off the curtains separating her from where Beatryce was being fitted in a dressing room. She didn’t want to be caught unaware in case Beatryce decided to come out.
She had only taken a few steps when she was stopped by a warm, solid barrier at her back. She shivered as a voice spoke softly in her ear.
“Grace…”
Oh God, it was him. Of course. She had forgotten he was meant to be escorting Beatryce today. Her heart pounded in her chest. She always reacted that way to his presence, and she hated it. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke her name, sending shivers down her spine. She didn’t want to see him, yet at the same time, she yearned to stretch her ear a little closer to his mouth and feel the gentle press of his lips there.
God, I am going mad.
Grace whirled around before she succumbed to temptation, Beatryce momentarily forgotten. He lifted his hand, to do what she didn’t know, but she didn’t intend to find out.
“Don’t,” was all she said. She held up a finger to accentuate her warning and held his gaze so he could have no doubt she wanted him to stay away.
“Grace. What are you doing here?” He looked pointedly at the open journal in her hand as he asked the question.
She closed her journal and shoved it haphazardly in her reticule before responding, “Research.”
She lifted her chin daring him to criticize her for her choices. “Dansbury has assured me he is going to take care of the problem with my shop, and I trust him completely.”
She had angered him with her admission. That much was obvious.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
Grace cringed. Ugh. Despite all her preparations, the thing she wanted most to avoid had come to pass. Beatryce had spotted her. How could she have forgotten the true threat lurking nearby? Grace turned around to face Beatryce. She needed to keep her biggest threat in front, and for some reason, despite everything, the feel of Stonebridge at her back reassured her, like he was there to protect her from the monster she now faced rather than being the monster himself.
“Beatryce.” She inclined her head in acknowledgement, but said no more. Let Beatryce be the instigator. Grace would not be the one to cause a public scene.
“What could you possibly be doing in here? Have your circumstances changed so completely since this morning?”
It was a spiteful barb.
“Beatryce…” Stonebridge spoke, the warning clear in his tone.
Grace surreptitiously reached behind her and squeezed the duke’s arm in a shockingly bold move. He couldn’t interfere. She appreciated his defense, though she didn’t know why he had done it, but she needed to face Beatryce herself, and she didn’t need him risking his own reputation coming to her defense (a commoner) over his own (soon-to-be) fiancée.
Clearly, he wasn’t thinking at the moment, but fortunately, he took her hint and said no more, though he still remained at her back, unconsciously demonstrating his support. She slid her hand down his arm intending to release him, but at the last minute, he grasped her hand with his. They were standing too close for anyone to see. For truth, anyone paying attention should find it odd for him to stand behind her that way, but Grace liked the feel and strength of him there too much to move away. She was emboldened further when she felt him squeeze her hand in reassurance.
“Oh, Ambrose, it’s fine, dear. Grace knows I speak only out of concern. Grace, what do you have there in your bag?” Beatryce nodded her head pointedly at Grace’s reticule.
Grace tried to hide her sharp intake of breath. Beatryce had noticed her new journal and was suspicious.
“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just a gift. For a friend, actually. One of the servants at Beckett house, that’s all.” She had to add the last even though it would give Beatryce more ammunition to belittle her. Beatryce knew she didn’t have any friends other than the servants and wouldn’t have believed her had she implied otherwise. Beatryce didn’t disappoint.
“How provincial, friends with the servants? You certainly enjoy living on the edge of scandal, don’t you, Grace?”
Grace simply stared at Beatryce. There was nothing tasteful she could think of to say to that, and she had no desire to further prod Beatryce’s wrath or to stoop to her level. She just wanted to get out of there with her dignity, and her journal, intact.
Beatryce stared at Grace in return, a definite smirk curved about her lips. Beatryce was still distrustful, but then out of nowhere, her face brightened and she said, “Ambrose, dear, I think we should be off. The clientele here is particularly undesirable. Madame Beaumont, I’m cancelling my order. In the future, I suggest you take more care in who you allow to patronize your shop.”
Beatryce said it all without breaking eye contact with Grace. Her look threatened further action later in private. The suddenness and ease with which Beatryce left disturbed Grace more than anything else. Beatryce had let her off easy, which could only be bad.
Beatryce took the duke’s arm and made her way gracefully out the shop. Grace was relieved she was not staying at Beckett House in London now, and yet she thought frantically about where to stash her journal for a few days where Beatryce could not find it if she chose to ‘visit’ Grace at Lady Harriett’s. Just in case.
* * * *
“I’m ready.”
Stonebridge mentally (he hoped) cringed at the sound of Beatryce’s voice. They were sitting in his curricle; she was impatiently waiting for him to drive on. The sound of her voice was starting to grate on his nerves. She had done nothing but complain and gossip throughout the entire day. She had nothing meaningful to say, ever, and he was at the end of his patience.
Where in the hell had the intelligent woman I witnessed back in February gone?
Perhaps that was why he had approached Grace in the shop: his control had been weakened throughout the day as he put up with Beatryce’s constant haranguing, and thus, was practically nonexistent when he and Grace had crossed paths.
Well, I’m still good at making up excuses anyway.
He admitted he was jealous over Grace’s trust in Cliff. She thought it was Cliff who had saved her shop and her home.
But it was I who saved your precious home, your father’s shop! Me! Not him.
He had screamed the truth in his mind as he stared at Grace, willing her to hear what he couldn’t say aloud. He desperately wanted to know what it felt like to be trusted by her so completely, and his jealousy over her faith in Cliff made him want to punch something. Like a child. He had wanted to tell her everything then. But hadn’t. No, it was for the best she not know it was all him.
Then, there was the confrontation itself—in a public shop, no less. Beatryce, he was quickly discovering, could be a vicious piece of work, and he was supposed to marry her? When had she become the veritable shrew? He couldn’t have missed that when he saw her during the little season as he was making his decision to court her, could he? He was seriously starting to question himself. Hadn’t he chosen her based on facts and how perfectly suited they would be based on those facts? Were his facts wrong?
Grace, on the other hand, had acted the perfect lady, proving one couldn’t breed proper behavior.<
br />
Now, he was starting to have genuine questions about the wisdom of his choice in wife—not even considering Swindon’s possible involvement in the Society for the Purification of England and all the implications that came with it. Unfortunately, he wasn’t really in a position to back out now, though no one would fault him if her father turned out to be a murderer and a traitor.
For now he was committed, even though he had yet to officially propose. Everyone knew, and he was beginning to think that was why Beatryce felt so comfortable revealing her true self to him now, when he had no way of gracefully backing out of his commitment without compromising his own reputation.
“Yes, quite so,” he finally responded. It was all he could manage.
* * * *
Grace returned to Lady Harriett’s home exhausted—mentally and physically. At the same time, she was relieved. She felt safe here.
As she walked in the front door, the butler directed her to a silver salver on a side table in the hall where a letter for her awaited. She shivered with apprehension. It wasn’t likely to be Dansbury, as he had already left her a note explaining he had to leave town for a few days and would see her when he returned. That left the Becketts because she didn’t know anyone else and there was no way it would be the duke. Therefore, whatever was written in that letter was likely to be unpleasant. Her anxiety increased with her every step toward the plate.
She hated being right.
Dearest Grace, my niece,
It has come to my attention that you are in London despite my express wishes forbidding it, you ungrateful child. We always knew you would be incapable of grasping the simplest concepts such as obedience and respect for your elders…especially toward those who provide for you. It has been my experience that women with common blood do not have the mental aptitude required for understanding these things—therefore, I shall strive to remember that and not punish you too harshly for what you cannot help.
With that in mind, I expect you to remove yourself from Lady Harriett’s home post haste and come directly to Beckett House in London before you have further opportunity to embarrass our good family name with your disobedience and objectionable ways.