As she followed her friend Barbara into the drawing room, she was met by a small army of her mother’s closest friends, a formidable group of wealthy matrons, who stared at her with curiosity and judgment in their eyes. Looking back at them, she knew that these last few months may be the last of freedom as she knew it. One day, she was to become like these women—dour, frowning, and married. That was her fate, and it was inescapable. With a smile and nod to the ladies in the room, she greeted them all. She also made a silent promise to herself that she would not be in a rush like her friend Barbara to find a husband, not until her second year. Yes, she decided she would enjoy her independence for a little while longer. Who needed a husband and who needed love? She thought, but little did she know how quickly her opinion was about to change.
2
Gabby stood beside her dear friend Barbara outside the storefront of Beecham & Grant Jewelers, a respected jewelers shop on Sackville Street. The shop looked like the other storefronts along the fashionable street, but with one exception. The glittering gilt and silverwork in the windows temporarily struck Barbara speechless and made Gabby slightly nervous but excited. Silver candelabras surrounded by stunning silverware glistened in the afternoon light. A gold pocket watch lay nestled in a velvet-lined box beside a string of pearls. A tiara was displayed with a pair of matching bracelets, sparkling from hundreds of encrusted diamonds and sapphires that glittered with their own light. To say that Beecham & Grant Jewelers was practically an institution was an understatement. They were one of the oldest and most respected jewelers in London, serving nobility and the wealthy for over a century, as evidenced by their royal warrant tastefully displayed inside the shop.
In the presence of such beauty and wealth, Gabby was not sure she could be trusted inside the shop without her mother. She was the only daughter of a wealthy gentleman; she could easily select any item she wanted, and the bill would arrive at her family’s townhouse addressed to her father. It was too tempting to go inside, but she must if she wished to have her favorite ring repaired. She would have to resist the temptation to make a purchase, no matter how beautiful and exquisite the pieces inside the shop may be. But it was not only the temptation of purchasing a pretty piece of jewelry using her father’s considerable credit as she did in every other shop in London, there was another reason that she was hesitant to walk into the shop. A reason she dared not share with anyone, a secret that she had kept for weeks.
That other reason was, a gentleman she saw the last time she came to Beecham & Grant Jewelers. She could still recall his blue eyes that sparkled like the jewels in the glass cases, his light hair—a shade darker than her own—and his smile. It was his fleeting smile, she recalled, as she saw him for just a few seconds before he disappeared from her view back into the recesses of the shop. She never knew his name or anything about him, but the memory of that gentleman and her own bent and broken ring brought her to the jeweler’s shop that day.
“We should go inside the shop before anyone sees us,” Barbara said as she returned to her senses before the dazzling display of opulence and wealth. A display that impressed Gabby, who was accustomed to such things.
“Why should I care one whit if anyone sees us?” Gabby replied.
“We look like beggars standing on the street,” Barbara answered.
“Barbara, I insist that you do try to be reasonable. We do not look like beggars. We are not dressed in rags, are we? Your bonnet costed more than I have ever spent on a hat. I assure you we cannot be mistaken for urchins or beggars.”
Barbara shook her head. “I suppose you are right. We are far too stylishly dressed to appear to be destitute, but I do not want anyone to think we are doing anything improper.”
“We are looking in the window of a shop, what is improper about that?”
Barbara shrugged. “You do not think we appear to be waiting for someone, like thieves choosing someone to rob?”
Gabby giggled. “First you say we look like beggars. Then you think we appear to be thieves waiting to rob an unwary person leaving Beecham & Grant Jewelers. Barbara, I know that you are convinced that my stories are fanciful, but your imagination is filled with scandalous ideas like a torrid novel. You must commit yourself to reading something other than sensational books once in a while.”
“If you insist,” Barbara replied.
“I do insist. I love excitement and adventure, but even I do not think as you do. Perhaps you should be the one telling me stories.”
“Perhaps I should. I could read from the latest novel I purchased last week. It has a ghost, a murderer, and a woman who has eloped with a footman to Scotland! It is rather shocking.”
“Shocking,” repeated Gabby breathlessly, as she opened the door of the shop.
As Gabby walked into the store, she quickly forgot her astonishment that Barbara’s habit for thrills and excitement far exceeded her own. She wished she could be alone inside the store, but like every other young woman of worth, she was not permitted to be alone anywhere but her house and the grounds of her estate. A chaperone or a companion must be with her at all times, and today she was with Barbara Anderzimple.
Barbara was a fine and wonderful companion. She adored shopping, stopping at the milliners for the latest bonnet, or purchasing pastries and ices from her favorite shop in Piccadilly. She always suggested visiting the booksellers, which Gabby could not resist. In her own way, Barbara was an ideal complement to Gabby. Unfortunately, Gabby did not wish for anyone to accompany her on her errand to the jewelry store. This was an errand she wished she could complete alone. Her reason for wanting to be by herself was one of curiosity and the stirrings of something more than her natural tendency for inquisitiveness or her independent personality.
Inside the hallowed walls of Beecham & Grant Jewelers lay the answer to a question that Gabby long held deep inside her mind and her heart. Who was that man she saw behind the counter early in the Season? She could feel the nervousness and eagerness in every breath she took, as she walked deeper into the shop. She felt an exuberance of emotions and sensations like she had never experienced before. That feeling was thrilling and strange as she savored the possibility that she may see him again nearly as much as she was dreading it. To her, a wealthy socialite, he represented something she had not known, he possessed a trade. He was handsome, and he was from an entirely different social class, near to her own but beneath it. If she knew who he was, or spoke to him, it would be a rebellious act. Yet more than that, she had found a man who fascinated her, unlike the endless introductions to gentlemen of society who were as dull as weak tea.
Her life in London that Season had been one filled with social obligations and a schedule so full she barely had time to devote to anything other than attempting to find a husband. Thinking about the mysterious man at Beecham & Grant Jewelers had not filled her mind to the point of obsession but had offered a respite from the tedium of small talk and polite conversation. She was not in love with the man. On the contrary, that would have been ridiculous, but she was interested to know more about him. He was a mystery she wished to solve, a puzzle, a riddle. He had sparked her interest by his smile, his dazzling blue eyes and the question that had not been answered. Who was he?
“While we are here, I am going to inquire about those gold earrings in that case over there by the window. They would match the ball gown I am planning to wear tomorrow evening to Lady Halbrook’s,” Barbara excitedly whispered to Gabby.
Gabby nodded her head as she watched her friend make her way through the crowded store. Barbara Anderzimple was a dear girl, but she was plain and gaunt. She needed any and all adornment she could purchase to look fashionable. Gabby immediately regretted thinking that about her friend. Barbara was a wonderful friend, she would never think anything so uncharitable about Gabby, who was well aware of it as she sighed.
Why was she so wretched? She had no reason to be.
Any minute she may see that handsome stranger. Perhaps he may speak to her this
time? She could barely breathe, as she thought of how exciting that would be, to hear his voice.
“Miss, may I offer you assistance?”
Gabby whirled around, hoping to see the face of the man she was thinking about, but she was disappointed. Instead of a young man, she was confronted by the pleasant features of a gentleman who appeared to be quite old. His blue eyes were twinkling, and while he did not smile, he spoke with a pleasing tone of voice.
Inside, she was disappointed, but she concealed it as she reached into her reticule to retrieve a velvet box. “I have a ring that is broken. I would like to have repaired.”
The man reached for the box, opening it slowly. He lifted the ring up and squinted at it. “I see that it has broken here, where there is a bend. Hmm, it appears to be a repair that we can easily manage, but you will need to speak with Mr. Grant.”
“Mr. Grant?” asked Gabby.
“Wait here, miss; he is serving another client. He will be at liberty to discuss your repair in a few minutes.”
Gabby did not mind waiting; it allowed her more time to look for the dashing stranger. As she stood beside the glass case that housed a display of pocket watches, she thought of the man and of an odd conversation she overheard the last time she had been in the shop. Two of the clerks were conversing about someone, an unknown person. She recalled they were speaking about a man who had suffered a heartbreak due to a loss. Was it a death or a broken engagement? Perhaps they were talking about the handsome man she saw, the same one who smiled at her. When she thought about the scrap of conversation she overheard, she realized that the clerks were talking about the owner of the shop.
What of the handsome stranger, the man whose smile she could not forget. Could he have been the owner? He may have been the one who was heartbroken. Her mind leapt to fill in the details of the story, a story she did not know about a man she had never met. The exchange of a smile was not shocking, but it could be if he meant more by it than politeness. Then she wondered about his tragic circumstances, perchance was he in love with a woman who left him heartbroken? His love may have died tragically, and now he was in mourning? No, she rejected that idea; it was too dark and depressing.
Perhaps, she mused, the woman had been a lady, a countess or a duchess and their love was forbidden? That was better. He was a romantic who was willing to risk danger to be with the woman he loved.
Smiling at her imagined tale of a lost love, she preferred to think of him as a tragic hero in need of comfort. That made for a better story, she thought as she peered at every person behind the counters and moving around the glass cases. This was troubling; he was not there. Where could he be?
Suddenly the man she had been hoping to see appeared, as if he was summoned by her thoughts of him. From the recesses of the back of the shop, he came towards the counter. He was carrying a small box, which he carefully placed in the gloved hand of a waiting woman. Gabby studied the stylish woman, who appeared to be older than her by several years. How she longed to be that woman; Gabby was riveted by the sight of him. He was far more handsome than her imagined version of him. She tried not to stare, that would have been improper as he spoke with the woman who was his customer. Gabby prayed that whoever Mr. Grant was, that he would delay assisting her. She preferred to seek help from the man who was now chatting with the stylish woman as she laughed at something he said to her, a shared joke? Was he flirting? No, Gabby decided, that must be his charm working its magic.
How handsome he looked — from the way he wore his hair, worn slightly long and wavy in the style of His Royal Highness the Prince Regent, to the crisp, white cravat tied around his neck. For weeks, Gabby had secretly concocted a story that she dared not share with Barbara Anderzimple or write on paper. Highwaymen and pirates were one thing, but the forbidden desires of her own fevered imagination were quite another. That was how this would be perceived if he should fall in love with her; their love would be forbidden. He was a merchant, or as some would think of him, a tradesman, and she was Miss Gabriella Parker. She thrilled at the thought of a desperate love with a man she could never have, or never acknowledge. She grew feverish just thinking about it, but then she decided she had better regain her composure as he concluded his business with the well-dressed older woman.
Gabby, who was never at a loss for words or could never be accused of suffering from shyness, was suddenly overcome with anxiousness. What if she sounded ridiculous? What if she was unable to think of anything witty to say to him? Even worse, what would she do if that dreadful Mr. Grant suddenly made himself known and prevented her from speaking with the man she saw standing behind the counter?
The man caught Gabby looking at him, and he smiled at her, the same quick hint of a smile she recalled with perfect clarity. That smile now given to her a second time made her feel faint as her legs weakened and she stopped breathing. His eyes were as blue as the sapphire jewelry displayed in the case in front of him; his features were arranged in perfect symmetry. His figure was striking in the blue coat he wore, which matched his eyes. If she ventured a presumption, she determined that his age was not much more than her own. He was not thirty, but he was not twenty either. Therefore, she concluded that he was the ideal age for her, neither young nor old.
Her mind quickly jumped from the matter of his age to his choice of coat. She wondered if he had chosen that coat for the reason that the hue did match his eyes, but she did not dare voice her question as she watched him step away from the counter. He was leaving; she was missing her chance. Suddenly, she forced herself to walk towards him.
“Wait,” she whispered, but then she realized he had not heard her plea as he walked away.
He was leaving; he had not said a single word to her, but he did see her. The only assurance she had that he had seen her at all was that he smiled at her again. Why did he not speak to her as he did to that older woman? Why did he not laugh and talk to her? The disappointment she felt earlier that he may not be at the shop was trivial compared to the feeling of crushing despair and agony that washed over her now. He saw her; she knew that he did. Then why was he not as enamored with her as she was with him? Why did he encourage her with his smiles? Was he a cruel man, and not the tragic hero she imagined him to be?
Just as she was feeling crushed beyond all measure, she saw the older man who greeted her earlier speaking to the handsome young gentleman. After a brief conversation, the young man turned to look at her, he smiled once again as he approached her. This time he was not silent.
“Good afternoon. I have been told that you have a ring that is in need of repair?” he said to her, his voice as melodic as imagined.
“Yes, yes, I do. Are you Mr. Grant?”
“I am Ephraim Grant. We have not been introduced.”
“I am Gabriella Parker,” she replied, as she waited for him to react at the mention of her last name as most merchants did in London.
So I was right. He is the owner after all. She smiled to herself.
She was accustomed to a gleam of recognition in their eyes, of the usual amount of bowing and gallantry that she received from merchants who realized that she was a Parker. As the daughter of Mr. Cecil Parker, she was a woman who could purchase anything she wished, but this gentleman was not like the others she had met before at the milliners or the booksellers. He did not act in deference to her family name as he spoke to her without a hint that she was incredibly wealthy and he was just a merchant.
“Miss Parker, I am delighted that you trust the repair of your jewelry to Beecham & Grant,” he said. “May I see the item, a ring is it?”
Producing the golden ring from her reticule, she felt a thrill when she handed it to him. Her hand grazed his but only for a moment. The touch was not as shocking as it would seem, she was wearing gloves. She did not feel his skin, but she imagined that their hands met, that it was fate which brought them together. Fate, destiny, she did not care what it was called, but she was sure that this meeting must be predestined. She sighed while
he examined the ring. Gazing at him, she admired his features from her vantage point across the counter. This was the man she imagined when she read novels, when she wrote her own romantic tales. He was the living personification of her idealistic hero. She was thrilled that he was not in a book. He was real, and he was close to her, so close she could remove her glove and touch his cheek if she wished. Blushing at the scandalous thought, she looked down for a moment. She must regain control of her emotions and her thoughts, which were running wild.
“I recall this ring; it has been several years since it was designed here in this shop, but I recall it. There can be no doubt about it. I know this ring.”
“You know my ring?” she asked in surprise. “I love this ring. It is my most prized possession. My father gave it to me when I turned twelve.”
Taking her eyes off the ring, she looked up at him. Their eyes met. They exchanged a glance that seemed to convey more than a polite interest. She could feel her cheeks redden, but she refused to look away.
He resumed his examination of the ring, as he said, “I was younger then, but I recall learning the jewelers' art many years ago. My father made this ring of pinchbeck so that it would be strong. It’s the copper in that mixture that gives your ring its unique gold like color. If I am not greatly mistaken, I seem to remember polishing this ring. How extraordinary that it is has returned to the place that it was created. If I may inquire, how did the ring bend and break? Pinchbeck is known for its strength, a requirement given for this commission.”
Gabby’s girlish admiration of Mr. Grant was interrupted by the memory of a summer’s day not long ago, as she replied, “The bend was caused by my brother Albert’s horse, a spirited stallion; he was a real beast when I tried to ride him. He bit me. If it had not been for that ring, I might have lost my finger. The break happened later; there is not an interesting story why it broke. I just noticed it one day.”
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 29