by Jade Lee
She said nothing, but a sheen of tears was in her eyes. Her father hugged her, and she clasped him with a grip hard enough to turn her knuckles white. It was an intimate scene, and Elliott felt his chest tighten as he watched father and daughter say good-bye. They weren’t, of course. Amber would always be welcome here, and her father would always adore her. And yet, that was the way the moment felt. As if Amber were about to leave forever.
They stood there hugging for a long, long time until Amber lowered her arms. Her cheeks were wet, and she ducked her head away from Elliott. “I’ll go see what this new apprentice has done,” she said gruffly.
Her father snorted. “Nothing good, but there is talent there.”
She nodded and went into a room deep inside the building. She turned up lamps until the room was as bright as daylight, and Elliott looked in to see a workroom with a place for cutting stones, another with pencils and paper, plus carving knives and wax, and then an entire corner given to a kiln.
“This is where I cut stones, and she designs the jewelry,” her father said proudly. “When she was a child, she would spend every extra moment in here watching me and her grandfather work. She sketched until she could carve. I had meant for her to work the front of the shop because a pretty girl always helps with sales, but her genius is here. With the wax.”
Elliott had never seen jewelry made before. He’d never even thought to ask, and so he listened with interest as her father explained. “She carves the wax and makes something like this.” He held up a ring sculpted in wax. There was a place for the stone, raised leaves to twine around it, and a thick band, all exquisitely detailed. “This is put in here.” He held up a metal flask, and we surround it with a special plaster, then wait until it hardens. Then we put it in the kiln, and the wax melts away.”
“Leaving behind a mold,” Elliott said as he looked at an entire shelf of molds for rings, pendants, and brooches.
“She designed all of those,” Mr. Gold said, pointing at the top shelf. “A true artist, my daughter. Her hands were made for this work.”
Amber shot her father a wry look, and Elliott immediately guessed her thoughts. She was wondering—if her hands were made for this work—why had he dowered her so well as to marry away from it? This kind of work wouldn’t be acceptable in a titled lady. It was considered a trade for all that she seemed a true artist at it.
“Come, come,” Mr. Gold said as he tugged on Elliott’s sleeve. “Leave her to criticize the new boy’s sketches. We will drink and discuss matters.”
He wasn’t sure what there was to discuss, but this was Mr. Gold’s show, and so, he followed silently into the main showroom.
“We live upstairs,” Mr. Gold said. “Top floor where there is better sun. But that is not fit for company. So we sit here near my treasure, and we drink to her health.” From his expression, it was clear he meant his daughter was his treasure, not the gemstones or jewelry contained in this place.
“I will drink to that,” Elliott said.
Mr. Gold brought out a small table and chairs and set them in the center of the showroom. Then he produced a brandy fine enough that Elliott’s brows rose in surprise.
“When I toast my daughter, we drink the best,” Mr. Gold said.
Such pride in his voice, such love in his every word and gesture. Elliott couldn’t stop a pang of envy. His own father had passed before he’d seen Elliott grown. Worse, Elliott had been at school when the man was ill and had never had a chance to say goodbye. If his father had lived, would he beam with pride like Mr. Gold did? Would he pull out the finest brandy and drink to Elliott’s future?
He would never know. But in the absence of his own father, he would make merry with Amber’s. He toasted to her health, to her future, to a husband who understood how to make her happy.
“And how would he do that?” Elliott asked, his body warm with drink and good cheer.
“I tell you,” Mr. Gold said as he leaned forward. “When we left Germany, my baby girl cried. She cried and cried because she had cousins, you see. Family we have never seen again. I tried everything to make her happy. I plied her with sweets, sang to her at night, even carried her around like a baby when she had nightmares, and she was no baby then. It was heavy to carry an eight-year-old all night.”
Elliott laughed. “I’m sure it was.”
“And do you know what her mother said to me when my arms were aching and my throat so dry from singing? She told me to leave the child alone. Amber will always find her way in her own way. She is like her mother in that. Her mother did things as she chose, and woe to any man to tell her different.” Admiration rang in his tone.
“And did Amber find her way?”
“She did. She picked up my carving knife and made a bird of wax so she could fly back home whenever she wanted.”
“Really? Do you have it?”
He snorted. “No! It was a badly done. What eight-year-old can carve a bird? But she had stopped crying, and so I let her keep carving.” He threw back the rest of his drink, then stretched out his legs with a smile. “I trust you, my lord, with my greatest treasure. Find her a husband who will let her find her own way, yes?”
Elliott fidgeted with his drink. There were plenty of disinterested husbands in the ton. Indeed, most couldn’t care less about their wives beyond the getting of an heir, but he had never thought that a recipe for a happy marriage. He glanced behind him. He could see Amber through the door as she wielded a small knife with deft fingers. He could not see what she made, but he could see the absolute concentration on her face.
“You want her to be able to keep carving for you,” he said quietly. No doubt, her designs brought in a great deal of money.
“Not for me,” the man said with a frown. “Most buyers have no imagination. A ring with diamonds around it. Bah. Boring. Even the new apprentice will do that within a year. No, her carving is for her, and her husband must let her do it.” He flicked his glance back into the room where Amber seemed completely absorbed in her work. “See? No tears.”
“But I still have ears,” Amber said loudly, though her gaze never wavered from what she made in her hands. “And I will select my husband, not Lord Byrn.”
“Of course, of course,” her father said with a fond smile. Then he spoke softly, in an undertone that only Elliott could hear. “But you will see that she selects from only the best, yes?”
“She has a level head and has seen the men in the Den. I doubt she will choose someone ruinous.”
Mr. Gold shot him with a stern look. It said without words that her father expected him to make sure that Amber chose wisely. Elliott nodded his agreement. Nothing was said aloud, but the bargain was struck.
They relaxed back in their chairs, then, and spoke of gentlemanly things. Her father had an interest in politics, and their discussion was heated at times, but no less invigorating. Mr. Gold brought a continental perspective to the matters in England, and the evening passed with exceptional good cheer. Until the man stretched and yawned.
“It is late, and my eyes are blurry. You will see my daughter returned safely to Lady Dunnamore’s? She will likely want to carve for several more hours.”
Really? It was almost midnight.
Mr. Gold shrugged when he saw Elliott look at his pocket watch. “A true artist never considers the time.” It was clear that Amber was indeed a true artist. “And in case you worry for your safety, the doors are well locked, and Amber is very good with knives.”
That was Mr. Gold’s way of reminding Elliott to behave around his daughter, and that Amber would likely stab him if he tried anything unseemly.
“I have no doubt that she could gut me, if she chose to.”
Mr. Gold flashed him a drunken grin but didn’t speak. Amber spoke instead.
“There is no need for him to stay, Papa. I will sleep upstairs tonight.”
“You will not,” Mr. Gold said sternly. “A true lady does not spend her nights here.” He made an expansive gesture at the D
en and the surrounding neighborhood. “Besides, the boy sleeps with us now. There is no room for a fine lady like you.”
Amber lifted her gaze to her father, and her eyes again held the sheen of tears. “I am not a fine lady yet.”
Her father laughed. “Little Juwel, you have been a fine lady since you could put on a pretty dress and dance the Landler.” He looked to Elliott. “She learned the steps when she was six. That is when she first told me she would marry a prince.” He crossed slowly into the workroom to press a sloppy kiss to her forehead. She returned it in a much neater fashion, and then together, they inspected her carving.
It was a firebird, wings upstretched with flame at its feet. The feathers were precise, the flames exquisite, and the whole creation entirely lifelike. It took Elliott’s breath away.
“Very good,” her father said with a grunt. “What stone for the eye?”
“A ruby. Not too large—”
“But of excellent quality. Yes. I have just the stone.” He turned to a wooden case with narrow drawers, but his gestures were too large and too imprecise. Amber had to hunch over the wax to protect it.
“Papa! Be careful.”
He righted himself quickly. “I think I shall head to bed and look at the stones tomorrow.”
“An excellent idea,” Amber returned.
“And you will go back to Lady Dunnamore’s with Lord Byrn.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Stab him if he is not the gentleman I think he is.”
“Papa!” Amber cried, her cheeks coloring. “A fine father you are, leaving me alone and telling me to defend my own honor.”
Mr. Gold’s expression tightened. “Do I need to stay?”
She sighed and shook her head. “No, Papa. Lord Byrn is a perfect gentleman.”
That was decidedly untrue, but Elliott knew better than to say a word. Instead, he gave the man his most respectful bow. “I will take care of her, Mr. Gohar. Have no fear.”
Her father nodded. “And if you don’t, the wolf pack sits right there.” He pointed to the back door and the stairs that led up to the den.
He was talking about the bouncers who would come running in mass if Amber raised her voice in any way. “I believe you are protected better than most princesses,” he said dryly.
She shrugged, and Mr. Gold grinned. “You understand us.” Then with a broad wave, he opened that very same back door only to stop short at the sight of a small boy with dark curly hair asleep on the floor. His head was lolling against the thick leg of a very large-fisted man seated there. And though one of his hands had gone lax over a piece of foolscap, the other still clutched a thin piece of charcoal.
“The new apprentice?” Amber asked, her voice dry.
Her father grunted as he gingerly tugged the foolscap out of the boy’s hand to study the image there. A soldier and his horse, neither one very good, but both with a bold stroke that spoke of spirit if not skill.
“He thinks the ladies will wear brooches of soldiers,” Mr. Gold said as he showed the drawing to Amber.
“His heart is with the horse.”
“Isn’t every boy’s? Especially when they grow up in the rookeries with nothing to see but dirty stone, rotting wood, and rats.”
Amber pulled the foolscap from her father’s hand, her eyes narrowing as she studied it. She was silent a long time before she handed it back. “He is better than I was at that age.”
“With the horse, yes.”
“And the soldier.”
“But not the birds. You always looked to the sky.” Her father pressed another kiss to Amber’s forehead. “You, daughter, will fly far. This one, however, will stay on the land, I think. He is good with dogs, too.”
“What’s his name?”
“Joseph.”
Amber stepped forward and then gently shook the child awake. Elliott watched her closely to see if she would be mean to the boy who would likely take her place in the family business. He shouldn’t have worried. Her touch was gentle, her voice soft.
“Joseph. Wake up, Joseph.”
The boy opened his eyes with the sudden alertness of a child who had seen too much danger. He jerked away from Amber, and his eyes darted about, but he never let go of the charcoal.
“Hello, Joseph,” Amber said quietly. “Do you know who I am?”
The boy nodded but didn’t speak.
“It is late, young man. You should be in bed.”
The child knuckled his eyes, leaving a dark charcoal smear across his face. “I was waiting.”
“For me?” Mr. Gold asked. “Did you want something?”
The boy shook his head, and that was all the answer he needed to say. Everyone could see he just wanted to be with safe people and keep an eye on the man who was providing for him.
Joseph scrambled to his feet. “I can help you go upstairs now. If you need it.”
“I do need it,” Mr. Gold said. It was a lie. The man had certainly made merry with his drink, but he would have made it to the top floor without incident. “I thank you, young Joseph. Come, let us get your face cleaned before sleep.” Mr. Gold used his thumb to try and wipe away the charcoal smear.
Joseph wrinkled his nose and ducked his head away, but he allowed Mr. Gold to clean him a little. And the whole time, he watched Amber with a steady gaze. “Have you come to take your bed back?”
“No, Joseph. You may sleep there with no fear. I will never take your place away.”
The relief was apparent in the child’s entire body. He tried to cover it, but his shoulders eased down, he stood taller beside Mr. Gold, and eventually, his lips curved into a shy smile. “One day, I will carve you a big soldier with a large hat and a sharp sword. He will be the most handsome soldier you have ever seen.”
“I would rather see a horse from you. Or maybe a dog.”
A grin filled his whole face. “I will make both.”
“I believe you will.” Then she smiled. “Go on now. Get Papa to bed.”
So, it was done. Both boy and father climbed the stairs, leaving behind the large man in the chair smiling at her with a toothy grin.
“How are you doing, Philostrate?” Amber asked when her father and Joseph were out of sight.
The man made a happy gurgling sound as his grin widened.
“I’m so glad.” Then she squeezed the man’s massive arm. “I won’t be much longer.” She glanced at Elliott. “He always waits there when I work late.”
Elliott gave the man a brief nod. “Sir.”
“He doesn’t speak. We don’t know why, but he never has. And he is the best guardian a princess could ever want.”
Philostrate gave her a fond smile, waited for her and Elliott to step back into the jewelry shop, then he shut the door to give her the illusion of privacy, but not before giving Elliott a long threatening glare. For a girl deemed not respectable by most of society, she certainly had a great many protectors.
And so they were alone. Or at least somewhat private.
“That was kind of you,” he said. “Letting Joseph feel safe here.”
“Really?” Amber asked. “I only told him the truth. He will always have a place here now that Papa has adopted him.”
“And what of your place?” he pressed. “Don’t you feel cast aside?”
He knew she did. He could see it on her face and in the way she had looked at the boy’s drawings. But in this, she surprised him. She exhaled a long, unhappy sigh.
“I had not expected to become grown in the space of two days. For years I have pushed my father to let me have more freedom. Always he has said no. And then you appear, and suddenly I am free to do as I choose, to marry where I will.”
That wasn’t exactly true. She wasn’t fully free. She was under his protection. She had no money of her own, and no real independence could be had without it. And yet, she’d spent much of her life in a gray cage. What she had now must feel like stepping out unfettered into the world.
“So, why do you seem so sad?”
She looked at
him and shrugged. Then she echoed his own words back to him. “It is only new. And new is often frightening.”
“You will always be safe with me.” He meant it. No matter where she went or who she married, he would always keep an eye out for her happiness. “May I see what you’ve made?” he asked as he gestured to her wax carving.
“Of course.” She stepped away from the worktable as he approached, but there was little room in the tight space. He could feel the heat of her body and heard the tight, shallow way she breathed. Was she nervous about his opinion? She shouldn’t be. The design was exquisite.
“Did you sketch this first?”
She shook her head. “No. I have been making that bird since I was a child. This is just the latest version.” She leaned down to look closer at it. “But it is the first time that I have added flames.” She slanted him a look. “I suppose you are to blame for that. Did you know that I made your stickpin?”
“Your father told me.” He touched the flame pin in his cravat. “I underestimated you again, Miss Gohar. I thought this piece extraordinary, but I had no idea that you could do this,” he said, gesturing to the bird in flight.
She looked down at it and then idly crushed it with one hand.
“What are you doing?” he gasped as he leaped forward to save the design. It was too late. The wax lay in pieces on the table. “Why?”
“It was too large to make into real jewelry. We do not have enough gold. Besides,” she said with a shrug, “the head was too big and the throat too long.”
He had not seen such flaws, but obviously, she had exacting standards. “I cannot believe you destroyed something that beautiful. You spent hours on that!”
“I cannot believe you sat with my father for hours. He has never done that with any man except my grandfather.”
Elliott’s smile was wistful. “I never got the chance to drink brandy with my own father. It was a pleasure to do so with yours.”
She seemed to think about that, her expression grave. Then she lifted her chin. “I do not care what my father has said. You will not be the one to choose my husband.”
