Phee couldn’t imagine that she would care about chores more than anything else in the world. Even as she considered how best to care for Drake’s residence, even as she wanted to arrange the furniture and purchase more of it and give the place a pleasant atmosphere, she couldn’t see herself caring about only those things. If she had a chance to dance, she would leave scrub brushes behind without a second thought. She’d rather purchase a new frock than repair an old one. She wanted to wear a different dress every day, not the same old drab uniform.
Embracing her present life wasn’t nearly as appealing as stretching the boundaries and searching for something new. Just as at that moment, new gloves called to her.
She’d barely noticed they’d come to a street of shops. Marla stopped in front of a window, almost pressing her nose to the glass as she peered in. “This is my favorite shop.”
Phee glanced inside. She could see why. It was a ladies’ boutique, specializing in the various personal items a lady needed. “Let’s go inside, shall we?”
“Oh no,” Marla said, stepping back, her eyes wide. “Can’t go in if we’re not going to purchase anything.”
“Who said I wasn’t going to purchase anything?”
Before Marla could object, Phee had opened the door and stepped inside. For the first time since she’d awoken in Drake’s bed, she felt remarkably at home. The gent behind the counter came to attention, seemed to take them both in with a sweeping glance, before relaxing his stance and looking down the long, knifelike bridge of his nose.
“May I help you?” His condescending tone almost had her taking her business elsewhere, but she was far more interested in putting him in his place. She didn’t like him, shouldn’t give him her business, but was quite sure she’d dealt with his sort before.
She angled her chin, did her own looking down, and said as distinctly as possible, “I need to see what you have in the way of gloves.”
His head gave the tiniest of jerks as though he couldn’t quite believe his ears. “As you wish, madam.”
“It’s La—” Was she going to say lady? Why would she say that? Had she been a lady in another life, before she became a servant? Was she hiding from something before the river? Such strange musings. “Miss.”
He turned to a set of drawers, tugged one out completely, and set it on the counter. An assortment of gloves awaited her perusal. Cotton. Some with a bit of lace. She lifted one, examined it, dropped it. “These are poorly made. I want kidskin. Your finest, most supple kidskin.”
“I doubt you can afford it.”
“I doubt, sir, that you have the barest inkling as to what I can afford. Now be quick about attending to my needs lest I go elsewhere.”
She was much more pleased with the leather selections. She had rewrapped her hands before leaving on the outing, covering the broken skin only twice with linen strips, but still it was a challenge to put the gloves on in order to determine the proper size. Finally she was satisfied. “I’ll take a pair in white and tan.”
Then she noticed Marla’s gloved hands resting lightly on the counter. The cotton worn and frayed. “I’ll also be taking a pair for my friend. Marla, which ones would you like?”
Phee was relatively certain she’d seen a full moon, but she didn’t think it could have been any bigger than Marla’s eyes, round with surprise.
“Don’t be daft. You can’t purchase me gloves.”
“Silly girl, Darling will be paying for them.” She removed the pouch of coins from her pocket, started to open it, and stopped. It didn’t feel quite right. One did not pay for gloves with coins. She looked at the clerk. “Everything we want is to be charged to a Mr. Drake Darling. I shall give you his address and you’re to deliver the items there this evening. He’ll pay you at that time.”
“I don’t know a Mr. Drake Darling, so I’m afraid, miss, that I can’t extend you credit. You have to pay for your purchases.”
That wasn’t the way it was done. She knew that. Even though she had coins in her pockets, those were for the market. In a shop, she did little more than sign her name. She straightened her spine, brought back her shoulders, and delivered her best fuming glare. “Drake Darling is a man of influence and wealth. I daresay he has rubbed elbows with Bertie. You do know who Bertie is, do you not?”
“Not personally, but—”
“Well, Darling does know him personally.” She didn’t know if he did know the Prince of Wales personally, but it sounded good, and she was determined to set this man in his place. As she couldn’t very well shorten the long nose he looked down at her from, she would have to bring his conceit down to size. “Do you know who I am?”
He started to shake his head. She pounced before he could utter any words. “I am the woman who is going to purchase enough items today to pay your bills for a month. I am accustomed to purchasing on credit and shall continue to do so. Should Mr. Drake Darling have to come in here to personally see to this matter, he will not be at all happy. You, dear sir, do not want to be the reason for his unhappiness. Now I wish to see what you have in silk underthings. Be quick about it. I do not suffer sluggards well.”
He was quick about it, very quick about it. Phee took perverse satisfaction in how solicitous he became. Half an hour later, wearing bright smiles, she and Marla walked out of the shop.
“You sounded like a bloody nob,” Marla whispered. “Are you sure you’re not a lady of quality?”
“I’m quite certain. A lady would not end up in the river.”
“What if your Mr. Darling doesn’t want to pay for those things?”
“He will. He told me to purchase what I needed.”
“But those aren’t things that are needed. Just things we’d enjoy having.”
“It’ll be fine, Marla. I’m relatively certain he’s quite well off. Now, is there a milliner in the area?”
Ebenezer Whistler stared at the pile of silk nothings that the lady had determined she required. He’d never had one customer purchase so many items during one visit. Silk stockings for every day of the week, chemises of the softest cotton, satin nightdresses, lacy shawls. One of anything was not enough for this woman, but he had not objected after she’d taken him to task because she spoke as though she were someone who might take tea with the queen.
But she dressed as a common laborer. He looked at her signature in his ledger beside the total amount owed to him. No gent was going to pay that much for his servant’s madness. He shouldn’t bother the fellow. He should have stopped the lady before it got this far, but fool that he was, he kept hearing coins dropping into his palm. He should simply put everything back in its place.
The chimes above his door tinkled as it was opened. A tall, broad-shouldered man walked in, his long strides bringing him to the counter before Ebenezer had a chance to properly greet him. This man was not in want of money. His clothes were well tailored, his mien one of success. He nodded toward the pile of items.
“Are those the things the lady who was just in here wished to purchase?”
Ebenezer nodded. “Yes, sir.”
The gent arched a brow at the book. Ebenezer turned it his way. “I’m afraid, sir, that she may have overreached.”
Without hesitation, the gentleman took the pen from the inkwell and scrawled his name—Drake Darling—beside hers. “Oh, I suspect this is paltry compared to the damage she’ll do before the day is done.”
Drake was grateful that he had decided to follow them. He’d been peering in the shop window when he’d seen Phee’s back stiffen. The aristocratic lady that she was had risen to the fore. She’d spoken with such authority that he’d been able to clearly hear her. He suspected the clerk initially hadn’t known whether to shake in his shoes or laugh. Based on the items he’d given her leave to purchase, Ebenezer Whistler had shaken in his shoes.
Drake very well might have too. He’d made arrangements for the items to be delivered to his residence. Later, he would send a note to his man of business warning him of several unus
ual bills that would be coming his way. His man would think he’d taken on a mistress. He had little doubt a mistress would be less expensive.
Phee was in her element now: shopping. It was how ladies of quality spent their afternoons and she was apparently remembering quite nicely the specifics of how it should be done.
For a heartbeat, he considered catching up with her and stopping the madness but he was rather enjoying the lively bounce in her step, the smiles he occasionally caught a glimpse of. It was equally obvious that the little maid traipsing along beside her was having a grand time. He didn’t want to spoil their fun.
It also occurred to him that this little adventure might accomplish what last night’s hadn’t: bring back Phee’s memories. He wanted to be nearby if that happened, because he suspected she would be quite disoriented as she began piecing things together.
It was an odd thing: the desperation with which he wanted her to remember, the desperation with which he didn’t. Her being in his care needed to come to an end—swiftly and immediately. And yet …
She’d purchased gloves for the little maid. While the money wasn’t coming out of her pocket, but out of his, he was still surprised that she’d thought to do it at all. It seemed each day, no, each hour, he learned something new and unexpected about her. Something that intrigued him and made him want to know more.
So he followed at a discreet distance, collecting bread crumbs of information, like some pauper in search of any scrap of food to appease his hunger. But where she was concerned, he possessed an insatiable appetite. He feared he might never satisfy his desire to know everything about her.
“You can’t keep purchasing me things,” Marla said, as they neared the market.
“It makes it more fun.” They’d had the best time ordering hats at the milliner’s and shoes at the cobbler’s.
“But your employer will not be happy about it.”
“I can handle him.” Although she didn’t think she would have to. He wasn’t going to object. She didn’t know why she knew that but she did. And if he did object, she would simply have the cost of the items for Marla taken out of her wages. He was going to have to take something out of her wages anyway. They had walked past a shop that displayed blown glass figurines in the window, and Phee had spotted one that she wanted—desperately. She would cancel all the other items she’d purchased if need be to obtain this one intricate piece of glass. The delicate piece was now wrapped and secured in a reticule she’d purchased after convincing the shop clerk Drake Darling was good for the items.
She seemed to have a way of convincing shop clerks of a good many things. Marla said it was her tone, that she would not take no for an answer. Perhaps it was. Phee never once considered that her requests would be refused. She wasn’t accustomed to not being obeyed. Perhaps that was why Darling had hired her to be his housekeeper, even though she was relatively young. He knew she’d brook no disobedience from her subordinates—once she had subordinates.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much money spent in one outing,” Marla said.
“I daresay those with the means to spend are not often appreciated, and yet without them Society would crumble.”
“How so?”
“Everything we purchased today put coins in someone else’s pocket. They in turn will spend those coins on bakery goods or some such. If you look at it that way, we are really obligated to buy things.”
Marla laughed. “You do have an odd way of looking at things.”
“I suspect the shop clerks greatly appreciate my dedication to duty.” She paused her thoughts. Something about duty … There and gone before she could grasp it.
As they wandered from stall to stall, Phee decided bartering for vegetables wasn’t nearly so entertaining as shopping for trinkets and clothing. Examining asparagus, tomatoes, cabbage was quite tedious. She listened with only half an ear as Marla explained how to determine what was ripe, what had yet to ripen, and the signs that produce was overly ripe.
“I don’t understand why it should fall to us to ensure the produce is perfect,” Phee told her. “It should only be made available when it is. Someone who works with it all day would be a much better judge than I.”
“Perhaps, but that’s not the way it’s done,” Marla said. She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “My word, we’ve been gone much longer than I thought. We need to hurry here.”
“We can dispense with the lessons then, and you just tell me which items to purchase.”
They were approaching the last stall when Phee heard a horse whinny in distress. Moving past Marla, she spotted a wagon loaded with crates and a man sitting on the bench, flicking a whip over and over at the poor beast’s back.
“No!” she yelled, dropped the bags that contained the produce they’d purchased thus far, and raced toward the wagon. She leaped onto the step, reached up, and grabbed the man’s arm. “No!”
He flung her off as though she were little more than a child’s rag doll, and she landed on the ground in a sprawl just like one. She scrambled back to her feet, rushed forward, and stepped up again. With her fist, she pounded his thigh, his side, anything she could reach.
“Blast ye, woman!” The weight of a meaty hand snapped her head back and she tumbled, bracing for impact—
She landed hard against something sturdy, sturdy and familiar, strong arms cradling her to a firm, broad chest. Looking into black eyes, she pleaded, “Stop him.”
His features set in a furious mask, Drake Darling growled even as he set her on her feet as though she were delicate glass. She watched as he bounded onto the wagon, ripped the whip from the man’s hand, and delivered two hard punches to his face that toppled him over.
Hurrying to the horse, she grabbed the bridle with one hand before rubbing the horse’s neck with the other. “It’s all right,” she cooed. “It’s all right. He’s not going to hurt you again.”
Suddenly she was aware of Darling beside her, breathing heavily, anger rolling off him in waves. Turning to him she said, “Purchase him.”
The tension in his face eased a little as incredulity worked its way through him. “Pardon?”
“Purchase the horse. He’s so scarred, has been abused so horribly. Please purchase him.”
“Phee, he’s not our responsibility.”
“Please. I’ll work a year without a salary, two years. However long you say. But we can’t leave him to that brute.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. She could see him struggling, so she implored quietly, “Please, Drake.”
He popped his eyes open. “You will be the death of me.”
Recovered from his fall, the driver was trudging forward, his hands balled into tight fists at his side. Drake spun on his heel. “How much for the horse?”
Chapter 17
The last thing Drake had expected of his day was to be walking back to his residence with a lumbering horse in tow. The man had found a place to park his wagon until he could secure another beast. They had agreed on a price and Drake had given him instructions to be at Dodger’s Drawing Room at four to receive payment. Fortunately, Dodger’s reputation was such that the man didn’t question he would indeed be paid.
As for Drake, he was a blasted fool. What was he going to do with a horse that was too old for service? It plodded along beside him as though each step might be its last. Whereas Phee walked quietly beside him. The little maid was somehow even quieter, as though she didn’t wish to be seen, as though the temper he’d exhibited terrified her.
He’d spent years holding his temper on a tight leash but when he’d seen the driver shove Phee off the wagon, not once but twice, he’d wanted to put the man into a coffin. The fury that had ratcheted through him had nearly blinded him to reason. All he’d seen were his father’s fists flailing, all he’d heard was the sickening thud of flesh hitting bloodied flesh. For a moment he’d been eight years old, hovering in a corner unable to save his mother, too terrified to try—
He barely reca
lled climbing onto the wagon and taking his fists to the man. If the man hadn’t tumbled backward, he wasn’t certain he’d have ever stopped hitting him. Phee’s face was already bruising, her eye swelling. The anger he’d felt had died down from a blaze to a simmer, but it was still there. And something more. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought he’d been terrified of losing her.
It hadn’t improved his day that she looked up at him with tears welling in her eyes. Lady O whom he hadn’t even thought capable of weeping. All because of a horse.
“What the devil were you thinking?” he ground out through clenched teeth. “That man was twice your size.”
“The horse couldn’t fight back. He’ll beat the next one he has, won’t he.”
Not a question, a statement, because she knew the answer. Just as he’d known when his father finally stopped hitting his mother that he would beat her again. All he could do was be grateful his father hadn’t turned his fists on him yet. As young as he was, he’d known he should have stepped in front of his mother, he should have stopped his father. The guilt over his cowardice had eaten its way into his soul. “I’ll have a word with him when he comes for his money.”
“You don’t think he knew what he was doing was wrong? If your fists don’t stop him, I don’t see how your words will.”
He peered over at her. “Have some faith in me.”
“I have complete faith in you.”
His gut tightened. He didn’t want her to have that much. Only a smidgen. It was all he deserved. She’d realize that once her memories came back.
“What were you doing at the market anyway?” she asked.
He was hoping with all that had happened, she’d have not been so inquisitive, would have just accepted his arrival in the nick of time. He considered fabricating some tale, but he was still struggling to get his anger in check after first seeing her tumbling from the wagon. Catching her the second time she went flying should have helped ease his fury except that he’d gotten a rather close view of her reddened face and the imprint of the driver’s hand. Morris, his name was. Drake didn’t know if it was his first or surname and he didn’t really care.
Once More, My Darling Rogue Page 19
