by Merry Farmer
Danny grinned, proud of Phoebe’s backbone. He had considered interfering on her behalf, but she seemed to have the situation well in hand. All the same, he would stay right where he was until the bastard left.
“I could make you wealthy beyond anything you’ve ever experienced before,” Lord Cosgrove went on. “Do you not remember the land speculation I am about to be part of?”
“I am not interested, my lord.” Phoebe continued to work. Most notably, she picked up the parcel with the gloves Danny had purchased for her and tucked them into her pinafore. Danny tried not to grin, especially when she shot him a brief look.
“I think you will want to reconsider when I share with you the profits I am about to make on the Earl’s Court development,” Lord Cosgrove said.
In a flash, all teasing and all amusement flew out of Danny’s mind, leaving only business in its wake.
“Hang on,” he said, cleaning up his accent a little and stepping forward. “You’re putting in a bid for the Earl’s Court development?”
Lord Cosgrove turned to look at him as though he were a cockroach. “Not that it is any concern of yours, but yes, I am.” He turned back to Phoebe, dismissing Danny entirely. “Wouldn’t you like to be the wife of a wealthy and important man?”
Danny might have asked her the question himself on any other day. He still hadn’t made it past Cosgrove’s statement, though.
“You think you’re going to be awarded the parliamentary contract?” he asked, making his accent posher still.
Lord Cosgrove huffed out a breath and turned fully to face him. “Who are you, sir, and why do you persist in bothering me and this fine woman?”
Danny put on his most charming smile and extended a hand. “Daniel Long. Property developer.” It was the closest he cared to come to the truth. Experience had taught him never to reveal the extent of his business dealings to anyone he didn’t fully trust, and he wouldn’t trust Lord Cosgrove as far as he could spit.
Lord Cosgrove evidently felt the same way about him. “You’re a lying fool,” he said, raking Danny with a sneer. “Stop accosting me and leave this shop at once or I will have you expelled.”
Danny’s brow shot up. “Expelled, is it? When I am a paying customer?”
“I highly doubt you are,” Lord Cosgrove snorted, turning back to Phoebe. “You’re nothing more than a low-born confidence man, I’d wager.”
It wasn’t the first time Danny had been accused of being a confidence man—based solely on his accent and mannerisms, combined with dressing more expensively than a man of his station was supposed to, while being in a place frequented by nobs. He’d always found the accusation amusing, particularly as he could probably purchase Lord Cosgrove a dozen times over.
“Let’s just find ourselves a copper and see who they toss out on their ear first, shall we?” he asked, grinning at Lord Cosgrove. He stood at his full height, glancing around for someone who looked as though they fit the bill of manager or protection against thieves.
“Will you stop drawing attention to yourself, you blackguard,” Lord Cosgrove hissed, glancing around anxiously.
Danny made a face as though he found Cosgrove’s reaction terribly interesting. And indeed, what nob would shy away from the possibility of intervention by the law? Danny made a mental note to research Cosgrove a bit to find out what the man was really up to.
“I can see that this is neither the time nor the place to pursue the matter between us further,” Lord Cosgrove said to Phoebe. “I shall call on you at Mrs. Jones’s as soon as possible to resolve things.”
“Any time after tomorrow night,” Phoebe said with a straight face and a tight jaw.
Lord Cosgrove evidently thought he’d won his point. He grinned proudly and rapped the countertop before sauntering off. Danny watched him go, seething internally at the man’s audacity, but also calculating just how big of a problem the man would be in his bid to win the Earl’s Court contract.
“What a sodding prick,” he said, sliding closer to Phoebe and shaking his head.
Phoebe merely hummed in response, glancing warily in the direction in which Lord Cosgrove had disappeared. Danny noted that she neither blanched at his rough speech nor chastised him for it. God, but he liked her.
Which led him to say, “And now we should discuss that other problem of yours.”
She’d busied herself straightening her counter and putting away gloves all through the confrontation, but now she froze and stared at him. “My other problem?”
“Your problem of accommodation,” he said, breaking into a wide grin. “It’s a problem no more,” he went on.
“It isn’t?” She glanced up at him with those big, gorgeous, green eyes of hers.
“No,” he said, buzzing with triumph. “Because I’ve got just the place for you to live.”
Chapter 5
Twin thrills of excitement and wariness sliced through Phoebe as she blinked at Mr. Long’s offer.
“You…you have a place where I can live?” she asked, her voice cracking. His offer sounded a great deal like Lord Cosgrove’s promise that she would be able to live in a grand country house if she married him.
And yet, Mr. Long’s way of delivering his offer couldn’t have been further from Lord Cosgrove’s loathsome proposal. Whereas every instinct she had told her to run from Lord Cosgrove, something about Mr. Long inspired trust.
Mr. Long shrugged, tracing his fingertip along the edge of her counter. “I own more properties than just the pub,” he said modestly. “I don’t just ply damsels in distress with beer and sausage pie. I’m a landlord of sorts as well.”
Hope zipped through Phoebe before she could be suspicious of it. “You have flats to let?”
“Tons of ’em,” Mr. Long said, falling back into a teasing grin. “I’ve got just the place for you among ’em.”
Phoebe’s mouth dropped, but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She could forgive Mr. Long his crass accent and rough manners, and a great many other things, for the offer he appeared to be making her. His kindness shone above his breeding a thousand times over.
But within seconds, her hopes flattened. “I doubt I could afford an entire flat on my income from the shop,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“Hey.” His clipped response snapped her head up again. Mr. Long wore a deeply concerned look. “Don’t droop on me like that. You haven’t seen the place yet.”
Phoebe tilted her head to the side in consideration. “True.” Perhaps he was offering her a cramped, attic room with little ventilation and no light. She could afford something like that.
But the twinkle in his eyes and the way he stared at her expectantly gave Phoebe the feeling he was offering her more than cheap accommodations.
“What do you say?” he asked with a rakish wink. “Will you come see the place? When do you get off of work here?” He glanced around as if looking for Mr. Waters to tell him her shift ended immediately.
Phoebe glanced at the watch brooch pinned to her blouse. “I have one more hour until I am dismissed,” she said.
“Good,” Mr. Long said, knocking on the counter. “I’ll be back in one hour to escort you to your new home.”
He grinned cheekily, then turned to leave. Phoebe watched him as he strolled to the end of the aisle. As he turned the corner, he raised an eyebrow at her and winked once more before disappearing.
“Laws, Miss Darlington,” Imogen said, slipping through the space that separated their two counters to come close enough to Phoebe to whisper. “I’ve never seen a man so finely formed.”
Hilda skipped out from behind her counter, coming to lean in over Phoebe’s counter with a bright-eyed look. “My heart fluttered all over just looking at him.”
“Is he your beau?” Imogen asked, cheeks pink and eyes shining.
“Mr. Long? No!” Phoebe felt flutters of her own as she denied it, though. Her hand moved automatically to the parcel of expensive gloves in her apron pocket. “We’ve only just met.”
“He’s the kind you like to meet over and over again,” Hilda said dreamily.
“He can meet me any day he likes,” Imogen agreed, one eyebrow raised lasciviously.
Phoebe giggled in spite of herself, her face heating. “I can assure you, ladies, it’s nothing of that sort at all.” Though she would be lying if she said she hadn’t had a natural reaction to Mr. Long’s manly presence. “My mother and I are in need of new living arrangements, and Mr. Long has just offered to show me a flat he manages.”
“I hope he shows you more than just a flat,” Imogen giggled.
“I’d go flat for him any day,” Hilda sighed.
It was shocking and base, but Phoebe found herself giggling along with her coworkers all the same. Both Hilda and Imogen had been born in East London and worked their way into enough respectability to be given positions at Harrods, but in that moment, Phoebe felt friendlier with them than she ever had with the likes of Lady Jane Hocksley or Lady Maude Carmichael.
“Ladies!” Mr. Waters’s tight scolding shocked the three of them out of their girlish giggling. Hilda and Imogen immediately leapt back to their counters. “That’s better,” Mr. Waters said as he walked down the aisle between the counters, hands clasped behind him.
Phoebe was grateful for the timid young woman who stepped up to her counter in search of gloves. It gave her the opportunity to busy herself and avoid Mr. Waters’s scrutiny. She wasn’t sure what would have happened to her if Mr. Waters had caught her talking to Mr. Long. It reminded her a bit too much of the way Mrs. Jones had caught her with Lord Cosgrove. Although, once again, when Phoebe compared the situation with Mr. Long and the one with Lord Cosgrove in her mind, they felt as different as chalk and cheese. Both men had offered to help her, but only one offer felt like real help.
Those thoughts occupied her mind during the last hour of her shift. It was, blessedly, an uneventful hour, but as she was relieved by her replacement and went to the ladies’ dressing room to change out of her apron, carefully tucking the parcel with the gloves into the pocket of her skirt when no one was looking on the off chance someone would think she stole them, her pulse picked up.
She was almost dizzy with anticipation as she donned her hat and overcoat and made her way down to Harrods’ main entrance. A burst of inexplicable joy struck her as she spotted Mr. Long standing in the afternoon sunlight on the busy street, waiting for her.
“Took you long enough,” he said with a wide smile the moment he saw her.
She knew he was teasing, which only made the fluttering in her insides increase. “I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Long,” she replied with what she hoped was a coy smile.
Something warm and enticing flashed through Mr. Long’s eyes. “How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Danny?” he asked, his tone irritated, but his smile delighted. He offered her his elbow.
“It is highly improper for me to call you by your given name,” Phoebe said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. The fact that he would want to escort her through the city streets was endearing. The blossom of pride she felt walking by his side was unexpected and heartening.
He made a crude, snorting sound, waving her objection away. “I don’t give a rip about proper,” he said. “Especially not if I’m to be your landlord.”
Phoebe laughed lightly. “Whether you become my landlord or not has yet to be determined,” she said. “But if you absolutely insist I throw my manners and propriety to the wind….”
“I absolutely insist,” he said with false gravity and a finer accent.
Phoebe peeked sideways at him. His accent didn’t seem to be fixed. She’d heard him speak in Cockney, but also in more refined tones. He seemed to be able to switch between demeanors with ease, which left Phoebe wondering who or what he really was.
“So you own a pub and you also rent out flats,” she said, unsure how to frame the question she wanted to ask.
“You’re right, I do,” he said, grinning and giving her no other information.
A slow smile spread across Phoebe’s lips. He was going to make her pry it out of him for sport. She was up for the challenge.
“And I suppose the flats you rent are in the same building as your pub? Are we heading to Fitzrovia?” she asked.
“I do rent out the rooms above the pub, and we are headed to Fitzrovia,” he said with a nod. “But the flat I have in mind for you is not in the pub.”
“I see,” Phoebe said, nodding and taking in the information. “So you own more than one building then?”
“Correct.” His smile grew wider and more mysterious.
“More than two?” she asked, enjoying the banter.
“Possibly.” She could see in the way his eyes glittered that there was quite a bit he wasn’t telling her.
She bit her lip to keep from giggling at the pure enjoyment of their silly conversation as they walked on. “You told Lord Cosgrove that you were a property developer,” she said, hoping he would see the statement as a question.
“Do you know, I did.” He peeked at her with a downright devilish grin.
Phoebe laughed outright. “So you are a pub owner, a landlord, and a property developer.”
“I am all of those things,” he agreed, laughing himself.
There was more, much more, to Mr. Danny Long than met the eye. Phoebe didn’t have the first idea about how to pry it all out of him, though. Their conversation was cut short as he hailed a handsome cab, then helped her inside.
“I suppose it is a long way to walk to Fitzrovia,” she admitted as she settled into the forward-facing seat.
“Much too long for a tired shop girl who has been on her feet all day,” Danny agreed, sitting on the seat facing her. His face held so much amusement over the situation that Phoebe could hardly keep herself from beaming from ear to ear. It had been so long since she had felt so truly happy and at ease that she could hardly recall the last time.
“Perhaps I should search for lodgings for Mama and I that are closer to Harrods,” she said once they were in motion again, hoping he would give her more clues as to his real estate holdings.
“Nah.” He sniffed at the suggestion. “You don’t want to live down this way. Too many toffs and nobs who think they’re better than the rest of us.” He sent her a downright wicked smile that said he knew she’d come from that same set of people.
“Oh yes,” she agreed, rolling her eyes. “Lord help the poor, unfortunate souls who are trapped in the upper classes. They live like birds in gilded cages.” She was joking, but part of her wondered if she meant it.
“No one should live in a cage,” he said, seeming to agree with her. “It’s far better to live free.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said with a nod.
Their silly banter and Phoebe’s unsuccessful attempts to pry more personal information out of Danny continued through their journey around Belgravia and Mayfair and along Oxford Street. The scenery was familiar to Phoebe from her daily walks to and from work, and even from her detour to The Watchman pub earlier in the week. In fact, when the cab stopped in front of The Watchman, she began to wonder if Danny had been lying to her when he said the room he had for her wasn’t above the pub.
“Here we are, home at last,” he said once the cab stopped and he opened the door to hand her down.
“It looks very much like your pub to me,” she told him with a teasing look as he paid the cabbie.
When the cab drove on, she attempted to cross the street to the pub, but Danny grabbed her elbow.
“Not that one, love. This one.”
He turned her to look at the building they stood in front of, directly across the street from the pub. It was a surprisingly fine-looking building with a brick façade and boxes of flowers in the downstairs windows. It was four stories tall and had a cheery air to it. Everything about the building put Phoebe at ease.
“Come along,” Danny said, grabbing her hand—a gesture Phoebe noted as being far mo
re intimate then offering his arm, as he’d done outside of Harrods. As soon as they stepped into the building, he hollered, “Oy! Umbridge! Keys!”
The door nearest to the building’s entrance was open, and after a thump inside that room, a middle-aged man dashed out into the hall with a ring of keys. “Here you are, sir,” the man said, handing the ring over to Danny.
“I’ll return them in a trice,” Danny told him without breaking stride, heading on to a staircase near the back of the ground floor. “I’m just going to show Miss Darlington here the vacancy.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Umbridge bowed and nodded as though Danny were the king, then slipped back into his room.
“He seems delightful,” Phoebe said as they headed upstairs, all the way to the second floor.
“He’s a corking property manager,” Danny said with a delighted grin, taking her to a door halfway down the wide hall. He fit the key in the lock and turned it. “Now, tell me this isn’t exactly what you’ve been hoping and praying for each night.”
A tremor of expectation filled Phoebe as he pushed open the door and shooed her inside. The moment Phoebe stepped into the flat’s large front room, her breath caught in her chest. The front room was wide and airy, with windows all along one side that let in plenty of light. Through one doorway, she could see a cozy kitchen and dining area. Through another, a small bedroom, and through another still, a second bedroom. It was modest by any measure, but with two bedrooms and enough light to bring joy to her heart, the flat was everything she could ever have asked for and more.
“It’s perfect,” she sighed, stepping farther into the room and spinning in a circle to take in the details. There were no furnishings, but her heart refused to see that as a problem.
“Told you,” Danny said, shutting the door and following her into the center of the room. “Nice view of the pub too,” he teased her, pointing to one of the windows.
Phoebe sent him a smiling glance before heading to one of the windows to look out. The view was as lovely as a view of a pub and the surrounding street could be. The area was clean and well-kept. There were even children playing farther down the street.
