by Amy Quinton
Swindon,
Your attempt to see to the issue of Lord Dansbury was an appalling failure.
You have three days.
Tick. Tock.
His fury at Beatryce was forgotten as he wet himself in fear.
Chapter 21
Arnold Polyweather’s Apothecary…
Portland Place…
The next morning…
Grace stood on the pavement outside Arnold Polyweather’s Apothecary on Portland Place. It was at the north end of the road and slightly out of the way from the main shopping district. This was definitely the place recommended to her by Lady Harriett’s maid, as it was the right address and the correct name was written in gilt letters above the shop window. She looked at the shop’s large bay, bemused by the signs plastered to the glass:
HEALING TONICS AND EXOTIC ELIXIRS—FOR ALL MANNER OF MALIGNANT HUMOURS.
And:
WE SELL DR. HYDE’S VITAL ELIXIR—CURES BILIOUS HEADACHES, IMPURE BLOOD, GIDDINESS, MENTAL DEPRESSION, SKIN ERUPTIONS, PIMPLES ON THE FACE, AND TUMOURS IN THE LEGS.
Grace laughed and walked on to the door located to the right of the window. The door was primarily glass and posted the following sign:
ARNOLD POLYWEATHER, DEALER IN TONICS, HERBS, AND PERFUMERY. PARTICULAR ATTENTION GIVEN TO THE DISPENSING OF FAMILY MEDICINES AND REPLENISHING OF MEDICINE CHESTS.
Perfect. Bessie, who was under the weather, had sent her out with explicit instructions for Mr. Polyweather on how to mix her special healing tonic.
A bell above the door jingled cheerfully as Grace entered the shop. From the counter at the back, a jolly, middle-aged fellow with brown greying hair and a thick mustache looked up from a journal and called out a good morning, presumably Mr. Polyweather.
“Good morning,” she answered in reply.
The aisle from the door led directly to the back counter, and she walked down it, taking time to look about at all the miscellaneous items for sale. To her left and dividing the middle of the room were open shelves with various jars and tools for mixing compounds. Along the outer walls were shelves lined with premixed concoctions. Below the wall shelves were cabinets with hundreds of small drawers, each labeled with the various names of plants, berries, herbs and oils contained within. But the most interesting aspect of the shop were the plants and herbs hanging from the ceiling to dry, which lent the shop a strong, herbal smell. Grace breathed in deeply and detected the scents of rosemary, peppermint and lemon.
“How can I help you today, my lady?” queried Mr. Polyweather as she reached the counter.
“Oh, I’m Miss Radclyffe…just a Miss. My maid is feeling poorly and is in need of a tonic for her cough. She sent me with her special recipe in hopes that we can have the tonic made up here this morning.”
“It should be no problem. Let’s see what we have here, shall we?” The proprietor held out his hand for Bessie’s notes.
He took the paper and perused the written instructions. His review was punctuated with the occasional “Hmmm…” and “I see…” followed lastly by “Interesting…very clever.”
Mr. Polyweather looked up at her with a friendly smile.
“This should be no problem, miss, no problem at all, and I have all the ingredients on hand; it shouldn’t be but a moment to put it together. Will you be waiting here or returning later?”
“I’ll wait here, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem at all, miss. Please feel free to look around while you wait. Excuse me.” He rose from his stool and began to pull out items from beneath the counter as he set to work making the tonic.
Grace wandered to the far side of the shop around the other side of open shelves, drawn by a glass display case along the far wall which appeared to hold all sorts of elaborately shaped bottles for holding perfume. She was trying desperately to determine whether or not she preferred the teal swan with gold lettering or a golden griffin with red lettering, when the bell over the door chimed announcing the arrival of another customer.
“Good morning, Your…er, my friend. Come to check on Mrs. Polyweather and the little runt, did you?”
There was a brief chuckle before the man responded, “I did indeed. I have here a soup, bread, and cheese that Cook says will put your lady to rights in no time at all.”
Grace spun around, dropping her reticule as she did. It slid across the aisle until it hit another set of shelves. She knew that voice.
The duke was here? In Polyweather’s Apothecary?
She edged toward the free-standing shelves dividing the room and tried to peep between the glass bottles sitting there.
“Why, thank you, Your…Sorry. Habit and all. Philomena will be pleased, very pleased.”
Grace could only make out the vague shape of a tall, dark gentleman through her distorted view. Slowly and very, very carefully, she pushed bottles aside to create an opening through which she could better see the gentleman at the counter.
“How is she?”
“She is on the mend and should be back to her duties, ordering you about in no time, Your…” Mr. Polyweather cleared his throat.
Grace could see the back of the gentleman more clearly now, but his clothing did not seem to fit with what she was used to seeing Stonebridge wear. This man’s clothing was loosely cut and worn. The colors were muted, brown. His boots were rough and dull, and on the counter he had set a simple woolen cap and gloves. Perhaps she was mistaken. She needed a better look to be sure. He certainly sounded like the man who invaded her dreams, but his clothing was all wrong.
“So how about the boy, John Paul? How is he working out?”
Grace was confused. If this man was Stonebridge, had Polyweather just implied that he had found the boy who tried to run out in front of Dansbury’s carriage the other day? And brought him here?
“He’s doing fine, fine. He’s right eager to please—and smart, very smart. He’ll make a fine apprentice. Right now, he’s out back tending to the herbs I have growing there.”
Grace leaned over as far as she dared to try to peek around the shelves.
“Well, I’m glad to see he’s working out. It was disheartening to see a child so desperately hungry that he’d risk his life for so little coin. I’m pleased we were able to find him and give him a chance, and I’m pleased he’s smart enough to recognize the opportunity. I had a feeling about him.”
“Aye…'tis sad, fer sure. If only you could save them all—eh, Duke?”
Crash…
The men turned toward the sound of shattering bottles. One of the free-standing shelves had collapsed at one end, the bottles sliding off and onto the floor. The duke walked around to the head of the aisle to see what might have caused the accident.
“Miss Radclyffe.”
Her heart raced. She could see his boots out the corner of her eye as she stared down at the floor. She gathered her courage and looked up to see Stonebridge shaking his head and frowning down at her. He looked exasperated. He wasn’t the only one. Well, she was overdue for an accident, after all, but why, oh, why, did it always have to be in front of this man?
She looked back down at her hands. Maybe the floor would swallow her whole so she could avoid facing him? She cringed at the sound of crushed glass as he walked across the littered floor toward her.
He squatted down and lifted her chin. “Grace, please, let me help you.” He offered his hand in assistance.
She took it.
And couldn’t help but stare at his bare hand as it tightened around hers. He had such large, strong, capable hands. She didn’t often see them as usually they were gloved, and it surprised her how tanned they were, considering. His nails were perfectly manicured and in her mind she saw this image of him sitting, smoking a pipe (she didn’t even know if he smoked) while his valet clipped his nails for him, wearing a purple paisley dressing gown. The image struck her as unbelievably funny, and she giggled. And giggled. Until she laughed so hard her stomach ached.
“What do you find so amusin
g, Miss Radclyffe?”
At the innocently worded question, she laughed that much harder. She couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her eyes, and still she laughed. He smiled as one does when watching another laugh with such abandon and without understanding the cause.
He helped her over the broken glass and to the back counter where Arnold Polyweather waited with a bemused smile. Her laughter was infectious.
“Do you know Miss Radclyffe, then, Your…er…Mr. Langtry?”
“I do, indeed. I will see her home Mr. Polyweather. She clearly needs a breath of fresh air, and please, send me the bill for the damages.”
“What about Miss Radclyffe’s order? Shall I forward it on to you?”
“No!” she blurted out between lingering chuckles.
The duke considered her a moment, then said, “I’ll leave one of my men behind and he’ll see to delivering it per Miss Radclyffe’s instructions.”
“Right. Well, good day then to you, Mr. Langtry. Miss Radclyffe, it’s been a pleasure to meet you. And thank you, again, Ambrose, for the basket for my wife.”
Grace stepped outside Mr. Polyweather’s shop. She had finally managed, just, to stifle her mirth. She didn’t see the duke’s carriage; the only vehicle nearby was a nondescript one parked at the curb. It was completely black and without a crest upon its door, and both the driver and footman wore simple clothes, certainly not the duke’s livery of green and silver.
Now that her sanity had, somewhat, returned, her instinct screamed for her to run—though she was torn as to whether or not her instinct wanted her to run away or into his arms.
Stonebridge must have noticed for he said, “Please, don’t go. I need to talk to you.”
Was she that obvious?
He looked so contrite, and even though she despised him, for surely she did, she considered hearing him out.
“Do you have time to take a ride with me?” he pressed.
“Not really. I must get back to my maid. She is ill; hence my visit to the apothecary.” She gestured behind her at the shop they had just exited.
“Ah. I’ll send my footman to Lady Harriett’s with the tonic as soon as it is ready.”
“Are these your footman? They’re not wearing your standard livery.”
“I’m not advertising my presence; it’s…it’s complicated.”
Realization dawned. The ton would collectively frown if they knew he was helping out orphans the way he did. He was actually involved. Sure, aristos contributed vast funds to charity works and held gay balls to raise money for their pet projects. But actually seeking out an orphan who had tried to commit a crime? And then finding him meaningful employment on top of that? Never. Then, there was the fact that he went out of his way to check on a sick employee. Absolutely unheard of among his set. She wanted to admonish him for hiding this side of himself from the world—damn the consequences. Ah, but his world was ever more complex than hers, and she understood. Or tried to.
“I think it’s serendipitous we met this way, Grace. I need to talk to you—to apologize—and this way,” he gestured to his attire and his unmarked carriage, “I can talk to you freely without interruption, without straining our conversation as we attempt to ignore curious onlookers. If I rode about as the duke right now, we would be watched by everyone passing. All the time. I don’t think either of us wants to invite their scrutiny.”
It sounded so reasonable put that way, though she couldn’t help but feel he might also be somewhat ashamed to be seen with her. Or perhaps not ashamed per se, but he certainly he didn’t want to advertise her presence and jeopardize his plans…for marrying Beatryce.
Her reproving thoughts increased her confidence. She didn’t want a man who couldn’t face public scrutiny if what he wanted wasn’t ‘acceptable’ by people who shouldn’t matter anyway. Then again, if she heard him correctly earlier, he had rescued an orphan boy and gave him an opportunity to get off the streets rather than haul him to the magistrate for his attempted crime. Argh! But this man was complicated. Fine. She would hear him out. Let him say what he wanted; it wouldn’t affect her future. She wouldn’t let it.
“Fine.” She brushed past him, nose in the air, and stopped before the carriage door.
He smiled ruefully as she settled in his carriage. She ignored it. And as he left to charge his footman with the task of delivering Bessie’s tonic, she sat calmly in the carriage awaiting his return. She didn’t feel nervous anymore, even though they would be alone. Righteousness was on her side, and it gave her the confidence she previously lacked. She knew where she stood with him; he had made that perfectly clear in the past. She even thought she knew what he was going to say, but she would hear him out anyway even though he didn’t really deserve it.
A moment later, he climbed inside, interrupting her sanctimonious thoughts. His presence dominated the small space and her heartbeat increased its pace, unsettling her newfound composure.
Many called her a ‘Long Meg’ due to her above average height, but now, she felt tiny and feminine next to his larger frame. After a few moments of adjustment, he settled in the seat across from her; then he tapped on the roof, and the carriage took off.
For a while, neither of them said a word. She looked out the window to enjoy the sights of London, but all the time, she was aware of his regard. After a few moments, he relaxed. He stretched his legs across the space between the seats and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. He folded his arms behind his head as he reclined against the back of his seat. He looked thoughtful now. She knew this because she was watching him from the corner of her eye, and it made her less confident of what to expect from him after all. Her nervousness increased as time passed, and still, he did not speak. Then finally, after what seemed an eternity, he said, “I like you, Grace, and you like me, too—despite what I’ve said and done in the past.” He held up his hand to forestall her interruption, preventing her from unleashing her fury upon his head. “I apologize for my boorish behavior—all of it. I’ve been ungentlemanly.”
That was an understatement.
“I won’t offer excuses for my behavior, though many come to mind. My actions are inexcusable. You are intelligent and know as well as I we can’t be more than friends; perhaps not even that. It’s the way of our world whether we like it or not. However, I find I cannot bear being at odds with you and I do enjoy your company. So, I am hoping that today, we can simply enjoy the day together as I attempt to make reparations—perhaps we could even cease being the commoner and the duke and simply be Grace and Ambrose. Just a man and a woman.”
She nodded in understanding as he spoke, and when he finished, she remained outwardly calm, though inside her mind raced. He spoke truthfully. She did understand the way of the world, though she was saddened by its reality. And a small part of her wished he would defy convention and stand proudly beside her and declare her his. But he had been right earlier; the public scrutiny would mar this beautiful day and undermine what could be a wonderful time together. Perhaps their only time together.
She knew what her future held. She would become a shop owner, and probably before that, a seamstress until she could save the money to start her business. Her life would not be easy, but she would be happy and free to chart her own course.
One day she might even find a nice man in the country to marry and have children with, though she would not make her plans with that possibility in mind. However, she also knew that what she could experience with the duke was a once in a lifetime opportunity that would never come her way again.
He desired her, that much was plain, and she desired him in return. So, even though it would only be temporary and he didn’t really deserve her consideration, she agreed to a truce—if only to suspend reality for a single day.
She looked him squarely in the eye now that she was certain. He smiled in return.
“What would you like to do today, Grace? Have you seen London from the Thames?”
* * * *
Grace gripped her
seat as the carriage turned onto Oxford Street. She bounced with elation. For the first time ever, she was headed to Drury Lane to attend the theater, and she could barely contain her excitement.
The entire day had been filled with wonder. She and Ambrose (she could no longer think of him as the duke or Stonebridge) had spent the entire day touring London, and what an adventure it had been: from taking a boat up the River Thames all the way to Waterloo Bridge near Covent Garden, to viewing the annual exhibition at the Royal Academy of Art.
She mused over every detail, for it had been perfect. Her thoughts were scattered in her excitement, flitting about from one remembered event to another at random: Ambrose picking a flower for her in St. James Garden, Ambrose helping out a little boy set upon by bullies, sharing an ice from Gunter’s Tea Shop on Berkeley Square (from within the carriage of course)…And all the while, they laughed and enjoyed just being in each other’s company—as friends of a sort—content to enjoy life and disregard reality if only for a moment. During their time together, she saw a side of him he allowed few to witness, and it felt good. Wonderfully, beautifully good.
Now, she was dressed plainly in anticipation of attending the Theatre Royal. They planned to forgo his box, and to continue their charade, were dressed as commoners. Their carriage slowed as it made its way to Russell Street (only a peer could enter via the main entrance on Catherine).
“Ready?” he asked.
“Definitely.”
* * * *
Inside the theater, they took their seats on a bench at the back of the ground floor viewing area. Grace’s eyes were wide with wonder as she took in the gas-lit chandeliers and three floors of box seats filled with members of the ton—watching and being seen. Her fingers gripped the bench beneath her; she fairly hummed with excitement.
Stonebridge had been here many times before, though never from this vantage point. Regardless, all he could do was watch her as she took in everything around her. He was content to simply see her eyes alight with delight at all she saw. She was marvelous, witty, and kind, and he had enjoyed every minute of their day together. He was smitten. And in trouble. But he refused to consider that their time together was almost at an end. The night wasn’t over, yet.
