A Ring From a Marquess
Page 19
‘Is the food not to your liking?’ He had thought the matter settled.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It is delicious.’ Then she picked up her fork and began to eat, as though seeking an excuse to avoid conversation.
In an effort to distract her, he questioned her about her day. She answered in monosyllables, if at all. It was a strange inversion of the last weeks, where she had been the one to talk and he had evaded. Now, when at last he was ready and eager to speak with her, she spoke as few words as possible.
Then, he noticed the handkerchief wrapped tightly around one of her fingers. ‘What happened there?’
She looked up, startled. ‘There was an accident. In the shop. Broken glass. As I was cleaning up, I cut myself.’
Hs stood up and went to her side, taking her hand gently in his and unwrapping the cloth. ‘Does it hurt?’ It did not appear to be deep, but she looked near to tears.
‘It is all right,’ she said.
‘You work too hard. You must take better care of yourself.’ He kissed the finger and wrapped it again.
‘I have been thinking that, as well,’ she said and took a deep breath. ‘In fact, I think you are right about giving up the shop.’
Of all the things likely to come out of her mouth, he had not expected this. ‘At the end of summer,’ he reminded her, feeling uneasy.
‘Or sooner,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday and we are closed. I do not have to worry for a day or two.’
‘You do not have to worry at all,’ he assured her. When he had first decided that they must marry, hadn’t that been his fondest desire: that she should never have to worry about anything again?
But she did not seem to hear his reassurance. She was staring down into her plate again, poking listlessly at the food with a fork. ‘Perhaps, next week, it would be possible to find Mr Pratchet… He wished to own it. I might sell it to him. Or not…’ The words were fairly pouring out of her, now that she had begun to speak. But she did not seem any happier for her decision.
‘Before we married, you were quite adamant about Mr Pratchet not taking control. This is quite a change of opinion,’ he said cautiously.
‘I can think of no one else,’ she said, setting her fork aside as though she had lost her appetite. ‘Justine would not want it. Her memories of the place are quite horrible. When it came fully into our control, she wanted to close it and forget it had ever existed.’
‘Women are not meant to run businesses,’ he said, repeating what he had always assumed to be true.
She gave him a tired look, as though she had heard the words too many times before. ‘Perhaps not. But there was little choice in the matter, since my father had daughters and not sons.’
He started to speak, and then stopped. Logic dictated that if a business owner had daughters, then the business should fall to the men they married. But that would have meant that she should have married Pratchet, who wanted the business more than the woman, and not a man who wanted her, but had no need of a jewellery shop. Perhaps that was the logical argument. But when it ran contrary to what he had wanted to do he’d had no problems ignoring it. Why should it be any different for her?
‘We sisters knew that some day the business would fall to us and we prepared accordingly. We had played in the shop since we were little. And though Mr Montague was a horrible man, he was an excellent jeweller. He taught us everything there was to know about the stones, the metals and the making of jewellery. We learned our letters and our numbers.’ She smiled faintly. ‘Arithmetic works just the same for a woman as it does for a man. If you were to examine my bookkeeping, you would find it kept in a reasonable hand and totalled properly at the bottom of the ledger.’
Then the smile was gone again. ‘But Mr Montague really only wanted the money. And Justine wanted her freedom. I was the only one who really cared about the shop. I planned for years so that I might be ready to take it on. And I have done well. Or, at least, I did. If I cannot have it…’
She spoke of the place as if it were a living thing. And a precious one, at that. It was not just some stray dog that could be put out when it became too inconvenient to keep. By the look on her face, she would be no more willing to abandon a child then she would shutter the windows and lock the doors of de Bryun’s.
‘Are you quite sure you are ready to leave it?’ She had come to the decision on her own, just as he’d wished. Why did it not make him happy?
‘You wish me to close it, do you not?’
‘Well, yes.’ He did. Or, at least, he had. Now, he was not so sure. ‘But when we have discussed it before, you have been quite adamant on the need to ensure the livelihoods of your staff.’
‘I must see to their safety as well,’ she said. It was an odd statement, after the assurances she had given him about the minimal risks involved in her job.
‘You promised me before that if you were worried for your safety you would let me protect you,’ he reminded her.
Hope flared in her eyes for a moment. Then the look of misery grew deeper, as she became even more obedient. ‘Of course. But as you pointed out to me, yesterday, it will be difficult to run the place with the responsibilities I am likely to have as your wife.’
‘That is correct.’ He thought of his mother and what she did to fill her days. She called on friends in the morning. In the afternoon, she sometimes shopped. She went to dinners in the evening. When they were home, she might visit the sick and the poor. If she stopped doing any of those things, it would not have mattered one whit to the duke, or the people around her. She kept busy. But he would hardly have called what she did ‘responsibilities’.
But Margot had pointed out to him on several occasions that she already had them. It was ludicrous to insist that she accept idleness for propriety’s sake. ‘Perhaps there might be a way to keep it open part of the year. Summering in Bath does not conflict with a London Season.’ What was he saying? Hadn’t it been his wish that she stop work and devote herself to him? But now that she was considering it, he felt no happier about it than she did.
She shook her head. ‘It is better to make a clean break of it. I cannot ask my staff to work half a year, and wait for me to return. It would not be fair.’
‘I see.’
‘And there is your family to consider,’ she said.
‘My family?’ It was strange that she would think of them, since he spent little enough time considering their feelings. ‘If you are thinking of yesterday’s meeting with Arthur, put it from your mind.’
‘It is not that,’ she said. ‘I am sure your father would prefer that there not be a shop girl in family.’
‘My father?’ Stephen laughed. ‘My father can go to hell and take his opinions with him. When he does, I will be Larchmont. And I do not care a fig if my duchess has a shop.’
‘You don’t?’
‘I don’t.’ Perhaps it was just a contrary wish to do the thing that would most annoy Larchmont. Or perhaps it was that she was smiling at him for the first time all evening.
He put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her out of her chair and away from the table. ‘It is plain that talk of closing de Bryun’s upsets you. We can discuss it tomorrow. Or some other time.’ There were weeks left before the season changed and they must leave for home. ‘But we will find a way to handle it that will be satisfactory to all concerned.’ He kissed her cheek.
And as they always did, when he was this close to her, troubles did not seem so important. ‘All that matters is that we are together.’ He kissed her again. ‘Although I do not know what I shall do with my nights, now that I have used up all my time with you. Last night was four, was it not?’
This actually coaxed a grin from her. ‘Nothing happened on the second night. I do not think we should count it.’
‘On our wedding day, you suggested I save my last visit to your bed for a special occasion. Christmas, perhaps. Or my birthday, which is in March.’
‘March is a very long time away,’ she said.
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br /> ‘It is,’ he agreed.
And quite suddenly, she was in his arms, clinging to him so tightly that it would have taken all his strength to part from her. ‘Then let us make the last night last for ever,’ she whispered. ‘Just promise me, that, no matter what might happen, we will not be parted.’
‘Never,’ he agreed.
‘Then it will be all right,’ she said, as he manoeuvred them towards the stairs and bed. ‘As long as I have you, the rest does not matter.’
* * *
Margot awoke alone the next morning in her husband’s heavily curtained bed. Just beyond the velvet, Stephen was assuring his valet that he had no intention of leaving the chamber until evensong, if then. Breakfast should be brought to the room. Tea as well. Nothing else was required from the servants for the rest of the day.
And then the bed curtains parted again and he returned, throwing himself back on to the mattress. ‘There. Sorted. I will make the night last for ever, just as you commanded. Come to me, my love.’
She did not need to comply, for the force of his return had bounced her to his side. His arms were about her again and she felt warm and protected. The slight throbbing in her cut finger made her snuggle even closer to him. Perhaps there was madness in his family. Stephen seemed quite normal, as did Louisa. But Arthur and the duke… She shuddered.
‘Cold?’ He pulled the comforter over them and she did not have to explain. ‘Let me take care of everything.’
‘That would be nice,’ she admitted. Not even the duke could harm her, if she was with Stephen. Though he had wished aloud that she could be thrown into the river, she doubted that he was liable to carry out the threat.
It annoyed her that one visit from the man had left her ready to give up. But, in her defence, it was one thing to stand up to the likes of Arthur and Mr Pratchet, and quite another to stand alone against the wrath of a peer. Larchmont had almost infinite power and wealth, and he had already taken a dislike to her.
He was also quite mad. The interaction with him had shaken her more than she’d expected. There was something in his eyes that hinted a broken counter was the least of her worries, should she have further dealings with him.
Stephen noticed her mood and made a soft, shushing sound in comfort. ‘What is it that troubles you so?’
She should tell him about the visit from the duke. She should have told him immediately after she had returned. But it seemed there was trouble enough between father and son, without her adding to it. ‘Nothing, really.’ Perhaps, when she had got over the shock of his first visit, she could seek out Larchmont and assure him of their plans to leave Bath. Then she could explain to Stephen that any potential problems with the family had already been settled.
‘You are not worrying about the shop again, are you?’ He pulled her on top of him. ‘Stop it immediately. I have found a solution that will satisfy us both.’
‘Really.’ It was probably the plan to stay in bed with him until she no longer cared. That solution was impractical, though it had certain advantages.
‘You must appoint a manager. What’s the fellow with the ears?’
‘Ears?’ To the best of her knowledge, all men had them. Even the man currently easing her into a more comfortable position on his torso sported a pair.
‘The tall chap in the front of the shop, with ginger hair and…’ Stephen cupped his hands to the sides of his head and flapped them.
‘Jasper,’ she said, embarrassed at noticing a resemblance.
‘Train him up on the running of the shop, just as you said you are training a girl to do the goldsmithing. You might continue drawing your designs wherever we go, just as other women sketch flowers. Then you might visit Bath periodically to deliver them and be sure that things are running smoothly. We could return in summer, of course.’
Jasper was the only clerk she had retained from the dark days when Mr Montague had run the shop. He knew more about it than anyone, other than herself. There had been only a small amount of disruption on the days she had been late this summer.
And Jasper had been the one to encourage Miss Ross to take over the workbench. Margot might not have come to that decision without his help, since she had been set to advertise. But it appeared that it had been a wise one.
‘You are thinking about it, aren’t you?’ Stephen gave her an encouraging smile.
She nodded and smiled back.
‘While I would not normally encourage a woman in this position to think of another man, today I will allow it.’
She glanced down to notice that she was straddling her husband in a way totally inappropriate to be discussing business. ‘You are sure you would not find it embarrassing to have your family associated with trade?’
‘It is not as if my name is on the door. Nor do I mean to stand in the window hawking watch fobs to a holiday crowd. And I have never been ashamed of you.’
It was true. He had been vexed with her, he had lusted after her and perhaps, for a time, he hated her. But he had never given an indication that she was an embarrassment to him.
And Larchmont was not embarrassed, so much as angry. She would assure him of her plan to distance herself from contact with the customers, and remind him of Justine’s relation to Bellston. Her sister still owned half the business and no one remarked on it at all. ‘So we might not have to close the shop at all,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Not if you do not wish to.’
‘I do not,’ she said, relieved to be able to speak honestly.
‘Very well, then.’ Her husband lay back upon the pillows, and placed his hands upon her hips to guide her. ‘You may now reward me for my brilliance.’
Chapter Twenty
Margot had married the most brilliant man in England. It was an overstatement, perhaps. But not by very much.
When the shop had opened again on Monday, she had pulled her senior clerk aside and made her proposal to him. His eyes had widened, just as she suspected hers had, when Stephen had made the suggestion to her. It was as though he could suddenly see possibilities that had not occurred to him before. But rather than accepting out of hand, he had requested that they go into the office and discuss things in detail.
As an employer who was used to being promptly obeyed, she had found it annoying. But as a shop owner searching for a competent manager, she had been secretly pleased. He had wanted to negotiate not just a rise in pay, but hiring of additional staff, changes in the scheduling and the implementation of several of his own ideas as to the display of stock. While he might not know the craft as well as she did, it was clear that he understood the running of the business.
* * *
The next day, as they had arranged, she arrived several hours later than usual to find Jasper, now called Mr Suggins, wearing a smart black suit and smiling over the counter as he welcomed customers to de Bryun’s. The shop was immaculate. The staff was tidy as a paper of pins. The transactions were recorded correctly in the accounting book. There was very little for her to do, other than work with the more exclusive customers and guide Miss Ross in the casting of a hand clasp for a necklace.
Since she did not have to stay late to lock the doors, she was home in time to dine with her husband. After, she climbed into his bed, secure in the knowledge that she did not have to rise from it before the sun was fully up. While she did not precisely enjoy turning the minutiae of business over to another, she could become used to it.
* * *
How things had changed in just a few days. A week had passed and she was enjoying a cup of tea in the private salon, doodling designs for a series of bracelets and actually looking forward to the time that she could go home to Stephen.
Suddenly, her peace was disturbed by the clank of the bell and the crack and bang of the shop door swinging wide on its hinges to strike the frame before slamming shut. While it was inappropriate to scold a customer for carelessness, this one should use more caution, lest he break the window glass.
Broken glass.
He was asking for her again. He sounded reasonable. It was a lie, of course. Reasonable men did not break things to prove a point. Perhaps, if she stayed still, like a rabbit in a thicket, he would not realise that she was here. Maybe he would go again.
Dear, sweet Jasper was lying for her, denying she was in the shop. But it was not working. ‘Now see here, your Grace, you cannot simply barge into the back rooms.’ It was very brave of Jasper to try to contain the man. If they both survived this, she would thank him.
She could hear the duke’s wordless response to opposition: the splintering of breaking glass.
She was up and moving before the last pieces hit the floor. If she wished to prove herself worthy of the Standish name, she must not let him find her hiding in a back room like a coward. When she arrived in the main room, the last of the customers were scurrying out the door and Larchmont’s cane was poised and ready to strike the next mirror on the pillar beside him.
‘Stop this nonsense immediately, your Grace,’ she said. Then followed the demand with a curtsy so that he might not notice her shaking knees.
‘Nonsense, Lady Fanworth?’ He said her name with scorn, as though doubting that lady was the correct term to use. ‘There is nothing nonsensical about my behaviour. It is a result of the surprise I feel to see you still here, after the perfectly reasonable request I made, on my last visit.’ He was smiling at her as though nothing was wrong. Even with their limited acquaintance she was sure that the expression did not bode well.
‘I discussed the future of de Bryun’s with Fanworth,’ she said, with more confidence than she felt. ‘And we immediately turned over its management to my assistant. I will remain as a silent partner, until we leave Bath in a month.’ It was an exaggeration. But she hoped it would do.