“Exactly. Father said he’s already paid by way of a retainer by Lord Reading, so he didn’t accept the offer.”
Blinking back tears, Victoria struggled to breathe.
“Vicky, what’s wrong?”
“I said things to him... he looked so hurt, and when he left...” She sniffled as she lifted a sodden hanky to her face. “He said he would send future word by... by way of the... the post.”
Juliet stared at Victoria. “I rather doubt he meant that,” she hedged.
Victoria’s sobs increased in intensity.
“He obviously cares about you,” Juliet insisted.
“If only that were true,” Victoria whispered between sobs.
“You’re in love with him.” The statement wasn’t a question.
Hiccuping, Victoria shook her head. “I cannot be.”
“Oh, this is wonderful,” Juliet breathed as her eyes widened in delight. “We’ll be betrothed at the same time. Perhaps we could have a double wedding!”
The keening sound merely increased in intensity at the same moment Victoria’s lady’s maid appeared at the door with a tea tray. “Tea will make everything better, my lady,” Cummings said as she set the tray on the nightstand.
“I’ll serve,” Juliet offered.
“That will be all tonight, Cummings,” Victoria said between quiet sobs.
“But... but what about dinner?”
Victoria and Juliet exchanged quick glances. “Bring trays, and we’ll eat here,” Juliet ordered. “But not until seven o’clock. And there will no changing clothes for dinner on this night.”
Her eyes wide at hearing the decisiveness in Juliet’s voice, Cummings said, “Yes, my lady,” and hurried out of the room.
Victoria stared at her friend. “What’s gotten into you?” she asked in alarm.
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Why, for a moment there, you sounded like... like me.”
Juliet dimpled as she prepared the cups for tea. “I’m practicing. I might be a countess before the end of the year,” she said with a grin
Victoria allowed a wan smile and then said, “Poor Christopher. He has no idea, does he?” she asked rhetorically.
Pouring a cup of tea for Victoria, Juliet considered the teasing comment before displaying a brilliant grin. “Actually, I think he does,” she murmured. She took a sip of tea. “And I think he likes it.”
Victoria sniffled and directed her attention to the bottom of her cup of tea. Although she had no idea how to read tea leaves, she hoped Juliet’s words were true.
Every one of them.
Chapter 30
Jewelry and a Pearl
Half past nine o’clock, 32 Ludgate Hill, London
The light snowfall had ceased by the time Tom’s town coach was parked in front of Rundell, Bridge & Co. Given that the displays in the front windows that flanked the doors were lit from behind, Tom knew the jewelry and gift shop was still open.
He bounded down from the coach and hurried inside, happy for the warmth and relieved to discover two jewelers behind the back counter. He knew they were related to one another, and they looked it. “Apologies for my late arrival,” Tom said as he approached the men. “I wondered if you might have a gold ring on which a pearl could be mounted?” He pulled the pearl from his waistcoat pocket and set it on a black velvet-covered box on the counter.
The older of the two jewelers bent down and examined the orb. “How have you come by this?” he asked, lifting the pearl and moving it closer to a lamp.
“I was holding it for my dinner guest. She found it in an oyster.”
“Rules, by chance?”
“Indeed. How did you know?”
The man allowed a shrug. “Oysters are their speciality,” he murmured. “Good size, good color, excellent shape.”
The other man disappeared for a moment. “Nephew’s been working on some designs. Perhaps he has a setting it will work with.”
“How soon could you have it mounted?” Tom asked. He knew it wouldn’t do any good to get the ring that night—he wasn’t about to pay a call at Fairmont Park this late and risk getting shot by Thompson—but he could deliver it on the morrow.
The nephew reappeared with a tray of rings, none of which included any gemstones. “Are you just wanting the pearl, sir? Or were you thinking to add some sapphires or—?”
“Emeralds,” Tom interrupted, remembering the color of Victoria’s eyes.
“Ah, I have this ring, which will accommodate your pearl and two smaller emeralds,” the younger man murmured as he lifted a gold ring from the tray. The setting was simple. No filigree decorated the gold posts that would hold the stones, nor was there any flourish on the band. Tom tried to imagine what the ring might look like when completed. Depending on their cut, the emeralds might indeed look like green eyes.
“Or there’s another here that can feature a ring of small emeralds all around the pearl.” The older jeweler pulled that setting from the tray and held it up with the pearl. Tiny leaves extended from the gold band, suggesting the setting would look like a flower once completed.
“Do you have the emeralds?” Tom asked.
“Of course, sir,” the older one replied, his tone suggesting he had taken offense.
“I meant to ask, do you have emeralds ready to use in either of these settings?”
The younger man disappeared behind the curtain again and emerged with a flat drawer lined in velvet and dotted with dozens of emeralds. The green gems were of various shapes and sizes.
“Oh,” Tom said as he gazed at the selection. His attention went back to the two settings. He tried to imagine Victoria wearing them. Tried to imagine which would suit her better. Although he favored the idea of a flower, he also thought the three-gem ring would suit her tastes better.
“This one,” he said, pointing to the first option. “With the two best of those,” he added as he pointed to the drawer of emeralds. “I can pay cash on the morrow if you can have it done by five o’clock.” He had thought to ask for it to be ready sooner, but he didn’t want to pay a call at Fairmont Park whilst the Combers were there.
The two jewelers exchanged quick glances. “I’ll have it ready by four,” the nephew promised. “What name shall go on the receipt?”
“Grandby. Tom Grandby.”
Eyebrows raised, the older said, “Is the Earl of Torrington a relative, perhaps?”
“Cousin, yes. Why do you ask?”
The two jewelers both looked crestfallen. “My uncle fears we have fallen out of his favor.”
“Given he was not in to buy his countess a Christmas gift last month,” the older one added.
Tom shook his head. “I can explain. Torrington’s son and daughter both married last month, and the earl and his wife accompanied them on their wedding trips to the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies. I’m quite sure the earl will return here before they head north to Hexham.”
“Ah, that is a relief to hear,” the nephew said.
The sound of the door opening had the two jewelers glancing toward it to discover Christopher, Earl of Haddon, making his way to the counter.
“Haddon?” Tom said with some surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re already buying baubles for Miss Comber?” he asked, well aware the two jewelers knew the identity of the newest arrival to their store.
“I would deny it, but I would be lying,” Christopher said. “I am here to procure a betrothal ring.”
“Congratulations, my lord,” the uncle said as he dipped his head.
“If not a betrothal ring, then what was Juliet wearing on her finger this afternoon?” Tom asked, sotto voce.
Christopher allowed a shrug. “That old thing? Just one of the rings my father’s mother’s aunts insisted I have on hand should I ever find someone to marry.”
“Old thing?” Tom repeated. “It looked as if it’s worth a fortune.” And it looked suspiciously like the ring James Burroughs had bestowed on Emily’s finger when he asked for her hand i
n marriage.
“Probably is. But I wish to give my prospective bride something new,” he argued. “I plan to propose whilst we’re on our ride in the park. There’s a hedgerow near the Serpentine with a bench. Very secluded.”
“Sounds cold,” Tom murmured.
Doubt appeared on the earl’s face for a moment, but he gave his head a shake. “Miss Comber’s genuine warmth will make it seem positively tropical,” he claimed. “Then we shall return to the Comber residence and make our announcement over tea.”
“Sounds perfect,” Tom replied, deciding not to put forth any more thoughts on the subject. If Juliet Comber agreed to marry the earl, then the earl wouldn’t turn to Lady Victoria as a last-ditch means of gaining a countess.
But Christopher had turned his attention on the drawer of emeralds and the gold rings the jewelers still held. “Gold and emeralds?” he asked as he turned his attention on Tom.
“And a pearl,” Tom said as he nodded to the white sphere resting on a velvet-clad box.
“A betrothal ring, perhaps?” Christopher asked, his brows furrowing.
Tom shook his head. “No, just a gift is all.”
Christopher regarded him a moment before he said, “She might say ‘no’ the first time you ask, but my money is on a ‘yes’ the second time.”
“And who might you be putting that money on?” Tom asked.
“Why, you and Vicky, of course,” Christopher replied before he leaned in closer and whispered. “Her first betrothal was a disaster. Hence the reason you will need to be firm with her on this one.”
First betrothal? Tom felt the rock drop in his stomach as he stared at the earl. “Anyone I know?”
The earl shook his head. “Doubtful. Arranged by her older brother to help one of his friends. A rake, as it happens.” The comment was accompanied by an arched brow, as if to drive home his bad news.
Tom nodded, immediately understanding why it was Victoria seemed so distrustful of him. Of men in general. The rake had no doubt ruined her before she’d had a chance to beg off, which explained why her father had settled her inheritance on her rather than holding out for another betrothal.
Christopher turned his attention back on the jewelers, his brilliant smile once again on display. “Gentlemen. I would like to see all your sapphire and diamond rings,” he announced.
“You might ask about a horseshoe motif,” Tom suggested before he gave a parting nod to the jewelers. “Remember, Haddon, it’s the little things that matter.” He gave a slight bow to Christopher before he headed towards the door.
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” the earl replied, his eyes widening in delight. “You have my gratitude, Mr Grandby. And my assistance should you require it.”
Tom took his leave, grinning when he overheard Christopher asking about horse-related baubles.
He soon sobered as he considered Christopher’s news about Victoria. A few moments alone in his town coach had him deciding the news changed nothing.
He still wanted Victoria.
Now he just had to make sure she wanted him.
Chapter 31
Shoes May Be a Gentleman’s Best Friend
Later, at Arthur’s in St. James Street
Bone tired and weary from his day, Tom was about to head up to his rooms at Arthur’s when Watson, the waiter, caught him.
“Mr. Grandby. You had a delivery this evening.”
Tom paused on the stairs, resisting the urge to snap at the servant. “Delivery?” he repeated, suddenly intrigued.
“Some boots, sir. Rather odd, if you ask me. Pardon me for saying, sir, but there ain’t no way they would fit you.”
Understanding immediately whose boots they were, Tom quickly descended the stairs. How Juliet had managed to procure them and have them delivered so fast, he had no idea. He had just asked if she could take possession of them this afternoon!
His opinion of the young lady went up a few notches. She was obviously resourceful. And a good friend to Lady Victoria.
Perhaps she was exactly what Christopher, Earl of Haddon, needed in the way of a countess.
“Where did you put them?”
“Right back here, sir.” Watson hurried off to the tap room and returned with the pair of polished black riding boots. Although they appeared identical from the side, the box of one was considerably larger in the front.
“Thank you,” Tom said as he took them. “Seems I’ll be paying a call in New Bond Street on the morrow.”
Watson bid him good night and watched as the tall man climbed the stairs. Although he was curious, he resisted the urge to ask why the one boot was so different from the other.
The following morning, Shoemaker’s in New Bond Street, London
The odors of leather and shoe polish assaulted his nostrils as Tom entered the shoe shop recommended by Viscount Bostwick. Lady Victoria’s riding boots hung from one leather glove-clad hand.
A pair of older ladies were ensconced on a velvet settee, a young man kneeling before one of them with a selection of slippers at hand. He was attempting to push a blue satin shoe onto a foot that was entirely too long for it, the woman insisting it would fit if he just pushed harder.
Suppressing the urge to grin, Tom captured the attention of a man whose hands were stained with polish.
“How do?” the older man said as he approached Tom.
“Good morning, sir. I wondered if I might speak with Mr. Shoemaker about having some custom slippers and shoes made?”
“You’re speaking to one. There are three of us who answer to that moniker,” the man replied with a grin. His attention went to the boots. “Using those as a guide, perhaps?” He winced at seeing the wider boot.
“Yes,” Tom hedged. “But only if these aren’t destroyed in the process.” He gave up his hold on the boots as the man reached for them.
“Let’s see what we have here,” Mr. Shoemaker murmured as he set them on a nearby counter. “Looks like Hoby’s work.”
“It is,” Tom affirmed. “They fit her ladyship perfectly, but she has no other shoes for day or evening that allow her to walk as well as she can in these.”
The shoemaker was studying the sole of the larger boot. “Crushed foot?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, the other one seems a common size and shape. But I’ll have to take this one apart to make the pattern.”
Tom sucked in a breath. “Is that really necessary?”
“I’ll stitch it back together again, of course,” the shoemaker replied, apparently offended. “They’ll be good as new. And it looks as if the smallest toe is a bit cramped. I can account for that when I make the pattern,” he commented absently. “I suppose she needs these back right away, though?”
Shaking his head, Tom said, “She has a sprained ankle, so she won’t be needing them for a few days.”
“Oh. I was about to ask if her ladyship would be in to choose what she’d like.”
“She won’t. But if you have some samples, I can select a few to have made.”
The shoemaker gave him a dubious glance. “That’s what all the husbands say. And then the wives are in here a week later choosing something different.”
Color suffused Tom’s face. He was about to deny being a husband, but thought better of it. “I have five sisters,” he said instead.
“You have my sympathy,” Mr. Shoemaker said with a grin. He led Tom to a display of slippers. Some were simple, some ornate, and some were intended for dancing. On a separate shelf were several styles of half-boots. “Well, then. What does her ladyship need?”
Tom glanced over the array of choices and then noted the man didn’t have a paper and pencil in hand. “You may wish to write this down,” he warned.
The shoemaker blinked. “I thought you said a few.”
Clearing his throat, Tom said, “That’s before I saw what you can do.” When Mr. Shoemaker shrugged, he added, “I’ll pay cash now, of course.”
Rushing off to the counter, Mr. Shoemaker ret
urned with an order form in hand. “Very well. What can I make for her ladyship?”
Recalling the gowns he had seen Lady Victoria wearing, he pointed to one sample and said, “This one in sapphire blue and a second pair in garnet.” He pointed to the next pair. “Black. And let’s do this in white, too.” He moved to the next one and gave a shake of his head, deciding it was far too ornate for Victoria’s tastes. The next pair were simple satin slippers, void of decoration other than a band of satin around the top edge. “These in all the fashionable colors.”
“All”? Mr. Shoemaker repeated in shock.
Tom’s confidence faltered. “Is... is that a lot?”
The older man’s jaw dropped. “I must have twenty bolts of satin in the back. Had a modiste select them to match what she was making for this Season’s gowns,” Mr. Shoemaker replied. “Then she sends her clients to me to make the matching shoes.”
“Then one pair of each,” Tom said with a shrug. He turned to the other shelf. “These half-boots. Brown and black.” He glanced around the shop. “Can you do another pair of riding boots to match hers? She wears them every day, and I expect that pair will be worn out before next year.”
Mr. Shoemaker glanced over at the ones made by Hoby. “I can. And I’ll do a better job on the stitching, too. Sixty-four to an inch,” he bragged, referring to the number of stitches for every inch of leather.
“Then do two pairs of those.”
After writing furiously, the shoemaker lifted his gaze and regarded Tom with a look of awe. “That’s eight-and-twenty pairs!”
Tom shrugged. “Are you aware of any women of quality who have less than that?” he asked, an eyebrow arching with his tease.
Mr. Shoemaker allowed a slight grin. “None, sir.”
“How much do I owe you?”
The older man took the form to the counter, adding the amounts and double-checking his total. He hadn’t even completed the arithmetic when Tom dropped two twenty-pound notes on the counter.
The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3) Page 22
