Colin found Timothy West standing behind a counter full of sparkling jewels. He greeted him with a nod of his head as he advanced to where he was standing. “Good afternoon, Mr. West. Do you have a moment to inspect something for me?"
Mr. West, an entire head shorter than Colin, raised his chin to look him in the eye. “For the sake of business or pleasure?”
Colin knew what he was asking and why. “Business.”
“Very good, but I only have a brief period before I'm expecting Lord Worthington in to pick up the piece he had commissioned for his wife.”
“I understand.”
Mr. West bounded towards the door, where he quickly locked it to ensure their privacy. He returned to his place behind the counter and said curiously, “What do you have for me today?”
Colin pulled out both the boxed dagger and the wrapped dagger and placed them on the counter as he explained, “This dagger here was used to stab Mr. Elias Godwin, and this dagger was found in his personal belongings at his office. I have a hunch that this one,” he pointed to the one found at the murder scene, “Is a fake. Can you verify that?”
Adjusting his magnifying spectacles on his face, Mr. West bent over the daggers and silently inspected each one, turning them over in his hands one at a time until he proclaimed, “You're correct, Mr. Ravenworthe, this one here is a replica, though a very convincing one for sure. The rubies inlaid in the hilt are fake, unlike the valuable ones found in the original dagger. And from the looks of it, it's not made of pure silver either, but rather a cheap plated silver, though the average person wouldn't notice.”
“But whoever replicated it used outstanding craftsmanship, correct?”
“Indeed. Without a trained eye, one would never spot the differences.”
“And who is capable of producing such a replica with such skill in London?”
“Well, I could, of course,” Mr. West scoffed, his offense apparent.
“Of course you could, but you didn't, I assume.”
“You assume correctly.”
“Well, you're familiar with the jewelers in London. Who has the skill to make a replica of this caliber?”
Mr. West didn't hesitate, “Only two people in London are so skilled, myself and Frederick Townsend. His shop is a quarter mile down the road on the left.”
Collin snatched up the daggers, a pleased smile on his face. He retrieved a few coins from his small coin purse and gave them to Mr. West, who took them with appreciation before letting him out of his shop.
Taking advantage of the lovely afternoon weather, Colin decided to walk the short distance to Mr. Townsend's shop, hopeful he'd get the information he sought. As he approached the shop, he noticed two gentlemen inside, so he took his time inspecting the merchandise in the window while he waited for them to leave. After what felt like forever, the men left, and Colin slipped inside.
The shop was nice and much larger than Mr. West's though the man standing behind the counter didn't seem as approachable. Colin wondered if it was apparent to the owner that he wasn't a gentleman of great means like his last clients, thus the disdain that was apparent on his face.
Ignoring his unease, he stepped forward and pulled the fake dagger from beneath his greatcoat and asked, “Would you be able to tell me if you created this fine replica? I'm searching for the origin and was told only you could be capable of such artistry,” he added, hoping to soften the man a bit with the compliment.
“Why do you ask?” Mr. Townsend snarled.
Thinking quickly, Colin replied, “Because I am seeking a jeweler to replicate some of my mother's jewels but only want the finest craftsman to do it.”
His face softened a bit, though skepticism radiated strongly through his eyes. “I'm a very busy man during the season and wouldn't have time to take on your project until the ton removes itself from London. I have many important clients, and their needs come before your own.”
Colin took no offense to his words as the man intended; instead, he smiled and asked, “So you did make the dagger?”
Flustered, Mr. Townsend began wiping a cloth vigorously over the glass display case in front of him, ignoring Colin's question. “I charge an exorbitant fee upfront with the rest due upon receipt of the piece. If you're not prepared for such an expense, I suggest you look elsewhere to have your work done.”
Though he never admitted to making the dagger, Colin knew he did. Feeling confident that Mr. Townsend would not reveal who his client was who'd commissioned the piece, he decided to leave. He carefully wrapped the dagger and slid it from view. “Thanks for your help, sir. I will let you know if I decide to use your services.”
A curt nod of the head was the only response he got. As Colin turned to leave, he hesitated, a new thought springing to his mind. He slowly turned around and asked curiously, “I know Townsend is a common surname, but would you happen to be related to a Mr. Daniel Townsend?”
For the first time since entering the shop, Mr. Townsend's frosty facade warmed slightly. “Indeed, the chap is my nephew.”
Colin decided to press his luck, his thoughts racing at the revelation. “Did you make this dagger for him?”
Mr. Townsend cursed. “Lud no! And even if I did, I wouldn't tell you. I keep my client's business confidential. Now, I must kindly ask you to leave. I have an appointment with the Duchess of Kilney, and I will not allow you to interfere.”
There was nothing kind about the man, Colin thought as he exited without further comment. Was it possible that Daniel Townsend had indeed commissioned the dagger's replica to be made? He did come to London with Jasper, who had recently become the sole inheritor of Elias's company. Could the two be in cahoots? Had they arranged the murder of Elias to acquire his company and the residual wealth that would surely befall them?
Make no mistake; there was motive aplenty. Now, Colin needed to take all the newly acquired puzzle pieces and attempt to place them correctly so the entire picture would become apparent. He would need to be certain before he laid his claims before the world, for Colin Ravenworthe was never wrong.
He'd never been so excited to return home as he was now. Though the day had been long, Colin felt no exhaustion as he returned to his townhouse, craving the sight of Miss Bridget Godwin and her enjoyable company. He quite literally bounced up the steps and eagerly barged inside, anticipating laughter and chatter from the sisters and was greeted by just that.
A smile spread to his face as he shrugged out of his greatcoat and handed it to the waiting Finch. “Sir, I must confess it's quite a nice diversion to have females in the house.”
Colin raised one brow languidly. “Pray tell, you haven't been shirking your duties in exchange for their companionship, have you?”
“Oh, no, sir, I would never do that,” he insisted though the small smile tugging on his lips said otherwise.
Colin had mixed feelings about that but decided to waste no time in analyzing it, instead preferring to find the girls so he could enjoy their company as well. He found Bridget, Beatrice, and Ruth in the drawing-room taking tea. All the girls looked up as he entered the room, but he had eyes only for Bridget. He smiled at her and watched her cheeks turn pink as he waltzed across the room, picked up a small cake from the platter on the table between them and popped it into his mouth before folding himself into the wing-backed chair next to the fire and propping one booted leg on his opposite thigh.
“It take it you had a pleasant day?” he asked, looking around at all the happy faces staring back at him.
“Happy day, lots of cake,” Beatrice said in a sing-song voice as she reached for another delightful confection and took a big bite.
“I think you've had enough,” Bridget warned as she gave Ruth a knowing glance.
Ruth quickly removed the platter of desserts out of Beatrice's reach, to which she was rewarded with a scowl. “Now, now, Miss Bea, don't go acting all petulant and turn your good mood sour.”
“Speaking of sour moods,” Colin interjected, “did your
mother ever pay a visit or send correspondence?”
Bridget worried her brow. “No, she did not. I find it incredibly odd but didn't want to fret overmuch about it and ruin the gay feelings of being reunited with Bea. We've had such a delightful day together, nearly forgetting the problems looming over us. What of you, Mr. Ravenworthe? Was your day successful?”
“Very much so, though I am still full of questions. Do you mind if I steal you away for a private moment to inquire about my findings? Then I will be obliged to return you home.”
“Of course,” Bridget agreed as she removed her napkin from her lap and rose.
“Don't go,” Beatrice pouted, coming to stand next to Bridget. She tugged on her arm, hoping she could get her to return to her seat, but even though Bridget was petite, she was strong and didn't budge.
“Bea, thanks to Mr. Ravenworthe we've had a splendid day together. If you behave, he may even allow me to come back again. Would you like that?” Beatrice nodded her head, vigorously. “Me too, so be a good girl so he'll allow me back.”
Beatrice made to protest, but Bridget put a gentle finger to her lips and shushed her. “No arguing, it doesn't get you what you want.”
Colin watched the exchange with partial amusement and partial awe. Bridget handled her sister like a competent parent with skills she'd likely honed over the years. He could see she was already well prepared for motherhood, a realization that caused his insides to coil with heat and his heart to skip a beat. He'd never thought much about being a father, or a husband for that matter, but suddenly, watching the exchange between sisters made him crave just that.
He forgot himself entirely as he envisioned being married to Bridget and having a passel of children that would create a house full of noise and joy. He was dicked in the nob, for as they advanced to his study together, he was tempted to take her into his arms and propose marriage.
“What did you find?” Bridget asked excitedly before the door behind them had even fully closed.
Colin snapped out of his delightful fantasies and stared at the wide-eyed beauty in front of him. He debated if it would be appropriate to kiss her before telling her what he'd discovered. It was likely she sensed his thoughts when she began to color up, and with no wish to embarrass her, Colin discarded the thought.
He quickly withdrew both daggers and laid them on the desk between them. He watched the cogs turn in Bridget's brain as she stared at the matching pair. “Two daggers?” she asked slowly, uncertain what it meant.
“Yes, two. One real, one fake. The impostor was used to stab your father. This one,” he said as he held up the real one for her to inspect more closely, “I discovered hidden in the floor of his office. I was shown where it was located in vision, and sure enough, I found it in a box there.”
“What does it mean?”
Colin shrugged. “I've yet to discover that. I was hoping you might have some insights. When I got to your father's office, it had been thoroughly ransacked, and I suspect someone had come in search of the real dagger. Do you know where your father got it from or why it was so important to him?”
Bridget worried her brow as she nibbled on her lower lip. “I couldn't say. I honestly never paid it much mind. I mean, why would I? Father acquired many fine and expensive treasures when his business began to yield high profits. I always worried he was letting vanity overtake him, but he'd remind me how hard he had worked for his wealth and that it was his right to enjoy it. Who was I to argue his point?”
“Indeed.”
Colin slid the daggers into a drawer on his desk and locked it with a small brass key. “For safekeeping,” he explained.
Half an hour later, after prolonged goodbyes from Beatrice, Colin and Bridget were once more in his carriage as they made their way back to Mayfair. Enclosed in the familiar space where intimacies had been shared, made them both bolder. Bridget, of her own accord, sat next to Colin instead of across from him, and when she laid her head gently on his shoulder, he couldn't help reaching for her hand, holding it tenderly between his own.
“Thank you for today,” Bridget said, squeezing his hand gently. “It was the first day since my father died that I almost felt normal, like there could possibly be some joy again after all the tragedy and heartache.”
“My pleasure. I remember very well the first time I felt that way again, and every instance of hope since. I suppose when you've felt such depths of sorrow in your life, the moments of sheer joy resonate deeply within you, a glaring contrast to the darkness. Somehow, they become more memorable, more valuable to your soul.”
“Your pain has made you profound, Mr. Ravenworthe.”
Colin released her hand and gently cupped her chin instead, raising her face to his own. “I thought we had dispensed with the formalities, my dear. Please say you do not wish to go back and erase our closeness?”
Bridget smiled shyly. “Only if you wish it to be so.”
“Never,” he exclaimed. “I am adamant in my desire to remain familiar with you, your life, your soul, your lips,” he confessed as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Your perfect, supple lips. But I fear I am taking advantage of you in your heartache, and you'll one day look back and regret your association with me.”
Bridget scoffed, clearly appalled by his suggestion. “'Tis true, I'm under an excessive amount of stress and have enough heartache to last me a lifetime, but I'm not befogged. I know my own mind and my own heart, and I've never been tempted to allow access to another human, save Beatrice before. Yet I feel compelled to do so now, trusting you'll treat it with the utmost respect and care.”
“You have my word. I would never wish to cause you further pain.”
“You're a good man, Colin Ravenworthe, and I feel deep gratitude for whatever force brought us once again into each other's lives.”
Knowing their ride was about to end, Colin didn't hesitate in taking her into his arms and whispering against her mouth, “In time, I will make certain that no power or force will ever separate us, but for now, my kiss will have to be contract enough.”
He kissed her then, eagerly and persistently, his hands caressing the sides of her rib-cage, his thumbs resting just beneath her breasts. He wanted so desperately to explore her soft body—with his mouth, with his hands—but used every ounce of restraint he could muster to keep things proper. She deserved more than his passion and ardor; she deserved commitment, devotion, and love.
As the carriage came to a stop, they reluctantly pulled apart. With shaky hands, Bridget reached up to tuck several strands of hair into her lose hairpins. “How do I look?”
“Thoroughly kissed and passionately awoken,” he admitted, captivated by her swollen lips and bright eyes. “And utterly ravishing.”
Bridget giggled. “I don't think that's how I want to look when returning home to my grieved mother.”
“Then we must wait an extra moment until your passion subsides, and you return to normal,” he suggested, knowing full well she would never look normal again. She'd been awoken by his kisses, and they'd both be forever changed.
Colin offered her his handkerchief to use to fan herself before they alighted and walked to the door. Without a butler to see them in, Bridget opened the door herself, and they entered into the darkened foyer, the house still and silent.
“Mother?” Bridget called out as she began walking down the hall. “Uncle Jasper?”
Colin followed her, noting the house felt eerily devoid of life. He followed her into the drawing-room, where she gasped and stated the obvious, “Father's body is gone.”
Sure enough, the coffin and Elias were both missing. Bridget turned with horror-filled eyes and screeched, “They've taken him and left, haven't they?”
“I'm uncertain. Let's search everywhere before coming to conclusions.”
He grabbed her hand to offer comfort as he led her through the house, checking every room in the hopes they wouldn't encounter some horrific scene. With a killer still on the loose, Colin wouldn't have been su
rprised to find another dead body waiting for them and found himself to be quite relieved when their search came up empty.
“I just don't understand,” Bridget said, her voice shaky with emotions. “Where did they go? Mother? Uncle Jasper? Mr. Townsend? How could they have simply left without informing me? What does this mean?”
“I wish I could answer even one of your questions, but I cannot. I'm just as surprised as you. Something is afoot, and I must discover what.”
“But in the meantime...”
“In the meantime, you will return with me to my townhouse and stay with Beatrice until we discover what has happened.” Though Colin was perplexed by the new development, he was by no means disappointed in the prospect of having Bridget under his roof, though he'd have to be careful not to let his passions run wild and jeopardize her virtue.
“That is asking too much,” she insisted. “I hired you to solve my father's murder, not care for my sister and house me as well. I fear you're in deeper than you bargained for.”
“What are my options? Let you stay here by yourself? Is that what you want?”
“No,” she blurted; emotion lacing her voice. “I do not wish to stay here another moment, in fact. There's evilness here, and I cannot stomach it another moment.”
“Then let us be off.”
“I assure you, Colin, I will compensate you for your kindness and generosity. If we can go to the bank, I can withdraw whatever amount you see fit to charge for this imposition.”
Colin flinched, “I would never charge you for my kindness, so don't mention it again.”
He held out his arm, which she took and walked her to his waiting carriage. She was halfway inside when his mind fought to focus as it began formulating a vision of Elias's study. He hastily assisted her the rest of the way then explained, “I must go back inside. Wait here.”
Colin ran back into the house and straight to Elias's study. He excitedly entered the massive room, knowing he was about to collect another piece of the puzzle. He pushed back his greatcoat and slid to his hands and knees and crawled towards the sideboard near the back of the room. His eyes were trained to the fibers of the fine maroon and gold rug, looking for something, though he wasn't sure what.
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