Marguerite Kaye - Regency Surrender - Scandal And Deception

‘I have no desire to learn anything of the manners of your class,’ he said with the sour frown of someone who has seen something awful in the gutter. ‘For as long as there has been a Larchmont, there has been no such creature in this family. There will not be one now.’

He put his full weight upon the counter and leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. ‘You will close this shop, immediately. Then you will retire to Derbyshire for as long as it takes for your past to be forgotten.’

Was she really so repellent a choice that she must be hidden away from society? Even her husband did not demand such extreme measures when planning for the future. She took a breath, being careful to control her temper. ‘I am sorry that our marriage displeases you, your Grace. But I cannot simply close the shop with no notice. There are employees to be provided for, creditors to pay, stock to liquidate... Even if I wished to, it is more complicated than just closing the doors and walking away.’

‘I beg to differ.’ Without warning, he shifted his weight and pushed down, hard, on the cane resting on the countertop. The glass under it cracked from end to end with a musical clink.

One of the shop girls let out a frightened shriek and Jasper took a step forward, as if fearing he might need to protect her from further violence.

Margot held a hand up to stay him and calm the girl.

The duke ignored them all and picked up the cane. Then, he stared down at the ruined glass. ‘This is only my first visit to your little shop. But it is obviously a very dangerous place. There is no telling what might happen to the staff, or the customers, should it remain open. As I said earlier, you must close it immediately.’

She stared down at the glass as well. When she had imagined incurring the displeasure of the peer, she had thought it would be a genteel punishment: a direct cut or a few harsh words. She would never have imagined vandalism and direct, physical threats.

It had been naïve of her to think that anything good would result from this meeting. The Duke of Larchmont punished her husband for an imagined weakness and doted on Arthur, who had not thought twice about sending an innocent woman to the gallows for a theft he’d committed. To find that such a man was warped by pride and the need to control others should not have been a surprise.

And now, he cupped his hand to his ear. ‘Perhaps I am going a trifle deaf with age. I did not hear an answer.’

She had not answered, because there was no point in reasoning with a madman. For now, she needed to do what she could to get him from the shop. Then, she needed time to think. Once again, she bit back the things she really wanted to say, and managed, ‘I understand, your Grace.’

‘See that you do.’ With that, he gave a single, sharp tap at the centre of the crack. The ruined glass plate shattered, the shards falling to cover the diamonds on display beneath.

Chapter Nineteen

Something had changed.

After the previous evening, Stephen assumed that almost all the difficulties between them had been sorted. She knew the truth about the rubies. He had been able to speak freely again. They had shared her bed. And that had been after he’d mentioned his plans to take her away at the end of the summer.

He was still awaiting the argument on that subject. He’d win it, of course. There could be no other result. But for such a tiny armful of woman, Margot was surprisingly strong willed. That she had accepted his words without question or contradiction made him suspicious.

But last night, he’d had no desire to question her on her feelings. Talking had been the last thing on her mind as well. And it would have taken more strength than he possessed to resist the new Lady Fanworth when she was dressed in nothing but a thin lace gown and an emerald bracelet.

She was almost as alluring now, seated across the dining table from him in blue silk. The lace and sequins on the bodice drew his eyes to the gentle slope of her breasts, firing his imagination for what might happen when dinner was finished and they had retired for the night.

But there was no sign that she was having similarly pleasant thoughts. She was thinking about something, he was certain. She stared down into her plate with a slight frown, but did not eat.

‘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.’