A Scandalous Proposal (12 page)

The insides of her cheeks had nearly come to grief, holding back her own amusement, but somehow she'd remained silent, one might even say composed. “I was amused. A person would have to be my sister to not be amused.”

“Then I congratulate you on your composure. In my defense, I was not making fun of Clarice.”

“No, of course not. She does that very well on her own, and seems to enjoy doing so. You were probably chortling too hard to notice that she winked at me. Who is she, really? I mean, other than Miss Goodfellow of the Fairfax County Virginia Goodfellows.”

“She was raised with Thea, Gabe's soon-to-be bride, and traveled here as her ladies' maid. But nobody can know that. Rigby took one look at her and tumbled into love, so now the duchess is turning her into a lady. She's doing very well actually. It's only been a few weeks, if that. She still has the occasional slip of the tongue.”

“Deliberate slips,” Dany told him. “I think I'm going to like her very much. But now, if you don't mind, perhaps you'll tell me what's going on, please. I thought we were going to Mrs. Yothers's establishment to...to reconnoiter.”

“We were, but after I left you last night, Darby and Rigby and I came up with a different idea. We don't want to appear too suspicious or heavy-handed, you understand. Unless you planned to march inside, grab a hat pin and threaten her with it if she didn't talk.”

“No, I dismissed that idea in the first five minutes. I spent the remainder of the night waiting for inspiration that never arrived, which is very lowering, because I'm usually quite good at what my mother would term
conniving
. In
my
defense, I believe worry for Mari froze my brain. I loathe saying this, but I fear this expedition is all in your hands.”

“You wouldn't mind writing that down, would you?”

“And my sister accuses me of being facetious. Oh, speaking of Mari. I told her what you said I should tell her and she's completely happy and relaxed, certain her worries are over. For once in my life, I took no pleasure in lying to her.”

“You couldn't tell her the truth,” Coop said as the coach stopped again. “Are you ready?”

Dany peeked out the side window. “This isn't Mrs. Yothers's establishment. Where are we?”

He waited for the footman to lower the steps, and then helped Dany to the flagway before he answered. “Promise me you won't cause a scene.”

“Why would I—where are we going?”

“Minerva—that is, my mother tells me this is the second best jeweler shop in town,” he said as the footman ran ahead to open the door to a small shop. “Ah-ah, don't dig in your heels, Miss Foster. You are about to choose what will become the Townsend betrothal ring. Generations to follow depend on your good judgment.”

“Generations to follow depend on your ability to find a willing bride, or they won't follow at all,” she told him, her heart pounding.

“You and I know that, but if we're to convince the world differently, you need a ring, especially since my mother and the duchess spent last evening telling all and sundry that the hero of Quatre Bras is about to become leg-shackled. I've already had three impassioned, tearstained missives from young ladies begging me to change my mind, and my man had to turn away one persistent mama who declared it wasn't
fair
of me to choose a bride before her daughter recovered from her measles and could race hotfoot to town, at which point I would have no choice but to toss this opportunistic nobody country miss into the dustbin and declare for the beauty.”

“‘Opportunistic nobody'? Somebody actually said that? I'm sister to the Countess of Cockermouth. I'm daughter to Henry Erasmus Foster, Esquire. I'm grandniece to Lady— No, never mind that. She ran off to Italy last year with her head groom. But that doesn't matter. I'm Daniella Foster, and I'm not nobody. I'm
me
.”

To her surprise, Coop took hold of both her hands and raised them to his lips, depositing kisses on the back of each kid glove, his green gaze steady on her face.

She pulled her hands free, aware that her insides had begun to tremble in the most alarming way. “Why did you do that?”

Coop shook his head slightly. “I imagine because to kiss you on the mouth would seal your fate entirely, considering we're still standing on the flagway and several parties are feigning disinterest while watching every move we make. I just realized that, between your kindness to Clarice, your deliberate teasing me into a better mood with your silliness and your impassioned defense of your unique and increasingly appealing self, I was left with no other choice.”

“Oh. Well. Um, all right.” Dany's toes curled inside her shoes. “But you're only saying all of that so I'll politely accompany you inside.”

“I don't think so, no,” he told her in a voice that, if not sincere, was residing next door to sincere. “But will you?”

Dany opened her mouth and idiocy came out before she could stop herself. “I'm sorry, will I what, my lord? Behave, or marry you?”

“For the sake of generations of Townsends to come, for the moment I'll be delighted if you don't bankrupt me in there.”

“Yes, that probably is the best answer. But no garnets.”

“On my word as a recently declared gentleman.” He extended his bent arm, she slipped hers through it and for the first time in her life Dany was off to pick out a bit of jewelry that, at least temporarily, would be her own.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the long, narrow shop was that there was not a piece of jewelry to be seen anywhere. No necklaces, no eardrops, no rings. Not even a single stickpin for his lordship's cravat. The side walls were lined with wooden drawers, each with its own brass handle, keyhole and a white card listing its contents. Each side had its own wooden ladder that could be pushed along the drawers, making it possible to reach them all, and they stacked a good fifteen feet high.

A library of jewelry.

In front of each wall were long narrow cabinets and high stools with purple velvet cushions. The carpet on the floor was swirled through with gold, and so soft Dany's heels sank into it.

There were a half dozen male clerks wearing black leather visors, their shirtsleeves wrapped to their wrists in white paper, banded by black ribbons that kept the material tight to their arms. There would be no rings or other bits of glitter disappearing up a sleeve in this establishment, that was for certain.

Especially since each clerk was no more than three feet from what appeared to be the remains of a regiment of burly soldiers, each more fierce-looking than the next.

There were two customers in the shop—one a man currently examining a tray of diamond brooches, and the other deep in conversation with the clerk who apparently had been deemed trustworthy enough to wear his jacket.

“My goodness. I don't know if we've stepped into a church or a prison.”

“Intimidating, isn't it? I think I'd rather face several dozen of Bonaparte's finest,” Coop agreed. “Just remember, you're the customer. This is not the only jeweler in Mayfair.”

“In that case, I shall be Mari. I warn you, she can be embarrassing. Oh, listen. That man is arguing with the clerk allowed to wear his jacket.”

“The proprietor,” Coop corrected. “But you're right. Since we're being ignored by everyone in favor of said argument, what do you say we eavesdrop?”

“My thought exactly. We do rub along together fairly well, don't we? I may only partway bankrupt your future generations.”

Apparently Coop wasn't listening. “Hush.”

“Yes, course. But first we'll strike my last statements.
Ooof!
”

Coop had rather roughly shoved her behind him, and just in time apparently, as the angry customer stormed past them in the narrow aisle and slammed his way out of the shop.

“Goodness,” Dany said as she extricated herself from her position between Coop and one of the long cabinets. “What do you suppose just happened?”

Coop took her hand. “Let's find out, shall we?”

The proprietor was fanning himself with his handkerchief when he spied his new customers. He was a small man, almost painfully thin, his bulbous nose quite out of proportion with the rest of him, his pate as bare of hair as a polished egg even as his coal-black eyebrows were small bushes unto themselves. It was difficult to believe he was real, as he looked more like a pen and ink caricature than a man.

“My most sincere apologies, sir, that you should witness such outrageous behavior in my establishment,” he said in a voice half an octave higher than Dany's. “Some people take umbrage at hearing the truth, sadly.”

“He didn't care for the price you quoted?”

“More the fool I'd be if I were to turn over what he thought these were worth.”

At that, the man pointed to a garnet necklace, bracelet and eardrops lying on the countertop in an inglorious heap.

“Oh, my,” Dany said, eyes gone wide.

“But I suppose they're mine now, considering that he all but threw the necklace at me.”

“Really?” Coop picked up the necklace and examined it. “Do you fancy it, my dear?”

She knew what he was asking, and gave him her best answer. “They put me in mind of the set I was given by my grandmother.”

“You don't want these, sir. Pretty enough, but the stones are glass. Not even very good glass, as I pointed out to my unhappy patron. I am Mr. Jonathan Birdwell, proprietor,” he then continued, collecting his dignity. “How may I be of service to the gentleman?”

Dany looked down at herself, just to be sure she hadn't suddenly gone invisible.

Coop allowed the necklace to fall back to the black velvet square they'd been resting on, the same black velvet square Dany had used to wrap the set before depositing it in the knothole. He looked to the door, but didn't make any attempt to follow the unhappy customer who was probably long gone at any rate.

“Actually, Birdwell, idle curiosity forces me to ask the name of our disappointed gentleman.”

The proprietor wrapped up the jewelry and tossed the velvet square to one of the guards. “At least the gold is real—we'll melt it down,” he said to the fellow before returning his attention to Coop. “I'm afraid I can't divulge that information, as the gentlemen deserves his privacy.”

Dany saw that Coop was in the process of reaching into his pocket for his purse.

Oh, no, there was no reason for that. Not while Mari was around!

“You refuse? The insult! The sheer audacity! Little man, do you know to whom you are speaking?”

“For the love of...”

“...all that's reasonable and decent, yes, I agree. Come, Lord Townsend, we shall take our custom elsewhere,” she continued over his rasped protest. “I may not yet be your wife, but I am your affianced bride, well aware of the respect due you.”

And me. Just in case, Jonathan, old sport, you thought I was something other than a young, innocent miss, which I'm certain you did!

“Wait!” Birdwell all but shouted. “That is,” he continued, grasping the shreds of his self-imposed dignity and wrapping them around him, “my deepest apologies, my lord. How could I not recognize your lordship, the hero of Quatre Bras...”

“And points west, yes,” Coop interrupted dully, pulling back one of the stools for Dany, who grinned into his glare as she pushed herself up onto the purple seat. “I remember.”

A little Mari, a sprinkling of Clarice...and a whopping big dollop of Dany. Why women did not rule the world was beyond imagination...

“You really wish to stay, my lord?” she asked, already depositing her reticule on the countertop. “Well, I suppose if this clerk here will deign to be more forthcoming...”

“I don't know the man by name, my lord, that being one of the questions you don't ask a moneylender.”

Moneylender?
Oh, this was getting interesting!

“I understand,” Coop said. “He was here to sell the garnets?”

“That he was. We, um, we accommodate him from time to time.
His
, um, customer used it to pay a debt, or at least that is my understanding. I believe you know the rest.”

Dany signed theatrically. “How very boring. And here I thought there would be a good bit of gossip to be had, but apparently not.”

“Never say gossip, miss,” the proprietor begged as his eyebrows nearly crawled onto his forehead. “Buying as well as selling is my business, but I would never buy anything I recog—that is, I only buy very sparingly.”

“How reassuring,” Coop said, taking a seat beside Dany. “My fiancée, Miss Foster, and I are here to select a betrothal ring. One with a
new
stone, one that has never seen another setting.”

“Yes, my lord, your mother's note this morning was quite specific. Um,” he added quickly when both Coop and Dany frowned, “lovely woman, your mother. Quite...quite a presence about her. She established an account for you just yesterday. But wouldn't you care to step back into one of our private viewing rooms?”

“I like it here,” Dany said, only because she was still feeling contrary, if no longer invisible.

“We'll remain here, Birdwell,” Coop said. “Miss Foster becomes light-headed in small rooms.”

Dany gave him a sideways kick, which was the least he deserved.

“Very well, my lord. I will get you a selection of my finest rings.”

“Don't ask,” Coop said as the proprietor walked away, shooing one of the guards ahead of him.

“I'm sorry, but I fear I must. Your
mother
?”

“Embarrassing, I know. I'll explain another time.”

“Yes, you most certainly will. You did promise to introduce me to her.”

“I know. I also promised myself I'd read the book on beekeeping she presented me with, but sadly, I don't keep all of my promises.”