A Scandalous Proposal (13 page)

“Really? I'll have to remember that. So, our blackmailer is in debt to a moneylender? That is worrying, as it must make him even more desperate.”

“Our
little man
didn't say that, not precisely,” Coop corrected. “He assumed your grandmother's garnets were used to pay a debt. It's just as possible the blackmailer made an outright sale to the moneylender— Wait. How do we know, how does the proprietor know, that the man we just saw is a moneylender at all? No names were exchanged. Damn. We may have just seen the blackmailer. If he's paid in jewels, he then sells them.”

“I suppose that's possible. I didn't see his face thanks to you pushing me behind your back. Did you get a good look at him?”

“No. He was angrily jamming his hat on his head as he passed by, his arm fairly well covering his face. Upon reflection, that may have been deliberate, if he'd recognized me. Tall, but not as tall as I, well dressed, but not remarkably so. And we didn't hear him speak. In other words, he could have been anyone.”

“Yes, but you said tall. That would mean tall enough to reach the knothole. Doesn't that prove that we're dealing with more than one person?” Dany felt excitement, but only for a moment. “That doesn't really help us, does it?”

“Probably not, no. Oh, and by the way, my compliments on your clever handling of Birdwell.”

“He deserved it, assuming I was your light-o'-love, or some such thing.”

Coop shook his head. “Damn, I was hoping you hadn't noticed. I told you I'm new to all of this, so I apologize for bringing you in here. Clearly, choosing betrothal rings are the duty of the groom.”

“I don't see why. The groom doesn't wear the thing.”

“True, but we won't point that out.”

“Or ask costs.”

“With my betrothed present? No, I—
we
—definitely will not ask costs.”

Dany couldn't help herself. She laid her hand on his forearm and batted her eyelashes at him, just as Mari did from time to time with Oliver. “As true love has no price. Aren't you a dear.”

Coop shifted rather uncomfortably on the stool. “Are you done?”

“I don't think so, no. Do you think it's the red hair? Dexter's said more than once that redheads are often mistaken for females of negotiable affections. Birdwell may only have been making a natural assumption.”

“Can we possibly have this conversation another time? Or are you getting some of your own back for something I did?”

“I'm not quite sure. I'll have to think about that. It may just be that otherwise I'd feel rather overwhelmed in such stuffy surroundings. Either that, or I'd enjoy seeing Birdwell's eyebrows climb his forehead like bushy black bugs a few more times. I do know I'm enjoying myself. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More than I'd believe, yes. I'm nearly on the edge of my seat, wondering what you'll do next.”

“Well, I could be good. But what fun would that be?”

“No fun at all, I agree. Ah, and here comes our smugly smiling proprietor, followed closely by a parade of clerks toting drawers undoubtedly filled with gems and rings. I can't believe I'm saying this, but let the bug crawl begin.”

She watched as the drawers—she counted seven in all—were reverently placed on the countertop at exactly the same time, the purple velvet cloth covering each just as reverently removed, one after the other. The pompous precision of the thing nearly caused her to giggle.

The clerks stepped back, actually clicked their heels and then turned as one, retreating, leaving behind only a man nearly as large as a mountain. He took up a position behind the diminutive Birdwell that seemed innocuous enough, but warned that there would be no pilfering going on as long as he was around or else there would be a cracked head in someone's near future.

“My lord, for your kind consideration,” the proprietor intoned importantly, sweeping a hand over the assembled glitter and glory. “My very best, at your disposal. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, pearls, aquamarine, topaz.”

Dany wanted to scream, laugh, jump down from the padded tool and dance about in a circle. She'd never seen so much
marvelous
all in one place. She was having trouble controlling her breathing; swallowing was definitely beyond her, blinking out of the question.

Yet once again the proprietor was ignoring her, selecting rings and presenting them to Coop, just as if she wasn't there.

“No,” she heard herself say as the jeweler held out a heavily engraved gold band encrusted with diamonds, the center stone so immense as to seem unreal.

Both Coop and the jeweler turned to look at her, which was when Dany realized she'd spoken.

“You don't care for it, Miss Foster?” Coop asked, clearly inviting her to do mischief.

Wasn't he a sweetheart!

“Assist me,” she said to Coop rather imperiously, extending her hand so that she could slide off the stool rather than jump from it. Ladies clearly weren't often accommodated in jewelry shops, or else at least some of the stools would be shorter. “Yes, thank you. Now step back if you please.”

He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “You don't care for diamonds?”

“I don't care to have the Townsends' soon-to-be ancestral betrothal ring chosen by you two gentlemen. If that were to be the case, you shouldn't have brought me here.”

He leaned closer, to whisper his next words in her ear. “And what fun would that have been?”

She bit her lip so that she wouldn't smile. He was going to give her her head, let her do what she wanted, even if it meant she was about to embarrass him all hollow.

But she had an idea, and he'd given it to her.

She walked along the counter in grand imitation of her sister at her most imperious, pointing a finger at first one velvet-lined drawer, and then the next. “No, not this one, take that one away, no, no, definitely not the diamonds. That one,” she declared, stopping in front of the drawer of emerald rings.

Emerald. Like his eyes.

This drawer had been her destination from the moment the assortment had been placed on the cabinet, a decision solidified when he'd looked into her eyes and he'd seen a twinkle of her own mischief there.

Birdwell motioned for the other drawers to be removed and the clerks hustled forward to do his bidding. That left the single drawer in front of Dany, and she hopped up onto the stool once more and began examining its contents, row by row.

The settings and stones all looked so impressive, and so very heavy. Why, Mari very nearly had to have a maid walk beside her, holding up her hand, when she wore the Cockermouth ancestral ring. Dany had supposed the first Cockermouth bride had been nearly Amazonian, and the countesses that followed had all been saddled with the thing, like it or not. Mari swore she adored it, but Mari wouldn't tell the truth about something like that if someone held a knife to her.

The Townsend brides would not be burdened with anything so monstrously large, or so garish. She slipped off her gloves, more than ready to try on dozens of rings, just because she could.

But that turned out not to be necessary.

“That one,” she declared, pointing to a large but otherwise unadorned rectangular-shaped stone held in place by thin prongs, the gold band itself fairly wide, flat and completely plain. Simple. Elegant. And not likely to bankrupt his lordship.

“Yours is a lady of taste, my lord. This stone has just recently arrived from Columbia, home of the most exquisite emeralds in the world.” If Birdwell had wings, he probably would have lifted completely off the floor. As it was, he seemed to grow about two inches as he reached for the ring.

But Dany was faster. She snatched it up and slid it onto her finger, where it fit as if fashioned for her. And yes, the stone was a perfect match for Coop's eyes, at least when her behavior elicited any sort of emotion from him, be it amusement, frustration or downright anger.

“My lord,” Birdwell all but bleated, keeping one eye on Dany's hand, as if she was about to make the ring disappear. “You understand that the emerald was only inserted into that setting to, well, to display the stone. That's not a complete ring. You'll wish now to choose a setting worthy of the stone. May I suggest diamonds? A veritable
cushion
of them, wrought into rosebuds on either side of the stone, raising it a full half inch above a heavily engraved band. I have just such a setting.”

“Absolutely not. That will just muck it up,” Dany said, closing her fist. The ring was going nowhere!

Coop took her hand, and she unclenched her fist. “Are you sure, Miss Foster? It's beautiful, no doubt, but it is rather plain.”

“I'm being considerate. It's probably the least expensive stone in the drawer,” she whispered as Birdwell flew off, probably to bring them the setting he favored. “Besides, you said I could choose, and I do like it.” She looked up into his eyes, but couldn't read them. “Please?”

He bent and kissed her knuckle, just below the ring. “And there it stays until the day you take it off, mostly probably to fling it in my face.”

With that, he turned to the approaching Birdwell and said, “Miss Foster and I have decided. The ring goes with us today.”

It was only then, watching the proprietor's face as various emotions flitted across it, that Dany realized that the man was caught between elation and his reputation, should anyone know the unadorned, rather
outré
ring had come from his shop.

Apparently elation won the battle, and he ordered the man mountain to take the drawer away as if its inferior contents offended him.

She looked down at the stone once more. It was large. It was deeply green, and very likely without flaw. Birdwell had said he'd only put the gem into the plain setting in order to display it. So it wasn't the ring that could cost the earth, but this single, solitary stone itself.

Oh, dear.

“Um,” Dany whispered, tugging on Coop's sleeve. “You might want to ask him the cost. I may have...misjudged.”

“Just now figured that out, did you?” Coop whispered back. “But don't worry. My crafty mother already arranged for a discount, so you've probably only halfway bankrupted me.” He grinned at her. “And as that same mother used to warn me, you may want to close your mouth now before a fly wanders into it.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

D
ANY
WAS
STILL
sunk in a sulk as she and Coop walked along the Bond Street flagway. What a mess she'd made, believing herself to be so brilliant.

But she did love the ring.

Not that it was hers, not
really
.

Although it could be.

But only because Cooper Townsend was a gentleman, and a man of his word. A hero, who insisted he was not a hero.

Not that she'd hold him to their supposed compromise and proposal. They would find the blackmailer. Coop would give him a good thrashing and suggest an ocean voyage, perhaps to India. She'd worry that another man might eliminate the blackmailer in a more
permanent
way, but not Coop. Still, the man would get the message! They would retrieve and then promptly burn Mari's letters; the damning chapbook would never be published; and Coop's secrets would remain safe and his head continue to ride secure on his neck, the Prince Regent or whomever never the wiser that some deep dark secret was nearly spilled all over London.

And then it would be over. Coop would go his way, and she would go hers.

Maybe they could remain friends...

Suddenly she wasn't walking anymore, because Coop had halted, nearly pulling her to a stop when she continued on, not noticing.

“Whoa,” he teased. “Are you ready?”

She looked up at Coop, realizing she'd been concentrating her gaze on the flagway and the tips of her shoes each time she took a step, just as if fascinated by the sheer action of locomotion. How far had they walked? A block? Six? Were they even still on Bond Street?

“Uh, um, where are we?”

“I'm standing a short distance from Mrs. Yothers's dress shop. I don't know where you are, although I will say you've been the object of some curiosity from passersby, as you so neatly cut everyone dead while I was apologetically tipping to my hat to all and sundry.”

Dany looked to her left and right, feeling her cheeks flushing. “I was...woolgathering?”

“Circling the moon might be more to the point. Not that I'm complaining. I find I like a peaceful woman.”

“Then you'll have to look elsewhere, my lord,” she shot back, still angry with herself, “for I'm feeling far from peaceful. It's my own fault, I know that. Only Mari should be Mari. I should be myself. As myself, perhaps I would have realized the stone was too extraordinarily beautiful to be less than— Stop smiling. I'm serious about this. I've bankrupted you.”

“You're forgetting Minerva's discount.”

“Yes, your mother. But I'm afraid I don't understand a Minerva discount.”

“Birdwell, and several others, realized that being able to say they've won the custom of the hero of Quatre Bras could do wonders for their business. If they didn't realize it, Minerva pointed the fact out to them. And before you say anything else, yes, I was appalled when I learned what she'd done.” He smiled at her. “Admittedly no longer quite as appalled as I was before you set eyes on that emerald, as she wrangled a fifty percent discount from the man. Now, are you ready to step inside and be delighted to see your new friend Clarice? We're already late, which means it might be Rigby who's in danger of being bankrupted.”

“You still haven't told me what this is all about, and why I'm meeting her.”

“I know. I want you to be surprised, and react genuinely. Don't worry, Clarice knows what to do.”

“But it's better that I don't?”

“See that? I was certain you'd understand. Good girl. Shall we?”

Dany was close to grinding her teeth. “Do I have a choice?”

“You'll always have a choice, Dany,” he said, suddenly and unexpectedly serious. “That's a promise.”

“Oh. Oh, my,” she said, attempting to catch her breath. “I wasn't expecting that.” Then she wrinkled up her nose, realizing what she'd said. “That is, I mean...” she rushed to say. “I mean, we're talking about...about the—
What
are we talking about, Coop?”

“I'm not sure,” he said, tipping up her chin. “I just suddenly felt a need to say the words. And perhaps to bring my mind back to the matter at hand, as you've managed to distract me from our mutually pressing problems. How do you do that?”

Dany wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I don't know. I don't set out to do it. Is there anything special that, um, that distracts you?”

“You,” Coop said, a rather rueful half smile causing her to catch her breath. “I could enumerate at some other time, with much less of an audience, but for now? For now, Miss Daniella Foster,
you
. Just you, being you.”

“Oh.” Her voice was nearly inaudible. Her world seemed to be tipping on its axis, and she felt her body begin to move toward his, drawn to him by the intensity in his eyes. Nor did he seem unaffected, or even aware of where they were.

Wasn't that...interesting.

“There you are! You're late.”

Dany shook her head as both she and Coop turned to see Rigby coming toward them from the direction of the dress shop, his cheeks flushed, very nearly splotched.

“My pardon, friend,” Coop said. “How late are we?”

“Two bonnets and a reticule late, I'd say,” he told them, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing at his brow. “Miss Foster,” he said, belatedly acknowledging her with a slight bow. “That is, Dany. If you would be so kind as to join Clarice in the shop? And possibly talk her out of the reticule? It's fairly drowning in
pearls
, you understand.”

“Surely not real pearls.”

“I don't know,” the baronet told her. “She wants to bite one, to see for certain, but I've so far talked her into waiting for you, as I've told her you're an expert on pearls.
Please.
”

It was good to laugh, and Dany wanted to give Rigby a kiss on the cheek for taking her mind away from all the many dangerous areas it had traveled to in the moments since Coop had turned so suddenly serious.

“I don't want to be seen just yet. Therefore, having happily encountered Rigby here, you sent your maid to the coach to unburden herself of the bandboxes containing your purchases, while he offered to escort you to meet with your friend Clarice,” Coop told her, nodding his head in the direction of Mrs. Yothers's establishment. “Are you ready? Time to go.”

“You've thought of everything, haven't you?” she asked, not all that happily. Why on earth did she say he could take the reins into his hands? She'd have to correct that at some point, she supposed, although it probably didn't matter, since they would soon part ways from their sham engagement. Did he already know how he was going to do that? “I could have made up my own fib, you know.”

“Next time,” Coop said. “Perhaps we can take turns.”

“Now you're being facetious again. Not that I won't hold you to that suggestion. After all, we may
get along
, but that doesn't mean we, well, we
get along
, if you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately, Dany, I believe I do. We're playing at a sort of game, aren't we? And it's not always mutually enjoyable. But all games have an end.” He tipped his hat at her, turned and walked off down the flagway, away from the shop.

And now he's frowning, and probably second-or even third-guessing this ridiculous arrangement, from the ring to the kiss...and beyond. Are you happy now, Dany?
she asked herself, and decided that she wasn't. She could only get back to the
game
.

She spied Clarice within moments of entering the shop with Rigby, and called out a cheery, “Yoo-hoo,” as she raised one hand and waved wildly, in the manner of her mother when seeing someone she knew (and embarrassing both her daughters in the process).

Clarice waved back and hastened to join them, before commanding Rigby to vacate the premises, as his presence wasn't necessary.

Rigby made his escape without complaint, most probably to rejoin Coop and the two of them off on the hunt for cigars or some such thing.

Clarice grabbed Dany's arm and pulled her toward a corner of the shop, even as Mrs. Yothers approached from behind the curtain covering the dressing room Mari and Dani had occupied only a day earlier.

A day? Why did it feel like whole weeks had passed?

“Come on, come on, I've a secret to share. That's why I sent poor Jerry away,” Clarice declared in a less than secretive voice. “I've been all but dancing out of my britches, waiting for someone to tell. It's just the best secret
ever
.”

Dany smiled. So this was it? She was to allow Clarice to tell her—and Mrs. Yothers—a secret? And then she was to appear summarily impressed by said secret, obviously, which was why Coop hadn't told her the particulars, so that neither their meeting nor the secret-telling would seem contrived. Very well, she'd act surprised. But first she'd give Mrs. Yothers time to make her way to within earshot. At the moment, she was fussing with some scarves on one of the nearby tables, her back to them, just as if she didn't know she had customers.

“A secret, Clarice? You mean gossip, don't you?” Dany shook her head, and tsk-tsked into the bargain. “I'd rather not listen if you don't mind. I'm afraid I'm not a believer in gossip.”

Clarice's blue eyes went wide. “But...but
everybody
loves gossip. You
have
to love gossip. Oh, wait. You're only saying that because you're a lady, and think you should. I understand. But you still want to hear it, don't you?”

The shopkeeper was closer now.

Dany laughed. “Found me out, did you? Are you suitably impressed with my
ladyness
?”

Clarice shrugged. “I suppose so. I'm just happy you aren't all prunes and prisms, whatever that means, or else I'd have to be on my best behavior, whatever
that
is, because just when I think I am, the duchess informs me I'm not. She's a dear, the duchess, but I do miss my mis—my good friend Thea,” she said, and then shook her head. “I meant to say, my good friend Miss Dorothea Neville. She's to marry Mr. Gabriel Sinclair, heir to the dukedom, you understand. But you and Thea both are more friendly than starchy, so you won't mind if I make the odd misstep or two, will you? It's so important that I don't disgrace my sweet Jerry, you understand.”

“I doubt he's worried about that,” Dany told her, reaching for the small reticule Clarice held tightly in both hands. “My, isn't that pretty. May I see?”

The reticule was handed over and Dany-the-pearl-expert carefully turned it about in her hands, sniffed dismissingly and placed it on the nearest tabletop. “Yes, pretty enough, but the construction is pitifully shabby. Why, one wrong move and its owner would be scattering paste pearls behind her as she strode into the ballroom. Now, what were you saying?”

Clarice was still looking at the reticule. “I don't remember. Shabby?”

Knowing Mrs. Yothers most definitely was in earshot by this time, Dany replied, “Oh, yes. These shops mix the bad in with the good, hoping no one will notice. My mother explained that all to me before I came to London.” She leaned forward to whisper none too quietly in Clarice's ear. “I'd wager you a new lace handkerchief that the sheen would slide right off those pearls if so much as a drop of rain fell on them.”

There, that will fix you for the moment, Mrs. Yothers. Because you're guilty as sin of something, I just know it!

“Really?”
Clarice's whisper was about as effective as Dany's. “So if I were to sort of, well, spit on my fingers, and then just happen to rub one of those pearls...?”

“Good afternoon, ladies!” Mrs. Yothers exclaimed brightly, all but tripping over herself as she made her way past another table and approached them. “I beg your forgiveness for not realizing Hilda wasn't assisting you. Stupid girl, always wandering off. Oh, my, Miss Foster, isn't it? Yes, of course. And if you'll pardon me for being so bold as to inquire, how is your sister the countess?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Dany said, trying not to laugh as the clever shopkeeper surreptitiously covered the pearl-laced reticule with a patterned scarf she'd brought with her from the other display table, “and still so delighted with the gowns she chose.”

“How...delightful,” Mrs. Yothers responded, her brow furrowed as if she might be pondering the wisdom of her next statement. “Have you yet found the time to enjoy the book I gave you, miss?”

“Alas, not yet. I've been otherwise occupied.”

As you'll know soon enough, or perhaps already do know, even if you're not letting on that you do. None too tall, are you, Mrs. Yothers? The sort who might need to step on a stool in order to reach high places? Please be guilty. It would make things so much easier if you were guilty.

“Well, now, isn't this too lovely and chummy,” Clarice said, her words pleasant, her tone far from it. “I'm certain Miss Foster was raised to be polite, and is willing to stand here while you make nonsense conversation all the afternoon, but I am not. Kindly take yourself off, and take that sorry excuse for a reticule with you. Don't think I didn't see you attempt to hide it. Imagine what would happen if I were to tell the duchess! We'll summon you if we need you.”

For a moment Mrs. Yothers appeared ready to remind her customer that she was not about to be dismissed from her own shop, but then apparently thought better of it.

She curtsied, first to Clarice, then to Dany, mumbled something about finishing up Hilda's neglected chore of refolding the scarves and took herself off.

Dany took hold of Clarice's arm and walked the two of them a few steps closer to the corner. “You're probably going to rule Society, you do know that, don't you?” she told her new friend. “I don't believe there's a soul alive, chimney sweep to king, who doesn't tread warily around those who might open their mouths at any moment to say just what they think.”