Chapter Four
Eleanor strode swiftly along Bond Street, her ever-present groom three paces behind her. After days of heavy rain plaguing London, it was the first chance she had to run an important errand and she wasn’t going to miss it.
The pale-gray sky she’d awoken to was already darkening ominously. Tucking her chin, she lengthened her stride and quickened her pace. It was vital that the items she wished to purchase remained dry. She’d have to hurry if she expected to be home before the clouds released more downpour.
Making sure the short shopping list was still tucked securely in her glove, she turned a corner and started down a narrow alley that twisted and turned a bit before opening to a short lane.
Seeing her destination up ahead, she spoke over her shoulder to the groom.
“You may wait outside, Lucas. I’ll only be a moment. ”
“Yes, m’lady,” the groom replied with a nod as he stepped back to take position against the bricked wall of the shopfront. “I’ll be right here.”
Eleanor offered a quick smile before ducking into Mishra’s Emporium, a light, tinkling bell announcing her presence.
The shop was small, but Mr. Mishra somehow managed to fill the space with an astounding array of goods, most of them imported from India.
Bolts and stacks of vibrantly colored silks were displayed near the front windows to draw the eyes of people passing by.
Shelves lined one wall with textiles of all sorts and a small cupboard a few steps beyond that held soaps and creams and oils for the body.
There was a table in the center filled with ornate glass and gilt perfume bottles alongside small, elaborately carved wooden boxes for other personal effects.
Another set of shelves held leather bound books—both old and new.
There was a cupboard lined with jars of spices and herbs and another with resins and incense expertly mixed by Mr. Mishra himself.
If she had the time, Eleanor would spend hours in the little shop, exploring whatever new treasures might be found.
In her current rush, however, she only had a moment to breathe in the delightful and nostalgic scents.
The combination of amber and jasmine always made her think of her grandmother—which is precisely what brought her here.
Continuing toward the back of the store, she glanced into the private room tucked behind a tied-back curtain.
Sometimes, Mr. Mishra was so immersed in his preparation of herbs for a special tea or tincture that he failed to hear the bell chime above the front door.
Not seeing him, she was about to call out when he suddenly appeared, sweeping silently from around the corner and giving her a start.
Seeing her in the doorway, the shopkeeper’s wide brown face split into a toothy grin.
“Ah, Lady Eleanor! Such a delight! Such a pleasure and blessing to host your beauty in my humble shop.”
Familiar with the man’s typically effusive greetings, Eleanor smiled. She never felt awkward or uncertain around this man. No doubt, because she’d been coming to his shop since she was a young child grasping her grandmother’s hand.
Mr. Mishra was a small man, standing a few inches below her slightly above-average height.
And his age was completely indeterminable.
Physically he was as spry and fit as any young man.
His hair was ink black and cropped to thick, often disheveled waves around his face.
His eyes were a dark but sparkling brown and his skin displayed no wrinkles beyond some fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
But there was immense and undeniable wisdom in the man’s face.
A sweet and jolly spirit, Mr. Mishra was also more learned than anyone she knew.
Though she’d be tempted to claim him a man of middle-age, she knew he’d been proprietor of this shop for multiple decades.
And that didn’t even account for the many years of his youth in India.
If his stories were all to be believed, he’d lived a full lifetime before even coming to England.
“It has been a long time, my lady,” he said with a bow of his head. “It saddened me deeply to hear of the Rajkumari’s passing. Please accept my sincerest condolences for such a great loss. There has never been such a gracious and lovely duchess in all the world.”
Though her heart clenched painfully at the mention of her grandmother, Eleanor managed a sad smile. “That is very true. Thank you.”
Mr. Mishra lifted his gaze again and gently bobbled his head. “What has brought you to me this day? Tell me what you seek and I shall see to it directly.”
“Well, it’s been six months since Nani’s passing and I find myself yearning for some of things she’d love so much.
” Eleanor removed the list from her sleeve and handed it to Mishra.
“Some incense and perfumes that she adored. Her favorite tea…” Her voice faded as the grief she’d carried since her beloved grandmother’s death rushed to the surface.
Mishra bobbled his head again as he looked over the list. Then he flashed a kind smile and pressed his palms together beneath his chin. “You honor me, my lady. I shall have this order ready for you shortly. Unless you would prefer to have it delivered?”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Mishra. I don’t mind waiting.”
“As you wish.”
He kept up a steady flow of chatter about inconsequential things as he bustled about the store collecting the items on her list. He began with an array of spices he selected from various jars that he brought to his worktable where he mixed up her grandmother’s favorite tea blend.
It was not long before the full order simply awaited proper wrapping to keep everything safe in transit.
“I almost forgot. There is just one more thing I must find.” He disappeared back into the back room, saying, “I set it aside when I first saw it, knowing how much the Rajkumari would love it. And now it must be yours.” Sounds of his movements filled the momentary pause before he muttered, “I know it’s here. I shall find it, do not fear, my lady.”
Eleanor smiled. Suspecting it might be another few minutes, she began to wander the store again, breathing in the lovely scents, trailing her fingers over an elegantly embroidered pashmina, and wondering at some carved statuettes of deities she hadn’t seen in the store before.
As the sounds of Mr. Mishra’s search in the backroom became more haphazard, she stepped into the corner to peruse the books.
A moment later, the bell above the front door jingled softly, announcing another arrival.
Instantly shrinking further into the corner, Eleanor tried to make herself invisible, keeping her focus on the rows of books spines, and hoped that whoever had just come in would handle their business quickly without ever knowing she was there.
Unfortunately, in the midst of his own racket, Mr. Mishra did not hear the bell and had no idea he had another customer.
Long strides took the new arrival straight to the back of the store as a man’s voice called out in a smooth baritone, “Mishra, my friend. Where are you hiding? I’ve got something special for you today. ”
Despite the informality of the man’s greeting, he spoke with the crisp intonation of British nobility in a voice that was distressingly familiar.
A tingle of awareness danced across Eleanor’s nape.
Surely not.
“Ah!” Mr. Mishra called out from the back. “My lord! I didn’t know you were back in England. I shall be with you in a moment, I’m just…” His voice became muffled in more shuffling and the slamming of several box lids.
“You’ll want to set aside whatever you’re working on for this, Mishra,” the lord replied, confidence and excitement layering his rich voice.
Desperate to ascertain if her suspicion was correct—or more accurately, to prove herself wrong—Eleanor sidestepped around a glass display case and leaned forward to glance toward the back of the store.
The gentleman’s long strides had taken him right up to the doorway of Mr. Mishra’s private rooms. Though he had his back to her and she couldn’t see the man’s face, she noted a broad set of shoulders carried by a trim form that stood at least two inches over six feet and was topped by a tousled mess of dark-golden hair.
It was him.
What in heaven’s name had brought the Viscount Waring to Mishra’s Emporium?
Propping a forearm against the top of the doorframe, the viscount leaned into the back room.
“Mishra! I’ve got something exceptional.”
“Oh?” The shopkeeper’s head bobbed into view from around the corner. His expression undeniably curious. “Exceptional? Why does it seem you say that every time you visit, my lord?”
The viscount’s chuckle was textured with the warmth of the sun.
Instantly, Eleanor re-experienced the rush of sensation she’d endured the other night at the ball.
More than a riot upon her nerves, this felt like an attack on her very essence.
Tingling chills, racing heart, skin that suddenly felt electrified.
And that damnable swirling storm in her belly.
All that, and she hadn’t even looked into his eyes yet.
Not that she would!
Goodness! Just the thought of what his bright and piercing stare did to her, made her knees weaken and her breath catch short in her chest.
The man was a menace to her equilibrium.
“What can I say?” Waring quipped in response to Mishra’s teasing. “I’m a fortunate bastard.”
With a chuckle, the shopkeeper waved the gentleman toward his worktable. “What is it this time, then? Some obscure gold statue? A rare manuscript?”
The viscount’s reply deepened with a note of drama. “I swear, this piece makes everything else I’ve ever brought to you look like silly trinkets in comparison.”
Mishra gave a dubious snort. “Do you plan to show me or is it your intention to talk all afternoon? Let’s see this treasure.”
Eleanor tensed as the men stepped close to the worktable. It would seem Mr. Mishra had completely forgotten she was still waiting.
Normally, she was not one to intrude upon a conversation in which she was not involved.
And she really did not want to make her presence known to the viscount.
But she feared that if she did not speak up now, she’d lose her chance once they became more engrossed in…
whatever it was Lord Waring thought was so blessed important.
The longer she waited to step forward, the more awkward it would become.
Even with that acknowledgment, it took her several deep breaths and a quick but fierce mental monologue of assurance that she was well within proper manners to interrupt.
None of her preparation mattered however, when she finally stepped from her concealing corner to approach the back of the store.
The two men stood shoulder to shoulder as the viscount spread a piece of paper on the table between them.
“Mr. Mishra,” she said, cringing. Her voice came out a bit more strident than she intended as she rushed through the words she’d rehearsed in her head. “I really must be on my way. Have you found what you were searching for?”
The shopkeeper startled and lifted his head.
The shock on the poor man’s face told her that he truly had forgotten she was still there.
She almost felt bad for speaking so abruptly, but her sympathy was instantly drowned out by other, greater emotions when Lord Waring turned with slow deliberation to glance over his shoulder.
A half smile lifted the corner of his mouth and pleasure sparked in his eyes when he saw her.
The instant she met his stare a sharp blast of heat shot through her. Searing. Bold. Shocking. It felt as though she’d been split down the middle and everything inside her was suddenly exposed.
She forced herself to stand unshrinking and show none of her internal distress, just as she’d practiced for years. But it wasn’t an easy feat.
Though she’d remembered the intense effect of his crystalline eyes and had at least tried to prepare herself for it, she’d somehow forgotten how unsettlingly handsome the man was.
Broad forehead, stalwart brows a slightly darker shade than his golden hair, a very slightly hooked nose, and a strong-lined jaw shadowed with a light growth of beard, as though he hadn’t bothered shaving that morning.
“Lady Eleanor.” His warm voice caused subtle waves of vibration to roll through her awareness. “How wonderful to see you again. I cannot imagine how I failed to notice your presence the moment I entered.”
Tensing from the blatant admiration in his stare and the devil-may-care charm in his smile, Eleanor muttered awkwardly, “There was no reason for you to notice, my lord.” His expression twitched with obvious humor.
As discomfiting heat flooded her body, Eleanor forced her gaze to Mr. Mishra.
“Can you please have my order delivered after all, Mr. Mishra? I’m afraid I cannot wait any longer. ”
“Ah, yes, my lady.” The man bobbed his head with a sincere expression of regret and subtle embarrassment. “Many apologies.”
Ignoring the viscount, Eleanor gave a quick smile. “Do not fret, sir. I can see you have an…urgent customer in need of your attention.”
As she finished speaking, she glanced down to the paper that lay on the table.
At first, all she noticed was a quickly drawn sketch of what appeared to be a necklace.
But then an odd sense of recognition sparked deeply in her chest, spreading instant warmth through her limbs.
And without consciously deciding to do so, she took a step closer and angled her head to see the image better.
It was a necklace, indeed. An elaborate one, if the drawing had done even a halfway decent job of depicting it. Designed in three strands with an undoubted fortune in jewels and a central motif depicting a honeybee that pricked keenly at Eleanor’s memory.
She suddenly felt certain that she’d seen that exact design before.
Surprised, she blinked and glanced up to Lord Waring, wondering how he’d gotten the drawing.
He was staring at her rather intently, a glimmer of bold curiosity in his eyes.
He’d clearly noticed her reaction to the drawing and was intrigued by it.
She could feel his interest like a wave of intrusive heat.
Disconcerted and uneasy, she slid her attention back to the shopkeeper.
“I really must be going. Good day, Mr. Mishra.” It was only her deeply ingrained manners that had her giving the viscount a nod—doing her best to avoid meeting his intent stare directly—before she turned and strode swiftly from the shop.
Surely, she had to be mistaken in thinking she’d recognized the necklace.
But she couldn’t quite convince herself of that. And she couldn’t keep from wondering how the viscount had come to possess such an image.