Chapter 10 #2
One by one, she correctly identified nearly all: from Rundell, to Bridges, Bigges, and ultimately finished with Mr. Storr.
“And last, but certainly not least, the master craftsman.” Fleur rested her hands on her hips and spoke in a teasing whisper.
“Mr. Storr, I believed you had given up the workshop two years ago?”
He dropped a bow. “On occasion, Smith and Digby rely on my guidance.”
Smith and Digby had come down from above stairs to take in the scene and put up a protest.
Just like that, the tension was diffused, and all was well.
Pleased with herself, Fleur glanced at Henry, who looked anything but pleased. He had the look of a bore with a burr in his hoof.
Mr. Rundell stepped away to speak with his lead craftsman, leaving Fleur and the duke alone.
“Who is it you are asking to leave?” The same question that came before came, but this time with each syllable carved out.
“I’m not asking anyone.”
The tension ebbed from the taut lines at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m telling you that you should leave, Henry.”
The explosion came quickly.
Henry’s bellow filled the shop. “I should leave. Me? M-Me as in the sole bloody reason you are even allowed to remain in the first bloody place.”
With his hands balled and his face red, Henry appeared ready to smash his fist through the crystal cases.
“I told you, mine is a matter—”
“That requires discretion!”
Fleur smiled. “Precisely.” She nudged her head towards the exit.
Henry’s eyelids twitched. Both of them. How terribly uncomfortable for him.
He called the proprietor back. “Rundell?”
“Yes, Your Grace?” Mr. Rundell spoke with the same exhaustion parents did with quarreling siblings.
“I’ve changed my mind regarding Lady Fleur. Call the constable.”
Fleur laughed. “He is jesting, Mr. Rundell.”
The look Rundell gave her had only grave doubt.
“No, I’m not, Rundell.”
“He is,” she mouthed, angling her body to edge the blustery duke from her private exchange with Mr. Rundell.
Wonder of wonders. The crotchety jeweler grew his first smile, and by the heavy frown lines on his face, it was the first in upward of a decade.
“Do you believe I cannot see what you’re saying to Rundell?”
Fleur sighed and made sure Henry heard. “Mr. Rundell, if you will please, give us another moment.”
“And now ordering Rundell in his own—”
“That will not be a problem, my lady. Your Grace.”
Fleur spoke calmly to her blustering new friend. “Henry, we do not shout at our friends.”
“I have rescinded our friendship.”
“No, you didn’t. You can’t. That would make you a fickle friend, and no one likes or wants a fickle friend. And you cannot afford to lose your only friend.”
“To which friend are you referring?”
“Why, me?”
Henry paused. “You believe you’re my only friend?”
“Yes. Well, Jeremy is your brother, and siblings only count so much. Love and loyalty are required.”
His body began to shake.
Poor, Henry. She hadn’t expected he would take the news well.
She softened that reminder with a light pat. Only when her fingers skimmed his did she realize she touched him. That only reminded her of what he had done with his long, powerful ones. Her breath stopped. Her legs turned to jam and—
Henry burst out laughing. He doubled over. Tears streamed—not the sad type either.
Fleur allowed him his amusement. Truth be told, she briefly considered leaving him to the illusion, but then decided no one had ever been fully truthful with Henry. He needed someone to speak with him as simply a man.
“Henry?” she asked, after he stopped.
“Yes, Fleur?”
“Are all your friends also on your staff?”
His brows tensed into a frown. “That is neither here nor…there. I employ men I trust.”
“Did they begin as friends or as gentlemen whom you hired?”
“Hired.”
Fleur sighed. “It does not really bring me comfort pointing this out.”
“You and I are friends,” Hart said.
How swift his defenses had fallen. She hastened to reassure him. “Of course!”
“And yet, we are such good friends, I would allow you to remain while I see to my business, but you would send me away?”
She blinked rapidly, and this wasn’t her affected fluttering.
“It seems one of us is the better friend, Fleur.”
Oh, the lummox had gotten her. His Devil’s smile said he knew it too.
“Fine,” she huffed. “We may share the shop.”
She needn’t have finished her sentence. Henry had motioned to old Mr. Rundell for a second or third or fourth time—she had lost count.
“What are we shopping for?” she asked while they waited.
“We?” he asked drolly. “Are you looking to make it a joint purchase?”
“After my loss of Don Juan, I do have my funds saved.”
“I don’t trust you would want to spend them on a betrothal ring?”
A betrothal ring.
Fleur floundered for words and only just found them when Mr. Rundell rejoined them, and Henry began speaking and—
“Why are you buying a betrothal ring?”
Henry stopped mid-speak. “Generally, they are given for one’s intended.” He turned back to the counter.
“You had an intended,” she blurted.
Mr. Rundell eased away from the display of jewels.
Resentment or bitterness was the expected response from him, and not the smile he wore.
“Thank you for the reminder, Fleur. I was referring to a new one.” He motioned Mr. Rundell forward.
She held a palm up, stopping him.
Fleur would have felt bad about the back-and-forth dance they had the older gentleman doing, but…
“You have a new betrothed, already.” And he’d been kissing Fleur.
“Should I not?”
Something twisted viciously inside her chest.
Hart had insisted he hadn’t loved Meghan, that their almost-union had been nothing more than a business arrangement. Then he had kissed Fleur like he wanted to own her. Not that she wanted to be owned by anyone, let alone him. She didn’t. But…this level of coldness…
“Fleur?”
Her heart hammered in a way she didn’t at all like.
Fleur forced herself to look at him.
Henry wore a small smile. A befuddled one. It lent him a boyish look and made him far more open and human and likable and so many other things than had he worn his aloof, ducal non-smile.
Her mouth felt oddly dry, parched like she hadn’t had a sip in days. That must be why she didn’t recognize her own voice. “Who is she?” This woman he believed worthy of his ring and name, and not just a passionate embrace.
He furrowed his big, noble brow.
Fleur wanted to rescue her reticule and give him another sound thwacking about the head and shoulders.
“Your future duchess,” she clarified calmly. She fought following up with, “Who in thunderation do you think I’m asking about, you big dunderhead?”
“I have yet to decide.”
An inconvenient lightness stole through her. Only because he was her friend, and she did not want him rushing into marriage with just anyone.
“Much like a breakfast plate, Your Grace?”
Henry didn’t give even a crack of a smile.
How tiring to take oneself so seriously all the time.
“All right, then. Shall we?” Fleur brought the proprietor back with a smile. “Mr. Rundell, we are ready to see your finest.”