Chapter 11 #2
While he explained the process, Fleur wandered over to the threshold where Mr. Rundell’s office met the showroom.
“…perhaps a sapphire setting, Your Grace…?”
“A sapphire would be a perfect stone for the future Duchess of Hartwell,” Mr. Rundell rightly declared. “It denotes truth and innocence.
“And mystery,” she whispered silently to herself. He had forgotten mystery. Or rather, the young jeweler had wisely omitted it. Everyone knew the duke would never marry a lady cloaked in mystery. A woman who, say, snuck out and gave herself to a stranger at Lord and Lady Rutland’s masquerade.
Yes, a sapphire would be perfect for Henry’s betrothed. She’d have impeccable lineage and come to him pure and likely blushing and giggling.
The flecks of dust in Mr. Rundell’s office stung her eyes, and she blinked to rid herself of the burn. Such an illustrious shop really should not have this much dust.
Somehow, as the far kinder than he appeared on the outside silversmith stood, and Fleur followed suit, she managed a smile.
After coordinating the details of her return, Mr. Rundell all but ran from the shop.
Fleur idly made her way from the workspace and back to the main floor.
Soon, she would have a name and would learn the identity of her mystery man. Nothing should make her happier. Henry’s newfound effort and thought he put into his future bride’s betrothal ring meant he genuinely thought about the woman. All around a fabulous day.
Utterly fabulous.
Bloody fabulous.
Fleur found herself suddenly overcome with a bone-weary exhaustion.
Henry’s booming shout startled her from her foggy head. “I thought you were helping me.”
“From what I heard, you appear to have it all under control, Your Grace.” Her voice came out far too testily. A product of her fatigue, she told herself.
“Naturally,” he drawled. “I intended to show you my selection.”
It was done. He had found the one. They had both gotten what they had come for, which meant Fleur would be free of this place the sooner she looked his ring over.
Filled with a renewed burst of energy, Fleur quickened to join him. Every spare corner of the counter was filled with various rings, ornate settings, simple ones. Emeralds. Topaz. Blue sapphires. Pink ones, yellow ones, and every shade between pink and magenta.
And then her gaze landed on one—the one. Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. Warmth penetrated into her very soul.
Fleur gripped the edge of the counter and leaned far over for a better look at the golden, heart-shaped ring. At its center, Mr. Rundell had crafted from emeralds, blue sapphires, rubies, pale pink topaz, and amethyst. Her breath hitched. “A rainbow,” she whispered.
Henry’s voice shattered her reverie. “What are your thoughts?”
“It is…magnificent,” she said, breathless with wonderment at the ring…that was absolutely not the one he held up for her inspection—a blue sapphire step-cut ring some three carats in weight and clustered by sixteen old-mine diamonds.
There was nothing wrong with it, but neither was there anything special about it either.
Reluctant to offend, Fleur picked her way carefully. “Do you believe your betrothed will like it?” It took a bit to wrap her mouth around that word. Of a certainty, his future duchess would not tolerate Henry’s new friendship with Fleur.
“Women care more about the size and value of jewels than any sentimental meaning.”
Was he truly this unaware?
“That is not true, Henry—at all.” Or…an even more dreadful idea settled in. “Is your betrothed a lady who cares more about that than sentimentality?” She hated the lady already.
“I cannot speak to that.”
Then you should not be marrying her, you big lummox!
She drew a long, slow breath in through her nose and released it on a quiet exhale. Affecting a calm she didn’t feel, Fleur reached for the piece in question. A tingling, electric warmth spread from her bare fingertips to her palm at the brief touch.
Henry dropped a hip against the counter, folded his arms, and waited for her remarks.
Keenly aware of his focus, Fleur made a show of examining the gold, sapphire, and diamond ring; the whole while her pulse kept a quickened pace.
“Who is she?” she held the piece up towards the light. “Your betrothed.”
There, that came out casual, not too curious, definitely not over-eager.
“Undecided as of yet.”
Fleur’s heart settled into a more secure rhythm.
“I have a list,” Henry said.
A tight knot formed in her belly. “A list?”
“With that tone, you sound like my brother,” he drawled.
“That makes sense.” Fleur let her annoyance. “Jeremy is romantic and believes in love.”
“Do not remind me.” Henry angled his neck left to right and cracked his muscles.
He didn’t believe in love. She knew that, but to know he’d do something as heartless as make a list. This would not do. He needed her help desperately. His situation was even more dire than she could have ever imagined. Fortunately for Henry, he had Fleur as a friend.
With steadier hands, Fleur set the ring down on the crimson velvet tray. “I will help you.”
“Your thoughts on the ring?”
“That isn’t what I mean, Henry.” She spoke slowly as she did for all wee bairns and young lads and lasses. “I will play matchmaker between you and your eventual betrothed—”
“Absolutely not.”
“And give you guidance on how to woo her.”
His eyes glinted with amusement. “You believe I need to woo a lady to have her as my future duchess?”
“Every woman wants to be wooed, Henry.”
A fresh wave of sadness filled her. For him. His eventual betrothed. That accounted for the peculiar feeling in her own chest.
They fell into silence and side-by-side perused the other rings. He did. Fleur merely pretended.
Henry asked the attendant to see a piece.
And then the very worst thing happened. With a sick sensation, she stared as young Mr. Rundell brought forth the ring Henry wished to examine up close.
His focus remained on the exquisite heart-shaped ring in a collection of vibrant gems.
Her throat moved rhythmically. After this day, she would never see a rainbow the same. They would always harken back to this place where Henry had kissed her tenderly and made himself a servant for her, putting her coiffure to rights.
She had never hated England and Scotland’s fickle weather more.
“Henry?” she asked, her voice oddly thick.
“Hmm?”
“Since we are friends, it really makes sense you share your list with—”
“No.”
She frowned. “But—”
“Your opinion on this one, Fleur?” With thumb and forefinger, Henry held the heart-stoppingly beautiful piece aloft.
It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life, so beautiful she wanted to weep. It reminded her of throwing prisms from her fingertips around Rundell and Bridge’s, and a memory she would carry for—
“Fleur?”
She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “If you are unwilling to share the ladies’ names, Henry, then I am afraid I cannot offer suggestions on the ring those prospective ladies might wear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have already attended to my business, and I shall leave you to yours.”
Fleur dropped a curtsy and left Henry glowering in her wake.