Chapter Twenty
Nicolas asked Davenport to stop the carriage a few blocks from where they’d deposited the ladies. “If you wouldn’t mind,” Nicolas said. “I need to attend to personal business.”
Luckily, Jonathon didn’t seem disappointed in the change of plans, which was a good thing because Nicolas simply could not spend his afternoon lounging around drinking chocolate at White’s while carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” Davenport asked.
Nicolas did not want the viscount anywhere near him while he attended to his humiliating task.
“No thanks, mate. Enjoy your afternoon to yourself,” Nicolas said.
Davenport’s eyes twinkled like they did when he was up to some shenanigan or another. “That is probably for the best because I have things to attend to as well.” With his characteristic smart-arse grin, he tossed Nicolas his walking stick.
Why did Nicolas have the strangest sensation they were both on secret missions?
“I shall walk to Madame Auberte’s when I am finished, so why don’t we just meet there?” Nicolas said.
“Splendid,” Davenport declared with an absurd hat toss. Somehow, the hat landed on the viscount’s head. He waggled his eyebrows, then preened.
Nicolas chuckled. “Damn, lucky bloke.” He could not find it in him to begrudge his mate’s good fortune or hubris after experiencing his own bout of luck.
He’d actually kissed Josie. He’d also touched her intimately as he watched her chase her pleasure.
What a picture she’d made with her head thrown back and her pupils filled with bliss.
He’d hoped to sneak into her chambers and watch her orgasm again and again, but he’d fallen asleep soon after his head hit the pillow.
Then he’d had the best sleep of his life.
Bringing Josephine Martin to climax had cured his insomnia.
As bittersweet as today’s mission was, after last night, he had to do this for Josie.
He had no idea what to do with his feelings for her.
Again, he considered asking her to be his forever mistress.
But if he did, would she run, never to be heard from again, or would she confess feelings for him?
For now, he needed to purchase her gown. He’d deal with everything else later.
Nicolas waited until Davenport’s carriage turned the corner before strolling toward Wagner and Son Jewelers.
The last time he’d visited the shop, he had purchased a ring for Lydia.
If only he’d asked her to return the band when she’d broken their engagement.
Then, he could have traded it instead of his only precious possession to pay for Josie’s gown.
It wasn’t that he gave a damn about how much his watch was worth.
It simply reminded him of a happier time before his grandfather and father had succumbed to the familial madness and George’s tragic death.
“Nicolas,” his grandfather had said, “Since George is to inherit everything else, I want you to have this.” Thereupon, he’d presented Nicolas with the shiny object that had fascinated him since he was a toddler.
Thankfully, the store was quiet, and the elder Mr. Wagner stood behind the counter. All manner of sparkling jewelry filled the small space. Nicolas winced as he passed by the display case of antique pocket watches. How heartbreaking that this might soon house his precious ancestral gift.
Although Nicolas had not visited the jeweler often, the proprietor immediately recognized him.
“Good day, my lord, how was your wedding?” Mr. Wagner asked.
Surprisingly, Nicolas didn’t feel the least bit rattled by the question.
He rested his walking stick against the wall and leaned on the counter.
“I am afraid it did not happen.” It would never happen, not even if Lydia showed up on his doorstep and begged, which she would never do.
Besides, soon, he would no longer have a door for her to show up at.
“I am sorry, sir,” Mr. Wagner said.
“I am here about something else.” Nicolas pulled his watch and the key from his waistcoat pocket.
He placed them both on the counter. “Would you be interested in purchasing this? If not, I will take it to Henderson because he specializes in watches. Since you have admired it in the past, I thought I would ask you first.”
“Oh, yes,” Mr. Wagner said. “The late earl showed this to me years ago. I immediately recalled it the day you picked up the ring.”
Wagner ran his finger over the picture on the consular case. A hunting dog, a rifle, and a horse had been crafted out of three shades of gold. Every detail had been painstakingly created, and twenty tiny diamonds circled the miniature work of art.
“One of a kind,” Mr. Wagner said. “Crafted in Paris by Daniel Vauchez. What exquisite detail. Such meticulous artistry.” He held it close to his eyes and opened the case. “Oh, yes. ’Tis as magnificent as I remember. I would be insulted indeed if you’d offered it to Henderson.”
Nicolas stared one last time at the decorative dial, marked with both Roman and Arabic numerals. “Make your offer,” he said as his heart dropped to his feet.
His pocket full of blunt, Nicolas took his time strolling to the modiste.
He stopped to enjoy a cup of chocolate at a cozy tea house.
He would have loved to order a pastry or two, but the money in his pockets was for Josie’s gown.
Instead, he read the paper and sipped his drink until it was time to meet the rest of his party.
He strolled into Madame’s shop feeling light-hearted.
Gifting Josie a gown and the proper accessories meant the world to him.
It couldn’t be easy for her to leave her friends and work behind.
He could hear her voice in his head, calling them a bunch of fancy toffs.
He chuckled. They probably didn’t tell her enough what a fabulous job she was doing.
Even with the hustle and bustle of ladies moving about, he immediately spotted Josie.
Today she wore a borrowed powder blue dress that fit her as if she were a queen, but her bonnet was clutched in her gloved fingers.
He did a double take because she was twisting the bonnet as if she meant to tear it in two.
His gaze slid to her lovely but furious face. He blinked and took in the larger scene.
Bridget, nostrils flaring, stood beside her, poking the woman in front of her in the chest. Agatha’s chin was lifted indignantly. Even their lady’s maid’s brow was furrowed. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think his ladies were about to battle with the three women who had their backs to him.
Meddling man that he was, he could not help himself; he hurried toward them, his walking stick clicking against the floor in time with his heavy footfall.
Josie was the first to see him. While dodging ladies, racks, and shelves, he caught her gaze and walked faster.
Bridget’s eyes widened. “Nicolas,” she said as he approached.
And then the woman who Bridget had been poking faced him.
Blond hair. Pale blue eyes. High, chiseled cheekbones. A pink dress and matching accessories that were the height of fashion.
No! It couldn’t be. His heart stuttered. This wasn’t real. He had to be dreaming. Except, this dream was a nightmare.
“Oh, Nicolas,” Lydia cried as she flung herself into his arms. “I have missed you so.”