Chapter 11
In search of answers and a way to forget all that had just happened in Asher’s drawing room, Julian went to the one place where he always felt accepted, even if it was because he was a paying patron—his club.
He stepped through the doors and was instantly at ease. The windows of the club were thrown open to the mild afternoon, letting in pale spring light and the distant rumble of carriages on the street beyond.
The club was full of patrons, the air thick with conversation, the low murmur of voices, and the clatter of expensive drinks.
Not seeing anyone he was interested in conversing with, Julian took a seat at a table near a group of gentlemen he recognized, nodding to them in greeting as he sat down. He flipped open a newspaper he had taken off a table near the entrance, flicking it open after he ordered his drink.
Another group of men to his right was speaking of the odds at Tattersalls’ that weekend, which normally would have been of great interest to him.
But the conversation to his left…
“—only a valuation, I’m told.”
Julian did not turn. He took a slow sip instead.
“Come now,” another voice replied, amused. “No man calls in a specialist for only a valuation unless he means to do something with it.”
“A precaution, perhaps.”
“Eastclere?” A soft snort. “Since when has he ever taken a precaution in his life?”
A ripple of laughter followed as Julian started, trying not to draw any notice to how interested he suddenly was.
He let the corner of his mouth lift—just enough to suggest he might have found something on the street faintly entertaining. In truth, he had gone very still.
“Who did he send for?” a third voice asked. “Do you know?”
“Not precisely. Though I heard it was someone from Bond Street. Quiet fellow. Keeps no books worth speaking of.”
“No records?” That same note of amusement again. “How exceedingly convenient. Especially for a man with such an extensive collection.”
Julian shifted then, finally turning as if only just now drawn into the conversation. He glanced between the small cluster of men—acquaintances, no more—his expression easy.
“I must have missed the beginning,” he said lightly. “Who is it that is taking such admirable precautions?”
“Eastclere,” one of them answered, pleased to be the bearer of minor intelligence, “has had something looked at—privately. No entries, no fuss.”
“An heirloom, perhaps?” Julian asked.
“Or something he’d rather not have known he possesses,” another put in. “It’d be easy to hide among all the other jewels he showed off at the beginning of last season. Tried to put us all to shame, and now it seems he’s the one trying to get rid of some of them.”
More laughter.
Julian inclined his head, as though conceding the point, and let the conversation drift past him again. Horses. Parliament. A wager gone poorly. Nothing of consequence.
And yet—
A private valuation.
No records kept.
A man like Eastclere, who had never in his life been accused of discretion, suddenly insisting upon it. Why? He didn’t understand why Eastclere would go to all the trouble of showing off the diamond at a grand event last season, only to now try to sell off other pieces of his collection.
Perhaps he had been trying to showcase those pieces—garner some interest.
Julian set his glass aside.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a faint nod, already stepping away, “if you will excuse me.”
He did not wait for their replies.
He had a jeweler to see.
* * *
There was only one problem, Julian realized as he set out down St. James Street—he didn’t know where to find this jeweler.
He actually couldn’t remember the last time he had been to one.
His mother looked after any items of value in the family, and Julian never kept a lover long enough to have to buy her anything, nor had he ever had any intention of courting a woman with such things.
Just as he was trying to decide who in his life could possibly help him with such a situation, he bumped into a familiar figure.
“Uncle!” he said with genuine gladness. “How are you?”
“I’m well, good to see you, Julian,” Uncle Charles returned, looking Julian in the eyes as they were near to the same height. They even resembled one another, although Charles’ hair had turned grey, and he wore it in a different style, with long sideburns.
Julian hadn’t seen much of his uncle since his father’s death.
The brothers had been close, and Julian had a feeling that seeing his family caused his uncle to feel grief for his father all over again—especially when Charles and James didn’t always see eye to eye on how best to run the estate.
James was steady, practical—sensible. Whereas Charles and Julian were much more similar, inclined to take risks.
“Where are you off to this afternoon?” his uncle asked, tipping back his hat to better see Julian. “You look… lost.”
Julian sighed. “That’s because I am. I’m trying to find a jeweler, but I don’t even know where to start.”
“A jeweler?” Charles’ eyes lit up. “Looking for a trinket for a special someone? I remember such an activity well.”
That piqued Julian’s interest. He had always known his uncle to be an eccentric bachelor, but he had never discussed any women in his life with Julian.
Julian had actually always considered himself to be following in his uncle’s footsteps—though it was certainly not a plan he would ever share with his family, for they were all overly critical of Uncle Charles’ way of life.
“I was referred to a man on Bond Street. One who doesn’t keep records, which would allow me to be discreet.”
“I see,” his uncle said, eyeing him as though he wanted to ask more questions, but held back, likely understanding as a man who preferred to keep his intentions to himself. “I think I know the man. Come with me.”
Julian fell into step with his uncle.
“Do you have a jeweler you currently frequent?” he asked, wanting to ask his uncle about his own love life without being too inquisitive.
“Not anymore,” was all his uncle said. “But you don’t want to know about an old man’s life. Tell me about yours. I hear you’ve got yourself into some trouble.”
Did his uncle know about the diamond? About Verity? What could he possibly—
“Your gambling debts have become more than a rumor, Julian,” his uncle said. Oh. That trouble. “It’s not that I care what people think, but I am concerned about you, Julian.”
“I’ll be fine, Uncle,” Julian said quickly. “The rumors are exaggerated. Nothing I can’t pay off.”
“You’re trying to win it back, aren’t you?”
Julian stilled.
“I can see I’m right,” his uncle continued. “Take it from a man who learned everything the hard way, Julian. Look after yourself. It’s the only way to make the rest of your life fall in line.”
“Of course.”
“Here we are,” his uncle said, stopping in front of a shop.
Julian appreciated the help, but how was he going to speak to the jeweler himself?
He didn’t want to involve his uncle in this, and a man from the previous generation of his family would likely know all too well what this was about at the first mention of the diamond.
“Thank you, Uncle Charles,” Julian said. “I do appreciate your guidance.”
“Of course,” Charles said, picking up on Julian’s hint. “Well, then, I’ll be off. I hope to see you soon.”
Julian studied him. “Do you mean that? Because I would appreciate spending more time with you, if you’re open to it.”
“Of course, Julian,” Charles said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the closest thing I have to a son and… well, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you in the past while. It’s just been… hard.”
“I understand. You don’t have to explain,” Julian said. “I shall see you soon, then, Uncle.”
He watched his uncle continue down the street, back the way he came, and Julian wondered if perhaps he should have asked him more about the diamond, about whether he knew anything or had been involved in the family’s troubles surrounding the gem.
But that might only push him away again.
Instead, Julian decided to follow up on his original lead and stepped into the jeweler’s shop, instantly entering another world.
It was a small space, and every available wall or countertop was filled with pieces of jewelry, watches, and other tinkering gadgets.
The warm scent of beeswax polish, velvet-lined boxes, lamp oil, and the faint metallic tang of silver and gold from the workshop surrounded him, the distant tap of a jeweler’s hammer and the ticking of clocks the only sounds beside Julian’s own footsteps.
“Good afternoon!” Julian called. “Is anyone here?”
Finally, a grizzled older man stepped out from a curtain behind the counter.
“What can I do for you, m’lord?” he studied Julian.
Julian debated coming right out and asking him, but if Lord Eastclere was a paying customer, the man’s allegiance would lie with him.
“I’m hoping you could help me,” he began with all the charm he could muster. “A friend of mine is having some tight times and told me he was going to come in here and try to sell a few pieces. I was wondering if you could advise me if he does, and maybe I could buy them back?”
The man wrinkled his nose at him. “Why not just give him the money straight?”
“Because I don’t want him to know that I’m doing this. Pride and all that, you know.”
“I do know that,” the jeweler said. “What kind of pieces is he looking to unload?”
“I believe he came in here to discuss a few expensive pieces. Various jewels of a high value. The prize piece is a diamond. One with a very unique setting,” Julian said, not wanting to give away any information in case he was wrong.
“That, and a few other pieces from his extensive collection, although I don’t know exactly which ones. ”
The jeweler nodded, assessing him, but something had shifted when Julian had mentioned the diamond.
“I’m not sure what to tell you,” the jeweler said. “People come in all the time looking to sell items. Doesn’t seem much of your business.”
“I can appreciate that,” Julian said, keeping it light. “Just trying to help. But if you ever hear of such a diamond—one in a gold setting, large enough to have an inner compartment—do tell me and I’d be happy to give you a good price for it.”
“A diamond like that sounds nearly priceless,” the jeweler said, studying him, and Julian nodded.
“Nearly.”
At that, he left, defeated, uncertain of what else he could do. He had seen the look in the jeweler’s eye, though, and he prided himself on being able to read people. Eastclere had been there. He was sure of it.
The question was, how was Eastclere going to sell a diamond he didn’t have in his possession?
Julian tried to run over all of this in his mind, but he knew that, more than anything, he needed to talk to Verity.
When he was around her, it was like all of his thoughts turned from their chaotic mess into something much… calmer. More organized.
She knew what he needed, even if he didn’t.
Which was surprising in itself.
And something he didn’t feel like analyzing much in particular, for it might take him down a path that he was, he could admit, too afraid to walk.