Chapter 7
Simeon leaned up against the wall of Miss Cosette’s Dress Shop and started counting all the ways his life had gone terribly wrong. Here he was, standing outside a modiste shop waiting for the most infuriatingly stubborn young woman that he had ever met.
He was a blasted Bow Street Runner. Not a for-hire guard.
He had brought down criminal networks, gone undercover in the rookeries, and even worked alongside agents of the Crown to help put an end to The Cursed Lot gang in Gravesend.
Yet again, he cursed himself for agreeing to guard Miss Pearson.
It didn’t matter that her eyes sparkled when she talked about something that excited her.
She may be a beautiful young woman, but she was foolhardy, brazen, and she was going to get herself killed.
The door to the modiste shop opened, and he straightened from the wall. Miss Pearson stepped out with a beautiful woman with black hair, creamy white skin, and red, pouty lips.
Miss Pearson put her hand out towards the woman and provided the introductions. “Mr. Simeon Martin, may I introduce you to Miss Cosette. She owns this dress shop.”
Simeon bowed, admiring her long-sleeved, ornate blue gown. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Cosette.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Martin,” she replied with a French accent.
“You’re French,” he remarked.
Miss Cosette let out a light, airy laugh. “I am so much more than French.” She arched a brow at him. “I wanted to speak to you about the protection you are offering my dear Emma.”
“Pardon?”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “How many pistols are on your person?”
Simeon frowned, confused by the turn of the conversation.
“Three, I’m assuming, if you aren’t lax on your safety,” Miss Cosette stated, her eyes dropping to his Hessian boots before turning towards Emma. “But I am worried that Mr. Martin is a person of low intellect. He can’t seem to follow this conversation adequately.”
Miss Pearson giggled, causing him to break out of his stupor of thought.
“I assure you that is not the case, Miss Cosette,” he huffed.
Taking a step closer to him, Miss Cosette’s next words were laced with an even thicker French accent. “If any harm comes to Emma, I will hold you accountable.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And, trust me when I say this, you don’t want that to happen.”
Simeon lifted his brow in surprise, finding himself unnerved by this beautiful woman’s threat. “I understand, but no harm shall come to Emma on my watch,” he asserted.
Pressing her lips together, Miss Cosette watched him with an intense gaze that baffled him. Then, she bobbed her head and announced, “I think you shall do, Mr. Martin. You shall do.” And with that, she turned and went back into the dress shop.
Simeon furrowed his brow at that peculiar interaction. Another example of a beautiful, but odd woman.
Coming to stand next to him, Miss Pearson informed him, “Miss Cosette just opened her shop a month ago, and she’s already the most popular modiste in town.
The only reason she agreed to make me gowns is because of our familial connection.
I’ve been told that she has turned women away because she has too many orders. ”
“What did you tell her about me?” he asked curiously.
She shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing. Other than the fact that you were assigned to guard me.”
“Was she in earnest?”
A smile came to Miss Pearson’s lips. “Indeed, she was. Miss Cosette is a very capable woman, and she is fiercely loyal to her family and friends.”
Simeon glanced over at the door. “She’s quite frightening.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Miss Pearson looped her arm through his. “Are you ready to go get some lemon ice? I am famished.”
Being uncomfortable by her nearness, Simeon knew he couldn’t step away or he would be considered rude. Instead, he led her towards the curricle.
“Lemon ice will not provide you sustenance,” he pointed out as he assisted her into the curricle.
She scooted over to the far side and waited for him to climb in before responding, “It is dreadfully warm, and I could use a delicious treat.”
“It is warm,” he agreed. “Why do you suppose Miss Cosette was wearing a long-sleeved gown on such a beautiful day as this one?”
“I’m not rightly sure,” Miss Pearson replied. “I have only ever known Miss Cosette to wear long-sleeved gowns.”
He reached for the reins and merged the carriage into the traffic. “You have never asked her?”
A look of sorrow came to Miss Pearson’s face. “My family has an enormous number of secrets, which I am not privy to. As much as I want to discover the truth, I know that it’s not my place. I hope one day I will be taken into their confidences.”
Simeon could hear the sadness in her voice, but he didn’t dare continue his line of questioning.
He could tell that her admission had cost her dearly.
Unsure of what to say, he focused on driving the team until they arrived at the square outside of Gunther’s Tea Shop.
He parked the curricle underneath the shade of the maple trees.
A large line of carriages filled the square, and waiters dodged between the carriages to take and deliver the customers’ orders.
“It’s quite busy today,” Miss Pearson mused as they waited for a waiter to approach their carriage.
“What shall it be today?” the waiter asked politely.
Simeon looked over at Miss Pearson expectedly.
She smiled. “I would like the lemon ice, please.”
“Good choice, miss,” the waiter said. “And for you, sir?”
“I suppose lemon ice for me, as well.”
The waiter nodded his acknowledgement and headed back towards Gunther’s. Simeon stepped out of the curricle and came around to Miss Pearson’s side. He leaned up against the square’s railings as he saw the other gentleman escorts do.
Miss Pearson’s eyes scanned over the other curricles and remarked, “Gunther’s Tea Shop is the only establishment where a lady can be seen eating alone with a gentleman without harming her reputation.”
Simeon hadn’t even had a chance to respond when she surprised him by saying, “It’s time for our first interview.”
He gave her a look of exasperation. “Do be serious.”
“I am,” she said with a determined tilt of her chin. “If you recall, you promised me three interviews in exchange for attending the meeting with me tonight.”
He huffed. “Fine. What would you like to know?”
“Why did you become a Bow Street Runner?”
Simeon froze. He had not anticipated that question, nor did he want to answer it truthfully. He opened his mouth to lie, but he saw the innocent, curious expression on her face. He couldn’t lie to her, but he refused to tell her the full truth.
“I… uh… became a Bow Street Runner to help people,” he replied lamely.
“That’s admirable.” Her eyes seemed imploring when she asked, “What has been your toughest case?”
“Blazes!” he muttered under his breath. He shifted his gaze over her shoulder as he took a moment to mull over her question. His toughest case had been to find Martha. “I was searching for someone,” he hesitated, before adding, “someone that I truly cared about.”
Miss Pearson watched him with compassion in her eyes. “Did you find that person?”
“I did,” he admitted, lowering his gaze towards the ground.
Reaching out, Miss Pearson touched the sleeve of his jacket. “Were you too late?”
“I was,” he sighed. “By the time I found her, her heart belonged to another.”
Miss Pearson removed her hand, and he could hear the sympathy in her voice. “How long were you searching for her?”
“Five years.”
“Five years?”
He nodded. “A long, painful five years.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Martin.”
Turning his gaze towards Gunther’s Tea Shop, Simeon didn’t want to continue this line of questioning. He didn’t want to reveal anything more about himself. His assignment was to protect Miss Pearson, not befriend her.
Miss Pearson spoke up, breaking him out of his grumbling reverie. “I’m attending another ball in a few days, and I’m hoping to dance with a marquess or an earl.”
Simeon stiffened at her pretentious attitude. “But not a viscount?”
“No, viscounts are typically stuffy, boring men,” she said with a flick of her wrist.
He turned back to face her. “Viscounts?”
“It’s true,” she admitted without a hint of remorse. “I have not met one viscount that was young and vigorous. Have you?”
“I… uh…” His voice stopped. How did he respond to that? Should he reveal that he was a viscount and contradict her statement, or just pretend her comment didn’t affect him?
Simeon was still debating how to answer when the waiter walked up with two bowls of lemon ice. He extended both bowls towards him and stepped back.
Before he could retrieve coins to pay for the lemon ice, Miss Pearson extended her hand and dropped a few coins into the waiter’s awaiting hand.
His jaw dropped as he saw the waiter turn on his heel and headed towards another carriage. “What in blazes do you think you are doing?” he exclaimed in annoyance. What was it about this woman that just kept infuriating him, over and over?
“I believe it was quite obvious what I was doing, Mr. Martin,” she said, reaching for a bowl of lemon ice. “I was paying the waiter.”
He stood there, dumbfounded. A woman didn’t pay for items in a man’s presence. It just wasn’t done. “It was my right, as a gentleman, to pay for your ice.”
Taking a bite of her ice, she savored it for a moment before responding, “I didn’t mean to offend you, but you work as a Bow Street Runner. I can’t imagine your income would allow you to pay for such extravagances as ice from Gunther’s.”
Tarnation! That was correct, and incredibly thoughtful.
Curse her kindness! His salary for being a Bow Street Runner was a paltry sum, and he would barely be able to afford food and lodgings on what he made.
However, he couldn’t very well tell her that he had acquired a fortune in trade. That would lead to more questions.
“Be that as it may…” he started.