Crossing to the decanters, he poured himself a brandy. To his disgust, his hands shook, sloshing several amber drops onto the rug. He quickly tossed back the potent liquor, swallowing the obscenity that threatened to roar from his throat. The urge to break something, to throw something, to destroy something with his hands nearly strangled him, and he quickly poured himself another drink. He then wrapped his hands around the crystal snifter to keep them still. Calm. Must remain calm.

With the second brandy burning down to his gut, he started to feel a bit steadier, regaining the control that imbecile Redfern had nearly disrupted.

The box. Sick panic clutched him and he squeezed his eyes shut, beating it back, forcing himself to think rationally and plan his next move.

Had Mrs. Brown discovered the secret of the box? Exactly how much did she know? It had appeared she knew nothing about his secret, but he had to know. And if she didn't already know, might she not still learn the truth? What if she discovered the false bottom in the box now that the ring was gone? What if she gave the box to someone? Or threw it away and it was found by one of the servants? The only way he could be assured that his secret would never come to light would be to destroy the box and its hidden contents himself.

Still, why had she not returned the box to him? Did she realize its value? Did she indeed intend to blackmail him? But if so, why had she not already made a demand? Or was that her ploy-to bide her time, like an animal stalking its prey, waiting to strike. She’s trying to drive me mad.

Well, she would not succeed. And he'd not leave his future up to chance with Redfern. He needed to take action. Immediately.

Crossing to his desk, he withdrew a sheet of ivory vellum and composed a quick note.

Dear Alberta,

I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed our conversation this morning, and how much I appreciate the efforts you went to on my behalf regarding the Shelbourne ring. Although the ring is gone, I was wondering if perhaps there might have been a ring box? Other pieces in the Shelbourne collection are housed in boxes fashioned specifically for the piece, and it occurred to me that the ring might have had such a box. If so, I would like very much to have that, as a memento.

I would be honored if you would join me for dinner this evening at eight o 'clock. This would give us an opportunity to become better acquainted, and you could bring the box along with you, assuming it exists. I anxiously await your reply.

Yours,

Geoffrey Hadmore

He sealed the letter, then rang for Willis. Handing over the missive, Geoffrey said, "See to it that this is delivered at once. The messenger is to await a reply."

As Willis quit the room, icy determination settled over Geoffrey. Either he or Redfern would get that bloody box. And by this time tomorrow, Mrs. Alberta Brown would no longer be a problem.

Chapter 9

Two hours after leaving Mrs. Brown in Madame Renee's expert hands, Robert reentered the modiste shop, a tinkling chime above the door announcing his arrival. He'd spent the intervening time with his solicitor. Assured that the rebuilt smithy was thriving and Nate's family provided for, eased, just a bit, the vise of guilt squeezing him.

The front of Madame Renee's was empty. Clearly Mrs. Brown and Madame Renee were in the rear, which, as he knew from previous visits with Caroline and Mother, housed the dressing and alteration areas, as well as two large sewing rooms. Removing his hat, he opted to stand rather than attempt to settle himself on one of the horribly uncomfortable chairs. He shot a baleful glare at the tiny lavender velvet seat cushion. He knew from experience that his buttocks would hang over the side. Good God, how did women manage to perch themselves upon such ridiculous furniture? It seemed fashioned more for a canary than a human.

Wandering about the bolts of colorful material, he noticed a deep sapphire-blue satin. Knowing it was Caroline's favorite color, he made a mental note to mention it to her. He'd passed stripes and solids, patterns and prints, when his gaze was caught by a striking coppery-bronze color. Pausing, he ran his hand over the luxurious material. Silk, exceptionally fine and delicate. And the color… bold yet delicate, shimmering with gold highlights. It was truly extraordinary.

An image flashed through his mind… of her… wearing a gown fashioned from the material, the color glowing against her creamy skin, accentuating her golden-brown eyes and the rich chestnut of her hair.

As if the mere thought of her conjured her up, she entered the room through the curved archway leading from the back, Madame Renee directly behind her. The shop owner's sharp eyes glanced down at the silk bolt his hand still rested upon.

"Is eet not tres magnifique? Zee finest silk, and zee color!" Madame Renee kissed her fingertips in dramatic fashion.

Mrs. Brown's gaze wandered to the material, and Robert caught the glimmer of wistfulness that flickered in her eyes. "Gorgeous," she agreed with a sigh. She then appeared to regain herself. "But not for me."

"Were you able to find something to suit you?" he asked, sliding his hand from the soft silk.

Before Mrs. Brown could reply, Madame Renee raised her brows. "Surely you did not doubt zat Madame Renee could assist her?"

He held up his hands in mock surrender. " Not I. Never."

"Actually, I was very fortunate," Mrs. Brown said. "Madame had two black bombazine gowns that someone had ordered, then canceled."

"Most annoying," Madame said, making a tsking sound. "But my loss is Madame Brown's gain. Because zee client cancel, I am forced to sell at a large discount. Zee gowns require only minor alterations and will be sent to her later today."

He was disappointed but not surprised that she'd opted to purchase only black gowns. His glance wandered back to the bolt of coppery silk. She'd look breathtaking…

He gave himself a mental shake. Good God, having her look any more breathtaking was the last thing he needed. Indeed, he'd be wise, and certainly better served, to imagine her with a sack over her head rather than draped in low-cut, sheer material.

After saying good-bye to Madame Renee, they climbed into the carriage. "I'm sorry you had to wait so long," Mrs. Brown said as they settled themselves on the gray velvet squabs. "I'd thought to perhaps purchase one gown, but her prices were so reasonable, I decided to buy two." She offered him a half-smile, and his heart, quite ridiculously, thumped in response. "Thank you very much for bringing me there."

"My pleasure. And don't apologize for me waiting. Indeed, it was a fraction of how long Caroline and Mother normally take. I made good use of the time by attending to some business matters that required my attention. And speaking of business matters… was there anything else besides seeing Shelbourne that you needed to do in London?"

"No. My business here is finished."

"Then I propose we depart for Bradford Hall tomorrow morning. That would allow for the delivery of your gowns, give us both sufficient time to pack our belongings, and allow me to send off some correspondence that needs seeing to. Does that meet with your approval?"

"Yes, that is fine."

"Excellent. And that also gives us the rest of this lovely afternoon to enjoy. Given the exceptional weather, I thought you might like to see Vauxhall."

Mischief flickered in her eyes. "Vauxhall? Is that a breed of hat-nesting pigeons?"

He laughed. "No. It's a pleasure garden across the Thames. Acres of shady walking paths, and particularly nice this time of year with so many flowers in bloom. Would you like to go?"

"I'm very fond of flowers. A visit to Vauxhall sounds… lovely."

Another smile touched her lips, and his idiotic pulse galloped away. Lovely, his inner voice repeated as his gaze roamed her face. My thought exactly.


*********

Strolling along a wide graveled walk, Allie breathed in the cool, earth-scented air, then heaved out a sigh of pleasure. Stately elms lined both sides of the avenue, forming a delightful canopy of shade through which fingers of sunlight filtered. Birds flitted from branch to branch, warbling their summertime songs.

"This is called the Grand Walk," Lord Robert said. "Running parallel on our right is South Walk, with Hermit's Walk to the left. Up ahead we'll come to Grand Cross Walk, which runs through the entire garden. We'll turn there to go to the Grove."

"What is that?"

"A square surrounded by the principal walks." He pointed through the trees. "You can see it over there, where those pavilions are. There's also a colonnade in the event of inclement weather, and dozens of supper boxes."

Intrigued, she mused, "So people come here in the evenings to stroll among the lighted trees and dine… What a delightful thing to do."

"Indeed, but there is also entertainment. Orchestras, singers, fireworks, battle enactments, grand parties. Several years ago I saw a woman named Madame Saqui walk along a tightrope affixed to a sixty-foot pole, all to the accompaniment of a fireworks display."

"It sounds marvelous. And exciting." Looking up, she noted the hundreds of globe lamps placed in the trees. "It must be lovely when the lamps are illuminated."

"Very striking. Elizabeth says it looks as if glowing faeries hover in the trees." He looked down at her and smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to return this evening? To experience the garden's nighttime splendor?"