She had assumed that if she married above herself, she would meet with some objection. It had not mattered to her until now. What harm could snubs and unkind words do her?
But she had never imagined physical violence. Nor did she want to see her beloved humiliated in public, made to suffer for loving her. This madness had to stop, even if it meant the loss of the one thing that had value to her. ‘It will not be necessary to bring Fanworth into this,’ she said, grinding her teeth to stop them from chattering. ‘From this moment on de Bryun’s is no more.’
‘Very good,’ Larchmont said, smiling over the destruction as if it was an improvement. ‘Now that we have settled this matter, we must see if you can persuade me that you are worthy of my name. If not? Further corrections will be necessary.’
She did not hear him go. In truth, she did not hear much of anything for a time. Fear blotted out all other senses. But as her knees gave out and she sank to the floor, her last coherent thoughts were of what he might do to her the next time she failed to live up to his expectations.
‘Lord Fanworth.’ Mrs Sims poked her head into the salon, where Stephen was reading. Her normally placid expression was replaced with worry. ‘A girl is here, from the shop. There has been some sort of trouble.’
He set aside his book with a smile. ‘What sort of trouble? Has someone lost an earring?’ His smile faded, when he saw the girl, a petite brunette, her starched de Bryun’s pinafore rumpled and her face stained with tears.
‘Tell me all.’
But the girl, Susan, could barely get out a sentence around her tears. ‘A madman came into the shop. Everything is broken.’
Stephen seized her arm. ‘Lady Fanworth. Was she hurt?’
‘I do not think so.’
The girl was useless, if she could not reassure him. ‘The carriage. How soon can it be ready, Mrs Sims?’ Any delay would be too long. It took him only a moment to decide that the girl should wait for it and guide it back, with the driver and two stout grooms. He would set out on foot.
Without the bother of a vehicle, it took only a few minutes to cross the Circus and run down George Street to Milsom. But when he reached the shop, he found the shades pulled, the sign turned to ‘Closed’ and the door tightly locked against him.
Damn it to hell. Why had he not asked her for a key? At a moment such as this, he should not have to be left pounding on the doorframe.
The door opened a crack and a girl who he had not seen before whispered, ‘We are closed, sir.’
‘Not for me.’ Had it really been so long since he had been here that the staff did not know him? He forced his boot into the crack in the door before she could shut it again.
‘Lord Fanworth.’ The ginger with the ears appeared from behind her and opened hurriedly. ‘Of course. Come in.’
‘Where is my wife?’
‘Safe, my lord. But shaken.’
The room was in chaos, the floor littered with broken glass and scattered jewellery. It was silent other than the clank and tinkle of the cleaning in progress and the quiet weeping of one of the younger shop girls. The boy led him through the midst of it, to the private salon where Margot sat on the white-velvet couch, twisting a handkerchief in her hands.
‘What has happened here?’
‘Nothing,’ Margot stared towards the wrecked front room, dry eyed and impassive.
‘A robbery?’ If that was the case, he should never have allowed this to continue. Or at least he could have posted a man to keep her safe.
She was shaking her head. ‘An accident. Nothing more.’
‘An accident.’ It looked as if a whirlwind had got in through the front door and jumbled the contents of the room.
‘Nothing of importance,’ she said hurriedly. ‘But we will be closing the shop after all. If I must replace all of this...’ She swept her hand about the room and gave a light and very false smile. ‘It hardly seems worth the bother.’
‘Closing?’ Had they not just agreed that closing was not necessary? He turned his attention to the new manager, hovering at his wife’s side. ‘Enough of this. What really happened?’
Jasper, the ginger, wet his lips for a moment, as though weighing the punishment he might get for speaking against the one he was sure to get if he did not. And then, he said, ‘His Grace the Duke of Larchmont wishes the shop closed immediately.’ He glanced around him. ‘He was most adamant.’
‘Thank you for your honesty.’
He turned back to his poor, shattered wife and sat down beside her on the soft white velvet of the sofa. ‘This was not the first visit, was it?’
She shook her head.
‘The night you came home with the cut finger.’
‘He cracked the glass of the showcase with his cane.’
‘And why did you not tell me, then?’
‘I thought you agreed with him,’ she said. ‘And then I did not want to make more trouble between the two of you. After what happened when I met your brother...I wanted to do better this time.’
‘My father is not like Arthur,’ he replied. But she had learned that through bitter experience. ‘And you do not need to be better. None of this was your fault.’ It was his. He had known what his family was like. He should have protected her.
‘I thought our plan for a manager and leaving at the end of the season would be a reasonable compromise. I assumed, when I told him... I was wrong,’ she said, looking at the mess around her. ‘Perhaps if I had not provoked him...’
How often had he thought that when growing up? It would do no good to explain to her that she provoked him by her very existence, much as Stephen did, himself. ‘You did not provoke him. There was nothing you could have done,’ he said.
‘Perhaps the shop was a mistake, after all. I should have known better. Everyone told me not to take this job upon myself. But I was so sure I could manage. And now, look at it.’ Her voice was almost too calm, as though she still did not, could not, truly understand what had just happened.
He remained calm as well. It would not do to frighten her again, while she was still recovering from Larchmont. But inside, his blood boiled at the years of injustice. He had felt as she did now, when faced with his father’s random displays of temper. He’d choked on the fear and anger, letting it muzzle him.
No longer.
‘It is over,’ he agreed. ‘You will never be treated this way again. Wait for me here. I will return shortly, with the carriage.’
He strode into the main room, glaring at the frightened clerks. Jasper, the ginger, had opened the cash box and was paying off the staff before releasing them. ‘Do not dare!’ he barked.
Jasper slammed the box shut and jumped away from it, as though afraid that Larchmont’s violence ran in the family.
‘Clean up the mess. Find someone to repair the mirrors. We will open tomorrow, as usual. Nothing has changed.’ He added a second glare to show that it hadn’t. ‘And find Lady Fanworth a cup of tea.’ Then he unlocked the door and went out into the street.
* * *
When in Bath, the Duke of Larchmont always let the same house in the Royal Crescent. Woe be unto any who dared take it ahead of him. The landlord would gladly put another tenant out into