When he’d realised she was the artist responsible for the design, he had questioned her for more than an hour until she’d explained each joint and hinge, and showed him sketches for other works. She had promised to show him the workroom, should he come again. And of course, he had returned, again and again. He had met the craftsman, learned the names of all the tools and expressed such curiosity about all elements of the business that she’d joked he was well on his way to managing the shop himself.
While he had learned much about jewellery making, Margot de Bryun was still a mystery to him. He knew she had a sister, but little more than that. Since she clung adamantly to the de Bryun surname, he doubted that there was a husband waiting in the rooms she occupied above the shop. But might there be a lover, or perhaps a fiancé, ready to greet her when the shop closed?
It did not matter. He might want her to be as sweet and innocent as she appeared on the day he finally found the right words to make her consider his proposal. But even if she was not, he would marry her the moment she agreed.
And if she refused marriage? Then he would dispense with propriety, dazzle her with his rank and wealth, and seduce her, right there on the white velvet of the divan. When she had been loved near to insensibility, she would be much more agreeable to a permanent union. He would wear down her objections and he would have her and keep her.
Generations of breeding informed him everything that was wrong with the situation at hand. He supposed it was the same for Margot, since she treated his advances as little more than playful banter. But common sense informed him, even louder, all the things that were right about such a marriage. He could talk to her. For when would he ever find another woman so perfect?
Society could go hang. She made him happy. And by the smile that lit her face each time he walked in her door, the feeling was mutual. They were in love. They would marry. The rest was not important.
His family was a concern, of course. But he cared no more for the duke’s opinion than he did for society. The plan was already in place that would win his mother to his side. Once they had married, and Margot had given up the shop to be his marchioness, her past would be forgotten.
* * *
He returned to his apartments with his head full of dreams, only to be dragged back to earth by his butler’s announcement. ‘Lord Arthur Standish is waiting for you in the drawing room, my lord.’
‘Thank you.’ Stephen’s first impulse had been to curse in response. His brother was quite good company, in the evenings when they were both the worse for drink. But in broad daylight, it was all too easy to see his flaws. To see him now would tarnish all the pleasure of his visit with Margot.
As expected, he entered the drawing room to find Arthur sprawled in the best chair by the window, a large glass of brandy already to his lips. At the sight of his host, he paused to raise his drink in salute. ‘Hail the conquering hero, returned from Montague and de Bryun.’
‘Not Montague, any more,’ Stephen corrected, moving the brandy decanter to the other side of the room. ‘What do you know of my visits there?’
‘All of Bath knows of it by now, I am sure.’
‘And why is that?’ Stephen could guess the answer. He reached past his brother and opened the curtains wide to let in the morning sun.
Arthur groaned at the sudden brightness, grabbed up a decorative pillow from the divan and disappeared behind it. ‘How does Bath know of you and the shop girl? I make sure to remark upon it whenever I have a chance.’ The empty brandy glass appeared from behind the cushion, waving as if a refill was expected.
Stephen grabbed the pillow and tossed it across the room to fall beside the brandy bottle. ‘It is a wonder that anyone listens to you. You are so often in your cups that you are hardly a reliable witness.’
The shaft of light that hit the younger man caused a shudder and a squint. ‘I only tell the story to those similarly inflicted.’ Then he grinned. ‘On holiday, it is not difficult to find people who overindulge in the evenings and then drink their weight in the pump room the next morning hoping for a cure.’
Stephen grunted in response. He was on the verge of losing his temper, and with the excitement would come the stuttering. He fixed his brother with a warning glare.
Arthur paid no attention to it, walking across the room towards the brandy. ‘But enough of my flaws. Let us discuss yours.’
Stephen ignored both the drinking and the comment, but redoubled the intensity of his glare.
‘How is Miss de Bryun today? As beautiful as always, I assume?’
‘It is no concern of yours.’
Arthur pursed his lips and gave a small nod, as if the statement was a confirmation of his suspicions. ‘Have you made her your mistress yet? Or does the rest of Bath still stand a chance with her?’
‘I have no intention of making her my mistress,’ Stephen said, though his body hummed softly at the suggestion. ‘And, no, to the second question as well. The lady is virtuous.’ He spoke the next slowly, so that Arthur might hear the warning. ‘You would do well to remember the fact yourself.’
‘All women begin as virgins,’ Arthur reminded him. ‘But it is easy enough to rectify. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit and discuss the matter.’
This was quite enough. Stephen kept his tone low and menacing, then let each word drop slowly from his mouth, each clear and in the proper order. ‘You will regret it. I assure you.’
‘Threatening me?’ Arthur laughed.
Stephen responded with a grim smile and silence. It was usually enough to set his opponent out of sorts and rendering a hasty apology. But when the man in question was Arthur, there were no guarantees.
‘If our father cannot scare me into behaving, then you stand no chance at all. Now, to the matter at hand. You are far too concerned with this girl, Stephen. I quite understand the attraction. She is a beauty. But if you do not have an understanding with her, to be so possessive of her makes no sense. It is not as if you can marry her, after all.’
His impending marriage was not Arthur’s business. The comment was not worthy of a response. But silence no longer served to smooth the conversational road. The lack of denial gave away far too much of his future plan.
Arthur noticed it and very nearly dropped his glass in surprise. ‘That is not what you intend, is it? You mean to marry her? His Grace will never approve.’
‘His Grace can be damned,’ Stephen said. Those words, though inappropriate for the scion of the family, never came with difficulty.
‘Well, think of the rest of us then,’ Arthur said, looking mildly horrified. ‘It will embarrass the entire family if you run off and marry a shop girl. You cannot make someone like that the next Duchess of Larchmont.’
‘She is not a shop girl,’ Stephen said, a little too sharply. ‘She owns the establishment. A different class from us, certainly, but hardly a menial. And once we are married, she will not have a need to keep shop.’ He had more than enough money to keep her in jewellery of her own. ‘Her sister married a Felkirk,’ he added. Once the shop was closed, they would play up the connection to the Duke of Bellston and the marriage would not seem so remarkable.
But Arthur was still so shocked that he put down his glass and gave his full attention to the conversation. ‘You truly are serious.’ His brother was shaking his head in disbelief. ‘You really mean to do it? I understand that you do not listen to Father. The pair of you loathe each other. And what am I but to be ignored? But think of our sister. Her reputation will suffer for this.’
‘Her father is Larchmont,’ Stephen said, frowning at the mention of their father. ‘If she survives that, what harm will my marriage do her?’
‘What of Mother? You will