The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

Pierce started, carefully scrutinizing Elizabeth’s face. How much had Daphne told her?

“She said she was expecting you today,” Elizabeth eased his way by supplying. “But I don’t think she expected you quite this early. Otherwise I know she’d be home to receive you.”

“So she really is out?”

“Yes. She left Tragmore about an hour ago.”

“Before dawn? Why?”

Elizabeth studied the intricate pattern of the marble floor. “I’m not free to discuss Daphne’s activities with you, sir. I can tell you that her intentions are sound.”

“She is well, though?”

At that, Elizabeth’s head came up. “Yes.” Her gaze locked with Pierce’s. “Safe and well. You can see for yourself later today.”

“All fight, I shall.” Pierce nodded, convinced Daphne’s mother spoke the truth. “Would you give her a message for me, please? Tell her I’ll be back for tea and a reply.”

“Very well.”

“And one thing more.”

“Yes?”

“If your husband returns, tell him of my impending visit. I want him to expect me.”

A shadow of fear crossed Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll see that Harwick receives word of your forthcoming call, Your Grace.” Nervously, she glanced about the deserted hallway. “Now I have a message for you.” She leaned toward Pierce. “Keep Daphne safe,” she whispered. “And make her happy. Please.”

A current of communication ran between them.

“I shall, Madam,” Pierce replied solemnly. “You have my word.”

The noon hour was approaching, and Covent Garden bustled with activity.

Daphne shifted from one aching foot to the other, wishing she had some idea where to find the highest-paying buyer for her mother’s brooch. In the several hours since she’d arrived in London, she’d cautiously wandered the streets, ducking whenever she saw a man who even remotely resembled her father. She was taking an enormous risk, and she knew it. But the high price she intended to procure for the brooch could not be found in her little village. Hence, she’d appealed to the vicar, using the only avenue of persuasion she knew would succeed: the children, and how much this money would mean to them. Muttering a fervent prayer for her safety, the vicar had arranged for a carriage, and Daphne had been off to London.

Her goal had been to conduct her business and be gone within the hour. What a childishly naive idea that proved to be.

The eminent West End jewelers were acquainted with her father, which made dealing with them akin to suicide. Should they breathe a word of her actions to him—Daphne shuddered at the thought. So, she’d limited herself to the lesser-known, more modest proprietors elsewhere in London, very few of whom, she soon discovered, could be trusted.

Covent Garden was her last resort.

The innkeeper she’d approached two blocks from here had mumbled something about a man named Thompson, a jeweler who reputedly paid well and asked no questions.

Now all she needed to do was find him.

“You did well, my friend.”

Frowning in concentration, Thompson pried a single emerald from the last garish necklace, studying each of the stone’s glittering facets. “Every one of these trinkets you brought me is worth a pretty penny. Now I see why you made that long trip to Mansfield to pilfer them.”

Pierce nodded, stretching his booted legs out in front of him. “I thought you might come to that conclusion once you’d seen the spoils from last night’s venture. Now, tell me, how much are they worth?”

“I’ll need a few minutes to figure that out.” Thompson set down the stone, his eyes alight with curiosity. “What I can’t figure out is why you couldn’t get here last night. You know I hate doing this type of business during the day.”

“I have my reasons. As for your concerns, that’s why we meet in your back room. If you’re suddenly swarmed with avid patrons,” Pierce’s sarcasm clearly indicated he didn’t see that as a likelihood, “you can sprint right up front and sell them your wares. No one need ever know I hover in wait.”

As if to challenge Pierce’s skepticism, a bell tinkled, indicating that someone had entered the shop.

“You were saying?” Thompson asked triumphantly, smoothing his worn coat. “It appears I have a customer.”