“I’m sure you do.”
From what he recalled, her mother had many lovers over the years, including one particular favourite though she took that secret to the grave.
“I’m more than happy to demonstrate if only you’ll give me a chance.” Her hand dropped to the waistband of his breeches. Concealed amid the folds of her gown, her fingers ventured down to stroke the length of his cock.
Damnation!
Vane gritted his teeth and stepped back. “Your husband may have something to say about that.” Cornell was craven. Revenge was something he concocted behind closed doors.
“Cornell is old. One never knows when one might end up a widow.”
Lord, the woman was just as cold-hearted as her husband. The urge to offer a disparaging remark took hold. But he would bide his time. Impatience be damned. Experience had taught him that the most painful blows came unexpectedly, catching the victim unawares.
“Your point is moot. This is a conversation to be had at some other time.” If she killed Lord Cornell, it would save him the job. And yet he found he wished Cornell a long and sufferable life. Death was not nearly severe enough. “And so I shall bid you a good night.”
He needed to leave, needed to be away from these unbearable people.
“Wait,” Lady Cornell whispered, gripping his upper arm, but he turned on his heels and strode away.
A hundred pairs of eyes followed him through the glittering ballroom. A few ladies stopped him and boldly suggested more than a dance. He’d come to learn that people adhered to strict modes of propriety only when it suited them. Hypocrisy was the ton’s true god.
Vane eventually found Lord Farleigh leaning against the iron railings outside, smoking a cheroot as he gazed up into the foggy night sky.
“Thinking of Rose?” Vane said as he approached.
“Who else?” Farleigh offered him a smoke. Vane obliged. He drew on the head and let the woody essence calm him. “As much as I enjoy your company, Vane. There is only one place I want to be tonight.”
Vane blew a ring of white smoke into the crisp air. There was only one place he wanted to be, too — an apothecary shop in Whitecombe Street.
Chapter Six
“Thank you, Potter.” Mr Erstwhile inclined his head. “It is good to know we can count on our friends and colleagues in times of great need.”
Estelle observed the exchange with a degree of admiration. The world would be a better place if everyone was as forgiving as Mr Erstwhile, or as quick to admit to their mistakes as Mr Potter.
“Miss Brown may call and collect the provisions you need. It will serve you until you restock the shelves. Poaching customers is part of doing business, but I want you to know I had nothing to do with what happened here.”
After living with smugglers, Estelle knew the traits of liars and thieves. In her expert opinion, Mr Potter appeared genuine.
“People like to cause mischief,” Mr Erstwhile said. “More often than not for ridiculous reasons. Perhaps a frustrated customer took his anger out on the bottles.”
“Then we must all be on our guard.” Mr Potter doffed his hat. “Now, I shall leave you to your work. You’ll want things tidied and ready to open tomorrow. Good day to you.”
Mr Erstwhile hurried around the counter and opened the door for his competitor. “Good day, Mr Potter.” The bell stopped ringing long before Mr Erstwhile released the handle. The poor man had spent the morning assessing the damage and had fallen prey to lengthy bouts of silent reflection.
“Well, I think that puts paid to the theory that Mr Potter hired someone to break into the shop out of spite or jealousy,” Estelle said, as she continued sweeping up the remnants of broken glass.
After coming face-to-face with Ross last night, she had been in no fit state to do anything other than lie on the bed and sob into the pillow. Like a true gentleman, Mr Erstwhile did not pry but simply offered a handkerchief, a nip of port, and a few wise words that tomorrow might be a better day.
Equally, she had never asked why a gentleman of his standing and education worked for a living, although she knew it had something to do with following his heart and with Mrs Erstwhile’s lower status.
“Hmm. I must say I am surprised by Mr Potter’s visit.” Mr Erstwhile stroked his white beard. “Surprised yet overjoyed. How strange it is that in our darkest days we often find a ray of sunshine.”
“Perhaps that is because you have the one thing most people lack.”
“Oh, and what is that?”
“Faith.” Estelle expected the worst and was never disappointed. “You believe in goodness. Your heart is full of love and gratitude. You’re a man of strong convictions, and I admire that.”