Slightly Noble Read online

  Quentin smiled. “Will you sell me the Lion’s Pride?”

  “No. I’ll lease her, but only if you help me dress the part of a peer.”

  “I think I can manage my end of the bargain,” Quentin said as they crossed the street to Jack’s rented coach. “But dressing you like a peer will be like trying to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

  Jack scowled, tugging at his ill-fitting frock coat. “Do try to contain your wit, Quentin. Gilchrest claimed you could procure icebergs in the desert. I only need a new wardrobe. Can you perform that simple task or not?”

  “Of course,” Quentin said with a smooth smile. “I shall take you to my tailor and haberdasher while we are here in town.”

  “Abby will need new clothes, too. I do not want to introduce her to society dressed in clothes from a country dressmaker or an East End sweatshop. She is a viscountess. She should dress the part, don’t you think?”

  “My sisters-in-law travel to Paris before the season begins to purchase their finery from the only prestigious dressmaker that matters, Madison-Worth,” Quentin said with a disdainful air. “But there is a draper shop here in London that sells partially made clothes, and a good seamstress can stitch them into fashionable designs that will appear custom fitted. Chelsea’s wife uses Madam Weston when she cannot get to France.”

  “Then it will have to do. The wardrobe Mrs. Gabb created fits, but it isn’t fitting for my wife’s new station in life.” And he could not wait to see the look on Abby’s face when she saw all the beautiful new clothes he planned to buy her. “I have her measurements.”

  “Do you now?” Quentin said with a smirk. “It won’t be the same as having her fitted, but I believe Madam Weston is up to the challenge.”

  Jack scowled. “For a privateer, you are quite the dandy, are you not?”

  “What can I say?” Quentin responded with a laugh. “I am the son of an earl.”

  ****

  Several grueling hours later, the tailor had measured Jack for an entire wardrobe. Then he and Quentin went to Madam Weston’s shop. If she was going to sew Abby’s wardrobe, then she should be the one to go to the drapery shop and pick out the material. Madam Weston agreed. After another hour spent listening to her yammer on about fabrics and trim, she suggested he purchase jewels to match his wife’s new wardrobe.

  “Castellani is the best jeweler in London. He’s located at 115 Piccadilly. And there is another good jeweler on Patton Street.”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Jack rushed Quentin out the door. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought to spend so much time listening to a woman prattle on about fashion. It quite numbed his brain.

  “I think I would rather shoot myself in the foot than go through that again,” he grumbled as he and Quentin climbed back inside the rented coach. Once he reclaimed Ridge Point, he would use his father’s shiny black coach with the enameled family crest on the door.

  Quentin climbed in behind him, and the coach jerked forward before he could take his seat. He nearly tumbled onto the floor. “Before this day is out, I am going to thoroughly throttle that driver.”

  Jack’s rumbling laughter filled the coach as they headed toward Piccadilly. As the two settled in, Jack said, “We will try the Italian fellow’s shop first. If I don’t see anything Abby will like there, we can try the place on Patton. Are you familiar with either establishment?”

  “No,” Quentin said with a sigh as he turned to stare out the window. “The ring I gave Ernestine belonged to my grandmother. She died before I ever had an opportunity to buy jewelry for her.”

  Pity and a touch of fear put a hitch in Jack’s pulse. He didn’t love Abby or her son the way Quentin had loved his wife and child, but he did not think he could survive losing them either. He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop!”

  Jack straightened with a jerk. Quentin despised pity of any kind, but the furious demand was unexpected. If an apology was in order, he had no idea how he might give it. Sentiment of any kind made him uncomfortable. “I—”

  “Driver, stop the coach!” Quentin banged on the back wall. Harnesses rattled as the driver pulled on the reins, bringing the carriage to a sudden stop.

  Surely, Quentin wasn’t going to leap out of the carriage like a deflowered maiden bent on escape. “What the hell?”

  “The jeweler.” Quentin pushed open the door. “Look at the name on the window.”

  Jack stuck his head out the opened door to see what Quentin was rambling on about so incoherently. The name on the window drew his attention. Halsey’s.

  He nearly tumbled out the coach and onto the street. “Abby’s father is the jeweler on Patton Street.”

  Heart pounding in his chest, he climbed down and walked toward the shop. A bell overhead tinkled, the tinny sound sending a chill down his spine as he stepped inside. He waited a heartbeat and glanced over his shoulder at his friend. “Wait in the carriage.”

  Quentin nodded, and Jack wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but the air caught in his lungs when a man in his mid-fifties entered from a backroom. The leather curtain that divided the sweltering hot work area from the rest of the store slid closed, but the heat had already escaped. The man untied his leather apron and laid it on the counter. Despite temperatures just south of hell, he reached for a charcoal gray waistcoat and slipped his arms into the sleeves before removing a handkerchief from an inside pocket to mop the sweat from his brow.

  “Welcome to Halsey’s. How may I help you?” He slipped the handkerchief back into his pocket and brushed back his sweat-dampened hair.

  Was he the shop owner? An apprentice? “Who are you?”

  The man held out his arms to encompass the array of glass cases that held sparkling gems set in rich golds and shining silver. “I am the owner. I design and sell the finest jewelry in London. You’ll find no wax molded pieces here.”

  Jack didn’t doubt it. The jewelry looked like the expensive type only the wealthiest patrons could afford. So, why had he abandoned his daughter at an Anglican convent? He obviously had plenty of money. Then again, maybe he wasn’t Abby’s father. There could be any number of Halseys living in London. “What is your name?”

  The man’s graying brows rose. “Halsey. Henry Halsey. My name is on the door.”

  Acid burned in Jack’s gut. This man was Abby’s father, but he was more than just a working class merchant. He was a man of obvious wealth and influence. So, why had Abby kept his identity a secret? Was she ashamed because he wasn’t a peer? Or did she think Jack cared about such things?

  Frustration bunched his shoulders. “And your daughter? What might her name be?”

  Halsey came around the counter. Color leached from his face, and fear shone in his eyes. “What do you know of Abby? Please. If you know where she is, you must tell me.”

  Damn Abby’s secrets! They put him at a severe disadvantage, but he wasn’t about to introduce himself to her father until he had more facts. “When was the last time you heard from her?”

  Fear still shown in Halsey’s eyes, but a vein now throbbed in his forehead. “Did Mr. Flanagan send you? Are you one of his inquiry agents?”

  Jack’s nails bit into his palms. Abby claimed to have written two letters to her father. The first letter supposedly outlined her plans to move to Shrivenham and pose as a widow. Then after the wedding, she had given the nun a second letter. Yet, her father did not seem to know what had become of his daughter.

  Had Abby lied? Or did she still believe she needed to protect her father from Jack?

  For all Halsey knew, someone had abducted her. Was that why he had hired an inquiry agent? Jack would have done the same thing. No, he would have looked for her himself. And he would have found her by now. Why hadn’t Halsey?

  He narrowed his gaze. “Have you heard from your daughter since she left the convent?”

  “Left? She did not leave. There were letters. And then…You don’t understand,” Halsey said with a note of urgen
cy. “She would not have left on her own. Viscount Ruston had made an offer. But when I went to bring her home so we could finalize the details of the marriage contract, she was gone. The reverend mother said she had run away.”

  Jack clenched his jaw. Had Abby lied about the letters? She had lied about having a betrothed. But even if there were no letters, Sister Mary Daphne knew what had happened to Abby. So, why had she not informed the reverend mother? Unless, the nun never returned to the convent.

  Suspicion clawed at Jack’s brain. He had given Sister Mary Daphne money to repay her brother for the loss of his horses and to buy a new wagon wheel. He had also made a sizable contribution to her unwed mother’s charity. The nun accepted the payment and the donation. Had she kept the money for herself rather than returning to the convent?

  “Did you speak with Sister Mary Daphne?”

  Halsey blinked. “Who?”

  “One of the nuns. She knew your daughter.” The nun with the glacial stare had not seemed warm-hearted, but Jack would not have suspected her of not being true to her calling. Had she absconded with the money? Or, had something happened to her?

  “The reverend mother did not mention a nun by that name, and she seemed most upset by Abby’s disappearance, but I will never believe my daughter ran away. She has always been an obedient child.”

  Abby? Obedient? Jack did not point out that his daughter had allowed at least one man to take certain liberties that had left her in a most compromising position. Instead, he said, “Obedience is not what landed her in a convent filled with nuns.”

  Halsey’s eyes flashed with anger. “Drury is a rake and a scoundrel. He took advantage of Abby’s naïvety, knowing I would never challenge him.”

  Jack clenched his fists at his sides. “Why not? Does prestige mean more to you than your daughter?”

  “No, damn you! Because I am not a peer. Once upon a time, a middling sort like myself was below the aristocracy, but I became as wealthy as any earl. Still, my Abby was not accepted. Not until Lady Chivington agreed to sponsor her.” Bitterness tinged Halsey’s words. He seemed to resent the aristocracy while courting their acceptance.

  Had that bitterness turned to outrage when Abby failed to land a titled husband?

  “And Abby disappointed you,” Jack said, unable to disguise the contempt he felt. Abby wasn’t a peer, and her father had thrown her to the wolves in an attempt to forge societal connections to the aristocracy.

  Halsey reeled as if slapped. “Disappointed? Abby did nothing wrong. It was Drury. But I could not denounce him without exposing Abby.”

  “So, you sent her away?” No wonder Abby did not trust men. Drury had abused her, and her father had abandoned her.

  “No!” Halsey wrung his hands. “I sent her to the Sisters of Mercy until I could find a family to take her child or a suitable husband, and now, she is gone.”

  He seemed genuinely concerned for his daughter, but perhaps he was upset over his failure to link his family to Ruston’s through marriage. Society had changed since Jack had lived in England. Middle class landowners, merchants, and entrepreneurs had acquired larger sums of money, and prominent members of the aristocracy had brought them into the social fold.

  Common gentlemen of means could marry the daughters of peers if they could afford to replace the family’s dwindling coffers. And if sponsored by a member of the peerage, the daughter of a rich merchant, landowner, physician, or lawyer could be presented at court in the hopes of making a good match—provided an adequate dowry was offered.

  Had Abby left the convent with Sister Mary Daphne to escape marriage to Ruston? Or her father’s wrath? “Did your daughter know Lord Ruston?”

  Halsey swiped at his eyes and glared. “What does that have to do with her disappearance? If you know something, you had best tell me.”

  Jack hesitated. Halsey took a step forward and pulled a small pistol from beneath his frock coat. “Tell me what you know of my daughter or by God, I will blow you to hell and back.”

  A muscle jumped in Jack’s jaw. He disliked being threatened. But Halsey did not know his daughter was married or that Jack was her husband. And Jack did not know if Abby was afraid of her father or if she had lied to protect him. “Put that thing away. I am not here to extort money or otherwise threaten you or your daughter.”

  “Then why are you here?” Halsey steadied his aim. “Who are you?”

  Jack sighed, wishing that for once, he had Quentin’s patience. Maybe then, he could formulate a plausible explanation. Instead, he blurted out a partial truth. “I am Captain Jack Norton, and I have come to tell you your daughter has married a viscount and will be contacting you shortly.”

  The color leached from Halsey’s cheeks. He lowered his arm, the small gun dangling by his side. Jack pried it loose from his fingers and placed it on the counter out of reach.

  “Who?” Halsey’s voice trembled. “When?” He raised his chin, his eyes feverish with fear. “The child?”

  “She had a son. They are both safe. But…” Damn if he had not drifted into a cove with no way out.

  “Where is she?” Halsey demanded.

  Sailing through the treacherous shoals created by his lies was not easy, but he would manage—not as well as Quentin with his smooth tongue—but he would manage. He did not have a choice. He could not let Halsey know who he was until he talked to Abby. After all, Halsey had sent her away. Might he also have bargained with the devil so Ruston would take her off his hands?

  Jack cleared his throat and stretched to his full, lofty height. “At the moment, she is on my ship, waiting for her husband to claim his inheritance.”

  “I am her father! I do not care if she married the Duke of Wellington. She is my daughter, and I will not be kept from her.” Halsey reached for his gun. Jack grabbed his arm.

  “He is not keeping you from her. He is trying to protect her reputation.”

  “That is my job!” Halsey said with a quiver in his voice.

  “It is now her husband’s job.” He let go of Halsey’s arm. “Now, besides the inquiry agent and nuns, who else knows your daughter is missing?”

  “No one.” Halsey shook his head. “Her society friends believe she is visiting relatives in Yorkshire. I spread the tail in case I was unable to procure a husband willing to keep her secret.”

  “And Ruston?”

  Halsey’s shoulders slumped. “Is getting impatient.”

  A stiff smile stretched Jack’s mouth. “Tell Ruston the deal is off. Tell him Abby married the father of her child and has taken a wedding trip.”

  Owlish eyes blinked. “But Drury—”

  “Will never know the child is his.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Abby sighed. Jack had been gone for over a month. If he stayed away much longer, Will would be grown. Already, he was cooing and making the cutest little sounds. He was three months old and had recently discovered his hands and feet. Then yesterday, he rolled from his back to his stomach. And Jack was missing it. Not that he would care. Will was not his “real” son.

  With another sigh, Abby closed and locked the day room door. Then she went into the bedroom and pulled a box out from underneath the bed. Some of the jewelry in the chest Jack had given her was broken, and while shopping with Uncle William in Seile, she had managed to ask Mrs. Gabb to find her some wire snips, tweezers and other small tools she would need to repair some of the pieces.

  “I want to surprise my husband,” she had said to the woman whose name implied a great deal about her. Mrs. Gabb did indeed like to gab about the village inhabitants. “He broke a lovely stick pin that belonged to his grandfather, and I would like to try repairing it myself.”

  Mrs. Gabb had smiled, swearing to keep Abby’s secret, and had somehow found the tools Abby needed. Now, every morning after breakfast and before taking her walk around the deck, Abby pulled out the jewelry box and her tools. What started out as a simple repair turned into a great deal more when she discovered a broken brooch peppere
d with sky blue turquoise from Turkey. The small stones were exquisite. The bulky, misshapen brooch was not. But without a solder, she could only re-cut and re-bend the silver filament wire into a more desirable shape. And the piece was shaping up nicely. So nicely, in fact, it made her homesick.

  She missed sitting in her studio at home designing unique, one of a kind pieces for her father. And she missed hiding in the back room of his shop, working at the jeweler’s bench, putting the finishing touches on her beautiful designs. The back of his shop was always stifling hot from the smelting furnace, but she loved apprenticing under her father. There was something so incredibly rewarding about manipulating molten gold or silver in her hands and seeing her designs come to life.

  It was certainly more rewarding than being a viscountess. But not more rewarding than being a mother.

  She glanced at the cradle beside the bed and smiled. Love for her son filled her with hope. She may never have a chance to design jewelry again, but she had Will. If only she could see her father and introduce him to his grandson. But Jack had abandoned her.

  Since their marriage, he had spent more time away from her than with her, so she had little opportunity to get to know him. But there had been moments when she had glimpsed someone she liked and respected. Then there was that odd, fluttering sensation she got in the pit of her stomach whenever he touched her, no matter how accidentally. And his eyes. What was it about those lion eyes that drew her attention so? She wanted to trust and confide in him, but she was still afraid.

  Tension knotted her shoulders as she bent over the desk and threaded another turquoise bead onto a wire filament. Using the tiny tweezers, she twisted the end of the wire and picked up another bead. With a steady hand, she prepared to thread it onto the silver wire when she heard a metallic click.

  She jumped, dropping the bead. It hit the desk and rolled to the floor.

  Heart pounding in her chest, she turned. Someone was unlocking the door to the day room. She jumped to her feet, scrambling to gather her supplies and hide them in the jewelry chest. The brooch she had been working on fell to the floor. The day room door opened and closed. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor, and a tall figure filled the bedroom door.