She looked pleased by the notion. “In that case, here’s my next command: Would you be a dear and humor my sister by sending for the license?”
“I will. Though I hope you won’t raise your hopes too much, in case there’s been some delay.”
“La,” she said, tossing her hair, “if we have to postpone it won’t be the first time.”
Though he knew she spoke in jest, her words still touched a nerve. The thought of disappointing her again made him grind his teeth. Draining the last of his eggnog and plonking down the mug, he resolved to do everything in his power to see this wedding through.
Starting now.
“I’ll bid you good night,” he said, taking Claire’s hands, “and be off to find my coachman.” Though he wasn’t superstitious, he was mentally crossing his fingers. “You should get some sleep. Oh, we almost forgot about the ring! I must send along a note to authorize my butler’s opening the lockbox. That’s easily done, at any rate.” He brushed a kiss over her knuckles before turning to go. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
“Jonathan,” she called after him, “about the ring…”
He looked back to her. “Yes?”
“I—” She glanced away, twisting a pearl ring on her finger. “Well, you know how very particular I am about jewelry, being as I am a jeweler, and all.”
He crossed his arms. “I do.”
“And I adore your grandmother’s ring! It’s lovely, and the family association is so special.”
“I’m glad.” He waited.
She bit her lip. “It’s just that—um, the diamonds are a…an old-fashioned rose cut—a-and the design—it’s not quite got the—um?—”
“You hate it.”
“Yes, I hate it!” She hid her face in her hands. “I’m so sorry! How dreadful am I? It’s just not at all suited to my taste—though I’m sure it looked wonderful on your grandmother!—and well, the setting is really not?—”
“Claire, stop!” Laughing heartily, he tugged on her wrists. “It’s all right. I don’t care what ring you wear, as long as you love wearing it. If you should like me to buy a replacement—or if you’d prefer to make one yourself—I’ll have not the slightest objection.”
“Actually...I’ve already made something.”
“Oh?” He raised a brow. “When did you have time for that?”
“In February,” she mumbled.
“Feb—? Oh, right! You spent January in bed,” he recalled, thinking back on their dinner conversation, “and February in your workshop. But you didn’t say what you were making in there! May I see it?”
“Yes, of course.” Bidding goodnight to the handful of remaining revelers, she lead him from the drawing room and down a long corridor, passing by the kitchen stores to enter her workshop.
It was a spare room furnished with two large workbenches—one covered with the in-progress works of Elizabeth’s floral art, the other with Claire’s jewelry-making things—and myriad shelves stacked with supplies for a dozen other feminine crafts, all of which the Greystone ladies excelled at.
“Happy Christmas, Kippers,” Jonathan said, petting the tabby curled up on a stool by the door.
“Here it is.” Looking self-conscious, Claire placed a ring on his outstretched palm.
Jonathan raised it to eye level for a close examination. A line of oval gemstones marched across the slender gold band, trimmed with astonishingly detailed and delicate gold-work, which Jonathan recognized as filigree (having learned all about such things from Claire last year). He gave a low whistle.
She smiled. “Does that mean you approve?”
“Wholeheartedly,” he said in reverent tones. “Makes Granny’s boring old ring look like a rusty screw-nut.”
“Jonathan!” She cuffed him on the shoulder.
“It does, though! I’ll never understand how you can make such teeny little designs—no, don’t explain it to me again!” he added quickly over her indrawn breath. “I just mean that you’re incredibly talented.”
She blushed prettily. “Thank you.”
