Hearing Henry select a stone rather than having someone else suggest one should fill her with happiness. After all, shewas the one currently instructing him on matters of love, friendship, and marriage, and his newfound efforts indicated he was actually thinking about his future bride.
“What an exquisite choice, Your Grace…the emerald denotes eternal love, wisdom, and fertility…”
It was on the tip of her bitter-tasting, petty tongue to point out Henry only cared about the latter from his bride.
“Well, my lady…”
Fleur jumped.
“I am afraid the signet has significant wear.” Mr. Rundell set his instruments down.
“The quality and intricate craftsmanship of the crest suggest it belongs to a man of considerable wealth and power.”
“Are you able to tell me his identity?” Her voice emerged husky to her own ears.
“I am.”
Why did her heart leap and not fall?
“I must complete a mold from wax. From that, I can consultDebrett’sand compare to…”
While he explained the process, Fleur wandered over to the threshold where Mr. Rundell’s office met the showroom.
“…perhaps a sapphire setting, Your Grace…?”
“A sapphire would be a perfect stone for the future Duchess of Hartwell,” Mr. Rundell rightly declared. “It denotes truth and innocence.
“And mystery,” she whispered silently to herself. He had forgotten mystery. Or rather, the young jeweler had wisely omitted it. Everyone knew the duke would never marry a lady cloaked in mystery. A woman who, say, snuck out and gave herself to a stranger at Lord and Lady Rutland’s masquerade.
Yes, a sapphire would be perfect for Henry’s betrothed. She’d have impeccable lineage and come to him pure and likely blushing and giggling.
The flecks of dust in Mr. Rundell’s office stung her eyes, and she blinked to rid herself of the burn. Such an illustrious shopreallyshould not have this much dust.
Somehow, as the far kinder than he appeared on the outside silversmith stood, and Fleur followed suit, she managed a smile.
After coordinating the details of her return, Mr. Rundell all but ran from the shop.
Fleur idly made her way from the workspace and back to the main floor.
Soon, she would have a name and would learn the identity of her mystery man. Nothing should make her happier. Henry’s newfound effort and thought he put into his future bride’s betrothal ring meant he genuinely thought about the woman. All around a fabulous day.
Utterly fabulous.
Bloody fabulous.
Fleur found herself suddenly overcome with a bone-weary exhaustion.
Henry’s booming shout startled her from her foggy head. “I thought you were helping me.”
“From what I heard, you appear to have it all under control, Your Grace.” Her voice came out far too testily. A product of her fatigue, she told herself.
“Naturally,” he drawled. “I intended to show you my selection.”
It was done. He had found the one. They had both gotten what they had come for, which meant Fleur would be free of this place the sooner she looked his ring over.
Filled with a renewed burst of energy, Fleur quickened to join him. Every spare corner of the counter was filled with various rings, ornate settings, simple ones. Emeralds. Topaz. Blue sapphires. Pink ones, yellow ones, and every shade between pink and magenta.
And then her gaze landed on one—the one. Her breath caught. Her heart stopped. Warmth penetrated into her very soul.
