Page 40 of The Work of Art

He’d end up looking like a fool.

It was a distinct possibility, but he didn’t let it deter him from his course.

Once he had the license in hand, Arthur had the coachman drive him to the office of his family’s solicitor, Mr. Ombersley.

Ombersley was knowledgeable on most every matter and was more than happy to conduct a few items of business on Arthur’s behalf, as well as to furnish him with the direction of a clergyman who might be willing to officiate on such short notice, and at so early an hour.

With this information in hand, Arthur proceeded to his next errand.

At each consecutive stop they made, the pattern of their business became clearer, and the coachman was less and less able to hide his astonishment. When Arthur directed him to a jeweler in Bond Street, the normally stoic servant could barely suppress his grin.

Arthur hadn’t been out for such a prolonged period of time in the entirety of his stay in London. He was physically exhausted, but his leg—though painful after the day’s exertions—was causing him nowhere near as much agony as he’d expected. He had a vague idea that all those walks into the park to see Miss Satterthwaite might have effected some minimal improvement.

Nevertheless, he was still in far from ideal condition. If the inducement hadn’t been so great, he’d never have hazarded a visit to Bond Street. The shops were busy at this time of day, and the streets were teeming with carriages, street sellers, and pedestrians. He was almost guaranteed to run into some former acquaintance, or even worse, one of the myriad gossiping tabbies of the ton.

Thankfully, the jeweler wasn’t prohibitively crowded, and as it was an establishment that had been patronized by the Heywood family for many generations, Arthur was at once recognized and promptly attended.

“A wedding band, you say, Captain Heywood?” The proprietor beamed. “Very good, sir.”

Arthur had intended to purchase a plain band of gold. Something dignified and distinctly unromantic. But as he stood at the jeweler’s counter, a flash of fiery brilliance caught his eye, much in the same way that Miss Satterthwaite often did herself.

The canny proprietor followed his gaze, and without a word, brought the item out onto the counter for Arthur to examine. It was a gold ring with five inlaid oval rubies. The band was slender and elegant, etched with an intricate floral pattern. “The stones are flawless, as you can see. And the workmanship is exquisite.”

As Arthur looked at the delicate little ring, he recalled how he’d mistaken Miss Satterthwaite’s glass hairpins for rubies. Quite suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to give her the real thing, and after a short discussion with the jeweler, the purchase was made.

While he waited for it to be wrapped, he scanned the jeweler’s other offerings. There were filigree butterflies with sapphire eyes, ropes of gleaming pearls, and several jewel-encrusted snuffboxes. Amongst the glittery baubles, his eyes lit on a pair of ruby earrings. They weren’t too dissimilar from the ring he’d just bought, and when the proprietor returned with his neatly wrapped purchase, Arthur asked to see them.

While he was standing at the counter being shown the ruby drop earrings, two new customers entered the shop.

“Heywood! This is a dashed coincidence.” Reggie Forsythe’s voice sounded from the doorway.

Arthur turned to acknowledge him. Only then did he see that Forsythe was not alone.

Clinging to his arm was Caroline Eliot.

She was dressed all in white with a fur-trimmed Cossack mantle thrown round her shoulders, and her cropped blonde hair artfully curled under a fashionably garish hat. When she saw him, she fluttered one gloved hand to her mouth in surprise.

“Captain Heywood! Why, it’s been absolutely ages.”

Arthur greeted them both with excruciating civility. Caroline had changed little in the years since he’d last seen her. She was as cold and brittle-looking as he remembered, and her personality seemed no less artificial.

“It’s been six years at least since last we met.” Her dark eyes roved over him. “You must tell me how you’ve been keeping.”

“He’s keeping bloody well, by the look of it.” Forsythe approached the counter. “Buying rubies for some ladylove. Expensive little trinkets these, eh, Heywood? Who is she? Anyone I know?”

Caroline joined them at the counter. She picked up one of the earrings to examine it more closely. “When Forsythe told me he’d seen you at the club, I didn’t believe him. I’d no notion you were even in town. I wish you’d seen fit to call on me.”

“Heywood isn’t in London for the society, m’dear. He’s here on business with Edgar Townsend.” Forsythe leaned against the counter in a manner that would give his stylish suit of clothing the best effect. “By the by, Heywood, why in blazes didn’t you tell me you’d already met Townsend’s Devonshire niece? I had to hear it from Darly. Would’ve been a good bit of information to have before I made my wager.”

“You know, Captain, my conscience has never been easy since last I wrote to you,” Caroline continued, as if Forsythe hadn’t interrupted her. “Why, I’d even considered calling on you myself when I go down to the West Country next month for the Markhams’ house party. That’s how heavily it’s been weighing on my mind.” She affected a grief-stricken expression that was somewhat spoiled when she held one of the earrings experimentally up to her earlobe. “After my husband died… Well, one has regrets, you know.”

“You need have none where I’m concerned.” Arthur shook his head at the proprietor who promptly collected the ruby earrings and put them away.

“Met her myself at the Worthings’ ball,” Forsythe went on. “Danced with her, as well. A work of art indeed. Had I put down a little more, I might be in line to make a pretty packet.”

“Would you like to see anything else, Captain Heywood?” the proprietor asked.

“That will be all.”