Page 34 of Redemption of a Marquess

“I was hoping to purchase a table for Lord Northington,” Jeanine said

The man frowned. “The Marquess of Northington?”

She nodded. “But it seems you don’t have what I want.”

The shopkeeper drew himself up. “My shop carries only the highest quality furniture. Perhaps something on Glenmore Street would be more to your taste.”

“Miss Matheson is the Marquess of Northington’s ward,” Miss Stone said. “She does not shop on Glenmore Street.”

The man frowned. “I hadn’t heard he took a ward.”

“He has,” Miss Stone said in a chilly voice. “In fact, he’s throwing a ball in her honor this very evening.”

The man’s head snapped in Jeanine’s direction.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Perhaps you would like to come.”

His eyes widened.

“I’m not certain his lordship would be pleased,” Miss Stone said.

“He said I could invite guests,” Jeanine said.

“He said you could invite friends from Lady Paddington’s School for Young Ladies,” Miss Stone pointed out.

Jeanine waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, pooh. It makes no difference.” She smiled at the shopkeeper. “Surely, you would like to come? You know where we live, of course.”

The man remained mute, but shook his head.

“Never mind,” she said. “I can write it down for you. Oh, it is a shame you don’t have a game table. You see, he had a game table, but it was broken, and it is my fault because Mrs. McPhee and the deliveryman got into a row.”

“A row?” the man repeated.

She nodded. “Mrs. McPhee was angry with the deliveryman because she was certain he was trying to cheat Grey. I like Mrs. McPhee, but I think it was just a mistake. The deliveryman delivered too many vegetables--according to Mrs. McPhee, you understand. Gr-er, his lordship said he didn’t think they were enough vegetables. They had a terrible disagreement and Mrs. McPhee punched him in the jaw.”

“Punched him in the jaw?” the man mimicked.

“Exactly,” Jeanine said. “Mrs. McPhee uses her right hand to knead dough, which means she is very strong. I think that is very fortunate, for a woman must be able to defend herself. Don’t you agree?” She smiled before he could answer, and added, “Of course you do. When Mrs. McPhee punched the deliveryman, he crashed into the marquess’s game table. So, if not for the fact that he was throwing this party in my honor, the deliveryman would never have come, and he and Mrs. McPhee would never have been fighting, and the table wouldn’t have been broken. That makes it my fault. He didn’t complain—the marquess, I mean—but he wouldn’t, for his manners are too good.” She slanted a glance at Miss Stone. “Isn’t that so, Miss Stone?”

“Indeed, it is,” she replied.

“There you are,” Jeanine said. “The table was a very nice table, so it is only fair I should replace it.” She sighed. “I do wish you had one.”

The shopkeeper blinked. “But I do have one.”

“You do?” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

The man looked helplessly at Miss Stone, who shrugged. He sighed in obvious resignation and said, “If you will follow me, please,” then turned.

He led them through the curtained door into a large storeroom crammed full of furniture. They weaved through the cramped rows and she spotted the game table beside a hideous green divan. When they reached the table, Jeanine knew it was exactly what she’d been looking for. The black and white checkered marble top was flawless. The dark wood, cherrywood, she guessed, perfectly complemented the marble. A drawer on the left side might hold cards and chess pieces while a lower shelf provided extra storage.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “Do you like it, Miss Stone?”

“I believe his lordship will be very pleased,” she said.

Jeanine looked at the shopkeeper. “Can you deliver it today, please?”

“Today? I would have to get a deliveryman.”

Jeanine laughed. “Just be careful to bring only the table, or Mrs. McPhee is liable to punch him.” The man’s eyes widened, and Jeanine added, “No need to worry. I’ll make sure she understands the table is to be delivered. Please say you can do it today. It would be a great favor, as the ball is this evening and I so want to surprise him beforehand. I must give you the address. That way you will know where to come to the party tonight.”

“I am certain the Marquess of Northington would not include me on his guest list,” the shopkeeper said.

“Why not? The party begins at eight. No one arrives at eight, I think—if they want to be fashionable, that is. But, of course, you know that.” She smiled again and wondered why the shopkeeper had gone pale.