Biting her lip to keep from saying that she truly doubted that he did, she bowed her head with a humble nod. She would adapt to this new life that fate, Society, and Eleanor had seen fit to give her. One way or another, she would adapt.
*
“I want somethingoriginal because the lady I am about to marry is beyond compare.” Matthew slid the velvet display box back toward the jeweler. “And I need it today.”
“Today, my lord?” The short, thin man with the longest fingers Matthew had ever seen puckered his mouth as if he had just tasted something extraordinarily tart. He repositioned his wire-rimmed spectacles higher on the bridge of his nose, then drummed his long, spidery fingers on the countertop. “Today is quite short notice for a ring like no other.”
“What a pity, Mr. Eibertson.” Matthew knew exactly how to compel the master jeweler to reveal the items he always held back for the most discriminating of customers. “In my travels, your creations are renowned not only for their beauty but howyou seem to pluck them out of thin air upon the whim of your clients.” He offered the artisan a polite nod and stepped back from the counter. “Thank you for your time, sir. I shall see if Mr. Lewisry can create what I require.”
The reedy little man gasped, and his eyes flared wide with fiery indignance. “I assure you a Lewisry creation does not compare with that of an Eibertson.” He rounded the counter, hurried to the door, and locked it. With a fluttering of his long fingers, he implored Matthew to follow him through a curtained-off archway at the back of the shop. “I just remembered a piece that might meet your requirements, Lord Ravenglass.”
Matthew smiled to himself as he joined the man in his private workroom, which resembled what Matthew imagined a garden of gemstone blooms with gold and silver greenery might look like. “Impressive.”
Mr. Eibertson accepted the compliment with a pleased nod as he unlocked a cabinet and withdrew a black velvet box from its depths. “I assume you are familiar with theregardrings that have become quite common?”
“Regard rings?”
“Yes. Some call themdearestrings.” The craftsman lit another oil lamp and motioned Matthew closer. “Acrostic rings where the first letters of the gemstone’s names spellregard: ruby, emerald, garnet, amethyst, ruby, and diamond.” He lifted the lid of the small ring box and proudly turned it to face Matthew. “In my opinion, the wordregardfeels aloof. Informal. If one is yourdearest, then why should you water down the sentiment toregard? I give you the Eibertsondearestring. The only one of its kind.”
The arrangement of gemstones, faceted and polished to create the utmost sparkle, was exactly what Matthew wanted. “Diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire, and topaz. Set in a gold band. Exquisite, Mr. Eibertson, except forone thing.” He pulled the ring from its velvet pillow and handed it to the jeweler. “I would like the wordtrustengraved inside the band.”
With an avaricious smile, the artisan took the ring and the lamp and moved to a workbench beside the counter. He donned a pair of glasses with thicker lenses and selected a burin, a hardened steel spire with a handle, from his rack of tools. After what appeared to be an entirely inadequate amount of time, he returned to Matthew and handed him the ring to inspect. “Will that do, my lord?”
The wordTrustnow lived on the inside of the widest portion of the band, inscribed in a delicate script. “Mr. Eibertson, this ring shall become a Ravenglass family heirloom passed down through many generations.”
The jeweler bowed. “I am honored, my lord.”
Matthew took out his wallet and placed banknotes on the counter until the jeweler nodded for him to stop. Well pleased with his purchase, he secured the beribboned velvet box deep inside his pocket. “Thank you, Mr. Eibertson. You have been most helpful.”
“Congratulations, my lord, on your upcoming nuptials. May you be blessed with years of prosperity and happiness.”
Prosperity and happiness,Matthew repeated to himself as he exited the shop and returned to his carriage. He was not so much concerned about prosperity as he was happiness. Fortuity’s request for a marriage in name only had stunned him, but the more he thought about it, the more he understood her motive. She feared he would resent her for forcing him into something he had sworn he would never do. But she had not forced his hand. Eleanor had. And that was hardly the point now, because this twist of fate had given him the shove he needed to admit that he had feelings for Fortuity, feelings that went far beyond friendship.
But she wouldn’t believe him now. Not when he’d sworn to all and sundry that they would never be anything more than friends, and had so poorly tied his own tongue when attempting to explain how he truly felt when they had met again that day in the library.
“I am such a bloody fool.” He scrubbed a hand across his mouth, then rested his hand on the pocket bulging with the ring box. This was a start in reparations—the first onslaught in his war to win Fortuity’s trust, earn her forgiveness, and convince her he would cherish her heart for all time, if only she could find the courage to entrust him with it.
Chapter Eight
Matthew stared outthe window at the blustery spring afternoon but kept his senses locked on the hallway behind him. He strained to hear approaching footsteps. The Broadmere butler had gone to fetch Fortuity and probably one of her sisters, although the need for a chaperone seemed silly at this point, since they would marry within days. With the special license already in hand, Fortuity had but to tell him which particular day she preferred. After all, a lady needed a little time to prepare not only for her wedding but moving her things to her new home.
He had come straight from the jeweler’s, too eager to see what Fortuity thought of the ring to wait another day. He prayed she would love it, but more importantly, he hoped it would create the first of many cracks in the protective wall she had built around her heart.
The brisk and light tapping of approaching footsteps down the hallway made him smile. It was but one set of delicate feet. Fortuity came to him alone. Good. He turned toward the doorway just as she swept into the room.
“Lord Ravenglass.” She dipped a formal curtsy, then, with a strained politeness that was most disconcerting, directed him to the settee and chairs in front of the hearth.
He sidled his way over to the seating area but remained standing. An aching sense of something akin to homesickness filled him, a longing for things to be as they once were whenhe was too great of a fool to appreciate them. He missed her infectious smile, her lighthearted laugh, and the easiness that always ran between them like the quiet waters of a peaceful stream. Her hopeless melancholy weighed heavy on his conscience. “What have I done now?”
“Done?” She cocked her head, reminding him of Ignatius the pug’s reaction whenever someone spoke to him.
“I can always tell whenever I have displeased you because you address me as Lord Ravenglass rather than Matthew.”
She lowered her gaze and rubbed her forehead as if her head ached. “You have not displeased me, my lord. Life has.”
He crossed over to her, took her gently by the hand, and led her to the settee. “I know, my little wren, and I am truly sorry.” With a nod at the seat, then a glance at the open parlor doors, he asked, “Would you sit with me? I have something for you.”
Rather than appear pleased at the thought of receiving a gift, she looked even more pained—in fact, almost horrified—as they took a seat. “That is very kind, but I…I have no need of anything.” She barely shook her head. “Truly, I don’t.”
