“What if he won’t help us?”
Even at age eight, he’d been no fool.
“He will, dear. Although he and I are descended from different branches, we are family, after all. He will do the right thing and allow us to stay in the cottage that is my birthright.” Her voice cracked with desperation. “When he sees we have no one else to turn to, he will help us.”
Conrad had refrained from pointing out that “family” had put them in this situation to begin with. Blood ties were no guarantee of kindness or compassion; his half-brothers had delighted in heaping pain and punishment upon him. Thus, it had come as no surprise when this new relation had listened indifferently to his mama’s tale of woe, refused to honor her deed to the cottage, and had his butler escort them out.
“There’s nothing I can do.” Abel Pearce had spoken in the impatient tones of a busy man who had better things to do. “I’m sure you understand.”
Despite his tender age, Conrad had understood. Completely. His mama, however… His gut churned thinking of how callously Pearce had snuffed his mama’s last hope and broken her spirit.
“Good day to you, sir!”
Shoving aside the memories, Conrad turned and saw a wizened fellow in a bright-green checked overcoat hurrying toward him…hurrying in a relative sense, that was. The old codger leaned heavily on a walking stick, his steps requiring obvious effort. If he were in a race with a snail, Conrad would bet on the mollusk.
“Welcome to Chuddums, sir. I am Wally,” the old fellow announced breathlessly.
Above the red muffler that covered half his wrinkled face, the old man perused him with twinkling black eyes. Conrad had hoped to conduct surveillance incognito, but if this nosy nonagenarian had noticed him, then he’d probably been noticed by other villagers too. Being rude would likely garner more unwanted attention.
“Conrad Godwin, at your service,” he said reluctantly.
“Miss Letty was right.” Wally studied him. “You are a handsome devil with a stubborn jaw.”
So much for incognito. News travels fast in this backwater hamlet.
“May I assist you with something?” he asked.
“You’ve got it turned around, sir.” Wally chortled. “I am here to assist you.”
“I do not require assistance?—”
“Ah, but I can see that you do.” Wally tapped the obelisk with his cane. “For instance, I noticed your interest in the newest addition to our square.”
“It is hard to miss,” Conrad said curtly.
“The monument does command attention, doesn’t it?” Wally agreed. “The erection was spearheaded by our very own Mrs. Pearce. She kept the design hush-hush, and now we must all live with it. Then again, I suppose no one deserves this stiff tribute as much as her husband.”
When Conrad slanted a gaze at the old man, the latter blinked innocently back.
“Now about that tour,” Wally said.
“What tour?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Come along, lad.” Wally tugged him forward with surprising strength. “The delights of Chuddums await you.”
Chapter Seven
Mr. David Duffield—“Duffy” to intimates—poured a cup of tea and set it on the counter in front of Gigi. As the draper, he owned one of the most popular shops in Chuddums. Women from around the county patronized his establishment and not just because of his exquisite taste in fabrics. In his early thirties, Duffy was a dapper blond Adonis, and his current ensemble—a forest-green frock coat, striped waistcoat, and pair of tan trousers—showed off his fit physique. While the ladies secretly, and some not so secretly, swooned over his looks, they also basked in his attention. For Duffy was unfailingly patient and kind, and when one visited his shop, he made one feel like a long-lost friend.
At least, that was how Gigi had felt the first time she’d come in. She and Duffy had hit it off immediately. Being a man of fashion, he was versed in the latest London trends and gossip, and they shared a similar sense of humor and view of the world. Over time, their friendship had deepened, and she’d confided in him about personal matters. He’d done the same with her. Now he was one of her closest friends, and she trusted him with the secret burdens of her heart. Thus, she’d come during the half-hour when he was closed for lunch to seek his counsel. Her maid, Colette, discreetly wandered the aisles, giving Gigi and Duffy privacy to catch up.
“Lord Owen hasn’t left his room?” Duffy’s hazel eyes were warm with empathy.
“No. He was still there when I left.”
Picking up the porcelain cup patterned with cornflowers, Gigi took a glum sip as she looked around the shop. She took comfort in the cozy space, which smelled of newly cut velvet and lemony wood polish. Bolts of fabric were sorted by type and color and beautifully arranged on the walls and along the aisles. Scattered tables allowed Duffy to unroll fabrics for his patrons’ perusal. At the counter where they were seated upon plush, upholstered stools, Duffy kept a pot of tea and plate of biscuits at the ready.
“He didn’t even come out when Ethan went to knock on his door,” she said. “Given what happened between them, that was an act of grace on Ethan’s part.”
