Her only hope was to escape, and thankfully they were half a block from her door.
“What a lovely way to review this quarter’s earnings, Mr. Hooke,” she said lightly, stepping around a puddle and out of his reach. “It’s never necessary to squire me about, but I do thank you. The meal was very generous.”
The meal had been tepid stew and hard bread in a tavern some two miles from Lumley Street. He’d ordered one tankard of ale and suggested they share it. No pudding. They walked because he’d refused to hire a hackney.
“When can we expect you back in London?” Isobel asked, fishing for her key.Months and months,she wished silently.Please say, “Months and months.”
She was just about to unlock the door when something across the street caught her eye. A thick, hulking presence where there should have been only potted geraniums.
She squinted. Yes, there. A tall smudge that sharpened into a man-shaped density in the dark. She could just make out a wide-brimmed hat, long greatcoat, and heavy boots.
Northumberland.
She sucked in a breath and looked away, fumbling again with the key. If Drummond saw the duke, his jealousy and suspicion would set her back for months. He would restrict her autonomy and question the propriety of her running the shop. The ramifications could be devastating.
But why had the duke come so early? She had an hour, at least, before their rendezvous. She’d rushed through dinner because she’d wanted time between her employer and her—
Andhim.
Drummond hovered over her now like a damp fog. Isobel turned to the door, desperate to keep his attention away from the street.
She let out a little cough. “Forgive me. The pollen in August has always plagued me. You were saying? About your next visit to the city?”
“Nights like this?” mused Drummond. “I can see never going back to Shropshire.”
“Oh, you would miss the countryside surely,” she said to the door. “The city has a way of crowding in, especially for an outdoorsman like yourself.”
“You think me a bumpkin.”
You are an insult to bumpkins, she thought. “Nonsense. I think of you as a gentleman with a fine home in the country.Youmay choose when to subject yourself to the London crush. What a privilege. The best of both worlds, whenever you like.”
She shoved the key into the lock. Hooke was so close behind that his breath fluttered the ribbons on her hat.
“What is the progress of your renovations to Crane Lodge?” she asked, pivoting beside the door. She smiled up. It was hardly prudent to back herself against a wall, but she needed Hooke’s eyesawayfrom the street.
“I could be convinced to show you the new Crane Lodge in person,” Drummond said, “if ever you made the journey to Shropshire...”
“How can I run the agency,” Isobel asked, “if I am in Shropshire? My duty to you and to your late parents, may God rest them, is to be at my desk. Crane Lodge has been remarkably restored, of this I have no doubt.”
Certainly she had no doubt of the bills that crossed her desk. Materials, craftsmen, cherry trees imported from the Far East. But she dared not challenge Drummond’s renovations. The lodge kept him out of London, and the bills kept her in it.
“Surely the shop could spare you for a fortnight,” he cajoled, stepping up.
He put a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in. Isobel blinked, surprised by his boldness. Over Hooke’s shoulder, she saw the duke step from the shadows.
No, no, no, she thought frantically. She made a shooing gesture, low and urgent, with her right hand.
In a calm voice, she said, “The shop cannot spare me. You know this, Mr. Hooke.” It was a lie. Autumnwas their slowest time of year. She’d had plans to leave Samantha in charge and visit her mother in Cornwall next month.
“Isobel?” Drummond said lowly, his tone suddenly conspiratorial.
“Yes?” She searched the opposite sidewalk. Northumberland had disappeared, thank God.
“Isobel?” Drummond repeated.
“Yes?”
“I’ve thought all day about the Duke of Northumberland.”
