Chapter Seventeen
Amber woke with such happiness that she knew she’d been dreaming. Well, not exactly dreaming since last night had been one of her secret dreams come true. A man had crept into her bedroom and touched her intimately. He had given her such pleasure, and she had been able to explore him in a way she’d only imagined before.
The memories had her flushing and smiling into her pillow. But even as she hugged the sheets tight to her sensitive breasts, she remembered who had been the man of her dreams. Elliott had swept into her life and pulled her from her gray cage into a world of color. Elliott, who wore black and made her feel not only wanted but also understood.
Elliott would never marry her.
Her giddy happiness drained away. Last night had been another dream come true, but today was for serious thoughts. No more fantasies, only reality. Elliott had said that he would take her to Lord Morthan’s country estate tomorrow morning. After that, she would make the brooch, and they would separate. He would have no more need to sponsor her, and she would have no chance to find a respectable husband.
If she meant to secure a future for herself outside of the Lyon’s Den, then she needed to do it today.Today.
She picked up Diana’s crumpled list of men and smoothed it out. She already knew her pick, but went through the list dispassionately anyway. One by one, she reviewed Diana’s notes and her memories. By the time the maid brought her a cup of morning chocolate, Amber had decided on her future.
Mr. Christopher Jupp would do well enough. He was kind and poetic, which matched her own artistic needs. If she could bring him up to scratch, then they would have an acceptable life together. So resolved, she planned her campaign.
Mr. Jupp showed up late for their ride in Hyde Park. He was full of apologies even as he began to talk about the poem he had begun that afternoon. It caused him to lose track of the time and was likely the reason he sported ink stains on his shirtsleeves, but he was also in good cheer. She realized as they walked to his carriage that this would likely be how he appeared throughout their life together. Tardy and with ink stains, but still sporting a smile. She could live with that, especially since she often lost track of time while working.
The carriage was his father’s and smelled of cigars, so when they disembarked at Hyde Park, she lifted her face to the sun and breathed deeply. Unfortunately, the sun was hidden behind clouds. Mr. Jupp was still talking about his poem—this time about his choices in rhyme and meter—and she listened with half an ear as she smiled at several others out for a stroll.
“I’m blathering on again,” he said with an embarrassed cough. “I do apologize.”
“I like the sound of your voice,” she said simply, though it wasn’t quite as deep or resonant as Elliott’s. In fact, his voice wouldn’t wrap around her in the darkness the way Elliott’s could, but that brought her back to her nighttime fantasy and not to the daytime mission.
She shut her mind to daydreams and focused on the here and now. They greeted several people of thetonall decked out in colors bright enough to please Amber. The words they shared were unimportant because half was trite and the other half spiteful. Best to smile prettily and look at the birds. Or mentally criticize the jewelry. That was always fun.
They’d been in the park for twenty minutes when Mr. Jupp leaned down and spoke low into her ear. “I am so sorry for how they are all staring at you. I cannot imagine what Rodney was thinking, mistaking you for that Thisbe girl. He’s generally a good fellow, you know, or at least he was in school. But he’s soured lately, and I am sorry he was such an idiot last night.”
Amber didn’t plan her next words, but once spoken, she didn’t regret them. “He might be an idiot, Mr. Jupp, but he wasn’t wrong.”
He didn’t react at first. He was too busy smiling at a passing couple. But eventually, his step hitched, and he stared down at her. “What did you say?”
She smiled at a group of five who were taking a nearby path, then spoke in a low voice. “Perhaps we could return to the carriage. I would like to show you something.”
He stared at her for a moment longer and then nodded. It took another fifteen minutes to saunter back to the edge of the park, but the carriage was nowhere in sight. Just as well. She steered them past the fashionable lanes and hailed a hackney. He went along without complaint or question, and she wondered if that was also a clue as to her future. Would he always be this docile? There were advantages to an easy-going husband, but it might be exhausting being the one in sole charge of their affairs.
He finally spoke when they were in the dark carriage. His voice was low and angry. “You are Thisbe from the Lyon’s Den?”
“Yes.” She would not begin a marriage with a lie, though she was very aware that this could be the end of her marriage hopes.
“What do you do there?” His voice was harsh. “And how did you get into society?” The second question sounded more like curiosity than anger. She knew the first question was his real focus.
“I am not one of the upstairs ladies like you imagine. Indeed, I am not employed by the Lyon’s Den at all. I work with my father, Mr. Gold.”
“And what do you do for him?”
Now came the harder part, though she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because it was easy to give the name of the Lyon’s Den and be rejected. It was harder to confess she crafted jewelry and have him despise it.
“My art is not one of sketching, Mr. Jupp. I make jewelry. I learned it at my grandfather’s knee when his hands began to shake. And then I surpassed him in skill.”
His brows rose. “Really? That is quite a claim from a woman.”
“Nevertheless, it is true.” She hated that most people did not think women could do much more than cook and sew. Shoes and jewelry were made by men. Bookkeeping and the management of businesses were done by men. And, of course, medicine and the running of the country, all handled by men. Unless it wasn’t. Elizabeth I ruled England for seventy years. Amber loved thinking of that great woman.
Meanwhile, Mr. Jupp was not convinced. “I know nothing of jewelry-making, but I would assume it’s a taxing craft. The shaping of metal would require strength.”
“My father handles most of the metalwork. I design the pieces and sculpt the wax.” She pulled out the lion hairpiece and handed it to him. “I made that. And I have made many more besides.”
He gave the piece a cursory inspection. He was not a man who noticed jewelry, and so, he had no understanding of the excellence he held. She didn’t explain. He wouldn’t understand the finer points of the task. She sat in silence while he turned the lion over and over in his hand. When they arrived at the Lyon’s Den, she took him to the door of her father’s shop and showed him inside.
