The Lord Mayor left, and Daniel wished the man would fall down the stairs.
As easy as he could, he closed the door and forced air in and out of his lungs. The man did this to make him quit. Daniel wasn’t the type, but neither did he want to be taken down in disgrace. Everything the Prince Regent had done, and even Lady Shrewsbury’s faith, would be in tatters. Which is why his anxiety increased about the Widow’s Grace operations.
Just because he didn’t know about them didn’t mean they didn’t happen. He eased into his chair, reminding himself he’d always been careful. He’d always followed the letter of the law and just overlooked things. And Lady Shrewsbury was brilliant. She’d not be caught.
But operatives who injured themselves on roofs were another matter.
Mrs. St. Maur sent another letter. He’d scooped it up this morning at breakfast. Her earlier ones were easily ignored. Daniel had no intention of getting into another argument, or worse, admitting to things about her past that would hurt her.
Yet, how could he not respond to this one?
Finchely House
London, July 12, 1814
Dear Lord Ashbrook,
I thought I needed answers, and I assumed you were the man to help. Alas, you are not.
Sad.
This lowers my esteem for you. A man who loves poetry should be placed in high regard. Why else would I have spent my mornings writing to you every day these past two weeks? I am not one to beg.
If I were it should be for something else, something substantial, like a perfect lime or pomegranate. I decided that I want a pomegranate. I will admit I was in the wrong for slapping you if you were able to procure one for me.
Yes.
That has to be the remedy for us. If you are not able to share your secrets, a pomegranate shall suffice, don’t you think?
I was called away on something, something I’m not supposed to tell you about.
Sorry. Forget that I mentioned anything.
As I return to this letter, I see it sounds particularly harsh. I understand why you would not want to visit. Nonetheless, you do not seem to be a man easily daunted. If you change your mind and come with a pomegranate, I will allow a visit. I promise to be mostly understanding.
Sincerely,
J. St. Maur
Sandlin Court, London
Daniel folded the letter. The absurdity made him laugh, laugh out loud. She was neither harsh, nor mean. Reading the apology line and the request made him chuckle all over again. The tension in his shoulders lessened. He’d be able to face the Lord Mayor in court more at ease because this woman wrote him a ridiculous letter.
Mrs. St. Maur deserved a response and a pomegranate.
CHAPTER 13
JEMINA—VISITINGSUITORS
Another glance out the parlor window of Sandlin Court revealed the same empty Davies Street as five minutes ago. This offshoot of Grosvenor Street was quiet, nerve-rackingly so.
No Ashbrook yet.
His short note saying that he’d visit left me spinning. No explanation of why he ignored my other letters. Yet, I knew this one might do something to stir his inquisitive or protective nature. He might want to check if our impasse had driven me mad.
Well, maybe I was a little otherworldly. I was searching for him when I had a perfectly good suitor here.
“Ma’am,” Mr. Willingham said, “what is out the window? You keep looking.”
