Page 22

“I am going precisely the right way.”

“You have not even asked where the nearest jeweller is.”

“I already know where the nearest jeweller is. Or rather, the best one, which is a different question entirely, and the only one worth asking.” He did not slow his pace. “My good friend, William recommended the shop. He had a ring made there for his wife some months back, and spoke rather highly of the man’s work, which is saying something, since William has opinions about very little and voices them even less.”

“You trust his judgement in this?”

“I trust his judgement in most things, though I would not admit that to his face. Ludgate Hill. It is not far.”

Leonora said nothing further, though she noted, privately, that he had answered her question properly for once, with an actual name and an actual reason, rather than simply expecting her to follow him on faith.

They walked the remaining distance in a silence that was not, she noticed, entirely uncomfortable, Anthony’s long stride forcing her to keep a brisker pace than she would have chosen on her own, until he slowed at last before a narrow shopfront wedged between a bookbinder and a glover, its window small and unassuming compared to the grander establishments they had passed further up the street.

“Here we are,” he said.

Leonora studied the shop before following him in. It gave no particular indication of the trade within, no ostentatious display of gold in the window, only a single modest tray of rings arranged with evident care beneath the glass, and a small brass plate above the door polished to a shine that suggested pride rather than vanity.

The shop’s interior was warm and close, with the smell of polish and old velvet. The jeweller looked up at the sound of the bell, and took in the two of them calmly.

“Good afternoon, Your Grace.” He bowed. “How may I be of service?”

“I require a ring,” Anthony said. “My friend, The Duke of Norwyn tells me you did fine work for his wife not long ago.”

“His Grace was most kind to say so.” Something in the jeweller’s manner warmed slightly. “Please, this way.”

He led them to a case near the back, glass gleaming under a hanging lamp, and laid out beneath it were rings enough to outfit half the peerage.

“What precisely am I meant to be assisting with?” Leonora asked, studying the case with more interest than she intended to admit, her eye drawn first to a garnet the color of good burgundy, then to a cluster of seed pearls arranged like a small constellation.

“Choosing a ring.”

“For whom?” she asked. “For Her Grace?”

“Does it matter?”

“It rather determines what I ought to be looking for, Your Grace. A ring for a woman of seventy differs considerably from a ring for a woman of twenty, unless you have developed some entirely novel theory of jewellery that transcends age, in which case I should very much like to hear it, if only so I may laugh at it properly.” She considered the case a moment longer, and arrived at the obvious conclusion. “It is for your grandmother, I expect. Some occasion. Her birthday, perhaps, or an anniversary of your grandfather’s? It helps to know. Then I understand what I am to look out for.”

“It is not for Marian.”

“Then for whom?”

“For you.”

Leonora’s head came up so sharply she nearly struck it against the lamp. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

“I require a ring for my... betrothed,” he said, entirely too evenly for a statement of that size. “My betrothed, as it happens, is currently standing beside me, looking as though I have just proposed something scandalous rather than practical.”

Leonora swallowed, perplexed that his statement had caused her to forget what it was like to breathe. “We are not betrothed, Your Grace. This is just... well, whatever elaborate fiction your grandmother has constructed for her own entertainment. I do not need a ring.”

“Well, my grandmother believes we are. She has believed it since the afternoon you first arrived, and she has since begun asking, with increasing frequency, when I intend to make the arrangement official. I have run out of plausible excuses that do not involve producing a ring.” He said it lightly enough, but there was something beneath the lightness that sounded almost like weariness. “A ring would buy us both some peace, and I confess I am rather tired of inventing reasons why I have not yet knelt in her drawing room.”

“You might simply tell her the truth,” Leonora teased, knowing that it wasn’t an option in that moment.

“I might. I have also considered setting myself on fire, and rejected it for similar reasons.”

She rolled her eyes. “That is a poor comparison, and you know it.”

“Do I? You have not met my grandmother in full possession of a grievance. I have seen the woman reduce a bishop to tears over the seating arrangement at a christening. I do not intend to test what she is capable of when the grievance in question is her own grandson’s marital prospects.”