Regency Surrender: Passion And Rebellion. Louise Allen

lit up again and she skipped ahead of them to a shop she must have already noted, so swiftly did she make for it.

      The adults followed more slowly, glancing into all the windows as they went past.

      Until they came to a shop that sold all kinds of supplies for artists, at which point Amethyst’s feet drifted to a halt. Did Harcourt buy his supplies here? Or perhaps, given the preponderance of tourists milling about, he would frequent somewhere cheaper, known only to locals. Although the money she’d given him for that quick portrait would ensure he could buy the best, for some time to come.

      She frowned. She didn’t like the way her mind kept returning to Harcourt. It was a problem she’d struggled with for years. Every time his name appeared in one of the scandal sheets, all the old hurts would rise up and give her an uncomfortable few days. It was too bad he’d had to flee to Paris, of all places, when London grew too hot for him.

      She heard Sophie laugh and turned to see that the rest of her party were going into the toyshop already. She chastised herself for standing there peering intently into the dim interior of the artist’s supplier. She’d actually been trying to see if she could make out the identity of any of the customers. There was no reason he would be there, just because she was.

      Sighing, she tore herself away from the window and moved on to the next shop, which was a jeweller’s. Once more her feet ruled her head, coming to a halt without her conscious volition. As her eyes roved over the beautiful little trinkets set out on display, she heard her aunt’s voice, sneering that women who adorned themselves with such fripperies only did so to attract the attention of men, or to show off to other women how much wealth they had.

      ‘Wouldn’t catch me dead wasting my hard-earned money on such vulgar nonsense.’

      She bit her lower lip as she silently retorted that it might very well be vulgar to wear too much jewellery, but surely it wouldn’t hurt to own just a little?

      Her eyes snagged on a rope of pearls, draped over a bed of black silk. She’d worn a string just like it, for the few short weeks her Season had lasted. She’d been so happy when her mother had clasped them round her neck. She’d felt as if she was on the verge of something wonderful. The wearing of her mother’s pearls signified the transition from girlhood into adulthood.

      Something inside her twisted painfully as she remembered the day she’d taken them off for the last time. They’d gone back in their box when her mother had brought her home from London and she hadn’t seen them again for years.

      Two years, to be precise. And then they’d been round Ruby’s neck.

      And her mother had been smiling at Ruby and looking proud of her as she’d walked down the aisle on her father’s arm to marry a wealthy tea-merchant she’d met at a local assembly. They hadn’t even had to splash out for a London Season for Ruby. No, she’d managed to get a husband with far greater economy and much less fuss. And she therefore deserved the pearls.

      Amethyst might not have minded so much if any of her sisters had spoken to her that day. But it was clear they’d been given orders not to do more than give her a nod of acknowledgement. She’d pinned such hopes on Ruby’s wedding. She’d thought the fact her parents had sent her an invitation meant that she was forgiven, that they were going to let bygones be bygones.

      No such thing. It had all been about rubbing her nose in it. Ruby was the good daughter. She was the black sheep. Ruby deserved the pearls and the smiles, and the bouquet and the lavish wedding breakfast.

      Amethyst didn’t even warrant an enquiry after her health.

      She dug into her reticule, fished out a handkerchief and blew her nose. That was ages ago. She didn’t care what her parents thought of her any more. They’d been so wrong, on so many counts. Why should she stand here wasting time even thinking about them, when they probably never spared her a second thought?

      And then somehow, before she even knew she’d intended any such thing, her militant feet had carried her into the shop and over to a counter. Her mother had decided she didn’t deserve the pearls. And her aunt had held the opinion that wanting such things was vulgar anyway. But neither her aunt nor her mother was in charge of her life, or her fortune, any longer. If she wanted to drape herself with pearls, or even diamonds, she had every right to do so. Why shouldn’t she buy something for the sheer fun of splashing out her money on something that just about everyone in her past would have disapproved of?

      The shop was a veritable treasure trove of the most beautiful little ornaments she had ever seen. One object in particular caught her eye: a skillfully crafted ebony hair comb, which was set with a crescent of diamonds. Or possibly crystals. Since she had so little experience of such things, there was no way she would ever be able to discern whether those bright little chips of liquid fire were genuine or paste.

      But whatever it was, she wanted it. It wasn’t as if it was a completely useless ornament, like a rope of pearls would have been. Besides, she sniffed, she didn’t want to buy something that would remind her of such a painful episode in her past.

      She glanced warily at the man presiding over the shop, who was watching her with a calculating eye. For one fleeting moment she wished she had Monsieur Le Brun at her side. He wouldn’t let a shopkeeper chouse him. With that cynical eye and world-weary manner he would put the man in his place in an instant.

      She shook the feeling off. She could manage this herself. She might have no experience with jewels, but she had plenty with people. Aunt Georgie had taught her how to spot a liar at twenty paces. She wouldn’t let him dupe her into paying more than she decided the item was worth.

      She took a deep breath and asked how much the comb cost.

      ‘Madame does realise that these are diamonds?’

      She couldn’t help bristling with annoyance. Why did Frenchmen persist in addressing her as madame? It made her feel so...old. And dowdy.

      And all the more determined to dress a little better.

      So she nodded, trying to look insouciant, and braced herself to hear they cost an exorbitant amount, only to suck in a sharp, shocked breath when he quoted her a sum that sounded incredibly reasonable.

      Which meant that they couldn’t possibly be real diamonds. He was trying to trick her.

      Like all men, he assumed she must be too stupid to notice. Her eyes narrowed. She stood a little straighter, but was prevented from saying anything when the door burst open and Harcourt strode in.

      ‘I had almost given up hope of catching you alone,’ he said, taking hold of her arm. Somehow she found him drawing her away from the counter and into the darker recesses of the shop, away from the window.

      She ought not to have let him do any such thing. But then she wasn’t in the mood for doing as she ought today.

      Besides, there was something in his eyes that intrigued her. It wasn’t the anger he’d displayed during their previous two encounters. It was something that looked very much like...desperation. And his words made it sound as though he’d been following her. Seeking an opportunity to speak to her alone. After the Frenchman’s attitude, she could help being just a little bit flattered.

      ‘When last we met, I should have said...that is...dammit!’ He ran his fingers through his hair, leaving furrows in the thick, unruly mass.

      My goodness, but he was worked up. Over her.

      ‘I can’t stop thinking about you. I am in torment, knowing you are here, in Paris, so near and yet so...out of reach.’

      A warm glow of feminine satisfaction spread through her, almost breaking out in the form of a smile. Almost, but not quite. She just about had the presence of mind to keep her face expressionless.

      She hoped.

      ‘Would you consider leaving your Frenchman?’

      Well, that put paid to looking cool, calm and poised. She felt her jaw drop, her eyes widen.

      She managed to put everything