Читать книгу The Illegitimate Montague - Sarah Mallory - Страница 11

‘And there’s another two customers have closed their accounts.’

Frederick’s tone was as dismal as the gloom at the back of the shop. Amber rubbed a hand across her eyes.

‘They live near Hatherton, Fred. I am not surprised that they prefer to buy their cloth from Matthew Parwich.’

‘And what about Mrs Finch, when you tell her the block-printed cotton she ordered is ruined?’

Amber drew a breath, fighting back her anger.

‘It is not ruined, Fred, it has a few watermarks where it was dumped in the river. I will see how it looks once the washerwoman has done with it, and offer it to Mrs Finch at a reduced rate.’

It would wipe out any profit she had hoped to make, but if her customer was satisfied, then that was all she could hope for.

‘And then there’s the cloth for Castonbury Park—’

‘Most of that was undamaged.’ Her hold on her temper was slipping and she waved her hand at her clerk. ‘I will finish going through the order book, Fred. Please go and fetch a taper to light the lamps, or our customers will not be able to find their way in.’

She waited until he had left the room, then dropped her head in her hands.

Poor Fred, he was worried about the business, but he had a propensity to gloom and it would do no good to let him see her own anxiety. The attack yesterday must have shaken her more than she thought, for she was not usually so low. The tinkle of the shop doorbell brought her to her feet in an instant, the order book laid aside. Two young men entered. Their clothing was rough, and there was a certain swagger about them that immediately made her wary, especially with the daylight fading. She greeted them as she would any other potential customer, but remained behind the counter.

‘We wants some ribbons,’ said the taller one, looking about him with an insolence that made her want to order him from the premises.

‘Aye,’ sniggered the second, a spotty youth with ginger hair, ‘for our lady-loves.’

‘They are all there, by the window.’ She pointed to the display, the colours glowing in the last rays of the setting sun.

The young men walked across to the window.

‘Just these?’ The ginger-haired youth sniffed. ‘We came all the way from Hatherton and this is all you got? That ain’t good enough.’

‘Then I suggest you go back to Hatherton and buy your ribbons there,’ she retorted. She wished Fred would hurry up and return.

The taller of the two approached her.

‘Now that ain’t very good business talk, is it? What about this piece here?’ He picked up a length of scarlet ribbon from the counter and held it up. He pointed behind her. ‘And we’ll take a look in those drawers back there—’

He broke off as the bell tinkled again and Amber looked past him. She could not prevent the smile of relief at the sight of Adam Stratton in the doorway.

His quick gaze summed up the situation instantly and he stepped up, eyeing the two youths as he drew off his gloves.

‘Good day, Mrs Hall. You have customers, I see. Pray do not fret over me. I shall amuse myself while you deal with them.’

‘We was just going, wasn’t we, Tom?’ The ginger-haired youth began to sidle towards the door.

‘Aye, we are—’

‘Just a moment!’

The authority in Adam’s voice brought both men to a halt. Adam pointed to the ribbon on the counter. ‘You were going to buy that, I think?’

Amber held her breath. The lanky youth looked as if he wanted to deny it, but the silky menace in Adam’s tone was unmistakable. She saw the young man swallow and look at his companion, but there was no support there.

‘Um, well, I—’

‘That particular ribbon is one of the most popular,’ said Amber. ‘It would delight any young lady.’ She added kindly, ‘Since it is the last of the roll you can have it for tuppence.’

‘A bargain,’ agreed Adam, his eyes like steel, despite his smile. ‘Well, sir?’

The lad swallowed again, dug into his pocket and pulled out two coins.

‘A-all right,’ he stammered. ‘There you are.’

He slammed the coins down on the counter, picked up the ribbon and lounged out of the shop, his companion hot on his heels. Adam followed them to the door and watched them hurry away before turning back to face Amber.

‘I hope those two are not typical of your customers.’

‘Thankfully, no.’ She tried to speak normally.

‘I arrived just in time, I think.’

She raised her chin.

‘I am grateful, naturally, but I was never in any danger.’ His sceptical look told her he thought differently. She reached beneath the counter and pulled out an elegant pistol. ‘I am prepared for these occasions.’

He raised his brows.

‘Of course, I had forgotten. Having seen you in action, madam, I can believe it! However, I think it could prove, ah, vastly inconvenient to have dead bodies littering your premises.’

She laughed at that, saying as she carefully stowed the pistol away again, ‘It would indeed.’

‘But, to be serious, madam, who were those young ruffians? Are they local men?’

‘No, I have not seen them before. They said they had come from Hatherton.’

‘A long way to come for a length of ribbon.’

She shrugged. ‘Mayhap they are visiting someone here.’

‘How long have you felt it necessary to keep a loaded pistol in your shop? No, don’t tell me,’ he continued, noting her hesitation. ‘Only since your competitor began making … overtures, am I right?’

She eyed him frostily.

‘How I protect myself and my property is not your concern, sir!’

Oh, but how I wish it could be!

Amber was shaken by the thought. Immediately she stifled it. This was dangerous territory and she must draw back. She summoned up a smile.

‘Pray, let us not argue, Mr Stratton.’ She clasped her hands together and directed a polite look of enquiry up at him. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

‘I thought you could tell me where I might buy a coat.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes. I am staying in Castonbury for a while and I really think this one a little too shabby, don’t you?’

The amusement in his voice, the slight, upward curve of his lips, set the butterflies loose in her stomach again. She forgot all about her unwelcome visitors and for a moment she could only gaze up at him, marvelling at how blue his eyes were, how they glinted when he smiled at her.

‘I heard the bell—’ Frederick came hurrying back into the room, a lighted taper clasped in one hand. He stopped when he saw Adam and gave him a nod of recognition.

The spell was broken and Amber was quite put out.

‘Yes, well, you are a little late, Fred,’ she retorted acidly. She closed her lips, composed herself and said quietly, ‘Since you have the taper, perhaps you will light the lamps now?’ She turned back to Adam, trying to think rationally. He was only another customer, after all.

‘I require a coat,’ he prompted her.

She cleared her throat.

‘Well, fashionable gentlemen such as Sir Nathan Samuelson would go to Buxton, but there is Mr Leitman, who is a perfectly good tailor and lives here in Castonbury.’

‘Your local tailor will suit me very well.’

He placed his hands on the counter. She gazed down at those long, tapering fingers, remembering the pleasure they had given her.

‘Then …’ She struggled to bring her disordered thoughts under control—and her voice, too, which had suddenly become very husky. ‘Then I would be happy to furnish you with the cloth you need.’

‘Excellent. What fabric do you have?’

Amber hesitated. Over the years she had become adept at assessing her customers, but she could not be sure about Adam Stratton. Thinking back to their discussions, he had told her he had been a sailor, and he had a house for his mother, but that did not necessarily mean he was a wealthy man. His coat was well-cut but tailored for comfort rather than fashion. His shirt and neck cloth were of the finest linen; she remembered the feel of them when she had hung them over the bush to dry. The thought of their time together in the woods brought the heat flaming to her cheeks again. It weakened her knees and she was obliged to clutch at the counter for support.

‘If it is a workaday coat you require, sir, I have a selection of wools and worsted, then there is a silk and wool mixture, or the superfine, if you wish for something better… .’

‘An everyday coat is all I require.’

‘Very well. Frederick, perhaps you will fetch down the—’

‘No.’ He held up his hand as Frederick ran to bring the steps to the front shelves. ‘It is too dark now to see the colours clearly. I will come back in the morning. Perhaps you will have a selection ready for me to see in the daylight?’

He lifted his hat, turned on his heel and departed. Amber watched him go. She felt very odd, as if she had been buffeted by a wild and unexpected storm.

‘Hmph.’ Frederick replaced the steps in the corner of the shop. ‘It seems to me he could have saved himself a journey and just called upon you tomorrow.’

‘Perhaps he just wanted to make sure we could supply him.’

She stared out through the window, watching as he hoisted himself into the saddle, turned the large grey horse and rode off. Perhaps he wanted her to know he was not leaving.

A sleepless night followed. Amber had spent all day trying to forget Adam Stratton. She convinced herself that the attack upon her wagon had made her restless, had disordered her senses and she had played the damsel in distress to Adam’s gallant knight. Then he had come into her shop, sent those rough youths away and sent her into another dizzy spin!

In vain did she argue that the entry of any gentleman would have resolved the situation and persuaded the boys to leave, but she knew that no one else would have caused such a bolt of pleasure to shoot through her. She had been overjoyed to see him, and now she was appalled by her reaction.

Never before had a man affected her in this way. Many had tried to woo her—after all, she owned a lucrative business—but she had no desire to share her hard-won wealth or her bed with any of them. Now, at seven-and-twenty, she considered herself to be beyond the age of love. What she felt for Adam must be infatuation. She had observed it in others, including her own father. He had become besotted by a beautiful young woman and had made a complete fool of himself, installing her in a house in Hatherton, showering her with gifts and neglecting both Amber and his business while he followed the young beauty around like a lovesick puppy. At last, when the young woman had left the area, taking with her a good portion of John Ripley’s fortune, he had begged Amber’s forgiveness, telling her how very lonely he had been since her mother’s death.

Amber had forgiven him, but she could never forget how close they had come to losing everything—only her timely marriage to Bernard Hall had secured the extra funding the business needed to continue, but at what a cost. It had taken all her strength to survive her marriage, and Bernard’s early death had been a relief. She had then been able to advise her father on the best way to progress, rebuilding Ripley and Hall into a thriving business. Since his death she had controlled her own fortune, made her own decisions, and that was the way she wanted it to remain. She would never allow anyone to have power over her again.

Adam returned from Castonbury to find the lodge swept out and the bed made up. A search of the outhouses uncovered a good supply of logs and a little coal, so he was able to build up a cheerful fire, which he left burning while he rode off to dine with his mother. He reached the Castonbury stables just as another rider was dismounting from a huge black horse. Adam recognised the tall, dark-haired figure immediately as Giles Montague and touched his hat.

‘Your servant, my lord.’

Giles scowled up at him.

‘Mighty formal all of a sudden, Stratton. That’s not the form of address I expect from a man I’ve known all my life!’

Adam grinned, reassured by the other’s curt greeting. He slid easily to the ground and handed Bosun’s reins to a waiting stable boy.

‘I was not certain of my reception.’

‘Quite right,’ said Giles, the gleam in his grey eyes belying his scowl. ‘Ten years without a word to anyone. You should be flogged!’

‘I agree with you, and I beg your pardon,’ said Adam, as they walked out of the yard together. ‘I should have kept in touch.’

‘That is nothing to me, I have never been one for letter-writing either, but I know your mother felt your loss deeply. Are you here to visit her?’

‘Yes, I am joining her for dinner.’

‘Hah! The prodigal returns so the fatted calf must be slaughtered, am I right?’

‘No, no, it is merely mutton stew, I believe,’ returned Adam mildly.