His Wicked Smile Read online

  Drinking alone sounded like the best approach to the evening, but a waiter suggested a tea tray, given the early hour and he agreed, because they used Redcake’s products thanks to Lord Judah’s membership. He had just finished a delicious little lemon cake that nonetheless tasted like sawdust to him, when the man himself appeared.

  Lord Judah’s long body dropped into the chair opposite him. “You are here early.”

  “So are you.” He blinked, wishing the unsteady feeling would leave his head.

  “It’s after five,” the Redcake’s manager said. “I didn’t have any late meetings.”

  Gawain straightened and pulled the patch off his bad eye again. The bloody thing itched like the devil. Lord Judah, an old soldier, didn’t react to the scars.

  “Eye bothering you?”

  A note of honed anger crept into his voice. “Not as much as learning that Ann had lost her position at Redcake’s. Did you know that?”

  Lord Judah shook his head. “Magdalene had a bad cough and went to Cornwall for a couple of weeks with her cousin, Lady Bricker. They both needed fresh air. I must have been traveling when it occurred.”

  “You don’t see employee reports?”

  “Nothing so specific as who has been let go. I’ll tell my secretary to modify my reports in future to give me more detail. What happened?”

  Gawain repeated what he had been told.

  His friend frowned. “I should have been told that a duchess had been shouted at, at the very least. That could destroy our business if she spoke against us to her friends.”

  Gawain clenched the handle of his teacup, tilting the cup until it dripped on his fingers. Who cared about the bloody duchess? “Has there been any trouble?”

  “No, none whatever.”

  “I’d like to think her ladyship felt ashamed of herself.”

  “Do duchesses feel shame?” Lord Judah grinned. “I think not. But I’d be happy to give Ann her job back, if she’s willing to never shout at a customer again. I cannot control the prejudices of customers, but with a little common sense, such scenes ought to be avoidable.”

  “Thank you.” He wondered if Ann would refuse to marry him now that she had employment again, but she could always return to Leeds and work at the inn. Employment wasn’t really the issue for her, nor was money, when he would give her anything she needed, marriage or not. No, she had decided marriage was a safer institution for her than Redcake’s.

  Lord Judah stood. “What are you waiting for, old man? We’ll speak to her immediately, offer her job back.”

  He didn’t think Ann would want Lord Judah showing up at the door of her humble flat, not when she was concerned about appearances. “Thank you for your enthusiasm, but I think a note would be best. I’ll deliver it to her tomorrow.”

  His friend sat down. “If you’re sure. I’ll speak to Popham and Melville tomorrow, and I’ll instruct Mrs. Haldene to be at work on Monday at her usual time.” He called for a waiter to bring pen and paper.

  Gawain took the note when he was done and thanked him. Then Lewis arrived, along with a few of his cronies who owned a wheel factory. He was glad to spend a few hours talking politics and industry, and when he returned home he felt clear-headed once again.

  Late the next morning, he went to Ann’s flat with Lord Judah’s note.

  Fern opened the door and gestured him toward the fireplace before he could even take off his coat. With more animation than he’d ever seen from her, she pointed to the photographs on the mantel, then tapped herself in the family picture.

  “Did I pick a good one?” Gawain asked.

  She nodded vehemently. He smiled at her. Had he gained an ally? “You should take one of the cards for your very own.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Yes, for your new room. Do you know that I’ve bought us a house? My cousin Lewis lives nearby. It’s on quite a nice street, with shops within walking distance. A park too, I think. I have furniture coming. We should be able to move in on Thursday, right after the wedding.”

  She shook her head, but as if in wonderment, not denial.

  “I know, it is all happening very quickly. Is Ann here? I need to show her a letter.”

  Fern pointed at the wall separating the room from the kitchen.

  “Thank you, my dear,” he said, the endearment thick on his tongue. He resolved to try harder to communicate with the girl. She was clearly intelligent. He unbuttoned his greatcoat and hung it on the hook with his hat on the way into the kitchen.

  Ann had her back to him as she stirred something in a pot. Noel was in his pram, clutching a wooden spoon. After enjoying the domestic scene for a moment, Gawain bent and kissed his forehead. The baby smelled fresh and sweet.

  “Had a bath?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Ann said. “I just threw out the water.”

  Already frustrated with her dull tone and lack of greeting, he kissed her on the cheek. “Fern is very excited with the photographs.”

  “She’s never been photographed before.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, my wedding portrait with Wells.”

  “I haven’t seen it.”

  “It’s put away in a trunk at the inn. It hurt me too much to look at it.” Her voice caught.

  She still loved her first husband. Wells was the only person who seemed to bring any emotion to her voice. He had to solve the man’s murder so they could both move on. While Wells was present in her thoughts he had no way into her affections.

  He pulled the envelope from his pocket. “I know you are busy, and with our wedding this week this is probably the last thing on your mind. But both my sister and Lady Judah have been terribly reluctant to let Redcake’s slip through their fingers, despite their positions in society, so I thought you would want this.”

  She turned, wiping her hands on her apron and took the note from him. When she had read it, she handed it back, her expression serene. “You are right. Redcake’s is the last thing on my mind. I won’t return unless you insist I do so.”

  He tucked the note back into his pocket. “Why would I insist?”

  “Perhaps you want an unwanted wife to be financially independent?”

  “Unwanted? Are you mad?” His voice had raised but he quickly controlled himself, not wanting to upset Noel or Fern. “I assure you, madam, I eagerly look forward to our wedding this week. I wish you did the same.”

  “I am happy to marry you.”

  “Then I wish you would display this happiness. It is not evident to me.”

  She smiled, but he could see it didn’t reach her eyes, which crinkled slightly when she smiled for real. When she touched his cheek he closed his eyes, hoping for some kind of tenderness, but she removed her hand far too quickly for that.

  “How is your eye today?” she asked. “Shall I have a look? Or work with your hip?”

  Was that all she could think of? “No, I shall have to tell Lord Judah you won’t be returning after all,” he said. “I’ll ask Fern if she wants to walk with me. Has she been out today?”

  Ann shook her head. “Is it raining?”

  “Not when I came in.”

  “I’m sure she’d be happy to go.”

  He nodded. “When are you going to pack up the flat? Do you want me to send over assistance?”

  “I will need it, with Noel,” she admitted.

  “Is the furniture yours?”

  “Some of it, but none of the larger items, like the bed.”

  “I’ll send over a couple of footmen on Wednesday morning, then. They can move everything during the wedding. Fern will sleep at the St. James’s Square house on Wednesday night with my family while we stay at a hotel, then we’ll all move to the new house in Battersea on Thursday.”

  “I’ll write up a list of what needs to be moved,” Ann said. “I’ve already spoken to the landlady.”

  “Excellent.” He considered a variety of instructions, but discarded them all. Ann was a competent woman. “I am sorry about
what happened at Redcake’s, and the photographer’s behavior the other day. But I think you’ll find money will smooth over any prejudice.”

  She picked up her stirring spoon, holding it in front of her apron like a shield. “I hope so, for Noel’s sake.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, feeling her pain. They could not know who Noel would favor as an adult.

  “You have to reconcile yourself to the realities, Gawain.” She looked directly into his eyes. “People are going to see me differently.”

  “Are you entitled to any special form of address from your mother?” he asked. “A title does wonders.”

  She smiled a little at that, for real this time. “If I am, I don’t know about it. I have lived most of my life here. I have no contact with India. I love the medical aspect of my heritage but that is about all I have left.”

  “And the food. I wish your mother were still alive.”

  “Yes, you’d have liked her, even if she wasn’t a maharani.”

  “I’m thinking about your own protection, not anything I would get out of your titles,” he said, stung.

  She nodded, but he could see she didn’t believe him. And why not? She knew he’d been chasing a title when he met her. But she didn’t know Beth, who was a sweet, lively girl. He shuddered to think of what had become of her. All he could do was look forward now. He’d given Beth enough time and must focus on new ways of obtaining his goals.

  “Have a good evening,” he said, his voice stiff. He kissed his soon-to-be-wife on the cheek and went to look for Fern.

  Fern nodded when he asked if she wanted to go to the tea shop and followed him out of the door with a bounce in her step. He knew she was likely to be dependent on him for the rest of her life if her speech issues weren’t cured. She would never marry or have a position in her current condition.

  Somehow, she had associated the experience of finding her brother’s murdered body with the physical process of speaking. He had been reading psychological texts in the evenings, trying to figure her out. What could it mean? Had someone threatened her at the murder site, thereby causing her fragile mind to shut off her voice?

  “I am having some difficulties with Ann,” he told her frankly, as they walked along the street, dodging men who were moving a heavy side table into a cart. Fog drifted through the streets, toying with their ankles.

  Fern looked up at him. When her hat brim obscured her view she tilted it back.

  “Yes. She is a sad lady at the moment, I think. The only passion she seems to feel is when we discuss your brother’s death.”

  Fern’s lips tightened.

  “What don’t I know, Fern?” He stopped at the corner, watching horses step by, carrying loads that looked top-heavy for a blustery March day. “Why was he killed?”

  She put her hand shyly in his and tugged him forward. They walked in silence until they reached Regent Street. She walked him past the photography studio and a couple of stores, before stopping in front of a display window that fronted a jewelry store. Here, she stopped walking and pointed.

  “Is this about Wells?” he asked.

  She nodded and tapped the glass.

  “This is a jewelry store.”

  She licked her lips and glanced up at him expectantly.

  “He was killed over jewelry?”

  She frowned and grabbed his hand again, pulling him into the store. Inside the air was hushed by fabric-covered walls and plush velvet furnishings. This was a shop that catered to the best families. A salesman frowned at Fern, but Gawain knew he was dressed as a gentleman.

  “My young friend wishes to show me something,” he said in his haughtiest voice.

  The man bowed slightly and stepped back.

  Fern walked around the cases, pulling him with her, until all of a sudden she stopped and tapped the glass. The salesman winced to see her ungloved finger touching the clean surface.

  Gawain pulled a half-crown from his pocket and tapped it on the glass. He bent over the surface and stared down. “It’s a sapphire necklace with pearls,” he said.

  She poked at the glass again, right over the sapphire.

  “Wells’s death was related to a sapphire?”

  She nodded eagerly.

  Gawain left the coin on the case and lifted a finger to the salesman, who trotted over.

  “Sir?”

  “What can you tell me about the central gem?”

  “It is a cushion-cut sapphire of about twenty carats,” the salesman said.

  Fern nodded, but made a circle with her hands and expanded it.

  “The stone in question was larger?” Gawain asked.

  She nodded.

  “How did your brother acquire such an item?”

  She shook her head and pointed to her ring finger. Gawain didn’t understand but now the salesman entered the game.

  “It was a ring?” the man asked.

  She shook her head again.

  “Just the stone,” Gawain clarified. “You are pointing to where he would have worn his wedding ring.”

  “Oh,” the salesman exclaimed. “His wife?”

  “The stone was Ann’s?” Gawain asked, incredulous.

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Your brother was killed over Ann’s large sapphire?” Gawain asked.

  “Do you have it?” the salesman inquired.

  “No,” Gawain snapped. “Pay attention. Her brother was killed over the stone. Fern, did you do more than discover the body? Did you see Wells robbed and killed?”

  Chapter Ten

  Fern shook her head vehemently.

  “Talk, girl,” the salesman ordered.

  “She doesn’t speak,” Gawain said. “She hasn’t spoken since her brother died.”

  “I see.” The man stared at her curiously.

  “So, Fern, you didn’t see your brother killed, but you know he was killed over Ann’s sapphire. Why do you know that? Did the stone disappear the same day?”

  She shook her head.

  “It didn’t disappear. You know where it went.”

  She nodded.

  “Did Harry take it?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Ann will be happy to know that. She’s a champion of your brother.”

  “Who has the stone then?” the salesman asked eagerly. “It’s worth a great deal of money, little girl.”

  Fern’s gaze wandered. Gawain suspected this interlude had exhausted her. He stared down at the necklace, which was a gold choker, with pearls between the choker and the suspended sapphires.

  “What is the source of this necklace?”

  “Caliata, India,” the salesman said.

  Fern’s eyes widened and Gawain grinned at her. “It’s a sign. I’ll buy it for Ann’s wedding gift.”

  The salesman smiled then. “I’ll give you a good price, sir.”

  “Yes, you will. I have a friend who is a gem merchant, and if you serve me badly, I will know.”

  The man nodded nervously. “I will get the owner, sir. For a necklace of this quality he will want to speak to you.” Quick as a hummingbird, he snatched the half-crown off the case and moved toward the back room.

  Ann muttered to herself as she packed extra clothing and baby items Noel had already grown out of into a trunk on Monday morning. “Thought I should return to Redcake’s this morning, did he? Two days before my wedding? Is the man mad?”

  She still had the hem to finish on her new dress, the one she was wearing to be married in. Fern had spent hours embroidering scallops on the hem, and had worked gold thread into the bodice of the silk gown. The fabric had taken most of Ann’s remaining money, but she wanted to look appropriate before Gawain’s family. Meanwhile, he thought she should be a baker in the basement of his sister’s business. The nerve of the man.

  She had been so flattered and relieved by his solicitude at the photography studio, and then he had brought the letter. It left her wondering what her place in his life really would be. Was she
to spend her days living in the basement of his home, an ignored, forgotten wife, as hidden as if she were in purdah? In comparison, when she thought of how proud Wells had been to make her his wife, she wanted to scream.

  She heard a bang on the door, and Fern’s light footprints as she scurried to answer. Gawain’s knock had a more pleasant tone, so she continued her packing, moving onto clothes they wouldn’t need in the next two or three days.

  Fern walked in, followed by a large woman with a very red face. Ann recognized her as the wife of a cooper who lived a couple of doors down. She held her back with one hand and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Back pain.

  Ann put down a handful of towels and stood to meet her guest. “Mrs. Bang, yes?”

  The woman nodded. “My back did not like coming up your steps, Mrs. Haldene. I’ve ’eard people in the neighborhood say you’re an ’ealer. Well, I’ve need o’ one of them if you ’ave the time.”

  “Certainly. Your back, is it?”

  She nodded. “Pain’s been coming on ever since winter set in.”

  “Make me some garlic oil, please,” Ann told Fern. The girl nodded and went into the kitchen.

  “What’s that for?”

  “To rub on your back at home, followed by a hot compress.” She pulled out a stool and had Mrs. Bang sit down, then took her through an inventory of her daily habits.

  “You need to return to your summer habits,” she told the woman when she finished. “Your current diet is far too fatty and heavy now, and it’s affecting your back. Drink some lemon juice every day with a bit of salt for your digestion.”

  “I know my clothes are too tight.”

  “That does not help either,” Ann agreed. She persuaded the woman to allow her to rub her lower back while they discussed in detail how to use the garlic oil, and a couple of movements she could do to relieve the pain.

  After a simple series of stretches, Mrs. Bang was already moving a bit better. Fern brought in the warm oil in a bottle and Ann told her patient how to make more.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” Mrs. Bang said at the doorway on her way out. “We used to ’ave a queer old fellow on the street who had come from India as a servant to a military family. Made charms, I think. He was the healthiest old man I ever seen. People said ’e was about ninety-five when ’e died.”