Page 47 of A Marquess' Season of Secrets
Isabella showed just a moment of hesitancy, but she climbed into the carriage and settled in the corner, her head down. One would think she would be grateful for the rescue, but she seemed a tad annoyed. Had she welcomed the men’s advances?
Did I possibly read the situation wrong? She appeared distressed, and I simply wished to help her.
Nash climbed in after her, settling in the opposite seat. Here was the woman who unsettled him and influenced him to do things he would have never done under normal circumstances.
What was it about her that kept him intrigued? Was it possibly her beauty, her intelligence, or her disposition? It was likely all three and more. Perhaps his sister was justified in being worried about him.
Chapter 10
Earlier that day
Confidence and determination were the two things that would bring Juliana the success she wanted. Mrs Black expected her to fail, but by the heavens above her, she was going to march up to Mr Wickle and Mr Carter and make them regret their thievery.
It was no good feeling nervous, but as she stepped off the hackney and thanked Mr McClure for the ride into town, her insides flipped over and settled in place with a shiver.
“Now, you just head over to Daphne’s stand, young lady,” the driver insisted. “I’ll give you a ride home.”
“That is not necessary, Mr McLure. I have enough money to get another hackney.”
The driver brought his bushy white eyebrows together in a deep frown. “Why pay for one when I am available? Keep your hard-earned money for something else, dearie.”
Juliana shook her head with a smile. Mr McLure was a stubborn old man but also one of the kindest people she had met. He usually transported Mrs Black to her destinations and came to hear about Juliana’s lost memory. She seemed to remind him of his granddaughter, who he lost to an illness some years ago, and now he rarely allowed Juliana to pay for rides into town.
“I will make my way to Miss Daphne’s stand if I cannot find a hackney in my first ten minutes of waiting for one. That is my final answer on the matter.”
“In your first five minutes,” the man said.
“Very well. I will wait five minutes.”
Visibly pleased with winning the argument, Mr McLure tilted his hat before urging his horses forward. Juliana watched him for a moment, but her mind was on the candlestick maker whose vendor was just several steps from where she stood.
I might as well confront him. I shall be polite but firm and not allow him to intimidate me. He is the one in the wrong, not me.
Juliana took the piece of paper with her calculations and approached Mr Wickle, waiting in line as the thin, moustached man haggled over prices with a matronly woman.
“This is robbery, Mrs Mason!” the candlestick complained. “I cannot go any lower.”
“Lord Norton will not be impressed with the sudden price increase, Mr Wickle,” the woman grumbled. “I shall buy twelve and not twenty-four. Your candles are not the best in Wallingford, after all.”
“I beg your pardon!” the man protested. “I dare you to find anyone else with such prices, but I warn you that no such thing will happen. My prices and quality cannot be beaten.”
Mrs Mason continued to complain, but she bought the twenty-four candles and went on her way without so much as a “thank you”. It seemed that Mr Wickle was indeed a crafty fellow who would likely try to wriggle his way out of anything. It was unfortunate for him that Juliana was determined to prove to Mrs Black that she could get the duke’s money back.
“Good day, Mr Wickle,” she said, walking up to him.
The man was still busy putting away the coins the woman had deposited into his hands when he straightened up and put on a smile for her. He gave Juliana a brief look over before his smile widened even further.
“My, my, my,” he said. “What a sight to behold. Dare this beauty be true, or merely a cruel trick on my feeble mind?”
Juliana fought the urge to roll her eyes. This was not the first time someone had said something of this effect, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“I have come from Stratford Manor, Mr Wickle,” she told him. “I have come to speak to you concerning the fifty pence overcharge on your last bill.”
The man’s smile fell as his eyes narrowed. “What did you say? Are you accusing me of cheating the duke?”
Juliana handed him her calculations. “This is all the proof you need, Mr Wickle. You have certainly overcharged Mrs Black. Now, I have done a little research on all the candlestick makers in Oxfordshire.
While you are the nearest to the Manor, you certainly are not the most affordable or best quality. It would not trouble the duke to change vendors if I made an argument that he would do better to purchase candles from another candlestick maker, one who is honest and does not cheat his customers.”
