Page 20 of The Proposition
More than that, he sensed in her a fellow hunter. Huntress. She enjoyed their verbal spars and delighted in outwitting him, that much was clear.
Again and again he returned to a single thought: The so-called Lord Boyle did not deserve a woman as brash, handsome, and infuriating as Clemency Fry. Their entanglement had begun to sincerely rankle him, an offense to the very idea of marriage as an institution and love as a broader concept. This wrong would be corrected, and while Miss Fry was almost certainly too much for any sensible man to want or handle, Ferrand included, she did not deserve the infamy of being connected to someone like Boyle.
What an apt name the scoundrel had chosen, for he was exactly like a boil—unsightly, exigent, a thing to be lanced and popped, nothing more than an oozing carbuncle on the arse of society.
At last, he reached his destination and dismounted.
The two-story shop no doubt housed apartments on the second story, which meant Tindall or Batt was guaranteed to be somewhere within. He hoped they weren’t part of the clamor coming from the tavern, as this business was best conducted in private.
Audric smiled as he lifted his leather-clad hand and rapped three times on the door. Just as he had expected, Miss Fry had come to shop for new fabric and discovered that her husband-to-be was a well run dry. He had only to send his man Ralston into town to get a whiff of the day’s gossip, and sure enough, Miss Fry’s name was on the lips of every busybody. Ralston had a talent for fitting in anywhere and was paid handsomely not just for his valet services, but for his frequent forays into espionage on Audric’s behalf. The other intriguing story involved Miss Fry’s sister by marriage, Tansy Bagshot, and news of some windfall. That served Audric too, a stroke of luck that would benefit them both.
“We’re closed!” A gruff voice boomed from inside.
Audric knocked again, and again. He had waited years to put his plans into motion, he could be patient awhile longer. At last, the door flew open, revealing a red-faced short man with a healthy beer gut and thinning hair.
Before the man could shoo him off, Audric bowed and swept off his hat, giving the full gallant treatment. “I beg your pardon, sir, I know the hour is inopportune. Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Batt or Mr. Tindall?”
“You can speak to the door, sir. We are closed.”
Audric wedged his boot in the door subtly and offered the man a slow smile. “How disappointing. Ten minutes of your time would be worth as many pounds, but if you insist…”
“Just a moment, there. Slow down.” The man’s eyes glittered as he held the door open wider. “What sort of business have you come on, Mr….”
“Ferrand. Audric Ferrand, at your service, sir. I am here to discuss a debt and to clear it. It has come to my attention that a Lord Boyle has accrued a sizeable bill and failed to payit.” Audric withdrew a billfold from his greatcoat and let the man see just how many pound notes waited within.
“Come in, come in, Mr. Ferrand.” The man gestured, suddenly all smiles. “Mr. Tindall is at the tavern, as is his custom, but I deal with the books, anyway. Come now inside and be quick about it, that wind’s as harsh as an ill omen. Fanny!” he cried to some unseen woman within the shadowy shop. “Have tea brought down, bring it to my desk!”
Mr. Ferrand tucked his hat under his arm and followed the man inside and to the right, where the darkened shop was lit with only a few dwindling candles.
“Thank you, Mr. Batt. Again, I apologize for calling so late.”
Mr. Batt waved him off, bustling through the shop and to a large desk in the back right corner of the store. A small chain guarded the way behind it, and Mr. Batt unhooked that and then disappeared for a moment, squatting down to find something, the sound of paper rustling rising from behind the desk.
“We don’t stand on ceremony here, Mr. Ferrand, not when a hefty debt can be paid. And itishefty….”
“I do not doubt it.”
Fanny appeared, a birdlike woman with a lace cap and iron-gray curls, a pair of spectacles as wiry as her arms perched on the end of her nose. The tea tray rattled a little as she carried it, and he noticed Fanny holding her thin lips together tightly in frustration. Audric retrieved the tray from her and placed it on the desk.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” she murmured, glancing away shyly. “Sewed night and day for thirty years, now these hands struggle to hold a pin.”
“It is no trouble, madam. I hope we did not disturb you overmuch,” Audric replied.
“Not at all.” With care, she poured the tea, gave a curtsey, and turned to go, her husband giving her a muffled thanks from behind the desk. Audric had no intention of taking tea, but he picked up one of the cups and held it to appear accommodating.
“Well now.” Mr. Batt stood again, slamming down a leather-bound ledger. “This gentleman is a popular subject today.”
Audric nodded gravely and heaved a sigh for added effect. “My friend has expensive taste and shallow pockets. I suppose those habits are now known to the whole of Round Orchard; it will deeply embarrass him.”
Mr. Batt rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Aye. He’s been a thorn in our sides long enough, ’tis time we were paid what we’re due.”
Setting down his teacup, Audric leaned onto the desk, then produced his billfold again. “I could not agree more, Mr. Batt. Indeed, it is just such a reckoning I have come to propose. You see, I am willing to wipe out his debt at this shop, but I believe my good friend should be taught a lesson.”
His eyes roamed subtly to the ledger. It was not hard to divine which line in the books belonged to Boyle, for many times it had been circled as if in a panic. He calculated a rough estimate, pretended to wince, and slid forty pounds across the desk.
“This is more than is owed,” Mr. Batt murmured, beady eyes widening at the sight of the money.
“I understand his intended suffered some shame on his behalf this afternoon, and I should like to make a gift of herpurchases. Perhaps you could also include whatever is currently most fashionable? I don’t know, fabric and bits and bobs, whatever pleases your professional eye? Audric couldn’t tell if he was listening or if he had been struck dumb by the stack of pound notes.
