Page 84 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
Negotiating.
There should have been a fourth term in their damned agreement.
Do. Not. Fall. In. Love.
Chapter 27
Daisy had been cloistered in her office and apartments since the afternoon she’d walked out of Bishop’s residence determined never to return. She’d had an evening of weeping, aching, and missing him. Of convincing herself that sending his carriage to him empty was the most effective way of delivering her message. For two days, she’d thought perhaps he might come for her, and she’d practiced the words she would use to drive him away. But he hadn’t shown. Nor had he written to her or sent her gifts or attempted to cajole her back into his arms in any manner.
Just as well. She was done with him. With all men. They were naught but trouble.
Therefore, that morning, Daisy awoke earlier than usual, as though Perkins was hovering outside her door refusing to let her sleep in, went to her desk, and sketched a drawing. After leisurely enjoying her morning cup of jasmine tea, she dressed for the day and delivered the etching to a gentleman, paying him extra to deliver what she wanted that afternoon.
A few hours later, she stood on the bricked pavement and watched with satisfaction as two men hungabove her door, the sign she’d commissioned that morning:Townsend Investigative Agency.
“Perfect,” she declared when they were done and gave them each an extra shilling for their trouble.
Then she went into her office, sat at her desk, and observed through the windows, with the draperies drawn aside, as people wandered by. Many glanced up. Some stopped to stare at the new adornment. A little after four, a gentleman strode in.
“I warned you about putting up a sign, Miss Townsend,” he announced. “I’m here to collect the additional lease fee.”
A fee she had no intention of paying. “How good of you to call, Mr. Swift. Tell me, have you seen this article in a recent edition of theTimes?” Turning the newspaper around and scooting it toward the edge of the desk away from her, she placed her finger on said article.
Warily, as though she might be presenting him with an adder, he approached and glanced down. “’Bout the arrest of a murderer? Aye, I read it.”
“Did you notice this little sentence here that begins, ‘With the aid of Miss Marguerite Townsend’?”
He lifted his gaze to hers. “What of it?”
“I’ve begun to make a name for myself, Mr. Swift. I need potential clients to have no difficulty whatsoever in finding me. Hence the sign.”
“And hence the doubling of your lease fee.”
“I think not. You argue that my presence will lower the value of your properties. I believe it will enhance them. If anything, I should be paying you less.” He scowled. “However, I won’t quibble with you aboutthat matter. What I will say is that if you insist on my paying double, I shall pack up my belongings and move my business elsewhere, taking my sign with me, naturally.”
He glared at her for a moment before finally relenting. “I suppose I could see my way clear to charging you only a quarter more.”
Exhibiting no facial expression at all, she merely stared at him.
The gust of air he released was strong enough to send her wooden sign swinging. “All right, then, we’ll keep things as they are.”
“Very good.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why the chain of daisies painted on the sign?”
“They serve as a reminder, Mr. Swift.” That she was fully capable of rescuing herself. She also hoped that one day very soon, they would serve as a reminder that broken hearts did indeed eventually heal.
Bishop told himself that he was relieved things were over between him and Marguerite. Certainly, he’d never had a long-term relationship before, knew nothing of wooing. So her calling things off saved him the bother of eventually having to say, “We’re done.”
Although he couldn’t imagine when he might have wanted to utter those words. After a month perhaps? Six? Twelve? A thousand?
Instead, he’d been like Mr. Parker, wanting to make things easy for her. Therefore, he hadn’t gone to her building. He hadn’t knocked on her door. He respected her decision. Even if it was tearing him up inside.
“You’re awfully quiet this evening.”
Bishop glanced over at King. The four Chessmen were occupying their favorite corner in the library of the Twin Dragons.
“Contemplating daisies again?” Knight asked, humor laced through his voice.
