Mrs. Bronwen curled her arm through his once more, tugged until he leaned lower. “I’ve heard rumors about her, of course. But to see it with my own eyes.” She rubbed at them. “Impossible.”
“Very much possible. I’ll introduce you.” He lifted a hand in the air. “Your Grace!”
The Duchess of Crestmore looked up from the bracelet she still inspected. “Oh. Oh! Lord Atlas! How unexpected.”
“For me as well. Didn’t expect youhere. Not since you married.”
The duchess grinned and ran a hand gently up and down the fine grain on the top of the counter. “I’ve not been behind this counter in over a month, actually. But my mother has been ill this week, and we’d have had to close the shop otherwise.” She trotted out from behind the counter. “Is my sister well?”
“Fiona was fine when I was with her a week ago.”
“For your brother’s wedding, yes?”
Atlas nodded. “And I’ve come here because another wedding is soon to follow.”
The duchess’s hand floated to her chest. “Who?”
“Me,” Mrs. Bronwen said, “and Lord Atlas.”
The duchess gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh, excuse me. I shouldn’t gasp. It’s not duchess-like, and I’m doing my best to be duchess-like.”
Mrs. Bronwen stiffened, but before Atlas could peek at her to discern what had troubled her so, a man sauntered out of a door at the back of the shop.
“Youare a duchess, Posey,” the man said. “Whateveryou’relike is how a duchess should be.” The man had a mop of yellow hair and amused glint in his eye. Atlas had met him once before too. The Duke of Crestmore had arrived at Briarcliff rumpled and clearly besotted with his not-yet-duchess. Though before they’d returned to London, they’d been engaged.
And they were terribly in love. Like most everyone around him, it seemed. He’d been falling in love so regularly, quite made a habit out of it, but those who’d never done it a day in their lives before had suddenly become spectacularly proficient. An excellent thing, for his family to find such joy. Suchcertainjoy, too. Unlike him, they did not have to go searching for it every day. They merely woke up and clutched it in their arms.
Lord. Was he feeling… maudlin? Enough ofthat.
Atlas sketched a bow to the duke and duchess. “May I introduce my betrothed, Mrs. Clara Bronwen.” Difficult to use the word when he’d never thought he’d marry to begin with.
“You work mighty quick,” Crestmore said, eyeing them with a raised brow.
“Or perhaps you work slow,” Clara quipped.
The duchess squeezed her husband’s forearm and chuckled. “You’ve no idea. Slower than diamonds forming beneath the earth.” She gave the duke a sizzling look then returned her attention to Atlas and Mrs. Bronwen. “I am delighted to learn of your impending nuptials, but what brings you to my shop?”
Mrs. Bronwen held up her valise. “Lord Atlas thinks you might be interested in purchasing a few of my pieces.”
The duchess’s face pinched a bit. “We specialize in fixing broken sets and designing and selling our own. I don’t think?—”
“The jewels are quite fine.” Mrs. Bronwen took a halting, rushed step forward. “I do not care if you melt down the settings and do what you please with the gems. Make them anew.”
Atlas pointed at the bag. “She tells me Foggy made most of them. You might take some joy from melting down his creations. I know your family has no love for the man.”
“Frampton Family Rule Number One,” the duke said with a chuckle, “scorn Mr. Foggy.”
Mrs. Bronwen shoved the valise toward the duchess. “Just have a look, will you? Or”—she glanced at the duke—“if it is beneath you, I understand.”
The duchess sniffed as her gaze softened. She reached for the bag. “Beneath me? Foggy is beneath me. But helping a friend is not.” She retreated behind the counter and opened the valise, reached in, and pulled out a small box. “I’ll inspect the lot of them. Look around if you like.” She looked up, setting a pair of magnifying spectacles on her nose. “Perhaps you’ll find a ring to give your new lady, Lord Atlas, to replace these. I’m happy to trade if you’d like.”
Atlas didn’t wince. Barely. The duchess knew his family’s circumstances, knew they were more likely to sell jewelry than to buy it. What she didn’t know was the marriage he was entering into was not the kind to be sealed with precious gifts chosen through painstaking thought and hours of deliberation. Theygifted one another those things they most needed. Nothing less. Nothing more.
He pulled Mrs. Bronwen to a nearby case. “Does it pain you to sell it?”
“No.” She tried to look at the jewels, but she kept looking over her shoulder at the intent duchess and Crestmore lounging against the wall behind her, a half smile on his lips. “They’re real. I’d read about them in the papers, but I do not think I quite believed they existed. The duke who married a jeweler’s daughter.”
“They’re just people in the end. No matter the titles or wealth. Or lack thereof.”
