Page 29 of A Reckless Courtship (A Chronicle of Misadventures #3)
ARABELLA
“ F or all the work you put into them,” Silas said, guiding Arabella through the throngs in front of the shop in Burlington Arcade, “it is dashed difficult to see the shop windows.”
Arabella merely smiled. While she was ineffably proud of the displays she had created, she was even more proud of the crowds they had attracted.
The ton was ever anxious to see what changes would appear in the windows of The Silk Room every other Wednesday. Her sister-in-law Charlotte had given her the idea to make it a bi-weekly occurrence, thanks to the past success Charlotte had experienced doing so with her drawings. As it was Thursday and the newest items had only just been put on display yesterday, it was difficult to find room to step—or breathe.
Arabella held tightly to both Silas’s hand and to the hand of her sister Mary, who in turn held Catherine’s hand. Shortly after the summons to St. James’s, Silas and Arabella had gone to Wetley to bring them to London. While the first week had been particularly trying as they dealt with the drastic changes in their lives, they had since settled in—and become quite enamored of their new family. Frederick, in particular, was a favorite.
Silas was a determined guide, and he saw them through the throngs and into the shop. He wore a forest-green tailcoat and a copper-colored silk cravat with gold-threaded stitching at the edges—incontrovertible evidence of two things: firstly, that he was married to Arabella, and secondly, that he was a good husband, for he never complained about the little embellishments she made to his garments. Indeed, he wore them with pride.
Her hand in his, he looked around the shop, which was full to the brim with customers inspecting fabrics and vying for the attention of the two men cutting lengths for them.
“There,” Silas stated, nodding to indicate a place across the shop. “Freddie and Drake are over there.”
They shouldered their way toward the two, Mary and Catherine beaming at the sight of them.
“It is a madhouse,” Frederick said in smiling exasperation. “Well done, Arabella. As for you”—he cocked a brow at Silas, then held up something small and furry-looking—“I can only assume this was strategically placed for my benefit?”
Silas grinned. “You found it, did you?”
“Found and removed,” Frederick said.
“A public service,” Arabella said, though she shot an amused look at her husband.
Using wax as adhesive, Silas had taken to slipping fabric in the shape of a mustache onto the dress forms Arabella had acquired to display examples of what could be achieved with the textiles sold in the shop.
“This is the most handsome superfine I have ever seen,” Mr. Drake interrupted, his hands on the fabric. “What do you say to a reduction in price for a dear, dear friend?” He put his hand over his heart in dramatic fashion.
“Don’t you have a coat of that precise fabric already?” Frederick asked.
Mr. Drake narrowed his eyes and inspected the fabric. “I suppose I do. But one can never have enough well-made coats.” He put the fabric aside despite this. “Well, I am off to Blackstone’s now. Pleasure to see you again, ladies.” He bowed to Arabella and her sisters, nodded at Silas and Frederick, then left.
Frederick watched him leave with a frown.
“What is Blackstone’s?” Silas asked.
“His club,” Frederick replied. “It exists solely for those who have been blackballed by other clubs.”
“Drake was blackballed?”
Frederick shrugged. “Must have been. He keeps things close to the chest, you know, but I heard something regarding fortune hunting. I have been wondering if he is in a scrape.”
“Silas says you wished to take us to Gunter’s, Uncle Freddie,” Catherine interrupted, apparently unmoved by Mr. Drake’s situation.
Frederick shot a look at Silas to inform him what he thought of this proxy promise, then returned his gaze to Arabella’s sisters and smiled. “More than anything. What do you say? Shall we leave this wild place?”
The girls nodded, and he shepherded them toward the door.
“Ah, Freddie!” Silas called, bringing him to a halt. “I wanted to tell you—Henry Brightmoor’s uncle is expected to die soon.”
Frederick stared at him, uncomprehending. “My condolences to him—whoever he is.”
“Freddie,” Silas said with an amused smile. “Brightmoor’s uncle is Lord Westvale. Brightmoor is his heir.”
Frederick looked none the wiser for this offering of information.
“Brightmoor has been the MP for the borough of Haverton—with a mere twelve voters—these twenty years. His seat will have to be filled.”
Arabella suppressed a smile as Frederick’s eyes widened and understanding dawned. This could be just the opportunity he had been waiting for—a chance for election.
Any opportunity to pursue the topic was prevented by Catherine pulling insistently on Frederick’s hand, however, and he and the two girls were soon swallowed by the crowd.
“You really mean to leave him to their mercy?” Arabella asked.
“We will join them soon enough. But first, I have something to give you.”
Arabella cocked a brow. “You do?” He delighted in telling her he had something to give her, but without fail, it was a kiss he pressed to her lips.
Silas smiled conspiratorially and guided her out of the main area, then into one of the back rooms.
They had been married for two months now, but the fluttering in her stomach had not abated whenever she found herself alone with him.
He shut the door behind them, and the din of the shop became muffled.
She waited impatiently for the kiss, but Silas turned away from her and searched behind a few bolts of surplus fabric before bringing out a rectangular box tied with string.
“I have had this an age,” he said, handing it to her, “but it was misplaced when we moved to Barrington. It turned up the other day.”
She took the box with wonder and looked at him for any clue.
“Open it,” he urged.
Obediently, she tugged at the string, which he took so she could manage the box.
She fiddled with the top until it gave way. It was too dark to see within, so she carefully turned it on its head and let the contents slip into her palm.
Her gaze shot to Silas, who was looking at the kaleidoscope with the ghost of a smile.
“I bought it for you that day at Covent Garden, you know,” he said. “I wanted to give it to you, but I feared it would seem too pointed, particularly after the way you resisted the butterfly pendant.” His eyes flitted to the necklace she wore, from which the pendant now hung.
She smiled at the evidence that he had admired her from so early on in their acquaintance, then put the trinket to her eye. The vibrant shapes stared back at her in their orderly but beautiful array of color. She turned the kaleidoscope, and the view shifted.
“It reminds me of you,” Silas said.
She lowered the kaleidoscope to look at him.
“Constant but ever-changing beauty,” he said. “You not only reminded me of the beauty in life, you brought it back yourself. And now you are sharing it with all of London.”
“It is only thanks to you I am able to do so.” She set the kaleidoscope aside to free her hands for more important work, threading them together behind his neck. He was the greatest champion of her ideas, the most fervent supporter she possessed. “I love you, Silas. More each day than the one before.”
“And yet, somehow never as much as I love you ,” he said, bringing his mouth near hers.
He guided her until her back came up against the wall, then he reached around her. His lips smiled against hers as the privacy lock clicked into place. “Freddie will simply have to manage on his own for now.”
THE END