Once more, she was alone with her valise clutched in her hand.
Carriages rushed past on the street with the wharf beyond it. Ships crowded the dingy water, their sails like low-hanging clouds billowing beneath the gray sky. Flecks of rain spat down upon her, growing heavier and more insistent by the moment and promising a proper deluge.
She found her way to the room where she’d been directed, unlocked the door and stopped short. If she’d thought the accommodations at Gretna Green were lacking, they were a veritable palace compared to what stood before her.
The bed seemed to sag in on itself as though it had given up on life, and the walls were a grayish color that suggested they were once white a very, very long time ago. Though exhaustion begged her for rest, the bed’s deplorable state was far too unappealing.
With a sigh, she set her valise on the table by the door. The surface wobbled and tipped precariously. She snatched the valise up before it fell and quit the room, locking it behind her for all the good it might do. Suddenly, finding a guide who could take her to the Highlands and help her coordinate the beginnings of a whisky still had become a very immediate need.
The sooner she could take leave of her newfound accommodations, the better.
Rain began to drizzle from the heavy gray sky as soon as she exited the ancient building. She shifted her bag from one hand to the other, but its burden did not abate. Heavens, but the thing seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. Pushing aside her discomfort, she set out to find the shop the driver had directed her to that would pay a fine price for gems. Or so he’d said.
Its location was a quick walk two blocks over and still open despite being late afternoon. The weather had continued to worsen and left her quite damp upon her arrival at the shop.
The shopkeeper sat behind a counter, which displayed the various bits and bobbles some poor souls could no longer afford to keep on their person. Pocket watches, earbobs, sparkling combs and gilded sets of brushes with their matching mirrors. The interior was dank and shadowed, as dismal as the decision the owners of those fine pieces must have once faced in coming to such a shop. People who were as she was now: thoroughly and completely desperate.
A shiver rattled down her back.
“Do ye plan to linger in me doorway?” The man grinned at her, revealing a flash of gold amid his crowded teeth.
Unease welled within her. Dread.
“I…I was told you buy things.” She hated the lack of confidence in her voice. Especially around the sort of person who could likely smell fear as certainly as any predator.
“I do,” the man replied smoothly. “And I give a good price. Ask anyone. They’ll tell ye to trust ol’ Jeb.” His gaze descended on her valise. “Do ye have something to sell me?”
She wanted to shake her head and back toward the door. But she wasn’t here to cower away from the unknown. She was here to secure the means of creating a future for herself. One she chose.
A life of happiness and joy. For the twins.
Her shoulders squared, she approached the counter and set the valise's weight on the hardwood with a thunk. Jeb’s eyes went bright.
“I have a bracelet I’d like to sell.” She had set the pearl and ruby bracelet in a pocket she could reach easily for exactly this purpose and withdrew it.
“Just a bracelet?” His fingers were like spider’s legs, long and spindly as they curled around the piece and drew it toward him. The nonchalant glance he skimmed over the jewelry was anything but. There was a sharpness to his gaze that told Sophia he was practiced and knowledgeable in this industry.
“I’ll give ye thirty pounds.” He set the bracelet on the counter with disinterest. “And I want to see what else ye have in that heavy sack of yers.”
Thirty pounds?
Slapping her in the face would have been a lesser insult. The bracelet was worth at least three hundred pounds, if not more. Bitter unfairness and resentment tightened like a ball of fire inside her chest.
She had run away from home to avoid a fate she had no control over. But that hadn’t been enough. Every step of the way, obstacle after obstacle had stood before her, blocking her path, taking advantage of her for being the fairer sex. She was a woman swimming upstream in a man’s world.
And she was tired of it.
“I’ll take two hundred pounds,” she said with finality. “And you do not get to see a single thing in my valise.” She emphasized the proper name for her “sack.”
He tilted his head, considering her. “One hundred pounds.”
“It’s worth far more, and you know it. I’m well aware that as soon as I leave, you will apply a heavy price on it to charge your next victim.”
Jeb leaned back, noticeably affronted. “Me next victim? Me lady, I—”
Sophia slapped her hand on the counter the way her aunt might have once done, playing the full role of Lady Weatherborne. “I am not done.”
The spidery hand unfolded in a welcoming gesture. “By all means…”
“I refuse to be spoken down to as if I am an imbecile.” She bit out her words. “That piece was fashioned by the king’s own jeweler. Every gem and pearl are of the highest quality, which a man of your caliber should swiftly be able to identify within a single glance. A fact you have obviously gleaned.”
“I do favor a feisty lass.” His mouth curled into a lascivious smile as he tried to peer through the veil covering her face. “There is some wear to the bracelet. Even if there were not, no one in Glasgow would pay its true worth.”
“One hundred and seventy-five pounds, then.”
He removed a lockbox from under the counter and counted out a stack of notes. “Verra well.”
Her heart hammered as she recounted the total amount.
In her pursuit to live her life for her family, she had only thought of enjoyment and pleasure. Never once had she considered that standing up for herself so thoroughly would make her blood rush with such force, leaving her giddy with victory.
Jeb slid a glance to her valise once more, but she pulled it from the counter.
“Thank you.” She nodded politely. “And good day.”
He inclined his head respectfully, but ruined the effect with an impertinent wink. “Ye know where I am should ye need me again.”
She ignored his wink and tucked the wad of notes into the pocket of the valise before leaving the shop. Now that she had money, she needed to procure a guide to take her to the Highlands, to identify where best to set up a whisky still.
And she knew the perfect location to find one.
Stepping around puddles of mud, she dashed across the street to the White Stag, a public house that promised not only a strong mug of ale but also the best whisky to be had in all of Scotland.
It seemed as fitting a place as any to start.
She gathered her wits about her and plunged through the door into a place that ladies ought never to venture. The air inside was thick with foul odors she couldn’t begin to name. Still, she pressed on, crossing the scarred wooden floor, her gaze searching for someone sitting alone whom she might query.
Midway through her perusal, she caught sight of a single man sitting at a table with his long legs stretched luxuriously in front of him, his stare fixed on her. Her heart caught mid-beat as she recognized the very handsome, very unmistakable visage of Lord bloody Kendal.