Her brows rose as if that were obvious. “I am not of your class. What else could there be?”
“Friendship? Conversation?”
“With me?” She might as well have said, “With a zebra?”
He chuckled. “Of course, with you. In truth, I find every person fascinating from the lowest bootblack to the highest-born gentlemen in the land. But you are especially interesting.”
“Why?”
Because she spoke with dignity and very little accent. Because there was absolutely nothing outstanding about her face or body, and yet he couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at her. Because a half dozen rough men treated her like spun glass and blushed when she touched them. “Because you are the one who is here. I have already peppered Tom with questions.” He jerked his head back at his tiger, who stood at attention behind them. “Go ahead, Tom. Tell her.”
“He’s right chatty, miss. Talks to everyone. T’aint cruel or stupid.”
“Isn’t cruel,” Elliott corrected and was pleased to see Tom repeat the proper words in a clear tone.
“Isn’t cruel. And he don’t mind helping us better ourselves.” There was enough emphasis on the letter H that Elliott didn’t correct the rest.
Miss Gold frowned, but eventually, she nodded. “You have a kindred spirit in Mrs. Dove-Lyon. She has found ways to help all her employees improve their lot.”
By trapping unwary men into marriage. He had heard of a few men who had taken missteps in her den only to find themselves caught in a bind they could not escape. And at least one of those unions had ended disastrously. “You sound as if you admire her.”
“I do. She educates her girls. That alone is worthy of respect.”
“You have the reforming spirit, then.”
She smiled. “I am a smart woman. Of course, I wish to reform the world. I want as many opportunities as you.”
“As a man? Or as a peer?”
She shook her head. “As a man, my lord. I know the world is not so open as to allow me to sponsor a resolution or bow before the king. But if I had the opportunities of a man, then I should be content.”
“Because you could openly create jewelry instead of pretend that it is your grandfather’s work?”
She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Yes. And I could run the store as well or take a walk without fearing attack.”
“Men fear attack as well.”
“Not in the same way,” she said.
That was certainly true. “Do you see no advantages to being a woman over a man?”
“You mean like carrying a child? Being at the creature’s beck and call. To feed it, clothe it, teach it, all while the father is off—”
“Working hard labor to provide for you and the children.”
“And drinking it away with his mates?”
That was a dark view of marriage, but he couldn’t deny that it applied to so many. “Not all men drink what they earn.”
She shrugged. “I suppose you are right. But I would rather do the work and leave someone else to carry the child.”
“Hard labor hauling wares? Tilling fields?”
“Fashioning jewelry, my lord. That is my gift, if you recall. I merely wish to do it openly.”
He could not fault her for that. “I shall make you a bargain. If you do a good job on the brooch, I shall commission something from you and tell everyone that you are the one who fashioned it.”
Her eyes widened, and her mouth slipped ajar in shock. “Truly?”
“Yes. Of course.”
She didn’t take him at his word. Instead, she glanced back at Tom, who nodded.
“’E’ll do it. ’E’s a strange one.”
Not exactly the ringing endorsement he expected. He shot his tiger a glare. “He,” he said.
Tom nodded. “He’s a strange one.”
Also, not the sentence he wanted repeated. He slanted a look at Miss Gold. “Do we have a bargain?”
She shrugged. “It’s not much of a bargain. I was going to do an excellent job anyway, but you are the judge and jury. There is nothing stopping you from saying the work is not up to snuff, and then away you go.”
“You do not trust easily, do you, Miss Gold?”
“Why would I have reason to? My father and grandfather are honest, but the only other men I meet are the ones who wish to pawn their trinkets for money.”
What a sad statement. “Those are not the best examples of mankind.”
“No, my lord, they are quite often the worst.”
“Well, I am counted one of the best. So, I shall endeavor to expand your experience of men.” That was not phrased the way he intended, but she took it calmly enough. She even ventured a smile.
“I shall endeavor to see you in a better light and allow you to impress me.”
And with that, he had to be content. Unfortunately, five minutes later, he proved exactly how inept he was.
Chapter Three
They continued to talk, getting to know each other in the most generic terms. He preferred spring with the promise of the coming year. She enjoyed the colors of fall and the crisp bite. Amber spoke easily with him, knowing that this day was a respite from the usual grays of her life. And as they talked, her artist eye caught the curve of a bird’s throat as it broke into song. She saw a dewdrop catch the light on a spring bud. And she saw that everything smelled sweeter and looked cleaner as they progressed through London.
“Where are we going?” she asked. But even before the words were finished, he pulled the phaeton to the side, and his tiger sprang into action. The boy held the horses’ heads while Lord Byrn set the brake, then leaped to the ground.
She smiled as he landed, appreciating the solid sound. Not light like a boy, not precarious as a drunkard, but firm and easy as a man in his prime. And truly, she could not help but notice the muscles of his thighs and the curve of his calves. She had no quarrels with Lord Byrn’s form, that was for certain.
He handed her down, grabbed her sketchbook and pencil for her, then held out his arm to escort her to an impressive home such as she had never been inside. There was nothing distinctive about it except that it was clean, large, and in Mayfair. Amber found an unaccustomed spring in her step as they walked up the steps.
Lord Byrn knocked, and when a butler with a very large nose opened the door, he handed over his card. “Lord Byrn and Miss Thisbe—”
“Miss Amber Gohar,” she corrected. She had no idea what prompted her to give her true name, correct surname and all, but the idea that she would step into a place so grand as anyone but herself was an insult to her pride. So she used her true name, and when the butler raised his eyebrows at her interruption, she shrugged. “He never pronounces it correctly.”
“Quite right,” Lord Byrn said. “I can be most muddleheaded about names.” Then he patted her hand as if he were a fond uncle. “We’ve come to see the Joseph Wright portrait. Miss Gohar has a fondness for art, and we beg the countess’s indulgence.”
“Very well,” the man intoned as he sketched a short bow. “Follow me, please.”
They did while Amber eyed everything from the soaring column staircase to the dull wallpaper. They were escorted into a front parlor and asked about tea. Lord Byrn declined, but said, “No need to bother the countess. I’m sure she has better things to do than rattle around with us. We’ll only be a moment.”