She glared at his hand and pulled her arm from his grasp. “Don’t threaten me, Nicholas. I can cause you more trouble than you can imagine. I’ll keep your little secret. For now. I’ll give you one last chance to—”
“The games are over,” Nicholas growled. “Do what you wish, for you’re right. There are many ways you can hurt me, and I can do nothing to stop you.” Her smile widened as he took a step forward, but an image of Miss Jenny came to mind once again. “One day we’ll grow old, but only one of us will be alone. You. And even then, you’ll refuse to admit the truth.”
She gave a light snort. “And what truth would that be?”
“That the beauty you hold so dear will fade with time, but the darkness within you will only grow stronger. Goodbye, Jane. The games, the blackmail, all of it is over. Never darken my doorstep again.”
“Gladly,” she spat and then marched to her carriage.
“Good riddance,” he growled as the vehicle pulled away.
When Miss Jenny called the following day, he would have to warn her about Lady Ayles. For she was a woman hell-bent on hurting anyone who did not agree with her evil ways.
He returned to the parlor and stared into the roaring fire. As the conversation with Lady Ayles replayed in his mind, he shook his head. She represented the past, and Miss Jenny was his future. A future he could now see with her as his wife.
Yet there was one more thing she needed—no, that they both needed. To express how much they truly cared for one another. Miss Jenny had skirted around that one important word, although she did not say its name outright. But he knew it and was nearly certain he felt the same.
And soon—very soon—he would tell Miss Jenny what she wished to hear.
* * *
As luck would have it, Ruth had somehow found a gentleman’s coat and breeches for Jenny. From where, Jenny would not ask, but her friend had promised they were not stolen. That meant no need to approach the tailor’s shop and convince the proprietor that she needed a suit that would fit a young man with her exact measurements. If anything, that had worried Jenny far more than anything else.
Haggling with the cobbler had not been as difficult as Jenny had expected. Mr. Hill had several pairs of riding boots he kept on hand. As it so happened, one pair fit her perfectly. He did not question her excuse of purchasing them for her younger brother. A boy who, of course, did not exist but provided a wonderful excuse for trying on the boots. Even when she explained that she wore the very same shoe size.
Now with a pair of men’s riding boots wrapped in brown paper, Jenny stopped outside another shop. Above the door hung a sign proclaiming, “Johnathan Locke, Hatter.” If her luck continued, he would have several hats used for display that he might be willing to sell outright. She just hoped one would be what she needed.
“Are you ready?” Louisa asked, casting a nervous glance around them. “Let’s hurry before we’re seen.”
With a nod, Jenny pushed open the green door and stepped inside. The proprietor, Mr. Locke, stood behind a counter, his wavy silver hair mussed and wearing a suit in need of a good pressing.
Jenny had never met Mr. Locke, but she had heard enough stories about him from the other shop owners. Apparently, he spent more of his money at Rake Street than on his business. His wife had finally had enough and took the children to live with her mother. That was ten years earlier. The woman never returned. Nor did his children.
After hearing this story from several of the shopkeepers over the years—all men—Jenny had asked Mrs. Rutley why women were always blamed for spreading gossip when men were no better.
“Men call itmaking inquiries,” Mrs. Rutley had explained. “That way they can feel absolved of any wrongdoing. But don’t let mere phrasing fool you. They’re as gossipy as women. If not more so.”
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Locke said, tilting his head and knitting his brows. “Are you lost?”
“No sir,” Jenny replied. “I’m looking for a gift for my brother, and I thought he would like a new hat.”
Mr. Locke straightened his back. “Well, you’re in the right place, miss. There’s no finer hattery in all the country. Or so it’s been said by nobles and commoners alike.”
Jenny offered him a polite smile. “How wonderful. Do you have any already made? I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise by asking him to come in for fittings.”
“How old is your brother?” Mr. Locke asked. “And to find the right hat, I must have his measurements. Not every hat is made for every head, as you likely know.”
She had been prepared for this question, so she gave him the same answer she had given the cobbler. “He’s my twin, you see. We’re of the same height and weight.”
The proprietor frowned in thought and walked over the display of hats. “This is a round hat, distinguished by the wide brim and lower crown.”
Jenny took the hat and turned it over. It had a narrow ribbon with an attached buckle. “Please forgive my ignorance, but do gentlemen wear this style?”
Mr. Locke snorted. “Only the finest.”
“I suppose I should see if it fits,” Jenny said. She handed Louisa the packaged boots and placed the hat on her head. “Well? What do you think?”
Louisa giggled, but the proprietor sighed. “Men’s fashion is not to be trifled with, miss. How a hat looks upon a woman is quite different from how it will appear on a man. However, if your brother is a twin, this will suit him well. May I wrap it for you?”