Suddenly You(18)

“Ye look like Queen Elizabeth must have, just before she had them cut off the Earl of Essex’s head,” Sukey commented.

Amanda laughed suddenly, in spite of her inner nervousness. “I’d like to cut off a certain gentleman’s head,” she said. “Instead, I’ll have to settle for giving him a harsh rebuff.”

“Are ye going to see yer publisher, then?” Sukey’s narrow face resembled that of an inquisitive woodland creature.

Amanda shook her head at once. “He’s not my publisher, nor will he ever be. I intend to make that clear to him this morning.”

“Ah.” The maid’s expression brightened with interest. “Some gentleman ye met at the supper-party last eve? Do tell, Miss Amanda…is he handsome?”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Amanda said crisply.

Sukey appeared to suppress a delighted smile as she hurried to fetch Amanda’s black wool cloak.

As they fastened the cloak around Amanda’s shoulders, the footman, Charles, came inside from the front doorstep. “Miss Amanda, the carriage has arrived.” The footman’s middle-aged face was reddened from the bitter November breeze. A fresh, icy scent clung to his livery, mingled with the dry smell of his white-powdered hair. He retrieved a lap shawl from the entrance hall chair, draped it neatly over his arm, then made to escort Amanda outside. “Step carefully, Miss Amanda,” he warned. “There’s a patch of ice on the top step—‘tis a damp winter’s day.”

“Thank you, Charles.” Amanda appreciated the footman’s solicitude. Although he lacked the usual height required of a footman—most fine families preferring to hire only those who were at least six feet tall—Charles made up for his lack of physical stature with sheer efficiency. He had given the Briars family—and now Amanda herself—the benefit of loyal and uncomplaining service for nearly two decades.

Weak morning sunlight did its best to illuminate the narrow terraced houses of Bradley Square. A little iron-fenced garden was set between the two rows of homes that faced one another, and frost clung stubbornly to the dormant plants and trees set between the graveled walkways. At the hour of ten in the morning, many of the town homes’ upstairs windows were still shuttered, as occupants slumbered to atone for the previous night’s amusements.

Aside from a rag-seller walking along the pavement leading to the main road, and a long-legged constable with his baton tucked smartly beneath his arm, the street was quiet and still. A chilly but clean-smelling breeze rattled along the house-fronts. Despite Amanda’s aversion to the winter cold, she appreciated that the odors of refuse and sewage were far less acute than in the warm summer months.

Amanda stopped midway down the flight of six steps that led to the street level when she saw the carriage that Devlin had sent. “Miss Amanda?” the footman murmured, stopping with her as she stared at the vehicle.

Amanda had expected a carriage as well used and serviceable as her own. She had never thought that Devlin would send such an elegant conveyance. This was a glass-quartered coach, plated in lacquer and bronze, with steps fashioned to open and close automatically with the door. Every inch of the vehicle was polished and perfect. The beveled windows were framed with silk curtains, while the interior was upholstered in cream-colored leather.

A team of four perfectly matched chestnuts stamped and blew impatiently, their breaths puffing white in the frosty air. It was the kind of equipage that well-heeled aristocrats owned. How was it that a half-Irish publisher could afford such a carriage? Devlin must be even more successful than the rumors had led her to believe.

Marshaling her composure, Amanda approached the vehicle. A footman jumped from his carved standard and quickly opened the door, while Charles assisted Amanda up the carriage steps. The well-sprung vehicle barely jostled as she settled into the leather-upholstered seat. There was no need for the lap shawl Charles had brought, as a fur-lined carriage blanket had been provided for her. A foot warmer stocked with coals caused Amanda to shiver pleasantly as waves of heat rose beneath her skirts to her knees. It seemed that Devlin had remembered her dislike of the cold.

Almost dazedly, Amanda settled back against the soft leather upholstery and stared through the steam-fogged window at the blurry outlines of her terraced house. The door closed smartly, and the carriage rolled gently away. “Well, Mr. Devlin,” she said aloud, “if you think that a mere foot warmer and a blanket will cause me to soften toward you, then you are sadly mistaken.”

The carriage stopped at Shoe Lane and Holborn, where the massive white five-story building awaited her. Devlin’s was swarming with customers, the jaunty glass doors swinging in constant motion as a steady stream of people entered and exited. Although she knew Devlin’s was a successful establishment, nothing had prepared her for this. It was clear that Devlin’s was far more than a store…it was an empire. And she had no doubt that its owner’s keen mind was constantly devising ways to extend his reach.

The footman assisted her from the carriage and rushed to hold open the glass door with the deference one might have accorded to visiting royalty. As soon as her foot touched the threshold, Amanda was instantly met by a blond gentleman in his late twenties or early thirties. Although his height was average, his slim, well-exercised physique made him appear taller. His smile was warm and genuine, and his sea-green eyes sparkled beneath a pair of steel-framed spectacles.