Chapter Nine

E lizabeth stepped out of the carriage. As much as she hated going to the market, she didn't have a choice if she wanted to decorate the glass ball she'd purchased last week. If she was forced to keep on living, she might as well get whatever enjoyment she could out of life.

Pretending she didn't notice the people who had stopped walking in order to gawk at her, she strode to the shop with engraved objects and engraving supplies. One would think she hadn't taken the time to bathe, dress, and style her hair with the way they were staring at her.

She hated Felix. She hated him even more today than she had yesterday. If she was a gentleman, she would challenge him to a duel. Even if her brother, a skilled swordsman, had failed, she would duel Felix anyway. Yes, he might succeed in killing her, too, but at least she'd be put out of her misery.

The moment she was safely in the shop, she felt her body relax. There was always something about being in this shop that soothed her. When she was twelve, her mother had brought her here. Her mother had purchased a gift for her father. It had been an inkwell with the engraving of a bald eagle. Elizabeth had been fascinated with the detailed work the engraver had done on it. She'd stayed awake half the night as she wondered what other designs people could engrave. By the time dawn came, she was determined to learn more about the art.

Her mother had thought her silly and refused to take her back here. Her father had told her that ladies had no business engraving things. But her brother, in a moment of benevolence, had offered to bring her here. She supposed she owed him a great deal of gratitude for that day.

"Lady Elizabeth," the gray-haired shop owner called out to her. "It's a pleasure to see you."

She smiled and headed over to the counter. "Good afternoon, Mr. Preston." She caught sight of a ten-inch silver owl and noted its detailed feathers. "Is this new?"

He nodded and retrieved it so he could hand it to her. "I finished it last night. What do you think?"

She turned the owl over in her hands. "The craftsmanship is awe-inspiring. I wish I could do such beautiful work." He had even paid attention to the details on the owl's backside. "How long did this take?"

"Three months. It's one of my longest projects."

She turned the owl over again and noted the way the silver polish he'd used made the owl sparkle in the sunlight that was pouring through a nearby window. Truly, she'd never seen anything more magnificent. "Is it for sale?"

"It is." He paused then added, "I know it's one of my more expensive items, but this required a great deal of work."

"Oh, it's worth the price. I'll take it."

He blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?"

She held the thing to her chest. "Of course, I'm sure. I can't let someone else take something this exquisite."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't deprive you of something you really want. You're my best customer. You're also my best protégé. Of all the people I've taught, you're the most dedicated. You have talent in this area."

She smiled at his compliment. "I'll never be as good as you, but I can try."

"I've had fifty-three years of experience doing this. You're only getting started." He gestured to the other items in the shop. "Was there something else you needed when you came in, or did you wish to browse?"

Assured she would get to take the owl home, she set it on the counter. "I need a cutting tool that will work on glass. I lost my last one."

"Do you want the same brand of tool you used before or try one from a different maker?"

She examined the glass cutting tools for sale. Some of them were for larger pieces of glass. Some for smaller. Judging by the size of the ball and the design she wished to make into it, she thought a smaller one would suffice. "I'll take that one."

"A wise choice. This will cut into glass nicely. A single stroke of this cutter will give you any angle you want." He set it on a piece of cloth. "Is that all you need?"

She nodded. "For today."

He grinned then wrapped the cutting tool in the cloth before placing it into a rectangular box. "I'll wrap the owl for you. I have the perfect box for it in the back."

As he left, she heard a light tap on one of the windows. When she turned to face it, she realized one of the gentlemen watching her had accidentally touched the pane in order to point her out to one of his friends. They were snickering at her. She glared at them. Their eyes grew wide, and they hurried away from the window.

This was all Felix's fault. Gentlemen didn't look at her as if she were no better than a prostitute until Felix made up those horrific lies about her. She took a deep breath then slowly released it so she could pull back the reins on her anger. Once the swell of anger subsided, it was replaced with a spring of tears. She hurried to blink them away. She'd thought she was done crying. Apparently not.

"Here it is," Mr. Preston said.

Her gaze left the window and returned to the counter. He placed the box next to her new glass cutter. "Would you like me to charge your cousin's account?"

She shook her head. "I brought money with me today." Her hands trembled as she opened her reticule. She prayed he didn't notice that, or the tears she was fighting back. She counted the money she had secretly saved over the years. Clearing her throat, she added, "My cousin will be returning to America next week."

"That soon? I thought he would need more time to settle things with the estate."

"He hired a lawyer to deal with those details. He's eager to see to his business ventures."

"What kind of business does he do?"

"He's established a steamboat line." She finally managed to gather enough money and set it on the counter. "He wants to deliver supplies along one of the rivers over there. He thinks there's a lot of money to be made."

"He's probably right." Mr. Preston collected the money. "I heard there's a lot yet to be explored in America. I must say, he has more courage than I do. I know what to expect in London, so I remain right here."

"Yes, I like the familiar, too." In a cold world, it was nice to have something a person could rely on.

He placed her money in his box and gave her a few coins in return. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you'll be staying here. It's nice talking with someone who makes engraved art. There isn't enough of us. Most people focus on painting and sculpting."

She slipped the money into her purse then collected the two boxes. "Thank you."

He smiled and wished her a pleasant afternoon.

If only it could be pleasant. She strengthened her resolve before she headed for the door. She thought she caught a glimpse of a lady staring at her from a window. Her head snapped in that direction. No one was there. Maybe she was starting to imagine things. It was easy to get paranoid when one was the object of ridicule and scorn. She turned the knob of the door and left the safety of the shop.

To her surprise, Felix's coachman was waiting outside for her. "May I take those to the carriage for you, Lady Roland?"

She forced herself not to scowl. The poor coachman was only a servant. He was doing his job by calling her Lady Roland . To do otherwise would be disrespectful. "No, I don't need for you to take these boxes. I'm done shopping."

She didn't feel like returning to that terrible townhouse, but what other choice did she have? There was no place that offered a respite from all of life's woes like Mr. Preston's shop. She allowed the coachman to walk her to the carriage.

On the way, someone whispered close by. She glanced at the lady, who turned to her friend and giggled.

A different lady, who happened to be coming from another direction, pulled her young son's arm so they wouldn't walk near Elizabeth. "You don't need to go near that witch," she told her son. "Keep your mind on the prayers we said this morning."

The son gave a quick look in Elizabeth's direction, made the sign of the cross, and picked up his pace to keep up with his mother.

Elizabeth's steps came to a stop. They were telling children she was a witch? She knew the adults were saying that, but to find out they were spreading such rumors to children was even worse.

Once Elizabeth overcame her shock, she continued to the carriage. Her grasp tightened on the boxes. She hated Felix. This was all his fault. He had turned all of London against her. She wished she could hurt him the same way he had hurt her.

The coachman opened her door. She was too upset to accept his help into the carriage. She bypassed him and plopped into her seat. Had she not been holding such precious things, she would have thrown them to the floor and stomped on them.

Why did people believe the word of a scorned gentleman so easily? Couldn't they take one look at Felix and realize why she had said no to his request for a dance? And all she did was say no. It wasn't like she gathered a bunch of people to mock him. It wasn't like she ruined his reputation. It wasn't like she killed his brother. Was a gentleman's pride really so fragile that he couldn't handle a single lady declining a dance with him?

The coachman shut the door, and soon the carriage was taking her away from the market. The items she'd bought were little consolation from the murmurings and snickers she'd had to deal with. As long as she lived, she would never forgive Felix for the damage he'd done.