Chapter Twelve

T he distinguished race crowd gathered around Edmund and Brewster as if watching a dogfight. A tent behind them offered little respite from the heat. The ice meant to cool the refreshments had surrendered in puddles of defeat.

"What got into you, Brewster?" Edmund shouted in plain sight of the Ton. Under the scorching sun, he couldn't breathe. He tugged at his cravat until it came loose and he threw it on the ground.

"She's not a suitable duchess, Edmund, she probably doesn't even have a dowry." Brewster laughed.

"You think I care about her dowry? Or where she's from?"

"See reason, Edmund. It's all right to tup a few flower girls, we've all done it, but you need a duchess by your side who can carry herself with poise, a partner in life, not just in bed."

Edmund seethed. The voices in the crowd merged into a single high-pitched murmur.

His hand stung. He'd hit something fleshy with a hard center.

Brewster wobbled backward, spat blood and something white like a pit—or a tooth—and yelled.

But Edmund was running after Lola. She was getting away.

He ran faster. "Lola!" Looking this way and that, he realized he'd lost her. She hadn't taken his carriage, and she was nowhere to be seen.

Edmund could barely catch his breath, but not from the exertion of running across the grass fields, feet swift against the earth as the sun beat down, cloaking him in its relentless heat.

Discouraged, he took the carriage home, where the butler announced a guest waiting for him in the parlor. Was it her? His heart soared but then he entered the room and saw his childhood friend sitting there waiting for him. As glad as he was to see him, Edmund couldn't disregard the bitterness he felt over Lola running away.

"Raphi!"

"What's happened? I've never seen you so rattled. And…are you? Edmund. You're drenched with sweat."

Edmund sank onto the settee by the wall, burying his face in both hands. "I mucked it up."

"The race? Did you bet on a horse?" Raphi came to his side and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. If only they'd allowed Jews at Eton and Oxford; Edmund would have preferred a kind friend like Raphi by his side to Brewster, the leech.

"Not the race. The deal probably. But Lola—" his breath caught, and he swallowed a lump at the back of his throat.

"Ah, the beauty with the collar?" Raphi had many brothers and was married to his childhood sweetheart. He understood matters of the heart.

Edmund dropped his hands and looked at his friend. "I hired her."

"Miss Viola?" Raphi arched a brow and crossed his arms. "She didn't strike me as—"

"She's not! She's a flower girl."

Raphi pressed his lips together and listened.

"I met her at the apothecary when she delivered medicinal herbs and blooms."

Raphi assumed an expression of respect. "It takes a lot of knowledge to recognize the right plants, as far as I know."

"She grows some of them herself and harvests them in the early morning hours."

"And the problem is…"

"The problem is that—"

The butler appeared. "Your Grace, Mr. Brewster is here."

"Edmund!" There was the chipped man-kettle, holding a bloodied handkerchief to his mouth. "Marlowe's horse lost the race. There's no land. No deal!"

Edmund shrugged.

Raphi rose to greet Brewster but only received a cold, cursory glance. A Jew was of no interest to Brewster. Edmund simmered. He'd lost patience with Brewster's high-handed arrogance and narrow-minded worldview.

"You owe me, Edmund! I've been working for months to try to pass the deal. I wrote up the paperwork—" Brewster enumerated on his fingers—"scheduled the meetings, organized the—"

"You've clung to me for too long, Brewster! I didn't ask for your help, and I don't want your deal!" Edmund stood and walked to him. "And just so you know—"

"Just so you know, Your Grace, on that high horse of yours, money runs out. Credibility must be built. Flower girls may know how to tell fertile soil, but they won't annex the land for your estate."

"Get out!" Edmund roared.

Brewster planted his stubby legs firmly. "You haven't paid me for my service."

Edmund tightened his fists, ready to knock the last teeth out of his smug grin when he noticed how Brewster's eyes trailed to the jewelry box on the mantel. It was the one the ruby collar necklace was kept in; Raphi was here to take it back.

"The day still has—" Brewster fumbled in his pocket, producing a golden pocket watch. He pushed the lever, and it sprung open. "Nine hours before midnight. Have you dismissed the flower girl?"

"You're dismissed," Edmund growled. "Leave!"

"Suit yourself. Mourn the thieving lass, but mark my words, Edmund, your reputation has dissipated like the morning fog in the scorching heat." As Brewster slipped his watch back into his pocket, a flash of sparkling red peeking out of it caught Edmund's eye.

Edmund walked to the mantel, picked up the box, and handed it to Raphi. "Thank you for the loan. It's a beautiful piece."

Raphi took the box and hefted it as if testing its weight. He frowned and opened the box. "As I said, it's unlike you, Edmund. You're not usually a ruthless businessman." Raphi, two feet taller than Brewster, cast him a condescending look.

Instead of watching Raphi's expression, Edmund turned to Brewster, who stood in the doorway, as if undecided whether to pounce or flee.

"Edmund, it's empty," Raphi said.

Brewster sniffed. "As I told you. She's a conniving thief."

Edmund's heart thundered in his chest, and a tempest of fury coursed through his veins as he surged toward Brewster. The coarse fabric of Brewster's collar bunched under Edmund's clenched fists, as he pinned him against the wall with a force that echoed his inner turmoil. "What have you done?"

Brewster met his gaze, defiance in his eyes. "Nothing, Your Grace." He spat the words into the charged air between them.

Edmund reached into Brewster's pocket and found the watch.

Plus, something else.