The Bargain by Jane Ashford Page B

bent to kiss her cheek as he took his leave, happy to dismiss one item from his mind and move on to the next. As soon as he returned to Carlton House, he would request reports from the men searching for Bess Harding’s servants. He needed to find someone to send into the French émigré community. And perhaps a new man more familiar with the network of stable owners and coachmen; he wasn’t satisfied with the information from that quarter. It wouldn’t be long before he had some information for Ariel, he thought with satisfaction. He wondered how thankful she would be. A vivid recollection of the soft surrender of her lips intruded suddenly, and he suppressed it. There were things to be attended to, facts to be marshaled and interpreted. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, turning toward the door.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” she said to his back, adding, “I think,” only after the door had closed.
    ***
    Late that afternoon, just as Ariel had returned from the market square with some bundles of provisions, she heard a commotion in the street outside the house and went to the kitchen window to see what it was. From this basement vantage point, she could see only the wheels of the carriages—there were two of them stopped in front of the house—and the legs and feet of what seemed to be a crowd of people. However, the wheels were painted golden yellow, with an intricate design picked out in dark blue, and the shoes and articles of clothing she glimpsed were all of the finest quality. “Do you think it is some friend of my mother’s?” she asked Prospero, who had been carefully observing the foodstuffs as she unpacked them.
    An authoritative knock sounded on the front door. Ariel brushed at her skirts, regretting that she had put on one of her own dowdy dresses this morning, and hurried up the stairs. She discovered a liveried footman standing on her doorstep. He was so tall that she had to lean her head back to look at his face. “Miss Harding, if you please,” he said, managing to imply disapproval of the entire neighborhood in those few simple words.
    â€œI am Miss Harding,” she replied with a touch of defiance.
    The footman looked scandalized and somewhat at a loss.
    â€œThank you, William,” put in a cultivated female voice. The footman’s broad shoulders moved aside, and Ariel found herself facing a tall, red-haired woman. “I am Adele Gresham. How do you do?”
    Instinctively, Ariel dropped a small curtsy. The woman’s manner reminded her all too vividly of her school’s headmistress, Miss Ames. Then she registered the name. “Gresham?” she repeated.
    â€œMay we come in?”
    Too surprised to do anything else, Ariel stepped back, and what seemed like a whole troop of people entered the small entryway of her house.
    â€œA fine old place,” commented the duchess, surveying the carved panels and banister. “I suppose the drawing room is on this floor, rather than upstairs?”
    Ariel indicated the door on the left. Her house was indeed too old to have been designed with a large withdrawing room on an upper floor. The biggest chamber, and the one her mother had used for receiving guests, was right next to the entryway.
    Adele Gresham swept into it. Ariel didn’t see her give any sort of signal, but none of the others followed. Feeling a bit apprehensive, she joined the older woman.
    â€œA pleasant room,” said the duchess. She sank gracefully into one of the satin-covered armchairs that flanked the fireplace. “You haven’t overwhelmed it with modern furnishings. It’s best to let the old lines show, isn’t it?” She nodded at the modest curtains on the small mullioned windows and the trestle table against the far wall.
    â€œMy mother chose everything,” replied Ariel. She remained standing in the middle of the room.
    â€œAh.” The girl was not precisely what she had