Free Art and Artifice by Regina Scott

Lord Robert
seemed to have made up his mind. With a nod, he set off away from
them. They hurried to keep up. Other shoppers exited in front of
them, and they detoured around the knot. A street urchin darted
past, shouting, and they lifted their skirts out of the way. The
Hussars caught sight of Priscilla and converged, and that took a
few moments to straighten out, leaving Priscilla with four calling
cards and Daphne, to her amazement, with three.
    By the time they caught sight of Lord Robert
again, he was turning the corner onto Vigo Lane.
    “Where is he going?” Ariadne panted, one hand
on her straw bonnet, which was already a bit squashed from their
time in the doorway and their confrontation with the soldiers.
    “I don’t know,” Priscilla said just as
breathlessly. “But if he continues at this pace, I shall expire on
the pavement!”
    “I have some lavender-sulfuric smelling
salts,” Daphne offered. She alone had no trouble keeping up,
striding along with her muslin skirts flapping. “Lord Snedley
highly recommends them after an exertion of a quarter mile or
more.”
    Lord Snedley must have the constitution of a
butterfly. But having a weak constitution certainly wasn’t Lord
Robert’s problem. Emily even tried calling to him at one point, but
she must have been too out of breath, for he didn’t so much as
turn.
    In fact, he kept walking and walking, and Emily
couldn’t help but notice that they were straying ever farther from
fashionable Bond Street. Soon the shops were narrower and darker,
with no windows facing the avenue and far fewer shoppers. Women
lounged in doorways, eyeing the girls with narrowed eyes. Men in
rough coats and heavy boots stalked past or worse, stopped and
stared.
    One slouched up in front of them and held out a
grimy hand.
    “Penny for an old man?” the toothless fellow
begged, face even grimier.
    Daphne began to open her reticule, but
Priscilla snatched her hand and pulled her on.
    “Do not show your money here,” she whispered.
“Emily, I think we should go back.”
    Ariadne was gazing about wide-eyed. “No, this
research is priceless.”
    “So is your virtue,” Priscilla countered.
“And I for one do not intend to lose it to a ruffian.”
    Up ahead, Lord Robert had just entered a
shop. Emily could see the sign hanging above the door.
    “Messiers and Sons,” Ariadne read as they
paused to catch their breaths. “And see the diamond below? It’s
another jeweler.”
    “Odd place for a jeweler,” Emily mused.
    “It’s a consignment shop,” Priscilla said
quietly. “People sell their jewels here when they have nothing left
to sell, or change them to paste copies so no one will know they’re
destitute. Father’s mentioned it.”
    So Emily had been right about the money.
Perhaps Lord Robert’s father had gambled away the funds. She
couldn’t see how Robert could have done so; surely his brother
would have put a stop to it.
    “We should go,” she said, taking a step back.
“Lord Robert won’t want us to know his family’s in such dire
straights.”
    “Oh, the poor thing,” Ariadne murmured. “To
be blighted in his expectations. It’s a classic plot.”
    And it explained his need to marry. Emily’s
dowry and estate would come in very handy. But her father must have
been aware of the Townsend’s financial straights from the marriage
settlements, so once again, she had nothing to use to convince him
to break the engagement. Disappointment bit sharply. Could nothing
go right?
    Shoulders slumping, she turned with the
others to go back the way they had come. Then she jerked to a
stop.
    Blocking their way was the toothless fellow
who had begged for a penny earlier. His face was red and blotchy,
his nose crossed with bulging veins. His shoulders were bunched
under his tattered coat, and his fists were as big as hams.
    “Spare a penny or two, love?” The request was
more like a demand, and he shoved out his hand again as if
expecting obedience.
    Daphne bumped