“I shall not stop, you understand, until I find the one you sold my wife. I cannot bring myself to believe you would disrespect her and her station so foolishly.”
He let the jar fall.
The shopkeeper flinched. He had begun to shake.
“Please! She didn’t look like a duchess. She told me, but I couldn’t believe her. What kind of duchess—”
“What kind of duchess?” Henry repeated. He was already reaching for another. “Go on. Finish the sentence.”
“Your Grace, I meant only—”
Henry pulled the jar down and held it loosely between thumb and forefinger.
“What kind of duchess wears a plain dress and walks in without a footman at her elbow? What kind of duchess does not bring her card? Yes. I see your difficulty.”
“Thank you, You—”
He opened his hand. The jar fell. Glass and seed scattered across the boards.
“She is the kind of duchess whose word is to be believed when she gives her name. She is the kind whom a man in trade owes the courtesy of doubt, if doubt must be exercised at all, rather than the courtesy of contempt.”
He took up another jar and turned it slowly in his hand. The man went very still.
“Have you a wife?”
“Your Grace?”
“A wife. A daughter. A mother yet living.”
“A wife, Your Grace. Two daughters.”
“And what should you wish for them, were they to walk into a shop on an errand they had set themselves, and find behind the counter a man such as yourself?”
The shopkeeper did not answer.
“Quite.” Henry replaced the jar on the shelf so delicately thatthe glass made no sound against the wood. The man’s eyes had not left it.
“Now hear me. You shall close this shop early. You shall present yourself at Iredell House at four o’clock this afternoon. You shall bring with you a full apology, written in your own hand, addressed to Her Grace the Duchess of Iredell. You shall express in the plainest possible terms your regret for your conduct. You shall read it aloud to her on your knees. Is this clear?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Four o’clock. Not five minutes after.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Henry stepped over the wreckage and took up his hat from the counter.
“And clean up this place. It is a disgrace,” Henry said, and walked out into the street.
The bell rang behind him.
The carriage to Bond Street took a quarter of an hour. Henry sat with his hat on his knee.
Madame Renard’s establishment had a quieter sort of door than most. Plain glass. A single bonnet on a stand in the window, lavender flowers that reminded him of his wife’s scent. The two girls at the long table inside looked up when he entered. The taller of them rose at once.
“Your Grace.”
“Where is Madame Renard?”