He had ruined everything. He had made himself miserable and earned Laura’s animosity. He was . . . oh, hell, he was ashamed of himself. Guilty and wrong and sorry. More than that, he felt hopeless. He had the awful, icy feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t make things right with her again. He wasn’t even sure how to start.
One gave gifts as apologies, he knew. His mother’s hurt feelings were always soothed by a new piece of jewelry, and a bauble softened whatever anger or resentment popped up in a mistress. It seemed wrong to do the same with Laura, who was on an altogether different level from other women, but he didn’t know what else to try.
So James stopped by a jeweler’s. He’d never enjoyed shopping; he found it a waste of time and energy. But now he discovered that it was strangely addicting. He spent almost an entire afternoon in the store and wound up buying two bracelets, a set of earrings, and a variety of gemmed hair ornaments, which he had them send to Laura. And the next day he visited another shop.
It was difficult to find the perfect piece for Laura. It must be elegant, of course, and beautiful, one of a kind. But it could not be ornate or flashy, the sort of thing that drew attention. That wouldn’t suit her. Diamonds were too glittering, too obvious. Even rubies seemed wrong. Pearls fit her—lustrous, warm, subtle. Deep blue sapphires to match her eyes.
They were all inappropriate, of course, for she was still in mourning, but he bought them anyway. She could wear them later. Right now she would wear jet or onyx, so he bought those, as well. Brooches, earrings, bracelets, rings.
He soon realized, however, that there was only so much jewelry one could buy. And, really, jewelry was so . . . expected. Ordinary. The sort of thing anyone might buy for any woman. The problem was that there was nothing large enough, expensive enough, to atone for his failings or indicate the depth of his regret for wounding her.
It was then he hit upon the idea of books, and the next day found him in bookstores, searching, discussing, pondering what she might like to read. Of course, it was all utterly ridiculous. Did he think Laura would forgive him if he showered her with presents? He had the uneasy suspicion she might be shoving everything he sent her into some empty drawer.
But he could not seem to stop buying things for her. He could not stop thinking about her. He felt as if he were in exile. The worst thing was, he had only himself to blame.
James sat at his desk, studying the name in front of him. He’d gotten it two days ago from a tavern owner he knew in Southwark, who had assured him the man’s skills at all manner of death were well worth the price. Now all he had to do was hire the fellow, and he would have the means to keep Claude in line.
It was stupid to delay it. Foolhardy. It would not happen unless Claude hurt Laura, but still . . . the idea of hiring a man to kill his brother chilled him. He kept remembering things he’d rather not think of, like teaching Claude how to climb a tree, and the day a few weeks after that when Claude had fallen out of one, the breath knocked from him, and James had been swept with panic, certain he’d killed him.
Maybe James’s threat of retribution would be enough to keep Claude in check. “Contemplating how to get rid of me?”
James glanced up, startled, to see Claude standing in the doorway. “Actually, I was remembering the first time I saw you.”
Claude’s brows rose. “I suppose you recognized me as a devil straight off.”
“No. But I did think you were a distinct disappointment, doing nothing but lying there and crying all the time. I would have preferred a new pony.”
“No surprise there.” Claude stood for a moment, arms crossed, leaning against the doorjamb. “I’m tired of this. I have someone looking for a house for Adelaide and Robbie and me. We’ll move out of . . . your home soon.”
It felt strange to hear Grace Hill called that, as if it had not always been Claude’s home, as well. James stood up abruptly. “I’m not asking that. I don’t care where you live. All I want is Laura’s safety.”
“That’s not up to me.” Claude held up his hands, forestalling James’s reply. “No, I know you don’t intend to listen to reason. You’ve got your hard head set; no one can change it.” He straightened and moved a little farther into the room. “Have you hired your assassin yet?”
“Naturally.” James was not about to tell Claude that he hadn’t even talked to one yet.
“What made you think I tried to kill you? I know what you hold as proof for your wife, the accidents you think were not. But how did someone poison you? How did they make it seem an illness?”