Her Mystery Duke(5)

His expression softened. “My darling, are you all right?”

“Dearie, is he bothering you?” Mrs. Mason asked in her grandmotherly tones.

“We have something to discuss,” he answered.

Jeanne inhaled sharply and gave the first plausible explanation that came to her mind. “My father owed him money. He thinks I can pay but I don’t have it.”

The gentleman gaped at her, his eyes gone wide with shock that quickly transformed into raw-edged hurt.

His pain sliced into her. She began rubbing her hands together. As though iron bands constricted her, she could barely breathe, so greatly did sympathy overwhelm her. “Please, sir—”

She couldn’t think of what else to say.

His expression hardened, his eyes frosted.

“That’s just about enough.”

At the sound of Mrs. Mason’s voice, Jeanne turned to the serving counter. The older woman narrowed her eyes. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a small pistol.

Every hair on Jeanne’s body stood on end and she gasped. “Oh, please don’t—”

“Don’t fret, dearie, I’ll take care of this,” Mrs. Mason said as she leveled it straight and steady at the gentleman.

“Please, Mrs. Mason, put your gun away.” Jeanne forced the words past her tightening throat muscles. “I can handle him.”

“I know how to deal with these uppity nobs. They get two pence to rub together in their pockets, some fancy clothes, and they think they are the lord of the manor.” Mrs. Mason said, keeping her pistol aimed at the gentleman’s chest. “Mister, I think you better leave.”

He frowned. “Madam, do you have any idea to whom you are speaking?”

“To whom am I speaking?” Mrs. Mason asked.

The gentleman stared at her blankly. He lost that arrogant expression. He looked forlorn once more.

Jeanne’s chest tightened again.

“You forget yourself, where you are at. You’re not among your type here, sir.” Mrs. Mason walked closer to the gentleman. “I left my home in Pennsylvania over forty years ago when I married. And I have lived here among the British and made my husband‘s home my own. But I have never been settled to bow and scrape to your kind.”

“My kind?” The gentleman asked.

Mrs. Mason jabbed the gun into his chest. “I am sixty-seven years old. I’ll be damned before I cower to one such as you.”

The gentleman held his hands up. “I mean no trouble.”

“What else could you be about, coming here and terrorizing a sweet young thing like this?” Mrs. Mason harrumphed.

“I thought we had something to discuss.” He gave Jeanne a cold, hard glance. It was so full of sadness, bitterness that it made her heart jump. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

“Yes, you certainly were,” Mrs. Mason said.

He turned on his heel and left the shop. The little bell rang in the wake of his departure.

Jeanne returned to the window and watched him staggering and veering down the street. The wind gusted again. It was such a cold day. He had no hat. Where would he go? Who would watch out for him?

He wasn’t her responsibility.

It was dangerous to reach out to others. Someone like him, with a disorder of the mind, would be a bottomless pit of need. Sucking her dry.

He was turning the corner. She put her hand to the glass. Her throat began to burn again.

A light touch settled on her shoulders. She started and twisted around.

Mrs. Mason smiled. “It’s all over, dear.”

It was over. She was safe now. He was gone and gone in a way that didn’t involve doctors treating him with all sorts of barbaric, useless torture. She should be relieved. She was relieved.

He might still encounter dangers between here and reaching Esau. But how much was one person required to risk for a stranger?

“Oh, you are shaking.” Mrs. Mason patted her shoulders. “Now don’t you worry. I know his type, a craven fox preying on the weak. But he’ll think twice about harassing you, now that he knows you’ve got some friends in this town.” Mrs. Mason pulled her away from the window.

“I am so tired. I need to go home.”

“No, you must wait. Be sure he is gone. You should finish your pie and have some more tea.”

“Yes, of course you’re right.” Jeanne followed her back to the table and chairs. She took some coins out of her reticule and placed them on the table.

Mrs. Mason shook her head. “My treat today.”

“No, I insist.”

Mrs. Mason waved dismissively. “I have to attend to the baking but you stay here and rest yourself. Ben will drive you home later. If that coxcomb comes back, you just call for me.”