Page 2 of When You Rescued Me

“But that brooch,” Hannah said, tugging on his coat sleeve and, thereby, abandoning the promise she’d made to her mother to behave like a young lady. “It’s just the thing for Mother!”

With her other hand, Hannah pointed to a small object lying on the silver tray beside the sugar bowl.

Her father bent down to study the piece of jewelry from Hannah’s viewpoint. “It is quite unusual,” he conceded.

“It’s the prettiest brooch I’ve ever seen,” she said. “And it’s daffodils. Mother loves daffodils.”

In truth, her mother adored all flowers, but Hannah was fully enamored with the delicate trumpet petals carved out of the oval piece of ivory. And she was convinced her mother would be too.

Eyeing the shop’s interior warily, her father rose to his full height once more. “Very well,” he said. “We shall go inside to see what the proprietor is asking for the piece.” He gave her a warning look. “But I am counting on you to remain by my side at all times, no matter how many more fascinating objects catch your attention.”

Hannah’s excitement surged, but she slipped her gloved hand into his and gave a demure nod. “Yes, Father.”

The shop’s interior appeared even more like the Cave of Wonders than Hannah had imagined. Objects were balanced in precarious piles on every available surface. She had never seen such clutter. Or so many captivating treasures. She itched to investigate the unfamiliar items, but her father’s tight grasp of her hand was a tangible reminder of the promise she’d made.

“Good day, sir. Miss.” A narrow-faced man appeared through a door at the back of the shop. He had dark eyes, and his hair, pulled into an untidy queue, was the same shade of reddish-brown as his whiskers. His well-worn jacket and breeches were a faded black, and when his smile revealed an uneven row of yellowed teeth, Hannah was quite sure she’d never seen anyone so stoat-like.

“Mr. Bailey, I presume?” her father asked.

“The very same.” The man puffed out his chest a fraction. “’Ow may I assist you?”

“You have a brooch in your window,” her father said. “How much are you asking for it?”

The man’s smile widened. “Ah. Discernin’ taste, you ’ave, sir. That’s a priceless piece, fer certain.”

Her father eyed him sternly. “Priceless, you say.”

“No doubt about it.” Mr. Bailey scurried over to the window and picked up the brooch. “I’ve seen a great many pieces o’ jewelry in me time, an’ I ain’t never seen such fine carvin’ afore.” He turned it over in his hand. “An’ if that weren’t enough, th’ iv’ry’s set in pure gold.”

“May I see it?” Hannah’s father extended his free arm.

With a gleam of anticipation in his dark eyes, the shopkeeper handed over the brooch.

Hannah leaned closer to study the delicate cluster of ivory daffodils in their oval setting. “I think Mother would like it very much,” she whispered.

“You have yet to tell me your asking price,” her father said.

“I can’t let it go fer under a pound.”

With a snort, her father set the brooch atop a nearby book. “Come, Hannah. We have business elsewhere.”

Something that resembled panic flitted across the man’s weaselly features. “But if yer young lady is taken with it, I might be willin’ t’ take less.” He reclaimed the brooch and his smile. “I ’ave a great fondness fer little uns.”

“I am willing to give you two shillings,” her father said.

Mr. Bailey’s jaw tightened. By Hannah’s reckoning, her father had just offered the man a tenth of what he’d originally asked for.

“That’s akin t’ stealin’ it from me, sir.”

“Hardly,” her father said. “I would hazard a guess that you paid less than one shilling for the piece.”

The shock on the shopkeeper’s face was unmistakable, and Hannah wondered if Mr. Bailey had any idea whom he was dealing with. Her father may submit rather too easily to his daughters’ pleadings, but beyond that, Henry Dennington was known throughout London for his business acumen and ability to name his own price.

“I will offer you one crown and nothing more,” her father said.

Mr. Bailey frowned, but before he could voice a response, the shop door opened, and a tall, thin young man with tousled brown hair and a rip on the knee of his worn gray breeches walked in. His gaze darted from Hannah to her father before settling upon the shopkeeper. Mr. Bailey raised an eyebrow, and the young man gave a faint nod.

“Percy!” the shopkeeper called, his eyes not leaving the new arrival. “I’m needin’ ’elp in th’ shop.”