Simon Marshall was nervous. He had drawn several designs to show the Duke and Duchess of Winshire, and now he was to present them. They were ordering a signet ring to mark the sixteenth birthday of the duke’s nephew, and Simon had made hundreds, perhaps thousands, or rings, many of them signets. The status of the clients, however, made this one of his most important jobs ever.
Not as important as the locket the duke’s dearest friend had commissioned for another sixteenth birthday some eight years ago. That locket, rescued from a thief, had reunited him with Zara, his darling wife of just a few months.
Zara stood somewhat in the relation of a godchild to the duke, and had assured him that the august couple were very nice. He knew that. He had met them at his wedding and again when they summoned him to Winshire House to commission the ring.
She also said his designs were magnificent. She was prejudiced in his favour, and thought everything he made to be beautiful. They were acceptable. Any one of them would work to make both an attractive ring and a clear and identifiable impression in wax—a mark that signified Elias, Lord Bentham, the youth who would receive the ring.
He held the courtesy title of viscount, as heir to the Earl of Lechton, would one day succeed to his father’s title and wear the ring that now graced the earl’s finger. “Long may that day be in coming,” the duchess had said. “In the meanwhile, my husband’s family has formed the habit of gifting their sons a signet ring when they turn sixteen.”
“A tradition,” the duke added, giving his wife a look full of affection, “that we will in future extend to daughters, at my duchess’s behest.”
Simon had asked a few questions about the Lechton coat of arms and the young recipient’s interests.
Dozens of drawings had been narrowed down to three designs. One contained the elements of the Lechton heraldic symbols that came from the Bentham title: a sword and a stylised fish. One was a representation of a star cluster, since Bentham had a passion for astrology. And one combined the two: a star crossed by a sword.
As the butler announced him, he took a deep breath and stepped into a pretty parlour, tastefully furnished, where the duke and duchess greeted him with warm smiles.
The duchess invited him to sit. The duke asked after his wife. The duchess poured him a cup of tea. Simon found himself relaxing.
Then the duke gestured to the folder Simon had put on the table before him. “Your designs?” His Grace asked. “Would you like to explain them to us, Mr Marshall?”
“No, Your Grace,” Simon said, then blushed at the look of surprise on the duke’s face and explained. “I believe, Your Grace, that if they need to be explained, they are not good enough.”
The duke nodded, and the duchess smiled. “That makes perfect sense, Mr Marshall. My husband and I shall look at what you have brought us, then, while you serve yourself one of Fournier’s little cakes and enjoy it with your tea.”
Simon Marshall is the hero of Zara’s Locket, my story in the new Bluestocking Belles collection, Belles & Beaux. Belles & Beaux is on preorder at the sale price of 99c, and is published next week. Find out more on the Bluestocking Belles website.
“You came,” she whispered in a breathy tone and she at once realized how fast her heart was hammering away inside her chest. She was excited and scared all at the same time while she tilted her head back to see his face. She felt so tiny next to this giant of a man, who must be well over six feet tall.
Sherry Ewing picked up her first historical romance when she was a teenager and has been hooked ever since. A bestselling author, she writes historical and time travel romances to awaken the soul one heart at a time. When not writing, she can be found in the San Francisco area at her day job as an Information Technology Specialist. You can learn more about Sherry and her books on her website where a new adventure awaits you on every page at www.SherryEwing.com.
Sometimes all it takes to find your heart’s desire is to make a wish…
“Chinese, Your Grace,” he explained. “From the Tang dynasty. More than a thousand years old. ” It stood four square on a small marble stand, its neck arched and its bobbed tail proud. The colours were still as bright as the day it was fired.
Eleanor looked at the door as it closed behind the esteemed scholar. Perhaps she should have told him that Rose St Aubyn was away, and that the house was soon to be occupied by the daughters of the deceased Earl of Seahaven. But Eleanor remembered the eldest from her brief London season. Fiercely intelligent. Deeply interested in ancient civilisations. That had been years ago, of course, but Lady Elizabeth had not ‘taken’, and nor had she married since.