Unraveled Read Online Free PDF Page B

news.
    She wasn’t sure if she should be happy about the old man’s absence. Only a faint, sour hint of pipe smoke remained to remind her of his presence. The two customers who were in the store were silent, looking through the wares. That, most of all, made the shop seem smaller and gloomier than usual. Usually, Old Blazer was chattering away. And unless he’d been set off on one of his famous rages, someone would have been laughing in response.
    Miranda clutched her basket to her chest and tiptoed to the back of the store. The counter there, usually stacked with goods, had been cleared of everything but a red pincushion.
    Jeremy Blasseur—Old Blazer’s grandson—was sitting on a stool, needle in hand. He was slender, and had a shock of sandy brown hair that curled of its own accord. He was frowning at a seam, which gave him a somewhat abstracted expression. It almost made her want to laugh, which would have been very wrong, because Jeremy was one of the most intensely sober individuals she had met. Especially these days.
    He looked up at her approach, and his face lit. “Miss Darling. You survived. How did it go?”
    “As well as you might expect.” And that was all he was going to get from her. “I do hope that Old Blazer is well.”
    Jeremy gave a halfhearted shrug. “He’s got a bit of a head-cold. Or, at least, that’s what he said. Mama says he’s just malingering. But you haven’t told me anything. I worry about you.”
    Old Blazer wouldn’t have worried about her. He would have been worried about the gown she’d borrowed, and he’d have been grumbling already about the length of time she’d had it.
    But Jeremy was so serious, so intent on doing everything right. Nothing made an easy friendship more awkward than a man who wanted to help .
    “Don’t,” Miranda said. “Nothing happened.”
    He had enough to worry about as it was. The last thing he needed to hear, after that unfortunate business with George, was that Miranda had found herself hip-deep in trouble with a magistrate.
    He gave her a sad-puppy look. “If you really don’t want to talk of it…”
    “It’s over,” she said shortly. “I survived. I’d rather forget it all.”
    It was impossible to forget. When Lord Justice had taken hold of her today, he’d not caviled about the matter. He’d grabbed her wrist with a firm, strong grip. She could still feel the warmth and pressure of his hand.
    In contrast to Lord Justice’s dark, fine coat, Jeremy was dressed in serviceable—but fading—brown. He didn’t frighten her. He hadn’t threatened to toss her in gaol.
    “Did you like the gown?” he asked.
    “It suited the occasion.” She dipped into her skirt pocket and slid a half-shilling across the counter. That practically gutted her remaining stash of coins.
    “No, no.” He shook his head. “I can’t possibly charge you for the loan. It was just a few hours that you had it.”
    “You’re running a business, Jeremy. I’m a customer. I have to pay you, or you don’t make any money.”
    “But I know how much you needed it.”
    “When a customer needs something, good business sense requires you to charge him more, not less.” Equal in importance was the fact that Miranda owed enough favors. Owing favors had landed her in this tangle in the first place.
    “But…” He sighed and ignored the coin. “You’re a friend. You don’t need to be a customer. I have few enough friends as it is.”
    “We’ll be better friends if I act like a customer when I’m a customer. I don’t want to impose on anyone. You, least of all.”
    “It’s not—” He cut himself off, shook his head. “Bother. You don’t have to trade for everything.”
    She ignored this. “We still have business to do, Jeremy.” She reached into her basket. “I’ve brought another wig.”
    He drooped. “Um…we haven’t sold the last two yet.”
    “This one is the best so far.” How she managed to speak so calmly, Miranda didn’t know. The