One evening, a little while after Dennis started working at the gallery, Giles was tied up, so Dennis went to Richard to deliver his daily report.
“So anyway, this morning, we received one letter, and this afternoon, we received two more. The handwriting was different, but they all said generally the same thing. It seems likely somebody is instigating it.”
Roche and Hans had been supporting Giles behind the scenes, relieved to have Dennis in charge. Richard picked the letters up off the table and waved the envelopes with a tired sigh. “I’m surprised the bastards haven’t given up yet. By the way, Miss Clayburn isn’t wise to it, I trust?”
“She isn’t, sir. No need to worry.”
“I don’t mean just the letters. I mean you, Dennis.”
“E-everything’s fine,” Dennis insisted, for his own sake as much as Richard’s.
The initial plan was for the bodyguard to be assigned the role of a salesperson in the front of the gallery, but when Roche learned of Dennis’s military background, he assigned him to work in the back office. In other words, he was Fiona’s assistant.
Interacting so closely with the one I’m bodyguarding was a huge miscalculation. Yes, it was the ideal position from which to protect her, but it also made it much harder to keep secrets from her. To make matters worse, Dennis needed to be on his top game with his clerical work at the gallery so as not to rouse Fiona’s suspicions.
The work was a different beast than his clerical work in the military. His brain felt like it might explode from all the things his daily tasks covered, but thanks to Fiona’s patience in answering his questions—and to Hans, who was in on the bodyguard secret and had an odd way of leaping in with an assist—Dennis had somehow begun to settle in at his new job.
He realized that he actually rather enjoyed art dealing. His fellow employees were all affable, as was the atmosphere of the gallery. He had become such a diligent worker in such a short time that even Roche approved of his performance. As a place of work, Dennis found it quite satisfying.
But in stark contrast to the peaceful workplace, the threatening letters addressed to Fiona were the epitome of sinister. Some of them even contained needles or shards of glass. Watching Richard carefully look over each letter, Dennis let out a silent sigh. It’s cruel. Even the words they write could cut her. It was not the first time letters like these had come in on his watch, but even not being the addressee, he felt each new one as a psychic blow. Their intended recipient must never see them, at any cost.
Roche and Giles would deal with the senders of the letters, so all Dennis was expected to do was intercept the letters before they reached Fiona and see what was inside. He would also report any stalkers or suspicious persons to the police. Neutralizing the problems around her without Fiona knowing it posed its fair share of challenges, but compared to his days in the military, it wasn’t all that hard on him. Not that he ever expected his days of training in the stinking mud would serve him well in the elegant royal capital, of course.
It still baffles me, though. I wondered what sort of woman would agree to be Lord Lowell’s fake lover and hold a job on top of that—and I still don’t have an answer.
Dennis had braced himself for the terrifying unknown—but when he met Fiona, he found her an ordinary noblewoman. Her normalcy was so startling that in a way, it astounded him. As they finished up their first day’s work together, however, he realized that there was also something unique about her.
Fiona was the daughter of a baron, but she did not look down on her commoner coworkers. Neither did she put on airs around the customers of higher class, nor belittle Dennis for being new. Some artists and fellow industry workers were quite wild, and most had one or two quirks, but Fiona didn’t put up any walls with them. She dealt with any issues that arose with a natural poise and impressed Dennis deeply.
What surprised Dennis most of all about Fiona, though, was that her demeanor was consistent with everyone—Giles included. She did change her behavior and adjust her personal space to play the part of his lover, but Dennis couldn’t detect a hint of flightiness or yearning in her eyes. That had to be unusual.
The only time Fiona seemed to act differently was when she spoke about her uncle. He’d looked after her since she was a little girl, and he was the reason she started work at the gallery. He seemed to be a special person to her even within her family. When Fiona spoke of wanting to travel the world with her uncle, her eyes lit up. One look at that face, and it made perfect sense to Dennis that she would pretend to court Giles to avoid an arranged marriage to her childhood friend that would confine her to the barony.
And just as Richard had prophesied, Fiona and Giles began to look like a proper couple. It was the reason Fiona received so many threatening letters.
“Do you think the instigator is Caroline?” Richard asked.
“The ones actually writing the letters are other daughters of the nobility, but I do believe it must be her.”
The letters all followed the same pattern: They slandered Fiona, then detailed why she was a bad match for Giles. Then they would list the qualities and virtues befitting a future countess, all of which pointed to Caroline. The handwriting and stationery varied, so Dennis inferred that many different people had sent them; either her lackies were sending the letters voluntarily or under her orders—they couldn’t be sure which—but Caroline had to be involved somehow.
“So, how was it today?” Richard asked.
“We received letters, but there was no stalker.”
“Not that; I meant Gil. She appraised paintings at the Fowler residence all morning and then he took her to the gallery, right?”
“Oh, yes. Lord Lowell went home immediately after, so I only caught a distant glimpse of him. Just so you know, that man definitely perceives me as an enemy!”
“Does he? Ha ha ha!”
“It’s no laughing matter! What are you going to do about it?!”
The day before, Fiona had begun making house calls to appraise the paintings Gordon had sold so she could determine whether they were fake. After the day’s appraisal, Fiona had come back to the gallery for work. Dennis was there too—as he should have been, since Richard had hired him, and Giles approved it.
He worked not at the front desk but as Fiona’s assistant. That was something Roche had decided; it was not like Dennis had wished for it. Yet whenever Giles looked at Dennis, it hurt like a knife. His scrutinizing gaze did not seem meant to determine whether or not Dennis was doing a suitable job as Fiona’s bodyguard.
“What can I do about it? You don’t need to feel guilty about it, Dennis. Of course, if you make bedroom eyes at Fiona while Giles is away, that’s another matter.”
“B-but I would never do that, and you know it! There’s Hans to consider, and Mr. Roche and the other employees often pop in to check on us! And for a start, Miss Fiona isn’t—”
“Hm? You call Miss Clayburn by her first name, I see.”
The blood drained from Dennis’s face. “Yeah… That’s bad, huh…”
“From the look on your face, I’ll wager she calls you Dennis?”
Dennis paused, his face turning blue with dread. “It’s complicated.” Richard only seemed to grow more amused.
“Ha, I see.”
Fiona may not have altered her behavior depending on a person’s social class, but that didn’t mean she was indifferent to disparities in social status. For one, she still addressed Giles as “Lord Giles,” even though she was supposed to be his lover. Yet she called Dennis—a man she had just met—by his first name.
There was a reason for that, though. The gallery already had an employee with the surname Green, so the people there had organically taken to calling him by his first name. And since Dennis was to be Fiona’s closest coworker, she wanted him to address her by her first name in turn. Dennis was resistant to it at first, and it wasn’t until he received permission to add a “Miss” to her name that he finally agreed.
He’s already insecure about me working at the same place as her, but if he hears us calling each other by our first names… Well, he had a feeling Giles wouldn’t go easy on him. An image of Giles as his superior officer flashed in his mind, and Dennis’s voice cracked in his throat.
“B-but if I suddenly change the way I address Miss Fiona, she’ll get suspicious. So what should I—”
“Don’t change it. It’s much more fun this way.”
“Please, don’t joke around. Help me!”
“I would, but I’m never in the gallery.” The smirk in Richard’s voice belied his sympathetic words, making Dennis feel even more bitter.
“Um, just to confirm, their courtship… It is an act, isn’t it?”
“Ah yes, the eternal question.” Richard narrowed his eyes critically at Dennis. “I’m sure they think it’s just an act.”
“You mean they don’t notice it themselves? Oh dear, that’s yet another problem.”
An epic sigh escaped him, but Dennis couldn’t help it. He had always thought of Giles as a man who executed everything flawlessly, but now that he had seen a very different side of Giles, he felt a sense of kinship with the earl’s son budding inside him. (Only a little, though.)
Dennis pressed a hand to his forehead, and Richard, donning his usual knowing smile, poked Dennis’s face with a finger. “Speak of this to no one. Got it?”
“Of course I won’t!”
This time, Dennis understood exactly what Richard meant. He was at his wits’ end, but he nodded in firm agreement.