She picked up the first stack. She dropped the coins into the tin marked DEBT. They hit the bottom with a heavy clunk.
"Twenty pounds for Uncle," she whispered. Her stomach twisted. The debt to Lord Hawksley was massive. It was a monster that ate everything she earned. Since her parents died, her uncle and his family took her in, maltreated her and sold her out to cover for the expenses he used to take care of her even after acquiring her father's land.
She picked up the second stack.
"Twenty pounds for JUSTICE," she said. She dropped the coins into the second tin. This was to reopen the investigation of the carriage accident that happened twenty years ago when she was seven. To prove that the accident wasn't due to negligence but an attempt on their life. To find her parent killers.
She looked at the last, tiny stack of coins. Ten pounds.
She picked them up. She held them in her hand for a moment, feeling the cool metal.
"And ten pounds for FREEDOM," she said softly.
She dropped them into the third tin.
This was her escape fund. The money she would use to buy a small cottage by the sea, far away from London, far away from everything and start life afresh after she had gotten Justice for her parents.
She looked at the three tins. The DEBT tin was half full. The JUSTICE tin was a quarter full. The FREEDOM tin was barely covering the bottom.
She sighed. It was a heavy, weary sound that seemed to pull at her very bones.
"It is still short," she said.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. The candlelight danced in her hazel eyes. She looked tired.
"At this rate, I will be an old woman before I see the ocean," she told her reflection.
She rested her chin in her hands. "If only I could just find a very rich couple to match. A difficult case. Someone desperate. Someone willing to pay a fortune for a miracle."
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Delaney jumped. The sound was sharp and sudden in the quiet house.
She spun around in her chair, her heart hammering against her ribs. She looked at the door.
It was late. No one came to call at this hour. Not for good news, anyway.
"Who is it?" she called out. Her voice was steady, but her hand reached for the heavy brass candlestick. It would make a decent weapon if needed.
"It's Mrs. Miller, dear! From next door!" a muffled voice replied.
Delaney let out a breath of relief. She set the candlestick down. Mrs. Miller was a harmless widow who baked excellent bread and watched the street like a hawk, gathering juicy gossips.
Delaney stood up and pulled her dressing gown over her night rail. She walked downstairs and unlocked the door.
Mrs. Miller was standing on the step, wrapped in a shawl. She held a white envelope in her hand.
"Sorry to disturb you so late, love," Mrs. Miller said, her eyes bright with curiosity. "But a footman just dropped this off. A proper footman! With a wig and everything! He said it was urgent."
Delaney frowned. "A footman?"
"He knocked at your door, but it seems you haven't gotten home," Mrs. Miller explained. "So I took it for you. Didn't want it sitting on the step."
"Thank you, Mrs. Miller," Delaney said. "You are very kind."
"It looks fancy," Mrs. Miller hinted, eyeing the letter.
"I am sure it is just a bill," Delaney lied smoothly. "Goodnight, Mrs. Miller."
She gently closed the door before the neighbor could ask any more questions.
Delaney locked the door again. She looked down at the letter in her hand.
Mrs. Miller was right. It was fancy.
The paper was thick and creamy. It was heavy, made of expensive linen. It felt like velvet under her thumb. It smelled faintly of sandalwood.
She turned it over.
On the back was a wax seal. It was not a simple blob of wax. It was a crisp, perfect impression in dark red wax. It was a family crest. A lion rampant holding a shield.
Delaney's breath hitched. She recognized that crest. Everyone in London recognized that crest.
It was the Hamilton crest.
Her heart began to beat faster. Why would the Duke be writing to her? Was he writing to complain about the mud on his breeches?
She looked at the front of the envelope. The handwriting was bold and sweeping, written in black ink.
To Madame Coeur.
Delaney froze.
He didn't know she was Delaney Kingsley, the woman in the gray dress he had bumped into.
He was writing to Madame Coeur, the mysterious matchmaker.
She walked slowly back to the vanity table. She sat down. Her hands were trembling slightly.
"Be careful what you wish for, Delaney," she whispered.
She picked up her letter opener. With a quick slit, she broke the Duke's seal.
She unfolded the thick paper. Inside, there was a short, terse note with a different tone.
Madame Coeur,
My patience is at an end. My nephew refuses to marry giving excuses of not finding the perfect woman. I have heard highly of your…unique talents. I am in need of your services. I require a match that is practical, efficient and long lasting. I am told you can achieve the impossible. My carriage will collect you tomorrow at ten. We will be discussing this at my residence.
The Hamilton House.
Delaney read the letter twice.
" Oh, it's shiny boy's aunt," she said as she let out a short, dry laugh. "Sounds like he's a lost cause for her to seek me out."
She looked at the signature. She looked at the three tins on her vanity, her laughter died down.
DEBT. JUSTICE. FREEDOM.
The Hamilton house was one of the richest family in England. Her fee would not just be coins. It would be a fortune. It would be enough to fill all three tins. It would be enough to save her from Lord Hawksley, give justice to her parents, and buy her cottage.
All she had to do was find a wife for the most difficult, overly perfect man in London. How hard could it be?
She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness. She thought to herself " But seriously, how hard could it be?"