Chapter Eighteen
Two mornings later, Amanda woke to find Langford in her chamber already dressed for the day. There would be no lying abed and indulging in lazy morning pleasure today. She loved how they held off the day and the world for a while that way. She regretted the loss even this once.
He bent and kissed her. “I have calls to make. Business this morning, then a social one later. I will not be back until late. Vincent will take you to check for a letter in the afternoon.”
“You do understand that you have ruined him with all these secret missions, don’t you? He will never be a proper footman in the future. He will find the duty too dull.”
“If I fail to find good uses for his new interests, he can seek a situation that does. As it is, I am concluding that every duke should have a Vincent about.”
“That is interesting. I have been thinking that he would make an excellent thief. I am sure he would find that exciting enough.”
“He might well at that.” He began to leave, but stopped. “Stratton said that his wife asks that I call someday soon. You have met her, through Lady Farnsworth.”
“I had that honor, yes.” She had never explained just how and why they met. Considering his annoyance with Lady Farnsworth’s essay, and Parnassus too, and the secret of the duchess’s involvement, she had neglected to explain all of that.
“Stratton suggested that you accompany me.”
Two heavy heartbeats pounded. “He knows about me?”
“He knows you are here. He saw you leaving the library when he called the other day. He does not know the rest.”
“Why did you not inform me of this? He will tell her, and she will tell Lady Farnsworth and I will be known as a liar.”
“You did not lie. You said you left to aid your mother, and you did.”
“A half-truth at best, as you once accused me of giving with great talent. Nor will either lady assume even that was true if they learn I am here with you. They will think that I left in order to be your mistress, and in your own house no less. Not only a mistress, but a stupid one.”
“Stratton will not betray you. I don’t think the duchess would either. She can be confounding in her thinking, but she is not unkind. Why don’t you accompany me? I grow guilty that you are so often alone here with nothing to do.”
“You are the one confounding in your thinking.” She left the bed and went over to him. “Right now these friends of yours only wonder in ignorance. If it becomes known what I am, what I did, your name will be tied to me if I am seen with you.”
He laid his hand on her face. “Your worry for me is sweet, Amanda. However, I would trust my life with these friends. I can trust my name with them too. I may face disapproval with them, but they would never participate in talk that would ruin me. Come with me. Enter on my arm this one time.”
The way he said that, the way he looked at her, squeezed her heart like a fist. This one time. This only time. He honored her with this desire to claim her in this small public way. To present her to his friends without embarrassment.
She risked little in going. The worst she might face was the duchess’s scorn. If he one day became known as a man who helped a thief, that thief would be long gone by then.
“Not this week. After we learn about the dagger’s destination, maybe I will do it,” she said. “If the duchess is less kind than you think, I do not want to endure it too long.”
He reached in his pocket. “Wear this when we go. I do not want the duchess to think I have no regard for you.”
He pressed the object into her hand, then left. She looked down. It was the jeweled locket he had given her while they lay on the carpet in Lord Harold’s house.
* * *
Gabriel could barely move in Stillwell’s office. Books filled the wall shelves and formed stacks on the floor. Old documents covered a table. Another table blocked the path to the one chair for visitors.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” Stillwell muttered while he tried to push the table out of the way.
“Leave it. I prefer to stand.”
“Certainly. If you prefer . . .” He bent over the documents on the table, pawing and sorting with shaking hands that betrayed his agitation. “I did as you requested and sought any information at all about that brooch.” He looked back. “Do you think we might get it back? I would be so relieved if you saw that eventuality. I regret to say that word has gotten out. A few others know already, and you know how such things spread.”
“I have no knowledge that would encourage you. I hope to at some time, however.”
“It is so good of you to show an interest. I fear most would only want to blame someone and not care as you do about retrieving the rarity.”
“You said you collected all the information?”
“Yes, yes. Of course. Let me see. Here it is.” He turned with several documents in his hand. “The top one is the letter from the last Duke of Argyll giving the dagger to the museum. The bottom one turned up unexpectedly when I checked the box of correspondence from that year. I assure you I had no awareness of the claim in it. I was not even here then.”
Gabriel flipped down to the bottom paper. “Are claims like this commonplace?”
“They arrive from time to time. Someone will bequeath something to the museum, and a relative says it was not theirs to give. We always respond the same way. The relative is free to pursue the matter in the courts, but we do not question the honor of our patrons. Such disputes are best resolved by the solicitors.”
This letter did not address a bequest, however. In it, a man claimed that the dagger had been stolen from his property by thieves who dug for it without permission. Only this claimant had never seen what was taken, as best Gabriel could tell. An investigating scholar had examined the abandoned site, guessed at its holdings from the remnants still there, and described the sort of objects that might have been found. The dagger matched that general description.
“Small wonder that the museum did not take this claim seriously,” he said. “I doubt any solicitors did either.”
“I thought it unlikely too, but thought I should show it to you on the chance it might help in some way.”
Indeed it might. The angry claimant’s signature provided his name. Horace Yarnell. Below the name, in clear block letters, could be found the location of his property: Morgan House, County Devon.
* * *
Upon Gabriel’s return home in late afternoon, the butler informed him that he had visitors in the drawing room. “I could not refuse their request to wait, sir, knowing they are your friends and considering their station.”
Stratton and his duchess had called.
“Please inform Miss Waverly and ask her to join us,” he said. Then he strode up the stairs, rehearsing the conversation he would have if given the chance. It was inexcusable for Stratton to allow Clara to force this social call. If a man says he will accommodate his friend’s wife in due time, then it was only appropriate for that friend and wife to wait until due time was in fact due.
He strode into the drawing room, took one look at his guests, and halted both his feet and his brain. Stratton was not alone. He was accompanied by not only Clara, but two other women, a pretty little blond lady he did not know and a dark specter he knew all too well.
Bows. Greetings. Smiles. Stratton sidled very close. “I did warn you.”
“Inexcusable,” he muttered back. Then he smiled as charmingly as he could manage. “Excuse me for one moment, please, ladies.” He pivoted and left the chamber, beckoning the footman on duty to follow.
“Go at once to Miss Waverly and tell her that she is not to come to the library under any circumstances.”
He sent the man off, returned to the drawing room, and took a seat. “What a treat, ladies. Here I thought I would have to spend the next few hours on correspondence and other boring but important duties. Instead I get to gossip with all of you.”
“We will not distract you for long,” the duchess said. “However, I thought it important to do so for a short while.”
Stratton appeared both subdued and vaguely amused. This would be the duchess’s party, from the way it had started.
Lady Farnsworth, wearing green raw silk and an orange shawl, treated him to a brief, tight smile. “Most important,” she echoed.
“Perhaps you have all called to explain how I can improve. If so, there is no need. Lady Farnsworth has already tilled that hectare sufficiently.”
“I assure you it is on another matter entirely, which does not mean there is not much to improve. Isn’t there with all of us?” The duchess smiled ever so graciously. “Before I begin, I must insist that you not hold my husband responsible in any way for what I am about to explain. He was ignorant until we married, and sworn to secrecy after. He had no influence in the matter.”
“Although he is relieved he will finally be released from his oath,” Stratton said. “You do not have to speak of me as if I am in China instead of sitting right here, darling. Nor should you try to insist on anything under the circumstances. Langford is rational and fair. He will not blame me.”
“Do not count on it,” Gabriel said. “You already have much to answer for regarding today.”
“It was a surprise to me when the other ladies arrived,” Stratton said.
“It was appropriate that we be here,” Lady Farnsworth intoned. “Let us get on with it, Clara. If there will be a duel at dawn, I still need to find my second.”
The duchess fixed her bright gaze on Langford. “There is a journal you may have heard of,” she said. “It is called Parnassus.”
“I may have heard of it in passing.”
Stratton bit back a smile.
“Lady Farnsworth writes for it.”
“Does she indeed?”
Lady Farnsworth sighed heavily. “Oh, for goodness sake, as if you did not know.”
“Dorothy, please,” the duchess murmured.
“Forgive me. I will take a turn so I do not interfere in the conversation. Gentlemen, do not get up, I beg you.” Lady Farnsworth stood and strolled away, turning her attention to the chamber’s appointments.
“Mrs. Galbreath is the editor and part owner of Parnassus, Langford,” the duchess said.
He swung his gaze to Mrs. Galbreath.
“And I am the patron and part owner,” the duchess said. “It is mine, Langford. It always has been.”
He quickly built a mental wall around the string of curses shouting in his head.
“How interesting. Don’t you think that is interesting, Stratton? Such an admirable accomplishment.”
Stratton, who knew him very, very well, looked on warily.
“I wanted you to know because soon it will be public,” the duchess said. “The next issue will be out in several weeks, and my name will be in it as publisher.”
The ladies waited for his reaction. He gave them none.
“If there is anything you want to say—” the duchess began.
“There is much I want to say, to you in particular and to Mrs. Galbreath, as owners. I am at a disadvantage, however. Being a gentleman, I must swallow my words.”
His tone had all the ladies glancing at each other.
“My words are mine alone, so direct your ire at me if you must,” Lady Farnsworth said from where she stood near a window.
“The editor and publisher chose to put those words into print,” he said. “But do not worry—I have plenty of ire for everyone.”
Lady Farnsworth did not reply. He glanced over to see her suddenly distracted, peering hard out that window.
“We are sorry you are angry,” Mrs. Galbreath said. “We do not censor our writers unless we believe they have written inaccuracies, or very inflammatory prose.”
“Suddenly I do not care if you damn us all for that essay,” Lady Farnsworth said in a voice that could cut steel. “In fact, I regret holding back on some of my more creative sentences.”
“Dorothy, this is hardly helping,” the duchess said. “Your anger is uncalled for.”
“It is most called for.” She strode toward them all. Considering her angel-of-vengeance expression, Gabriel guessed her final destination. “Scoundrel! Lothario! Devil! Are not half the wives in the ton enough for you? You needed to seduce poor Miss Waverly and lead her into perdition too?” She eyed the irons at the fireplace in an alarming manner while she passed them.
“Dorothy, please.” Exasperated, the duchess held up her hand, demanding silence from that direction. “What a bizarre accusation. Langford will be justified in concluding you are half mad.”
“Mad, am I? I just saw Miss Waverly entering a little wilderness at the back of his garden.” She pointed to the window.
Gabriel glanced at the window. It indeed looked over the garden. Damnation.
“I am sure it was she. She even wore a dress remade from one of my gowns.” She glared at Gabriel. “If I were a man, I would call you out at once for the coward you are. It was revenge against me, wasn’t it? Only Miss Waverly pays the price.”
The duchess stared wide-eyed, from Lady Farnsworth to him, then back again. Then accusatory lights replaced astonished ones. Her glare bored through him. “Is this true?”
Since there was no good answer, he sat there mute.
“That is disgraceful, Langford,” the duchess exclaimed. “And she is here? Now? Oh my, is she—is she living here?”
“She is a guest.”
Not a one of them believed she was only a guest. Six eyes full of female condemnation glowered at him.
So much for Stratton’s stupid idea that the duchess would take the affair in stride, without judgment. Gabriel thought surviving the next half hour was at best an even bet.
Stratton leapt into the middle of it all, positioning himself between Gabriel and the women. “Let us take our leave, Langford. Is there brandy in your study? I could use some.”
Gabriel stood, keeping one eye on Lady Farnsworth lest she charge. “Ladies. I am so honored that you called.” He quickly bowed to each, then beat a hasty retreat with Stratton in his wake.
“I am going to kill half of you, Stratton. The French half that advised I let your wife know about this affair.”
“I am shocked, to be honest. They are all so open-minded. I mean, that journal—”
“Ah, yes, the journal.” He pulled open his study door. “The English half gets killed because of that.”
* * *
Amanda raised her face to the dappled sun coming through the branches. The day had grown hot, and the shade in this little grove of trees at the back of the garden meant two breezes skimmed her skin, one quite warm and the other very cool. The latter one heralded the coming evening, Already the nights had started changing in temperature while the earlier sunsets spoke of autumn’s approach.
Just as well that Gabriel had changed his mind about having her see the duchess today. When word had come that she should join them in the drawing room even after saying she preferred to wait, it had vexed her. She dressed her best, however, and even pinned on the locket. It dangled now, a tiny weight that she felt with every breath. The subsequent command that she not visit the drawing room had relieved her.
She wondered why the duchess had come here. Gabriel had said they would go to the duchess.
She turned her mind to her visit to the print shop. Each day that passed made her more impatient to see her mother’s hand again in a letter. She had come to fear that they faced real danger with this man who held her, whoever he was.
“Miss Waverly. Amanda, dear.”
She sat up straight. Someone had called her name. A woman.
“Oh, Miss Waverrrrrlllyyyy.”
Closer now. It sounded like—oh, please, no. She glanced around, wondering if she could hide. She eyed the wall behind the trees, then the narrow skirt of her dress. She would never get over it in this garment.
“My dear, please show yourself. I know you are here somewhere.”
“She should not have to talk to us if she does not want to, Dorothy,” another voice said. The duchess.
“I will not leave until I am reassured she is of sound and willing mind, Clara. A devil like that can turn a woman’s head until she is a half-wit.”
“Miss Waverly never seemed a woman to become so besotted she would lose her wits over a man,” a third voice said. Mrs. Galbreath was here too.
“We should leave her to her own choices, Dorothy.”
“Oh, tosh. She is—was—an innocent. Green as spring grass. How that man managed to find her and work his wiles on her I do not know, but Miss Waverly would never, ever take up residence like this, with all it implies and the damnation that follows, unless she were bewitched. Miss Waverly, please show yourself, dear.”
Amanda sighed. She stood and walked through the trees and out into the sunlight.
“Ah, there you are.” Lady Farnsworth swooped down and embraced her, then set her back and gave her a long look.
The duchess and Mrs. Galbreath drew close.
“She appears healthy and sane to me, Dorothy,” the duchess said.
“Yes, Your Grace. I am quite well.”
“What are you doing here?” Lady Farnsworth asked earnestly. “You said you were leaving town, then I find you here, of all places.”
The way Amanda saw it, she had a choice. Lie outright, lie cleverly, or tell the truth.
“I am staying with Langford for a short while only.”
“See, Dorothy. She is a visitor as he said. A houseguest.”
“Oh, tosh. Unmarried women are never simply houseguests of unmarried men unless they are chaperoned.” Lady Farnsworth’s gaze turned sympathetic. “That scoundrel imposed on you, didn’t he? Then he lured you here so he did not even have to inconvenience himself to have his way. You can tell me, dear. I will make him pay dearly for misusing you.”
“He did not misuse me, nor did he impose. We are lovers, that is true, but in a manner of speaking, I seduced him. I do not expect you to approve.”
That rendered Lady Farnsworth aghast and speechless. Behind her, Mrs. Galbreath and the duchess exchanged knowing glances.
The duchess stepped around Lady Farnsworth. “Let us go into the house, Miss Waverly. We take you at your word that you are neither importuned nor unhappy. Indulge us, however, while we reassure ourselves that you have thought clearly about what you are doing. This is Langford, after all.”