Chapter Nineteen
“Damn. They found her,” Gabriel said. He and Stratton had carried the brandy to the morning room from where they could see the garden through the window. “It is inexcusably bold of them to go searching in my garden without my permission.”
“I expect they are concerned for Miss Waverly.”
“They are all looking for a reason to hang me, is more likely.” He looked down at the glass in his hand. “I should call for champagne so I enjoy a final glass before I go to the scaffold. Remind the ladies that as a peer I am entitled to a silken noose.”
“Clara says Miss Waverly is nothing if not capable. She will not give them cause to hang you,” Stratton said.
“I doubt Clara is so perceptive as to determine that with the briefest of conversations in a theater box.”
“They met before that. When Miss Waverly began helping out with the journal. Did you not know about that?”
Amanda was involved with that journal too. “I did not.”
Stratton shrugged. “Ah, well.”
“Ah, well?”
“I think Clara was surprised, but not shocked, to learn you have a liaison with Miss Waverly. She is not a hypocrite.”
“It will not be she who dons the black cap, but that dark figure of doom. You would think I had seduced her daughter, she was so incensed.”
“She may have seen her secretary in that light.”
“I expect now she will write another essay and title it Ribald Rues of the Nobility, and feature me as the prime example. I expect you to use your influence to see that does not happen.”
“As Clara explained, they do not censor each other.” Stratton poured more brandy in Gabriel’s glass.
“Well, they should censor that woman. If your wife owns the damned journal, she could have refused the damned essay.”
“You were not named. It read like a general upbraiding of the nobility.”
“When you first read it, did you think, Oh, dear, Lady Farnsworth’s pen is scolding the entire nobility? Or did you think, I’ll be damned, that sounds just like Langford?”
Stratton smiled down at his brandy.
“This amuses you, I can see. You would not find it so clever if you were the subject of that essay, and the whole world knew it.”
“I was in another part of that journal, and so was Clara, and we were named, if you remember.”
That took the umbrage right out of him. He realized the fuller implications of what had just been revealed in the drawing room. “She allowed that? She agreed to fully air that scandal on those pages?”
“She wrote it. She wanted the truth out in the world, so there would be no misunderstanding of what had occurred. It came at a great cost to her.” He paused. “She did it for me. So do not expect me to sympathize too much if Lady Farnsworth’s little essay cost you a bit of your pride.”
“You have succeeded in calming the storm better than I thought possible. Let us join the ladies. Amanda will never forgive me for leaving her alone with them.”
“I think it wiser to let them chat.”
Gabriel did not think it at all wise, but he relented. “Then we must occupy ourselves here for a spell. Sit, and tell me how your son fares.”
“That bores you.”
“Not at all. Not at all. Tell me everything. He is what, a month old now? Has he started talking yet?”
* * *
“The earlier drafts are stacked by date, most recent first and oldest at the bottom. They are in the second drawer.”
Amanda finished explaining the very logical way she had left Lady Farnsworth’s papers. Lady Farnsworth sat at a writing table, making notes. A sheet with similar notes could be found in the library desk’s top drawer, left for Lady Farnsworth should she go looking for reminders of the explanation given to her on Amanda’s last day.
Lady Farnsworth admired her sheet of notes, blotted them, then folded the paper and returned to her seat on a divan beside Mrs. Galbreath. She found her reticule and tucked the paper away. “How fortuitous that I found you today, so I could have a map, as it were.”
The “map” had taken fifteen minutes to create. Now that it was done, Amanda wondered how to avoid awkward questions.
“You do know that if it becomes known that you are living in his home there will be no hope for you,” Lady Farnsworth spoke as calmly as if she commented on the weather.
The duchess rolled her eyes. “Really, Dorothy.”
“I feel obligated to remind her. It isn’t done. You know it isn’t, Clara. Langford has outdone himself in his lifelong campaign to shock society.”
“No one knows I am here, except you ladies and the Duke of Stratton. Nor will I remain here much longer. The duke is kindly helping me with a matter that has bedeviled me. It should conclude soon.”
“And where will you go then?” Lady Farnsworth demanded.
“To aid my mother, as I said. I did not lie about that. I have no illusions that my association with the duke will last long.”
“If you needed help, you could have asked us,” Mrs. Galbreath said.
“That is kind of you, but I do not think this is help that you could give anyway. I want you to know that the help was not conditioned on my being his lover, or the other way around. Rather that happened before he knew I needed any help. I had even tried to hide that from him. As to my current situation, it happened almost by accident.”
“It does not sound as though Miss Waverly desires to escape a situation that she regrets,” the duchess said. “It seems we will not be required to rescue her, ladies.”
Lady Farnsworth acknowledged that with a grudging nod. Mrs. Galbreath appeared less convinced. “And if there is a child, what then? Will there be a settlement?” she said. “This may have happened by accident, but there can be the most lasting of consequences.”
When Amanda did not reply, the duchess asked gently, “Would you like one of us to speak with him? Or my husband?”
Lady Farnsworth scowled. “That devil shall not be allowed to take advantage of your ignorance.”
“He is not a devil,” Amanda said. “He is more kind than you know, and would never take advantage. Nor is he keeping me. Would I be wearing this dress if he were? I am a temporary houseguest and I do not require any settlements. Now, please, do tell me how the next issue of the journal progresses. I have been wondering about it and am glad to have this chance to hear about it.”
The ladies launched into a spirited account of the next issue and its contents.
* * *
“I have news about the man behind this, perhaps.” Gabriel spoke into the night and broke the quiet peace. “I have debated whether to tell you because the thread is very thin. Too thin to follow.”
“Any thread is better than none.” Amanda pulled up her legs and turned to face him. “You must tell me now. It would be cruel not to.”
“Do not make too much of it.”
“Tell me, damn it.”
“Amanda. What language.”
“Tell me or you will hear far worse.”
“I have the name of a man who claims items like these were stolen from his land. It fits with what I know about their source. There was a private auction when they came to London years ago. Their provenance was ambiguous. Provenance means—”
“I know what it means. It is the history of an item or work of art. Who owned it previously, back through time. If no one knew the provenance of the brooch, for example, how could this man prove it belongs to him?”
“He can’t. The quiet sale, however, suggests something suspicious about how the brooch was procured. So his claim may have merit.”
“And so . . . he may have decided to get his property back by any means, even if it meant having someone steal it back for him.”
“That was my thought. He lives in the general area where Brentworth was told the hoard had been found. Devonshire. So it is possible he saw his opportunity.”
“Are we going to go there?”
“It is tempting, but I would prefer if the thread were a bit thicker. It could be a chase after nothing. It would be easier if we had some indication of where your mother is. I would hate to travel to Devon only to learn later your mother is in Northumberland.”
She fell onto her back. “I might have known where she is by now if you had not abducted me.”
“Perhaps.”
“Very probably.”
“Or you might have been molested on the road traveling alone. Or assaulted by whomever you followed.” He moved so his face met hers in the dark. “I also would have been denied your company these last days and nights.”
“You would have busied yourself with another.”
“Eventually. Not for some time, I think.” A good while, he suspected. “What did you and the ladies talk about after Stratton pulled me away?”
“Their journal.”
“Ah. I thought perhaps you spoke about me.”
“You really are very conceited.”
“Did they warn you off me? Predict utter ruin for you?”
“Nothing that I am not already well aware of. But we did speak about the journal as well. And you and Stratton? Did you two drink whisky and complain about the trouble women cause?”
“Brandy, and we talked about his son. Or he talked and I listened. The child has little to recommend him yet. He is very tiny and mostly sleeps.”
“Have you ever held him?”
“Of course not. Why would I do that?”
“Babies are very nice to hold. Like puppies, only better.”
“Perhaps I would have, if I had known that. I like puppies.”
“You will have your own son someday. You must hold him. He will not remember that you did, but he will know it.”
“It is my duty to have a son and no doubt I will, in due course. But I do not look forward to being a father. All those lectures about right and wrong and such. I’m not sure I have it in me.”
“Then do not lecture. You will be a fine father. You have already been one in a way, with your brother. If you care for a son the way you cared for him, you will be quite the devoted father.”
He tried to picture that. Would he be as besotted as Stratton? Probably not. Stratton’s joy came in part from sharing the experience with a woman he adored. Gabriel did not expect anything similar in his own marriage when he finally made one.
The thought of that match left him cold. He did not know women well and preferred male companionship. He doubted he would be blessed with a wife whose company he preferred to that of Stratton and Brentworth. Women talked about things that bored him, and few displayed much wit in doing so. Other than with Amanda, he had rarely had true conversations with any women.
He gazed down at her. She spoke blithely about him marrying and having an heir. He resented the circumstances of their meeting and the necessity of their parting. He hated how pending loss tinged everything they did and said now.
Her expression changed suddenly. Her eyes grew large. She pushed at him hard and scrambled out from under him. “Of course,” she cried while she fought her way free of the linens. “Of course.”
She ran to the dressing room. “Stay there,” she called. “I will bring it.”
She emerged from the dressing room with a lit candle and a paper that she waved. “The last letter. Look at the bottom.”
He opened it and read it again while she held the candle close. Her finger pointed. “See? She underlines this word along with love, but the line breaks the way they do at times when you draw a long one with a quill. It was the same on the other letters. I had not even thought about it, but with what you told me tonight, I kept seeing it in my head. And before you ask, yes, it is just the sort of thing she would do.”
“Seeing what in your head?”
“Read only the letters that are underlined in the last word.”
With love and Devotion.
D e v o n.
Devon.