Chapter Fifteen
“Milady, milady!” Mrs. Finley’s frantic call penetrated the door of the bedchamber.
Clara bolted up in her bed, still half-asleep. Her nakedness slapped her awake. While she grabbed her bedclothes around her, trying to cover every inch of skin up to her neck, her gaze bolted around her chamber, seeking evidence of her visitor.
None could be seen. He was gone, probably hours ago while she slept, just as he promised. The only evidence of last night was her.
Jocelyn hurried to open the door. Mrs. Finley gasped out words between heavy breaths. “The countess. The earl. Here. Their carriage.” She stopped and inhaled deeply. “The house is not ready. There is not enough breakfast. I will run and tell the cook to do something.” She turned and hurried off.
Jocelyn ran to the window overlooking the street. “They are at the door.”
“What can they be thinking, coming at this hour?”
“It is almost ten o’clock.”
“Help me to get washed and dressed so I can receive them. No, first run down to Mrs. Finley and say she is to most definitely put them in the morning room with breakfast, and if my grandmother refuses, then in the library. I will be down soon.”
Jocelyn ran off. Clara found her nightdress among the tangled sheet and coverlet and pulled it on. Was it her imagination that the whole bed carried a scent this morning? She sniffed, then flushed. There was no mistaking what had happened here.
She rushed to the dressing room. Hot water already waited and she began to use it, not waiting for Jocelyn.
Jocelyn returned and grabbed a towel. “They may be coming up here. Mrs. Finley is holding her ground, but the dowager is staring her down and I do not think it is a fair match.”
Why, of all the—“Do something with my hair, quickly.”
“I cannot manage more than a knot now.”
“Then make a knot. But first close the door to my bedchamber. Bolt it. If my grandmother so much as takes a step in that direction, you are to throw yourself against the boards and refuse to move no matter what she threatens.”
The knot was barely done when they heard voices on the stairs. Jocelyn ran to the wardrobe, grabbed an undressing gown, and threw it across the chamber to Clara. Clara drew it on and buttoned it with shaking hands.
“My good woman, you will move, or my son will move you,” the dowager threatened darkly, her voice booming right outside the dressing room door.
“I am telling you she was still abed and instructed me to ask you to wait until she dressed, milady.”
“I do not wait on my grandchildren. Rather the opposite. Can you believe your sister’s boldness, Theo? She intrudes on my chambers while I dress, but I am not to do the same, it appears. We will have none of that. Stand aside, I say.”
“Go and invite them in through this door, Jocelyn, before Mrs. Finley is cast down the stairs.” Clara did not like her grandmother’s tone. Not at all.
Jocelyn opened the door and stood aside. Grandmamma sailed into the room with a rumpled and yawning Theo in her wake.
Any sternness left her grandmother once she set eyes on Clara. A happy smile stretched her face. She came over and bestowed a rare kiss on Clara’s crown. “No, do not get up. Tell your maid to continue if she was about to do something with that terrible hair. A knot? I would be the first to say you are due for a new style, but that is not it.”
“Good morning, Grandmamma. Theo.”
Theo grunted. As soon as their grandmother sat, he threw himself onto a small divan and stretched out his legs. Grandmamma whacked those legs with her parasol. “Show some respect, Theo. We are not at some tavern. Forgive him, Clara. I seem to have had him woken not long after he returned from a night of doing who knows what.” The way she skewered Theo with a glare suggested one who knew what, or at least suspected.
Clara was not above seeking an alliance for what she thought would be an unpleasant conversation. “He is young, Grandmamma. You cannot expect him to behave like a fifty-year-old man.”
Theo sent her a glance of gratitude.
“Fortunately he also lacks the discretion of one, or I might have never learned how your courtship with Stratton progresses apace. Well done, Clara. Well done, indeed.”
Clara glared at Theo. He shrugged, helplessly.
“What did Theo say?”
“In his delight and relief at seeing your rendezvous with Stratton in the park, he told me all about it.” She leaned forward. “And I do mean all, Clara. All.”
“Yes, we rode in the park together. I did not think you would want me to cut him. Nor is rendezvous an accurate way to describe it.”
“You do not have to dissemble with me, dear. I know about accidental meetings that are not true rendezvous.” She gave a big wink.
Clara dared not respond. She could not be sure what Theo had seen or not seen. She had assumed that after he spoke with them, he busied himself with his friends. But what if, on seeing them ride toward privacy, he had followed? What if he had seen more than riding and talking? What if he had seen all?
She peered at her brother, hoping to discern just how bad her situation might be. Unfortunately, he had dozed off.
“Let him sleep,” her grandmother said. “Now, tell me. Has Stratton given you any valuable gifts?”
Only a very fine horse and a night to remember for the rest of my life. “What do you mean, valuable? Like a nice lace handkerchief?”
“Oh, my, no. You are so very green. With your advancing years, I often forget that. Valuable like expensive jewelry.”
“He has given me no jewelry of any value.”
“How unfortunate. I had rather hoped . . . After what Theo told me . . .”
“What exactly did Theo tell you? And was he drunk when doing the telling?”
“If he was drunk, it was from happiness. He all but danced with delight when he returned from that ride. The duke is clearly in love, he said. The man could not take his eyes off you, he said. The two of you rode away to where you might find some privacy, he said.” She lowered her chin and looked up meaningfully on that part.
Clara feared she might blush and give it all away. “If he had followed us, he would have found us having an argument. A rather loud one on a subject not for the ears of the entire ton. Although the duke and I have a friendship of sorts, it is not in any way romantic. Considering our two families, how could it be?”
Grandmamma did not care for that. She pursed her lips and contemplated this unfortunate news. “He has no need for a friendship with you of any kind, Clara. If he seeks your company, his intentions are rather more than friendship. You must tell me if he gives you, or attempts to give you, any fine jewelry. It implies things when a man does that. For a woman of your breeding, it is a declaration and all but ensures that a proposal will be forthcoming very soon, if not immediately.”
Clara wondered what it implied for a woman not of her breeding. Intentions not honorable, most likely.
Her grandmother once more whacked Theo’s legs with her parasol. “We will take our leave so that you can dress. Do see about a new style for your hair. And tell your maid to tidy up.” She speared the nightdress with the tip of her parasol and held it aloft to wave like a flag. She began to speak but stopped. She peered at that nightdress. She sniffed. “Goodness, find a new laundress too. What did yours use on this garment? Fish water?”
“I will be sure to find a better one.”
The nightdress fluttered close to Theo before Grandmamma dropped it. Theo stared at the garment on the floor, then frowned. He turned to Clara with a quizzical expression.
Clara looked right back and feigned obliviousness to his curiosity. That scent now seemed to fill the dressing room.
“You should also replace that housekeeper and your maid.” Her grandmother continued intoning opinions while she stood. “And do not get any pets. I cannot abide women who live alone and keep menageries.”
“And here I was thinking to buy a parrot from South America. I thought I would bring him over so you could teach him to talk. Then I would have the joy of your lessons all the time.”
“Be careful, Clara. I am not too old to recognize sarcasm, and you walk a fine line these days with me. Come along, Theo. And remember, Clara, any gift of value, any gift at all for that matter, tell me at once. No, tell me about anything that happens with him. I do not want you mishandling this opportunity. You will need my advice.”
She sailed out. Theo glanced once more at the nightdress before following. “Do try not to ruin it, Clara. It isn’t as if any other man would take you on now,” he said in parting.
Jocelyn entered after they passed, and closed the door. “That sounded jolly.”
Clara thought Theo’s last words sounded ominous. As if he knew. Or guessed. She glared at that nightdress. Grandmamma might have forgotten that scent, but as a young man recently come into his fortune, Theo might be very familiar with it these days.
“Help me dress, Jocelyn.” She thought about that blank paper still waiting for her in the library. She would try to make some progress on it today. It would be hard. Already her thoughts floated back to the night before, and her heart to the emotions discovered within that intimacy.
* * *
Adam finished his letter to Clara and gave it to the butler to post. He also gave instructions to the man to send to the servants at one of his properties.
Correspondence finished, he called for his horse and rode to the City. He swallowed a temptation to call on a house in Bedford Square and continued straight away to a building near Lincoln’s Inn. There he presented himself at the chambers of Claudius Leland, his solicitor.
Mr. Leland had inherited his duties to the Duke of Stratton a year prior to Adam’s inheritance. Letters from Mr. Leland had arrived with regularity in Paris, long missives containing many details about the estate. With Adam gone, the solicitor had taken it upon himself to demand reports from every property and even visited the main ones each quarter. True, he had missed how the steward at Drewsbarrow had stolen several thousand pounds, but the thief had been very clever with the accounts, and Adam did not hold that sorry event against the solicitor.
Now Mr. Leland peered at him through spectacles. He was not a young man, but his thin hair remained red and his coloring still healthy. They sat in two chairs by a nice fireplace. Bookcases covered the walls, most of them filled with ledgers and portfolios. One deep shelf held scrolls. Although the hour was early, Leland offered some sherry. Then he waited to hear the reason for the visit.
“I am curious about any estate jewelry,” Adam said.
“Your forefathers accumulated some fine pieces over the generations. Most are not of styles to be fashionable today, but the stones and metals are of very high value. For the most part, they are left with the bank. One would not have such valuables in one’s home any more than a prudent man keeps thousands of banknotes on hand.”
“And the estate owns them? How does that work?”
Mr. Leland crossed his legs. He looked like a man happy to explain his particular expertise to anyone, especially a new young duke whom he still needed to impress. “Officially they belong to each duke in turn. There is no way to entail such things. Traditions of inheritance do form, however. For example, it is customary in families for someone, usually a trusted solicitor, to explain to a new duchess that while she can wear the jewels, and while any gift given directly to her by her husband becomes her personal property, the family jewels are not hers in a legal sense and remain with the estate.”
“So my father or grandfather could have given any of these valuables to whomever they chose. Or sold some of them.”
“As can you now, of course. Do you have an interest in doing so?”
“I am more interested in learning how someone would know if I did.”
“Ah. We now have a conversation that we have thus far been denied. No one would know if you did, except you, me, and the next duke. An inventory is taken of all of the property when there is a death of its owner. One was done by me after your father passed. Another inventory of the valuable property is done every ten years thereafter. If there is a lack of concordance between the two, it is my duty to inquire as to why.”
“I expect that at times something goes missing with no explanation.”
“It is my duty to find it, even if that means ascertaining there has been a theft or careless loss. Sometimes with my patrons I already know something has been sold because it is in the accounts. More commonly my patrons inform me when personal property of such value is disbursed so that I can make a note and not wonder how it happened.”
“Yet the first inventory that you made was after my father passed.”
“That is true, but I have all the records. They were moved here when I had the honor of taking over for my predecessor. Would you like to see the last inventory?”
“I would.”
Leland hopped up and, head back, perused those shelves. Reaching up, he grasped a thick, large ledger. It almost toppled him over as he brought it down. He set it on a desk with a loud thump.
“Now, let us see . . .” He opened it, thumbed to a page close to the back, and turned the heavy pages. He flipped more, then stood back. “The section regarding the jewels is right there.”
Adam bent to the page. Line after line described jewelry in some detail. “And the inventory before this?”
Leland set a paper in the current page, then searched for the prior one. “It is not as complete, of course. Not every bridle in the stables, so to speak. Only the cream in the pitcher.” He found the inventory, paged through, and gestured. “There. 1811.”
Adam scanned down the list. It matched the most recent one. “And the 1801 inventory, if you don’t mind.”
Leland looked troubled now. He found the inventory.
Adam immediately saw a disparity. “This set here is not in the later two.”
Leland peered at the page. “Gold filigree with pearls and sapphires, diadem and necklace.” He flipped to the later inventories. “It appears it is not. I assume that your father explained its absence before 1811, or at the time that inventory was made by my predecessor.”
“Or an error was made.”
“We do not make errors, Your Grace.”
The set had been removed from the list, that was certain. “Do we know what it looked like? I might stumble upon it in a cupboard someday.”
“Of course we do.” Leland returned to the bookcase. This time he used a ladder to access a higher shelf and removed a box labeled Stratton. He brought it to the table. “Drawings are made. They prove useful in many situations.”
The box included dated drawings of silver services and paintings as well as jewelry. Adam recognized much of the property. After some digging he uncovered the drawing of the missing jewelry.
The simple description did not do it justice. The necklace alone held at least thirty pearls and five good-sized sapphires. The gold had been worked like filigree but with much thicker wires than the word implied. The diadem was even richer. “Heavy,” he said. “One wonders if any duchess wore it.”
“Perhaps a very sturdy one.” Leland chuckled at his little joke.
“I would like to take this with me.”
“It is yours, of course. Perhaps you will find the jewelry someday, tucked away in a good, safe spot that was then forgotten. I cannot tell you how often that happens. One would think someone handling such valuables would remember what they did with them.”
Adam folded the drawing and tucked it in his coat. His father had shown him all the good, safe spots in the family properties. He would check them. He did not think these were the jewels that Clara said Lady Hollsworth spoke of, however. These had gone missing far too early. Since no others had disappeared, most likely Lady Hollsworth spoke in error or repeated some unfounded rumor.
Not money, and not jewels. How else could a man give aid to the enemy while remaining in England?
* * *
Two days later Clara was discovering that keeping an affair a secret from absolutely everyone required an extraordinary level of subterfuge. One that she came to believe she could not manage.
It began simply enough, with an invitation from Stratton to accompany him to the Epsom Derby Stakes. They would go down in his carriage, he proposed, and stay at one of his properties not far from the downs. In her initial excitement, she wrote back and agreed.
Then the planning started. How to explain her absence from the house? The new servants would accept whatever she said, but Jocelyn would find any excuse suspect.
Worse, how to explain her presence at the race with Stratton as her escort? And how would she explain her lodging when someone asked, as someone was sure to do?
Not everyone would be there, but a good portion of the ton would make the short journey. Most of the young men would attend for certain. That meant Theo would probably see her. He would have his suspicions confirmed. If he told their grandmother that she and Stratton had . . . were . . . Suffice to say there would be the devil to pay.
It entered her mind while she weighed what lies might work and whether she would be willing to use them, that the duke did not care much if everyone assumed the worst of them. Hadn’t he again mentioned that they would marry? As if he were actually serious about that? Perhaps he counted on pending scandal changing her mind about her answer.
She would not pretend she had not pictured marriage to him a few times during the last few days. She blamed it on the latent influence of their intimacy. However, whatever optimistic fantasies she conjured would quickly be dashed by realities she could not escape.
It would mean no control of her income. No independence. She could no longer subsidize Parnassus and it would cease publication. It would be sad to have to tell Althea and the others that the adventure was over. She would hardly be a person anymore, truth be told. With a few words she would have to become a woman she did not know.
She decided there was no way to go to the Derby Stakes with Stratton. That saddened her to a surprising degree, and not only because of her disappointment in not seeing the race. In order to dispel the melancholy, she decided to visit some of the bookshops to see if copies of Parnassus were selling.
Her coachman had helped her purchase a modest coach and a matched pair, and she sent word for him to bring the equipage around. She would conquer this mood and write to Stratton in the evening to explain her change of decision.
She had not traveled far when she decided the company of a friend would help lift her spirits. She gave the coachman the direction to Althea’s home.
Althea lived with her brother on a street near St. James’s Square. Clara was brought to the drawing room, where Althea suffered in silence while her sister-in-law chatted with other callers. Althea’s eyes lit up when she saw Clara enter. She jumped up to introduce Clara to the ladies assembled. At the first opportunity, she took Clara aside.
“You are a saint,” Clara said. “I would go mad if I had to pretend her friends were my friends.”
“I do not mind most days, but right now I am very glad to see you.”
“Take your leave of them. I have my new carriage outside. We will visit bookshops.”
Althea proved extremely agreeable. Fifteen minutes later they stopped at the first shop and entered to count copies.
“Three are gone,” Althea said when they were back in the carriage. “Let us check Johnson’s on Oxford.”
The news there gave them both heart. All but one copy had sold.
As they left the shop, a voice hailed Clara. She turned to see Stratton closing the door on a shop four doors away.
Althea gave her a quizzical look.
“He and I have had some conversation at times,” Clara explained. “I should not cut him.”
“Of course not. It would be very wrong to cut such a handsome man.”
He appeared happy to see her. She could not hide that she was happy in return. She hoped that was all she revealed, and not the rest of what she experienced. Joy and warmth and echoes of sensual thrills suffused her.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Althea taking it all in.
She made introductions. Stratton knew Althea’s brother. Althea remembered Stratton’s mother. Finally, Clara turned to her friend. “I have something I must tell the duke. Will you excuse us for a short while?”
Althea smiled sweetly and strolled over to a shop window to admire the wares.
“I cannot go,” Clara said quietly. “I know I agreed, and I want to see the race very much, but no matter how I try to arrange it, I see only gossip spreading fast afterward. There is no way to be discreet.”
“Discretion be damned.”
“You cannot mean that.”
“No, I don’t. At least for your sake I don’t.” He looked past her. “Invite your friend. Have her come with you. Is that your carriage there? Plan to go down in it. I will arrange the rest.” He looked at Althea again. “You may have to confide in her. Can you trust her?”
“She may be the only person I can trust. She is certainly the only person I know who keeps a secret.”
He cocked his head. His charming smile sent a tremble down to her toes. “You have secrets besides me? How intriguing. Now I will have to learn what they are.”
She called Althea back. “We should continue our errands, Duke. Good day to you.”
He took his leave. She and Althea climbed into the carriage. Althea stuck her head out the window to watch the duke walk away. Then she settled in, set her reticule on her lap, and looked right at Clara.
“Is there something you want to tell me, darling? Because I think you have shared much more than conversation with that man.”