The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele Book 9)

by C. J. Archer

  "It's possible," Matt said. "Particularly if he's trying to impress Hope. By throwing his considerable weight behind Hope's brother-in-law, he's sending a signal not only to the family but to anyone who dares spread gossip."

  "That would explain why Cox is here tonight, in Coyle's private box, when he ought to loathe him right now. He's willing to accept any help Coyle offers."

  Unlike her sister, Patience seemed to enjoy the opera. Hope's gaze, like mine, scanned the audience. At one point we happened to look at one another at the same time. I nodded a greeting and she nodded back before saying something to her mother behind her.

  Lady Rycroft's frosty gaze settled on us. I quickly looked away.

  Not ten minutes later, a footman entered carrying a note that he handed to Matt. He waited for a reply.

  "It's from Coyle," Matt said. "He's asking if he can visit us. What do you think, India?"

  "I think it's an excellent idea."

  Matt gave the footman our reply and he bowed out. "You're going to question him, aren't you?" he said. "I knew you couldn't wait."

  "Are you saying I'm impatient? That's twice this week. And anyway, it's not impatience, it's simply expedience. Why visit him tomorrow when we can question him tonight?"

  Lord Coyle did not come alone, however. He brought Hope. She looked even prettier up close with a string of pearls woven through her hair. The blush pink silk dress with rosettes and pearls sewn into panels down the front, sides and back, was of the finest quality and showed off her tiny waist.

  Her beauty and youthfulness was in stark contrast to the heavy-set, white-haired Lord Coyle.

  "If I'd known you liked the opera, I'd have invited you to my box tonight too, Glass," he said.

  "I don't think there'd be room for us," Matt said, inviting them to sit.

  Lord Coyle presented Hope to the chair beside me then sat on her other side. "Enjoying the production, Mrs. Glass?" he asked.

  "Very much so," I said. "And you, Hope?"

  "I adore the opera." She smiled beatifically. Lord Coyle looked pleased.

  It was the strangest exchange I'd had in quite some time. I wasn't sure who was forcing this politeness more, us or them. I tried to gauge Hope's state of mind, and if she was truly enjoying Lord Coyle's company, or if she'd been coerced into this evening by her parents. I knew her capable of putting on a good act, and I found it impossible to read her thoughts.

  "You and Cox seem to be on good terms, considering you're the one who told Mr. Longmire about him," Matt said after the soprano finished her solo. "Did he tell you that you're on our list of suspects for the theft of his coronet?"

  So much for not bringing up the situation until tomorrow. And Matt called me impatient.

  Beside me, Hope drew in a sharp breath but continued to stare straight ahead at the stage. As did I.

  "Cox is a thorough gentleman," Lord Coyle said. The unspoken implication was that Matt was not.

  "Good of you to invite him to your box tonight," Matt went on. "Guilty conscience, Coyle?"

  Lord Coyle chuckled. "Careful, Glass. This isn't America. If you want to succeed here, you'll play the game. Follow Cox's lead. You can learn a lot from him."

  "I won't stand idly by while you destroy him. He's a good man."

  "Destroy him? I'm rescuing him. His association with me is the only thing that will save him from utter ruin."

  "Don't pretend with me, Coyle. I know you told Longmire, and you probably stole the coronet too, for your collection." The words sounded as if they'd been ground between Matt's teeth. It was rare for him to get so angry these days, and I hadn't expected it, considering he'd been amiable up until now. Sometimes he could still surprise me.

  "It wasn't me," Coyle said, his own voice sharper than usual. "There's an entire club of people who would desire a piece like that coronet."

  "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't suspect you."

  "Why would I risk being discovered for burglary when I can legitimately purchase the coronet off Longmire when he inherits?"

  "What makes you think he would sell it to you?" I asked. "It's a family heirloom. It's priceless."

  "Everything has a price, Mrs. Glass." He patted Hope's hand. "And you're assuming Longmire cares for his father's family. Besides, I suspect he'll be selling off everything he can as quickly as possible after he inherits."

  "Why?" Matt asked. "Is the estate entailed?"

  Lord Coyle chuckled. "It certainly is, and I'd wager he doesn't know it yet."

  An entailed estate meant the current holder of a title and the accompanying estate couldn't sell it. That way each heir through the generations inherited the land intact. With the Cox estate entailed, Longmire would effectively be a custodian after he inherited, not an owner. He couldn't sell a single acre.

  "Isn't it a wealthy estate?" I asked. "I know it's large and has many tenants. Surely the income will be more than enough to keep him satisfied."

  "It draws a good income from the tenants, but Cox's father borrowed heavily." Lord Coyle winced as the soprano hit a particularly piercing note. "Cox is a good manager and has no difficulty meeting the repayments, but my sources tell me Longmire hasn't got the same business head as his half-brother."

  "What about his rope factory?" I asked.

  "Struggling."

  An idea came to me and I shifted in my chair to face him. "Perhaps someone ought to tell Mr. Longmire that he would be taking on an enormous debt. He might decide it's not worth pursuing legal action after all."

  Lord Coyle simply smiled. "Shall we return to your parents, my dear?" He picked up Hope's hand and kissed it. I could almost hear the ladies in the other private boxes twittering with excitement as they watched through their opera glasses.

  Lord Coyle rocked out of the chair and heaved himself to his feet before assisting Hope. They exchanged smiles.

  Matt stood too. "I want a list of names of those from the club most likely to steal the coronet," Matt said. "Or I will put Scotland Yard onto you."

  "No need for the threat, Glass. I was going to send a list in the morning anyway." He bowed over my hand. "I would like to say how much I enjoyed our conversation at Delancey's dinner, Mrs. Glass. When was it? Ah yes, four evenings ago."

  As soon as they'd left, I turned to Matt. "Did you hear that?"

  "I did."

  "He reminded me that I only have ten days to convince Hope to marry him if I want the slate wiped clean."

  "I know."

  I blew out a breath. "Do you think he assumes I had something to do with Hope accompanying him tonight?"

  "I hope so. It would be nice for something to go in our favor in regards to Coyle for once."

  Matt focused on the stage again, but I suspected he hardly saw the performance. Despite his amiable features, his eyes were hard.

  I took his hand. "Did you notice how he denied the theft but not your accusation that he was the one who informed Longmire about his father?"

  "I noticed."

  I sighed and tried to concentrate on the performance, but in truth, I wasn't enjoying it. Lord Coyle had ruined my evening. "I wish we'd joined Willie," I said. "A bawdy show sounds infinitely better than enduring Lord Coyle and Hope's display."

  "It's not too late." Matt's sly grin was just the tonic I needed to lift my spirits. He stood and extended his hand to me. "Shall we, Mrs. Glass?"

  "I'd like nothing more."

  The following morning brought a flurry of letters to number sixteen Park Street, and only one of those was from Lord Coyle. The rest were about him, and addressed to Aunt Letitia.

  "Goodness," she said, reading the first one in front of the fire in the sitting room. "Could it be that she accepted him?"

  "Are you talking about Hope?" I asked.

  She waved the letter at me. "Why didn't you tell me, India? Why let me hear it from other people?"

  "I'm not sure there's anything between them," I said. "It wasn't clear last night."

  "Not according to this
letter from my friend Lady Dresham. She wants to know if there's an understanding between Hope and Coyle."

  "Let me see." Willie leaned on the back of the sofa and read over Aunt Letitia's shoulder. When she got to the end, she gave a whoot as if she'd successfully herded cattle into a yard. "Lady Dresham reckons they must be engaged because of the way they behaved at the opera. What'd they do, India? Kiss in front of everyone? Did he touch her in an unmentionable place?"

  Aunt Letitia made a sound of disgust in her throat. "Honestly, Willie."

  "It wasn't like that," I told them. "They sat beside each other in his private box, then came to our box together, briefly. When they left, he kissed her hand and sort of looked into her eyes. She smiled back at him."

  "That's it?" Willie scoffed. "Your friend needs glasses, Letty. You tell her that from me."

  "She saw them through her opera glasses," Aunt Letitia said, as if that made all the difference. "And she's quite right to assume there's an understanding between them. A lady and gentleman sit together in a private box when they wish to make a statement about their relationship. The hand kissing is not significant on its own, but if they did exchange knowing looks, then that's another matter."

  Willie threw herself into a chair and crossed her legs. "Seems like a lot of fuss over nothing to me."

  "You have to remember that Lord Coyle has not been linked to a woman in a very long time. Not even in passing. There have been very few ladies he has given his full attention to over the years. It's no wonder everyone thinks Hope is special."

  "She is special to him," I said. "But whether she is reciprocating, I'm not sure. She's very hard to read."

  "What tone did she use when she spoke with him?" Aunt Letitia asked. "Charming and playful? Curt? Biting?"

  "She hardly spoke at all when they were in our box."

  "That is unlike her."

  A second message came from another acquaintance of Aunt Letitia's in the post, along with two more. The post also brought Lord Coyle's list of collectors’ club members he thought would burglarize a peer's home to steal a magic gold object.

  Matt received it in his study and came downstairs to show me. At the top of the list was a name I recognized.

  Chapter 7

  "Sir Charles Whittaker," I said, pointing to the first name on Coyle's list. "That is intriguing. We haven't seen his collection of magical objects, despite being in his house. He must keep it hidden, like Coyle."

  "I suspect that's why Delancey isn’t on the list," Matt said. "They're wealthy enough that they can get into a bidding war over the coronet, like Coyle, and they like to display their items in their house, not keep them locked away. It would be impossible to display a stolen piece let alone brag about owning it."

  "There are three other names," I said, eyeing the list. "I don't recognize any. Shall we start by questioning Sir Charles? I will write to Fabian and tell him I won't be able to work until later."

  Matt tapped the letter with his finger and appeared lost in thought.

  "Matt?" I prompted. "Shall we speak to Sir Charles?"

  "Of course." He addressed Bristow, still hovering nearby after delivering the post. "Have the carriage brought round. We'll go immediately."

  We expected Sir Charles to be at his place of business. We planned to ask his housekeeper where his office was located, but it turned out that he was at home. As our carriage drove up, the front door opened and Sir Charles himself peeked through the gap. Spotting our conveyance, he quickly closed it again.

  "That was odd behavior," I said.

  "Most definitely." Matt opened the window and ordered Woodall to drive on and park around the corner.

  We alighted as soon as the carriage came to a stop and hurried back to the street on which Sir Charles lived in a row house as neat and well-maintained as the gentleman himself. We'd hardly got very far when Matt put an arm out to stop me.

  "The door's opening again," he said. "Let's not frighten him back into his warren this time."

  Instead of Sir Charles emerging from the house, a woman stepped out. Her big black hat obscured her face as she walked in the opposite direction to us. The front door closed but Sir Charles himself was nowhere in sight. He'd remained inside.

  "Well, well," Matt said. "It's Mrs. Delancey."

  "How do you know? Her back is to us."

  "She has a distinctive gait, all swaying hips yet a rigid spine."

  I eyed him. "Should I be worried that you're observing how other women walk?"

  He grinned. "Come on. Let's speak to her."

  I caught his arm and held him back. "Are you sure that's a good idea? If they're having a liaison, do we really want to get involved?"

  "Are they having a liaison of a sexual nature or is something else going on? I'd wager it's something else, and if so, I'd like to know what."

  I hesitated. It wasn't the first time they'd been seen together without Mr. Delancey. I'd spotted Sir Charles leaving her house once when her husband wasn't home. But there couldn't have been anything untoward in that visit. Not with the servants there. Here, however, where Sir Charles lived alone, was another matter.

  "I'm not so sure," was all I said.

  Matt took my hand. "Come on, before she disappears."

  We strode quickly to catch up to the retreating figure. "Mrs. Delancey," I called out when we were only a few feet behind.

  Her pace quickened.

  "Mrs. Delancey, we'd like a word," Matt said. "Or we can visit you tonight when your husband is at home and ask what you were doing at Whittaker's house."

  She stopped and turned. "Goodness!" she said, cheeks flushed. "I wasn't expecting to bump into anyone I knew. How delightful." From her strained smile, I'd say our meeting was anything but.

  "Were you visiting Sir Charles Whittaker just now?" Matt asked. "How…irregular."

  Her face froze, and in that seemingly endless moment, I could see her mind weighing up all the things she could say. Unfortunately for her, she chose the wrong option.

  "No."

  "We saw you leave," Matt said.

  Mrs. Delancey looked as though she would refute the claim again, but then she grasped my hand. "Do not tell my husband. He wouldn't understand."

  "Of course not," I assured her then wondered if I'd been too quick with my response. Did I want to be complicit in their affair?

  "It's not what you think," she went on. "Please, India, you must believe me. It's nothing of that nature."

  "Then why keep the meeting from your husband?" Matt asked.

  "As I said, he wouldn't understand."

  "We will." Matt used his most reassuring voice. "Tell us why you were seeing Whittaker."

  She adjusted her hat, angling it further over her face. "We simply had tea together."

  "You must have talked about things."

  "Of course."

  "What sort of things?"

  "This and that. Oh." Her face lit up as a thought occurred to her. "That article in the newspaper. The gossip about a certain lord's illegitimacy and his magical coronet. We speculated about it, that's all."

  "Did you come to a conclusion as to who it might be?" I asked.

  "No, alas. My husband would dearly like to make an offer for the coronet."

  "Make an offer to whom, Mrs. Delancey? The lord in question? The older brother? Or the thief? The coronet was stolen."

  "Was it? I suppose it doesn't matter who has it as long as we can learn the name of the thief. We don't care who we deal with, although I rather suspect a thief might part with it more readily." A small frown connected her brows. "Unless they know a magical golden object would be priceless and they stole it for their own collection. Then no amount of money will suffice."

  "Do you know of anyone who would steal it?" Matt asked. "Anyone from the collector's club, for example?"

  Her eyes widened. "Mr. Glass! How could you infer such a thing? The members are the best of London society. Lords, ladies, bankers, industrialists. We're not thieves." She sp
at out the word as if it contained poison. "We broker deals with one another and magicians to acquire our items."

  Considering she'd just told us she'd be willing to buy the coronet from the thief, she clearly didn't consider buying stolen goods to be wrong.

  "Speaking of members," Matt went on, "have you seen Whittaker's magic collection?"

  She went to respond, stopped herself, and finally said, "He keeps it to himself. He's a very private man."

  "So he has never shown a single magical object to any of the members?"

  "I didn't say that. I said I have not seen any part of his collection. I can't speak for other members. Now, if you don't mind, I must go." She checked the small watch attached to a chain pinned to her military style jacket.

  "Just one more thing," I said. "Do you know if your husband has any cousins?"

  She looked longingly in the direction she'd been heading. "He doesn't," she said, somewhat absently.

  "Not even distant ones? Aunts? Uncles?"

  "There is a distant cousin, I believe."

  "On his mother's or father's side?"

  She frowned, her attention suddenly on me. "Why?"

  I waved off her question.

  "Do you want to know if there are any wool magicians left in his family?"

  "I was merely curious," I said.

  "There isn't, alas." She sighed. "Imagine if I could have something magical made. A lovely coat, for example, in finely spun wool. Anyway, such a garment is not to be." She offered us a tight smile and a little wave and was on her way.

  "Do you believe she and Whittaker chatted about the gossip column?" I asked when she was out of earshot.

  "It's likely it was one topic of conversation, but not the real reason for her call," Matt said. "This was a deliberate visit. A lady doesn't call on a gentleman in his house, alone, unless she has very good reason. Gossip isn't a good enough reason. It's also too early for social calls."

  My breath hitched. "So they are having an affair?"

  "Goodness me, India, how your mind does leap to the most scandalous conclusion."