“Never mind.” Victoria smiled graciously. “I am sure everyone enjoyed the music, and it was kind of her to play for us.”
“I suppose so.”
“We have hardly had a chance to speak this evening, and I was so looking forward to it.” She forced a bright expression. “It is so rare to find someone with whom one can feel completely comfortable, is it not?”
“I suppose so.” He examined her with wary eyes, as if expecting her to do something unpleasant.
“And your sister is so delightful. You are very fortunate.”
“She is obedient. Most of the time,” he replied heavily.
When she isn’t playing Haydn, I suppose. Victoria’s determined smile was beginning to stiffen.
She eyed the soggy newspapers and then glanced over her shoulder.
John leaned against a tall-backed chair, one arm looped casually over the back, looking at ease and yet somehow dangerous. A leopard at rest, eyeing a herd of unsuspecting gazelles through hooded eyes. Her traitorous stomach fluttered when he looked her way and gave her a lazy smile.
Well, whatever he planned to do, she wouldn’t—couldn’t—wait for him. Her chin rose. “Oh, dear, Lord Taggert! Those papers are quite ruined! Let me dispose of them before Sir Arnold notices.” Without waiting for a reply, she swept up the pile of soggy newspapers and strode over to the fireplace.
The lovely, painted fireplace screen yielded easily, and despite the threat of soot, she leaned forward, reached up, and closed the flue. Her white evening glove was covered with black when she withdrew her arm, but thankfully, the fire had diminished to a few coals, so her dress was in no danger of catching fire.
Without a backward glance, she threw the wet papers onto the coals. It took a moment for the flames to catch hold, and when they did, they were icy blue from the alcohol.
She frowned. It’s not going to work! There was no smoke at first as the hot, blue-white flames consumed the brandy. The fire almost went out when it reached the bulk of the papers, but suddenly, it flamed and smoke billowed up. With the flue closed, thick clouds swiftly filled the chimney and curled out into the room.
Victoria leapt to her feet and stepped back, holding her fist to her mouth. “Oh—I’m so sorry! Fire!”
The high squeal of alarmed women filled the room. Feet thundered toward the door as the men gathered the ladies in front of them to guide them out.
“Out! Everyone out!” John called from near the door. He ushered the Owsley twins out in front of him, nodding at Sir Arnold as their host hurried through the drawing room, flapping his hands to shoo his guests forward.
Victoria paused to glance around to ensure no one was left behind and found Sir Arnold at her elbow.
“You must leave, my dear,” Sir Arnold said hurriedly. “No blame, of course. Shouldn’t have left the papers—housekeeper always babbling about tidiness.” He chuckled, only to break into a hacking cough. Eyes watering, he waved one hand in front of his nose and gave her a small push with the other.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated as she navigated a path through the islands of furniture. The smoke burned her eyes, making them tear. Regretting her actions—the lovely furnishings would be ruined and smell forever of burning papers—she coughed and escaped from the room.
The other guests were clustered around the staircase landing. A few of the ladies had already descended several steps, along with two gentlemen, while the rest of the men milled around, looking variously confused and angry. Her parents had almost reached the bend in the staircase, and her mother’s elaborate hairstyle and the top of her father’s head were all she could see.
Thank goodness, they were safe and in relatively clean air. Victoria hurried across the polished wooden floor to join them. Catching Lord Taggert’s glance, she stumbled to a halt. He stared at her with red-rimmed eyes. A thunderous frown crushed his brows together, and he gripped the orb adorning the top of the newel post with one hand.
“Careless little fool—” He cut off his words with an obvious effort, his hand clenching the globe even more tightly. “You have endangered all of us.” He coughed into the handkerchief held in his free hand.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean any harm,” Victoria croaked, her throat already sore from the acrid smoke.
Before she could say more, a scuffle a few yards away stopped her. She turned, her mouth gaping in surprise.
Chapter Fifteen
John’s gaze roved over the guests milling around the head of the staircase like a confused bunch of sheep awaiting orders from a sheepdog.
Ah, there she was at last. Red-eyed and pale, but safe, despite the smoke billowing out of the drawing room doorway behind her.
Brilliant notion, that fire. But then, it had always been clear to him that Lady Victoria was exceptionally intelligent.
“Let me go!”
A sharp jerk from his prisoner made him turn, just in time to catch a delicate Chinese vase from falling off a narrow console table against the wall.
“Release me immediately!” The lady twisted her arm again, but he refused to let her go.
Or let her drop the glittering item she clutched in her gloved hand.
Aware of the growing silence, John stepped to one side, pulling the lady forward.
“What are you doing, Archer!” Taggert called. Hands fisted at his sides, he strode forward. “Release that lady!”
Smiling grimly, John raised the woman’s arm.
Despite the smoke, the tiara glittered in her hand. His hold tightened when he felt her jerking and trying to edge behind him, out of view of the others.
“What the…” A confused look on his face, Taggert halted.
With a gentle push, John released the lady and stepped behind her. She stumbled forward a few steps, with the headdress still clutched in her hand, before coming to a halt in front of Taggert.
“Miss Owsley!” Taggert exclaimed. He gave John a stern look and said, “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
“He made me take it!” Miss Maud Owsley shrieked. “He shoved the tiara into my hand!” She held out the tiara in John’s direction, her hand shaking.
Raising a brow, he folded his arms and studied her sardonically. “Really, my dear? Is that the best you can do?”
Her entire body shook with rage. She stared at him, a fleck of spittle forming at the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes flickered back and forth. “I found it! She must have hidden it—I just found it!”
“How astute of you,” John commented dryly. “Considering it was apparently resting in that delightful Chinese vase, quite hidden from view.” He cocked his head to one side. “One would almost believe you knew it was there.”
“What are you saying, sir?” Taggert faced John. “Surely, you cannot accuse Miss Owsley.”
“Can I not?”
“We all know Lady Victoria took the thing,” Taggert said impatiently.
“Do we? It makes one wonder, then, why Miss Owsley is holding it in her hand.”
With a sharp gasp, Miss Owsley threw the tiara onto the floor at John’s feet.
“Now, now.” As Sir Arnold strode forward to join them, John noticed the lessening of the smoke.
Their host must have managed to reopen the flue and make it draw again before coming out of the drawing room. Around them, a few puffs of acrid smoke spiraled up the stairwell toward the magnificent painted ceiling two stories above.
Sir Arnold spread his plump hands out, palms up, a pleasant, conciliatory expression on his face. “No need for unpleasantness—we have the tiara.” Corset creaking, he bent and picked up the headdress.
He held it up, a hopeful smile on his round face as Mrs. Stedman moved forward to take her tiara.
“While we are all pleased Mrs. Stedman has her property, and cherish no desire to cause any inconvenience, I believe at least one of us would appreciate having her reputation restored.” John leaned a hip against the console table. “Despite Miss Owsley’s protests, it must be clear th
at Lady Victoria had nothing to do with the theft, except to find the empty case. Precisely as she explained.”
“I did not do it!” Miss Maud Owsley shrieked again before covering her face with her hands and sobbing.
After threading her way through the guests clustered nearby, Miss Grace rushed forward to put an arm around her weeping sister. Her nostrils flared as she lifted her head and glared at John. “How dare you! Can’t you see she is innocent?” She lowered her mouth to her sister’s ear and murmured something to her.
Miss Maud grabbed her sister’s wrist. “I did not mean to do it—I could not help myself. I never have anything—nothing like your necklace—why does everyone always favor you? We are twins—precisely the same! And yet everyone adores you while I…” A sob broke her words asunder. She gulped and caught her breath, staring at her sister’s lovely necklace. “It was just so beautiful, and it was sitting there—the case was open—right on top of the dresser. It looked so lovely in the candlelight… I could not help picking it up, just to look at it. I only wanted to hold it for a moment to see what it felt like to have something so beautiful in my hands.”
“Come, Miss Owsley, you see?” John asked, directing his question to Miss Grace, who stared at him accusingly. “She has admitted it.”
“So she looked at it—there is nothing wrong with that,” Miss Grace stated, her restless hand playing with her diamond and pearl necklace. Her eyes cut to Lady Victoria. “She is the one who took it.”
A wail erupted from Miss Maud, and she buried her face against her sister’s shoulder while Miss Grace patted her awkwardly. She stared resentfully at the other guests, her angry visage looking more like her sister’s than her normal, smiling self.
“Miss Maud is the only one who knew where to find the tiara.” John stated the obvious once again.
Miss Grace was growing increasingly tedious in her refusal to accept the truth, despite her sister’s tearful admission. John adjusted the position of the vase and stepped away from both it and the twins.
“Please, do not worry, ladies. There is no need to cry,” Sir Arnold begged, wringing his hands. “Don’t cry—please!” He looked to Mrs. Stedman, a pleading expression lining his face. “Can we not settle this peaceably?”
“If we agree Lady Victoria was not responsible, then you may do as you see fit,” John commented in a silky voice, casually studying his right shoe.
“Of course, of course,” Sir Arnold agreed hastily. “No one ever blamed Lady Victoria, I am sure.”
“Well, I’m relieved that you are sure,” John murmured.
Sir Arnold stared at the twins, panic over the sight of the weeping woman crumpling his doughy face. His hands twisted together uselessly. “Don’t cry, Miss Owsley, please don’t cry. We quite understand. The gee-gaw would have caught anyone’s eye—no one blames you. Bright, sparkly thing.”
“You cannot believe my sister is responsible!” Miss Grace insisted, standing rigidly next to her twin with an arm looped around her shoulder. “I insist you agree that she is not a common thief!”
“Not common, perhaps,” John agreed in a bored voice.
Sir Arnold wiped his sleeve over his sweating brow, streaking it with soot from the fireplace. His red-rimmed eyes darted from the twins to his aunt. “Aunt Jane, surely you agree—no need to assign blame. We are all friends here. Let us drop the matter.”
“The scandal…” Mrs. Stedman sighed heavily as she stared at the tiara she held in one hand, distaste clearly written on her face. “I have no desire to court scandal, however…” She glanced up to fix her gaze on Miss Owsley and frowned.
“My daughter is clearly innocent, however,” Lord Longmoor said, stepping past the other men. All eyes focused on him. He squared his shoulders and nodded to Lady Victoria. “I regret these events deeply, and can only offer my daughter my most sincere apologies. Our behavior was inexcusable.”
Lady Victoria pushed past the others to throw her arms around her father and press a kiss to his lean cheek. “You have no need to apologize to me, Papa. Ever.”
“Indeed, I fear we do.” With a tight grip, he returned his daughter’s hug and stiffly kissed the top of her head. “We should have realized… Well, no harm done.”
No harm? John’s jaw tightened.
Stepping awkwardly around her husband and daughter, Lady Longmoor patted Lady Victoria on the shoulder and bent closer, speaking softly. Lord Longmoor finally released Lady Victoria, and she moved a step away, although the family remained in a tight knot on the landing.
John searched Lady Victoria’s pale face. Although her mouth had relaxed and the lines were gone from her marble forehead, her gray eyes were dark and wary when they caught his gaze.
Surprised, a devastating thought raced through his mind. She’s lost to me. He took a deep breath.
Piffle. It was just a reaction to the night’s events. She was understandably confused after being accused of theft and then proven innocent. Anyone would be off-kilter, and her warm, soft heart had been bruised, despite her father’s apologies and whatever her mother had said.
Nonetheless, the distance between them yawned, hollow and cold, despite the guests milling around, whispering in tight groups.
Chapter Sixteen
The muddle surrounding the Owsley twins was as tearful as ever when Lady Victoria’s parents made their hasty adieus to Mrs. Stedman and Sir Arnold. They guided Victoria to their carriage and bundled her inside, heaving deep sighs of relief.
“Poor Mrs. Stedman,” Lady Longmoor said, settling against the squabs and taking one last look at Sir Arnold’s townhouse as the carriage jerked forward and rattled away. “I hope they do not prosecute those poor girls. They will be ruined—their first Season, too.”
“Sir Arnold was very good about it,” Victoria offered in a hesitant voice, her mind racing. Ice filled her veins and hardened. “He proved to be very kind and thoughtful. Did he not?”
Her mother leaned forward to pat Victoria’s clasped hands. “He was, indeed, my dear. He would make an exceedingly agreeable husband.” She cast a coquettish smile at her husband. “Though perhaps not quite as agreeable as your father.”
“My thoughts, precisely.” Victoria’s lips felt numb. She rubbed her gloved fingers against the side of her mouth, wishing some sensation would return. It was not that cold—not cold at all, really—so why did she feel as if all the warmth had drained out of the world, leaving everything icy, dull, and gray? Forcing her hand down to her lap, she caught her father’s gaze. “I—I have been considering matters very carefully. I believe I would like to accept Sir Arnold’s offer.”
Her father stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. He exchanged glances with his wife before they both turned their startled gazes on her. “Of course—er, excellent. I must say I am surprised you are being so sensible—er…” He broke off and flicked another uncertain glance at his wife. “We had not expected—er—em, he is a fine man…”
“He certainly behaved very well this evening,” Lady Longmoor said. She smiled at Victoria and laughed lightly. “He alone refused to believe you were involved, rather like the true knight that he is.”
“Not quite alone,” Victoria murmured, staring down at her lap as she swayed and clutched one of the leather straps when the carriage slewed around a corner. A bit of the ice inside her crackled, fault lines running through her, the coldness brittle under building pressure. Salty tears stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly and gazed out of the window.
They were almost home.
In a few hours, her father would send for Sir Arnold and their respective lawyers. They would begin hammering out the details of the marriage contract.
She clamped her mouth shut to keep from wailing as hopelessly as Miss Maud had sobbed less than an hour before.
So much had happened so quickly, and the changes would only increase in pace. In a few weeks, she would be married. Her future settled.
The pressure inside her increased.
John… Her back ached with tension. He had been a mistake, a terrible, humiliating mistake.
But he had believed—had known—that she was innocent. Her parents were incorrect. Sir Arnold hadn’t believed Victoria was not a thief, he simply didn’t want to accuse her, or anyone, for that matter. Not wanting to make an accusation was a far cry from believing someone was innocent.
But his beliefs—John’s beliefs—no longer mattered. She was going to do the sensible thing and marry Sir Arnold. A man who smelled of boiled chicken instead of the clean, ocean breeze.
“Home at last!” her father announced, glancing out the window.
They jerked forward and back, the carriage creaking and moaning as it came to a halt. She gripped the leather strap so tightly her fingers protested.
“I shall send for Sir Arnold first thing in the morning,” he continued. “No doubt he will be pleased to receive such happy news.”
“Oh, we must arrange for a supper—and perhaps a dance—to celebrate. Would Tuesday be too soon?” her mother asked as one of the footmen opened the carriage door and lowered the steps.
Her father chuckled as he climbed out, the carriage leaning and bouncing as he stepped onto the walkway. “Not soon enough, eh?”
“Nothing is ever soon enough for these young people. You know how impatient they are.” Her mother laughed as Lord Longmoor elbowed the footman aside to hand her out of the coach.
The two of them were laughing excitedly, making plans as they moved through the front door ahead of Victoria.
Feeling more than ever like a minor detail, easily forgotten, she stood on the stoop, watching them enter the hallway and hand their wraps to the butler. At least the two of them were pleased. Her mother’s eyes were shining, her cheeks aglow with soft rose as she tossed ideas for Tuesday’s supper dance to her chuckling husband.
“I believe I will retire,” Victoria announced, handing her cloak to the waiting butler.
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