A Rake's Vow

by Stephanie Laurens

  Minnie raised her brows. “Of course.”

  Timms snorted. “Just make sure he gets it right.”

  Minnie grinned. Reaching out, she squeezed Patience’s hand. “It’s up to you to judge what will finally tip the scales. However, I have a few sage words, if you’ll accept advice from an old woman who knows both you and Vane better than either of you seem to realize?”

  Patience blushed. She waited, suitably penitent.

  Minnie’s grin turned wry. “There are three things you should remember. One, Vane is not your father. Two, you are not your mother. And, three, don’t imagine—not for a moment—that you won’t be marrying Vane Cynster.”

  Patience looked long into Minnie’s wise eyes, then turned aside and sank onto the window seat.

  Minnie, of course, was right. She’d hit all three proverbial nails soundly on the head.

  She had from the first visited her father’s character on Vane. Now, holding one up against the other, that was patently a false image, a superficial glamor. Vane was an “elegant gentleman” in appearance only, not in character. Not in any of the ways that were important to her.

  As for her not being her mother, that was unquestionably true. Her mother had possessed a quite different nature—if her mother had sighted her father going into a conservatory with a youthful beauty, she would have put on her most brittle smile and clung to the pretense of not knowing. Not for her such meekness.

  She knew what would have transpired if the beauty Vane had retired with had not been so innocent—so related. It would not have been a pleasant scene. While her mother had accepted infidelity as her lot, she would accept no such thing.

  If she married Vane . . . The thought drew her into a daydream—of ifs, buts, and possibilities. Of how they’d interact, adjust to each other, if she took the risk, grabbed fate by the throat, and accepted him. It was a full five minutes before her mind moved on and the implication of Minnie’s third statement dawned.

  Minnie had known Vane from childhood. She also understood her own dilemma, that she would insist on love as her talisman for the future. That she would not accept Vane without his love declared. And Minnie was sure, convinced beyond all possibility, that she and Vane would marry.

  Patience blinked. Abruptly, she looked at Minnie and discovered her aunt waiting, watching, a deep smile in her old eyes.

  “Oh.” Lips lifting, her heart leaping, Patience could think of nothing more to say.

  Minnie nodded. “Precisely.”

  The incident at breakfast cast a long shadow. When the household sat down to lunch, the conversation was subdued. Patience noted it, but, her heart light, paid it little heed. She was waiting, as patiently as she could, to see Vane. To look deep into his eyes, to search for what Minnie was so certain must be there, concealed behind his elegant gentleman’s mask.

  He hadn’t appeared for their usual midmorning drive. As she settled her skirts, Patience wryly reflected that, even a few days ago, she would have interpreted his absence as evidence of waning desire. Now, buoyed by an inner confidence, she was convinced that only some urgent matter to do with Minnie’s pearls would have kept him from her side. The inner glow that went with that confidence was very pleasant indeed.

  Alice did not join the table. As if in apology for her morning’s outburst, Whitticombe set himself to be more pleasant than usual. Edith Swithins, beside him, was the main beneficiary of his careful erudition. At the end of one particularly tedious explanation, she beamed.

  “How fascinating.” Her gaze alighted on Edgar, sitting opposite. “But dear Edgar has studied that period, too. As I recall, his conclusions were different?” Her tone made the words a question. Everyone at the table held their breath.

  Except Edgar, who launched into his own perspective.

  To everyone’s amazement, even, Patience suspected, Edith’s and Edgar’s, Whitticombe listened. His attitude had about it the air of gritted teeth, but he heard Edgar out, then nodded curtly. “Quite possibly.”

  Patience caught Gerrard’s eye and fought to suppress a giggle.

  Edmond, still pale and limply disheveled, chased a pea around his plate. “Actually, I was wondering when we might be heading back to the Hall.”

  Patience stiffened. Beside her, Gerrard straightened. They both looked at Minnie.

  So did Edmond. “I really should get on with my drama, and there’s precious little inspiration, and a great deal of distraction, here in town.”

  Minnie smiled. “Bear with the foibles of an old lady, my dear. I’ve no immediate plans to return to the Hall. Besides, there’s only a skeleton staff left—we gave the maids leave, and Cook has gone to visit her mother.”

  “Oh.” Edmond blinked. “No cook. Ah.” He subsided into silence.

  Surreptitiously, Patience grimaced at Gerrard. He shook his head, then turned to speak to Henry.

  Patience glanced—for the fiftieth time—at the clock.

  The door opened; Masters entered, his expression stiff. Approaching Minnie’s chair, he bent and spoke quietly. Minnie blanched. Her face grew instantly old.

  From the end of the table, Patience looked her concern and her question. Minnie saw; sinking back in her chair, she gestured to Masters to speak.

  He cleared his throat, gathering all attention. “Some . . . gentlemen from Bow Street have arrived. It seems a report was lodged. They’ve come with a warrant to search the house.”

  An instant of stunned silence ensued, then cacophony erupted. Exclamations of shock and surprise came from all sides. Henry and Edmond competed for prominence.

  Patience stared helplessly up the table at Minnie. Timms was patting Minnie’s hand. The cacophony continued unabated. Lips setting, Patience grasped a soup ladle and wielded it against a dish cover.

  The clangs cut through the din—and silenced the din makers. Patience raked the offenders with an irate glance. “Who? Who notified Bow Street?”

  “I did.” Pushing back his chair, the General stood. “Had to be done, don’t y’know.”

  “Why?” Timms asked. “If Minnie’d wanted those dreadful Runners in her house, she’d have requested it.”

  The General flushed a choleric red. “Seemed that was the problem. Women—ladies. Too softhearted for your own good.” He slid a glance Gerrard’s way. “Had to be done—no sense in ducking it any longer. Not with the pearls missing, too.” Regimentally stiff, the General drew himself upright. “I took it upon myself to notify the authorities. Acting on information received, don’t y’know. Plain as a pikestaff it’s young Debbington at fault. Search his room, and it’ll all come to light.”

  Premonition seized Patience; she shook it off as irrational. She opened her mouth to defend Gerrard—he kicked her ankle. Hard. Sucking in a breath, she turned—and met a very straight stare.

  “Let be,” Gerrard whispered. “There’s nothing there—let them play out their hand. Vane warned me something like this might happen. He said best to shrug and grin cynically and see what transpires.”

  To Patience’s utter amazement, he proceeded to do just that, managing to convey an impression of patent boredom.

  “By all means—search all you like.” He grinned cynically again.

  Pushing back from the table, Patience bustled to Minnie’s side. Minnie clasped her hand tightly, then nodded to Masters. “Show the gentlemen in.”

  There were three of them, subtly unsavory to a man. Standing at Minnie’s shoulder, firmly clasping her hand, Patience watched as, sharp eyes darting about the room, the Runners edged in and formed up in a row. Sligo slipped through the door after them.

  The tallest Runner, in the center, bobbed a bow at Minnie. “Ma’am. As I hope yer man told you, we’ve a-come to search the premises. Seems there’s some valuable pearls gone missing and a villain about.”

  “Indeed.” Minnie studied them, then nodded. “Very well. You have my permission to search the house.”

  “We’ll start with the bedchambers, if you don’t mind, ma’am.�
��

  “If you must. Masters will accompany you.” Minnie nodded a dismissal. Sligo held the door open, and Masters ushered the men out.

  “I think,” Minnie said, “that we should all remain here until the search is concluded.”

  Gerrard slouched, relaxed, in his chair. The others shifted and looked uncomfortable.

  Patience turned on Sligo.

  “I know, I know.” He held up a placating hand as he reached for the door. “I’ll find him and get him here.” He slipped out. The door closed softly behind him.

  Patience sighed and turned back to Minnie.

  Half an hour had passed, and Patience was certain the face of the ormolu clock on the mantel was indelibly imprinted on her mind, before the door opened again.

  Everyone straightened. Breaths caught.

  Vane strode in.

  Patience knew an instant of giddy relief. His gaze touched her, then passed on to Minnie. He went straight to her, pulling up a vacant chair.

  “Tell me.”

  Minnie did, her voice lowered so the others, now gathered in groups about the room, could not hear. Aside from Minnie with Timms beside her, and Patience hovering, only Gerrard remained at the table, alone at the other end. As Minnie whispered her news, Vane’s face hardened. He exchanged a charged glance with Gerrard.

  Glancing up, Vane met Patience’s eyes, then he looked back at Minnie. “It’s all right—a good sign, in fact.” He, too, spoke softly; his words reached no further than Patience. “We know there’s nothing in Gerrard’s room. Sligo searched only yesterday. And Sligo’s very thorough. But this means something, at long last, is afoot.” Minnie’s look was tremulous.

  Somewhat grimly, Vane smiled. “Trust me.” Minnie drew in a breath, then smiled, weakly. He squeezed her hands, then stood.

  He turned to Patience. Something shifted in his face, in his eyes.

  Patience lost her breath.

  “I apologize for not arriving this morning, but something came up.”

  He took her hand, raised it to his lips, then changed his grip and grasped firmly; Patience felt warm strength flow into her, around her. “Anything helpful?” she asked.

  Vane grimaced. “Another blank wall. Gabriel heard of our problem—he has some surprising contacts. While we learned nothing about where the pearls are, we did learn where they haven’t been. To wit, pawned.” Patience opened her eyes wide. Vane nodded. “It was another possibility, but we’ve exhausted that avenue, too. For my money, the pearls have never left Minnie’s household.”

  Patience nodded. She opened her mouth—

  The door swung open and the Runners returned.

  One glance at their triumphant expression, and Patience’s premonition returned with a vengeance. Her heart stopped, chilled, then sank. Vane’s grip on her fingers tightened; she curled her fingers and clung.

  Carrying a small sack, the senior Runner advanced portentously on Minnie—then spilled the contents of the sack onto the table before her. “Can you identify these baubles, ma’am?”

  The baubles included Minnie’s pearls. They also included everything else that had gone missing.

  “My comb!” Gleefully, Angela swooped down and plucked the gaudy trinket free.

  “Dear me—there’s my pincushion.” Edith Swithins poked it aside.

  The items were nudged apart—Timms’s bracelet, the pearls and their matching earrings, Patience’s bud vase. Everything was there—except—

  “Only one.” Agatha Chadwick looked down at the garnet drop earring she’d separated from the pile.

  Everyone looked again. The Runner upended the sack, then peered into it. He shook his head. “Nothing here. And there wasn’t any goods left lying in the drawer.”

  “Which drawer?” Patience asked.

  The Runner glanced over his shoulder—to where his comrades had taken up position one on either side of Gerrard’s chair. “The drawer of the bureau in what I ’ave been told is Mister Gerrard Debbington’s bedchamber. Which bedchamber he has on his own, not sharing with anyone else.”

  The Runner made that last sound like a crime in itself. Her heart constricted, sunk to her slippers, Patience looked at Gerrard. And she saw he was struggling not to laugh.

  Patience stiffened; Vane pinched her fingers.

  “You’ll a-have to come along of us, young gent.” The Runner advanced on Gerrard. “There’s some serious questions the magistrate’ll have for you. You come along nice and quiet, and we won’t have no fuss.”

  “Oh, indeed. No fuss.”

  Patience heard the suppressed laughter in Gerrard’s voice as he obligingly stood—how could he be so flippant? She wanted to shake him.

  Vane shook her—her hand, at any rate. She glanced at him; he frowned at her and shook his head fractionally.

  “Trust me.”

  The words reached her on a whisper, a mere thread of sound.

  Patience looked into his eyes, calmly grey—then she looked at Gerrard, her young brother, light of her life. Drawing in a steadying breath, she glanced back at Vane and almost imperceptibly nodded. If Gerrard could trust Vane, and play out his alloted role, how much more reason had she to place her trust in him.

  “What’s the charge?” Vane asked, as the Runners formed up around Gerrard.

  “No charge as yet,” the senior Runner replied. “That’s up to the magistrate, that is. We just lay the evidence before him and see what he thinks.”

  Vane nodded. Patience saw the glance he exchanged with Gerrard.

  “Right then.” Gerrard grinned. “Which round house is it to be? Or do we go directly to Bow Street?”

  Bow Street it was. Patience had to bite her lip to stop herself from intervening, or begging to go, too. Sligo, she noticed, at a nod from Vane, slid out in the Runners’ wake. All the rest of the household remained in the dining room until the front door clanged shut behind the Runners and their charge.

  For one instant, the tension held, then a sigh ran through the room.

  Patience stiffened. Vane turned to her.

  “I said it again and again, but you would pay no heed, Miss Debbington.” Righteously patronizing, Whitticombe shook his head. “And now it’s come to this. Perhaps, in future, you will take more note of those with more years in their cup than yourself.”

  “Hear, hear,” came from the General. “Said it from the first. Boys’ tricks.” He frowned at Patience.

  Emboldened, Whitticombe gestured at Minnie. “And just think of the sore distress you and your brother have so heedlessly caused our dear hostess.”

  Color high, Minnie thumped her cane. “I’ll thank you not to get your causes muddled. I’m certainly distressed, but my distress, as far as I can see, has been occasioned by whoever called the Runners down on our heads.” She glared at Whitticombe, then at the General.

  Whitticombe sighed. “My dear cousin, you really must see the light.”

  “Actually.” Vane’s drawl, laced with an undercurrent of sharpened steel, sliced through Whitticombe’s sugary tones. “Minnie needs do nothing. A charge is not a conviction—indeed, a charge has yet to be made.” Vane held Whitticombe’s gaze. “I rather think that, in this case, time will reveal who is at fault, and who needs adjust their thinking. It seems somewhat premature to make sweeping conclusions just yet.”

  Whitticombe tried to look down his nose contemptuously; as Vane was a half head taller, he didn’t succeed. Which irritated him even more. Face setting, he eyed Vane, then, deliberately, let his gaze slide to Patience. “I rather think you’re in no position to act as defender of the righteous, Cynster.”

  Vane tensed; Patience locked her hand about his.

  “Oh?”

  At Vane’s quiet prompt, Whitticombe’s lips curled. Patience inwardly groaned and shifted her hold to Vane’s arm. Everyone else in the room stilled, holding their collective breaths.

  “Indeed,” Whitticombe smiled spitefully. “My sister had some very interesting—quite riveting—insights to offer this m
orning. On you and Miss Debbington.”

  “Is that so?”

  Deaf to anything but his own voice, Whitticombe failed to hear the warning in Vane’s lethally flat tone. “Bad blood,” he pronounced. “Must run in the family. One a bald-faced thief, the other—”

  Belatedly, Whitticombe focused on Vane’s face—and froze.

  Patience felt the aggression lance through Vane; under her hands, the muscles of his arm locked, rock-hard. She clung, literally, and hissed a furious, “No!”

  For one instant, she thought he might shake free and then Whitticome might just be dead. But she’d set her sights on living in Kent, not in exile on the Continent.

  “Colby, I suggest you retire—now.” Vane’s tone promised instant retribution should he decline.

  Stiffly, not daring to take his gaze from Vane’s face, Whitticombe nodded to Minnie. “I’ll be in the library.” He backed to the door, then paused. “The righteous will be rewarded.”

  “Indeed,” Vane replied. “I’m counting on it.”

  With a contemptuous glance, Whitticombe left. The tension gripping the room drained. Edmond slumped into a chair. “Gad, if I could only capture that on stage.”

  The comment sent a ripple of uneasy laughter through the others. Timms waved to Patience. “After that excitement, Minnie should rest.”

  “Indeed.” Patience helped Timms gather Minnie’s myriad shawls.

  “Shall I carry you?” Vane asked.

  “No!” Minnie waved him away. “You’ve other things on your plate just now—more urgent things. Why are you still here?”

  “There’s time.”

  Despite Minnie’s shooing, Vane insisted on helping her up the stairs and seeing her installed in her room. Only then did he consent to leave. Patience followed him into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her.

  Vane pulled her to him and kissed her—hard and quick.

  “Don’t worry,” he said the instant he raised his head. “We had a plan in case something like this happened. I’ll go and make sure all’s fallen into place.”

  “Do.” Patience met his eyes, searched them briefly, then nodded and stepped back. “We’ll hold the line here.”