It seemed absurd. “Who on earth would bury something like this?”
“I have been wondering about that myself. If my suspicions are true and part of Thorncliff rests on top of this villa, then it would have had to have been done a very long time ago.”
“How long exactly?” Mary asked, intrigued.
“Well, according to my brother, construction began in the twelfth century by a knight who served King Richard during the Crusades. It is possible that he chose to bury the villa in order to even out the foundation, or perhaps it was concealed by the Romans themselves when they left. It is difficult to say, but the artwork is recent. No doubt about that.” Reaching inside the basket, he pulled out the teapot, unraveled it from the dishcloths and poured Mary a cup which he then handed to her.
Taking a sip, Mary savored the warmth of the liquid as it flowed down into her belly. “Perhaps the notebook will enlighten us?” Setting her teacup aside, she selected one of the petits fours, her toes almost curling in response to the heavenly flavor as she bit into it.
“Do you approve?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
With a low chuckle, he crossed his legs and placed the notebook in his lap. Flipping past the first couple of pages containing the text that they’d already read, he proceeded to read out loud to her.
“Infiltrating The Electors has been no easy task. It has tested the moral fiber of not only myself, but of my comrades in arms as well. We have done things . . . things that I dare not mention due to the shadow of shame that it has cast upon us all. But it was necessary for us to do what we did as proof of our allegiance. It has all been for the greater good. For England.” Looking up, Richard met Mary’s gaze. “This sounds very conspiratorial.”
“And terribly intriguing. Please . . .” She nodded toward the book. “Do continue.”
Bowing his head over the text, Richard did as she bade. “One day, in the not so distant future, nothing will remain of me, except for my family and this book. The actions described herein are my legacy. In spite of everything, I am proud of what I have accomplished—what we, The Cardinals, have accomplished together.
“During the past five years, this ancient villa has served as our base. From here, we waged our own war against The Electors—British peers who saw themselves as Gods. They ruled Europe from behind the scenes, their political power outranking that of any monarch, until they made the mistake of inviting The East Wind into their midst. From within their ranks, he ensured that the rest of us were asked to join as well.”
Absorbing every single word, Mary listened with rapt attention as it became increasingly clear that unbeknownst to most, there were men among the British aristocracy who’d conspired to kill European heads of state. They had lit the fuse that had led to the French revolution, with the deliberate goal of toppling Louis XVI off his throne. Apparently, he’d been too difficult for them to influence, and since those closest to him had been as well, The Electors, had turned to the common people of France, encouraging their disapproval of the monarch with a few well-placed words.
A chill swept through Mary. It was horrifying to discover that such a thing was possible. Thank God for The Cardinals! “Do you think the Earl of Duncaster might have been The East Wind?” she asked once Richard had finished reading.
“I believe so. I am also completely certain now that this was written by my grandfather.” Closing the notebook, he stared down at it for a moment before saying, “Reading it was like listening to his voice.” He fell silent, and it looked as though he was pondering something. “He and Duncaster perished at sea after unexpectedly setting out together without a moment’s notice. I never understood it, but now . . .”
“You think The Electors might have realized what they were up to?”
Looking up, he met her gaze and nodded. “More than that, I am beginning to suspect that their deaths were not accidental.”
“I . . . I am sorry.” As lame as that sounded, she could think of nothing else, except perhaps attempting to push the unwelcome melancholy aside with a question that formed at the front of her mind. “There are four Cardinals though, so if your grandfather and Lord Duncaster were two of them, then who were the two others?”
“I have no idea,” Richard said. A frown creased his forehead. “It would have had to be men that they trusted—close friends of theirs, I would imagine.”
“Can you think of anyone?”
He shook his head. “No. Not at the moment.” He took a sip of his tea. “Shall we see what else we can find while we are here?”
Acknowledging that their time together in the villa was limited, Mary nodded. She’d looked forward to exploring their find in greater detail, and with the added light that Richard had provided, the opportunity to do so presently was one that she did not wish to pass up. So she placed her hand in his without hesitation, allowing him to help her to her feet. A buzz of energy shot through her fingers and up her arm the moment they came into contact. Her breath caught, and a light-headed dizziness overcame her.
“Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her on her feet, his hand slipping toward her elbow so he could offer her better support.
“Perfectly so,” she said, even as the buzzing sensation persisted, making her insides flutter in response to his sudden closeness. Was it normal to feel both ecstatic and ill at the same time? Inhaling deeply, she caught a whiff of his scent, which in turn reminded her of what it was like to be held in his arms . . . for him to place his lips against hers . . . “I just . . .”
“I know,” he said as he turned her toward him. With a slight nudge, he tilted her chin, whispering, “I feel it too,” right before he lowered his mouth over hers.
The caress was sweet, infused with the rich flavor of vanilla and marzipan. Winding her arms around his neck, Mary savored every second of it as she pulled him closer, surrendering to the beauty of the moment just long enough to convey to him what was in her heart. As she lowered her arms to embrace him, she turned her cheek into his shoulder and secured herself in his strength while he in turn placed his chin against the top of her head. His hand stroked a gentle rhythm up and down her spine. It was wonderfully soothing.
“Shall we take a look at the other rooms down here and venture beyond the stairs?” Richard asked after a while.
“Mmmm,” Mary murmured. If only she could have stayed like that forever. But they had to get moving if they were to take a closer look at the villa before it was time for her to return to Thorncliff. So she reluctantly pulled away and helped him gather up the remains of their picnic.
Returning to the hallway, they set the picnic-basket down and grabbed a lantern before approaching the first unexplored room to the left of the stairs. Pushing down on the door handle, Richard nudged the door open and peered inside. “It looks like a bedchamber,” he said as he held up the lantern and stepped inside.
Mary followed, squinting her eyes until they adjusted to the dimmer light. There appeared to be two beds, each pushed up against opposite walls and with two bedside tables between them. The walls were completely bare, the only other furnishings a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. “It does not look as if this room was ever used very much,” she said as she followed Richard over to the chest of drawers, staying close to the light. Leaning forward, she watched as he pulled open a drawer, revealing a pile of neatly folded shirts, two pairs of breeches, stockings and cravats.
“I agree. It seems as though it was only intended to be used in case of an emergency—a means by which The Cardinals could seek shelter if the need to do so arose.”
“Whereas the study and the sitting room appeared to be more personal.”
“Precisely.” Moving toward the bedside table, Richard pulled open its drawer as well, but as he did so, a piece of paper slipped out from beneath the drawer and drifted onto the floor.
Chapter 13
Picking up the paper, Richard began to read.
“What does it say?” Mary asked from somewhere
behind him.
He shook his head, reread the letter again. “This . . .” He stared down at the swirling script, so prettily penned . . . “This is from The South Wind,” he said, his words floating somewhere above him as if they belonged to no one.
An extended period of silence followed, and then, “Can I see it?”
The question pulled Richard out of his reveries and back into the present. “Of course,” he said, handing it to Mary.
“It is in French,” she said, almost immediately.
Just one of the clues revealing the true identity of the person who’d written the letter.
“Judging from the form, I would say that it was written by a woman, and with the subject matter in mind . . . considering what we have learned from the notebook, I think it is fair to say that this letter was sent as a warning of what awaited the French aristocracy. In fact, it almost sounds like a plea for help.” She paused. “But the mention of a box and the importance it seems to have in the context of the French revolution, makes little sense to me. If these people—”
“The box is of great value,” Richard said. He watched as Mary glanced back down at the letter, rereading the part that mentioned the box.
A faint crease appeared upon her brow. “It is described as having the image of a meadow and a shepherdess watching her sheep, carved into it. The sides are supposedly edged with mother-of-pearl.” She looked up at him, her eyes widening with surprise. “You know the box that is being referenced, perhaps even who it belongs to.”
He nodded then, still stunned by what they had just discovered. “If it is the box that I am thinking of, then it was custom-made by a craftsman in Germany—a gift from my grandmother to her sister, the Duchess of Marveille.”
Mary stared back at him. “Are you telling me that a French duchess . . . your great aunt . . . was working with your grandfather and the third Earl of Duncaster in an effort to save as many members of the French aristocracy as possible from The Electors?”
“I know how absurd it must sound, but—”
“On the contrary, it makes perfect sense that they would have needed someone in France to help coordinate their rescue efforts.” She pointed to a spot on the paper. “It says here that she was readying a final cargo of twenty and that the box would be included. Forgive me, but I still do not understand the importance of the box.”
“My grandmother used to refer to it as the only surviving part of her family. Everyone else was killed by the guillotine, including her sister.” Taking the letter from Mary, he tucked it into his jacket pocket. “According to my grandmother’s diary, my grandfather received a letter from Lord Duncaster, informing him that the box had arrived at Thorncliff. He set out immediately in order to retrieve it, but never returned. Instead, he and Lord Duncaster chose to travel to France without notice, perishing, as you know.”
“So, the box—”
“Contains my grandmother’s family heirlooms—an estimated worth of over five hundred thousand pounds.”
The shock on Mary’s face was evident. Her mouth literally dropped open. A small pause followed, and then, “It must be here somewhere.”
“What?”
“If it was sent to England, as this letter claims, and your grandfather was called upon to pick it up, then it must still be here at Thorncliff or perhaps even in this very villa. At any rate, we should try to find it.”
Richard couldn’t help but agree. It would have been illogical for his grandfather to take the box back out to sea with him, so it seemed unlikely for it to be at the bottom of the Channel. It was far more plausible that something unexpected had forced his grandfather and Lord Duncaster to flee England. Especially in light of what he now knew about them and their involvement with The Electors. “You are right. They probably knew that they did not have time to arrange for the box to be returned to my grandmother and hid it somewhere instead.”
“Let us search the remaining room,” Mary said, already heading for the door. But upon entering the room opposite, they found it to be no different than the one they’d just exited. “There is nothing here of significance. Just the necessary furniture and some clothes.”
Agreeing that their search had come to an abrupt end and feeling somewhat discouraged in the wake of the excitement that he’d felt only moments earlier, Richard turned toward the stairs. “Shall we see where these lead?”
“We would be fools not to,” Mary said, offering him an encouraging smile that immediately lifted his spirits.
Hand in hand, they started up the stone steps, following the staircase as it turned to the left, carrying them away from the brightly lit hallway and up into darkness. Richard’s lantern cast a hazy glow around them as they walked. Occasionally swinging from side to side, it made the shadows dance across the walls.
Unexpectedly, it appeared as though their ascent had been stopped by a wall blocking the way in front of them. But when Richard investigated more closely, he found a narrow gap in the wall to the right—just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. This led them into a tiny vestibule that opened up to the left behind a large pillar that effectively hid the entrance to the staircase completely.
“Where are we?” Mary asked.
“The tunnels and storage rooms beneath Thorncliff,” he said as he went to an arched doorway. The room in which they were standing was cold, the floor beneath their feet uneven. Mary followed closely behind. “I have been here before,” he told her, happy to be able to share the experience with her for a change. “The tunnels allowed me to leave Thorncliff unnoticed so I could at least enjoy the warmth of the afternoon sun upon my face.”
“I never would have imagined such a network existing beneath the ground,” she said as they entered the tunnel that lay beyond the room they’d just been in and turned right.
“It was meant to supply soldiers with food and shelter, as well as easy access to the sea during times of war.”
“Considering how cold it is right now during the summer, it must have been terrible having to live down here during the winter—for any duration of time.”
“I am sure there must be some sort of ventilation system so they could build fires for warmth. It hardly makes sense otherwise.” The pungent aroma of apples drifted toward them. “We are getting closer. The food storage is just up ahead. Next to that there is a staircase that you can use. It will take you up into Thorncliff’s interior courtyard.”
“You are not coming with me?” She sounded surprised, perhaps even a bit disappointed.
“I will use a more private route.” Reaching the door to the staircase, he placed his hand against her elbow and turned her toward him. “This past week in your company has been incredible, Mary. I know you have your reservations about committing yourself to anyone—that you would like to retain your independence—but I would like you to know that if you were to accept the offer that I plan on making you, I will never try to prevent you from singing. Of course, doing so publically, disguised as someone else, might not be possible . . .” Seeing the sadness in her eyes, he added, “But if there is any chance of you continuing to perform as yourself, I will help you do so. More than that, I can assure you that I will proudly applaud you for it.”
“You are . . .” Her voice trembled, and Richard knew that she was overcome by emotion. “Thank you,” she managed, “but there is something else.”
“What is it?” Whatever it was, Richard couldn’t imagine it being more of an obstacle than her penchant for opera or his reluctance to be seen in public. But, with their acceptance of each other and the news he’d received last night, informing him that he’d finally managed to ruin his rival, Richard was ready to put the past behind him and start a new life with Mary at his side. If she would have him.
“I was not completely honest with you when I told you about my singing,” she began. “In fact, there was a very deliberate purpose behind my performances. I did not do it for fame, for any kind of acknowledgment or even for the music alone.”
He studied her closely. “Then what was your reason?”
Inhaling deeply, she confided the truth. “For the past two years I have been using my wages from the theatre to help my brother.” Richard arched a brow. “He spent his own fortune on running his estate, so when he began speaking to me about making investments, I immediately offered to do what I could, hoping that he would secure an income. Unfortunately, he made some poor decisions, and as a result, the money I gave him is all gone. I know he must take responsibility and that I should not help him any further, but I fear what might happen to him without my support.”
“You must not fret,” he told her calmly, relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious than her desire to help her family that now stood between them. “I may be a second son with no title to my name, but my investments have been extremely profitable. It goes without saying that my offer will include support of your family, albeit within reason. If your brother needs help of any kind, I will be happy to oblige.”
“Truly?”
Nodding, he pulled her into his arms and tenderly kissed the top of her head. “Whatever it takes to convince you to be my wife, I will do it.”
“I—”
Leaning back, he placed his finger to her lips, silencing her. “Do not say anything yet. Just think about it. I would like to make a proper proposal—one that even your aunt will not be able to protest.”
“You plan to meet with her.” She sounded incredulous, which he in turn found mildly amusing. Apparently it wouldn’t be too difficult for him to be her knight in shining armor.
“Of course. I plan to follow every protocol in my quest to make you mine.” Stepping back, he caught her hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles with all the reverence that he felt for her. “Until tomorrow,” he said as he ushered her into the stairwell, lighting the way for her until she reached the top. From there, she blew him a kiss before disappearing into the courtyard beyond and leaving Richard feeling bereft.
His Scandalous Kiss: Secrets at Thorncliff Manor: 6 Page 18