Art and Artifice

by Regina Scott

  Daphne hurried up as well. “This is not going as I planned. I never did locate Lord Snedley, and Lady Skelcroft won’t listen to reason. She’s being helped into her cloak as we speak.”

  Ariadne puffed up. “The wolfhound is playing with the fairies, but this is not what I’d planned for tonight. I go to all the trouble of procuring a decent gown, and I still cannot find a single word to say to a gentleman!”

  “Lord Snedley advises letting the young man initiate the conversation,” Daphne offered. “And to keep the topics to the weather, your horses, and your grandmother’s snuff recipe.”

  “Sorry, Daphne,” Emily said, “but now is no time for Lord Snedley.”

  “Agreed,” Ariadne said with a nod. “The fellow’s ridiculous.”

  Daphne sucked in a breath. “You take that back. You know nothing about him.”

  “Yes I do,” Ariadne snapped. “I am Lord Snedley!”

  Emily stared, and Daphne turned as white as the statues.

  Priscilla rubbed her ear. “I am truly going mad tonight. I thought you said you’re Lord Snedley.”

  “I am,” Ariadne insisted. “I wanted to dress well for the Ball, and my allowance wasn’t enough for a gown. I may not be able to speak my mind, but I can certainly write. So I gathered up all Mother’s platitudes into an etiquette book. I was afraid no publisher would want something written by a girl not even out, so Lord Snedley was born.”

  She turned to her sister. “I never thought he’d go over so well, or that you’d become a devotee. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just wanted to be myself for once, with a gown I liked, and writing the etiquette book was the only way I knew.”

  Daphne stared at her, jaw working, then she turned and stalked off, heading for the maze. Deep inside it came another scream.

  “Is that the peacock or one of my guests?” Priscilla asked. “I simply cannot tell the difference.”

  Ariadne sighed. “She had such high hopes for tonight. I’ve ruined it for her, haven’t I?”

  “Nonsense,” Emily said. “We’ll speak to Daphne. Right now, I could use some of your creativity. I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find Lord Robert.”

  Ariadne frowned. “Have you tried the veranda?”

  The veranda? Why would he be on the veranda? She needed him in the ballroom, where she could accuse him before witnesses. Where Jamie, when he arrived, could see that she knew Robert for what he was. Where she could hand him to Jamie and say, “Arrest him, my love.” That is, if Jamie ever showed up.

  Well, if Lord Robert was on the veranda, she’d simply have to bring him back inside. “I’ll look,” she said to Ariadne. “Perhaps you should rescue Daphne from the peacock.”

  “Or vice versa,” Ariadne agreed, hurrying away.

  Emily slipped outside. Moonlight shone on the stone terrace, frosted the plants below with silver. Another white peacock strutted past, like a dandy’s ghost in his finery.

  “Good evening, Emily,” Lord Robert said, moving out of the shadows. “It’s about time you showed up.”

  Her heart started pounding as he walked toward her. Her hand came up to her chest and met the hard stones of her necklace. She’d finally discovered him, yet she found herself completely unready for the confrontation.

  “Robert, you startled me,” she said, hoping he would take her breathlessness as nothing more.

  “How very bad of me,” he said. He didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “Walk with me and let me apologize.”

  With him in this strange mood, she didn’t dare. “Come back inside with me,” she tried, “and you can apologize there.”

  “Ah, no,” he said. “Jewel thieves prefer the night.”

  Something was wrong. He shouldn’t be confessing. She edged away from him along the balustrade, feeling the stones snag on her gloves. “A jewel thief?” she asked.

  “Oh, come now, Emily. You know I stole Lady Minerva’s pearls, Acantha Dalrymple’s sapphires, and Lady Skelcroft’s brooch and replaced the stones with paste so no one would be any wiser. You wanted to call me out on it tonight, before all my friends. Is taking a few jewels so wicked? Those ladies surely won’t miss them.”

  If she agreed, would he let her get away? He was watching her every movement; she could see her gown outlined in the dark of his eyes. She took a step toward him, ready to run. “And what of Lavinia Haversham? Her family is not so fortunate.”

  His face twisted. “They should be honored I would even notice their daughter. What were a few baubles compared with acceptance in Good Society? But would she be silent when she caught me with my hand in her jewel case? Oh, no.”

  The emeralds felt as tight as a noose. She could not move. She’d thought she knew his secret, but this was much worse than she’d ever imagined. “Oh, no,” she gasped. “You killed her!”

  “It was an accident,” Robert spat out. “I struck her once, to keep her quiet. I can’t help it if the stupid chit fell into the sharp point of the dressing table. I was lucky to escape before anyone knew I’d been higher than the sitting room.”

  “You’ll hang,” Emily said, trying to determine how to escape. If she ran, would he catch her? If she could get past him, she knew help was waiting inside. Surely he’d do nothing before witnesses. “If I were you, I’d take a ship for the Continent, tonight.”

  He drew himself up. “Are you mad? I’m a Townsend. I have a reputation to protect. Besides, the only one who suspects anything is Cropper. And you.” He lunged for her.

  “Priscilla!” Emily cried, darting around him for the door. “Daphne! Ariadne! Help!”

  One hand came down on her shoulder, jerking her to a stop and slamming her back against him. The other hand came over her mouth, pressing her lips against her teeth. She could taste the silk of his glove.

  “Silence!” His shake rattled her bones.

  Never! She wiggled against him, turning her head this way and that, but his grip was too sure, his arms too strong. He dragged her toward the stairs to the garden below.

  “I heard what Cropper said to you that night at dinner,” he said against her hair. “I knew you conspired against me. So I thought, why not let you have your ball? I knew you’d invite him here too. I wanted everyone to see you cavorting with him. Only Mother knew I was here, and she’d never speak a word against me. And when you were found dead in the garden and the emeralds missing, I could throw the suspicion on Cropper. He’d investigated each case, after all. Who better to slip in paste copies than an impoverished lackey of the court? Any accusations against me would be taken as the ravings of a desperate criminal. And I would play the grieving lover.”

  He gave her another shake. “As if I would grieve for you.”

  Panic crushed the breath from her, made her heart jerk in her chest, threatened to swamp all reason. No, no, she could not give in to it. He didn’t realize Jamie hadn’t come. He’d kill her, and no one would know what had happened.

  She had to do something. As Lord Robert started down the stairs, she wedged a leg between his.

  He stumbled, and for a moment she thought she’d killed them both. Cursing, he righted himself, but she could feel his hold slipping. She sank her teeth into his hand.

  He jerked away from her, and she fell onto the ground at the bottom of the stone steps, landing on both feet with her gown beneath her. She ran anyway, pulling it up as she moved, dragging the silk through the graveled path. Her only coherent thought was that she mustn’t damage her gown or Priscilla would kill her.

  If Lord Robert didn’t catch her first.

  Chapter 22

  Jamie grit his teeth as another group of giggling women gathered around him, their beaux exchanging amused glances. It hadn’t taken more than a silver piece to convince the actor who was to play the hermit to give the role to Jamie instead. He’d thought he’d have the perfect post from which to keep an eye on Emily, but Miss Tate’s guests were far too enamored with his performance. He’d spent more time fending them off than doing his duty.
Already the clock had struck nine, and he hadn’t been able to let Emily know he was even here. She’d think he’d abandoned her.

  “Does he understand why he’s here?” one of the girls asked, golden head close to her friend’s. “He doesn’t appear sensible.”

  “Likely a mute,” her friend said with a knowing nod.

  “Careful,” the dark-haired gentleman with them teased. “He might bite.”

  Jamie growled deep in his throat and had the momentary satisfaction of seeing them pale as they scuttled back from him.

  “Mr. Cropper?”

  He stiffened at the sound of Daphne Courdebas’s voice. Emily’s friend pushed her way to the front, her eyes wide.

  “It is you! Thank God!” She seized his arm and tugged him toward the door to the veranda. With the train of her pearly gown tucked up over one arm, skirts so high her ankles showed, she strode as fast as any man.

  “What’s the hurry?” Jamie asked as she dropped his arm to wrench open the door.

  She shoved him into the darkness. “Emily’s in terrible danger. Lord Robert killed Lavinia Haversham, and he’s about to do the same to Emily. We have to stop him!”

  Jamie’s heart jerked in his chest. He turned and pushed her back into the safety of the ballroom. “Find His Grace and tell him what you just told me. Have him bring as many men as he can. I’ll save Emily.”

  She snapped a nod and ran, and he could only pray he could make good on his promise.

  * * *

  Emily dodged behind a shrub and gasped for breath. Why did her gown have to be white? The pearly color glowed in the moonlight, like a beacon guiding sailors to harbor.

  Or a murderer to his victim.

  She could hear Lord Robert blundering through the bushes, curses tainting his breath.

  “Do not make me hunt you down,” he called in warning. “It will go worse for you.”

  Worse? He was going to kill her anyway. Like the soldiers in her painting, she must face the fact that she might meet her Maker. Please, Lord, not until I tell Jamie I love him!

  The scent of cloves drifted past, far too close. Her head whipped around as she tried to find him before he found her. Was that dark shape him? No, another shrub. That snap, his foot on a twig, or her own? She hunkered lower, scrunched her skirts together, ready to flee at the least movement.

  “Emily!”

  Jamie’s voice was like a rope reaching down to rescue her from a well. Yet she dared not respond, even as other voices joined his. She could hear movement, coming closer. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sucked back a thankful sob.

  “Not yet, I think,” Lord Robert said.

  Her heart slammed into her chest even as he yanked her to her feet. She struggled for purchase in the damp dirt of the garden, but her cry for help was cut off as his hand looped through the gold setting of the necklace and wrenched it against her. Her voice was locked in her throat, her breath in her lungs. She scrambled with her fingers, gloves slipping on the stones, trying to break the hold. She could not let him win!

  The clasp broke, and Emily tumbled to the ground, gasping for air. “Here!” she cried, voice rough. “I’m here!”

  Feet pounded in all directions. One pair surely belonged to Lord Robert, running away, the coward. She was alone only a second before she was surrounded and lifted to her feet.

  “That way,” she said, pointing. “He’s escaping.”

  “Not for long,” said Mr. Kent. Others joined him, the sound of pursuit fading in the night.

  She looked up to find that the hermit was cradling her in his arms. His hat covered most of his face so that all she could see was his smile, and it was positively wicked.

  She frowned. “Jamie?”

  The smile widened, and she hugged him to her. The wool of his coat was rough and warm against her cheek, the night air less cool with his arms around her. She fancied she could hear his heart beating as quickly as her own.

  “It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you, and I won’t let go.”

  “Emily?”

  Jamie’s arms fell away at the sound of her father’s voice, yet she could feel him behind her, ready to protect. She was suddenly the center of attention. Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne crowded around her father, all looking frightfully worried, along with Lady Minerva, Viscount Rollings, Acantha Dalrymple, Mr. Cunningham from the engagement dinner, a statue, and the flock of fairies, one missing a wing.

  “Lady Emily is safe,” Jamie reported, handing her to her father as if his job was done. Indeed, as he took off his hat, she could see that his face was calm, his manner collected. Had she dreamed any attraction between them, his last impassioned speech? It seemed as if now that she’d helped him catch a criminal, he’d be off on his next investigation, her face, her person forgotten. She wanted to hide under the bush.

  “I regret, however,” Jamie continued, “that Lord Robert has escaped with the emeralds.”

  His Grace frowned as a murmur ran through the group.

  Emily roused herself. “No, he hasn’t. Those were paste copies. I sent the originals north to my sister Helena and her husband yesterday.”

  Her father gazed down at her with a shake of his head. “Well done. But you might have told me what you were about.”

  Emily spread her hands. “I had no proof Lord Robert was a jewel thief, Father, but I was certain he’d stolen Lady Skelcroft’s brooch, Lady Minerva’s pearls, and Miss Dalrymple’s sapphires.” She turned to her friends. “That’s why he had to attend Lady Skelcroft’s ball, Priscilla, to return the paste copy. And he tried to steal from the merchant’s daughter, Lavinia Haversham, only to murder her when she caught him. He agreed to marry me to deflect the authorities, but then he realized I suspected him as well. Tonight he meant to steal the emeralds, kill me, and blame it on Mr. Cropper.”

  More gasps rang out.

  “That’s silly!” Acantha Dalrymple cried, hand on her sapphires. “Lord Robert’s no thief. My jewels are right here.”

  “No, they aren’t,” Daphne said. “Lady Emily is telling the truth. I heard Lord Robert confess.”

  Now Emily frowned. “You did?”

  Daphne nodded. “I heard voices so I crawled out on the ledge by the ladies’ retiring room.”

  “You could have been killed,” Lady Minerva scolded.

  “Not really,” Daphne said. “I dragged the commode to the window and tied my train to it as an anchor. And I saw the entire scene. Besides, someone had to protect Lady Emily, and I have the most skill.”

  “My word,” her father muttered. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  “And when I came down from the retiring room, I discovered the hermit was Mr. Cropper, and I knew everything would be fine. And it was.”

  “It most certainly was not!” Acantha Dalrymple exclaimed. “Your escapades will be on everyone’s tongues!”

  “Very likely,” Lady Minerva agreed with a poisoned smile to the girl. “Unfortunately, so will the fact that your jewels are nothing but paste. I’m sure more than one will wonder if other aspects of you are too.”

  Acantha gasped and clutched her bosom, but Lady Minerva stepped aside with a smile to Emily. Emily glanced behind her, but Jamie had gone, melted into the shadows. That’s what hermits, and Bow Street Runners, did, she supposed, but she couldn’t help hoping that he hadn’t gone too far as she returned to the ballroom with the others.

  * * *

  “So your ball is the huge success you wanted,” Lady Minerva said a short while later, “if not, precisely, for the same reasons.”

  Emily nodded. It did not quite seem real. Another member of the Bow Street brigade had come to tell His Grace that Lord Robert had been caught and taken to Newgate Prison. Her art had won the day over his artifice.

  Lady Minerva leaned closer. “I was working on your behalf all along, you know. Only don’t tell your father. I will disavow all knowledge.” She sailed off to shoo the fairies away from the petite fours lined up on the confections
table.

  But though her aunt might pretend to know nothing, others suspected more. People she’d only just met smiled at her, waved to her from across the room. Her father’s presence might keep most of their guests from gossiping about the contretemps in the garden, but rumor had circulated that something had happened, and Emily and her friends were the heroines of the piece.

  “So now all of London knows about us,” Ariadne said dreamily as they stood with Priscilla’s fountain of punch bubbling behind them. “No doubt sonnets are being written to us as we speak.”

  “I can only hope they will be as popular as what you wrote,” Daphne said. “I cannot believe you let me prattle on about Lord Snedley.”

  Ariadne hung her head.

  Daphne draped her arm around her bare shoulders. “I should have known it was the work of my brilliant sister.”

  Ariadne raised her head with a smile, and all knew she had been forgiven.

  Emily had her own confession to make. When she’d been alone in the garden, she’d sworn the night would not end before she told Jamie how she felt. Could he still be about somewhere? Was that why his colleague had relayed the news of Robert’s capture? She turned to look and found herself facing Lady St. Gregory.

  “A most interesting night, Lady Emily,” she said in her usual cool tone. “You are quite a singular young lady.”

  Was that praise? She could not believe it. “Thank you, your ladyship,” she said politely.

  “I wished to speak with you about the portrait of your mother. Was that difficult?”

  Why did Lady St. Gregory ask such questions? Emily never knew how to answer. “It was the easiest and hardest piece I’ve ever done,” she admitted. “The colors, her face, they came easily. Conveying the person I loved was very, very hard.”

  Lady St. Gregory smiled. “Yet you did it. I never met your mother, but looking at the painting, I fancy I know her, and you. I imagine she’d be very, very proud of you.”