by Marlowe, Deb
“That sounds like a great deal of trouble to go to, just for pineapple ices.”
“Less trouble than staying in Town until the babe is born,” Hope countermanded. “For I will have my pineapple ice.”
“Well, I’m sure my mother will grow you as many pineapples as you need. I understand they can be difficult to grow. We will present it as a challenge. She won’t be able to resist.”
“Oh, do you think so?” Hope took another bite. “That does ease my mind. Your mother is up to any botanical challenge.” She pointed with her chin. “Oh, look. There is Miss Nichols now.”
The young lady joined them and save for the moment when Hope wrinkled her nose at the girl’s order of a parmesan ice, they had a lovely visit. Miss Nichols was lively and fun and very kind. She’d only just had her first Season in the spring and had several amusing stories to share.
“I knew you two would get on,” Hope said, gazing at them both with satisfaction. “And I am glad of it. We are hoping that Penelope will be back for the next Season, and though I cannot sponsor her as I hoped, I will rest easier knowing that you are looking out for her.”
“Of course! I shall be happy to have a new friend and it will be no trouble to help you navigate the waters. My mother and father and I greatly enjoyed ourselves last spring, and I feel sure you will, too.”
“Thank you.” Penelope’s gratitude was sincere, even if she wasn’t sure she would be back. “You are very kind.”
Finished, they headed outside. Hope took a look at the waiting carriage and frowned. “Oh, dear. Would you mind if strolled about the square a bit? Perhaps I should not have indulged in a second ice.”
“Of course,” Penelope reassured her. The weather was fine and the conversation light as the three of them took their time strolling about the square. As they rounded back toward the waiting carriages, an open barouche pulled in close. A figure in brilliant purple stood and waved peremptorily at them as the vehicle stopped.
“Oh, dear,” Miss Nichols said, very low. “It’s Lady Lowell.” She turned to give the countess a kiss and a rueful grin. “Well, my dear, since I won’t be leaving you alone with her, I only feel a little bad about abandoning you, but I do find it best to avoid her, when I can.”
“Don’t we all?” Hope whispered back. “But I understand.” She nodded and waved her friend on.
But Lady Lowell was striding toward them, now. “Hold a moment, Miss Nichols,” she called. “I’ve something for you.”
Caught, the young lady turned back and they all waited as the woman approached. “There you are! I’ve been to your house, Lady Tensford, and they told me I might find you here. I’m so glad I caught you all.” She handed out thick, colorful parchment cards to each of them.
“Invitations to Mr. Rowland’s masquerade?” Penelope asked.
“Yes. He meant to keep it quiet and selective, I discovered. Well, I quickly changed his mind about that! We all need something grand to shake us up! I’ve promised to distribute his extra invitations to anyone who might have been missed. You all must be there. It promises to be quite the event, though it’s the wrong time of the year.”
“I’m surprised you are interested, Lady Lowell. I understood there might be a scientific slant to the event.”
“Yes, well, that’s why I am helping. I’m making sure everyone who is anyone and who is actually in Town at this time, knows to come and liven it up. Who does not love a masquerade, with all of the disguise and secrecy and drama? I wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
Penelope tried to hand hers back. “The countess and I already have invitations.”
“Keep these, then, and bring along your friends. The more who come, the more successful the event will be.”
“Well, I had not been invited, but if you are all going, then I shall too, and I’ll bring Mama and Papa. It shall be a diversion from the legal issues that brought him here. Thank you, Lady Lowell. But now I must be off.” Miss Nichols waved and retreated to her carriage.
Lady Lowell watched her go, then turned back to Hope. “Tensford was not at home this morning, either. Are you sure you brought him along with you to Town?” she finished lightly.
Hope laughed. “Quite sure. He’s a busy man.”
“I find it surprising that I have not yet caught sight of him.”
“You shall be sure to see him at the masquerade. Until then, I’ll be happy to pass along your regards.”
The woman watched her closely for a long moment. “You have been married longer than I,” she mused. “I suppose the bloom does fall off the relationship, eventually.”
“I have heard it said so,” Hope agreed. “If it occurs with us, I shall be sure to let you know, so that you may guard against it in your own time.”
Her mouth flat, the woman appeared to struggle with a response, then abruptly, she smiled. “Well, I must get the rest of these invitations spread about. Good day to you.” With a nod, she returned to her vehicle and set off.
Waving and nodding, Hope watched her go. “Well, that small victory did the thing. I’m feeling quite steady, now. Shall we head home?”
“Yes.” Penelope stopped staring after the barouche and smiled. “I think we had better.”
* * *
True to his word, Tensford took Penelope and Hope to the Tower. They rode in the park again, choosing to go in the morning when it was not so crowded. And the ladies spent one delightful afternoon shopping in various bookstores,
But finally, the morning of the masquerade dawned. Hope and Penelope spent it in busy preparation. Hope’s headpiece was a tricky thing and took some experimentation, but at last they determined just the right way to wear it.
“I cannot wait to see Tensford’s face. He won’t be expecting this!”
“I cannot see how he would,” Penelope agreed. She stared at her wardrobe, where all of the Madame’s creations hung. “I feel foolish now. I’ve over prepared.”
“Not at all. It’s nothing you won’t eventually put to use,” Hope insisted. “Don’t think twice about it.”
They laughed and went down to luncheon.
“Do you know what the men mean to wear?” Penelope asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
“I haven’t heard what Sterne means to wear. Whiddon declares he will only wear his domino, as he wants to be ready for anything that might happen. Tensford doesn’t object, since he says Whiddon would do the same for any other masquerade.”
“And Tensford? Do you know what the earl will wear?”
“Yes,” Hope answered glumly.
Penelope’s eyes widened. “What is it? Is something wrong with his choice?”
“Yes. He’s going as a lobster.”
Penelope bit back a laugh. “Oh, but it is very sweet. It’s meant as a joke between you, is it not? Some of us know that lobster patties are special to you both.”
“It’s not very dignified,” Hope grumbled.
“Then he sacrificed his dignity to make you smile. As I said, it’s very sweet.”
“It doesn’t make me smile, though,” Hope said with sigh. “After all the teasing we’ve done about lobster patties, suddenly, I can’t abide the thought of eating one! Just looking at his costume makes me feel nauseated.”
“Oh, dear,” Penelope giggled. “Poor Tensford.”
“I know!” Hope wailed. “He is very annoyed, but I cannot help it if the baby doesn’t like lobster!”
She laughed out loud. “No, you cannot. Why don’t you ask him to go as a pineapple?”
The countess’s eyes lit up. “Now that is a fine idea.” She sighed. “Too bad, it’s likely too late to make up something like that.”
When they’d finished, Hope returned to her rooms to rest while Penelope went to the sitting room to write letters. She’d already written to tell her parents what James had done at the townhouse, and about the other things she suspected him of. It was too early to have heard back from them, but she felt as if she’d done what she could to uphold the family h
onor.
And she was still doing it. She knew that Sterne and the rest of them believed she was overreacting. They all still held Stillwater as the prime suspect in their hunt. But she had a feeling, deep in her gut. James was deeper in this than they yet knew.
“Excuse me, Miss?” A maid stood at the door. “Mrs. Caradec has arrived.”
“Oh, dear. Did you tell her that the countess is resting?”
“I did, Miss, but she’s asked to see you.”
Her stomach fluttered. “Please, show her in.”
She stood as Mrs. Caradec strode in. “You found something?”
“We’ve found him. You were right. Asking about the two large brothers from the north did the trick. Lycett is at the Pelican in Wapping, with the pair of them.”
Penelope wrung her hands. They moved to sit, and Mrs. Caradec leaned in. “What do you want to do about it? I can have him taken up by the constables and left with a magistrate, if you want to press charges.”
“I want to speak to him,” Penelope told her. “And if I’m right about his involvement with the theft, I don’t wish to tip his compatriots off.” She lifted her chin. “If he’s with the Curtis brothers, then that makes it even more likely that I’ve been right. I want to know why.”
“Tensford and the rest don’t think the money he could make would offset the risk.”
“I know. But I keep going back to something that Lady Tresham said. She said it felt like a personal affront to Tensford.”
“And does Lycett have something personal against the earl?”
“No. Not that I know of, but someone who does might have convinced him to do it.”
“It might have been Stillwater. In which case, you are all right and we’ll find the fossil at the event tonight, most likely.”
“That is possible,” she agreed. “But what if it is wrong? Shouldn’t we cover both possibilities?”
Mrs. Caradec thought it over. “I cannot fault your logic.” Her tone turned candid. “But I doubt you will convince any of the rest of them.”
“I’ve convinced you, though.”
“Yes, and I think it would be a bad idea to wait to act on our new information. There’s no guarantee that Lycett will stay at the Pelican.” She frowned. “We need a plan. And a bit of help.”
Penelope stood. “Would you mind coming upstairs? I’ve something to show you.”
In her room, she opened her wardrobe and hung a gown on each open door.
Mrs. Caradec stared. “You had two different costumes made?”
“Yes. It was a notion that struck me. The girl that followed us—the blonde who reported to Lycett—she saw me in the beginnings of the peacock gown. I just could not shake the idea that it might be handy to have one that couldn’t be so easily identified.”
“It was a canny notion.” Mrs. Caradec narrowed her eyes. “You can turn the idea around, as well. Someone else can wear it and pretend to be you.”
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Let me think a moment,” the other woman commanded.
Penelope nodded and watched the woman pace.
“Listen,” Mrs. Caradec said eventually. “We can do both, working together. But we’ll need one more. One of the men. I’m not letting you gallivant about, alone. Will Sterne step up, if you ask him?”
Her heart shrinking, she shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I might convince Whiddon to do it. He’ll think it’s a lark.”
“I’ll need a few of my people, as well. Let me go and make some arrangements, then I will be back.” She looked sober. “We have a chance to handle this quickly and quietly. I would rather keep Hope out of it, though. I know it will be hard not to tell her, but I don’t want to risk her. Not now.”
“I agree, wholeheartedly.” She reached for the woman’s hand. “Thank you, so much. For your help. And for your willingness to listen.”
They conferred a moment longer, then she penned a note to Whiddon and gave it over to a footman as she walked Mrs. Caradec downstairs to bid her goodbye. Her steps were slow as she went back up the stairs to her room, though her mind was whirling. Still lost in thought, she was standing in the middle of the room when a knock came at the door.
“I’m sorry to disturb you again, Miss, but this was left for you. I thought you would like to know, right away.”
Inside the package was a book, with a sprig of dried heather tucked inside. The Old Norse Invasion: A Myriad of Ways the English Language Adapted to Political Strife.
A veritable confluence of emotion caught her and set her back a step. Sterne.
There was a note tucked in with the heather.
I’m sorry.
I’m a fool.
Can we speak this evening?
She fought the tears that threatened to rise as she confronted the maid. “Is he downstairs?”
“No, Miss. He dropped the book off and left again, straightaway.”
She didn’t stop to grab a wrap or a bonnet, or even to think. She just clutched the book and took off at a run.
Chapter 15
He heard her calling his name. He turned . . . and froze.
She stalked him, her arms and head bare as if she’d just run out of the house. Over her morning dress she wore only her anger and it rolled out ahead of her in a wave. She was an avenging angel, with her skirts flaring and her eyes blazing and her arm extended. She held, not a sword, but the book he’d left her.
“Take it.” She thrust it at him, her gaze averted. “You must stop. You cannot push me one way and pull me another. Not any longer.”
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to talk to you. I thought that . . . tonight . . . after everything is settled . . . I want the chance to explain.”
“There’s no need. I see you, Barrett. I know part of you longs for home and family and people who love you. But I see the other part, too. The wary, defensive side of you that sees intimacy as a vulnerability. You react to it as if it’s a threat. And I understand why, I think.”
He didn’t recoil. He couldn’t. It was the truth and he was man enough to admit it. “I . . .” He looked about. “We cannot have this conversation in the street. Let’s step into the garden.”
She nodded. She wouldn’t take his arm, however. She just moved stiffly by his side and went through the gate alone when he held it for her.
The garden lay quiet at this time of day. Insects buzzed in the trees. The sun was warm. She moved further in and he followed, thankful that there were enough shrubs and trees to block them from view.
She turned abruptly and shoved the book at him, resting it on his chest. “Take it back.”
He didn’t move. She let it go. The book fell between them and she moved away.
“It is infuriating to me that you are the one person in the world who knows me so well, who understands me so completely. Who else would give me such a gift? No one. Who else would encourage me in pursuing such a matter? It seems absurdly intimate and entirely unfair. Why should you know me so well—and yet not love me?”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word unfair,” he growled. “I do love you, damn it all to hell! Though I tried not to.”
She scoffed. “How flattering.”
“I wanted to wait until this evening to explain.”
“Explain now.” Her shoulders slumped. “Please.”
He went to her and gathered her in. She didn’t fight him. She just held so very still and felt so small, in his arms. He’d done this to her. He had to make it right. Somehow.
“Do you know why my mother came searching for me?”
“Because you didn’t answer her summons,” she said quietly. “It’s what she said.”
“I didn’t. I don’t. Not ever, if I can help it.” He set her back. “Do you recall when I told you I don’t like silence?”
She nodded.
“That house. That’s where I learned to hate the quiet.” He turned away and put a hand on a tree. It was warm and alive and helped him
go on. “The place is cold. Empty—of everything that makes a house a home. It’s silent as a tomb, but no one’s spirit could rest there. Not the servants, not my parents, not me. In fact, it feels like I die a little, every time I set foot in the place.”
He looked back at her. “You said your parents are disappointed that you were not a boy. It struck a chord—except that’s the only thing I did right. I was born the heir, but I was too small, or too thin, or too fast or I read too much and neglected my languages. I didn’t enunciate clearly or shoot cleanly or show the right amount of respect. I never had a kind word from them. Not one. I avoided them if I could.”
“It sounds horrid,” she whispered.
“I don’t know if I can convey what it feels like, to try and try but to always be labeled a failure. It’s wildly frustrating and then you start to alternate between fury and despair and bleak helplessness. I lashed out—and made things worse. I withdrew—and made things worse. I thought I would go mad, butting up against the brick wall of their united scorn—so one day, I just . . . gave in.”
“What did you do?”
“I did as they said. I agreed with everything they said. My father grew encouraged and took me under his wing. He taught me who was important and who was not. I learned and acted accordingly. I stood at his side and learned to read a room, to pick out the weak parts of a man and exploit them. I learned to skirt the truth, stay on just this side of a lie. I watched him maneuver and plot and revel in his machinations and those of his cronies.”
“I cannot imagine it.”
“I am thankful for that,” he sighed. “The rub of it was, I didn’t feel any better. I didn’t value anything he taught me, couldn’t see any virtue in such a selfish, cold way of life. I was still miserable. And my parents, well, they were satisfied that I wasn’t in open rebellion, but there was still no warmth, no real approval—”
“No love.”
He laughed bitterly. “No.”
“What did you do?”
“I left. My father had been schooled at home, and thought that fine enough for me, but I used what he taught me. I convinced him that going to school would give me contacts and relationships that would be useful for all of my life.”