A Notorious Proposition
Page 7
But with her gift, she knew he was in trouble, and her being here in Winter Garden served a purpose in helping him. She just didn’t know how, or why. And now with Garrett at her side, seemingly constantly, her own fear had begun to increase. Certainly not a fear of the man, but a fear that he would interfere with her ability to help her brother, the one person in the world she trusted.
Madeleine sat across from her, Thomas, the woman’s distinguished and handsome husband, sat to his wife’s left. Garrett sat to her left, but the table was so tiny, each time he moved in his chair his arm or knee—seemingly unintentionally—grazed hers. Although he seemed eager enough to be with her while searching for the jewels that had eluded him and negatively affected his career, he didn’t seem to be at all interested in her again as a woman. At least she didn’t think so because, unlike two years ago, he seemed cautious, even unsure of her. He hadn’t tried to kiss her, seduce her, as he’d so willingly done before, and she supposed she should feel elated about that. And yet, in a manner she couldn’t understand, it rather depressed her. She knew he thought she was involved in his failure to find the diamonds in London, but she simply couldn’t discuss it with him. Not yet. Still, the fact that he sat so close to her now intimidated her immensely. She could ignore him only so much, and then his pure masculinity intruded on her thoughts, disrupting her concentration. And when it came to the diamonds, she had to remember that she needed them more than he.
“Ivy?”
She blinked, sitting up a little straighter in her chair. “Pardon?”
Garrett leaned back and frowned negligibly. “You’re not paying attention,” he said, his voice holding a trace of amusement.
“Yes, she is,” Madeleine said from across the table. “She’s just not interested in old, hand-drawn maps, oui?”
The Frenchwoman looked at her cautiously, and Ivy had the distinct impression she knew very well what was going through her mind. Not maps. Him.
“I’m sorry,” she confessed, “I’m just distracted I suppose. And a bit tired.”
“It’s the Rothebury ghosts keeping you awake all night,” Thomas teased.
She laughed softly. “I only wish they would. At least I would have something to do in the house.”
“Ah,” Madeleine replied, gazing back to the map of the property, then turning it so one of the pages faced her. “These will surely give you something to do. However, do keep in mind that they were drawn by my hand, and I am a terrible artist.” She winked at her husband.
“But far better than Eastleigh.”
“You are not,” her husband chided good-naturedly. “You simply refused to let me draw.”
Madeleine shrugged. “I don’t remember it that way…”
“What are these small blue circles?” Garrett asked, focusing on areas not defined by a door or window but clearly marked on a few of the walls.
“Those,” Thomas replied, “are hidden, or secret, doorways.”
“The ones we’re aware of,” Madeleine added. “There are probably more of them, but we have not been able to enter to investigate further, unfortunately. After the baron’s arrest, the house was locked up and sealed, including the tunnel entrance”—she turned the page sideways—“here.”
“And when Benedict abruptly arrived without announcement, he refused all callers,” Thomas maintained, sounding a bit annoyed. “We were hoping the new owner would allow us in, but we haven’t seen Rye on the property as yet.”
“Ivy could let you in,” Garrett said, pulling his arm from the back of the chair and sitting forward once more.
She glanced up to see him looking not at her, but at Thomas. “I’m not sure that’s a very good idea without the owner’s permission. And doing so secretly could alert someone on the staff, which in itself could prove to be disastrous.”
“Exactly true,” Madeleine agreed. “Even if we called on you socially, the servants would obviously know, and if we moved freely around the house to investigate, gossip of our sudden interest would spread.” She shook her head. “No, the exploring will be up to the two of you.”
Ivy blinked. “The two of us?”
As if reading the diffidence in her mind, Garrett said lightly, “I’m the architect, remember?”
“And an excellent identity to use for looking at cracks in walls and rooms that might be oddly shaped or newly remodeled,” Thomas remarked, adjusting his large frame in the tiny chair.
Ivy ignored the implication and leaned in to study the map more closely. “So, as you’ve outlined here, there are secret entrances in…the library, the master bedchamber, and the…what room is this?”
They all leaned their heads over the table to closely examine the spot where she pointed, Garrett’s cheek so close to hers now that she could feel the warmth of his skin, smell the faintest traces of his cologne. She sat back at once.
“That’s the wine cellar, I believe,” Thomas answered, frowning. He placed a large palm on the sketch and pointed with his index finger. “This door here leads to the tunnel, and probably, in the opposite direction…here, up a hidden staircase to Rothebury’s bedchamber. We know he brought women in at night, and with such indelicate intent, he needed to avoid servants and their prying eyes.”
“He was bedding women by bringing them secretly into his own room?” Garrett asked incredulously.
Ivy felt a slight flush creep up her neck at his brazen mention of the former baron’s indiscretions. He had to know his question would summon memories of their own indecency in his bed, when he’d brought her in at night and made passionate love to her by firelight. But she’d learned too much to cower now, and she refused to glance his way for fear that he would see the embarrassment in her eyes.
Madeleine sighed and slumped her shoulders a little. “The conniving Richard Sharon was a nefarious rake who seemed to enjoy, and sometimes boast about, his reputation. He even got one of the local girls with child after filling her impressionable head with fancies, then refused to marry her, or help her with the problem in any way.” A trace of anger slipped into her voice as her features grew taut. “Really, the man was incredibly arrogant, and disgraceful in every regard. He deserved to die in prison.”
“He died in prison?” she and Garrett asked in unison.
“So we’ve heard,” Thomas replied through a long exhale, leaning back in his wooden chair, which creaked beneath his weight. “And it was fairly soon after his arrival. With his title and other monetary influences, he shouldn’t have remained there long. Many people knew this, and so it’s rumored he was murdered quickly, possibly by poison, before he had the chance to scheme or purchase his way to freedom. But the authorities never found anyone guilty and eventually dropped the matter for lack of evidence.”
Murdered by poison. A horrifying thought, and Ivy shifted her legs beneath the table as she tried to shake it off.
A lingering silence ensued, then Garrett asked, “Is the girl he ruined still in town?”
Madeleine shook her head minutely. “She moved to Northumberland soon after the scandal broke. Married a gentleman friend who took responsibility for her and the child, though we have heard no news from or about poor Desdemona in the two years she’s been gone.”
“Very sad for her family, too,” Thomas added, seconds later. “Desdemona testified at the smuggling trial, where she revealed everything she knew, and in so doing, disgraced them all. Three family members still live in Winter Garden, her mother, Penelope Bennington-Jones, and the girl’s younger sisters, Hermione and Viola.”
Ivy remembered the family, or more precisely, she and Ian knew the Bennington-Joneses vaguely when they lived there as children. Desdemona, the oldest could not have been more than five or six, however, when they left Winter Garden.
Thomas exhaled a long breath and continued. “Unfortunately, Desdemona’s father died soon after the scandal broke, and I think most of his estate has dwindled. We don’t see much of them anymore, and I don’t suppose they have anywhere to go.”
Forcing herself to shove that thought aside, she quickly returned to the subject of the house. “Did Desdemona give the authorities details about these hidden entrances when she testified?”
“She knew of only the tunnel,” Thomas replied, “and was able to show investigators how she entered—the same way, in fact, that Rothebury smuggled opium into his home.” He inhaled deeply as he stretched his arm across the back of his wife’s chair, wrapping a loose strand of her hair around a finger absentmindedly. “This is the reason we’re fairly certain the tunnel leads both to the cellar entrance as well as the master bedchamber. There could also be other staircases, though we aren’t certain of that. We do know, however, that the house is smaller on the inside than it appears on the outside, and that it’s been remodeled several times through the centuries.”
Ivy furrowed her brows. “How did you learn of the entry from the library?”
“Madeleine found that one.”
She smiled at her husband. “During the masquerade ball Rothebury held that winter, though I never went through it. I just know it’s behind this bookcase,” she said, tapping the paper map with a manicured nail. “We’re not sure where it leads.”
Garrett reached out and ran his finger along the wall line. “Probably, if one enters here,” he remarked, “it would also lead to the master bedchamber.”
“Or one of the others,” Ivy speculated. Without thought, she reached for his hand and lifted it by the fingers to trace a line herself. An unexpected warmth radiated from her toes to her face at the simple contact, and she immediately let go of him, concentrating on the sketches. She could feel Garrett’s gaze on her but ignored it.
“It seems as if it would be relatively easy,” she continued, “to connect to all the rooms on the third landing. Look here.”
Slowly, she drew her finger from the library to the master bedchamber, then to a second and third, and finally to the one in which she slept. “This is the room I was given by the marquess, but I’m fairly certain there’s no entrance.”
“Have you looked?” Garrett asked, his voice low.
“No, but then I didn’t realize there might be a secret entrance in a spare bedroom until I saw the map,” she reasoned, lifting her lashes to catch his forthright gaze on her.
Eyeing her shrewdly, he said, “Then that’s where we start.”
“You can’t possibly expect to come near my bedroom,” she insisted in a fast breath. The idea of working with him—of doing anything with him—made her nervous, which he likely noticed because he suddenly smiled lazily at her.
“I’ll go through the library entrance and see where it leads, that’s all. You stand in your bedchamber and listen for me.”
“No,” she countered flatly, “I’ll follow the staircase.”
Madeleine cut in, “Garrett will have an excellent excuse for being there, so what harm can it do to let him come along?”
Ivy just looked at her blankly, unable to think of a suitable reply that didn’t in some manner divulge her true feelings in the matter.
“Frankly,” Garrett said, his eyes narrowed in speculation as he stared at the map, “if danger lurks in places not used for years, like staircases and cellars, it wouldn’t be wise for either of us to enter alone. Safety is the central issue.”
Her annoyance bubbled near the surface, but she couldn’t very well argue against such sane analysis on his part.
Suddenly Thomas furrowed his brows and gazed at her thoughtfully. “You’ve been inside before, haven’t you, Ivy? You and your brother, some years ago?”
“I didn’t know you have a brother,” Madeleine said in surprise.
She smiled vaguely. “A twin, seven minutes younger than I.” Looking back to Thomas, she revealed, “Yes, our parents were friends of Richard Sharon’s father, but I’m afraid that was many years ago—more than twenty, actually. I frequently visited the house as a child, but I don’t remember very much, and I certainly knew nothing of secret tunnels. I’m sure Ian doesn’t remember anything, either. At least he’s never mentioned it.”
“Where is he?” Thomas asked with genuine curiosity.
She swallowed and sat up straighter in her chair. “He’s been traveling on the Continent for the past year or so, intent on purchasing property in Italy. He should be returning to Stamford in the spring, though.”
She cast a glance at Garrett to notice him studying her with that same perceptive and intimidating look that made her stomach twist in knots. She’d given her standard answer, the same one she’d given to Mrs. Rodney, and he looked as if he had trouble believing her explanation. Not that a standard answer wasn’t practical, and of course she could be imagining a suspicion on his part.
“You must miss him very much,” Madeleine said, as if reading her mind.
“I do, yes,” she replied. “He’s all the family I have left, and we are very close.”
After an awkward moment of silence, Madeleine leaned forward and placed her forearms on the table, over the map, and grinned wryly. “Wouldn’t it be grand if the Marquess of Rye held his own masquerade ball?”
“Madeleine…” Thomas cautioned, saying her name in a way that almost sounded like a caress. “What are you thinking?”
His wife ignored him and concentrated on Ivy, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. “You are in contact with the man, are you not?”
She frowned delicately. “With the marquess? I suppose I am, yes.”
Madeleine shrugged, then sat back in her chair, glancing to all of them one at a time. “Then why not send him a note and suggest it? He doesn’t have to attend, of course, but you could imply that it would be a marvelous way to bring the community together, to welcome the new owner, or just honor him in his absence. It would also put us all into that house again. With so many people attending, one would hardly notice a person or two sneaking away to investigate.”
“Investigate what?” Thomas asked sardonically.
Madeleine peered at him sideways through her lashes. “A missing person, ghosts, and stolen, priceless diamonds, darling.”
“Ah,” her husband replied as if she’d explained it all.
The idea was quite logical, and Ivy felt only a moment’s trepidation at the thought. Madeleine and Thomas knew of Garrett’s assignment to find the Martello diamonds, and they knew she was here to look for ghosts at the marquess’s request. But nobody knew that she needed the jewels, or that her brother’s life was in danger. Garrett suspected she had other intentions, but that’s all it was—pure speculation. If Benedict Sharon had the diamonds when he disappeared, and his last-known whereabouts were in the house, then they would all, in essence, be searching for the very same thing, and she would, by necessity, need to be overly cautious with every single move. Still, all the planning in the world could be for naught if the elusive Marquess of Rye refused to give his consent.
Garrett remained unnaturally silent, Thomas in deep thought. But then they were men and not so inclined to participate in the planning of a party, especially one as large as a masquerade ball.
“I think it’s a good idea,” she agreed, her eagerness growing despite her worries. “Of course the marquess might have objections we can’t foresee, though if I explain that the house has hidden tunnels he’s not aware of, perhaps he’ll be inclined to consent to a ball simply to draw out those who might know something about structure or its history.” She bit the side of her lip. “But I don’t think I can ask him to pay for it, especially if he’s not inclined to attend.”
“I think we should pay for it,” Madeleine stated matter-of-factly.
Thomas groaned; Garrett chuckled and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
“It was my suggestion, Eastleigh.”
“Yes,�
�� he replied directly to his wife, “but what you’re proposing is highly impractical under the circumstances.”
“What circumstances?” she persisted, crossing her arms over her breasts.
“Too numerous to name,” he said, his voice sounding as if he’d already accepted defeat in the argument.
Ivy glanced at Garrett, who simply sat with his eyes closed, shaking his head, a fraction of a smile on his lips.
“Perhaps I should write him first,” she said, squashing the enthusiasm for a moment. “He may simply not want people on the estate for reasons we can’t know, or the fact that a person disappeared there.”
“It is all rather chilling to contemplate, isn’t it?” Madeleine said, subdued. “And yet the marquess may surprise us all with his answer.”
At that, Garrett exhaled deeply, placed his palms on the table, and pushed himself up. “I think Lord Eastleigh and his wife have been generous enough for one day.” He looked at Ivy. “I’ll walk you to the house. It’s time to get a closer look inside.”
Ivy didn’t respond to his assertion but stood as the others did. She would need to confront Garrett on her own.
“Can we keep these?” she asked, lifting the three sheets of paper.
“Please do,” Madeleine replied. “And I don’t need them returned. I only drew them in case someone wanted to investigate as you two are doing now.”
“I still don’t understand why the authorities didn’t find all the hidden entrances when Rothebury was arrested,” she said, the thought just occurring to her.
“I’m not sure they thought to look into passageways to other rooms, or that they cared about them,” Thomas answered as he moved around the table, his limp from a prior war injury pronounced. “They knew of the large tunnel that extends from the property and into the forest, and they knew it led from the cellar to the Rothebury’s bedroom because Desdemona informed them of her entry that way. Madeleine and I told them of the doorway behind the bookcase in the library, but as it didn’t influence the smuggling charge, they weren’t all that interested. They’d probably been built strictly for Rothebury’s ancestors to spy on their servants.”