by Diana Lloyd
Slowly, the crowds cleared as people parted for late night entertainments. Even her uncle’s coach ambled by, too dark and too fast for her to get a good look at the occupants. Surely her aunt and cousins were inside, but a candle still glowed in the only room in which she was interested.
When the room went dark and stayed that way, she slipped from the street to the side of the house. The gods favored her with a half-moon that cast the space in inky shadow. Confident she’d not be seen, Jewel slipped on the silver mask and approached the window to the morning room. Giving the window a gentle push, encouragement flooded her veins when the frame moved beneath her hand.
Flopping inside from her precarious perch like a fish, Jewel lay on the floor, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. When none arrived, she crawled to the hallway, peeked around the corner, and started toward her uncle’s office.
She kept herself stock-still, listening for sounds from within. Hearing nothing but the tick of the mantel clock, she dropped to the floor and looked for any sign of light or movement from the other side of the door. Convincing herself the flicker of shadows was nothing more than a breeze rustling the leaves outside the office window, she reached up and tried the latch.
Slowly, the latch gave way in her hand. She crawled inside and closed the door behind her. Keeping to the floor and muttering every curse word she’d ever heard as she crashed first into the chair and then the desk, she reached up for the drawer pull only to find it locked.
Jewel slipped Elvy’s small knife from her coat pocket and silently worked at the lock until it gave way. She’d have to rely on memory of her father’s handwriting to find the letter in such poor light. Beads of nervous sweat broke out across her forehead and threatened her vision further until, at last, she knew she held her father’s words. Stuffing the letter inside her shirt, Jewel turned and crept back out to the hallway.
Making her escape by crawling back to the morning room as noiselessly as a snake, she threw herself out the window without bothering to shut it behind her. She had to get away with the letter. All she could think to do was run.
“Go, go,” she said to Elvy as she climbed up into the waiting carriage. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes. Please, just go.” Still shaking from her ordeal, Jewel put her head in her hands and tried to slow her racing breaths.
“Was it worth the trouble?” Elvy asked, guiding the horses from the alley out to a more traveled road.
“I didn’t stick around to read it there. I’ve got it with me.” Sitting up now, so as not to draw any attention to herself, Jewel gave her shoulders a shake to get her nerves under control. It was done. She’d gotten away with it. All she had to do now was read the letter.
“We’ve a problem,” Elvy whispered.
“Is someone following?” Craning her neck around, Jewel scanned the road behind them. Other than a few hansom cabs, there was nothing suspicious.
“You’re looking the wrong way,” Elvy said, slowing the horses to a leisurely walk.
Holy hell. There, in front of them stood Oliver. Her heart beat double-time at the sight of him, and she slowed her breath until it returned to its normal rhythm. Even with his betrayal so fresh in her mind, the urge to call out to him was strong enough that she put her hand over her mouth.
What was Oliver doing in London? Had he decided to retrieve his Scottish maiden in person?
“I don’t think he’s seen us. I think I can lose him.” Elvy took the next turn sharply and urged the horses into a faster pace.
As they made their way to the room they’d rented with what little coin they had, Jewel pulled her hat low and kept lookout. The darkness was both friend and foe. If she couldn’t see him, she could only hope he couldn’t see them, either.
The entrance to Canary Court was just visible in the deepening darkness when a traveler on a horse fell into step beside the carriage.
“Good evening, gents.” The rider tipped his hat. “Or should I say ladies.”
“Good evening, milord.” Elvy said, as she nudged Jewel in the ribs.
“I can explain,” Jewel blurted out, hugging the letter to her chest. Oliver didn’t respond but kept his horse alongside them as they passed through the gate to Canary Court.
“Are you staying here, or did you think to lure me into a dark court, hit me over the head, and steal something else?” Oliver’s irritation dripped from every word.
“That’s us at number two just ahead,” Elvy said, pointing the way.
“I see the mews. But, madam, where is the house?” Oliver asked, holding his nose against the pervasive odor of stale horse manure.
“We couldn’t afford a town house.” Jumping down and reaching for the reins in case he decided to flee, Jewel scrambled to supply an explanation. “We had only the coins you gave Elvy. Besides,” Jewel added, as she pushed his hand from his nose, “you’ll get used to the smell.”
“I’d rather not.” Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Oliver let her take the reins.
“We couldn’t afford both a place to sleep and a stable for the horses,” Jewel explained as she led Apollo to the doors of number two. “Elvy happened to recognize a flower seller on her way to Covent Garden, and she told us about this place. The owners left the city for the summer and were happy to get a few pennies to let it out for a week or two. All we had to do was clean it.”
“That’s all?” He didn’t try to hide his sarcasm or lack of enthusiasm for what Jewel had thought a clever solution.
“It’s affordable and discreet. We didn’t squander coin, and we’re keeping good watch over your horses and carriage. You should be pleased.”
“Pleased? You stole my horses and a carriage. Explain yourself.” There was more irritation than anger behind his words. A fact that gave her a glimmer of hope they might yet remain friends.
“I left you a note. Besides, we borrowed only the horses and carriage.” He was the one with two fiancées—his explanation was due as well.
“Your note was based on a fallacy,” he said, dismounting and leading his horses into the stalls under the coachman’s rooms. “It was most inaccurate, and I’m compelled to explain your errors to you.”
“You came all the way to London to tell me you didn’t like my note?” Rather than answering her question, Oliver started unharnessing Pickle and Pepper from the carriage. “I clearly explained I would pay you for use of your horses and equipage.”
“Borrowing without express permission is still stealing.”
“And you lied to me about having a fiancée. A sin for a sin. We are equal.” Grabbing up a brush, she began giving Apollo a rubdown while Elvy brought fresh hay and water. With the horses settled, Oliver would be spending the night. It was, hopefully, enough time to convince him not to press charges.
“That is your first error, which you heard only because of your second error. Wait a minute,” he said, pushing the curricle out of the way into a corner. “Your first error was rudely eavesdropping; your second error was to misunderstand what you heard. Your third error—”
“I misunderstood nothing! I didn’t overhear you on purpose, so maybe you should learn to close your office door. Your father procured a Scottish maiden as a bride for you before he died. Isn’t that what every man wants—a maiden?”
“Not every man wants a Scottish Maiden. I’m not even sure why my father did.” Oliver followed his statement with a cheeky laugh that made her want to slap the smile off his face. “A Scottish maiden is a beheading machine. It’s supposed to be more efficient than the axe.”
“That’s horrible. Why would anyone need a beheading machine? They will think you mad if you go driving around London with such a thing.” Her shoulders untensed and her stomach unknotted as his words sank in. “You aren’t engaged to a maiden from Scotland?”
“I co
nsidered myself lucky to have one fake fiancée, whatever would I do with two?”
“But,” she said, hesitating. She had another question for him, but it was a difficult one to ask. “Would you marry a woman just for her money?”
“I don’t know any women with money. To be precise, I don’t know any women. Other than you and Elvy, of course. Females run from me. When they’re not fainting dead away, that is.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“You’re jealous,” he said with a smug smile.
“Am not,” she shot back. “And you didn’t answer my question.” Was she? Until he’d said the word, she hadn’t considered it. She supposed, in a way, she was.
“It wasn’t a question, it was a command.” He pushed a clump of straw aside with his foot and walked to her side. “I will marry for nothing less than love.”
“That’s good to know.” Looking around, she noticed Elvy had slipped away so they could speak privately. She’d never before been so happy for being completely and utterly wrong. He’d once asked her for a chance, and they still had it. “I’m sorry I jumped to incorrect conclusions. Oh, and I’m sorry I borrowed your things without permission.”
“And?”
“And what? I did nothing else.” Not to him, anyway. He couldn’t possibly know about the stolen letter in her pocket.
“For running away without talking to me first.” He offered her his arm. Now that the horses were settled, they could go upstairs and speak in more comfort.
“I regret that, but I had to get to London.”
“I thought you hated London.”
“I needed this,” she said, pulling the letter from her pocket. “It’s my father’s letter to my uncle. It should explain how much money he sent for my use and where it’s being kept. I…I stole it this evening.”
“From your uncle’s house?” The horses nickered at Oliver’s raised voice.
“Yes. I couldn’t stand not knowing one minute longer. You had your own mysteries to solve. I had to tend to my own. Without funds, a woman is nothing but a pawn to be moved around by the men in her life.”
“What did your father have to say?”
“I haven’t had a chance to read it yet.” As inattentive as her father could be, she was homesick and missed him terribly. She would read his letter slowly, looking for clues with every word. “I’m going to go upstairs and read it now. I’ll let you know if it contains anything important to you.”
“In my current situation, the less I have to do with stolen goods, the better off I’ll be,” he said, glancing at Apollo, who was now sleepy-eyed and happily munching grain. “I should leave,” he added unconvincingly.
“If you want to know what it says, you’ll have to come upstairs.” Stuffing the letter back in her shirt, she walked to the staircase. On the third step up, she turned back and offered a verbal olive branch. “It’s been a challenging day for both of us. Let your horse rest a bit. You can always leave later.”
Number Two Canary Court was an unfashionable address, but the coachman who called it home was fastidious. The two rooms over the stable were clean, furnished, and the roof sound. But ignoring the ever-present scent of horse shit that permeated the dirt, stones, and air from a century of horses was an exercise in willful ignorance. Watching Oliver’s face for reactions as she ascended the steps, Jewel left him alone with the horses and his thoughts to make his decision.
At the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, she turned to Elvy and smiled. He wasn’t engaged. There was no maidenly Scottish miss waiting for him, and they were friends once again. It shouldn’t make her as happy as it did, but the day was for good news rather than bad. With her father’s letter and Oliver’s trust, the future had brightened from storm-cloud gray to sunlight.
Fingers fumbling, Jewel struggled to light another candle. Just seeing her father’s handwriting made her desperately homesick for him and their tidy house on Acorn Street. Reading his words would be a balm to her soul and lay her remaining fears to rest. At least, she hoped they would.
Ever industrious, Elvy opened a bottle of wine and began toasting bread and cheese for a late-night supper. Oliver examined the space with a critical eye but made no complaint, as he placed his valise on the floor just inside the door.
“If you prefer to read your letter in private, I can step back out.” Oliver’s face was hard to read, but she’d already made up her mind.
“I don’t mind.” Elvy handed her a mug of wine and offered an encouraging nod. Taking a large gulp, Jewel placed the mug on the table before pulling the letter from safekeeping. With the paper rattling from her trembling hands, she began to read.
While the first page was addressed to her uncle, the second page had been intended for her. Anger at her uncle’s perfidy burned anew. Shuffling the sheets, she read the portion meant for her eyes first. Her father started off with an apology for not being a better father, the kind of father she deserved.
Tears filled her eyes as she read on and he admitted to being involved in activities that might affect her life negatively. In so many words, he admitted the sedition with which he’d been charged. Apologizing again, he was aware of his imminent arrest and stated he was prepared to hang for his convictions.
Falling freely now, tears ran down her cheeks and dripped onto the page, smudging the words. Wiping her face on her sleeve, Jewel forced herself to read on. Without a word, Oliver came to her side and placed his arm around her shoulders. Her father wrote more apologies, expressed more regret, and heaped praise on her as the perfect child. Smiling ruefully, she shook her head in disagreement. She was as far from perfect as could be.
The next few lines referenced his instructions to her aunt and uncle for her care. Since she hadn’t read that part yet, his words made little sense to her. Closing with another proclamation of paternal love, he wished her contentedness in life, happiness in marriage, and his confidence that someday she would be a better parent than he. Apologizing once more for choosing political ideology over his duty as a father, he expressed the depth of his love and pride in her.
Stopping to wipe away more tears, she hugged the letter to her chest. The familiar writing and words of love broke her heart. Her father had sent her away and was prepared to die. Why hadn’t he told her? Why hadn’t she noticed? Damn. She should be there helping him, convincing him to not give up so easily.
Blinking away more threatening tears, she read her father’s closing words. He wished her well as an independent woman and expressed hope that his dear sister would take Jewel under her wing and love and guide her as a blood relative ought.
Rolling her eyes, Jewel read on, reminding herself her father was unaware of the frigid welcome she’d received from his sister. Her father’s parting words on the day she boarded the ship came back to haunt her. He’d said something about her uncle, something that hadn’t made sense at the time. What was it? Ugh. She’d been so excited for her journey she’d barely paid attention. He’d said something about her uncle being an enigma and having his own…jewel to protect.
Her father’s words hadn’t made sense to her then, but now…he’d been giving her a clue, a warning of sorts. She wasn’t the only jewel that needed protecting. Resisting the urge to linger on her father’s words, Jewel turned back to the first page to read his instructions to her aunt and uncle before she shared the letters with Oliver.
“Oh my goodness!” The exclamation burst out as she read faster, piling the words into her head quicker than they could be comprehended. Jewel forced herself to reread the opening paragraph of the letter.
“What is it?” Oliver pulled her closer.
“I don’t have a dowry.”
“That’s unfortunate but hardly cause for tears. No matter what happens, you’ll always be welcome at the Abbey.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said with a sniff. “If I’m re
ading this right, the money my father sent wasn’t for my aunt and uncle to use for my care, and it wasn’t for a dowry. It was for me. For my independence. And it’s…a lot.”
“How much is a lot?” Placing the plate of thick crusty bread covered with melted cheese on the table, Elvy came to stand at her side.
“It’s such a preposterous amount I hate to say it out loud. You’ll think me foolish for believing it.” She handed the letter to Oliver for confirmation.
“Fifty thousand pounds,” he read aloud.
“You’re bamming me!” Elvy smacked him on the arm.
“I assure you, I’m not. Our friend is a very rich woman, or she will be, once her uncle releases her funds.”
“But how?” Jewel asked, shaking her head in disbelief. “We lived modestly. My father is not a rich man.”
“Hmm.”
“You make that noise only when you’re thinking of something important. What did you just think of?”
“What noise?”
“Jones makes the same sound. I’m not sure which of you learned it from the other. It’s just a little hum or throat-clearing thing. You can’t take it back now, you might as well tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Your uncle mentioned to me that you are the granddaughter of a duke. Is that so?”
“On my mother’s side. After she moved to Boston with my father, she had little contact with her family. I don’t think they approved of the marriage. I have not heard from any of them since she died. I daresay they wouldn’t know me from Eve.”
“Hmm. Oh, I just did it, didn’t I? I made the noise. Dammit.”
“What is it?”
“As the daughter of a duke, your mother would have had a dowry large enough to reflect her father’s standing in Society. Upon her death, if the duke was clever, it would have been stipulated in the marriage contract that the remaining money should go to her children, keeping it completely out of the hands of an undesirable son-in-law.”