Gilbey smiled ruefully. “Of course. You see, Nicholas? Even the servants couldn’t find me in the clutches of those confounded women.”
The groom’s face remained perfectly unexpressive except for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Go ahead, Thomas, tell us what you learned.”
He looked apologetically at Nicholas. “Beggin’ pardon, my lord, to have to speak of this. Seems the fellow that works for Lord Munslow left just a month or so after Her Grace was killed in that accident . . .” He wrung his cap as if he would say more.
“It’s all right, Thomas,” Nicholas reassured him. “Lord Cranford knows about Lady Vivian. Was it then that the fellow left? There were a few who quit us at that time—you were not here then, were you?”
“That’s right, my lord.”
“There’s the link then,” Gilbey said with satisfaction. “We’ve nearly got him. Thank you, Thomas.” He flipped the man a half crown, “Share that as seems fitting, will you?”
“Well done, Thomas,” Nicholas added.
They headed for the gardens rather than the house. When they were far enough from the stable block for privacy, Nicholas slowed his steps, “What did you mean, ‘nearly got him’? We’ve got a foolproof motive and the opportunity for him to come by the information. We haven’t got that for any of the others. It has to be him.”
“Oh, I don’t question that, my friend. What we don’t have is proof. I’ve got to go to London. The only other question I have now is, do we tell your sisters? If Munslow catches a hint that we’re on to him before I can get back, there’s no saying what may happen.”
“Venetia is a better actress than Vivian.”
How well Gilbey knew that! He gave Nicholas a funny look, but his friend did not notice.
“We cannot tell one and not the other. I’d say we should wait until Saturday,” the duke’s son concluded.
“Your sister and the other ladies will be lined up to kill me if I leave for London before this evening’s performance,” Gilbey said. “You’ve no idea how much I would like to do so, nonetheless. I hate to lose the time, but it might also seem suspicious. I will have to leave in the morning as soon as it gets light.”
Nicholas nodded. “I’ll see to all the arrangements.”
***
That night the usual after-dinner rituals were given over to readying the show. Gilbey stood in the blue drawing room wearing a long black-and-white tunic over his clothes, a tabard of heavy, starched cotton painted to look like the ace of clubs hanging down from his shoulders. Petite Lady Caroline stood on a chair positioning a pasteboard crown adorned with black painted trefoils on his head.
“My goodness but you are tall,” she said. “You do look splendid!”
“I feel like I’m wearing a dress,” Gilbey said irritably, plucking at his long tunic. Lord Newcroft and Lord Lindell, similarly dressed, were conversing in another corner of the room and apparently heard this remark, for they chuckled sympathetically.
He forgot his annoyance a moment later when Venetia came into the room. She wore a stunning gown of black, white, and silver with black velvet spades stitched on around the hem. A dramatic headdress in the same colors concealed all but a few wisps of her golden hair and was topped by a crown covered in silver foil and ornamented with more spades.
“Lady Caroline, allow me to do that,” she said, coming toward him. “You must have time to finish dressing yourself. You will look so lovely.”
The other young woman relinquished the chair and Venetia climbed up on it carefully. “It won’t do to treat these costumes as ordinary clothing,” she said. “They have been basted together so quickly, they will fall apart at the slightest excuse.”
“That would be a shame,” Gilbey couldn’t help saying. “You make an exquisite queen of spades.”
He could not see her face from where he stood, but he felt her hands hesitate. She was only inches from him and her delicate scent invaded his senses. He forced himself to stand perfectly still.
She made one more adjustment to his crown and for a fleeting second placed her hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry that you had to do this,” she said in a low voice close to his ear. “When we needed one more man I had no idea he would turn out to be you. I am sorry about a number of things.”
She moved her hand to the chair back and carefully climbed down. He stopped her before she could turn away, catching her hand in his. “Are you sorry that we met?” His voice was a low whisper, the words out before he could think.
She wouldn’t look at him. She hesitated for a long moment before she answered. “No. But other things.”
He knew it would be folly to press her further. “I have to go to London in the morning,” he said quickly, while there was still no one near enough to hear. “We have gained some information, but we have no proof. I will return by Saturday.”
Startled, she turned to look at him then, the full force of her blue-violet eyes resting upon him. “You know who it is, then?”
“Shh.” He put his finger against her lips. “You will do better not knowing for these next two days, and so will Vivian. How else will you be able to act the same as you have been? It is especially important now that we do not arouse suspicion.” He could not help tracing his fingertip across her cheek before he withdrew it. “The nightmare is almost over. Have faith.”
The Duchess of Brancaster swept in at that moment, accompanied by Lady Sibbingham and trailed by Lady FitzHarris. The duchess was resplendent in a pure white gown trimmed with silver tissue, its revealing décolletage nearly filled with a magnificent necklace of diamonds. From the sparkling tiara nestled on her powdered hair to the silver slippers on her feet, she was the perfect queen of diamonds. The two ladies behind her were dressed more like the gentlemen, in long tunics with tabards over them. Lady Sibbingham was a tall and rather spindly seven of diamonds, and Lady FitzHarris was a pleasantly round four of spades.
“Are we all ready?” the duchess inquired. “I am told it is time we took our seats.”
“Where are Vivian and Lady Caroline? Oh, I know Caroline will be back in a moment, she was nearly ready before. And I thought Vivian was almost finished when I left our rooms to come here,” Venetia moaned. “I did think it would help if we all could sit together.”
“We’ll save seats for them,” counseled Gilbey. “Everything will work out, you’ll see.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lady Colney’s extravaganza surprised everyone except her. The entire production showed a high level of skill and imagination.
“But I knew we were all supremely talented,” she cooed modestly in response to the compliments that poured in the following day. “Just think what we could have done with more notice!”
One of the greatest surprises had been the revelation of the twins’ secret poet. Dressed in a doublet with a large Elizabethan ruff around his neck, Lord Munslow had begun his performance by reciting one of Shakespeare’s sonnets. That completed, he had gone on to another poem which the astonished twins had recognized instantly.
“That is one of our poems!” Vivian had whispered.
“Lord Munslow? I would never have thought it!” Venetia had exclaimed. “Do you suppose he could have memorized it when we showed it last Monday night?” She had heard tales of gamblers who owed their success to remarkable memories. “Imagine a gamester with the heart of a poet.”
When she confronted him during the interval, he had smiled charmingly and kissed her hand.
“I confess, I am your man. Competing with so many other fine gentlemen, I thought to claim your attention by a different method.”
“I am more than a little surprised,” she said. “We thought it might be Lord Lindell. But how did you manage to deliver the poems without being discovered?”
“Ah, that is my
secret. You’ll find I am a man of many talents.”
Venetia wondered briefly if those talents included blackmail, but she thought he lacked a motive.
All of the performances, dancing cards included, were well received by the admittedly prejudiced audience. Most of the guests were so busy congratulating one another the next morning, few besides Venetia noticed Lord Cranford’s absence.
Even Vivian took little note of it, although the viscount was indeed on her mind. She found her twin in the secluded rose garden, sitting by the fountain after a late breakfast.
“Netia, I must speak with you,” she began earnestly. “’Tis about Lord Cranford. Y-you must stop this trying to throw us together. Last night was just too much.”
“Last night?”
“You do not know how it felt to hurry in at the last minute dressed as the queen of clubs and discover that he was my ace. I almost walked right back out, Netia. How could you?”
“Why, Vivi, I made Lord Newcroft the king of clubs. I wasn’t thinking of that at all.”
“You have been throwing Lord Cranford at me all week, ever since Friday morning when we went sketching down by the river. But did you ever stop to ask me what I thought about your plan, or to tell me why you thought it was a good idea? No, you just carried on by yourself. Do you expect me to believe you now that last night was not more of the same?”
Venetia was astounded by this outburst from her quiet sister. “Truly, Vivi. I admit that I have been trying to do that, but not last night. I—I had other things on my mind.”
“I wish you had heard Lord Newcroft and Lord Cranford during the interval. I don’t believe they knew I could hear them. Lord Newcroft said he supposed Lord Cranford had won me since he was chosen to be the ace. Lord Cranford answered that it all depended upon the game being played, whether the ace ranked high or low. They were not talking about cards at all, I am quite certain.”
“I am sorry, Vivi. Do you not care for Lord Cranford even a little bit? He seems to me ideally suited to you—he is patient and kind, calm and very capable. I know he would be good to you. You find him handsome—you thought so before I did. I had an idea that, well, if I agreed to marry the Duke of Thornborough, perhaps Father would overlook Lord Cranford’s rank and lack of fortune and agree to let you marry him.”
“Well, that explains that! I could not understand why you were suddenly showing interest in the duke.” Vivian sat down on the fountain edge beside her sister. “I like Lord Cranford well enough, Netia, but I think you are the one who has become most taken with him.” The uncharacteristically stubborn set of Vivian’s chin challenged Venetia to deny it.
Venetia dipped her hand into the pool and splashed water at the bronze figure of the burdened woman in the center. “I promise you needn’t worry that I will ‘throw him’ at you anymore. He left for London this morning.”
“London! No wonder you were sitting out here looking so dejected. Oh, I am sorry.”
Venetia sighed. “I suppose I should look happier. He and Nicholas think they have discovered the blackmailer, and Lord Cranford has gone to London to try to get proof.”
“Who is it, then? How could you not tell me?”
“Truly, I do not know who it is.” She explained why Nicholas and Cranford had decided not to tell them.
“Then Lord Cranford is coming back?”
“By Saturday, he promised. He said we must have faith.”
“I see,” Vivian answered. She had a very thoughtful look in her eyes.
“I don’t know what we are going to do. Saturday is the day after tomorrow. How can we make a choice until we know the blackmailer? Even once we know, I am uncertain what to do. I wish we had been born peasants. No one would care whom we married. Never have I dreaded an event so much as I do the ball on Saturday.”
***
Vivian had a very good idea of what she should do when she left her sister. Lord Cranford did not make her feel special, excited, and alive, but Lord Ashurst did. In addition, Ashurst was wealthy and obviously eligible in her father’s eyes. If he might be willing to marry her—and that was a very large and frightening “if”—perhaps her father would allow Venetia to marry Lord Cranford. Vivian was convinced that her twin was in love with the viscount. She might be able to take Venetia’s plan and turn it around, if she were to make the superlative match.
There were possible obstacles in the plan, she knew. One was that her father might not be willing to settle for a less than exemplary husband for Venetia, since she was the healthy twin. Although he did not acknowledge Vivian’s epilepsy, he was not so blind as to pretend she was perfectly normal. There was a better chance that he would accept someone like Lord Cranford for the twin who was flawed.
Then there was Lord Ashurst. She had hardly been near him since Sunday. Venetia had assured her that he had not seen her seizure, but she was certain he must know that something was wrong. He had seen the beginning of it, during those nightmarish moments when the buzzing and the dizziness had begun, warning her that she was about to disgrace herself. There had been no escape, no hope of hiding what was going to happen from the one man she most wished not to see it.
Could she face him again? Even harder, could she tell him the truth? Could she face his rejection? The price of avoiding it would be never knowing if he might have accepted her.
Thursday afternoon she pondered how she could have a private word with him, and she tried to find the courage to pursue it. She and Venetia were busy, for they had much to prepare for Saturday’s ball, despite all the arrangements that had been made prior to the start of the house party. Thursday evening was devoted as usual to card games and other entertainments, and Vivian begged to retire, claiming that she was tired.
On Friday morning Lord Ashurst himself forced her hand. A small party of guests had decided to go punting on the lake again, and the marquess particularly sought her out in the grand salon where she and Venetia were supervising the hanging of decorations for the ball.
“Our time was regrettably foreshortened when we went out on Sunday,” he said, his gray eyes intent. “Would you not honor me with another opportunity?”
She hesitated, glancing at Venetia. Her sister bit her lip and turned away, obviously concerned, but for this once wise enough not to interfere. Thank you, Netia, Vivian thought. I need to make my own mistakes.
Dare she go? It was not the same time of day as Sunday, and the sun would not be reflecting off the water in the same way. It might be her only chance to speak with him. She nodded, committing herself quickly before she could change her mind. “Y-you don’t mind waiting while I get my shawl and bonnet?”
Venetia watched Vivian leave the room with her hand tucked tentatively into the crook of Lord Ashurst’s elbow. A dozen feelings buffeted her at once. Hope whispered possibilities she had not considered—perhaps Lord Cranford was not the only man who could be a good husband for Vivian; perhaps Vivian knew it and had gone with Lord Ashurst to face her future. Fear called up images of what had nearly happened Sunday and every other time Vivian had come close to danger—only this time if Vivian had a seizure, there would be no one but Ashurst to help her—Ashurst, who knew not what to expect or what to do. Venetia had almost begged her not to go, and then she had battled the urge to call her back. She did not want Vivian to let fear rule her life.
A sense of loneliness and loss stabbed her as she turned back to watch the servants arrange drapes of gold tissue over the French windows. She would be very happy if at least Vivian could make a successful match, but her own days would become long indeed. How much she would miss her sister’s companionship! She thought again that her solace in a loveless marriage would have to be children. Was there one among the suitors who might make a good father? There was none among them but Cranford she could love.
She closed her eyes, fighting the sadness that washed over her.
This would never do! Where was the backbone that she could always rely on? She was no milk-and-water miss. She would tell her father that she refused to choose, and that she would not abide by his choosing, either.
“Are you all right, my lady?” asked one of the maids.
No, in truth I am not. If she rebelled against her father this time, the consequences might mean she would never marry, and those imaginary children would never be born. She would have to consider some more.
She forced a smile. “Sorry, I am just tired, I think. Let us proceed with our work here.”
***
The decorations in the salon were finished and Venetia was checking some other details with her father’s steward some time later when Vivian returned. One look at her sister’s flushed face and sparkling eyes told Venetia that her twin had good news.
“Thank you, Mr. Dobson. I’ll speak with you again later,” she said, dismissing the man. She turned to Vivian and began to walk toward the door with her. “Let us go to our rooms, Vivi. You can tell me everything.”
“Oh, Netia! Everything is going to be all right, I can feel it. I have such news!”
Everything will be all right. Cranford had said something like that, too. If only she believed it!
Vivian was almost skipping. She could not wait until they reached the privacy of their sitting room. “Netia, Lord Ashurst wishes to marry me!” she blurted out as they hurried through the corridor leading to the south wing.
Ashurst. Would he be as good for Vivian as Cranford? Happiness glowed in Vivian’s face and Venetia finally pushed aside her doubts. She hugged her sister. “Oh, Vivi, I am happy for you. Tell me everything he said.”
“I was so afraid to talk to him. I had decided I must explain to him about Sunday. I was sure he would be horrified once he knew. But listen, he knew already! He said he has been thinking about nothing else since Sunday, and he wanted to ask me some questions, and would I mind? Would I mind! He made it so easy for me, the way he asked. He was so gentle and concerned. He asked things like how often I have the seizures, and if there are things I cannot do because of it . . .”
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