by Joan Smith
“Oh, thank you. Maundley is being perfectly dreadful! He is stealing my money, and making me leave the house.”
“Then he must be dealt with. I won’t have you badgered in this fashion. You must leave Maundley up to me.”
It felt like the weight of the world falling from her shoulders. Tears glazed her eyes, and she could think of no words to say. She had always felt, almost by instinct, that Devane could handle anything. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Through the blur of tears she saw his head bending toward hers, but there was no menace in his aspect. His face was softened with pleasure as he smiled at her. His lips alighted on hers, as gentle as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. His arms closed around her, still gently, but the kiss deepened.
Francesca felt she was in a dream. Devane was going to rescue her. He loved her. His arms tightened, and she put her arms around him, returning the pressure. The embrace quickly escalated from tenderness to rising passion. Suddenly Devane was crushing the air out of her lungs, and Francesca was shocked to notice that she was reciprocating. She drew back, breathing hard, and embarrassed.
“What will you think of me?” she asked with a trembling smile.
“I think you are the most delightful lady I have ever had the pleasure of meeting—and assisting in her troubles. Maundley is putting you out of the house, you said. We shall just have to remove you to a different house. I must say, I don’t think much of his provision for his daughter-in-law.”
“He was always clutch-fisted,” she sniffed.
“Older men are not so easily influenced by a young lady’s charms,” he said blandly. “Now, about this wretched necklace. Where is it?”
“I don’t know. I believe my husband gave it to his mistress.”
A sharp look pierced her. “Come now, if you want my help, you must play fair with me, Francesca. I will repay Maundley for the trinket, or I will return it and buy you a new one, but between us there will be no prevarication.”
She began to sense some undertone of duplicity in his kind offer. “I couldn’t let you pay for it. It costs five thousand guineas. I was hoping you would help me discover who David gave it to, and get it back.”
“I think we both know who he gave it to,” he said with a cynical look.
“Indeed I do not. Why would I ask your help if I knew?”
“Because I am rich, and I like you. I think you and I would deal very well together, but I insist on the truth.”
Francesca’s heart soared an instant, but the word like, when added to his cool expression, did not hint at a proposal. “What, exactly, did you have in mind, Lord Devane?”
“A house in the West End, a generous allowance, every consideration for your reputation, and a settlement one way or the other regarding the necklace. I doubt you will find many gentlemen as generous.”
Her ears rang, and her head felt light. “A mistress-ship, in fact.”
He inclined his head slightly in agreement.
He hadn’t even the grace to blush, but examined her as if she were a heifer up for auction. “You will please leave this house at once. I will not tell Mr. Caine what you have suggested, or he would insist on calling you out, and I would not like anyone killed because of me. If word of this infamous insult is bruited about town, however, he will undoubtedly challenge you to a duel. And he is a very fair shot, too,” she added, although she doubted Selby had ever held a pistol in his life.
Devane heard her out without any particular show of outrage. “Surely you didn’t expect an offer of marriage?”
She blushed, but denied it. “I did not. I thought you were offering the assistance of a disinterested friend. Neither did I expect this—this—outrage!”
Devane got to his feet. “You are warm in your treatment of disinterested friends. After you have considered this outrage in quiet contemplation, you may change your tune. You are a byword for profligacy in this town, Frankie.”
Her cheeks turned to scarlet, but she held back the tears. They glittered like mica in her eyes, but did not fall. “That is what appealed to you, no doubt.”
He gave a shrug of his shoulders. “As you see. You are on the point of being ejected from your house, your money greatly reduced, your reputation in ruins. You told me earlier you have no wish to return to your father’s house. What other option is open to you?”
“And you, in your kindness, have come to take advantage of a helpless lady. My God, I thought David was bad. At least he did not prey on decent women. I would sooner milk cows or wash dishes for a living than live with you.”
“Why, I think we would deal admirably. A widow who maligns the character of her dead husband, who plays the coquette with such easy abandon and sets the seal on her sterling character by stealing the family jewels can hardly expect a carte blanche from a vicar. You will not receive another offer so generous.”
“I do not consider any offer outside of marriage generous, sir. And if you can believe all that of me, I wonder that you make any offer at all.”
“I am not interested in your character. In fact, I rather like an accomplished flirt.”
“Flirts are more demanding. We demand at least a token of common decency. Good day.”
She didn’t bother asking him to leave again. She left herself instead, with a withering glare as she swept past him, holding her skirts aside to avoid contamination.
Devane sat on a minute, thinking. He had certainly botched that in some manner! It had seemed to begin auspiciously enough. Surely she didn’t think he had come to offer marriage to someone who had made herself the talk of the town? But that, obviously, was exactly what she did think despite her mention of disinterested friendship. That kiss had no reek of friendship, yet she had been truly disgusted at his proposition. A very foolish brain resided inside that girl’s head. He rose slowly and left, for although he had not an iota of fear for Mr. Caine’s shooting ability, he had no wish to involved himself in a rackety duel.
Devane went to his club to catch up on the latest gossip regarding the Lady Camden affair. He met Mr. Irwin and accosted him as a likely source of information. “I owe you a drink, Mr. Irwin,” he said.
Mr. Irwin smiled in agreement. “We shall continue our discussion that was interrupted by my darting off t’other night.”
They went to a table and called for wine. “Something to do with a diamond necklace, and Stop Hole Abbey, I think you said? That sounds amusing. Tell me about it.”
“I daresay there is no harm in telling it, now that the whole town is buzzing with Maundley’s version of the story. The thing is, you see, that loose screw of a Camden gave the family diamonds to his mistress, and old Maundley has got the wind up that Lady Camden took them.”
“Surely that is what the whole town thinks.”
“Aye, because Maundley said so, and Lady Camden was too green to hold on to the evidence to the contrary. She found billets-doux in Camden’s effects when she was clearing the debris away after his death. Silly ass was carrying on with a girl called Rita and squirreled away her notes. Stands to reason he gave the wench the diamonds. I daresay he thought he’d be home and recover them before they were missed, but then he caught a bullet in the Peninsula—and he only a civil servant—and that is what put the cat among the pigeons,”
“Did Lady Camden not tell Lord Maundley about this?”
“She didn’t want his parents to know what a scoundrel he was. Maundley was told by Caine when he began threatening her, but he didn’t believe it then. Maybe if Lady Camden had gone to him with the notes in the first place—but she didn’t realize then that the diamonds were missing, you see, and there was no point upsetting his parents. Maundley won’t hear a word against Camden now.”
Devane listened closely and said, “It is no secret that Camden carried on his affairs, even after his marriage. I seem to recall a Mrs. Ritchie.”
“No, it wasn’t her. It was some woman called Rita he was seeing. That’s how she signed her billets-doux. I’ve been trying
to get a line on her, but you know the sort of freemasonry that exists within the muslin company.”
“Still, if this story is true,” Devane said pensively, “it shouldn’t be impossible to discover the woman’s identity. Very likely she still has the bauble. She could hardly sell a famous necklace, not to a reputable jeweler, at any rate.”
“No, and not to Stop Hole Abbey either. I’ve been there. Well, that’s where I was off to the evening we met.”
“To try to recover Lady Camden’s diamonds.”
“No, Lord Maundley’s,” he replied with a worried frown. “A simple greenhead like Lady Camden, she isn’t capable of dealing with a cut-and-thrust gent like Maundley.”
“I would hardly call her a greenhead.”
“Well, she is,” Mr. Irwin said firmly. “She never had a beau till Camden. He brought her to London fresh from the depths of Surrey. She was mad for him. Of course she was cut to ribbons when he got killed, but until she found out he had other women, she was still as faithful as if he were alive. It was only when she learned the truth that she began to cut up her larks in revenge. Innocent larks, Devane. As innocent as the flirting of a deb. Still, as she ain’t a deb, but a widow, some tongues began wagging. The worst of it is, there are wretches in this town who would take advantage of a lady in her position.”
Devane sipped his wine in silence, but he felt decidedly uneasy to hear himself called a wretch.
“And who has she got to defend her?” Mr. Irwin continued. “Mr. Caine—another greenhead, when all’s said and done. He wouldn’t know what to do with a bit o’ muslin if she dropped her hankie in his path. He’d pick it up and give it back and continue on his way.”
“Who, exactly, is this Mr. Caine, and what is his relationship to her?”
“He’s a friend and neighbor from Surrey. A sort of surrogate brother. Lady Camden and his young sister were bosom bows. Caine is about fed up with the whole thing. I was speaking to him this morning. He hopes to get her packed off to the country.”
“He is not a suitor, then?”
“No, he’ll marry some bishop’s daughter, if he ever finds one desperate enough to have him.”
“Hmm. If Lady Camden leaves town with this cloud hanging over her head, she will never be able to return.”
“She’ll be leaving, right enough. Old Maundley is kicking her out of his house and docking her dowry the price of the necklace. It’ll leave her too short to carry on in London even if she wanted to.”
“Are you an old friend of Lady Camden’s?” Devane asked, to insure that the man knew what he was talking about.
“No, I just met her, but I’ve known Selby Caine for donkey’s years. We were at Harrow and Oxford together. Salt of the earth. He wouldn’t have the imagination to lie, even if he had the inclination, which he don’t. Besides, you’ve only to spend five minutes with Fran—Lady Camden—to know she’s still wet behind the ears.”
Devane had a sharp mental image of a chicken walking up to his table at Puckle’s and Francesca smiling at it. She had mentioned the breed and gone on to talk about her home. He had been sure, that day, that she was what she said she was. “So what is to be done?” he murmured more to himself than to his companion.
“Maundley’s already doing it, isn’t he? He’s hired a solicitor and charged her with theft.”
“My meaning is, what is to be done to recover the necklace?”
“You have me there. I’ve done what I can, but I meet a stone wall, Devane. The necklace is hidden away in a vault somewhere, or chopped up and the stones sold separately.”
Devane took his decision and rose suddenly. “Thanks for the drink.”
“You bought it.”
“Ah, then, thank you for your delightful company, and the information.”
“Where are you off to, Devane?”
“I have to see a woman about a diamond.” Guilt and shame warred in Devane’s heart as he went to call his curricle. He had dishonored a respectable lady, a lady in devastating trouble. And he, with all the grace of a wounded elephant, had gone stampeding in, trying to take advantage of her.
Honor demanded that he repay this outrage against womanhood. He could only wonder that Caine and Irwin between them couldn’t accomplish such a trifling objective, yet he was happy they had not. The return of the diamond necklace would be his apology to Lady Camden. Perhaps, one day, she would even forgive him.
Chapter Ten
“Nonsense!” Lady Camden declared when Mrs. Denver and Mr. Caine returned with news of a cottage for hire in Crawley, close, but not too close, to her ancestral home. “If I run away, everyone will think I am guilty. I must stay and clear my name.”
“How do you propose to do that?” Mrs. Denver demanded.
“I have friends. I shall put all my friends on the alert to learn what they can of David’s bit o’ muslin. Someone is bound to know who she is. I have been too backward, until now, trying to spare Lady Maundley. The Maundleys are sparing me nothing, so I shall mount a concerted attack.”
“Even if you discover who she is, Fran, the woman will have the thing hidden away in a vault. You’ll never prove David gave it to her,” Mr. Caine pointed out.
“I’ll worry about that when I learn who she is,” she replied mutinously. “I will not have horrid people saying I am a thief, and worse. The first friend who calls to offer comfort, I shall enlist his—or her—aid.”
The door knocker remained adamantly silent throughout the morning. Mrs. Denver and Mr. Caine extolled in vain the virtues of a Queen Anne cottage at Crawley, and some peace and quiet.
“We seem to have plenty of both here,” Francesca scowled. Some part of her did want to escape the awful worries that engulfed her, but she would not allow the likes of Lord Devane to blacken her name without at least trying to clear herself. As soon as she had cleared her name, however, she would retire permanently from London.
“What about a visit to Mary?” Mr. Caine suggested, hoping the word visit might be less despised than moving away.
“I should enjoy it very much—after I find the necklace.”
Mr. Caine remained to lunch because he did not like to see poor Mrs. Denver left alone with her unmanageable charge. The woman looked on the verge of a breakdown. At two-thirty the long-awaited sound of the knocker was heard, and Francesca gave a smile of triumph. “I told you my friends would not desert me.” She would not let herself think, for even an instant, that it was Lord Devane come to apologize.
It was Mr. Irwin who was shown in, and her sinking heart told her that hope had risen, despite her better judgment. “I came to see if I could offer any consolation at this trying time,” he said, as if entering a house of death.
Mr. Caine, willingly assuming the role of chief mourner, replied, “Very kind of you, John. Pray, have a seat.”
“You can offer more than condolences, sir. You can offer to help me,” Lady Camden said, and indicated a seat by her side.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ma’am. Only say the word.”
“A drive, that is the word,” she replied. “Take me for a drive in the park. I want to meet my friends, and try if I can gain a circle of supporters.”
“Upon my word, she’s mad,” Mr. Caine said aside to Mrs. Denver.
Mr. Irwin looked aghast. “You want to go into public! I cannot think that is a good idea, Lady Camden. There are rumors swirling on every side. It would be very uncomfortable for you—people staring and whispering.”
“I have not done anything wrong. I won’t be driven into a hole by vicious gossip-mongers. Will you take me, or must I go alone?” Her bold, haughty look indicated that she would tackle even that.
Mr. Irwin looked to the others, who were too weary to continue the argument. “Go ahead,” Mrs. Denver said. “Let her see for herself what she is facing.”
“But I am driving my open carriage.”
“Good,” Francesca said.
When she went to her room to tidy her hair, she hard
ly recognized the pale, ravaged face in the mirror. The rouge pot restored her color, and her most dashing chipped-straw bonnet shadowed her eyes, to partially conceal their haunted stare. But her lips drooped wearily. She couldn’t take much more of this.
Perhaps she should retire. It was only Devane’s sneering, hateful face that gave her the strength to carry on. She would have an apology from that creature if she had to personally tour every stew and brothel in London to find the necklace.
With her chin high she went belowstairs, wearing a brightly feverish smile. “All set!”
She realized from the first block that the drive was going to be an ordeal. Her very neighbors averted their heads to avoid nodding, and in this less than choice neighborhood she was one of very few noble ladies. Her neighbors used to lower their windows and crane their necks, hoping she would stop for a word.
“Commoners!” Mr. Irwin said in derision.
“Let us drive along Piccadilly and down to St. James’s Park. We will meet half of London there.”
Before they had gone far they met a carriage holding Sir Edmund and Lady Greer, old friends from Francesca’s first Season in town. They pointedly averted their eyes and looked the other way.
“They are more David’s friends than mine,” Lady Camden explained. “Maundley has gotten to them.”
The next carriage held newer friends, met since David’s death. Mrs. Siskins nodded her head a quarter of an inch, but with such a frosty expression that she might as well not have bothered. Her husband looked right through them. The story was repeated, with slight variations, at every carriage they met.
When they reached the Mall, Mr. Irwin said, “Have you had enough? Shall we go home?”
It was a strong temptation, but desperation lent Francesca courage. “No, I might as well go all the way. If this is how it is going to be, I must know. Do you mind?”
“In for a penny,” Mr. Irwin said resignedly, and jiggled the reins. He felt sorry for Lady Camden, but he was also worried about his own reputation. Still, there was some gallantry in standing by a lady in distress. The worst that could be said was that he was a gullible fool taken in by an Incomparable. There was some romance in that.