Lord Ravenswood passed through the exit. Following the earl, Eugene held a sleeping Mihos. The servant paused at the portal, turned around, and stared at the elephant.
Daphne experienced an odd feeling that Eugene was somehow communicating with the elephant. She chided herself for being fanciful, but turned nevertheless to look at the large beast.
Miss Oakswine stood facing the opposite direction and did not see the elephant approaching. Daphne opened her mouth to voice a warning, but Miss Oakswine was full of her triumph in the matter with the cat and was saying, “In the future you will be guided by me, Daphne....”
In the next second the elephant came abreast of Miss Oakswine, raised its trunk high in the air, and bellowed a deafening cry.
Miss Oakswine’s eyes popped in her head. She clutched her chest, and with a strangled cry, fell to the ground.
Eugene had hastened after Lord Ravenswood and did not see what happened. Daphne could only stand in shock as a crowd gathered around.
A man stepped forward and leaned briefly over Miss Oakswine’s motionless body, pressing his fingers to her throat. Drawing back, he shook his head sadly. “Dead. She is quite dead.”
* * * *
A light sandalwood fragrance perfumed the air in Anthony, the Earl of Ravenswood’s, elegant London town house. It pleased him that his staff had so quickly come to know his tastes. After seven years on foreign soil, he had arrived home from Egypt a mere fortnight ago.
Home.
Home was not really this rented town house. It was his beloved estate in Surrey, Raven’s Hall. There he had grown from a boy into a young man who lived in constant conflict with his father’s shrewd and extravagant young bride, Isabella.
That reckless matron spent her time lavishly entertaining friends from London with extended house parties. Of course, costly clothes and jewels must be purchased to impress the numerous guests whom she indulged with all manner of luxuries.
Rather than watch Isabella destroy the estate, Anthony had finally made the decision to leave his home after yet another pointless argument with his father over Isabella’s spending. Her pretty tears always won the day with the old earl. He could deny her nothing and refused to see what was right in front of his eyes.
Anthony had left for London that bitter day. In less than two years, Isabella brought the estate to its knees. When there was nothing more to be gained, she abandoned her husband. The old earl had gone on a mad, drunken binge, which had cost him his life.
When Anthony had received word that he was the new earl, he began the long and difficult process of trying to maintain the estate in some order while deciding on how best to replenish its coffers. All the while, the question of what would have happened had he not left when he did plagued him. Would he eventually have been able to force his father to see the truth? Would he have been able to put a stop to Isabella’s selfishness? Would his father still be alive?
The new Lord Ravenswood was riddled with guilt and determined never to let any woman influence him beyond common sense.
It had taken seven years to build his fortune, but Anthony was a skilled and resourceful dealer in Egyptian artifacts. He had been successful beyond his expectations.
Anthony could not take all the credit, though. He had been fortunate to have Lord Montcross as his partner to teach and guide him. The wizened old man had been his best friend as well as his business partner, and Lord Montcross had seen Anthony through the pain of losing his father.
Of course, Lord Montcross had also saddled him with Eugene.
“Ah, Eugene, is the cat settled, then?”
The servant entered the hall and answered in a low tone. “He is warm and safe in the kitchens with a bellyful of chicken. We are lucky to have Mrs. Ware as cook. She will treat Mihos well.”
The earl flipped through numerous invitations and missives on the hall table. “Good. See that the animal is kept out of my way. You know how I feel about cats.”
The Egyptian servant stood deferentially with his hands clasped behind him. “In Egypt cats have been revered for centuries. When a feline member of the family died, everyone shaved off their eyebrows as a mark of respect.”
Lord Ravenswood paused over one of the notes in the rack. “Shaved off their eyebrows, eh? Deuced unattractive if you ask me.”
Eugene studied the earl carefully. “What was the name of your stepmother’s cat?”
Lord Ravenswood glanced up sharply and faced the servant. “Do you read minds, then, Eugene? Perhaps those cards with the pictures on them you are always fiddling with tell you things.”
Eugene shrugged enigmatically.
“Very well, yes, Isabella did have a cat. He was a large black cat called Brutus. Aptly named, I might add. Devilish sharp teeth and even sharper claws. Spent his life plotting ways to ambush me.”
Eugene slowly nodded his turbaned head. “Had your stepmother been a wise woman, she would have also kept a white cat, for balance. Then the black cat would have been content.”
The earl’s features hardened. “I shall not have that woman referred to once we return to Raven’s Hall. As for the level of Isabella’s intellect, I should say it was unusually high. My father was no fool, but she managed to dupe him nonetheless. His mistake was in letting a pretty face blind him to the fact that intelligence is not a trait to be desired in a woman.”
Eugene leaned forward and listened to this speech intently. “Why is it not a desirable trait?”
“Because clever women are dangerous,” the earl stated flatly.
“Yes, master,” Eugene replied, looking thoughtful.
Lord Ravenswood scowled. “I never liked you referring to me as ‘master’ while we were still in Egypt, and here in England it is even more bothersome. Lord Montcross asked me on his deathbed to see to your future. You are an excellent manservant, but I do not own you.”
Eugene’s face was a passive blank.
Having made his pronouncement, Lord Ravenswood turned back to the table. On the surface a large Chinese bowl sat in stately distinction. The earl put the correspondence aside and carefully raised the bowl to eye level. There, across the front, was a perfect likeness of Raven’s Hall. He had had the bowl commissioned while he was still in Egypt. It had served as a reminder of what he was working for.
The earl’s face softened as he studied the image of his beloved home. “My steward has sent word that the repairs to Raven’s Hall are running ahead of schedule. Before the Season is over, we shall be able to return home, and I shall personally oversee the estate.”
“Excellent news,” Eugene said quietly. “Now all that is needed to ensure the future of Raven’s Hall is an heir. Is that not so?”
His lordship’s mouth tightened. While in Egypt, he had often proclaimed he would never marry. Now, back in England, the need for the heir Eugene spoke of demanded his consideration.
“Indeed,” he replied absently as a picture sprang into his mind of a pair of almond-shaped, light green eyes. Of masses of hair in the richest shade of red imaginable. Of a small nose and full, pink lips. A body that belonged to a courtesan.
And, if her behavior earlier in the evening was any indication, a bright and alert personality that bespoke an astute mind.
No, regardless of how lovely she was. Miss Daphne Kendall could not be a candidate for his countess. He wondered at his own actions regarding her and the cat. He could not understand what had made him intervene on her behalf with Mr. Cuddlipp.
One minute, he recalled, he had been instructing Eugene as to the seating he desired at Astley’s, his gaze snagging momentarily on the odd pin ornamenting the folds of his manservant’s turban. The next minute, or so it seemed, he was ordering a ridiculous amount of blunt to be handed over for a scrawny feline. All for the sake of satisfying an extremely attractive lady he did not even know.
The earl’s grasp on the bowl tightened. Gammon! Was it possible that he could become as soft in the head for a female as his father?
Absolute
ly not. He would never allow that to happen.
Then he reasoned that being back on English soil had brought out the gentleman in him, whereas in Egypt he had been too busy with business affairs to entertain thoughts of any woman other than the occasional lightskirt. He had been born and bred an English gentleman who would no sooner turn his back on a lady in need than he would kick his own horse. Yes, that was it.
Well, he was obliged to call on Miss Kendall, and to bring Mihos, since he had said he would, and to be polite during the Season’s social functions, where he might encounter her, but that would be the end of any responsibility. Once done with his duty, he could be shot of her.
Neither Miss Kendall nor Mihos would pose a problem.
With this happy thought, his lordship dismissed lady and cat from his mind. He put the bowl down and reached for a particular letter. “I have a note here from Mr. William Bullock. Says he will be showing some of my Egyptian artifacts at his new Egyptian Hall over the next few weeks. I shall have to attend.”
“Yes, master. In the meantime you must call on Miss Kendall.”
“That necessity had already occurred to me, Eugene.” Lord Ravenswood pursed his lips briefly, but directed his attention to the note in his hand. He was surprised by the last few lines. “Good God! Bullock says the Egyptian officials are quite upset about a highly prized statue of Bastet that is missing. Seems they have been around to question him regarding his contacts with dealers. Ugly business. Wonder who could be behind the theft.”
Eugene was silent as the grave.
The earl gathered the note and a few others, and took himself off to his Library. “I shall ring for you when I am ready to retire, Eugene. Make sure instructions are left with Mrs. Ware that the cat remains with her or in the garden.”
“Yes, master,” Eugene whispered through dry lips.
* * *
Late that night, after making sure Lord Ravenswood would not have further need of him, Eugene closed the door to his own room and bolted it shut.
He put a candle down on the bedside table and opened a serviceable wardrobe containing more of the same type of clothing he had on. Bending down to the bottom of the armoire, he retrieved an article wrapped heavily in burgundy-colored velvet.
He carried it gingerly across the room, unrolled the velvet, and carefully lifted the object and placed it next to the candle on the table. A pair of eyes made out of golden citrine gem-stones winked at him in the light from the flame.
The statue was a woman’s body with a cat’s head. It was made of ebony with fine turquoise lines depicting many concentric necklaces.
“Bastet,” Eugene murmured to the statue. “You have given a great sign today by sending your son, Mihos, to me. I am ever grateful for your benevolence. Your humble slave will do whatever is necessary to see to the cat’s comfort.”
He bowed his head and uttered a string of prayers designed to please the cat goddess, Bastet. When he was finished, he reverently held the statue in his hands for a moment. “The cards told me to bring you to this country, and now I see why.
“Lord Montcross thought to foil me by giving me to a man he thought would not marry, just as he never did. Old curmudgeon! ‘A slave is a slave, a servant a servant, and so it is with you, Eugene’ he always said. But he underestimated Lord Ravenswood’s dedication to his home and family name. The earl will marry for the sake of Raven’s Hall, and then I shall have my freedom at last.
“And it would not have been possible if I had not brought you to England, my goddess, so you might guide us all. Yes, I am thankful for the sign you bestowed on me. You sent Mihos to direct his lordship to the woman he is destined to wed.
“Never fear, Bastet, I shall do your bidding in this as in all things.” He, and the eye-pin nestled in his turban, gazed into the cat’s unblinking golden eyes. “Lord Ravenswood will marry Miss Daphne Kendall.”
Chapter Two
Daphne walked into the office of Miss Oakswine’s solicitor, Mr. Yarlett, with her lady’s maid, Biggs. Daphne assumed she had been asked to call on him in order to pay Miss Oakswine’s wages, current to the date of her death.
She managed a smile at the clerk behind the counter. “I am Miss Kendall, and I have an appointment to see Mr. Yarlett.”
“Yes, miss. I’ll let him know you’re here,” the young man said, and scrambled away.
Daphne seated herself on a bench and smoothed the folds of her black gown. She had decided two weeks of wearing mourning clothes out of respect for Miss Oakswine would be proper. A nagging guilt that she should have been kinder to the old lady had disturbed her since that fateful night at Astley’s.
She was brought out of these reflections when an elderly man of rotund proportions appeared before her and extended his hand. “Miss Kendall, I am Phineas Yarlett. Thank you for coming.”
“You are most welcome, Mr. Yarlett. I am happy to perform any final duties necessary as Miss Oakswine’s last employer,” Daphne assured him.
Mr. Yarlett was past the age of retirement, and wore the air of one who could no longer be surprised by the actions of his fellow humans. He led her courteously into his office and motioned to a comfortable-looking chair across from his desk.
Daphne declined his offer of tea and noticed a strongbox sat on the desk between them. After Miss Oakswine’s demise, Daphne had been loath to go through her companion’s belongings, a task she had found terribly painful after her parents’ deaths, and so instead had instructed one of the maids to perform the chore. She hoped all of Miss Oakswine’s things were in order.
Mr. Yarlett sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him. He eyed her over his spectacles. “Miss Kendall, the matter of Miss Oakswine’s wages is not my uppermost concern. I have, however, prepared an accounting of the wages due,” he said, and passed her some papers.
Daphne folded them and tucked them into her reticule. Her brows came together. “I am afraid I do not understand. If the matter of the wages is not why I have been summoned, then what can I do?”
Mr. Yarlett leaned forward and opened the strongbox. He began lifting items out and spreading them across the desk. Daphne’s eyes widened in shock as she gazed upon the objects.
There was a small miniature of her papa she believed she had carelessly misplaced months ago. Then, a tiny, jewel-encrusted vinaigrette—her mama’s favorite—followed. A silver thimble Mama had given her when, as a child, she had first learned to sew added to the collection. While the items might not hold a large monetary value, they were priceless in Daphne’s heart.
“But, how ... why ... did she take these things from me?” Daphne stammered, unable to comprehend.
Mr. Yarlett heaved a weary sigh. “They were among her possessions. I was correct, then, when I judged these things belonged to you?”
Daphne nodded, totally baffled.
“Miss Kendall, you are young,” Mr. Yarlett said kindly. “When you get to be my age, you will realize there are people in this world who do hurtful things out of petty spite. It appears Miss Oakswine was one of them.”
“I cannot understand, Mr. Yarlett. I thought Miss Oakswine quite comfortable in her circumstances. I cannot imagine what I might have done to so deeply offend her that she would stoop to st-stealing from me ... oh, it is incomprehensible.”
Mr. Yarlett adjusted his spectacles. “People of Miss Oakswine’s ilk need no reason for the things they do other man ones they have contrived in their own heads. However, I fear there is worse.” From the strongbox, he removed a stack of money. “Five thousand pounds. It was found along with this diary.”
Daphne could not suppress a gasp. “That is not my money, I am certain. Although where Miss Oakswine could possibly have obtained such a sum, I cannot imagine.” She raised a hand to her throat as Mr. Yarlett reached into the strongbox once again and pulled out a thick, yellowed journal.
“Well, it seems Miss Oakswine took her sister’s dowry, which was twenty-five hundred pounds, and added it to her own. She a
pparently had a vehement hatred of men, had no intention of ever marrying, and did not want her sister to marry, either. Not that Miss Oakswine was overly fond of her sister. It seems to have been more a matter of principle. It is all spelled out in her own handwriting in this diary.”
Daphne’s mind struggled to assimilate this startling information. She remembered that Miss Oakswine did indeed find all men dreadful. Many was the time her companion had preached the evils of men to her, and she had often discouraged her from marrying. But for Miss Oakswine to force her views on another by making it difficult, if not impossible, for her very own sister to marry was shocking.
Mr. Yarlett’s face held an expression of concern. “Are you sure you do not want a cup of tea?”
“No, I thank you.” Daphne felt ill from the morning’s revelations and only wanted to return home to try to sort out her feelings. “Whatever happened to Miss Oakswine’s sister? She never mentioned her to me.”
Mr. Yarlett shook his head. “You do not want to know, Miss Kendall.”
“On the contrary, sir, I need to know in order to make sense of all this.” Daphne gazed at him steadily.
Mr. Yarlett seemed to take her measure and gave a brief nod. “According to an entry in the diary about five years ago, the lady took her own life after living as a poor relation in her brother’s house.”
Daphne felt numb. She stared at her lap in silence.
“I shall not keep you, Miss Kendall,” Mr. Yarlett said at length. He wrapped the miniature, the vinaigrette, and the thimble in a cloth, and handed them to her. “I am happy to return your things to you. I have contacted a Mr. Jonas Oakswine, who is Miss Oakswine’s deceased brother’s son and would be her next of kin. Ironic, is it not, that the money will go to a man? I feel sure Miss Oakswine would not approve, but as she died without a will, there is no choice.”
Daphne rose. “Thank you, Mr. Yarlett. I shall settle the matter of the wages tomorrow. Please let me know if there is anything else.”
She walked out of the office in a daze. She managed a weak smile for the benefit of her waiting lady’s maid.
Lord and Master Page 2