Lord and Master

by Rosemary Stevens

  Lord Ravenswood felt his temper rise again at the sight of that smile.

  The duchess was undeterred. “Is that so? I cannot believe she told you the entire situation. Did she perhaps leave out the fact that I have a rare collection of old ivory carvings, and one of my favorites, a cat, is missing? Never have I been the victim of thievery until Miss Shelby took up residence in my house.”

  Her Grace fixed her beady gaze past Daphne onto Miss Shelby, who looked ready to sink.

  Lord Ravenswood’s mind was working rapidly, putting pieces together of the puzzle. So this was the crime of which Miss Kendall had been trying to clear Miss Shelby’s name. He could not view Miss Shelby as a thief. Although he had initially judged the older woman foolish, he had since realized his error. He dismissed the thought of any guilt on Miss Shelby’s part.

  His thoughts settled on Lord Guy, who he knew had only recently come to live with the duchess. The mincing fop must have been responsible, probably selling the piece to pay gaming debts or his tailor.

  So why was Miss Kendall bestowing her attentions on him? Was she relying on him to clear Miss Shelby’s name? Surely he would not at his own cost.

  The earl’s question was answered in the next moment.

  Daphne turned a charming face to the duchess. “Lord Guy and I were just sharing our opinions on the matter last night at Almack’s.”

  All eyes turned to the young man, today dressed all in mustard-yellow, including, of course, the matching mustard-yellow pom-poms on his boots. “Yes, that is to say, I seem to recall something of that nature ...”

  Daphne’s mood veered sharply to anger. Why, it was obvious Lord Guy had not spoken to the duchess as he had indicated he would! Furthermore the milksop was not taking the opportunity now to come to Miss Shelby’s defense.

  “Lord Guy,” Daphne said firmly, “is of the same opinion as I. Miss Shelby could not have taken your carved ivory figure, your grace.”

  The duchess glared awfully at her nephew, who was staring at the floor. “You have never expressed this conviction in my presence, Guy. As I recall, you were quick to point the finger of guilt at Miss Shelby the very day the carving was discovered missing. If you do not believe she took it, then who did? All of my servants have been with me this age, and I trust them completely.”

  Eugene had moved close to Miss Shelby to give her courage. “Lord Guy is responsible,” she proclaimed at last. “I saw him.”

  “That is not possible,” Lord Guy protested hotly.

  “Are you saying, among these witnesses, Miss Shelby, that you saw my nephew, a peer of the realm, steal something from his own aunt?” the duchess demanded.

  “Yes,” Miss Shelby stated matter-of-factly. “After the butler told me the carved ivory figure was missing, I concentrated on the problem. Soon a vision came to me of Lord Guy creeping into the muniment room in the middle of the night. He knew he could not take any of the family relics to sell, but the carvings housed in their case tempted him. His hand hovered over the bird, but then he smiled evilly and took the cat instead.”

  Lord Guy’s face was white. But when he found his voice, it dripped with contempt. “A vision you say. Come, Aunt, the woman is mad.”

  Eugene could no longer remain silent. “That is what one of your character must say when faced with the truth.”

  “Who are you?” Lord Guy asked with snapping sarcasm, raising his quizzing glass to study Eugene’s turban.

  “This is hardly the place for such a discussion,” Lord Ravenswood interrupted in the voice of authority. “Naturally your grace would want the culprit brought to justice. But since you have no evidence Miss Shelby took the carving, you might be better served by ordering your footmen to make inquiries at pawnshops that could result in the return of your property.”

  The duchess looked like she would dig in her heels, then thought better of it. “’Twas only a trifle, after all. You have the right of it, Ravenswood. But, mind, I shan’t have you, Miss Shelby, gabbing about visions of my nephew as a thief!”

  Miss Shelby opened her mouth to contradict the duchess regarding her vision, but Lord Ravenswood spoke before her. “I feel positive Miss Shelby wishes an end to the matter just as you do, your grace.”

  Lord Guy was all too happy to endorse this plan. “Yes, Aunt, let the matter drop. Recollect the children told you Miss Shelby had the queerest ways? They are happier now with Miss Dumfrey.”

  The Duchess of Welbourne gave the party a stately dip of her head, which was marred by her air of pinched disapproval. She turned away with a rustle of silk.

  Eugene spoke quietly to a flustered Miss Shelby.

  Lord Guy lingered for a moment to address Daphne. “Miss Kendall, will you be attending the Pelhams’ ball tomorrow evening?”

  “Yes,” Daphne answered.

  Lord Guy smiled. “Then, may I reserve the first waltz?”

  Daphne eyed the fop coldly. “I feel sure I shall twist my ankle between now and that moment.”

  “Red hair does bespeak a bad temper, then,” Lord Guy sneered. “And to think I was willing to overlook your most unfashionable shade.”

  “Oh, do go away, you popinjay,” Daphne said in a bored way.

  “Yes, go away,” Lord Ravenswood echoed with a note of steel in his voice. “Do not trouble Miss Kendall again, or you shall answer to me.”

  Lord Guy cast them both a malevolent look before turning on his heel and following the duchess.

  Daphne looked after him in disgust. She then took a step away from where Eugene and Miss Shelby were standing deep in conversation, in order to have a private word with Lord Ravenswood. As private as possible when surrounded by the well-dressed throngs of exhibit viewers.

  When his lordship took his cue and joined her, she addressed him. “My lord, I own I know not what to think of Miss Shelby’s assertions about a vision, and confess I do not care. What I do know is that I am grateful to you for your assistance. I cannot think how I came to be so corkbrained as to believe Lord Guy would help me. I can only say that it was beyond bearing that Miss Shelby should be served such a turn, and I sought to right the wrong.”

  “Certainly, the duchess rushed to a conclusion, and her actions were not at all what Miss Shelby deserved,” Lord Ravenswood stated.

  Daphne smiled at him.

  “As far as your behavior is concerned, Miss Kendall, I wonder that you ever believed your plan with Lord Guy would serve.”

  The smile faded from Daphne’s face. “Did I not just say I had been mistaken in my hopes?”

  Ignoring this question, the earl said, “I find it fatiguing when a lady is clever and invariably uses her intelligence to plot and scheme—no matter the purity of her motives.”

  Just then, Elfleta Blenkinsop entered the room, trailing behind her mother.

  “Well, here is Miss Blenkinsop to refresh you, my lord,” Daphne told him in a low voice, bristling with indignation.

  She abruptly moved away to study a case of ancient jewelry. The sparkling gems in a necklace blurred in front of her tear-filled eyes.

  How could he behave toward her with such a want of understanding? It seemed Lord Ravenswood had no tolerance for a lady with a mind of her own.

  Would his attitude have been different had Lord Guy denounced the duchess’s accusations regarding Miss Shelby as he had agreed to do last night at Almack’s?

  No, Daphne decided in that moment, it would not matter to the earl what the outcome of her efforts had been. As Lord Christopher had informed her during their dance, Lord Ravenswood wished for a bride who would not give him a moment’s trouble. No doubt this meant a brainless female who would follow his dictates and never put a thought of her own forward!

  But stay a moment. A frown creased Daphne’s brow. Earlier, had not Miss Shelby expressed the opinion that his lordship would not care for that sort of lady? ’Twas a puzzling contradiction, Daphne reflected. Perhaps Lord Ravenswood did not know his own mind, or maybe Miss Shelby was mistaken.

 
; “The necklace is too barbaric for a delicate lady such as you,” Daphne heard a male voice say from behind her.

  She swung around to see a tall gentleman dressed in a fine coat of darkest blue superfine. His hair was a medium shade of brown, heavily streaked with blond. His skin was the bronze color of a man who spent much time in the sun, and the shade enhanced the brilliant blue of his eyes. He appeared to be just past his thirtieth birthday.

  “Sir, we have not been introduced,” Daphne told him curtly.

  “It is too bad that I have given myself away. You will know that although I was born to an English daughter of a baron, my father was Egyptian, and I have not been raised to follow the conventions of Society,” he said with disarming candor.

  Daphne detected an accent to his otherwise flawless English. He was attractive, and was gazing at her in obvious admiration, but without being rude or over-warm in his attention.

  She glanced around and saw Eugene and Miss Shelby were not far away. Then she saw Lord Ravenswood bending his head in conversation with Miss Blenkinsop.

  She pursed her lips and turned back to the stranger. “Do you own some of the items on display, sir?”

  He laughed shortly. “I wish I did. But, please, my name is Vincent Phillips. May I know yours?”

  “I am Miss Daphne Kendall. Do you live in England now, Mr. Phillips?”

  “I am considering it, Miss Kendall. My parents are both dead and recently my grandfather, the baron—of whom I was quite fond and even took his name as a mark of respect—died. His estate in Suffolk was left to me, but I have been too busy with business affairs in Egypt to come to England before now.”

  Daphne chatted with Mr. Phillips for several minutes about the jewelry she had been studying. He was as knowledgeable as the earl, and his manners, except for a certain boldness in addressing unknown young ladies, were impeccable.

  All at once, however, his attention seemed to be caught by someone or something down the room, for he abruptly said, “Miss Kendall, you must excuse me. I had already completed a tour of the museum when I was fortunate enough to meet you. I am afraid I must excuse myself now.”

  He bowed over her hand before walking away. Daphne stood wondering if she would ever understand gentlemen.

  Seeing Miss Shelby and Eugene absorbed in contemplation of a sundial, Daphne wandered a little farther into the museum.

  Meanwhile, across the room, Lord Ravenswood had experienced a maddening desire to follow Miss Kendall. Their unsatisfactory conversation gave him the urge to shake some sense into her, but he quickly got himself in hand and continued his conversation with the Blenkinsops.

  Here, all was light and cordial. Mrs. Blenkinsop was full of compliments on Lord Ravenswood’s artifacts. Elfleta looked about her with a bewildered expression on her pale face.

  Lord Ravenswood admired the excellence of her pink gown and the air of serenity about her. “Miss Blenkinsop, is there anything in particular you are interested in seeing here at the museum?”

  Elfleta turned to her mother as if to gain an answer to the question. However, that lady was standing a little away from her daughter, busily exchanging the latest gossip with one of her friends, Lady Armbruster.

  Elfleta looked at the earl. “Yes, I am interested in Egyptian things. It is the fashion now to decorate one’s rooms in the Egyptian mode.”

  Lord Ravenswood considered this answer. “Quite so. What types of Egyptian things do you like?”

  To his horror, Miss Blenkinsop looked ready to burst into tears at the effort of responding to these inquiries. She regained her composure almost at once, though, and fluttered a thin white hand. “I have always had a fondness for far-eastern things.”

  His lordship rubbed a hand across his forehead and decided not to correct Miss Blenkinsop’s knowledge of geography.

  “Well, Ravenswood, come to be certain none of your artifacts are stolen?”

  Lord Ravenswood grinned when he saw his friend, William Bullock. The two men shook hands, and after Anthony introduced Miss Blenkinsop, she made a pretty excuse and escaped back to her mother’s side.

  “Seriously, Bullock, what news is there of the missing Bastet statue?” Lord Ravenswood asked.

  Mr. Bullock shook his head. “Nothing, really. The Egyptian officials are gnashing their teeth over the whole situation. Leads are nonexistent, everyone is tight-lipped,”

  “Who are they questioning?”

  “Wyndham, Sanderson, Grantley, all the well-known dealers. But they’ll catch cold at that. None of those fellows will trade his reputation for what he would profit from the sale of one statue.”

  Lord Ravenswood nodded. “The statue would fetch quite a price, though, from an unscrupulous collector. I should think the officials would be concentrating their efforts on dubious exporters.”

  “They are covering all angles of this case, of that I am certain. The Egyptian government would not take the theft of one of its treasures kindly.” Mr. Bullock shrugged. “Who knows, Ravenswood, could be Bastet was stolen by someone touched in their upper works. Someone who thinks the statue will bring him luck, or should be worshiped, or some such muttonheaded idea.”

  Lord Ravenswood clapped his friend on the back. “If that is true, the fellow will have the devil to pay once he is apprehended.”

  “That he will. Well, Ravenswood, let me know if everything here is not just to your liking. The exhibit is doing far better than I hoped.”

  Mr. Bullock walked away leaving Lord Ravenwood to contemplate his words alone for a moment. But it was not long before he realized he had been sadly remiss in his duties as host. Some ten minutes had passed since Miss Kendall had abandoned him.

  Looking around, Lord Ravenswood saw Eugene and Miss Shelby standing before a display, looking close as inkle-weavers. He strode down the museum hall in search of Miss Kendall.

  Over at a glass case, Eugene and Miss Shelby discussed the crude cooking utensils used by the ancient Egyptians. After a few minutes, Eugene said, “Come, Miss Shelby, my master has walked away, and I must find him.”

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Shelby moaned. “Maybe I should wait here. I have no wish to see the Duchess of Welbourne again. She does cast my spirits down so.”

  Eugene looked at Miss Shelby fondly. “Your employer was a self-important, foolish woman. Think no more of her, wise lady.”

  “I wish you would call me Leonie,” Miss Shelby told him shyly. “After all, I call you by your first name. Indeed,” she said with a laugh, “I do not even know your proper name.”

  Eugene smiled placidly. “Leonie. I approve of the way it sounds. It is right for you. The name sounds gentle, yet knowing, like you.”

  The peach color in Miss Shelby’s cheeks intensified, and she drew her paisley shawl closer. “You are kind, Eugene.”

  “You are the kind one, Leonie. You are taking care of the cat, are you not?”

  “Oh, yes, Eugene, the best possible care,” Miss Shelby assured him.

  “You see. I knew the cat would be safe with you. You are caring, wise, sympathetic—”

  “Stop!” Miss Shelby begged with a smile.

  “Now, what could the Duchess of Welbourne possibly say to disturb a lady of so many virtues? There is no more to be said. Let us enjoy the rest of the exhibit.”

  Boldly taking her hand and drawing it through his arm to rest on the sleeve of his white tunic, Eugene began leading Miss Shelby in the direction Lord Ravenswood had recently gone.

  Suddenly the manservant stopped and turned around. He reached up and touched the eye-pin in his turban, his face wrinkled in concentration.

  “What is it, Eugene?” Miss Shelby asked in concern.

  Letting his hand drop to his side, Eugene once more took Miss Shelby’s arm. “Nothing. It was nothing.” His features relaxed. “A mere feeling, but it has passed. We can continue on our way.”

  A few steps away from where they had been conversing, and hidden from view by a sixteen-foot-high stuffed giraffe, Vincent Phillips w
atched them go, his heart pounding with excitement in his chest.

  Earlier, when he had been talking with the beautiful red-haired woman, Vincent had been unable to believe his luck when he spied Eugene across the museum.

  Good fortune, it seemed, had finally found him. It had certainly not been with him three and a half weeks ago at the museum in Baluk.

  Vincent was quite an accomplished thief. His career had begun over ten years ago when he was a mere youth. The story he had told Daphne was a crafty blend of fact and fiction.

  Brought up in Egypt, he was left to his own devices when his parents had been killed by bandits. He received only a small sum after his family’s debts were paid off, and had written to appeal for help to his grandfather in England.

  The gentleman was a baron, but of little consequence or wealth. His reply to his grandson was brief. The young man was welcome to make his home in Suffolk, where he might enter the clergy or apply for a post as a secretary, but the baron had not the financial means to support him in Egypt.

  Having a very high opinion of himself, Vincent had been angry at this response. He was loath to leave the country where he had lived all his life to eke out an existence in a land he did not know. Indeed, his intention was to become rich at any cost.

  Good looks and quick ways soon provided a living on the wrong side of the law. He had confined the first part of his career to jewelry theft. But, in the last three years, he had branched out to the art world.

  When a collector in Philadelphia let it be known how much he was willing to pay for a particular statue of Bastet, Vincent became determined to be the one to lay the statue at his doorstep and receive his reward.

  The plan to steal the treasured Bastet statue had been carefully conceived. Dressed in black and heavily masked, on the night he was to carry out the theft, Vincent had entered the Baluk Museum, only to see another man reaching into the case and removing the statue.

  Vincent had been struck dumb. How had the man gotten in? Vincent himself had overcome three guards. In addition, there had been a powerful lock—still intact—on the door to the room where the statue was housed, which had taken even one with Vincent’s talents several minutes to pick. Then there was the matter of the lock on the case where Bastet stood.