Ballrooms and Blackmail

by Regina Scott

  Nathan’s look darkened, and Priscilla felt a chill run through her. He would have lost everything.

  “Neither do I,” the duke agreed. “But then, I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered to me. I’d be dead.”

  Priscilla couldn’t help her shudder at the reminder. She was thankful Nathan changed the subject then.

  He insisted on driving her home rather than depositing her at Emily’s. She almost refused. So far the number of people who’d seen her family’s tiny mismatched home was limited to friends and the Dalrymples. But for some reason, she wanted them to see the truth about her life.

  No, that wasn’t true. She wanted Nathan to see it. If he was going to investigate these notes, he would have to learn the truth. Very likely she would have to tell him about Aunt Sylvia, but not today. Today, catching a glimpse as to how far she had fallen from the cream of Society would be enough.

  “I say, it’s a little small.” His Grace frowned out the window as the coach drew up in front of the house. “However do you all fit?”

  “Having family close can be a blessing, Your Grace,” Priscilla said as the groom opened the door and held out a hand to help her down. “I’m sure you’d agree.”

  She glanced back to find him wrinkling his nose. “Never have a moment’s peace, I’d say. Even Glynnis gets tiring.”

  She didn’t have to look at Miss Fairtree to know she must have paled.

  “Allow me to escort you, Miss Tate,” Nathan said, hopping down behind her. He took her arm and walked with her to the door. No one rushed to open it; their man-of-all-work must be busy elsewhere in the house.

  Priscilla removed her arm from his. “Thank you, Mr. Kent, for everything.”

  Nathan leaned forward, holding her gaze. “Be careful. Until we know the nature of our note writer, we cannot be certain today wasn’t the first of more attacks. Go nowhere alone, and keep your wits about you.”

  “You too,” Priscilla replied. “I am not convinced that we are looking for a man. If this person truly believes the duke is meant for her, she may go to drastic measures to gain his attentions.”

  “I’ll be watchful.” To her surprise, he took her hand and bowed over it. The pressure of his fingers sent a tingle up her arm. His gaze touched hers again, as soft as a caress. Time stopped, and she forgot to breathe.

  “Come along, Natty,” the duke called. “Don’t we have somewhere else we need to be?”

  Nathan straightened. “Not in the slightest, but don’t tell him that.” He winked at Priscilla, then turned for the coach.

  She drifted into the house with a smile.

  Her mother was waiting in the entry hall. Though the hour was growing late, she was still gowned in her day dress and wisps of her hair framed her face as if she’d been running about.

  “Was that His Grace’s carriage?” she asked.

  Priscilla nodded, smile fading.

  Her mother pushed past her for the window beside the door, drawing back the curtain and peering out. Then she let the material fall and sagged to rest her forehead against the doorframe. “Oh, thank goodness. He’s gone.”

  “Mother,” Priscilla said, feeling as if the walls were drawing closer, “what’s happened?”

  Her mother straightened and turned to her, face white. “We are ruined.”

  Priscilla sighed. “We’ve been ruined for months. What’s different about today? Did another dun arrive with bills? The grocer refuse to extend more credit?”

  “Worse,” she insisted, seizing Priscilla’s arm and pulling her toward the withdrawing room. “Much worse.”

  What could be worse than threats to her future and her life? Of course, her mother didn’t know about the notes or the statue’s fall. Very likely, worse to her was a lost slipper.

  She followed her mother into the room, prepared to listen, console, and calm. But the sight of their visitor froze her in place. The house seemed to be shifting around her, the light dimming.

  A woman sat on the rose brocade sofa, raven hair wild about her perfectly oval face, gray gown shapeless on her once admirable figure. Her ruby lips curved in a smile.

  “Oh, aren’t you pretty?” Aunt Sylvia cooed. “I think I saw you at the graveyard earlier. Come sit, and we can share stories.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nathan and the duke called unfashionably early at the Emerson town house the next day. His cousin had either forgotten that Nathan had tendered his resignation the day before or ignored it, as he tended to ignore anything unpleasant. Nathan had not reminded him. For what he must do to protect Priscilla, being related to a duke was very helpful.

  As it was, he thought he and his cousin could be forgiven their precipitous arrival considering the nature of the information they must impart. He was only disappointed to find that Priscilla was not yet in residence.

  “Told you we should have called at her house,” His Grace complained to Nathan before the butler announced them to the assembled group. Lady Emily was seated on the sofa, with the Courdebas sisters on chairs on either side, for all the world as if they’d been waiting for him and the duke. Lady Minerva was not in evidence, but perhaps she was still abed.

  The others looked awake and ready for the day. The Misses Courdebas were dressed in soft muslin gowns trimmed with blue ribbon, while Lady Emily wore a green gown with a white tucker that made her brown eyes appear even darker than usual as she welcomed Nathan and His Grace.

  “We wanted to share what we gleaned since the incident yesterday,” Nathan explained as His Grace settled his tall frame on a dainty gilded chair that brought his knees past his waist.

  “Where’s Miss Tate?” the duke interrupted, twisting on the chair as if trying to get comfortable. “She needs to hear this.”

  “We expect her any moment,” Lady Emily promised him.

  “Comfit, Your Grace?” Ariadne asked, holding out a silver salver on which several confectionary treats rested.

  His Grace brightened as he scooted forward to select one.

  “What did you learn, Mr. Kent?” Lady Emily asked.

  Her eyes were bright, her face more animated than he had seen. She seemed to genuinely enjoy this sleuthing.

  “Perhaps we should wait for Miss Tate,” Nathan hedged.

  Daphne waved a hand. “We’ll tell her. We share everything.”

  He could well believe that. It seemed the four of them were nearly inseparable at times. Yet he wasn’t sure Priscilla would appreciate receiving his news second hand. And he rather wanted to be the one to tell her.

  Her sister was more interested in the duke at the moment. “We are very excited about your masquerade tomorrow,” she assured him, holding the salver closer to allow him to select another of the luscious bon bons. “I’m rather pleased with our costumes, if I do say so myself.”

  Daphne clapped her hands with evident glee. “You will love them, Emily! Ariadne is going as Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom, and I am to be Diana, goddess of the hunt. I even talked mother out of bombazine!”

  Nathan wasn’t sure why the stiff fabric would have been involved, but Lady Emily’s smile hitched up. Ariadne, however, turned pink.

  “You aren’t supposed to tell!” she protested, slapping the tray down on the table so hard the little candies bounced.

  Daphne blinked. “Why not? How else are our friends to recognize us?”

  “I believe the costume is part of the mystery of the masquerade,” Nathan explained as her sister muttered something about aborted plotlines.

  His Grace stirred himself to reach for another comfit. “Bit of a nuisance, if you ask me. It was all Glynnis’s idea.”

  “Indeed.” Lady Emily narrowed her eyes. “And where is Miss Fairtree today? Isn’t she generally to be found in your company?”

  “She is putting the final touches on her own costume and begged off this visit,” Nathan replied. He’d been only glad. He didn’t really want to drag poor Glynnis into this business with threatening notes and deadly accidents.

>   “How convenient,” Lady Emily murmured.

  Nathan frowned at her tone. Did she think Glynnis was trying to avoid her and her friends? He certainly wouldn’t blame his cousin if that were the case. It couldn’t be easy always smiling when having to live with constrained circumstances. Of course, Priscilla was exceptionally good at hiding her disappointments.

  If not her dismay.

  He saw her first. She very nearly ran into the room, pulling up short only at the last second to stare at them all. Her lovely face was flushed, her golden hair in delightful disarray, and her muslin skirts trembled in her agitation. He watched as she gathered her dignity about her like one of her fringed shawls.

  “Your Grace,” she said, venturing into the room. “Warburton never mentioned you were visiting.”

  And Nathan had sent the carriage home, which meant no standing horses had alerted her either.

  “Miss Tate!” His Grace heralded, hopping to his feet. “There you are!”

  Priscilla smiled at him before going to sit nearby, close enough to be attentive but not so close as to appear to be monopolizing him. Nathan could only admire her skill.

  “Mr. Kent was about to tell us what he learned of your incident yesterday,” Lady Emily explained.

  He thought he was the only one to note the shift in Priscilla’s position, as if her spine had straightened.

  “I can only hope you have determined it an accident after all,” she said.

  While he could not blame her for her hope, he could not further it. “Alas, no,” he said, and all gazes fastened on his. “After I let the duke off yesterday, I enlisted Mr. Cropper’s aid. We returned to the area, questioned the caretaker and the families living along the boundary. Several mentioned other visitors, a man on horseback, a couple with children, but they all claimed to have seen a woman in the area earlier in the day, before we arrived. She could well have remained in hiding while we visited.”

  Priscilla paled, but Lady Emily leaned forward. “A woman? Could they describe her?”

  “Not in great detail. All we know is that she was wearing a light-colored gown, perhaps blue or gray.”

  Priscilla sprang to her feet. “Oh, Emily! How could I be so forgetful! You wanted to show His Grace your painting!”

  The duke wrinkled his nose, but Lady Emily leaned back with a frown. “Now?”

  “Now,” Priscilla insisted. “This very minute. I’m certain Ariadne and Daphne will wish to see it as well. Mr. Kent and I will wait here. If you leave the door open, there will be no impropriety.”

  Daphne obligingly climbed to her feet, but Lady Emily and her sister rose more slowly. One look at Priscilla’s face, and Ariadne held out her arm to the duke. “Come along, Your Grace. I find it’s best to humor her when she’s like this.”

  The duke stood and accompanied them from the room.

  “Odd,” Nathan said in the silence. “You’re usually more subtle than that.”

  She turned and threw herself into his arms.

  Stunned, Nathan held her against him, feeling her body shake with her sobbing. The rosy scent of her perfume drifted over him. He cradled her close, rubbed one hand along the fabric covering her back, allowed himself the luxury of stroking her hair. The gold was softer than the finest silk.

  “Easy, now,” he murmured. “What’s happened? Another threatening note?”

  She managed to shake her head, and he was certain her tears were giving his cravat a thorough wetting. Then fear stabbed at him. He held her back to see her face. “Have you been accosted? Hurt?”

  Her lower lip trembled; her eyes were luminous. How could any woman look so miserable and so desirable at the same time?

  “It isn’t that,” she murmured, dropping her gaze. “I’m afraid for His Grace’s safety.”

  Nathan drew in a breath. Ah yes, there was a reason he was here. He was supposed to be doing his duty: protecting the duke. He forced himself to release her. “Why?”

  She was twisting the material of her yellow kid leather glove back and forth around one finger. “I have a confession to make, Mr. Kent. I fear His Grace will never wish to pursue me once he knows, and I know you will be very disappointed in me.”

  “Nonsense,” Nathan said, though he felt his blood quickening. “You must know, Priscilla, that I hold you in the highest esteem.”

  She did not protest the use of her given name. Indeed, her head came up, gaze searching his. “You do?”

  Nathan couldn’t help himself. He reached out and wiped a tear from her cheek. “You must have noticed. But then, you have no need to add my paltry admiration to that of your scores of conquests.”

  She shook her head. “Your esteem has come to mean a great deal to me. That’s why I shudder to tell you the truth.”

  Nathan caught her hands and held them to his chest. “Nothing you can say will change how I feel.”

  She sucked in a breath. “You may think otherwise when I tell you. You see, my aunt is a homicidal maniac, and I was trained to be just like her.”

  *

  There. She’d said it. Her worst fear realized. All her life she’d admired her aunt, tried to mimic her, only to learn that the skills she’d practiced could be used for a terrible purpose.

  As if he knew it too, he stilled. His hands remained cradling hers against his chest, and she swore she felt his heart beating in time with hers. But everything else about him was lifeless.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  How could he? She and her parents didn’t understand either. It seemed someone had authorized Lady Brentfield’s release from her caretakers and brought her to London, but all her parents knew for sure was that she had opened the door of their house the previous evening a few moments before Priscilla and walked in as if she owned the place. Considering the fact that Priscilla’s father had rented the house with money gathered from selling some of his sister’s things, she did own it. Worse, after all the money her aunt had lavished upon her over the years, all the attentions paid her, Priscilla felt as if her aunt owned a piece of her as well.

  Now she pulled her hands from Nathan’s. “You know the dowager Lady Brentfield is my aunt?”

  “Of course. I understand she’s traveling.”

  Priscilla grimaced. “No. That’s a story we circulated to protect her reputation, and our own. The truth is, my aunt is a wicked woman, and only the fact that she went mad saved her from the gallows.”

  His color was fading. “What could she possibly have done to deserve the gallows?”

  Priscilla could not bear to watch his admiration turn to disgust. She paced the room, gaze on the blue carpet. “We have reason to believe she engineered the deaths of her last husband, Lord Brentfield, and his heir. They died in a carriage accident that we now suspect was no accident at all. She then set out to marry the next Lord Brentfield, a distant cousin of her late husband. She wanted continued access to the Brentfield fortune, you see. When he was uninterested, she attempted to find him a wife she could use to control him and his money.” She took a deep breath and dared to glance at him. “Me.”

  Nathan’s face was so smooth it betrayed nothing of what he was feeling. “Continue,” he said.

  The chill in his voice froze her heart, but she couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t take the chance that her aunt might strike again.

  “She threw me and the new earl together, in public and in private,” she explained, rubbing her hand up the sleeve of her muslin gown as she walked. “He was proof against my charms.”

  “Singular gentleman,” he quipped. “Was he blind or deaf?”

  Priscilla found a smile. “Neither. He was already in love with someone else. When that became clear to my aunt, she tried to kill the woman.”

  He stiffened. “Do you have proof of that?”

  “Not enough to convince a magistrate,” Priscilla admitted, slowing. “But the trap she tried to spring on my rival caught the earl instead. And when he did not die immediately but lay in bed recovering, she t
ried to smother him with a pillow.”

  He was watching her. “I take it you foiled her attempt.”

  Priscilla nodded, coming to a stop in front of him. “Emily suspected her, you see, and we were able to prevent further harm to Lord Brentfield and his intended. But my aunt injured herself trying to escape, and when she was apprehended, it was clear her mind had snapped. She had no memory of her actions, no thoughts beyond those of a little child. She’s been residing with keepers ever since.”

  “And that’s why your family is so impoverished,” he said.

  “No. We are impoverished because we always lived on Aunt Sylvia’s largesse, and now there is no largesse. Lord Brentfield pays the cost for her care, for which I bless him daily.” Priscilla swallowed. “That is, until she escaped. Some time yesterday.”

  His eyes glinted. “Do you know where she is?”

  “She arrived at our house only a little before you let me off, and she was wearing a gray dress.”

  He sucked in a breath, and Priscilla hurried on. “Don’t you see, Nathan? The house where she’s cared for is only a mile or so away from the abbey. She might have been the one trying to harm the duke.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “Surely she’d appreciate his courtship of you.”

  Priscilla threw up her hands. “I no longer know how she thinks, if she thinks. Perhaps she saw us together and thought he was threatening me. Perhaps she was angry with me for not ensnaring Lord Brentfield instead. All I know is that she could have caused the accident yesterday, and she could strike again.”

  “Surely your parents can contain her,” he protested. “Return her to her hosts.”

  “They were eager to,” Priscilla assured him. “Father watched her through the night, then went to call for the carriage. She managed to slip away from my mother. We have no idea where she is now.”

  Desperation drove her hands to clutch the lapels of Nathan’s proper navy coat. “She could be anywhere! She could come after the duke at any time! We must save him!”

  Chapter Twenty-One