by Robyn DeHart
“I know. I’ve asked him, and he says he did not steal the boxes.”
“Would not a thief answer that question in the same manner?” he asked.
“I suppose he might. But with Gareth, I know he speaks the truth.”
“Gareth, is it?” he asked with an ounce of surprise.
She felt the heat of a blush creep into her cheeks. Never a becoming look for one with hair as flaming as her own. “Mr. Mandeville, Father.”
“What has Mr. Mandeville done to land himself in the good graces of my daughter?”
“Mr. Munden has wrongly accused him and refuses to consider any alternatives than the one set to his mind. Mr. Mandeville has no one to champion him but myself. Mr. Munden was going to dismiss him. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I know the truth. And if that nasty foreman won’t do anything to uncover the truth, then I will do it for him.”
Her father looked at her, then he chuckled heartily. His shoulders popped up and down as he shook with deep laughter. “You are so much like your mother, my dear girl. So much like her. Such fire in you.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Very well, if you believe him innocent, then you prove it. In the meantime, do take some care with your reputation. I know you’re not involved with Society that much, but your mother was, and people still remember her.”
She nodded. She knew she ought to be more careful with that. Should at least consider it now and again. But the truth of the matter was, it never entered her mind. Not rarely, not every once in a while. Never. Not once had she ever considered it on her own. Only when Willow mentioned it. She never considered it because it seemed strange to assume that people would talk about her.
Papa was right, though. People did remember her mother. Meg would endeavor to try and think of her reputation and guard it more often. Although since she would never marry, it seemed any great effort would be wasted.
“So you are not angry?” she asked.
“No. I am not angry. But keep in mind that when someone claims innocence it does not mean he is, in fact, innocent. He could very well be the thief in question. If that turns out to be the case, not only will you have been wrong, my dear, but you will be sorely disappointed.”
She nodded. “But, dear Papa, I am not wrong.” She saluted him with her goblet of wine.
“Very well, Meggie, very well. For your sake, I hope your Mr. Mandeville is as innocent as a priest.”
She turned her attention back to her meal, hoping her father did not notice how disconcerted she suddenly felt. Gareth might not be a thief, but he was not innocent. Not when just last night his body had pressed against hers and he’d kissed her and touched her in such carnal ways. Tingles of desire coursed through her. A priest he most certainly was not.
And for the first time, Meg realized that although Gareth was not guilty of stealing the chocolate boxes, there might be far worse sins of which he was guilty.
“The Ladies’ Amateur Sleuth Society are a fine lot. We are doomed in love,” Charlotte said dramatically.
Charlotte had come to Piddington Hall today to assist Meg with some mending, most notably her petticoat. Meg smiled. “Doomed? How so?”
“Each of us seems to find the perfectly wrong man to fancy.”
“Explain,” Meg prodded.
Charlotte secured the needle, then set the torn petticoat aside. “Well, there’s Amelia, who for the longest time fancied Sherlock Holmes. The man is not even real. You fancy Mr. Mandeville. A man you scarcely know. And myself, well, I’m the most hopeless of all,” she said dramatically, then leaned her head back on the settee.
“Jack of Hearts?” Meg asked.
Charlotte winced, then covered her face with her hands. “Isn’t that wicked?”
Meg poked her in her side. “No, it’s romantic. Nothing wrong with fancying an adventure. That’s all it is. But I find serious fault with your logic. First of all, where is poor Willow in this scenario?”
Charlotte turned her body to face Meg. “Willow, for reasons I shall never understand, doesn’t seem to be interested in men at all. How is that possible? She’s much too involved with her books and the newspapers. I bet she reads every broadsheet in town. That’s simply not normal.”
“She likes to be involved and know what’s going on around her. Nothing wrong with that,” Meg said. “Very well, so we shall leave Willow out of this theory of yours. But how do you explain Amelia? She might have fancied Sherlock Holmes, but she is married now. That is hardly doomed in love.”
“Yes, she is married. But practically to Sherlock himself!”
“Not true. You know very well that Colin is quite different from the fictional detective.” She picked a piece of thread from the cushion and balled it between her fingers. “And he does love Amelia in such a grand fashion.”
“You’re right about that. So ’tis only you and I that are hopeless, I suppose?”
Meg shifted her position, folding her legs under her to sit. “Ah, but you are wrong about me too. I don’t fancy Gareth Mandeville, just so you know. I merely feel guilty that he’s being falsely accused and I can’t do anything about it.”
“Honestly, Meg, there is no reason to pretend. I know you better than anyone and you are smitten.”
Meg tried to laugh it off, but she couldn’t. Part of her knew that Charlotte’s accusations were true, and that terrified her. “I am not.”
“You know as well as I that this fascination is different. You have had fancies in the past as each of us has, but this is different. You actually have a relationship with him. You see him, speak to him on a regular basis. You know things about him.”
Meg shrugged. “Not many.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“What color are his eyes?”
“Hazel.” Meg winced.
Charlotte smiled. “See.”
“That doesn’t prove anything. I know what color your eyes are too.”
“But here’s the difference. Most of the time you have to be rather close to someone to determine the exact shade that is hazel, otherwise one might assume the eyes are only green or only brown. The fact that you know there is both mingling together indicates to me you’ve been close to him. Quite close.”
“Well, aren’t you the clever detective this morning.”
Charlotte laughed. “Do you deny it?”
Meg considered her options. She could lie and then feel guilty for a day or two until she confessed as she always did when she was persuaded to tell an untruth. Or she could be honest. Tell Charlotte everything, how she thought about Gareth more than she ought and how he’d kissed her. More than once.
She knew Charlotte would not judge her. But she also knew that Charlotte would find much excitement in the situation, enough to persuade Meg into feeling equally excited. That was something she couldn’t afford. But she needed to talk about it with someone, and Charlotte was her dearest friend.
“You have to promise that you will not say anything until I finish,” Meg said.
“All right,” Charlotte said with a frown.
Meg watched her friend a moment before beginning. “I have been close to Gareth. Close enough to see the exact shade of his eyes. I can even tell you that the green and brown mix together to form a rich gold that circles his eyes.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows in question, but Meg rushed on. “I can tell you that he has a small scar through his right eyebrow. Or that his lip twitches ever so slightly when he’s amused, but doesn’t want to be. And I can tell you that his lips are soft and tender.” She closed her eyes then to block out Charlotte’s face. She needed to say these things, needed to pour them out and set them free else they continue to collect in her brain and drive her mad.
“When he pulls me into his arms, which he has done on more than one occasion, I feel more alive and vibrant than I ever knew possible. And kissing him is as natural as breathing. I know he was born in London and that he has three sisters and a brother, all of whom still live in Ireland. I know he’s intelligent and focused and stubborn.
And I know that to him, I am nothing more than a sweet diversion.” She heard Charlotte intake her breath sharply, but Meg ignored the reaction; there was more she needed to say.
“Ever since that first evening locked in that storeroom, I have thought of little else save him, and his presence in my head is crowding everything else. I think of Willow and know how disappointed she’d be in my behavior. And I think of my poor papa who wishes I would settle down and marry. But mostly I think of my heart and how I cannot afford to spend another thought on Gareth Mandeville. I have not yet lost it to him; for that I am thankful. I realized where I was headed the other evening, and I have been successful in tightening the reins on the situation.”
Of course, even that was a lie. It was Gareth who had ended their embrace, not she. Which only served to convince her how desperate the situation had become. She could not allow this to continue. She must harden her heart and strengthen her convictions, such as they were.
“The factory and my father are what’s important to me. And that’s where I will pour all of my energy. So yes, I do know the exact shade of Gareth’s eyes as well as many other tiny things I wish I’d never discovered. I will continue trying to solve this crime to catch the true thief and to clear Gareth’s name because I feel partially to blame.” She opened her eyes then and leveled her gaze with Charlotte.
“Is it all so bad then?” Charlotte asked.
Meg thought on it. “No, it’s not bad. I just want to be cautious.”
“Would loving a man like Gareth be so bad?” Charlotte said.
“I remember a year after Mama had died, I went down to the kitchen to get something to drink. It was late, I’m not certain what time, but it was dark and everyone was in bed. I passed by my father’s chambers and I could hear him weeping. I opened the door to see what was wrong because I thought he might be injured, but it was another type of pain I witnessed. There he was”—Meg smiled ruefully—“great man that he is, on his knees at the edge of his bed. He had the bedsheets fisted in his hands and his eyes squeezed tight and he was wailing, he was crying so much. And then he said her name. Josephine.
“I missed her dreadfully then, but I was but a child without a mother. But my poor papa, a grown man full of strength and wisdom, still so full of anguish from losing her. I decided that evening that as long as I lived I would offer him nothing but smiles. That I would bring him joy the only way I knew.” She shook her head. “I am not as strong as he, Charlotte. I know that I could not ever survive such a loss.” She swiftly wiped one tear away. “I know that it is not to be my lot in life. I was not designed for love so great because I would not be able to withstand the pain of losing it.”
“Meg, I—”
“I know what you’re going to say. They don’t all end in loss, sometimes people stay happy forever. And that’s true, but what if?” She looked at Charlotte. “What if?” She shook her head. “It would destroy me. And that would destroy my papa.” Meg patted Charlotte’s hand. “Listen to me carry on.” She shook her head. “Pay me no mind. I’m feeling awfully sentimental today. It matters not. I will feel quite right tomorrow; I suppose I am tired. Thank you again for agreeing to fix my petticoat. You can take it with you, if you prefer.”
She’d never before dismissed her friend. But she’d said far more than she intended and now she needed, very much, to be alone. Bless Charlotte’s heart, she understood, because she nodded, gathered her stuff, and left after giving Meg a tight squeeze.
He watched the tall brunette leave Piddington Hall. Meg and her silly friends. She would not have as much freedom once she belonged to him. He would be her only confidant then. The only one for her to turn to. His hand clenched tightly around a rose blossom.
No need to be frustrated. All was not lost yet. He would figure out a way to work this situation to his benefit. But so far blaming the thefts on that lowly Irishman was not working. Without evidence, nothing could be brought to the authorities’ attention. And now Miss Piddington had tangled herself further with the Irish bastard, and that would ruin everything. Months of planning and years of hard work. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
He needed more time. More time would produce the perfect plan, and then all would fall into place.
Chapter 8
Meg settled in her seat in Amelia’s parlor, waiting anxiously for the meeting to start. She’d received a post that morning for an emergency meeting. She was as grateful as she was curious. It had been a day since she’d dismissed Charlotte, and she wanted to ensure all was right between them. She tried to catch her eye, but Charlotte was not looking in her direction. Perhaps her friend was angry with her.
“Let us recite our oath,” Amelia said.
“We solemnly swear to unravel mysteries by ferreting out secrets at all costs,” they said together.
“Now, then, let us begin. I called this meeting today because Willow has some information to share that she believes will be most useful to Mr. Mandeville’s case. Willow, proceed.”
Willow sat at the edge of her seat and pushed her spectacles farther onto her nose. “Now then, I was speaking with Edmond last night about things going on in his life, and he mentioned a particular fellow he ran into recently at a gaming hell.”
“Edmond was at a gaming hell?” Charlotte asked, clearly surprised.
Willow frowned. “I was shocked and disappointed in my dear brother as well, but he assured me he had good reason. In any case, he was there playing cards with some fellows, and this one, in particular, was bragging about a recent purchase he made. A rather pricey purchase.”
“Willow, where is this going?” Meg sat up straight. She felt excited and slightly annoyed, all at the same time.
“I shall arrive at the point shortly, if you would but give me a moment. As I was saying, this particular gentleman, who is actually not a gentleman at all, recently purchased a racing horse.”
Charlotte frowned. “What do racing horses have to do with anything?”
Willow shrugged, then smiled. “Only that this man is none other than Mr. Munden.”
“My Mr. Munden?” Meg said. “I mean, the Mr. Munden that is employed by my father?”
“One and the same,” Willow confirmed.
Meg shook her head. “But he does not earn enough to make such a purchase.”
“Precisely.” Willow pointed a finger at Meg. “Where do you suppose he got the funds for such a large purchase?”
Meg felt her eyes grow round. “From stealing and selling those chocolate boxes? Surely they wouldn’t earn quite that much.”
“They might if you sold them to a competitor who was trying to produce similar products,” Amelia offered.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Willow said.
“Surely he wouldn’t dare,” Meg said. That would be terrible and grossly unfair to her father.
“Or perhaps this isn’t the only thing he’s stolen,” Charlotte suggested.
“Excellent point,” Amelia said.
“So he stole the boxes himself and has been trying to blame Gareth for the crime,” Meg said, indignation on Gareth’s behalf rising within her. “But why would he do that?”
“His motive is unclear at this point,” Willow said.
“This is terrible,” Meg said. “What should we do?”
“You need proof that he took those boxes before you can do anything,” Charlotte said.
“She’s right,” Amelia said.
“Well, I believe it’s safe to assume that he wouldn’t keep any such proof at the factory,” Willow suggested.
“Perhaps he has some kind of record at his residence,” Amelia said.
“That certainly presents a problem,” Willow said.
“Do you know where he lives, Meg?” Charlotte asked.
“No, but my father keeps a file on each of his employees, so the information would not be too difficult to come by.”
“Perfect,” Charlotte said, a mischievous smile creeping across her face.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to suggest something that I am not going to approve of?” Willow asked. “You always get that look on your face.”
“What look?” Charlotte asked innocently. “I was merely going to suggest that Meg sneak into Mr. Munden’s residence and dig around a bit. See what she can find.”
Willow put her head in her hands. “I knew it,” she said with a muffled voice.
“Then you thought of it too?” Amelia asked.
“Well, of course I did. It’s the logical choice to find such evidence. But it’s far too dangerous,” Willow said.
“Not if you help,” Meg said.
“You want me to go with you?” Willow asked.
“Of course not. I need you to help divert Munden’s attention. Have Edmond send him an invitation for another hand of cards. Men love those sorts of things. While he’s gone, I’ll sneak in and poke around and see what I can discover.”
“This sounds very dangerous,” Amelia said.
“Not any more dangerous than the escapades you went on last year,” Charlotte pointed out.
“Yes, but I nearly got killed. And I was going to add that it sounds very dangerous, and exciting,” she said with a laugh.
“All Meg needs is a disguise. She’s so tiny that with the right clothes, she’ll look like a young boy and no one will bother her,” Charlotte said.
“Where am I supposed to get the clothes for that?” Meg asked.
“From me,” Charlotte said. “Mama has put up trunks of Anthony’s clothes; I’m certain we could find something that would work.”
Meg’s stomach fluttered.
Willow released a great sigh, then leaned forward in her chair. “If you’re going to do this, wear dark clothes so you’ll blend in more with the dark night,” she said. “But I am not approving of this,” she added with a point of her finger.
“Do you really think your brother’s clothes will fit me?” Meg asked.
“Something of his will. Mama keeps everything, so we have years’ worth of clothes. Most of it in browns and blacks, so we can abide with Willow’s suggestion.”