by Amanda Scott
“Is that what you meant when you said this was the last place she would come, sir? Because you, too, believe she was rescued by her cohorts in crime?” Her gaze dared him to answer in the affirmative.
“It is a possibility which must have occurred to them at Bow Street,” he replied, “but I meant only that Meg would never be so foolhardy as to come here when it must be one of the first places they would seek her.”
“She would communicate with me if she were able to do so,” Cicely repeated stubbornly. “What if Sir David is right, and some stupid young men did it for a lark? What if they are holding her against her will? What if …” Her words failed her when a harsh vision of the possibilities invaded her mind. She saw Sir David and Ravenwood exchange glances and glared at them both. “I won’t be kept in cotton wool! That’s what you have feared from the outset, isn’t it?”
Ravenwood stepped forward as though he would comfort her, but her icy, demanding glare froze him halfway. “Meg is in much less danger now than she was in, Cilly,” he said suddenly. “I know it. You must not work yourself into such a lather. Think only that she has been spared the experience—a humiliating one, I assure you—of being hailed before a magistrate and incarcerated in a noisome cell at Bow Street. The ensuing trial would be worse yet, believe me.” He paused, then added gently, “You have never seen that courtroom, but I have. The magistrate is like a great bird of prey, glowering at the poor prisoner while filthy, toothless old women and flea-ridden reprobates jeer from the public seats. And if she was to be found guilty, she could be publicly whipped, transported, even—and most likely in this instance, when there has been so much public outcry—hanged.”
Cicely swallowed carefully, aware that her stomach was churning at the images his words produced in her mind. “You are right, my lord. Whatever has become of Meg, it cannot be so bad as that.” The admission did nothing to put her in charity with him, however, and the rest of the evening passed without much evidence that she relished her role as hostess. Indeed, she greeted the arrival of the tea tray with undisguised relief and saw Sir David and Sally on their way shortly afterward with a good deal more enthusiasm than was commensurate with good manners.
Knowing she had behaved rudely, she expected at least a reproof from her husband, but when she announced somewhat defiantly that she meant to retire at once, Ravenwood made no demur, merely remarking that he hoped she would sleep well. If there was so much as a gentle barb in the words, she ignored it and went upstairs.
Betty’s assistance was no substitute for Meg’s, and as a consequence, the girl’s very presence depressed her, so she sent her away as soon as she could reasonably do so. Then, extinguishing her candles, she banked the coals in the fireplace, and with a last, speculative glance toward the door to the adjoining bedchamber, she climbed into her bed. He would not come to her tonight.
It began to rain during the night and continued steadily into the next day. There was still no word from Meg, and Cicely racked her brain for something she could do to help. She considered approaching Pavenham but rejected the notion when she saw him, for he seemed more starched up and unapproachable than ever. No doubt, she decided—remembering that Meg herself had called him a high stickler—he had washed his hands of her, believing her to be guilty of the charges.
Then she remembered her cousin. She had thought before that he might have a notion how to help Meg, but the notion had slipped her mind until now. Accordingly, despite the weather, she set out at once to pay a call upon Lady Uffington.
Her aunt was at home and relatively pleased to see her; however, it was rapidly brought home to Cicely that her ladyship merely wished for an opportunity to animadvert upon the evils of harboring a viper in one’s bosom.
“I shall not pretend I ever thought badly of her, of course, my dear,” she stated magnificently. “She has managed to cozen us all with her encroaching manners and sweet tongue. I know your dear mother, especially, set great store by her before all this. Well, live and learn, as they say.”
Cicely gritted her teeth in order to stop herself from saying something rude and disrespectful that she would later regret. It was all she could do, however, to put a good face on it until she could divert her outspoken relative to a safer topic. Even then, she was forced to endure the occasional side comment in reference to the incident.
“I tell you I was never more shocked than when Sir Conrad brought me news of your Meg’s arrest. And to have had the nerve to steal from Sally Jersey, of all people!”
“Sir Conrad told you of it, ma’am?”
“Indeed, yes. And of that subsequent business as well. No doubt, my dear, she is in league with a whole raft of rogues. You may thank the fates that saw her unmasked before you were murdered in your very bed.”
“I have not seen Sir Conrad for several days, ma’am,” Cicely said evenly. “Not since I saw him briefly at Mama’s ball.”
“That was merely two nights ago, Cicely.”
“So it was.” She was surprised. It seemed much longer ago than a mere two nights. “Is he at home now, Aunt?”
“Who, Conrad?” Cicely nodded. “Oh, no, I never know where he is from one moment to the next, of course. But, then, a mother never does.”
“Surely he is a very good son, ma’am?”
Lady Uffington looked skeptical. “Is he? Well, I expect he is as good as most.”
Cicely rose to her feet. “Will you tell him I called, ma’am, and was disappointed to find him from home?” It was the most she could do. If she were to offer to leave a note, her aunt would be likely to scold, saying it was most improper to address billets doux to any gentleman other than one’s own husband. Which of course it was. Even her casual request brought a look of censure to the august dame’s brow.
“I shall mention that you called, of course, my dear,” she said unencouragingly.
It was enough, however, to bring Cicely a note later in the day from Sir Conrad himself, inviting her to ride in the park the next morning if the weather had cleared. The very thing, she thought, sitting down at the library table immediately to send him an affirmative response.
“Dare I hope you are writing to me, Cilly?”
She jumped. She had not heard Ravenwood come in, and she turned now, blushing, to face him. “No, sir, ’tis a response to an invitation.” She glanced guiltily at Sir Conrad’s missive, lying face up on the table near her left hand. The hand moved almost of its own accord to cover it, but Ravenwood nipped it smoothly from beneath the reaching fingers. He glanced at it almost absently while she watched him, nibbling unconsciously at her lower lip.
He looked at her apologetically when he had read it. “I hope you will not mind putting him off for a day or so, Cicely.”
“But why should I, sir? Unless, of course, this stupid rain continues. I will take my groom,” she added on a nearly bitter note.
“I had hoped you would ride with me,” he said diffidently.
“But you never ride in the park, except during the fashionable promenade, of course. Even then you generally drive a phaeton or your curricle. Why should you suddenly wish to ride?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, I have something I wish to discuss with you, my dear, and I had hoped to be able to discuss it then.”
“Why not discuss it now?” she invited.
But he was not so easily caught. “I’ve a pressing engagement that I cannot avoid,” he replied. “I only stopped to … ah, that is—”
“To ask me to ride in the park with you,” she supplied, not bothering to hide her disbelief.
“That’s it.”
“We can talk tonight, my lord,” she said firmly.
“I’m afraid I have other commitments. So do you. Is this not the night you promised to make up to Toby for missing that play? And are not Lynsted and Sally going as well?”
It was true. Lord Toby had got up a party for the theater, and she had promised not to fail him this time. “Later tomorrow, then,” she suggested, knowing already
that he would counter.
“I must go out of Town briefly, I’m afraid,” he said ruefully. “And tomorrow, night is the assembly at Almack’s. You will not wish to miss that.”
“Very well, my lord,” she replied, knowing she had been outmaneuvered, “I shall ride with you in the morning.”
“Excellent.” He bent to kiss her cheek, then took his leave of her. After staring thoughtfully at the door he had shut behind himself, she turned back to her task, dipped her quill in the standish, and wrote, informing Sir Conrad that although she would be unable to accompany him to the park the following morning, she was in need of an escort to the assembly at Almack’s. Then, feeling that for once she had outflanked Ravenwood, she dispatched the note and went upstairs to prepare for the evening ahead.
The rain had stopped by morning, and directly after she had had her chocolate and read the post, Cicely donned the grey velvet riding habit with emerald trim that she had worn the day she had met Ravenwood on the road near Malmesbury Park, then went down to meet her husband in the front hall. Ravenwood’s eyes gleamed with reminiscent approval when he saw her, but she pointedly ignored the look and merely asked if he was ready to depart.
Nodding, he said he had already ordered the horses brought round, and once they had reached the flagway, he waved her groom aside and tossed her into the saddle himself.
“How was your evening?” he asked politely after a few minutes of silence.
“Very nice, thank you.”
“The play was entertaining?”
“Exceedingly.”
She stared straight ahead, but she was beginning, in spite of herself, to enjoy his struggle to begin a conversation. Not an inkling of her amusement showed in her expression, however. She would not make matters easier for him.
“I trust Toby provided a good supper?”
“Excellent.”
“Tell me about the play,” he suggested, a note of satisfaction showing that he thought he finally had her.
“I do not remember it well enough.”
“Oh.” He gave up for the moment, and silence reigned until they reached the park. The sun had come out and there were only scattered clouds, but the breeze was crisp, and there was a hint in the air of more dampness to come. Few people were in the park. “Cilly, I’m sorry,” Ravenwood said suddenly.
“Sorry?”
“I should not have left you alone after they took Meg. You needed me then, and I failed you. There were matters that needed my attention, but I should have let someone else attend to them in order that I might have remained with you.”
“Is this the matter you wished to discuss, Ravenwood? Because you would have done better to have said it yesterday,” she replied, not giving an inch.
“’Twould have been better to have told you that very night,” he agreed. “But, no, it was not what I wished to discuss.” He fell silent again.
“Was there anything to discuss?”
He glanced at her ruefully, then shook his head. He seemed to brace himself then, as though he waited for a storm to break. But she was not angry. Oddly, she was rather pleased by the thought that he would ride with her himself rather than let her ride with her cousin. The fact that he had every right as her husband simply to forbid her to ride with Sir Conrad made it all the more gratifying that he felt it necessary to go to such lengths to achieve his ends.
She was not amused that evening, however, when he came down the graceful stairway, looking very grand indeed, just as she and Sir Conrad were on the point of departing for Pall Mall. Ravenwood wore buff knee breeches, a dark blue coat, a gold Florentine waistcoat with numerous fobs and seals, and gold-clocked stockings. He paused just before reaching the bottom and lifted his quizzing glass to peer at them.
“Ah, good. You’ve not gone yet. What luck. Evening, Uffington.”
“Good evening, sir.”
“I thought you had to go out of Town,” Cicely said accusingly.
“So I did, my dear, but I am, most fortunately, as I am sure you will agree, returned safely to you.”
“Indeed, my lord.” Noting that his expression held a hint of gentle mockery, she lifted her chin. “Do you go to the assembly, sir?”
“Does not the entire world go to Almack’s on a Wednesday evening, my dear?’ Have you your carriage waiting, Uffington?”
“Of course.” Sir Conrad’s tone was carefully even, and Cicely glanced apologetically at him.
“Good,” said Ravenwood with satisfaction. “Then I’ll just send word around to the stables for Tom Coachman to call for us later, and we can go. You won’t mind me as an addition to your party, will you, sir?”
“Not at all,” replied Sir Conrad. But when Ravenwood turned away to speak briefly to Michael, he grimaced at Cicely. Oddly enough, it was then that her sense of the ridiculous stirred. Sir Conrad looked very much like a frustrated turkey cock. Or perhaps a peacock, she amended. He was so very handsome. Personally, of course, she preferred her men to show more strength in their faces, to look a trifle more rugged.
Ravenwood turned back, completely at his ease, and the three of them went out to Sir Conrad’s waiting carriage. The viscount then took full advantage of his age and rank, preceding his reluctant host into the carriage and sitting next to Cicely, which left the forward seat for Sir Conrad.
Cicely did find an opportunity to speak to her cousin, for Ravenwood could scarcely stop them from dancing together, but the results were disappointing, for Sir Conrad had no notion where Meg might be or what might be done to help her. “Short of capturing the real thieves, of course,” he added with a quizzical look that showed he considered the possibility a remote one.
“Then you don’t think her guilty!”
He shrugged. “Oh, she may know the villains. I don’t know her as you do. But ’tis my belief a maidservant simply couldn’t be responsible for all that’s been taken in these homes.”
It was not all she might have wished to hear, of course, but it was much more palatable than what others had been saying. Even her family seemed more shocked than supportive, with the duchess seeming to accept Meg’s guilt quite as readily as Lady Uffington did. And the fact that, with a good many people searching for her, no one appeared to have seen hide or hair of the girl nearly a full week later strongly reinforced her grace’s belief.
“But, Mama, you have known Meg Hardy for years,” Cicely protested when this was pointed out to her during an afternoon visit to Malmesbury House. “How could you think she would steal from you?”
“She had the stolen items, Cicely,” the duchess stated reasonably, “and she has disappeared. You must face the facts.”
Her father had declined right along to discuss the matter, but her sisters were less inclined to assume Meg’s guilt. Amalie said simply that she liked Meg Hardy, and that seemed to be that. Alicia said that stealing when one was the only likely suspect was stupid, and to her knowledge Meg had never seemed to lack sense. Arabella agreed with Alicia, adding that no one who had managed to steal so many jewels as the London thieves seemed to have taken would be content to remain a maidservant, and she pointed out also that the thefts had begun long before Meg had reached Town.
“Yes,” agreed Brittany, “I think the whole thing is a mare’s nest. After all, we were there only half an hour, and how would Meg even know where to find Lady Jersey’s jewels?”
This being unanswerable, Cicely smiled at her gratefully, then glanced at the little ormolu clock on the sitting-room étagère. “I really must be going,” she said to the room at large. “We are expected to attend Lady Holland’s musical party this evening.”
“Do you go with Ravenwood?” Alicia inquired.
“Oh, yes,” she chuckled. “I scarcely go anywhere without him these days. If I am engaged to attend a function in someone else’s party, either he will decide at the last minute to go with us or he will already be there when I arrive.” She grinned at her sisters. “’Tis almost unsettling, but I find I am bearing up well enough.
”
Brittany’s eyes lit with warm amusement. “I shall walk out with you,” she said, putting her arm around her sister’s waist.
On the flagway, she peered up at the greying sky. “It is going to rain again, I fear.”
Cicely agreed, then bade her good day, and signaled Tom Coachman to whip up the horses. There was a little more traffic than usual, which slowed their pace, and Cicely gazed idly out the window amusing herself by imagining things about the various passersby. The tall, extraordinarily thin gentleman in the fur-trimmed coat was undoubtedly a Russian grand duke in disguise searching the world for a girl who would love him for himself alone. That plump lady in the grey cloak was an infamous courtesan, and the elderly dame walking by her side was none other than her invalid mother. The thin, fox-faced man with the long side-whiskers and hooked nose talking with the slender gentleman lounging against—She sat up suddenly, her gaze no longer idle. She recognized not only the two but also the wiry, gap-toothed man with them.
A moment later, she was stripping off her hat and gloves and banging a signal to Tom Coachman to stop the carriage.
As it rolled to a halt near the flagway she glanced back again, to see that the three men were still involved in their conversation. None so much as glanced her way. She could see their features well enough, however, to be certain she had not made a mistake. George Vaughan was talking to Sir Conrad’s servant, Alfpuddle. That in itself she might have paid little heed to. However, the third man in their company, unless she was very much mistaken, was the sneak thief she had seen in the duchess’s bedchamber!
15
THINKING QUICKLY, CICELY STRIPPED her pearls from around her throat and stuffed them into her reticule, but decided her wedding ring would attract no particular attention. Pulling her shawl up over her head, she pushed open the carriage door and jumped down to the flagway.
“My lady?” Tom Coachman gazed down at her anxiously, and Cicely wondered what on earth she could say to him. She decided to keep it simple.
“I have decided to walk, Tom. I’ve been wanting to do so for weeks now, and I have simply decided to take the opportunity now.”