He did; she’d never doubted the quality of his expertise, nor the tenor of his imagination. The activities he scripted made her forget all else—the thief, protecting Anne, all else to do with his family—while she devoted every part of her mind, every part of her body, to just one thing.
The most important thing.
Loving him.
She loved him. She must.
A true heart and a backbone of steel; he’d always known she possessed both, but in recent times had focused more on the difficult latter rather than the highly desirable former.
Now both were his because she was. He finally understood all that that meant—all she meant by that.
The realization left him giddy.
Now he could confess, tell her all and everything he wished, all he felt she had a right to know. And all would be well. As Helena had told him, once he accepted the power, it was his to wield.
Wield it he would.
The only question was when.
Her parents, Amanda, Martin, Simon, and Helena herself were all due to arrive that afternoon.
The day was filled with preparations; Amelia rushed to and fro, giving orders here, checking details there. Lucifer and Phyllida smiled understandingly and took themselves off for a picnic. Reluctantly accepting that his time was not now, Luc retreated to his study, leaving Amelia in absolute control.
For which Amelia was grateful. As keyed up as she, the staff rallied around; when the youngest stablelad, whom she’d set on watch, came running with the news that the first coach had appeared across the valley, all was in readiness.
Exchanging a triumphant glance with Higgs and Cottsloe, she hurried upstairs to change her gown and tidy her hair. Descending ten minutes later, she just had time to winkle Luc from his study before a crunch of gravel and the clatter and stamp of hooves heralded the first of their expected guests.
Hand in hand, they strolled out to the portico to see Martin, Earl of Dexter, descend from the carriage, then extend his hand to his countess. The instant Amanda’s feet touched the ground, she looked up, and beamed. “Melly!”
The twins met at the bottom of the steps, flying into each other’s arms. They hugged, kissed, laughed, waltzed, then held each other at arm’s length—and started talking, simultaneously, in a welter of half sentences they never seemed to feel the need to finish.
“Did you hear about—?”
“Reggie wrote. But how was—?”
Amanda waved. “The journey was easy.”
“Yes, but what about—?”
“Ah, that! Well—“
Shaking his head, Martin climbed the shallow steps to Luc’s side. The cousins exchanged smiles, with a spontaneous return to the camaraderie of their youth clapped each other’s shoulders, then turned to survey their still chattering wives.
After a moment, Martin lifted his gaze, surveying the rolling green of the valley. “This place looks even more prosperous than I remember it.”
Luc inclined his head. “We are doing quite well.”
Martin had never known of the Ashfords’ travails. If his cousin, who would remember the Chase in its glory days, could detect no lingering sign of their past plight, Luc was content to let that past die. The Ashfords had survived, that was what was important; his gaze resting on Amelia’s golden head, he inwardly acknowledged that his house was only growing stronger. Day by day, by every day that she was his.
Another carriage appeared on the long slope traversing the other side of the valley; Martin nodded at it. “That’ll be the Dowager. Simon’s traveling with her. Arthur and Louise are bringing up the rear.”
The sun slowly sank, gilding the V-shaped facade of the Chase; the afternoon stretched and lengthened with the shadows, the hours filled with warmth, joy, and unalloyed happiness as Amelia’s family arrived and settled in.
Everyone gathered for afternoon tea; it was then that Martin and Amanda made their announcement. Amanda was expecting their first child. The gathering erupted with a fresh outpouring of joy, of exclamations and congratulations. Luc watched Amelia hug her twin, watched the ladies crowding round to kiss and hug each other delightedly. Turning from the sight, he beckoned Cottsloe and sent him to fetch champagne.
Cottsloe rushed off to obey. Given he could count perfectly well, Luc returned his gaze to Amelia. She noticed; she cast him a quick glance, one he couldn’t be sure he read correctly—imploring?
The champagne arrived; rising, he went to the sideboard and busied himself pouring the delicately fizzy liquid into the glasses Cottsloe hurriedly fetched. Simon came up to help distribute the glasses.
The instant Simon left him, Amelia appeared at Luc’s shoulder. He paused in the act of pouring. Her hand closed over his wrist as their eyes met.
“Please don’t say anything. I’m not sure!”
He read her eyes, then, lips curving, bent his head and brushed a kiss to her temple. “I won’t—stop worrying. This is their moment—they married a month before we did. We’ll make our own announcement, in our own time.”
She searched his eyes, his face, then her brittle tension left her. She released his wrist; he finished pouring, then handed the glass to her.
She took it. Her eyes held his. “Thank you.”
His lips curved. “No—thank you.”
For one moment, they were the only people in the room, then Simon returned and gathered the rest of the glasses bar one. “That’s it, I think.” He turned back to the gathering in the center of the room.
Luc lifted the last glass, caught Amelia’s gaze, then clinked the edge of his glass to hers. “Come.” His arm sliding around her waist, he turned to company. “Let’s drink to the future.”
She smiled, leaned close for a moment, then together they returned to their guests.
The next hour winged by; at the end of it, everyone started to consider retiring to dress for dinner. Miss Pink drew Portia and Penelope away; Simon stood and stretched. As he turned to the door, it opened; Cottsloe came in, located Luc, and approached.
“My lord, General Ffolliot has called. He’s waiting in the hall.”
Luc glanced at the company. “Our nearest neighbor.” He looked at Cottsloe. “Show him in here—perhaps he’d like to join us?”
Cottsloe bowed and withdrew. Luc rose and strolled up the long room.
The door opened again and the General came in. Of medium height and heavy build, the General’s most notable features were his shaggy brows and his ruddy complexion. A genial but somewhat shy and retiring man, he readily took the hand Luc extended and shook it heartily.
“Afternoon, Calverton. Glad I caught you.”
“Welcome, General—can I invite you to join us?”
The General followed Luc’s wave and saw the massed company, all smiling agreeably, further down the room. He visibly blanched. “Oh—ah. Didn’t realize you had company.”
“It’s not a private gathering—can I offer you a drink?”
“Well . . .”
The General dithered; Luc had forgotten how awkward he sometimes was in the presence of strangers. He heard the swish of skirts as someone approached—he assumed it was Minerva, who always treated the General kindly. Instead, Amelia appeared by his side, smiling charmingly, slipping one hand into his arm, extending the other to the General.
“It’s lovely to see you, sir—do let me convince you to join us.”
Hiding a smile, Luc stood back and left the field to her. Within minutes, the General was seated on the chaise, Minerva on one side, Louise on the other. Although initially nervous, the General was not immune to the combined wiles of the ladies present; he soon had a cup of tea in one hand, a cake in the other, and was listening with rapt attention to the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives’s views on the pleasures of the surrounding countryside.
Arthur caught Luc’s eye, a twinkle in his. Luc smiled, and sipped his tea. Eventually, when the Dowager had finished complimenting the General on his good sense in living in such a pleasant place, Luc a
sked, “What was it you wished to see me about, General?”
The General blinked; his nervousness returned. He glanced around. “Well . . . not the sort of thing . . . then again, well . . .” After a moment, he hauled in a breath, and said in a rush, “I just don’t know what to think—or do.” His gaze appealed to Minerva beside him, then he glanced at Louise and Helena, all of whom looked encouraging. “It’s my wife’s gold thimble—one of the few things I had left of hers.” He looked imploringly at Luc. “It’s gone missing, you see, and what with all this talk of a thief about—well, I didn’t know who to see . . .”
There was an instant of complete silence, then Amelia leaned forward and touched the General’s arm. “How dreadful for you. When did you miss it?”
“Such an unhappy occurrence,” Helena declared.
Emily and Anne, unbeknown to them both under heavy scrutiny, were unabashedly shocked. “How terrible,” Anne murmured, her eyes wide, innocence writ in every line of her face.
The ladies rallied around the General; Luc noted the General’s answers to the shrewd and necessary questions Amelia and Phyllida put to him.
It seemed the thimble, a simple unadorned gold one, had sat on the mantelpiece in the Manor’s parlor ever since the General’s wife had died. The last time he remembered seeing it was weeks ago.
“Not the sort of thing I look at every day. Just knowing it was there was enough.”
The only reason the General had come to them was for comfort; at no point did he cast any aspersions on anyone at the Chase. But once he’d left, not reassured but calmed and to some degree indeed comforted, the mood in the Chase’s drawing room turned somber; Luc, Lucifer, Amelia, and Phyllida exchanged weighty glances.
Arthur, Minerva, Helena, and Louise all noted those glances, exchanged glances of their own, then Minerva rose and shook out her skirts. “We’d best go up and change—Portia and Penelope will be down shortly, and they’ll find us all still here, none of us dressed.”
The group broke up, everyone retiring to their rooms.
“We’ll have to talk later,” Lucifer murmured as he went up the stairs beside Luc.
Luc nodded. “And not just talk.” He met Lucifer’s blue gaze, almost as dark as his own. “We need to come up with a plan.”
Chapter 20
By general consensus, they waited until Emily, Anne, Portia, Penelope, and Miss Pink retired at the end of the evening before broaching the topic uppermost in all their minds.
Helena held up a hand the instant the door closed behind Miss Pink. “You must start at the beginning, if you please. There is no point rambling about any bushes with such a matter, not when we are all family.”
Luc, Amelia, Lucifer, and Phyllida exchanged glances, then Luc complied. He sketched the known actions of the thief within the ton, then Lucifer and Amelia described the pieces of the puzzle they’d stumbled across.
Standing before the hearth, Luc concluded, “We do not at present have any idea who the thief is. However, whether by design or sheer coincidence, his activities are making it appear that the culprit is . . .” He paused, then, face hardening, went on, “One of us. One of the Ashfords.”
Helena, more serious, more disapproving than Amelia had ever seen her, nodded decisively. “Yes. It will be said it is one of your sisters. But as we have seen today, that is quite impossible.”
Luc studied her, then asked, “Why do you say it’s impossible?”
Helena stared at him, then blinked. “Ah, I see—you wish me to state it. Very well. It is impossible that Emily or Anne could be the one who has taken the General’s thimble because both are jeunes filles ingénues—they are not capable of dissembling to hide such a thing, not before me, and Louise and all here. This is not credible. Also, Amelia has said they did not know anything about the quizzing glass. It must be, I think, Lord Witherley’s—I will look at it later. But again, neither their actions nor Amelia’s reading of them supports the idea of either being involved. So they are not.”
Helena’s expression grew somber. “But that means we must find who is, and soon, for both Emily and Anne are . . . susceptible. Their lives can be ruined by suspicion and rumor, if those are allowed to run amok.”
Luc inclined his head. “Thank you. I agree. That is the situation in a nutshell.”
Martin, seated in an armchair, Amanda perched on its arm, looked at Luc. “Do we know of anyone who would wish to harm the Ashfords?”
Luc met his gaze; Amelia watched the cousins’ silent exchange, but it was Minerva who sighed, and said, “There’s Edward, of course.”
Everyone looked at her, but it was Luc whose gaze she met. “Neither you nor I ever managed to understand him. Given what he’s done in the past, how can we say he wouldn’t do this—even this—too?”
Luc grimaced and looked at Martin. “It won’t, however, be Edward himself.”
Martin nodded. “An agent, or agents. We all know it could be done.”
“Except,” Amelia put in, “Edward doesn’t have much money—not enough to pay agents.” She looked at Luc. “Does he?”
“He has his allowance, but I doubt it’d stretch that far.”
“Actually, that would fit nicely.” Lucifer stretched out his long legs, crossing his ankles. “Edward could simply suggest where these friends of his could pick up little items, and in doing so make him happy, too. Of course, that does presuppose Edward has those sorts of friends, and moreover, that they would be willing to consider his wishes.”
Luc shook his head. “We were never close—indeed, we’d been deliberately distant for more than a decade. I’ve no idea of Edward’s associates.”
Lucifer grimaced. “If he is behind this, he’ll be counting on that.”
Amelia didn’t care who was behind the plot as long as it was ended. “Regardless, we have to expose the thief who’s here, on the ground, soon. We can’t let things go until the rumors build and people start pointing fingers. The one most likely to be suspected is Anne, and”—her gaze sweeping the circle of faces, she saw comprehension and agreement—“we can’t let that happen.”
Arthur, sitting back, calmly watching, stated, “We need a plan—one to flush the thief out.”
Martin leaned forward. “We need to strike now, before he gets any inkling we might be after him.”
Luc met his gaze, nodded. “So—how do we catch a thief?”
“That,” Helena declared, “is simple.” When they all turned her way, she raised her brows. “We dangle before his covetous eyes something he will not be able to resist stealing.”
“A trap?” Luc considered, then asked, “Baited with what?”
Helena calmly answered, “With my pearls and emeralds, of course.”
The suggestion caused an uproar. Lucifer and Arthur forcefully declared using the Cynster necklace was out of the question.
Helena silenced them with a long, steady look from her pale green eyes. When all was again quiet, she evenly stated, “The necklace is mine to do with as I please—Sebastian gave it to me all those years ago, and there never were any strings attached to it. There is nothing you can possibly suggest that would be more appealing to a thief. I agree that the necklace is now also a family piece, but as such, it is there, to my thinking, not just as a form of wealth, but to be used as need be for the family. This is one such occasion, when such a thing needs to be used.” Her gaze swept the company, then returned to rest on Lucifer and Arthur. “It is my decision that it should be.”
Her tone reminded everyone that despite the fact Sebastian, her husband, Devil’s father, was long gone, a great deal of power still remained at Helena’s back. She was the Cynster matriarch; ultimately, none had the power to gainsay her.
Amelia noted that her mother, Phyllida—all the women—were, at least figuratively, squarely ranged behind Helena. She had taken a stand—declared what should be done; it was now up to the men to handle the rest.
Luc broke the ensuing silence. “Assuming we decide to bait a trap
, how, exactly, are we to construct it?”
Lucifer reluctantly growled, “We need some event—some occasion—that will appear to the thief to leave the door open.”
“If we’re going to use that necklace, or something of the sort,” Martin smoothly said, “we need to alert the thief to the possibilities, then lure him into a situation where we can catch him.”
“You need the bait and the trap,” Arthur said. “You need to prime the trap, and then spring it.”
Luc looked at them all. “So what’s our trap?”
The discussions, suggestions, and arguments lasted for more than an hour. Amelia ordered the tea trolley replenished; Luc had the decanters brought in. They sat and argued, tossed ideas in, tossed them out. It was Minerva who finally suggested, “We could have an open house of some sort.”
Amelia blinked. “I’ve only recently joined the family—all the rest of you are here visiting . . .” She glanced at Luc. “We could host a celebration of some sort, one for all the surrounding families.”
“And your tenants and the villagers,” Phyllida put in. “That way, anyone could attend.”
“If you’re determined to use the necklace,” Lucifer said, his tone underscoring his disapproval and his resignation, “then it’ll have to be an evening event—you couldn’t wear that necklace during the day without being too obvious.”
Helena inclined her head. “That is true.”
“A Summer Ball and Gala,” Amelia said. “There’s no reason we can’t organize something like that quickly—an impulsive decision, an impromptu event. Nothing suspicious about that. The weather’s been glorious, you’re all here visiting, so we decide to take advantage and host a ball for the neighborhood. To include everyone, we’ll make it a whole evening, with the gardens open for dancing and fireworks, so there’ll be plenty of opportunity for the thief to see the necklace.”
Everyone thought; everyone nodded.
“All right,” Luc said. “Now for the details.” He fixed Helena with an even glance. “How do you imagine it will be?”
She smiled, and told him. Despite Lucifer’s growls, and Simon’s, Luc’s and Martin’s frowns, everyone eventually agreed. Throughout the early evening, before the ball, Helena, flaunting the necklace, would move among the assembled tenants, villagers, and neighbors. At all times, she would be flanked by two of the other ladies, a normal enough situation; from a distance, at least two of the men would be watching her constantly.
On A Wicked Dawn Page 36