by Nichole Van
“Amateurish? Georgie, any threat of physical violence—”
“A good menacing note needs to have a ring of specificity to it—”
“And a dagger doesn’t do that for you?”
“Well, no, quite frankly. Now pin the note to my bed frame with a blood-soaked dagger—that would give me chills for days.”
She shuddered just to emphasize the point.
Sebastian pressed fingertips against his temples. She was maddening.
She was killing him—slowly but surely shaving years off his life.
“Georgiana, did it not occur to you to tell anyone about this?”
More and more, Sebastian wanted to pound his head against the wall. Nice and slow.
Or strangle her. That thought was also proving attractive.
“Well, if the notes had smacked of a professional, I most certainly would have said something,” she continued. “I don’t know why you are so upset. I mean, it’s not as if you and I are betrothed, so the threats are entirely unfounded.”
Ah, back to that were they.
“I still intend to marry you, if only to stop—”
“You are not my protector, Sebastian. I am practically betrothed to someone else—”
“Of course, this nameless mystery man who is such a paragon of virtue—”
“Shatner cares deeply about me and—”
“Shatner? That is his last name? Shatner.”
There was a small silence.
“Shatner is his first name, Sebastian. Shatner D’Avery.”
Startled, he laughed. “Who names a child Shatner?”
A smile touched her lips. “I know, it’s a terrible name, but Shatner is a wonderful person, and I would appreciate you not mocking him.”
Sebastian paused. “Shatner D’Avery. Can’t say I have heard of anyone by that name.”
Georgiana laughed—a hollow, little sound. “You don’t exactly move in the same circles,” she said dryly.
Sebastian cocked an eyebrow.
“What do you mean? Is he not a gentleman?”
Georgiana let out an irritated puff of air. “Of course, he is a gentleman. He is a solicitor in London and does charity work. Just not a high and mighty earl—”
“Wait, he is a solicitor? You are considering marrying a solicitor?”
Georgiana stared at him, eyes pensive with a look that was vaguely . . . disappointed.
“Of all people, I would think you least likely to get caught up in ideas of rank and importance.”
“I don’t care if you marry a farmer, Georgiana. I am just surprised that a solicitor would capture your attention. That seems far too staid. I would have thought a pirate more to your taste.”
She gave a knowing chuckle. “Well, he is a decidedly dashing solicitor.”
Sebastian held up a staying hand. He did not want to hear Georgiana rhapsodize about Shatner D’Avery.
“Enough,” he said, glancing out the window. “Whoever left you that note must be long gone. Let me escort you back to your bed chamber.”
Georgiana made a disgusted noise.
“Heavens! I can most certainly make my way back to my bedchamber on my own.”
“I am well aware of that fact. However, you are just as likely to go traipsing through the gardens. Come.”
Despite her breeches, Sebastian placed a hand in the small of her back and walked with her back to the family wing.
All the while, pondering Shatner D’Avery. He had no recollection of ever hearing about a D’Avery family. It seemed unlikely she had met him in Italy, if she had indeed ever been in Italy.
All in all, it just did not add up.
But it was decidedly useful information to pass along to Phillips and the Bow Street Runner in London. And maybe finding this D’Avery fellow would also solve the problem of where exactly Georgiana had spent the last year.
Chapter 12
The drawing room
Haldon Manor
September 12, 1813
Birthday in minus 26 days
A week. It had been a week.
Georgiana wrapped yet another minuscule paper ribbon around her quill, securing the end with a drop of glue to prevent the tight spiral from unraveling.
A week since she had received her last threatening note. Two weeks since seeing the glowing symbol on the garden wall. Nearly three weeks since returning to 1813.
And she was no closer to understanding the mysterious love letter than when she arrived.
And now it was September—she could write it at any moment.
If only she knew why. And to whom.
She pinched the quilled circle tightly on each side, morphing the circle into a marquis, diamond shape.
Twisting and molding tiny strips of paper had to be the most ineffective way to manage frustration. The entire process was an exercise in self-control. But she had no choice.
Done. She was almost done.
“Your design is most interesting, Miss Knight,” said Miss Michaelina Burbank at her elbow. Or was this one Mica? Another Miss Burbank lifted her head across the table and studied her work.
“Is it supposed to be the number four?” she asked. Georgiana was quite sure that she was Miss Micayla.
“Yes.” Georgiana nestled the small diamond shape into place within her design. “Or something very like it.”
The ladies exchanged a conspiratorial look and then went back to their own paper filigree. Marianne smiled indulgently from across the table. She was ornamenting a tea caddy with butterflies. Georgiana subtly flexed her shoulders, working out the stiffness in them. Though, thank goodness, she seemed to have redeveloped her back muscles. Lady-like posture wasn’t proving quite as much a strain.
Every day for the past week, Lady Michael had come with her brood. She had quickly capitalized on Marianne’s love of paper filigree, and now all the ladies sat about rolling thin strips of paper for hours on end, squeezing and teasing the small paper rolls into a variety of shapes.
It sounded much more exciting than it actually was.
Georgiana was going mad.
But the ladies kept coming, even Lady Ambrosia most days. Everyone hoping for a Sebastian-sighting so they could all flaunt their various charms in his direction. Lady Ambrosia being a particularly adept charm-flaunter.
Georgiana had been diligent in her chaperoning duties. Which meant, much to her dismay, many hours spent quilling and listening to the Miss Burbanks’ bickering. All to ensure Sebastian was never left alone with any other woman.
For his part, Sebastian had been his old good-humored self, endlessly teasing and charming, regularly reducing her to laughter. No more prodding over her whereabouts for the last year, no more proposals of marriage. All traces of the dangerous, fierce stranger gone. Georgiana was starting to think she had greatly exaggerated the intensity she felt that night when he had tackled her to the ground.
All in all, her week had been placidly boring.
After the promising dagger note, she had been expecting something to happen. But nothing had and Georgiana felt antsy.
So she had decided to be bold.
Today was the perfect day for it. Sebastian had left for Bristol yesterday on some business and wouldn’t be back for two days, so she didn’t have to worry about the ladies taking him by surprise. In fact, Marianne had specifically invited the ladies for dinner today, mostly to prevent them from scurrying after him.
Sebastian’s absence had nothing to do with her dullness, she decided. It was just the lack of anything exciting that had her in doldrums.
Then again, she kept expecting to hear his voice at her ear commenting on Mr. Snickers’ choice of knitted tunic (orange stripes today) or to turn and give him a knowing smile when Miss Mica went off on how divine Marianne’s purple quilled butterflies looked with their gilded edges.
All right, so perhaps she did miss him in an affectionate sort of way. She missed James, didn’t she? So it was perfectly acceptable to miss Sebastian, too.
As a sister should miss a brother.
She chewed on her cheek and wrapped another paper strip around her quill.
And she did not think about tall, muscle-bound men towering over her in moonlit rooms.
At least not too much.
Lord Linwood and Lord Blackwell had come to call and sat with Arthur chatting about horses.
Well, Blackwell and Arthur chatted. Linwood, taciturn as ever, nodded every now and again but did not join in the conversation. In lieu of Sebastian, the Burbank sisters had taken to casting their lures out to him, constantly asking his opinion on this or that.
Given the shortness of his answers, Linwood was not amused to be part of their games.
Blackwell was in fine form, wearing a satin dark pink jacket with white embroidered flowers along its edges and a contrasting white waistcoat, the queue of his powdered wig sporting a matching pink bow. The silver buckles on his high-heeled pink shoes glinted in the afternoon light.
He bore an eerie resemblance to Hello Kitty. In a demented, eighteenth century sort of way.
Georgiana had to stifle a chuckle every time she looked at him. It was the best part of her day so far.
Which, given that she was spending it quilling with the Miss Burbanks, was not saying much.
Georgiana finished the last three small rolls of paper and nestled them into her design. Surveying the completed piece, she was pleased to note the Jupiter symbol stood out quite well against the background.
Go big or go home? Wasn’t that what Marc always said?
“Are you finished then?” Marianne asked, gesturing toward Georgiana’s board.
“And what, exactly, is your design supposed to be, Miss Knight?” Miss Michaelina queried, leaning closer to examine it.
“I am not entirely certain myself. The design just seemed pleasing.” Georgiana shrugged.
Miss Michaelina furrowed her brow, obviously not liking Georgiana’s vague response. Georgiana pursed her lips. The whole point of the design was to see who else would recognize it. Not to give others ammunition.
“May I?” Miss Michaelina asked, lifting the design into her hands and studying it for a minute.
“Lord Linwood,” she said, turning to the gentleman seated across the room, “would you be so kind as to offer an opinion on the design that Miss Knight has done?” She crossed over to them and held the design for Linwood to see.
As predicted, he cocked an unamused eyebrow. Georgiana forced her face to maintain a careful mask.
“How . . . interesting,” he said after a moment, his tone implying that it was anything but.
“May I?” Arthur asked. Miss Michaelina dutifully passed the piece to Arthur, Blackwell glancing at it as well.
Both men wore puzzled expressions.
“Well, Georgie, you have stumped us all,” Arthur said, handing it back to Miss Michaelina who then returned it to the table.
Georgiana shrugged and stood. “I believe I will take a turn around the garden while it finishes drying,” she announced, tugging her shawl around her shoulders.
“Charming idea, Miss Knight,” Blackwell said. “May I join you?”
Georgiana watched as Blackwell used his walking stick to push to his feet, teetering on his heeled shoes, pink bow bobbing in his white powdered hair.
Hello Kitty. Truly. It was almost uncanny.
Pressing her lips together to keep her giggle inside, Georgiana wrapped her hand around his arm and allowed him to lead her out of the french doors and across the terrace.
They walked sedately, Blackwell making polite inquiries about her health. Georgiana slowed her pace to match his mincing step. She was suddenly grateful that heeled shoes for men had gone out of style around 1795.
Walking into the walled garden, his shoes crunched along the gravel path, punctuated by the tap of his silver-tipped walking stick. From the corner of her eye, Georgiana could see Blackwell studying the sky and the overcast clouds chasing across it.
“The weather has been quite fine lately, but I wonder if we are not due for a spot of rain,” he said after a little pause.
“Indeed,” Georgiana murmured.
“I thought earlier I perhaps heard some warning thunder, though I did not see a lightning bolt and nothing came to harm.” He was still studying the sky.
Georgiana went incredibly still. Had he truly just said that? Those lines almost straight from the mysterious letter she found tucked in the flower pot on the wall.
I have heard the warning thunder and understand the lightning bolt can harm those who do not heed the eagle’s cry.
What to say?
There was really only one possibility.
“That is a relief. I understand lightning can harm those who do not heed the eagle’s cry.”
Blackwell’s head instantly swung back to her. A small smile tugged at his lips, and he heaved a sigh of relief. He glanced calmly around them.
“Thank goodness, I have found you at last,” he said quietly after a moment, stopping to examine a rose bush. His agitation only evident in the tap-tap-tap of his walking stick against the gravel.
Somehow Georgiana managed to keep a straight face. Inside, however, she was doing one of those crazy dances Marc performed when his beloved Broncos scored a touchdown.
Now how to reply?
“Yes, I am happy to finally meet you.” Suitably vague but inviting further confidences.
Blackwell nodded, as if the answer pleased him.
“The paper filigree was genius, the perfect sign,” he agreed. “Thank you. My nephew delayed my departure last week, and so I arrived too late to see the prearranged signal. I was told the signal would fade if I were too late. I apologize.”
Georgiana could only assume he meant the glowing symbol on the garden wall. She felt like jumping up and down and clapping her hands with glee.
Of course, this entire discussion, though providing some answers, was also creating more questions.
A lot more questions.
She nodded conspiratorially. “You must forgive my impertinence, Lord Blackwell. But how do I know you are to be trusted?”
He turned quickly toward her and then looked apologetic.
“Of course, of course,” he murmured. “I am a mere amateur with this. Lord Zeus was right to send you. He said he would send his best agent to help me. But, naturally, you need to see the mark.”
Lord Zeus? Of course! Zeus, Jupiter’s Greek name. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she recovered quickly.
It was sensational, astonishing. Electrifying.
She was sure every hair follicle on her body stood on end.
Who was Lord Zeus?
With a glance toward the house, Blackwell pushed on the silver handle of his walking stick. The top of the stick swung free to reveal the Jupiter—no wait, Zeus mark—burned into the wood. Georgiana nodded appreciatively. Blackwell snapped the tip back together.
“You have taken me by surprise, Miss Knight.” Blackwell gestured for them to continue their walk. “Though I should have suspected. A most brilliant ruse, saying you had gone off for treatment for consumption. Genius, truly. I can only imagine the things you have done for Lord Zeus.”
“Yes, my experiences of the past year have been decidedly beyond the scope of most young ladies.”
Somehow she managed to say the sentence with a straight face. Blackwell merely tugged on his lacy sleeves and shot her a self-satisfied look.
“Well, I am most absurdly glad you are here. You have been doing your assignment admirably. I never suspected you.”
Her assignment?
Somehow, this just kept getting better and better.
Blackwell was continuing on. “It will be a pleasure to watch a master at work. I admit, when Lord Zeus gave me the task of preventing Stratton from marrying before his twenty-seventh birthday, I felt all hope was lost. How was it to be accomplished? But, as you well know, Lord Zeus can be most persuasive. Without the money from Lord Stratton, well . . .”
He stared off into the distance and then swallowed. “There were some indiscretions in my youth. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Georgiana nodded in agreement. So Blackwell needed the money from Sebastian to pay off Lord Zeus? He was being blackmailed.
“I am here now to ensure all goes smoothly, Lord Blackwell,” she said in her most soothing tone.
He breathed a visible sigh of relief.
“I am most glad to hear it,” he said. “If I may ask, what is your current plan of attack?”
Drat.
Georgiana drew in a sharp breath and pondered the greenery, as if deciding to share a secret. In reality, her thoughts scattered trying to find something, anything to say.
What was her plan of attack?
“Of course, I do not assume you must take me into your confidence,” Blackwell said in a rush. Bless him for coming to her rescue.
“Naturally. I assure you, Lord Blackwell, I have the entire situation well in hand.”
He let out a breath. “You have been doing an excellent job of distracting Lord Stratton from the other ladies. I can guess you intend to pretend to fall for his advances, string him along and then jilt him at the altar. Is that correct?”
Ah. That sounded like a splendid plan.
How kind of Blackwell to suggest it.
Georgiana nodded, suppressing a smile.
“You are most perceptive, my lord.” Time to fish for more information. “If I may ask, when did you last see Lord Zeus?”
Blackwell drew in a hissing breath.
“You have actually seen him?” he asked, his eyes widening. “I have only ever received letters and visits from his man of business, if you could call him such. Heavens! I had not realized you were so highly valued. I thought no one ever saw him, that his identity was completely secret. Thank you for your help. I know my very life depends on the success of this enterprise. Lord Zeus is not kind to those who disappoint him.”
Georgiana only barely suppressed a shivery shudder.
“Well, we shall do our best, shall we not, to ensure success?” she said, giving a comforting smile. Blackwell managed a tentative grimace in return.
A crunch on the gravel behind them announced the footman, informing them that luncheon was to be served.