Love and Larceny

by Regina Scott

  “Indeed,” Emily said. “And I am certain you will want to hear what I’ve discovered.”

  He inclined his head, but remained standing as if poised to run. Why would he want to escape? Emily’s stories were always riveting. They even kept Daphne from fidgeting.

  Her friend, however, glanced at the door as if expecting someone. Then she looked at them all again. “Here is what I surmise,” she said. “We know there were thefts from the house before you and Lord Brentfield married, Hannah.”

  Priscilla and Ariadne nodded. Daphne clamped her mouth shut. The dowager Lady Brentfield had been behind those thefts, but Daphne wasn’t about to blurt out the secret, not with Lady Minerva watching her niece so fixedly. Emily’s aunt already had one scandal to report with the female army. She hardly needed another.

  “That thief must have found a receiver to avoid discovery,” Emily continued, “someone to sell the goods to Society.”

  “But she—that is the thief had access to Society,” Ariadne pointed out.

  “Access the thief highly prized,” Priscilla reminded her. “So an intermediary was required.”

  Ariadne nodded as if accepting that.

  “After you and Lord Brentfield went on your honeymoon, leaving the house to a few staff and the workmen,” Emily went on, “it would have been easy for the receiver to slip in undiscovered and help himself to a few trinkets.”

  “Everything that was missing was easily portable,” Hannah mused.

  “In his traverse of the manor, he may have found the underground passage,” Emily told her. “He must have realized it was the perfect place to store goods from the local smuggling ring, with whom he also had dealings. Perhaps in their hurry to unload a recent haul, they damaged the rear entrance.”

  “That must have made him angry,” Daphne put in, picturing it. “Here he has a treasure chest, and they just broke the key.”

  Emily nodded. “I imagine he was furious. Remember that pounding the footmen heard? It may have been him and the smugglers attempting to reopen the door, to no avail. And then the unthinkable happened.”

  “We returned,” Hannah said. “And we invited company. We surrounded his treasure chest with people who might catch of glimpse of him.”

  Daphne leaped to her feet. “And we did catch of glimpse of him! That man we saw sneaking past the terrace while you were all dancing.”

  Brooks applauded. “Well done, Miss Courdebas. That must be your receiver.”

  “Perhaps,” Emily allowed, glancing at the door again. “A shame only Daphne, Wynn, and Lady Rollings got a look at him.”

  “My look was brief,” Daphne’s mother said. “He appeared a dangerous brute.” She shuddered.

  “I can describe him for you,” Daphne offered. “He didn’t strike me as particularly dangerous. He was short and stocky, with brown hair sticking out from under a tweed cap.”

  “I fear that description might fit half the men in the area,” Hannah said with a sad face.

  “Did he have sneaky eyes?” Ariadne pressed. “Walrus mustache? Club foot?”

  “No, no, and no.” Daphne plopped back down onto her seat. “Oh, this is maddening! There must be some way we can identify him. He cannot be allowed to escape.”

  “No worries there,” Wynn said, limping through the door with an elderly groom and one of the larger valets.

  Daphne frowned. “Was it the groom?”

  The fellow froze like a rabbit caught in the open. He was short and stocky, but his hair was iron gray, not brown. Had she mistaken it in the moonlight?

  “No,” Emily said. “It wasn’t the groom or any of the servants.”

  Wynn started, then frowned at her. “Not one of the staff?”

  Emily shook her head. “Our receiver had access to all of Society. He was someone who would walk among us, would be welcome in our homes. Isn’t that right, Mr. Sheridan?”

  Daphne gaped at him. Surely Emily didn’t mean the Corinthian was their villain.

  Ariadne evidently did, for she sighed. “It’s always the good-looking ones.”

  Lady Minerva nodded knowingly.

  Brooks offered Emily a smile as he spread his hands. “It all sounds so very logical, Lady Emily. I commend you on your reasoning, and I wish you the best of luck capturing this scoundrel. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I find myself fatigued from all the excitement today, and I believe I will turn in and speak to Lord Brentfield in the morning.”

  He started toward the door, and Wynn and the servants fanned out to block his way. He turned to look at Emily.

  “You can’t honestly believe I am your man,” he protested. “I came here on Miss Courdebas’ invitation.”

  Daphne cringed at the reminder.

  “She invited you after you attempted to save her life,” Emily countered. “What better way to commend yourself to your hostess?”

  “But Miss Courdebas saw the villain on the terrace while I was dancing with Lady Minerva,” he said. “You cannot have me in two places at once.”

  “Worse luck,” Lady Minerva muttered.

  “I believe Daphne saw one Mr. Harrop’s men on the terrace,” Emily said. She looked to Hannah. “Am I right in thinking Lord Brentfield hired him as much for protection as his ability to manage a household?”

  Hannah nodded. “After everything that happened this spring, David has learned to take precautions. That’s why he didn’t want you to investigate. He was concerned something might happen to you. Mr. Harrop has kept his watchful eye on the manor. That’s likely why he was in the woods tonight, Mr. Fairfax. He must have discovered the smugglers. I shudder to think what’s become of him.”

  Wynn nodded, though he kept his gaze on Brooks.

  “They have dogged our every step,” Emily said. “They were waiting on a word from their receiver, who was inside Brentfield Manor trying to determine how much its owners suspected and when the party might end. Unfortunately, he learned the party would delay the sale of a shipment, and he needed that income badly. So, he had to find another way to encourage the guests to leave.”

  Daphne leaped to her feet again. “That’s why you told everyone we were eloping? You used me!”

  “Never, my dear Miss Courdebas,” he assured her. “My admiration of you is real. I am as shocked as you by these revelations.”

  “Oh, give it up,” Ariadne said. “The play has ended, and the critics have not been kind.”

  “You can explain yourself to Lord Brentfield when he returns,” Emily said. “Until then, I think we would all rest easier if you were under watch. Mr. Fairfax, will you see to that?”

  “Happily,” Wynn said, moving forward.

  “You too, Fairfax?” Brooks shook his head. “And here I thought we were friends.” He took a step toward Wynn as if willing to go peaceably, then he twisted. Seizing Wynn, he pressed himself close. One of the pearl-handled pistols appeared in his grip, digging into Wynn’s side.

  “And as a friend, I expect you to escort me to the shore where a boat is waiting. I suddenly feel the need to take the Grand Tour. No one will follow us, or Fairfax dies.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Not while she lived.

  Daphne rushed forward, but Emily caught her arm. Meeting Daphne’s eye, she shook her head in warning.

  “Ah, such a clever young lady,” Brooks said, backing toward the door and dragging Wynn with him. The groom and the valet stood by impotent, obviously concerned for Wynn’s safety. “See that you keep Miss Courdebas on a leash, Lady Emily. We wouldn’t want her to be hurt.”

  “No,” Wynn said, “we would not.” He met Daphne’s gaze, his own entreating. But how could she stand by, knowing he was in danger?

  As if he saw the intent on her face, his own face hardened. Before she knew what he was about, he listed to one side. “My leg!”

  Brooks shifted with the change in weight even as Daphne darted forward. But before she could take more than a few steps, Wynn recovered, turning smoothly to shove the gun down and away. W
ith a roar, the pistol discharged into the floor. Wynn reared up to smash his fist into Brooks’s nose. As the Corinthian stumbled back, releasing Wynn, the groom and valet rushed in to pin the villain’s arms to his sides.

  “Search him,” Wynn said, steadying himself. “He may have the other pistol.”

  As the valet confiscated the other gun, Daphne rushed to Wynn’s side. “Oh, Wynn, that was brilliant!”

  His smile was more like a grimace. “My leg disagrees with you. I shall have to pay for that.”

  “Then I will stay by your side and tend to you,” Daphne promised, “day in and day out. You are my hero.” She pressed a kiss against his cheek, feeling the brush of stubble, the warmth of his skin. It was almost as sweet as kissing him on the lips.

  Wynn eyed her as she leaned back. “Perhaps this would be a good time for me to propose.”

  “Yes,” Daphne said and kissed him again, twice more for good measure.

  Wynn caught her shoulders, searched her face. “Yes, I should propose, or yes, you’ll marry me?”

  “Both,” Daphne said. “Now do be a darling and kiss me back.”

  “Your servant, madam,” Wynn murmured before making her lips his own.

  And once more fireworks danced over Brentfield Manor.

  From a far-off distance, she thought she heard a commotion, louder than the beating of her heart. Wynn must have heard it too, for he raised his head and glanced out the door. Lord Brentfield, Sinclair, Sir James, and Nathan Kent came barreling in to stop and stare.

  “What happened?” the earl demanded. “We were halfway across the next county when the groom caught us.”

  “Yet here we find Miss Courdebas, with a different gentleman,” Mr. Kent said with a look of approval to Wynn.

  As Daphne’s face heated in a blush, Hannah stepped forward, twinkle in her dark eyes. “Allow me to explain, my dear. But first, Mr. Sheridan has an appointment with the magistrate. Emily discovered that he is our thief. He is in league with the local smuggling ring.”

  Sir James reached for the fellow’s collar. “I’ll take him.”

  “I’ll join you,” Sinclair said. “I may know someone with a keen interest in smugglers.” The two led the Corinthian out, while the servants went to fetch the other imprisoned smugglers to add to the group.

  Wynn regarded Daphne. “You seem rather pleased with Mr. Sheridan’s capture.”

  Daphne raised her brows. “Most assuredly. I have no designs on him. He’s a liar, a thief, and a terrible kisser. Besides, I may be betrothed, but I have no interest in looking at the cakes on display.”

  “Someday you will have to explain that to me,” Wynn said before kissing her again.

  *

  It took a while to explain everything to everyone’s satisfaction. Sinclair and Jamie returned to report that Mr. Harrop had been discovered at the magistrate’s attempting to rouse the village to support the manor. The magistrate, who had been investigating the smuggling ring, was glad to hear that the foes had been vanquished and accepted the prisoners in hopes of finally stopping the group’s predations. Lord Brentfield promised to see the doorway between the hermit’s hut and the house put under lock and key so no others would be tempted to use it.

  By the time everyone had said their good nights, it was quite early the next morning. Daphne’s mother fell into step beside her as they climbed to the chamber story for their beds.

  “It seems you have accepted Mr. Fairfax’s suit,” she murmured as she glided along.

  Daphne nodded. “I truly do adore him, Mother. He is everything I could have wished in a husband.”

  Her mother’s mouth hinted of a smile. “That I’ve known for some time. Forgive me for thinking that I knew better what you needed.”

  Daphne stopped in the middle of the carpeted corridor and stared at her. “Did you just beg my pardon?”

  Her mother arched a brow as she paused. “Stranger things have happened. Secret passages, a gentleman falling through the ceiling onto my bed, smugglers at the door, a female army. Sleep well, Daphne. Tomorrow we must begin planning your wedding, and I expect we will find a great many more things to disagree about.”

  But nothing important. Priscilla and Ariadne might fuss about the color of the roses or the flavor of the ices, but she truly did not care. All that mattered was that Wynn would be the groom standing beside her.

  The next few days flew by, with good humor restored. There were more rides, more archery contests, more strolling in the gardens and finding secret grottoes in which to pledge their devotion. When it came time to say their farewells, Hannah and David promised to see them again in London in six weeks’ time when it was agreed they would be married, assuming Wynn won over Daphne’s father, Lord Rollings.

  “Though I’m not concerned,” Daphne confided in Hannah as they took one last turn about the gardens while the coaches were loaded. “My mother has ever been the difficult one, and she has decided Wynn can do no wrong. She even agreed to convince his mother.”

  “And so we shall be married,” Ariadne said with a satisfied sigh on Hannah’s other side. “That means next Season we shall be the Society matrons.”

  Daphne glanced back in time to see Emily shake her head from where she and Priscilla were strolling right behind them.

  “Not me,” her friend said. “Jamie and I will rent some place with a room for me to paint. I will receive you happily at any time, and I think I shall attempt to take over leadership of the Royal Society of the Beaux Arts. Other than that, I am done with Society as soon as I am married.”

  “But perhaps not done with mysteries,” Ariadne teased.

  Emily turned a pleased pink as Daphne faced front once more. “I shall be glad to lend my assistance to Jamie’s work.”

  “What of you?” Hannah asked Ariadne. “Will you retire between now and next April to write a play?”

  “A novel, I think,” Ariadne said, eyes dreamy. “About a dashing intelligence agent and her handsome escort.”

  “And Priscilla?” Hannah asked, glancing behind.

  “His Grace, the Duke of Rottenford, still requires a bride,” Priscilla reminded them all. “I promised Nathan I would help. After all, who better to spot a fortune hunter?” She paused a moment as if thinking. “Hmmm. Perhaps that’s how I’ll fill my time. There must be other titled gentlemen and ladies in need of finding the appropriate mate.”

  “Matchmaker to the aristocracy,” Ariadne said. “You would be fabulous.”

  “Agreed,” Emily said.

  Hannah glanced at Daphne. “And what of you, my bold Amazon?”

  Daphne smiled, looking ahead to where Wynn was pointing out to Lord Brentfield the features on the manor that might be improved by a talented architect. “I intend to raise children and teach them to ride and fence and drive and help their friends. And I should like to help Wynn’s sisters navigate Society. They seem a rather timid lot. I’m sure my model would help.”

  Hannah gave her arm a squeeze. “You will be equally fabulous.”

  “And we will all get together and share our adventures,” Ariadne insisted. “This cannot be the end of our friendship.”

  “No,” Daphne told her, warmth building with her convictions. “I’m sure it’s just the beginning.”

  She gave them each a hug, then strode to where Wynn was waiting.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  She beamed at him. “Always.” She leaned closer. “And if we hurry, we can get far enough ahead of Mother.”

  Wynn grinned. “So you can drive.”

  “Yes, and so we might stop for another kiss.”

  Wynn linked his arm with hers. “Have I told you how very much I love and admire you, Daphne Courdebas?”

  “Every day, in a dozen ways,” she assured him. “I’m only sorry it took me so long to notice, and to tell you how much I love and admire you in return.”

  His skin was turning pink as he bent and brushed her lips. It was a promise of things to come, a pledge for a fut
ure together. How very fortunate she was to be marrying one of her best friends.

  She took Wynn’s hand, and they hurried for the carriage. But she thought even without the phaeton, she just might fly.

  *

  Ten months later . . .

  “Move over,” Daphne urged, shouldering her way along the stone ledge. At least her evening dress was nearly as white as the stone. All she could hope was that the fine lords and ladies exiting Hannah’s crush of a rout would not look up at the outside of London’s best hotel on their way to their carriages and spot the two equally fine ladies of Society clinging to the wall.

  “I’m moving as fast as I can,” Ariadne informed her, gathering her scarlet satin skirts closer. Her sister still eschewed white for evening, as if having published two novels to wide acclaim she must be known as a rebel. “This was much easier when we practiced at the house.”

  Ahead, the sash on the window jerked up. Daphne froze, gripping Ariadne’s hand.

  Wynn leaned out, spectacles firmly in place. “It’s safe. Come in.”

  Daphne dropped lightly through the open window and turned with Wynn to help Ariadne inside.

  “Priscilla and Nathan are keeping Count Vincenzo occupied,” he informed them, striding for the door of an opulent sitting room. “Cropper is on duty outside the door to ensure we aren’t disturbed. Sinclair is attempting to open the safe as planned. Emily will verify the stolen painting the moment we retrieve it.”

  “And you had no trouble slipping away unnoticed?” Daphne asked as she followed him across the carpet.

  “Less than you did,” he assured her. “There are times it’s rather handy being married to one of London’s most notorious Amazon’s. No one watches me.”

  “Your sisters are ready to take up the mantle,” she told him as he opened the door to the bedchamber. “Do you know Clara can ride Hortensia astride?”

  “Never tell Mother,” he said with a laugh.

  “Done,” Sinclair declared from the other side of the room, where a wide oil painting hid the door of a safe. He swept open the door, and Emily reached in and drew out the miniature they had come to get.