“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled.
But apparently she was not entirely lacking in gray matter. She glanced from Rastmoor to Dashford and clearly decided it was not worth the argument. With an overly dramatic sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and flounced toward the door.
“Very well, I’ll retire,” she said, although she sounded less than agreeable. “But I’ll require an apology from you, Anthony, before I give any further explanation.”
“Fine. Wonderful. When I’m in need of any further explanation, I’ll sing or dance or whatever you require—should that day ever arrive. For now, just get up to your room and stay there.”
She was not amused. Chin raised in an obnoxious show of defiance, she marched from the room. Rastmoor followed to make sure she found the stairs. She did, but then she dawdled around, taking forever to ascend. Dash the girl! He stormed up to grab her by the elbow and led her forcibly the rest of the way to her room.
“You’re absolutely a tyrant,” she declared when he flung her bedroom door open and waited for her to enter.
“If you would act like you had half a brain, I wouldn’t have to be,” he replied.
She merely sniffed disdainfully and sauntered past. Just before he could shut the door behind her, she whipped around and glared at him. “If you had any idea what you’re dealing with, Anthony, you’d not be acting like this.”
“Yes, yes; I’m dealing with true love, fate, destiny, the Montagues and Capulets and all that rot. Sorry, Penelope. I’m the very last person to give a fig for any of that, especially if it involves Fitzgelder. Now lock yourself in there and at least pretend to regret what you’ve done.”
She huffed and slammed the door. Rastmoor slumped, staring at the polished oak and thinking how much pleasanter it appeared than his fuming sister. Dashford came up behind him, chuckling.
“It’s so nice to see a family getting along.” He smirked.
“She’s going to be the death of me.”
“She’s young. Eventually she’ll understand you’ve done her a favor by keeping that cockroach away.”
“I hope so.”
“She will. You’ll manage things,” Dashford said and seemed relatively certain of it.
Rastmoor wished he felt some of that assurance. He glanced across the hall toward the room that had been assigned to Julia. Her shock at the announcement of Fitzgelder’s arrival had been honest—he could be sure of that now. It was Penelope who brought Fitzgelder here, not Julia. But could he take that to mean Julia had been honest about all the rest? She never really had betrayed him with Fitzgelder? All along Fitzgelder had been married to an imposter, while Julia and her father remained in hiding? It was so very far-fetched, although he had to admit the evidence seemed heavily in Julia’s favor just now. He wished he could go to her now; find out if that look she was giving him at the dinner table really meant what he thought it did.
But he couldn’t. He had to face Fitzgelder.
“I suppose our guest is eagerly awaiting me,” Rastmoor grumbled.
“Getting more eager with every passing minute,” Dashford agreed.
Well, nothing to do but go down there and see what the bastard wanted. He’d find out just exactly what Fitzgelder planned to do with that locket—rather, with what was contained in that locket—and ask him point-blank what he’d done to Penelope. Then, if Rastmoor hadn’t already murdered him in a fit of rage, he’d throw the blackguard out into the street. It was only just now twilight. Perhaps Fitzgelder might find his way back to some local inn before cutthroats or wild animals waylaid him on the open road.
And Rastmoor could hardly take the blame for that, could he?
“You’ve not had any packs of feral dogs ripping into sheep or eating the occasional weary traveler about these parts, have you?” he asked his friend.
Dashford frowned. “No, not that I’ve heard of lately.”
“Damn.”
Dashford just shook his head. “Nor have we had any here inside my house. I say, Rastmoor, you’ve commandeered all my footmen.”
Dashford gestured toward the two hearty-looking men Rastmoor had put on guard in the hallway here outside the women’s chambers. Indeed, he’d set two more downstairs with Fitzgelder. Perhaps that was a bit overdone, but one could not be too careful where a snake like Fitzgelder was concerned.
“Might you spare one, at least?” Dashford asked. “I’d like to send a message out to those actors at Loveland before it gets too dark. Don’t want to disappoint our ladies, you know.”
“Yes, heaven forbid we don’t provide them ample entertainment. Very well, I suppose you may take possession of your footmen. I’ll go down and see to Fitzgelder myself. I doubt with two broken legs the man will be able to navigate his way up your grand staircase.”
“There you go—that’s the spirit, old man.”
Dashford laughed. Interesting. Apparently he thought Rastmoor was joking. Well, they would see what sort of treatment Fitzgelder merited once Rastmoor dragged the truth out of him. He started down the staircase.
Dashford summoned his footmen to follow and began giving instructions on carrying a message to Loveland. Bother. It appeared those damn actors would be invited, and Rastmoor would have to endure watching Julia reunited with whomever the hell that Giuseppe person turned out to be. Rastmoor hoped he would not have to commit two murders in the space of a few short hours. Such a thing was bound to be hard on one’s constitution.
They had barely made it to the ground floor when Fitzgelder appeared. It would seem he’d grown weary of cooling his heels in Dashford’s study. What nerve, to come wandering about as if he were some invited guest!
“Ah, there you are, Cousin,” he said when he spotted Rastmoor. He came toward them. Rastmoor held his ground, keeping his body firmly between Fitzgelder and the staircase.
“Have you finished his lordship’s brandy already?” Rastmoor asked.
Fitzgelder gave a benign smile and seemed to completely miss the implied insult. “I was afraid you’d forgotten me.”
“I’ve tried. It cannot be done.”
Fitzgelder laughed as if that, too, had been meant in jest. “Indeed, I’ve missed you, Cousin. But come, spare me a few moments of your time. I’m sure you agree we have much to discuss.”
Rastmoor wondered if the fury he felt toward this man radiated off him like smoke from smoldering rubbish. How could the bastard be so bold? What could he possibly hope to gain, arriving here like this? Any fool must realize civil discussion between them was hardly a possibility, given their history. And Fitzgelder was not a fool. He was a great many other things, but he was no fool.
Obviously he had reason to believe his goal—most likely that of attaching Penelope—was attainable. Rastmoor would have to find out why.
“Yes, I suppose we do,” he agreed.
“Please, make use of my study,” Dashford offered. “I’ll join you there presently. First, I need to see about an errand that needs tending.”
Rastmoor nodded, silently assuring his friend he would not need his assistance. Yet. It would be nice to have an extra pair of hands when it came time to drag the body out, but for right now, he was perfectly happy to keep his conversation with Fitzgelder a very private matter.
JULIA LISTENED AT HER DOOR. THE HALLWAY WAS quiet. Slowly and carefully, she cracked the door open just the tiniest bit. Yes, the footmen were gone. Vaguely she could hear the men’s voices at the bottom of the staircase.
So, Dashford was going to send footmen to deliver a message to Papa? How wonderful! She crept into the hall so she could hear their voices more clearly.
Fitzgelder! She recognized his voice from that harrowing performance in London. So, he was still here. Somehow she expected Rastmoor to insist he be thrown out immediately. He hadn’t, obviously. In fact, it sounded as though Rastmoor would actually be meeting with him to calmly discuss the situation with Penelope. Good Lord, what had the poor girl done?
Julia had heard
the sharp voices in the hallway. It would seem Rastmoor was quite frustrated with his sister. Could that mean she’d fallen prey to Fitzgelder in the most horrible sense of the word? Perhaps Rastmoor would be forced to actually consider that marriage.
But didn’t he realize the danger that would put him in? As Penelope’s husband, Fitzgelder would be right in line to possess not only Penelope’s dowry, but her share of inheritance should Rastmoor unexpectedly expire. That unthinkable event might not be exactly unexpected as far as Fitzgelder was concerned. Did Rastmoor still not believe her about his cousin’s treachery? Even when he’d seen it firsthand?
She heard their distant footfalls as the men dispersed from the grand entry hall at the foot of the stairs. Rastmoor’s steps appeared to go with Fitzgelder off in one direction, while Dashford took his footmen in another. Julia wondered what she should do. The footmen were likely to wait on Dashford while he wrote a note to be carried to Papa. Perhaps if she followed closely, she could make her way there, too. She could follow them right to Papa!
But was Rastmoor safe here, left alone with Fitzgelder? She hardly thought so. Perhaps she ought to find where he had gone.
Although, if Fitzgelder was about to complete his betrothal to Penelope, he would certainly have no reason to do away with Rastmoor. Not yet, anyway. If things were progressing in his favor, surely he’d choose to bide his time, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Fitzgelder was devious and supremely greedy. He’d play the game and make his schemes, up until he and Penelope were legally wed. Then he’d see about getting rid of his dear cousin turned brother-in-law.
That meant Rastmoor was safe for the time being. It also meant Fitzgelder might not be cast out of Hartwood as she’d expected. If the man was Penelope’s new fiancé, Rastmoor might feel obligated to let Dashford invite him to stay. That would mean when Papa accepted Dashford’s invitation and arrived here tomorrow, Fitzgelder was very likely to see him. If Fitzgelder saw Papa, Fitzgelder might recognize him, even if he arrived as Signor Giuseppe.
And that was bad. Very bad. The last thing poor Kitty ever did before her tragic end was to warn Julia. Fitzgelder had learned of the deception and was furious. Frighteningly so, from the tone of Kitty’s letter. She begged Julia to never, never let Fitzgelder learn where she and Papa were hiding. Julia took her seriously enough to ensure that she and Papa were safe in a new town with assumed names, but by the time Julia got around to considering how she could help her friend, it was too late.
Would it be too late for Papa? No, not if she found a way to warn him. But how? She doubted she could very well convince Dashford’s footmen to take her with them. Then again, she could probably send them with a note. Indeed, that should be easy enough. It was worth a try. She’d have to be quick, though, if she hoped to get it to them before they left. And she’d have to be careful if she didn’t want Dashford or Rastmoor to find her out of her room, sneaking notes out with footmen.
Padding as softly as she could, she found writing paper and ink on a desk and dashed off a note for Papa. There was the worry that someone might intercept it and learn her true identity, so she was careful not to include her name. Papa would know her writing. To be extra careful, she wrote in French, hoping that any nosy footman or prying servant might not know that language. For an additional caution, she took pains to refer to Fitzgelder not by his name, but as “the troublesome gentleman from London.” She instructed Papa to “meet his favorite young lady at the usual place.”
There. Should the note somehow fall into the wrong hands, no one could link it to her or identify Papa by it. Hopefully, Papa would understand her meaning and leave for Gloucester at once. When she could finally get away from here, she would meet him there. With luck, by then this business of Fitzgelder and that locket might be sorted out. Sophie might turn up safe and sound, and Rastmoor would be saved. Penelope, too. No matter what the gullible girl may have already done with Fitzgelder, she certainly did not deserve a lifetime shackled to him.
Making certain the hallway was still empty, Julia tiptoed her way out and toward the servants’ stairs. She didn’t dare run the risk of bumping into Rastmoor or Fitzgelder down in the main part of the house. It would be better to stay hidden until she could find those footmen and present them with her note—addressed to Giuseppe, of course—without any disapproving audience.
She made her way down to the ground floor without running into anyone who might question her unorthodox presence and quietly wound her way toward where she thought she’d heard Dashford’s voice disappear. She’d done well; just as she rounded a corner, she saw two footmen coming out of the room she recognized as the front drawing room. One of them carefully tucked a note into his livery and waited as Dashford’s voice carried out of the room behind them. Julia ducked into a doorway to listen.
“Make sure they understand; two grooms carry that note. No one travels alone. And tell them to keep their eyes open.”
“Yes, sir,” the footmen replied.
“And then I need you back in here. I’ll set a few others on watch outside, but as long as Mr. Fitzgelder is in this house, no one gets any rest, unfortunately.”
His men didn’t seem to complain. It appeared they would not be the ones carrying the letter, but they would take it to the stables and grooms would be dispatched. That was good. She was wondering how she was supposed to explain things to these footmen when they’d been told she was mute. The grooms out in the stables, however, would not likely have been given that information. If she made her way out there and gave her orders directly to the ones assigned to travel to Loveland, they would not be likely to think anything amiss. How convenient for her. All she needed to do was follow the footmen to find the way to the stables.
She tucked herself tightly up against the wall just inside the doorway where she’d taken refuge as she heard the footmen passing by. Dashford’s footfalls went off the other way. She hoped he was going to check on Rastmoor. Julia did not much approve the idea of him meeting alone with the cousin who wanted to see him dead.
She would simply have to force herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. As soon as the corridor around her was silent again she went off after the footmen, the cryptic note for Papa clutched in her hand. She hoped he got it in time.
“I’VE ASKED HER TO MARRY ME,” FITZGELDER WAS saying with an awkward grin that Rastmoor could only assume aimed to make the man appear besotted. Its actual result was to make the bastard look something more akin to demonic.
“And she has given me proof that she would love nothing better,” the demon added.
“I know what she gave you, damn it,” Rastmoor said, though the sound came out with rather a low hiss.
“Then you understand that things have progressed to the point where a marriage is necessary.”
“Hell. I understand she gave you the locket. She’s admitted to nothing else.”
“Oh. Then I will forgo mentioning anything else.”
You’d damn well better. “That locket was not hers to give. It is part of the estate. I’ll take it back now, Fitzgelder, if you please.”
“I’m terribly sorry, dear Cousin, but I’m afraid I cannot help you there. It seems I’ve managed to, er, misplace it.”
“Well, that’s rather careless of you, considering it was a love token from the woman you’ve planned to make your wife. One would think you’d keep better track of such things.”
“Oh, I’ve been keeping track of it,” Fitzgelder assured him. “I have a very good notion where I might find the thing, as a matter of fact.”
“Do you now?”
“I would start by asking your friend Clemmons what he’s done with his charming little wife.”
Rastmoor felt his blood chill. Was Fitzgelder baiting him? Why mention Clemmons if he didn’t know the truth behind Julia’s false identity? The old suspicion raised its ugly head, but only for a moment. Julia was not in league with this man. His soul knew it indisputably. But if Fitzgelder was aware of Julia’s pres
ence here, she was in danger. He’d best play the game until he knew exactly how much Fitzgelder understood—and just what he planned to do about it.
“Who?”
“Come, come, Cousin. There’s no need for silly playacting. I know you’ve been traveling with him. What’s his game? Blackmail, perhaps?”
Blackmail? At that, Rastmoor couldn’t help but laugh. Was it possible Fitzgelder really did not know who he’d been following? Could he possibly be in the dark about Julia’s ruse? It was almost too good to believe.
His reaction must have shown on his face. Fortunately, Fitzgelder seemed to misinterpret that, too. Clearly Rastmoor had been giving the man’s intellect entirely too much credit lately.
Fitzgelder’s grin slipped into a menacing sneer. “Ah, it seems I’ve hit on something, haven’t I? You’re concerned about Clemmons. What’s his hold on you, Cousin? Did he send his little wife off with the locket until you give him what he wants?”
Rastmoor wasn’t sure how to answer that. A part of him wondered if he ought to just let Fitzgelder continue on with his confusion, but that could lead to the fool seeking out a confrontation with Julia. That might not go so well. If only he had Julia’s talent for creative explanation! He needed a good one—fast—and was coming up blank.
“So that’s why you’re here,” Fitzgelder said, apparently coming up with his own creative explanation for things. “Clemmons wants the treasure.”
“The what?”
“Oh, don’t act stupid. I know all about the treasure. Your father and his bloody French allies hid it well, didn’t they? I just can’t figure how Clemmons plays into this. Does he hold part of the code, or something?”
“Code?”
“Damn it, Rastmoor! Don’t treat me like I’m ignorant! I know all about the code. Your simpleminded sister should have been a little more cautious about handing me the code.”
“The code was in the locket?” Rastmoor asked.
Funny, all along he’d thought the locket contained information of a more personal nature. After all, the papers he’d found tucked away with the locket had contained information about a certain payment that was being made every month to an anonymous account—and everything was written in French. At best, his father must have been supporting a French mistress. At worst, he was involved with the enemy during war times. This latter is what Fitzgelder had always implied. It didn’t seem possible, but it would ruin his family should proof of such treason be produced.
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