And she couldn’t dismiss the timing. Her aunts’ book had been forgotten until very recently. Then they’d shared its existence with Mr. Bowen and since then, things had become quite complicated. And perilous.
Did she really think Mr. Bowen was behind the disappearance of Stratton’s book or the attempt to steal hers? As he’d so aptly pointed out, if he’d wanted to take her book, he could’ve done so many times. She shivered as she recalled his proximity—he’d smelled of sandalwood and man, a scent she’d never dreamed could be so tempting. And the way he’d looked at her . . . It was more than just wanting her; she’d seen that look on men before, including their host. No, he looked at her as if he needed her.
“I’m going to rest for a bit.” Mrs. Edwards disappeared behind the partition into the maid’s room.
Margery set her book on the bed and hoped Mr. Bowen would arrive with the list soon. Was that because she was eager to peruse the names or because she couldn’t wait to be in his presence again? She chose not to answer that question.
A few minutes later a rap sounded on her door. She jolted, her pulse picking up speed as she moved through the chamber to answer the summons.
She opened the door and realized she should’ve asked who it was before doing so because it wasn’t Mr. Bowen.
It was Lady Stratton.
The countess tossed a furtive glance over her shoulder. “Might I come in?”
“Certainly.” Margery held the door open and then closed it securely after Lady Stratton came inside.
“Where is your chaperone?” she asked.
“Resting.”
Lady Stratton nodded. “Can she hear us?”
“Not if we speak quietly over here.” Margery led her to a small sitting area situated before the fireplace. She found Lady Stratton’s demeanor puzzling. “Is there something the matter?”
Lady Stratton sat at the edge of one of the chairs, arranging her skirts around her ankles. “I heard my husband’s de Valery manuscript has gone missing and that you and Mr. Bowen plan to help him determine who may have stolen it.”
Margery took the opposite chair. “Yes,” she said slowly, unwilling to reveal too much.
Lady Stratton nervously patted the back of her upswept dark hair. “Forgive my boldness, Miss Derrington, but may I ask why you really wanted to view the text?”
Trying to disguise her dismay, Margery worked to keep her features serene. “Purely academic interest. I only wanted to compare it to my book.”
Lady Stratton’s gaze moved about the room before settling on the manuscript sitting atop the bed. Margery stifled the urge to go and snatch it up.
The countess turned her pale gray eyes on Margery. “Miss Derrington, you strike me as an independent young woman. Is it true you’re engaged to Mr. Bowen? My husband says it is so, but I watched the two of you at dinner last night and did not have the impression you are in love.”
In love. Margery wasn’t sure she knew what that would look or feel like, and suspected she never would. Nevertheless, she sought to maintain their ruse. “What does love have to do with marriage?”
“Absolutely nothing, of course. I’m pleased to hear you realize that too.” Lady Stratton smiled, and Margery saw a glimpse of the vivacious young woman she must’ve been. Before marrying Stratton, perhaps. “Is it possible you aren’t actually interested in marrying Mr. Bowen, that you’ve only agreed to it because you felt you had no other choice?” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing and gaining intensity. “What if you had another choice? What if you didn’t have to rely on a man ever again?”
Margery’s breath caught. She’d embarked on this adventure to improve their situation—that of her and her aunts—but she never truly believed it could change their financial standing forever. That would be . . . liberating.
“What are you saying, Lady Stratton?”
“You must promise never to reveal what I’m about to tell you. My husband would be quite unforgiving.” She rolled back the edge of her sleeve, which hid her elbow, and revealed a dark bruise.
Margery gasped. Stratton was a profligate and a drunk, but an abuser into the bargain? “I’m so sorry.”
Lady Stratton readjusted her sleeve and sat back in her chair. “I’ve accepted my lot, however you are in an altogether different situation. You can change your future and own it. Are you aware that your book carries a secret code?”
Margery had a split second to determine her reaction and in the end, she couldn’t muster the necessary shock to sell the fallacy that she hadn’t known. So she nodded.
“I thought as much. Can I also correctly assume that Mr. Bowen is aware of this code?”
“He’s the one who told me. I brought him the book to sell it, but he . . . eventually revealed that it held a code.”
“Because you forced him to.” Lady Stratton grinned. “How brilliant of you. Are you partners in this endeavor, then?”
“Yes. He says he can decipher the code.”
Her eyes crinkled with mild amusement. “Perhaps, but I don’t know that anyone is aware of how to do that. My father knew of your book, but couldn’t find its actual location. He’d tracked it through a handful of generations before it became lost.”
Margery’s brain tripped up. “Wait, how is your father involved?”
“Didn’t my husband tell you? The book belonged to my father. He gifted it to us, as a wedding present, for our future child—for Kersey.”
“No, Lord Stratton didn’t tell us how he came to have the book. I’m sorry your father’s book was stolen. You must be devastated.” Which perhaps explained this visit, though there was still something off about Lady Stratton. She didn’t seem upset.
“I would have been. If it had been the actual book.” Her lips spread into a satisfied smile, the likes of which Margery imagined she didn’t often enjoy. “After we realized Stratton was a brute and an ass, pardon me, and couldn’t be trusted with such a valuable item, my father exchanged it with a copy. He simply couldn’t let Stratton possess such a treasure, even in custody for Kersey. And it is a treasure, Miss Derrington, I assure you.”
Margery’s heart hammered at her chest. “Your father has the original text?”
“Yes, and you’re going to take your book to see him. I’m certain he can help you decipher the code and then you will have at least a portion of the treasure for yourself.”
Instead of sharing it with Mr. Bowen as they’d agreed, she’d share it with Lady Stratton’s father. “But how am I to do that? I made an agreement with Mr. Bowen, and I should return to Gloucester. My chaperone is weary.” Something kept Margery from sharing that someone had tried to steal her book. Trust, it seemed, was a difficult thing to give, even to someone who was trying to help her.
“Do you believe that Mr. Bowen will honor the agreement? Has he discussed with you how you will split the treasure?”
Margery shifted uncomfortably. “No.”
Lady Stratton’s tone turned hard. “If you put your faith in him, you’re a fool. Men aren’t to be trusted. I’m giving you the opportunity to take your life into your own hands. Go to my father, he will help you, especially if it means saving a young woman from a marriage she doesn’t want.”
But that was all a lie. She wasn’t betrothed to Mr. Bowen and even if she were, would it be awful? He was kind, if somewhat pompous, and despite his initial deception, he seemed to genuinely want to work together to find the treasure. Oh, but the chance to be in control and not have to choose either of the paths her aunts had been forced down was incredibly attractive.
“Your father doesn’t want the entire treasure for himself?”
Lady Stratton cocked her head as she considered the question. “He might. Even if he does, he’ll ensure you’re compensated for your half. He’s quite fair, the most honorable man I know.” Her voice had turned wistful and Margery suffered a pang of loss she hadn’t felt in many years. The image of her own father, cloudy and distant, filtered through her mind and tears stun
g the backs of her eyes.
Swallowing back her long-buried sorrow, Margery asked, “How will I get to your father?” She glanced toward the maid’s quarters. “I must go alone. Mrs. Edwards needs to return home.”
“My father lives two days from here in Westbury. You’ll stay at a small inn in Church Stretton the first night. I will write you a letter of introduction and they will take care of you, even keeping your identity and presence secret.”
Margery stared at her hostess. She’d thought of everything. Almost everything. “What about transportation?”
“I’ll arrange for you to take a private coach out of Leominster. From the King’s Arms. We just need to find a way to get you there in the morning.” She tapped her finger against her lip as she thought.
“If we’re taking Mrs. Edwards into town to take a coach to Gloucester, I can pretend to go with her. Then I can have the coach take me to the King’s Arms.” It suddenly seemed not only possible, but easy. Margery’s pulse quickened. Could she do it? What of the men pursuing the book? “If I’m to travel alone, I should have something to protect myself.”
Lady Stratton smiled again and Margery had the sense that she hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. “I have just the thing. I’ll deliver it—and my letter for the innkeeper at the Crooked Cat—later tonight. Leave the rest to me.” She stood to go.
Margery’s mind was swirling with possibility. And questions. “Wait. You’re an adept planner. Why don’t you escape from Lord Stratton? I can see you’re unhappy.”
Her soft smile was sad. “Only with him. I could never leave my son and taking him from his father isn’t an option. Stratton would hunt me down and make my life even more difficult than it is now. He’s grown kinder since Kersey came along. He focuses most of his time on his women, which suits me just fine.”
That explained the tolerance she displayed for his blatant philandering.
“I see. Well, if there is anything I can ever do for you, I hope you’ll let me know.”
Lady Stratton took her hand and squeezed it. “Just live your life the way you choose. Don’t let a man dictate what you must and mustn’t do or how the world perceives you. Knowing I’ve helped one woman will give me great satisfaction.”
Margery nodded, her mind returning to its whirlwind. After Lady Stratton departed, Margery thought through the plan. It meant lying to Mr. Bowen—not omitting, not misleading, outright lying. She’d accused him of being untrustworthy, and now she was going to completely disregard their understanding.
Doubt lingered in her brain, but her heart soared at the chance to undertake an adventure that would give her complete freedom. Lady Stratton’s father knew of the code and treasure, and Lady Stratton believed it would be enough to give Margery absolute independence. How could she ignore such an opportunity? Particularly when Mr. Bowen clearly didn’t need the money. His library was apparently worth a fortune and since he’d offered “any price” for her book, she had to assume he’d meant it. He didn’t need the treasure like she did. But he was still going to be angry when he discovered her deception. Hopefully, however, that wouldn’t be for quite some time—if ever. As far as he knew, she’d be back in Gloucester.
There was still the matter of this list. If they reviewed it and recognized a name or several names, what would he do? She realized it didn’t matter. He could run off on his fool’s errand while she went directly to the real book. She cringed inwardly, hating how mercenary that sounded in her head. Mercenary, but necessary. She didn’t owe Mr. Bowen anything, and she needed to remember that.
6
With Stratton’s permission, Rhys spent an hour investigating the book closet while a footman watched over him. There’d been no sign of anyone forcing their way inside or having to break into the cupboard. Whoever had stolen the book had used the requisite keys to accomplish their objective.
At long last, Post arrived with a handwritten list of gentlemen. Several of the names leapt off the page and were men Rhys had seen recently: Trevor, Septon, and Holborn, to name a few. He immediately thought of Septon, an antiquarian who knew of the de Valery code and would recognize de Valery’s work if he encountered it. But Septon wasn’t the sort of man to steal something, even to rescue an important text from a gluttonous ass. Also, Septon wouldn’t accost a pair of women to steal the second manuscript, nor would he hire others to do it. However, he might be able to help Rhys analyze the rest of the men on the list for a motive. Septon had finished the Wye Tour two days before and would now be in Caerwent to conduct his studies.
Rhys scrubbed his hand over his eyes and left the closet, leaving Post to lock it back up. He made his way to Miss Derrington’s room to share his plan of action. When he arrived, the door was open so he walked inside. “Miss Derrington?”
A housemaid stopped short upon seeing him. “Begging your pardon, my lord. The miss and her chaperone are out in the garden for a walk.”
“I see, thank you.” Rhys doubled back and went downstairs. He circumvented the direction of Stratton’s study as he took a path to the back terrace. A footman opened the door for him and he stepped outside to scan the gardens, which were laid out below. He sighted the pair of women a hundred yards or so distant and quickly sought to catch them.
A few minutes later, he’d finally run his quarry to ground. His breath hitched at Miss Derrington’s beauty, her face perfectly framed by her delicate curls and the brim of her bonnet. “I didn’t realize you were going for a walk.”
She arched a slender blond brow. “I didn’t realize I needed to ask your permission.”
Is that what she thought, or was she trying to be quarrelsome? “You don’t, of course. I merely thought we’d arranged to review this list together.” He withdrew the parchment from his pocket.
“I had no inkling of when you might arrive, and Mrs. Edwards and I cared to walk in the garden.” Her response was cool.
Rhys resisted the urge to frown. What was wrong with her? “Would you care to review the list now or after you finish your stroll?”
“Now would be fine.” She turned to Mrs. Edwards. “Feel free to continue on to the rose garden. You can see us from there.”
Mrs. Edwards nodded and went along the path to the rose garden, maybe thirty feet away.
Miss Derrington led him to a bench beneath a tree and sat. A bird chirped nearby, and the subtle scent of roses wafted over him. A perfect summer day, yet things were far from perfect.
He sat beside her, still unsure of her mood. Peering at her askance, he unfolded the paper and handed it to her.
She perused it for a long moment. “Do you recognize any of these names?”
“Several. You?”
“Mr. Digby and Lord Trevor. And Lord Holborn, but then everyone has heard of him, haven’t they?”
Yes, he was one of the eminent dukes of the realm. “How do you know the others?”
She looked up from the list. “Lord Trevor is a bit notorious for his Wye Tour parties and Mr. Digby visited Gloucester recently. I danced with him at an assembly.”
A bolt of jealousy—strong and shocking—smacked Rhys in the gut. “I know Trevor, and I don’t believe he has any awareness of the de Valery code,” Rhys said.
Trevor was smart and gregarious, but he found Rhys’s academic pursuits to be positively mundane. He would likely find a treasure hunt exciting, but wouldn’t undertake the exercise on his own. Still, Rhys would question him, especially about some of the other names on the list who were also in attendance at Septon’s Wye Tour party, such as the Duke of Holborn. Rhys could scarcely imagine that fearsome gentleman occupying himself with something so banal as a treasure hunt.
“What do you know of Digby?” Rhys asked.
She kept her face angled away, as if she were looking at the rose garden where Mrs. Edwards strolled, but Rhys had the impression she was avoiding looking at him. Why?
“He’s a bit self-involved, arrogant even, but not like you.” She cast him a quick glance. “And also
persistent.”
Arrogant—but not like you. The glimmer in her eye as she’d said it seemed to infer that Rhys’s brand of arrogance was somehow better. He liked that. “You know him well then?”
“Not really. He’s expressed an interest in courting me. In fact, he was due to visit, which is why I came to see you so quickly.”
“How cunning of you.” That she’d worked to avoid this Digby’s advances gave Rhys an inordinate amount of pleasure. But did that mean she would also reject him? Given her demeanor today, Rhys wondered how welcome his suit might be. He thought he’d felt a connection in her bedchamber last night, but perhaps he’d only imagined it.
Her lips curved up, as if she appreciated his compliment. He hoped so. “Can you think of anything that might indicate he’s aware of your book or the de Valery code?”
She shook her head, her blond curls lightly swinging against the back of her neck. “I can’t imagine. He didn’t strike me as someone who was interested in anything beyond his horses and hounds.”
Nothing to go on really, but at least he had Septon to start with. “Lord Septon is actually a friend of mine as well as a fellow antiquarian.”
She looked at him now, her eyes taking on more green with the row of trees that lined the garden behind her. “Does he know of the code?”
“He knows what I knew—that Stratton had this book and that the second book, your book, was lost. Until now.”
She inhaled sharply. “Is he aware I have the second book?”
“I don’t know.” He turned on the bench to face her. “But please don’t be concerned. I’ve known Septon for years, and he’s a good sort. He wouldn’t be behind the theft or the attempt to steal yours.”
“How can you be so certain? People change, circumstances change.”
He shook his head. “Not with Septon. Like me, he’s interested in the academia of it, not the monetary value of the treasure.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You were willing to pay any price for an ‘excellent medieval specimen’ or whatever you called it and mislead me from its true value. Academia seems as strong a motive as greed.”
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 30