The Prisoner's Key

by C. J. Archer

  The middle sister, Charity, was quite the odd creature. Like Hope, she could be agreeable when she needed to be. But once she tired of the performance, she revealed a rebellious side that needed to be fed with thrills and danger.

  Dinner was a trial. A person could only endure so much polite conversation. We discussed our honeymoon, Patience's honeymoon, the estate, farming, London, and that most reliable of English conversation starters, the weather. Matt didn't look as bored as I felt, but that could have been because he was better at hiding it. Like his two cousins, he was capable of performing when necessary. I did notice that he hardly said a word to his uncle except when directly addressed.

  Seated at the head of the table, Lord Rycroft spoke barely a word to anyone. He contributed to the conversation only when prompted by his wife. It was Lady Rycroft who carried the evening, with help from Aunt Letitia. It would seem both women wanted this meeting to go ahead. I knew Aunt Letitia's reason, but I didn't know Lady Rycroft's. Perhaps she had no ulterior motive and her reason for inviting us to dine was exactly the reason she gave—she wanted to get to know me better now that we were related.

  She certainly asked me a lot of questions. Few were actually about me, however. Most were about the acquaintances in our "circle." She wasn't talking about Willie, Duke or Cyclops.

  "The Delanceys aren't our sort of people, of course," she said as she cut off a corner of beef from the single, small slice on her plate. "What are they like, India?"

  "I hardly know them," I said.

  Matt arched a brow at me from across the table. I shrugged. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Charity, who fell into a quiet conversation with him that I couldn't hear. It was so quiet that Matt had to tilt his head toward her, and Hope leaned closer to him too. I wondered if that had been Charity's intention, but Hope suddenly hissed at her sister and gave a hurried shake of her head. Eyes wide, Matt reached for his wine glass.

  "I hear you've also been seeing much of Lady Louisa Hollingbroke," Lady Rycroft said to me. "I don't like to speak ill of other members of my sex, but I do think I should warn you, India. We are family, after all."

  "Warn me about what?" I asked.

  "Louisa is quite the vixen. Did you know she's wealthy in her own right? Extraordinary, at such a young age. Why it wasn't put in trust for her until she married, I'll never know. Girls like her, with everything at their fingertips, know how to use their good fortune to their advantage."

  "Does she lord it over everyone?" Aunt Letitia asked.

  "She manipulates people." Lady Rycroft cut off another small corner of her beef but did not eat it. "Tell me about the Frenchman, India."

  I stared at her. How did she know about Fabian? Had she been spying on me? Matt frowned, proving he had been listening.

  "His name is Charbonneau," Aunt Letitia told her sister-in-law. She had already finished her meal, having eaten her customary minute quantity. "He is a friend of Lady Louisa's, so India tells me. There's nothing untoward in India visiting him. Matthew allows it, and Lady Louisa is always present."

  I concentrated on my food.

  "Wealthy?" Lady Rycroft asked.

  "Don't be so vulgar," Aunt Letitia scolded.

  Lady Rycroft set down her knife and fork, having eaten little of her beef. "If family can't have a frank discussion about such things, then how are we supposed to judge a character?"

  "But at the dinner table?"

  "Very well. We won't discuss the particulars. I already know that the Charbonneau family are industrialists, and there is only one kind of industrialist."

  "Oh? What kind is that?"

  "The wealthy kind." She flashed a small smile at her daughters. Charity didn't appear to be listening, but Hope probably was. Her attention certainly wasn't on Charity as she spoke about bullfighting in Spain. Nor was Matt's attention.

  "And is he the eldest son?" Lady Rycroft asked me.

  Aunt Letitia clicked her tongue.

  "It's not a question about money," Lady Rycroft shot back. "India?"

  "He has an older brother," I said.

  Lady Rycroft's gaze met her husband's at the other end of the table. He saluted her with his wine glass. "Ha! Your plan is scuttled, my dear."

  "What a shame," she said softly. "I heard your Mr. Charbonneau was quite charming."

  "He's French," her husband said, as if Fabian had a disease.

  "He is," I said lightly. "And every bit the gentleman. It's a wonder he's unmarried with so many fine qualities. Perhaps he's looking for a love match."

  Lord Rycroft snorted.

  "I think India's right," Aunt Letitia said. "I believe Lady Louisa has been to his Mayfair house many times. Hopefully someone tells him about her true nature before he makes a mistake."

  Good lord, she was wicked. She knew Fabian had moved out of his Mayfair house and into a more modest residence due to his financial woes. She was baiting her sister-in-law, trying to encourage her to push one of the girls into Fabian's path, only for them to find out his financial predicament. It would result in embarrassment for all concerned, and Fabian didn't deserve that.

  "Actually, he's in Chelsea now," I said.

  "Chelsea?" Lady Rycroft spat out the word as if it were bitter.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hope wrinkle her nose. Matt saw it too and smiled into his wine glass. He winked at me over the rim.

  Dinner finally came to an end after a dessert of soufflé and marbled jelly, but the torture continued in the drawing room. Matt and Lord Rycroft peeled away to smoke cigars and drink whiskey in another room, while we ladies waited for them. Both Matt and his uncle looked as if the last thing they wanted was to be alone together, but it would seem convention was too strong, and neither made an excuse.

  I stood by the door, waiting for the others to take their seats so I could position myself at a distance, but unfortunately Charity accosted me. She dragged me to the corner of the drawing room, much to her mother's annoyance.

  "Come back here, India," Lady Rycroft called from the sofa. "Sit with me."

  "In a moment, Mama," Charity said. "Let me talk to my cousin first."

  "What could you possibly have to discuss over there?"

  "It's private." Charity angled me so that I was facing the room and she had her back to her family. Her fingers dug into my bare arms until I wrenched free.

  "What's this about?" I asked.

  "You know." She nibbled her lower lip and took me by the arms again. She gave me a little shake. "Cyclops."

  "What about him?"

  "Hasn't he told you?" She giggled. "We kissed."

  "What?"

  "Shhh." She glanced over her shoulder. Seeing no one but her sister scowling at her, she turned back to me.

  "When?"

  "While you were away. We had a liaison in Matt's stables." She pulled me closer with a jerk and whispered, "It was wonderful."

  "I don't believe it." I'd been about to say he wouldn't do such a thing, but he had kissed Catherine. "He wouldn't do such a thing with you," I said instead.

  "He did. Ask him."

  "I will."

  She licked her lower lip and her grip tightened. "Don't let him tell you he didn't like it. He did. I know he did. Do you want to know how I know?"

  "No."

  "I'm in love with him," she went on without missing a beat. "I love everything about him. His shoulders, his hands, his skin and fingernails."

  "Fingernails?"

  "They're lovely. You've never noticed?"

  "No."

  "You ought not to ignore him, India. It's not very nice."

  Either this had gone too far or she was making it all up. Neither would surprise me, where Charity was concerned.

  Hope came up behind her sister and slapped her arm. Charity released me. "Stop this at once," Hope hissed. "You're embarrassing yourself."

  Charity sniffed. "You're just jealous because you couldn't get the man you wanted but I got the one I wanted."

  "Yo
u haven't got anyone!"

  "Haven't I?" She pushed past Hope and flopped into a chair near the window.

  "Ignore her," Hope said. "The infatuation with Matt's coachman won't last."

  "Cyclops isn't the coachman," I bit off. "They're friends. Perhaps your failure to recognize that is part of the reason you failed to get the man you wanted."

  Charity giggled into her hand only to stop suddenly when her sister's freezing glare bored into her.

  I was about to move off when Hope caught my arm. Her grip was no less bruising than her sister's.

  "How did you do it?" she whispered.

  "Do what?"

  "How did you get Cox to marry Patience?"

  I snatched my arm away. "Patience is a lovely person. She's warm and kind, and Lord Cox is a good man. He wanted to marry her. I just reminded him of that."

  Her mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. "Bollocks. When he found out she'd already been with a man, he was horrified. Sickened. He wouldn't have changed his mind, certainly not so quickly. You convinced him to marry her, and I'm not referring to extolling her many dull virtues. You forced him. I want to know how."

  "Your sister isn't dull, Hope. Quiet and cautious, but not dull. That's why it was easy to convince him that she made a mistake and regretted it. Men like Lord Cox look beyond the obvious and search for real beauty and truth."

  "Nonsense." She'd never looked more like her father than in that moment, all derisive and arrogant.

  "Did they look happy on their wedding day? Did he look like a man sickened by the woman he'd married?"

  Her silence was the answer I needed. Both Matt and Aunt Letitia had said Lord Cox looked happy that day. He hadn't seemed like a man backed into a corner or regretting marrying his bride. His happiness soothed my guilty conscience somewhat, although not completely.

  I marched off. I wanted to leave but Matt hadn't made an appearance. If he failed to show up in the next two minutes, I was going to feign illness.

  Lady Rycroft patted the sofa cushion beside her. "Come and sit by me, India. I want to ask you something."

  "If it's about Fabian Charbonneau, I have nothing more to say."

  "Forget him. He's not important now." She touched the amethyst jewel pin attached to the white turban wound tightly around her head. She always wore turbans that covered most, but not all, of her hair. From what I could see of it, her tresses were steely gray and pulled back tightly, exaggerating the slant of her eyes and smoothing out the fine lines on her forehead.

  I sat between her and Aunt Letitia. Did I want to pretend to faint or feign a stomach complaint? Both would have them thinking I was with child, and I wasn't sure I wanted to endure that conversation now.

  "Tell me about Lord Coyle," Lady Rycroft said.

  "Coyle!" I blurted out. "Why?"

  "Yes, Beatrice, why?" Aunt Letitia asked. "Surely you're not considering him as a marriage prospect?"

  Charity's head turned, suddenly interested in our conversation.

  "Who's Lord Coyle?" Hope asked.

  "Why wouldn't we consider him?" Lady Rycroft asked her sister-in-law. "I believe he has many fine qualities. I've never met him myself, but—"

  "He's positively ancient!" Aunt Letitia cried.

  "He's younger than you."

  Charity made a sound of disgust in her throat and turned back to the window.

  "How old is he?" Hope asked.

  "Enough of your pestering, child! It's giving me a headache." Lady Rycroft self-consciously touched the amethyst on her turban again. "The stink surrounding Patience's back and forth with Lord Cox won't dissipate unless we do something. Their marriage was conducted in haste after being called off, and everyone wants to know why. They'll continue to overturn stones until they uncover her grubby little secret."

  "Surely it won't matter now that they're married," I said.

  Lady Rycroft made a miffed sound through her nose. "You wouldn't understand. Your world is different to ours, India. Let me explain it in simpler terms. A man's status is like a shield. Marrying a powerful man will send a message that there are no secrets worth uncovering. So the better marriage that Hope can make, the sooner people will forget about the circumstances leading up to Patience's wedding."

  "You mean, the better Charity's marriage, not mine. Don't you?" Hope asked, voice thin. "She's the eldest unmarried daughter."

  "Hope, dearest, Lord Coyle has never married. In all his years, he has not been tempted. If one of you is to tempt him now, who do you think has the greatest chance of success?"

  Poor Charity, to be compared unfavorably to her sister by her own mother, and within her hearing, too.

  Instead of looking offended, Charity's lips curled into a smile and her eyes flashed in the lamplight. "You are the beauty of the family, Hope. Witty and intelligent too, so they say, and good company. Not to mention your figure is the sort that men desire."

  "Enough, Charity," her mother scolded. "Hope is a good girl who puts her family's needs first. She's not selfish, and she's never done anything that could cause offence."

  Charity rolled her eyes. "I see you told her," she said to her sister. Was she referring to her kissing Cyclops? I still doubted it had happened, but the truth didn't seem to matter to Charity.

  "If you are quite serious about this," Aunt Letitia said, "then I'm sure Matthew will set up an introduction with Lord Coyle. India, perhaps you could invite him to dine with the family. Charity may come too, of course, in case his tastes are…unconventional."

  "You agree with this?" I asked.

  She stared innocently back at me. "Why not? He's wealthy and titled. The Glass family would benefit from the connection."

  "Setting aside the large age difference, there's the matter of his deviousness. I don't trust him." I couldn't go into the particulars of why, but I had to warn them.

  "Hope's devious too," Charity piped up.

  Her sister gave her a withering glare.

  "I don't think he's someone you want to be associated with," I went on. "I urge you to look elsewhere. There must be dozens of other eligible gentlemen who would gladly court Hope—and Charity too. Indeed, I'm sure there are several already in love with them."

  "Not of Coyle's ilk," Lady Rycroft said.

  "Begin at the top, I always say," Aunt Letitia declared. "If he doesn't agree then we work our way down."

  "He won't reject her." Lady Rycroft appraised Hope with a critical eye, as if she were a horse she was considering purchasing. "When she tries, Hope is the most desirable girl at the ball."

  Hope sat quite still, her hands folded in her lap. She looked demure and agreeable, and quite immune to her mother's backhanded praise. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to marry Lord Coyle or not.

  "So it's settled," Lady Rycroft said. "India will organize the dinner party."

  "Yes, do hurry," Charity teased. "Lord Coyle must be secured before my sister comes to her senses."

  Lady Rycroft clicked her tongue. "If only we'd had sons."

  Matt and Lord Rycroft entered, bringing the faint scent of cigars with them. Rycroft arched his brows at his wife and she gave a smile. He nodded and headed for a drinks trolley the butler had pushed in earlier.

  "Sherry, ladies?" he asked.

  We all declined, but he poured a glass and gave it to Hope before resting a hand on her shoulder. She took a long sip.

  I caught Matt's attention and he made our excuses to leave. Not even Aunt Letitia protested that it was too early. She might be in agreement with her sister-in-law on the matter of Lord Coyle, but she didn't want to spend any more time with her than necessary.

  "Did Beatrice talk to you about Coyle?" he asked as soon as the carriage jerked forward.

  "She did," I said. "Lord Rycroft also spoke to you about it?"

  He took my hand and rested it on his thigh before folding his own hand over it. "I told him it was a bad idea. It didn't change his mind."

  "Why are you both against it?" Aunt Letitia asked. She sat opposite
, bundled up in a fur coat despite the mildness of the evening. "Setting aside the age difference, I think they're well suited."

  "It's not a matter of ten years," Matt said. "More like forty."

  "Closer to thirty, I think."

  "Lord Coyle is not a nice man," I told her.

  "And Hope isn't a nice girl," she shot back.

  "She's young and naive," Matt said.

  "She's manipulative and nasty. If anything, we should warn Lord Coyle away from her. If she decides she wants to become Lady Coyle, nothing will stop her. As you've pointed out, he's old, and old men die suddenly, leaving behind widows. Imagine the havoc Hope could wreak on London if she were a wealthy, merry widow. I shudder to think."

  I stared at her, open-mouthed. I wasn't quite sure if she was implying Hope might murder him or if she was simply being off-handed.

  "I told my uncle I won't invite Coyle to dinner," Matt said. "That decision is final."

  "Then why did he look so satisfied just now?" I asked.

  He squeezed my hand. "Because I didn't say I wouldn't introduce them."

  "Matt!"

  "I told him it was up to Hope. If she wanted to meet him then I'd see if Coyle was amenable. She won't be, so there's no need to worry."

  "She is amenable," I said. "Matt, we don't want him in the family."

  "No," he said darkly. "We don't. I won't mention Hope to him. Or Charity."

  "And go back on your word?" his aunt said. "No, Matthew, you must keep it. You have to introduce them now."

  She was right. A gentleman's word was an unbreakable bond, particularly to an honorable man like Matt. But I comforted myself with the knowledge that Hope would change her mind once she saw Coyle. His age might not be a problem, but the man was as ugly on the outside as he was within. Besides, Coyle couldn't be interested in marriage or he would have wed. He was unlikely to end his bachelorhood now.