Legacy of the Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  Courtney's eyes glowed. "I'm sure I love your brother. As for the world, I don't care a whit about what they say or don't say about me. Let them gossip. Nothing would make me prouder than to stand beside Slayde—as his wife and your sister." Rising, Courtney walked over to squeeze Aurora's hands. "'Tis not an issue—honestly. But I appreciate your worrying about me."

  A current of understanding ran between the two women.

  "Now, back to our plan," Courtney continued. "Tomorrow morning, we'll all breakfast together. Once Slayde leaves, I'll stand guard while you get the papers. Then I'll head off to the stables and fetch two horses while you plead our case to Cutterton." A worried pucker. "I'm not the best of riders, but for the relatively short distance to Morland, I'll manage. We'll ride to the lighthouse, wait a prescribed period of time, then head out from there. I'll tell Matilda I'm eager to see Mr. Scollard, but too peaked to walk. That will explain why we're not on foot."

  "Perfect."

  Courtney gave Aurora's hands another squeeze. "Again, thank you."

  "No, Courtney, 'tis I who thank you," Aurora murmured, gazing at her friend. "I believed fate brought you to Pembourne for my sake. Which it did—in part." An insightful nod. "But the more amazing part…" She smiled. "My brother is a very lucky man."

  * * *

  "Ah, I've been expecting you." Mr. Scollard made his way down the last three steps from the tower, greeting Courtney and Aurora as they bustled through the lighthouse door. "Actually, you're a bit early," he amended, glancing at his timepiece. "Given Courtney's limited riding ability, I assumed you'd need some extra time." He shrugged. "No matter. Tea is prepared."

  Courtney laughed, unfastening her mantle. "You were right. I did need that time. Unfortunately, my mount did not. He descended the hill like a bullet. He galloped; I prayed."

  Nodding his white head, Mr. Scollard poured three cups of tea. "Prayers are invaluable—as you're fast finding out." He offered her a cup, assessing her with those probing blue eyes. "I didn't anticipate another visit from you so soon. I'm glad you found your way."

  "As am I." Courtney knew they were referring to more than today's jaunt.

  "The journey continues," he apprised her, handing Aurora her tea. "You and Rory are entering a dark segment, but one you must embark upon—carefully. Drink up."

  Aurora took a huge gulp, then broached the subject that had plagued her the past hour. "Mr. Scollard, I asked Cutterton to dispatch one of his men to deliver our letters to London, and he agreed. No questions asked."

  A knowing nod. "He's a good man, Cutterton. Very dedicated."

  "But intolerably overprotective, as you know from my constant complaints. His attitude this morning was completely out of character. I expected to have to beg and plead, fall at his feet, pretend to be violently ill, concoct some extravagant lie. Yet all I did was make my request—stipulations and all—and off he went to find Mathers, who he assured me was the right man." Aurora's eyes narrowed. "Did you have anything to do with Cutterton's sudden and inexplicable agreeability?"

  "I?" The lighthouse keeper's brows rose. "I haven't spoken a word to the fellow."

  "Your powers are far-reaching."

  A chuckle. "So is your determination."

  Aurora sighed. "As usual, you're not going to answer me, are you?"

  "I thought I had."

  "Mr. Scollard," She tried another, equally important, tactic. "What advice can you offer Courtney and me? I know you can't—or won't—foresee the outcome of our venture, but what glimpses can you share?"

  A fond smile. "Twenty years will be celebrated. Just as we celebrated yours, Rory."

  "My birthday," Courtney murmured. "'Tis in a fortnight. I'd forgotten."

  "You've been preoccupied." His eyes sparkled. "And very inventive, as well. I commend you on your plan."

  Eagerly, Courtney leaned forward. "Will it succeed?"

  "Just as it is with me, you see much—and much, you don't." Abruptly, the lighthouse keeper frowned. "Danger," he murmured, an odd light coming into his eyes. "'Tis only now emerging to take form. Terrible danger. Look deep within. It's festering close at hand."

  "Danger close at hand?" Courtney repeated. "Do you mean the duke? Will he thwart my plan? Will it fail?"

  Mr. Scollard's gaze was wise, but troubled. "Sometimes we must fail in order to succeed."

  With a thoroughly exasperated sigh, Courtney replied, "I wish I understood the meaning of your words."

  "If you did, I wouldn't be speaking them." His sober mood lifted as quickly as it had descended. "Now drink up. Both of you. Fortify yourselves, then hurry and take your leave. The earl will be home by midafternoon. You have much to accomplish before then." Another glance at his timepiece. "Goodness. It's even later than I realized. You'd best take the phaeton. I'll bring it around. Courtney, you drive. If I recall correctly, your father taught you how during one of your stays in the Colonies."

  Courtney nodded, beyond surprise. "He did."

  Beside her, Aurora's cup clattered to its saucer. "Phaeton? What phaeton?"

  "Why mine, of course," Mr. Scollard supplied.

  "When did you acquire a phaeton?"

  Thoughtfully, he pursed his lips. "I don't recall. I only know it's on hand when I need it."

  Incredulous hurt filled Aurora's eyes. "Then all these years, all the times I've wept to you about how desperately I longed to escape Pembourne's walls, you could have helped me—and you didn't?"

  Mr. Scollard went to her, placed his work-worn hands on her shoulders. "Ah, but Rory, I did help you. You just have yet to realize it." He patted her cheek. "But you will. Soon, I'm happy to report. Very soon."

  With that, he hastened off.

  Ten minutes later, Courtney's and Aurora's horses were pulling the phaeton along the quiet country road at a healthy clip as Courtney steered them decisively toward Morland. "Papa would be proud. Evidently, his lessons did sink in. Which is a relief, given how pathetic I am on horseback."

  "You were awkward, not pathetic," Aurora protested. "Remember, you spent most of your life on a merchant ship, where riding is not exactly a priority." She pointed southwest. "Morland's estate is six miles inland. If we continue on this road, we'll reach Newton Abbot, the village on the outskirts of Morland. From there, we take the right fork and follow it directly to Morland."

  Courtney blinked. "I intended to follow this road inland, but only because I've heard Papa's crew describe Newton Abbot as being set back from the shore. After that, I feared we'd have to rely upon our wits."

  A grin. "Sometimes, though rarely, I'll admit, knowledge surpasses wits. This is one of those times."

  "How did you come by such specific instructions?"

  "I took the liberty of questioning Siebert—casually, of course. He's a wealth of information, privy to everything. Except, this time, my intentions. Even he never imagined I'd actually invade Bencroft's home. He thought it was just my insatiable curiosity piping up. And he willingly supplied me with what he assumed to be theoretical directions."

  "And you think I'm resourceful."

  Aurora's grin vanished. "Speaking of being resourceful, where does a lighthouse keeper store a phaeton?"

  "That's but one of a thousand questions about Mr. Scollard that we'll never know the answers to." Courtney glanced at her friend. "You're not still upset with him, are you?"

  "I suppose not. If he says he acted in my best interests, then I must have faith and believe he did."

  "I agree." Courtney gripped the reins more tightly. "It occurred to me that if Slayde is right and Morland has been scrutinizing Pembourne for some sinister purpose, your racing off in a phaeton and truly escaping could have exposed you to Lord knows what. Consider that."

  "You're right," Aurora conceded. "Perhaps that's what Mr. Scollard was alluding to." She cast a worried look at her friend. "Which doesn't exactly make me feel at ease about your marching into the duke's home."

  "I have no choice. I must see him." A pause. "Can you tell me a
nything about him that might help?"

  "Nothing. I don't even remember what he looks like, other than his coloring and the fact that he was clutching a goblet. I know from Slayde that he's a recluse and a drunk. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you."

  Courtney's jaw set. "Well, perhaps I'll soon be able to tell you more."

  The iron gates appeared in front of them thirty minutes later.

  "A formidable dwelling," Aurora commented, as Courtney maneuvered the horses down the drive.

  "It looks neglected." Courtney assessed the thick woods and uninviting manor. "And somber."

  "Stop just before the drive bends around the house so we can hide the phaeton in the woods. You go in; I'll conceal myself among the trees, looking very covert. That should arouse the suspicions of Slayde's investigator—and call attention to me and away from you, allowing you ample time to get to the duke. After that, well, I'll think of something to keep the investigator's concentration riveted on me. For a half-hour. That's it. Any later, and I begin shouting for help."

  "Agreed." Courtney squinted as the manor loomed closer. "The house looks deserted. I hope the duke didn't pick this particular time to go out."

  "Doubtful. It's too early to conduct business." Aurora waited until Courtney had veered the phaeton off the road and hidden it behind a thick clump of trees. Then, she turned toward her, grim-faced. "Good luck."

  A wan smile. "Thanks."

  Climbing down from the phaeton, Courtney walked the remaining length of drive, her step decisive, her heart hammering in her chest. She mounted the two stone steps and knocked.

  "Yes?" A haughty-looking butler answered the door.

  "I'm here to see the duke."

  One brow rose. "And who, might I ask, are you?"

  Courtney's chin came up. "A woman who has business with your master, not with you." She pushed past him, crossing the threshold into the hall. Excellent, she commended herself. You got in without announcing yourself Now, even if Slayde has provided his investigator with names, the man will have no clue as to your identity. She could almost hear Aurora's applause.

  "Now where can I find His Grace?" she demanded, resuming her performance.

  "Madame, you cannot just barge in here and insist on seeing the duke. I must know—"

  Pivoting about, Courtney regarded him with blazing eyes. "Does the duke seek your approval on all his women? If so, he's a poor excuse for a man."

  Courtney wondered who was more shocked by her brazen comment, the butler or she.

  "I…" He wet his lips. "His Grace told me nothing about … wait here." His mouth snapped shut, and he stalked off, rigid as a drawn bowstring.

  The instant Courtney saw the direction he was taking, she followed behind, silently and with enough distance between them so he wouldn't sense her presence.

  "Your Grace?" she heard him ask, once he'd veered into a room. "There's a young woman here to see you. She says you summoned her."

  "A woman?" the duke sounded perplexed. "What kind of nonsense—"

  "I never claimed to have been summoned," Courtney interjected, shoving past the butler into what looked to be a study. "I merely said I had business with the duke. Which I do."

  Lawrence Bencroft rose to his feet, his dark eyes baffled. "Who are you? What business do you have with me?"

  "Private business." Courtney gave him what she hoped to be a suggestive look, then inclined her head pointedly at the butler.

  A thoughtful silence, then a nod. "You may leave us, Thayer."

  Thayer needed no second invitation. He was gone in a heartbeat, the door shut in his wake.

  "Now." The elderly duke walked around his desk, giving Courtney a solicitous smile, one she imagined that had once been charming, on a face that had once been quite handsome, but was now lined with bitterness and age. "You're very lovely. Please enlighten me. Which of my colleagues was kind enough to send you to me?"

  "No one sent me. As I said, I'm here on personal business."

  An amused look. "Really? Then, I'd be delighted to hear what sort of business we have to discuss."

  "The business of my father and how you killed him."

  Morland stopped in his tracks, his smile fading, his eyes narrowed on Courtney's face. "Who are you?"

  "Courtney Johnston." She gripped the back of a chair to still her body's trembling. "Arthur Johnston's daughter."

  "Who the hell is Arthur Johnston?"

  "He was the captain of the Isobel, the ship your pirate accomplice Armon seized in order to blackmail Slayde Huntley into relinquishing the black diamond."

  Morland's lips thinned into a grim line. "Did Pembourne send you?"

  "No," she countered, intentionally amplifying her voice to a shrill pitch in order to suggest rising hysteria—although, God help her, she didn't have too much pretending to do. "I came on my own. I'm the woman Armon passed off as Aurora Huntley so he could steal that wretched stone." Courtney met Morland's gaze, her heart slamming so hard against her ribs she could scarcely breathe. "There's no point in denying it. Armon himself told me you'd paid him to confiscate the diamond. He also gloated to me, again and again, that he had no intentions of sharing the stone with you, that he meant to sell it and flee the country. He called you a stupid old fool."

  Morland's expression remained unchanged. "You're obviously deranged," he assessed calmly. "Either that, or you're working with Pembourne in some sick attempt to malign me. He, too, burst into my home raving about a pirate I supposedly paid to extort the black diamond from the Huntleys. Now that I reflect upon it, he bellowed something about housing the daughter of a murdered sea captain at Pembourne. You, doubtless, are that homeless chit. Very well, I'll play along with your amateur theatrics and tell you precisely what I told your cohort, or your keeper, or whatever role Pembourne has assumed in your life. I never met this fellow, 'Armon.' However, if he did manage to wrest the jewel away from the Huntleys in order to restore it to its proper owner, I commend the man. And if escape is what he seeks, I certainly hope he finds it."

  "He's dead," Courtney spat. "But you know that. After all, you killed him."

  A stony silence. Then: "I killed no one."

  "Liar," Courtney accused, her voice shaking as she delivered her final blow. "You killed my father. You killed Armon. And ten years ago, you killed the Earl and Countess of Pembourne."

  That got a reaction. Morland turned three shades of red, his eyes ablaze with hatred, his fists clenching violently at his sides.

  At that moment, he looked every bit the murderer. "What did you say?" he ground out through clenched teeth.

  "I know everything," Courtney blurted, mentally gauging her distance to the entranceway door. Lord, she hoped Aurora was standing vigil. "I found Armon's journal. Your entire plan to blackmail Lord Pembourne out of the diamond is outlined—fully—including your name and the extent of your involvement." Perceiving Morland's escalating rage, she sought the courage to continue. She pictured her father's face, the anguish in Slayde's eyes, thereby finding the incentive she needed. "The moment I read that journal, I vowed to make you pay for Papa's death. So I delved into your activities, your past, your family—and I found precisely what I needed, with little effort, I might add. Obviously, Bow Street

  didn't conduct too thorough an investigation. Else they, too, would have found the irrefutable evidence I did."

  "What irrefutable evidence?" Morland thundered.

  "Proof that you and your father cold-bloodedly murdered the late Earl and Countess of Pembourne." Courtney took two subtle backward steps toward the door, her palm raised. "Don't bother denying it. My proof is as conclusive as if you'd been caught standing over the bodies, sword in hand." She retreated until her fingers closed around the door handle. "Here's my ultimatum, Your Grace,"—she spat out the formal address—"either you publicly admit that you paid Armon to commit his crime, which would convict you only of being a thief and an indirect accomplice to Papa's drowning, or I'll provide Bow Street with every shred of evide
nce I have. At which point, you'll be arrested and hung for murder."