The Bride's Necklace (7 page)

The dinner was an utter failure but the company was pleasant. Though his good friend Sheffield was laughing a little more loudly than he usually did and young Percy Chezwick was flat-out in his cups, it was obvious his guests were enjoying themselves.

Pendleton was a gentleman as always. “I’m expecting a courier in the next few days,” he said as the men finished their brandy and prepared to rejoin the ladies in the drawing room. “I’m hoping for word of your cousin.”

Cord felt a rush of excitement. “You think your man may have found out which prison he’s being held in?”

“Max Bradley is extremely capable at this sort of thing. If anyone can discover where Captain Sharpe is, Bradley is the man.”

“Then I look forward to hearing from you, Colonel.”

Pendleton nodded and wandered away, leaving Cord
with more hope than he’d had in as long as he could remember. He was returning to his guests when Percival Chezwick, a friend of Sarah’s husband Jonathan, walked toward him a bit unsteadily.

“I must tell you, my lord, I have fallen completely in love.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Merciful heaven, never before in my life have I seen such a face. Like an angel, she was. When she smiled, I swear my heart very nearly stopped beating. And she is here, right under your very roof. You must tell me her name.”

Claire. It had to be. From the moonstruck look on young Percy’s face, there could be no other conclusion.

“The lady’s name is Claire, but she isn’t for you, I’m afraid. You probably didn’t notice, but the girl is a member of my housekeeping staff. She’s an innocent, Chez, not the sort for a tumble or two, and I’m afraid your father would scarcely approve a match between you and a serving maid.”

Percy’s gaze strayed toward the hall, but Claire was nowhere to be seen. It was completely out of character for the young man to mention a woman at all. Cord imagined the wine he had drunk had given him a shot of courage.

In a way it was a shame the pair’s status was so far apart. Percival Chezwick was a dreamer like Claire, a naive young man with his head in the clouds who wrote poetry but was too shy to read it. He was blond, blue-eyed and attractive to the opposite sex, if a bit thin and pale.

He was also the youngest son of the marquess of Kersey and a match between him and a chambermaid would hardly be the thing.

And oddly enough, Cord had come to feel protec
tive of Claire. He wouldn’t stand by and let one of his friends take advantage of her. In fact, it would please him to see the girl well settled. Perhaps in time, he would help her make some sort of match. His thoughts strayed to Victoria. He could find her a husband, as well. Somehow the notion didn’t please him nearly so much.

Cord followed Colonel Pendleton and Lord Percy into the drawing room. Sarah and Jonathan were there, both blond and fair, a golden couple still enamored of each other even after eight years of marriage. They were talking to Dr. and Mrs. Chastain, while Grace, it seemed, had slipped off to the ladies’ retiring room.

Cord sighed. His cousin was matchmaking for him again. Sarah didn’t seem to understand the daughter of a physician held not the least appeal for him, no matter how attractive she was. He was going to marry an heiress. Lately he had been thinking more and more of Constance Fairchild or Mary Ann Winston. They were both blond and attractive and each possessed of a considerable fortune.

An earl was no small prize in the marriage mart. Either girl would likely accept his suit, and his wealth would expand considerably the moment the ceremony was performed.

He owed his father. He intended to repay him in the only way he knew how.

Walking over to the sideboard, he poured himself a brandy, his mind slipping away from the past to the disastrous supper he had hosted tonight. He thought of the excessively rum-soaked cakes and grinned as he made his way toward his guests.

Grace Chastain crossed the entry toward the sweeping spiral staircase on her way to the ladies’ retiring room. The evening was becoming interminable. Not only was the food beyond god-awful, she’d been seated next to Colonel Pendleton, who was a passable conversationalist but wanted mostly to discuss the war, which Grace did her best to forget.

Now that supper was over, Sarah would begin her matchmaking—the reason she and her parents had been invited in the first place. Her mother had been ecstatic, of course, pressing her every minute to talk more to the earl. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had. Everyone in London knew the earl would settle for no less than marriage to an heiress.

Grace just wished the evening would end.

Straightening the bodice of her high-waisted plum silk gown, she lifted the pearl-trimmed skirt and started up the stairs just as a movement in the hall caught her eye. Turning, she spotted a familiar slender figure and sucked in a breath.

“Tory! Victoria Whiting, is that really you?” Racing back down the stairs, she ran after the woman hurrying along the hall in the opposite direction. Grace caught her arm and spun her around in the middle of the corridor.

“Tory! It’s me—Gracie. Don’t you recognize me?” As she enveloped her friend in a hug, several seconds passed before she realized the warmth wasn’t being returned.

Grace let go and took a step backward. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you glad to see me?” It was then that she noticed Tory’s clothing, the crisp black taffeta skirt and
white cotton blouse. “All right—what’s going on? Why are you dressed like a servant?”

Tory sighed and her shoulders sagged. “Oh, Gracie—I was hoping you wouldn’t see me.”

“What are you doing here? Surely you aren’t really working as a member of his lordship’s staff?”

“There’s so much to explain. So much has happened since I left the academy.” She glanced toward the drawing room. “There isn’t time tonight. Just promise me you won’t tell anyone I am here.”

“If you’re in some kind of trouble—”

“Please, Grace. If you’re still my friend, promise me you won’t say a word.”

“All right, I won’t say a word—on one condition. Tomorrow you meet me and explain what’s going on.”

Tory shook her head. “It would be better for both of us if you just pretended you never saw me.”

“Tomorrow, Tory. The King’s Inn is just round the corner. It’s quiet and out of the way. No one will see us. I’ll meet you in the dining room at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

Tory made a resigned nod of her head. “All right. Tomorrow. King’s Inn. One in the afternoon.”

Grace watched her friend walk away, her mind spinning with a dozen different thoughts, each of them laced with worry. It had been years since she had seen Victoria Whiting. She wondered what could have happened to Tory in that time, wondered if her best friend’s life had become as complicated as her own.

T
he following morning Cord sat at the desk in his study, reviewing the estate ledgers for Willow Park, his country estate in Sussex. He had already found one not-so-small discrepancy between the amount of hay being ordered for the sheep on the property and the number sold at market. For the past several years, he had been growing less trustful of his estate manager, Richard Reed. Cord made a mental note to make a trip to Sussex to check out the matter for himself.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel, then rose briskly to his feet. Ten o’clock. Time to solve Victoria’s problems with his staff once and for all. Striding down the hall to the entry, he found the servants lined up to greet him, their faces filled with worry at what he planned to do.

Good. They ought to be worried.

He flicked a glance at Victoria, who looked more resigned than fearful. He forced himself to remember the promise he had made her, and tried not to recall the feel of those soft pink lips or the silkiness of her hair as he’d fisted it in his hand.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, my lord,” they replied in unison.

“Let me begin by saying I am extremely disappointed in the lot of you. In the weeks Mrs. Temple has been running my household, instead of trying to help her, you have done everything in your power to make her job more difficult.”

A murmur went through the crowd and dark looks flashed Victoria’s way. He saw her square her shoulders.

“Still, the work got done and for the most part very well, I might say. I told her she could fire any or all of you, should that be her wish, but she refused. Instead, she suggested your grievance might have some merit.”

A dozen pairs of eyes fastened on his face. “Although Mrs. Temple has obviously had a good deal of experience, she is younger than most of the women employed in so important a position and hiring her might have seemed somewhat unfair. She suggested that in order to correct the situation, I should consider giving all of you a raise.”

An audible murmur went through the group. Heads swiveled. Faces gazed at Victoria as if she were someone they had never seen before, and inwardly he smiled.

“Your raises take effect immediately. In return, I expect you to give Mrs. Temple your full cooperation. That is all.”

He cast a last glance at Victoria, saw the relief and maybe a hint of admiration in her eyes. As he walked back to his study to face the mountain of paperwork on his desk, for the first time in weeks, his footsteps seemed a little lighter.

He had almost made it to the study door when Timmons approached from behind him.

“Begging your pardon, my lord. A messenger has arrived with a note from Colonel Pendleton. I assumed you would wish to see it right away.” He handed over the wax-sealed missive. “Shall I tell the messenger to await your reply?”

Cord cracked the seal and quickly scanned the note, which said that Pendleton had just received news of Ethan and requested a time that would be convenient for him to call.

“I won’t be making a reply. At least not in writing. Have my phaeton brought round front. I’ll see to the matter in person.”

It was only a few minutes later that Cord climbed up on his high-seat phaeton and picked up the reins of the glossy black gelding harnessed in front. He wove the reins between the fingers of his gloves, then slapped the leather strips against the horse’s rump, setting the conveyance into motion.

The trip to Whitehall took longer than it should have, the streets being clogged with heavy drays and hackney carriages, freight wagons and traveling coaches. Once he reached his destination, he tossed a coin to a linkboy and instructed him to watch his rig, then walked to the far end of the building and climbed the stairs to Pendleton’s office.

The colonel didn’t keep him waiting. Gold epaulettes gleamed on his scarlet tunic as he invited Cord to take a seat in front of his desk. “I wondered if you could stand the wait.”

“Not a chance. What news, Colonel?”

“As I had hoped, the courier arrived this morning. Ethan is being held in the prison at Calais.”

His heart leaped. “Is Bradley certain?”

“As certain as he can be. He hasn’t seen the captain himself, but word is, he is there.”

“How soon will he be ready to go in after him?”

“As soon as he receives instruction from us where the pickup is to be made. In the meantime, he’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“You mean he’ll bribe the guards to turn their heads so Ethan can escape.”

“Exactly so. He’ll want a moonless night. Safer all round. That should be coming up soon.”

“I’ve a schooner standing by with a capable captain and crew. Tell Bradley we’ll be ready whenever he gives the word.”

“I’ll see that he gets the message. I’ll let you know as soon as I receive a reply.” The rescue mission was unofficial, since Ethan was no longer officially a British officer. They had the colonel’s help, but he could only go so far.

Cord stood up, his pulse humming with excitement. Ethan was alive. Soon he would be home. Unfortunately, he would have to wait to tell Sarah as she and Jonathan, who were visiting for several days, had taken little Teddy to Merlin’s Mechanical Exhibit for the day.

Cord left the office and headed for his town house, his body still pulsing with nervous energy. If Victoria had agreed to his proposal, he would exhaust himself making passionate love to her for the rest of the afternoon. He remembered the feel of her breast in his hand, the softness of her lips, and went hard inside his breeches.

Cord cursed and forced the memory away. Perhaps tonight he would visit Madame Fontaneau’s, as he
should have done long before this. The women there were beautiful and talented and he could have his pick.

It was amazing how little the notion appealed to him.

It was early afternoon, a warm June day with a breeze blowing in off the Thames. Returned from her brief half-hour outing to the King’s Inn, all the time she dared take meeting Grace—Tory untied the strings of her drab gray bonnet and tossed the hat on the table in her sitting room. As much as she had hoped to avoid her friend the night before, she couldn’t deny it was good to see her. And their friendship seemed as solid as ever, even after three long years.

In the end, she had told Gracie the truth and sworn her to secrecy.

“I can’t believe all that has happened,” Tory had said.

“You only did what you had to in order to protect yourself.”

“I know, but that won’t keep either of us out of prison.”

“We’ll think of something,” Grace promised. “In the meantime, I’ll try to find out what the baron’s been up to. If you have to leave the city, you know where to find me. Just send word and I’ll do what I can to help.”

Grace hadn’t changed. Once she had been a loyal and trustworthy friend. Apparently, she still was.

She looked about the same, a bit taller than Tory, her hair a rich auburn touched with hints of gold. She had always been pretty. Now, at nineteen, her gawky girl-hood was gone, replaced by an attractive maturity. Tory thought that the only trouble Grace would have finding a husband was finding a man she wanted.

The week stretched toward an end. Seeing Grace had kept her spirits buoyed these past few days, but counting, mending and marking the linen, then sorting through the bins and drawers in the dry stores in the heat of the afternoon had worn her out.

At least the servants had been treating her more fairly, thanks to Lord Brant and the fact the staff was beginning to realize she wasn’t carrying on an affair with the earl—somewhat to her disappointment.

She was heading below stairs to make a final check on dinner preparations when the front door slammed open and the earl strode in. She squeaked as she realized he was bearing down on her—as mad as she had ever seen him.

“My study,” he commanded. “Now!”

Tory bit her lip. Lifting her skirt she hurried down the hall in front of him. Brant followed her into the study and slammed the door.

“Sit down.”

“I—I think I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

“I said sit!”

She dropped into the nearest chair as if her legs had been severed at the knee and forced herself to look up at him. He seemed even taller than he usually did, his eyes fierce and dark, his jaw clamped tight.

“I think it’s time we talked about the necklace.”

Her head swam. For an instant, she feared she would fall right out of the chair. “Wh-what necklace?”

“The one you and your sister stole from Baron Harwood.”

Her palms went damp. She smoothed them over her crisp black taffeta skirt. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. I’m speaking of the very valuable diamond-and-pearl necklace that was stolen from Harwood Hall.” His jaw hardened. “And there is also the not-insignificant crime of the attempted murder of the baron.”

Tory swallowed, tried to look calm when her insides were quaking. “I don’t know a Baron Harwood. I have never even heard of him.”

“I don’t know him, either, but that is hardly the point. The fact remains, according to information I happened to overhear at my club, information that apparently was printed in the newspaper—editions I somehow managed to miss—the crimes were committed and two young women are suspect. One is tall and blond, the other dark-haired and a few inches shorter.” He stared hard into her face. “Sound like anyone you know?”

Tory forced an eyebrow up. “You think Claire and I are the women you describe? Why would you believe we had anything to do with it?”

“Because the blond is said to be extravagantly fair of face.” A corner of his mouth edged up. “And the brunette is reported to be ruthless in the extreme.”

Tory’s spine went stiff. “You think I am ruthless?”

His lips curved into what might have passed for a smile. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “Desperation drives people to do desperate things. You looked pretty desperate the day I met you on the paving stones in front of my house.”

She sat up a little straighter in the deep leather chair, keeping her eyes on his face. “If the necklace were as valuable as you say and I had, indeed, stolen it, I wouldn’t have been desperate. I would have been quite well settled. That only makes sense.”

Lord Brant pinned her with a glare. “Or perhaps something happened to the money you received from the sale. Perhaps it was stolen or you spent it or—”

“Or perhaps I am innocent of the crime. Perhaps I never took the necklace, never sold it, and therefore never had any money at all.”

He didn’t believe her, not for an instant. She could see it in his face. Her heart was hammering, her cheeks flushed. She wondered if he could tell how terrified she was.

She nervously smoothed a loose curl into the coil at her nape. “These women…they were servants in the baron’s household?”

“I presume so.” His voice faintly softened. “If you are in trouble, Victoria, perhaps I can help. Tell me the truth. I don’t believe you are the sort who would commit these crimes without cause. Tell me what you have done and let me see what I can do to straighten things out.”

She wanted to. Dear God, she wanted to tell him the truth more than anything in the world. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and beg him to save her. If she did, if she told him she and Claire were Harwood’s stepdaughters, he would be honor-bound to send them back to the baron. She couldn’t let that happen.

“I would tell you, my lord, if there were any truth to the tale. In fact, there is none. Claire and I are not the women in question. We are not the ones who committed the crimes.”

A muscle tightened in his cheek. “Lie to me, Victoria, and I will see you punished to the very limits of the law.”

The blood drained from her face. He would see them put into prison. They would languish there for years,
perhaps even die there. Dear God, it took all of her courage to look into the hard lines of his face and lie to him again.

“I am telling you the truth.”

The earl stared at her for several moments more, then turned and walked away. “That will be all,” he said harshly, keeping his back to her. “For now.”

Legs shaking, Tory rose unsteadily to her feet. As silently as possible, she made her way out the door of the study. She and Claire would have to run again, leave London, find someplace new to hide.

Tears blurred her vision as she hurried down the hall toward the stairs leading down to her room. She would have to tell Claire. She had no idea where they might go, no idea how to get there. Somehow she would have to find a way.

In the meantime, her behavior had to remain completely normal. She would do her job exactly as she usually did until the workday was over.

Tonight she would tell Claire the awful news. Then they would have to leave.

Dammit to hell!
Cord slammed a hand against the walnut bookshelf in his study. He didn’t know if he wanted to throttle Victoria for lying or admire the courage it had taken to stand up to him in one of his towering rages.

Few men had the nerve. Sarah was the only woman who had ever been brave enough, and only because she knew he would never hurt a woman. Victoria had feared him, as he had meant for her to do. Still, she refused to cower and instead found the strength to defy him.

He knew she was guilty. She was a very poor liar.
He could see the deceit written clearly on her face. What he didn’t know was why she had done it, and as he had said, he didn’t believe she was the sort to commit such crimes without cause. He ought to call in the authorities, he knew, but the notion left a bad taste in his mouth. Before he decided what action he would take, he needed to ferret out the truth.

He would, he vowed, pacing over to his desk. He would hire a Bow Street runner, and he knew exactly the man. Seating himself behind the desk, he snatched the pen from its silver holder and dipped it into the ink-well, then scratched out a message for Jonas McPhee, instructing him to discover all he could about Harwood, the theft of the necklace, and the serving women who had allegedly stolen it.

He had used McPhee before and been satisfied with the results. Cord sealed the message with a drop of wax, then rang for a footman to see it delivered to Bow Street. Once the facts were known—assuming he had judged Victoria correctly—he would find a way to help her.