A Heartless Design (10 page)

“Indeed?” She focused on Thorne. “That
is
generous.”

Leona said, “You can tell him the particulars. Lord knows I never understood what Alfred and Cordelia chattered on about with those things!” Her aunt then stood up and began to walk toward the door.

“You’re leaving?” Cordelia asked, alarmed.

“Lord Dunham is escorting me to the opera tonight. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh, of course. You’ll want to be ready when he calls for you.”

Leona turned back to Thorne and bestowed a motherly smile on him. “I am sorry I cannot stay to chat. But will you call again, my lord? It would be lovely to hear about your family and how they are doing.”

“I’d be delighted, Mrs Wharton,” he said, smiling slowly. “You may depend on it.”

Leona departed, leaving the two alone again. Cordelia almost called her back, seeing as her aunt’s role was to chaperone her in just this kind of situation. But Cordelia had often railed against the need for anyone to chaperone her at all, seeing as she was an old maid. She could hardly protest now. If Sebastien noticed the older woman’s lapse, he said nothing.

Cordelia regarded the man. She said, “You were speaking of my father’s work. Go on.”

“I thought you might tell me something about what went missing. I have some useful connections, and if there is a way to recover what was lost, I would be most happy to assist.” 

“My father’s work interests you?”

“Er, yes. Of course.”

“Was there a particular aspect that intrigued you? His improvements to hull valves? Or the mast fortifications he devised? I know that several other engineers have taken his advances further in the past several years. It may be that my father’s work is quite out of date now.”

He paused. “You are very protective of your father’s work?” he noted mildly, making it a question.

“Someone has to be,” Cordelia responded.

“I’m surprised you kept everything. The scribblings of scholars are rarely of value to anyone but the scholars themselves.”

“My father was a genius,” Cordelia said defensively. “His scribblings often saved lives!”

“How so?”

“Well, he used to look at the crippled ships pulled into harbor after a storm, and he saw that the masts nearly always broke at the same point near the base. So he designed a new base that was reinforced twice over. The captains who adopted his design swore that it got them through storms that would have destroyed another ship.”

“I see. What else did he think of?”

“Many things. Little improvements to make life easier at sea, or to build stronger ships. Even lifeboats can be improved. My father sailed for years, and he gathered a lot of practical knowledge. Just because there is a traditional way to make ships doesn’t mean it’s the best way.”

“You’re extremely knowledgeable about his work.”

“For a mere woman?” she asked archly.

“I am only noting your unusual interest.”

“Forgive me if I find
your
interest in it rather unusual, my lord.”

“I like to be useful. Your aunt was alarmed by the break-in, but she was clearly relieved that the papers were the only thing taken. Your reaction is rather different. You think those papers are valuable.”

Cordelia stared at him. He was far more observant than he first appeared. She would have to be very careful around him. So she hedged, “I was told that the contents of the box were unique.”

“Told by your father?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “He asked me to keep them safe. Obviously I failed.”

His expression softened. “I would like to help you recover them.”

“I would like to believe you.”

“But you don’t.”

“Your appearance here is very well timed.”

He frowned. “You don’t trust me.”

Cordelia actually laughed out loud at that. “Why should I?”

He allowed the point with a slight nod. “I wish I had the time to convince you that I am acting in your interest.”

“Alas, I do not have the rest of our lives.”

“A pity,” he said, his eyes flashing. “Miss Bering, you should know that I am the soul of courtesy compared to who you’ll meet next.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, a warning.”

“It’s a bit late, then. The papers are gone, and I don’t think the thief will return simply to nip the silver.”

“For your sake, I hope no one returns.” He sounded truly concerned. Lord Thorne confused her more every time he spoke.

“If someone does,” she said finally, “he’ll regret it. I will not stand by passively while someone tries to take more of my family’s legacy.”

Thorne only smiled. “Well said, Miss Bering.” If he thought her words were a threat aimed at him, he gave no sign.

A few minutes later, Thorne
took his leave. A courtesy call should not last more than a half-hour, and he already passed that mark. Besides, he decided Cordelia Bering was dangerous for him to be around. She had an answer for everything.

He met the maid at the door, where she already had his things ready. She opened the door for him, and stood almost at attention as he passed.

“Good day, my lord,” the little maid murmured, with her perfect curtsey. She closed the door softly behind him. He noticed, yet again, a slight strangeness in her manner, but he couldn’t put his finger on what was odd about it.

He walked back outside, glad to be in the fresh air and away from the distracting Miss Bering. Something was terribly wrong in that house. Something simple perhaps, but significant.

Thorne headed for his favorite club, a haven for gentlemen trying to escape the life of the
ton,
and the likely location of a friend he needed to speak to. The building itself was set back from the street, and even the neighbors seemed to forget that it was not a private residence. Thorne walked up to the massive door in the front, and a liveried servant opened the door for him.

The interior was cool and relatively dim, since the old stone walls of the mansion were thick, and the few windows in the front hall had their shades drawn. Another man saw him and said, “Good afternoon, Lord Thorne.” He was the club’s equivalent of a butler. His name was Baxter, and he had a terrifyingly accurate memory.

Thorne nodded to him. “Do you happen to know if Lord Forester is here?” Which was a silly question. Baxter undoubtedly knew the precise location of every person in the building, and probably what they had all ordered to drink as well.

“He is in the library, I believe,” Baxter murmured.

Thorne went up the stairs. He found the man he was looking for exactly where Baxter said he would be, sitting in a large leather chair with a book his hand, although he was not reading it. Instead, he was sleeping.

“Wake up,” Thorne said as he got closer.

Forester opened his eyes even as Thorne spoke, suggesting that he hadn’t really been asleep. Bruce Allander, Lord Forester, was even taller than Thorne; his legs stuck out past the chair and under the one that sat opposite him. His jet black hair was messy. An untouched glass of whiskey sat on the table by his side.

“Are you busy?”

“Do I look busy?” Forester laughed, spreading his arms to indicate the complete lack of activity surrounding him. In fact, they were the only two people in the small library at the moment, which suited them both very well.

“I have a question about astronomy,” Thorne began.

“For that, I have to get some air,” Forester said. “Step outside with me.”

The two men walked back down to the ground floor, exchanging a few words with Baxter as they left. They strolled toward a park, not speaking until they were well away from any buildings, and no one was near them on the path.

“What’s in the wind?” Forester finally asked in a low voice. He didn’t look at Thorne as he spoke, and anyone watching the pair would merely think the two men were chatting idly while heading someplace equally idle.

In truth,
idle
was a terrible word to describe Forester. Like Thorne, he had been recruited into the Zodiac several years ago. He’d joined the army more out of curiosity than any need to prove himself. He was a big man, naturally athletic, and had a good mind for strategy. When Neville first assigned the two men to work together on a mission, it had been the start of a camaraderie based on mutual respect. Whenever Thorne needed a second, Forester was the man he went to.

Thorne began to explain. “I’m looking for some plans for something called Andraste.”

“What the hell is that?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Aries mentioned you had a new mission, but he didn’t elaborate,” Forester said. “He knew you’d tell me if you needed anything. How can I help?”

“I ran into a name. Alfred Bering. Did you ever hear it?”

Forester considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t think so. Who is he?”

“Who
was
he. He was an engineer. Primarily, he designed ships.” 

His friend nodded. “I think I begin to understand. But this man is dead?”

“For years. But the work he did is still around, and people are now very interested in it. Someone stole papers from his daughter’s house last night. I’ve just come from there,” Sebastien added.

“And you think they are
the
plans?” 

Thorne nodded. “My best guess is a new ship design. Something that the French think will help them defeat us at sea.”

“Sounds like something we ought to prevent them from getting,” Forester said, with typical understatement. “But you say he’s dead. What about his family?”

“As I said, I just spoke with his daughter, who didn’t tell me everything she could have.” Not that he blamed her, considering the theft.

Forester tipped his head. “Alfred Bering. Wait, is the daughter Miss Cordelia Bering?”

“Yes! Do you know her?”

Forester barked a laugh. “I never met her personally. ‘Heartless’ Cordelia Bering is rather well known though, just for her eccentricity. She’s refused every proposal extended to her. Even one from a duke, if I remember correctly, so at least you can’t accuse her of holding out for something better.”

“She’s rich?” Thorne guessed.

“Not that I know of. But…well, you met her. What did you think?”

Sebastien tried not to think of Miss Bering’s appeal and instantly failed, particularly when he remembered how the afternoon light had—for one wonderful moment—suggested the shape of her figure under her white lawn dress. “I think some men might act very foolishly around her.”

Forester’s eyes narrowed as he guessed Thorne’s meaning. “So she is involved, you think?”

Thorne hesitated, considering. “Miss Bering is an intelligent woman. She certainly isn’t ignorant of her father’s work. So this isn’t a matter of someone tricking an innocent person into giving over a valuable document. She was extremely leery of even discussing the nature of the stolen plans with me. I think someone perhaps did approach her about buying the plans earlier, and she rebuffed them. Thus, the robbery.”

“Or that’s what she wants you to think,” said Forester.

“But she was distressed about the burglary.”

“She
appeared
distressed about the burglary,” his skeptical friend corrected. “A very different thing.”

Thorne shook his head. “No. I already tracked down the man responsible. The robbery was real enough. By his account, the servants nearly had him by the heels.”

“All to make it look real. After all, someone told the robber where to look.”

Thorne shook his head. “A lot of drama for no obvious audience. She’d have to be playing several moves ahead. I don’t know if she’s capable of that.”

“So you must find out more about her.”

“Lord, yes. I plan to. But I can’t investigate everyone at once. That’s what I need you for.”

“Tell me what needs to be done.” Forester said.

“Help me eliminate the obvious suspects and dead ends. Can you find out about the servants? Names, ages, where they’ve worked before? It is possible that one or more of them aren’t what they seem. In fact, I’d bet on that.”

“What do you mean?” Forester asked, curiosity in his eyes.

“I don’t know. The one I saw was decidedly odd.”

“Lazy? Impertinent?”

“Not at all. Rather, she was
perfect
. As if she adores Miss Bering and lives to serve her. She actually calls her
my lady
, or at least she did when she didn’t know I could hear her. Miss Bering has no title.”

“That’s certainly strange,” Forester allowed. “If she’s new, she might be nervous. Or maybe Miss Bering is just a kind mistress.”

“That’s not really what I meant.” Thorne sighed in frustration. “It was just a feeling I got when I was in the house. They’re—all of them, including Miss Bering—acting in a play. As if they are playing at being servants and she’s playing at being served. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

“Not exactly, but if you feel there’s something strange going on, I’d cover a bet on your intuition. I’ll find out who the servants are. You keep at Miss Bering. Gain her trust.”

“She doesn’t seem a trusting person,” he said. Of course, there were several time-honored ways to gain a woman’s trust. He could attempt a few of those.

Thorne left Forester, and continued to turn over the options in his mind. He had a host of things to discover, but first he took what news he had to Neville. The officer was relieved to hear that Sagittarius had already made progress. Though some of the plans were gone, the intelligence that something remained was reassuring.

Thorne said, “Remember the beauty we both saw at Gough’s?”

Neville visibly searched his memory. Sebastien couldn’t believe the image of Cordelia hadn’t burned itself into the brain of every man who had seen her. How the hell could Neville forget? “Oh, yes. The one in gold. What about her?”

“She has the remaining plans.”

Neville couldn’t hide his surprise. “A woman?”

“Miss Cordelia Bering, daughter of the late Alfred Bering. He was an engineer. His work remained in the house, leaving her as the caretaker of them.”

Neville groaned in frustration. “The tiniest threat would have her spilling all her secrets. Thorne, you have to convince her to trust you enough to give you the remaining plans. Do
whatever
you have to. Understand?”