Julie Anne Long (9 page)

“Oh, hold one moment,” Sir Henry commanded. The servants halted midstep. “Where is Jenkins? Not
you
, Jenkins,” he said when Tom Jenkins the gardener stepped forward. “I mean
Riordan
. Connor Riordan. My groom. I would ask him about Rebecca, too, as she does spend much of her time in the stables.”

Tom Jenkins cleared his throat before replying. “Riordan was off to South Greeley this morning, sir, to see about an Arabian mare and to fetch some supplies for the stables. He will be gone for the week.”

“Oh, yes, yes of course.” Sir Henry’s grim face brightened ever so slightly. “Now there’s something to look forward to. A bonnie new mare. A good lad, that Riordan.”

The servants remained motionless, watching Sir Henry carefully.

Noticing, he frowned a little. “Thank you. You may go.”

More dipping and bending in the direction of the duchess ensued and the group finally exited the room, much to the relief of Mrs. Hackette the housekeeper, who had not the knees for curtsies.

“My apologies for interrupting you, Your Grace. May we revisit your question?” Sir Henry asked.

“I wondered if Rebecca had any money of her own with which she could hire a coach or a room.”

“She has one pound,” Lorelei blurted.

Sir Henry stared at Lorelei for a moment, and then sighed a long-suffering sigh. “Where, pray tell, did Rebecca get a pound?”

“I . . . I gave it to her. I won a wager with Susannah Carson,” Lorelei stammered, perhaps realizing belatedly that she had just stumbled down a disastrous conversational path.

Lady Tremaine began weeping quietly.

Cordelia eyed Lorelei (a beautiful girl, but so very . . . incomplete, as of yet) with interest. These Tremaine chits were proving to be entertaining, indeed.

Sir Henry drew in a long breath and let it out slowly again. “I cannot recall ever encouraging you to indulge in wagers, Lorelei, but we shall address that issue later. It seems as though your headstrong sister has run off. And since you saw fit to help finance her cause, may I assume that you knew of her intentions ahead of time and might even have an inkling of her whereabouts?”

“No, Papa, I swear to you I do not know!” Lorelei blurted. “All I know is she would not have run off if it were not for
him
.”

She fairly spat the word and pointed a delicate white finger straight at a shocked Edelston. Lorelei, who tried never to demonstrate extreme facial expressions lest lines begin to encroach upon her flawless countenance, was glowering like a gargoyle.

“But why did you give her money if you did not know she intended to run off?” Sir Henry sounded almost amused, as though he was certain Lorelei would be sobbing out a confession in mere moments.

“Rebecca said only that she could not marry him, and I inferred her meaning, so I gave her my money. She said nothing more after that. She did not need to. We
are
sisters, you know.” Lorelei glared at Sir Henry defiantly.

Nonplussed, Sir Henry gawked at Lorelei as if she had suddenly stripped away her face like a mask to reveal Napoleon Bonaparte sitting in his parlor. Cordelia had the distinct impression that she was witnessing Lorelei Tremaine’s first ever rebellion.

Fortunately, an interlude of quiet weeping and handkerchief twisting seemed to have prepared Lady Tremaine to step into the breach.

“Lord Edelston, Your Grace, please forgive the uproar. Lorelei is merely a trifle overwrought. We are leaving for London for her first season in a few days, you know, and I’m sure you can recall, Duchess, what a vibrant—and
important
—time this is in a young woman’s life.”

Cordelia could recall nothing of the sort, since she herself had taken a rather unconventional route to becoming a duchess, but she curved her lips in a sympathetic smile, anyhow. Being a strategist at heart, however, she did fully comprehend the significance behind Lady Tremaine’s emphasis of the word “important.” Important, because Lorelei’s face was most certainly her fortune, and it would be a pity indeed to waste it on any chap not of the noblest blood. And important, because Lorelei’s worth on the marriage market would be severely compromised if word got out that her sister had disappeared into the countryside like a Gypsy. Well-bred young girls did not typically do such things. The Tremaines most certainly did not want the ballrooms of the
ton
to buzz with vicious skepticism about their ability to breed proper young wives for titled gentlemen.

“And, Lord Edelston,” Lady Tremaine continued, “I am certain that Rebecca is merely indulging in a case of prewedding nerves, and that she will turn up shortly, safe and sound and ready to be wed. I know you’ve learned by now that she is a young woman of strong and sudden inclinations. It is part of Rebecca’s unique charm. And I know she has grown quite fond of you.”

She smiled winningly at Edelston, encouraging him to agree with her, and Edelston offered up a sickly grin in return.

Sir Henry shot his wife a look of gratitude.

Cordelia continued astutely and discreetly assessing the expressions on the faces in the room with one objective in mind: how to get the locket back with little or no attention called to the search. For she was certain she had correctly interpreted Edelston’s expression: his resourceful bride had robbed him. It could hardly be a coincidence that Edelston’s pound note, the locket, and Rebecca Tremaine had disappeared all at once. The troublesome Miss Rebecca Tremaine could vanish into the ether, for all Cordelia cared, but she would not allow the locket to fall into hands other than her own. It would, quite simply, ruin her life.

She could see that Edelston was still floundering about in a soup of mixed emotions; he would be of no use to her. She spoke again.

“Since the grounds have been thoroughly searched and Rebecca has not been located, and her horse has not been taken out of its stall, I believe we need to consider that she had some assistance in leaving. Do you think perhaps this Connor Riordan—he is a member of your household staff?”

“My groom?” Sir Henry was puzzled.

“—yes, this Riordan who left for South Greeley this morning—do you think perhaps he could have helped her? He seems to be the only one besides Rebecca to leave the grounds.”

“Never!” Sir Henry spluttered. “He’s a good, honorable Irish lad, Riordan is. Best man I’ve ever had on the job. A wonder with the horses and a friend to Rebecca. More likely my hoyden of a daughter stowed aboard his cart, if that is the case.”

At the mention of Rebecca stowing away in a cart, Lady Tremaine went as white as the handkerchief in her nervous hands. Cordelia hurried over to her side and took her hand.

“Please do not fret, Lady Tremaine, Sir Henry. Perhaps I can ease your minds. I have at my disposal . . . contacts . . . who can help us quickly and discreetly find Miss Rebecca. We all know that it is
essential
that you accompany your wife and Lorelei to London, Sir Henry, to chaperone them during this special time of Lorelei’s life. Lord Edelston and I would be honored if you left the matter of Rebecca in our hands. We shall all meet in London shortly, and Lord Edelston will have his bride. And I am fairly certain that I can arrange for Lorelei to be admitted to Almack’s.”

Lady Tremaine gasped. “Oh, Your Grace, you are too kind, too good a friend! To have come upon us in such a state and to gift us with such generosity!”

“It is nothing at all. Rebecca is merely young. We will find her, and a splendid husband for Lorelei, as well.”

Lorelei gave up glowering for a more abstracted air. Cordelia could almost hear Lorelei’s thoughts:
Almack’s! Imagine!

“And have you a place to stay in London?” Cordelia asked, half dreading the answer.

“My husband’s cousin, Lady Kirkham, owns a townhouse in Grosvenor Square. She is quite elderly and has retired to the country, and allows us to use the house as we please. Sir Henry will inherit, of course, upon the unfortunate occasion of Lady Kirkham’s demise.” If Lady Tremaine had attempted to keep the pride from her voice, she had failed miserably.

Cordelia was indescribably relieved that she would not have to extend her own hospitality to the Tremaines. “How fortunate for you! Grosvenor Square is a very fine address. Now, if I may ask to be escorted to my room? I find that I
do
wish to rest before dinner,” Cordelia said.

Molly was summoned by a pull of the bell. When they arrived at the threshold of her assigned chamber, Cordelia turned to the little maid. “Find my footman, Hutchins, and send him to me,” she snapped. “Immediately.” She entered the room and closed the door in Molly’s cowed face.

Chapter Six

A
mail coach teeming with trunks and travelers hurtled out of the yard of St. Eccles’s small coaching inn just as Connor turned their cart into it. Rebecca clamped her hand over her cap; the wind created by the passing coach nearly yanked it from her head.

“Well, we missed that one, Ned,” Connor shouted to Rebecca over the clatter of hooves. “Or rather, it just barely missed
us
.”

Connor pulled the gray horse to a halt and swept the yard with his eyes. They had just witnessed the departure of the coach he had intended to take. And according to the schedule he’d obtained a week ago, the next mail coach wouldn’t arrive for another hour or so.

“Oh, no! Connor! Look, it’s—” Rebecca ducked her head.

Katie Denslowe, Robbie’s sister, was bustling across the yard. Three tiny youngsters scurried behind her like ducklings, colliding with each other, and the air rang with their shrill little voices. Katie had married and moved away years ago, and now appeared to be home for a visit. Which meant a member of the Denslowe family, all of whom had known Rebecca since her birth, would be along any minute to fetch Katie and her brood.

“Off to an auspicious start,” Connor muttered. It was now painfully clear that they could not afford to linger in the yard of the St. Eccles Inn. “And in the future, wee Becca, when ye see someone ye know, kindly do not call out ‘
Oh, no!
’ unless ye want very much to be discovered.”

“Oh,
all
right, your majesty,” Rebecca muttered.

Connor smiled at her. “And keep your head down, Ned. Remember you are shy.”

They stepped down from the cart and pulled down their packs while Connor scanned the yard for other conveyances. They simply could not take their cart and horse to Scotland, unless they wanted a ten-day journey. He would be leaving them in the care of the inn’s stables.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, guv, but ye’ve the look of someone who’s off t’ London. And I’m yer man, if that be true.”

Connor looked down at the speaker, who resembled nothing so much as a small, round, cheerful toad. The man’s wide smile revealed a gap where his two front teeth had once been, and a single button strained to hold his coat closed.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. . . .”

“Sharp. Chester Sharp, sir. I’ve an empty hack. Took a certain Miss Mackie this far from London.”

“I am Mr. Jonathan Hazelton, Mr. Sharp. How much to Scotland?” Connor thought he’d come straight to the point.

“Oh, I canna take ye all the way to Scotland, guv. I’ve a London hack. I can take ye for part of the trip, if ye’ve the blunt.”

“Eight shillings,” Connor said. “Each. To take myself and my nephew as far as Sheep’s Haven.” He motioned to Rebecca in the cart. She nodded politely to Mr. Sharp, her eyes lowered.

“
Sheep’s
Haven? But ain’t that off the coach road?”

“It is.” Connor regarded Chester Sharp levelly.

Chester Sharp suddenly looked intrigued. “And would that be the point, guv?”

“Will you take us, Mr. Sharp?”

“Yerself and yer”—Sharp looked at Rebecca—“nephew, eh?” Sharp for some reason sounded amused. “Hmmm . . . ten shillings each and ’tis done.”

Ten shillings each?
Good Lord. The annual payment from Melbers had unfortunately never arrived, and ten shillings would go a long way toward depleting their coffers.

“I’ve one other passenger, guv, but I’ll be leaving ’im in a town no’ an hour’s ride from ’ere. An’ then ye’ll ’ave the coach to yerselves.” Sharp gestured to a large man standing placidly next to a trunk. “Mr. Grunwald, ’e’s no’ much of a talker, from wha’ I can tell.”

Mr. Grunwald was definitely an eater, however, from what Connor could tell.

“Can we depart right away, Mr. Sharp?”

“I’d hoped to fill my coach first.”

“I would think Mr. Grunwald fills your coach admirably.”

Chester Sharp burst into laughter. “Oh, ye’ve the right of it, guv! All right. Another shilling, and we’ll be off, then.” Chester Sharp strolled off to help Mr. Grunwald with his trunks.

Connor turned to Rebecca. “Ned, we’ll ride with Mr. Sharp.”

“A moment ago, you almost sounded English, Connor.”

Connor’s mouth twitched. “Thank you, wee Ned.”

“And we are going to Scotland?” Her voice was obediently soft, but it was simply pulsating with curiosity.

He hesitated. Of course she’d heard his conversation with Chester Sharp. Where was the harm in telling her just a little of the truth? “Aye. I’ve . . . I’ve an aunt there, ye see . . .”

Rebecca glanced up, and her huge gray-green eyes glowed delightedly at him for an instant from beneath her boy’s cap like a shy wild creature peering from a cave. Then she obediently looked down again. It was silly, but Connor immediately felt bereft. It occurred to him that looking at length into Rebecca’s clear eyes was a luxury he’d always taken for granted.

“Scotland will do.” She sounded pleased with him, as though he’d at last mastered a difficult feat. He was oddly touched.

“’Tis an adventure, Ned,” he said softly. “And ye’re a brave lad.”

Rebecca smiled and shrugged, as though this went without saying.

Dinner at the Tremaine household that evening featured a fish, beef, pudding, wine, and tortured silences served alongside stilted words. Lorelei listlessly pushed her food about the plate, Sir Henry was quietly thunderous, Lady Tremaine wore a strange, stiff smile all the more gruesome for not reaching her eyes, and Edelston, despite being seated across from Lorelei and next to Cordelia and treated to a display of fetchingly candlelit display of white neck and bosom, persisted in behaving like a man in torment. Cordelia and Lady Tremaine did what was expected of them and invented wooden conversation. Cordelia’s coach was complimented; Lady Tremaine’s candelabra was complimented. Dresses and manners and puddings were complimented. But as if in tacit agreement, no one said the word “Rebecca,” as if the issue, having been discussed earlier, had been neatly disposed of forever.

Cordelia encountered Edelston in the hall later in the evening as the Tremaine household made ready to retire. She stopped in front of him, the flame from the candle in her hand casting their faces in amber.

“Ah, Tony, it seems we are in a bit of a predicament, yes?”

Edelston nodded slowly, as though the motion were painful. “Rebecca has the locket, you know. I’m fairly certain of it.”

“So I gathered from your expression in the parlor today.” Cordelia smiled wryly. “I now understand how you managed to acquire your extraordinary amount of debt. You
really
must work on your game face. No matter: I have taken the liberty of sending Hutchins with some instructions for a few acquaintances of mine who have experience with . . . locating missing objects. They know they will be paid handsomely for the return of the locket, so I trust if Rebecca is on the road to South Greeley or heading north in a hired coach, they will find it.”

“What of Rebecca?” Edelston asked, aghast. “Who are these acquaintances?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, they are too well paid to even consider touching the girl, and I did not tell them to retrieve
her
. I simply asked them to determine which direction she was traveling. You might consider letting her go her merry way, Tony. She clearly does not want to be wed to you. We can find a new heiress for you—one who is considerably more rich and less slippery—and we’ll leave Rebecca to her adventure. No doubt she is spreading her legs for her father’s groom as we speak.” She smiled and rested her hand on his arm, because Tony had always liked a ribald joke, especially when delivered from exquisite lips.

Edelston gently removed Cordelia’s hand from his arm. “No, you are wrong there,” he said slowly. “She would not spread her legs for a groom, Cordelia. She is not you.”

Cordelia’s palm flew up and cracked against his cheek. The sound echoed in the hallway.

“I am a
duchess
,” she hissed. “I have sacrificed much and worked longer and harder than you have at anything in your short and worthless life, Tony. I endured two years of marriage to a debauched aristocrat. I
belong
here, and I will not allow anyone to take this life away from me, and that means I will do anything necessary to get that locket back. You
will
treat me with respect, Tony. How dare you treat my life with such callous disregard? How
dare
you?”

Edelston cradled his face in his hands for a moment, as if to blot out the sight of Cordelia’s anger, then lowered them again with a deep sigh. “Please forgive me, Cordelia. I am a perfect ass. I know not what possessed me. You have always been a friend to me, and I will do what I can to help us both. It’s just . . . Cordelia, I know you find this amusing and difficult to believe, but I
am
in love.”

Cordelia stared at him, and her delicate brows dove in confusion.

“I am in love,” Edelston repeated despairingly.

“But why?” Cordelia found herself asking, her voice uncertain. “Why this girl?”

“Do you know when you visit Brighton, how you can smell the sea long before you see it? The salt in the breeze?” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s like that. Rebecca is the salt in the breeze. She makes me aware that I am . . . somewhat less than I could be. She is so completely herself, she makes me want to become . . . someone else. Forgive me, I cannot explain it adequately.”

It was enough for Cordelia. She skillfully schooled her face, as usual, to hide what she felt, which this time was a penetrating and unexpected hurt. Cordelia had never been able to indulge in the luxury of being herself in her entire life.

“You are a few weeks shy of debtor’s prison, Tony. This is perhaps not the most appropriate time to grow a soul.”

Edelston’s head snapped up. He glared at her, and Cordelia found that she preferred anger to the blank misery that had been in his face all evening.

“Let us not quarrel.” She placed a conciliatory hand, tentatively, on his arm again. He did not shake it off. “All will be well, you will see. And only think: the season is upon us. A twirl about a ballroom or two in the
ton
will take your mind off your troubles a bit.”

Edelston nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps,” he said grandly. “But perhaps I will look for Rebecca instead. Good night, Cordelia.”

He left her standing in the hallway.