Murder While I Smile (23 page)

“I wanted to quiz her about the Watteau and Yarrow.”

“You could have done that at her house. What did you want to quiz her about yesterday that it took you till six o’clock in the morning? Don’t bother to invent a story, for I shan’t believe a word of it.”

“I don’t have to invent a story! Brougham felt she had evidence that would help us convict Yarrow.”

“Why choose you for this juicy assignment?”

“Because I knew her before.”

“Because you were her lover before and still are! Do you expect me to believe that Brougham ordered you to make love to her to discover her secrets? I knew the honorable members have few scruples, but I didn’t know they were expected to prostitute themselves for the good of the country. If that is the case, I fear I haven’t the stomach to be your wife.”

“I didn’t make love to her!” he shouted, then took a long, deliberate breath to calm his nerves. “I took her to Colchester to get her daughter. She was frightened out of her wits. Do you think I would take advantage of a lady in that condition, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t?”

“I don’t know what you would do. I no longer feel I know you, but I am coming to know her uncommonly well after hearing Prance rant about her prowess on the chaise longue.”

“It is Yarrow who is the greater villain of the piece.”

His defense of Chamaude was the last straw. “It is you who are the fool. Where do you think Marchant got her copy of the
Rondeaux?
She is in it up to her ears. She may pull the wool over your eyes, but she does not fool me. I won’t sit still for it
—
to be made a laughingstock in front of my friends.”

“Is that what worries you, what people will think?”

“No, what
I
think—that I cannot trust the man I intended to marry.”

“I have done nothing wrong!”

“We obviously differ on what constitutes wrongdoing. You have been seeing that French strumpet behind my back, lying to me! And now you dare to tell me she is innocent!”

“I don’t say she is innocent. It was my duty to discover what I could.”

“I cannot imagine your duties were so stringent that you couldn’t have dropped me off a note telling me you could not keep our date last night. Nor why you went haring off this morning without a word.”

“I wanted to give Brougham what I had got and have the rest of the day for us.”

“Unless Brougham decides you are required to hold the comtesse’s hand again.”

“She’s left London—for good.”

“Has she indeed?” she asked, her head ringing with anger.

“Yes, this is the last place she’d bring Sylvie.”

“Liar! Prance had a note from her this very day, inviting him to call at Half Moon Street. He is with her this minute. You had best dart after him, or he will be cutting you out.”

“What? That’s impossible!”

She saw his concern, and her anger soared even higher. He was furious that Chamaude was seeing Prance. “It seems the comtesse was not so impressed with your attentions as you thought,” she sneered.

“She can’t be here!”

“She is here. I saw her note to Prance. Perhaps she found the love nest dull without you.”

“Something must have happened.”

“Yes, like myself, she has had a change of heart, but I’m sure you will soon find yourself another light-skirt, now that you are free. If you had ever bothered to give me an engagement ring, I would have the pleasure of returning it.”

“And if you had ever bothered to make the announcement, you would likewise have the pleasure of rescinding it.”

“How very remiss of us both. One is led to wonder whether either of us ever had any intention of going through with this farce of a wedding.”

“Speak for yourself!”

“I shall. Your actions speak for you.”

He drew the jeweler’s box from his pocket and slammed it on the table. “One of us intended to go through with it. I bought the engagement ring this morning.”

“For whom?” she retorted.

“Go to hell,” he growled, then he turned on his heel and stalked from the room.

The little blue velvet box sat on the sofa table. Corinne was sorely tempted to open it, but she was angry enough to subdue the urge. She didn’t even touch it, but called Black and said, “Would you please return that box on the table to Lord Luten, Black.”

Black had no compunction in opening the little box. “Whew!” he exclaimed, lifting the ring out. “There’s a dandy bit of sparkler. Ten carats at least.”

Corinne examined it beneath lowered eyelashes. “A vulgar, showy thing,” she sniffed. “You may throw out that bouquet of flowers while you are here.”

“Happen Mrs. Ballard would like it,” he said.

“Throw it in the dustbin.”

“Just as you like,” he said, and carried it and the ring down to the kitchen, where Cook shoved the flowers into a water jug and enjoyed them while Black retailed what he had heard abovestairs, passing the ring around for the servant girls to try on and ooh over.

“Dandy fireworks abovestairs,” he said, “and his lordship hasn’t even heard about young Harry yet. There will be another gnashing of teeth and rattling of thunder.”

“It’s the Irish in her,” Cook said. “They never can stand too much peace and quiet. It’ll pass. You’ll see.”

Abovestairs, Corinne sent a note off to Grosvenor Square, asking Harry to take her to Lady Melbourne’s ball that evening. Her pride demanded that she be seen out with a dashing buck, enjoying herself, and no one was so likely to infuriate Luten as Harry. She knew she would have a miserable evening, but she would not let Luten think he had wounded her.

When she gave the note to Black for a footman to deliver, he said quietly, “He’s had his carriage brought round and left in a hurry. His regular crested carriage.”

She knew she should tell him she was not interested in the comings and goings of Lord Luten, but her curiosity prevented it. It saved her a deal of window watching.

“Did you return that box, Black?”

“Yes, milady. He would have had it before he left. That would be why he was in such a pelter.”

“Thank you.”

She was still in the saloon, reliving every moment of their meeting and thinking of a dozen cutting things she should have said, when Prance was announced. His shoulders drooped.

“That lady’s heart is harder than a paving stone,” he said. “After sending for me, Yvonne wouldn’t see me. She left word with that wretched butler that she had to leave suddenly, but she
was
there. I could hear her. I don’t understand. The woman is a wanton, toying with my love.”

“Pity. I was hoping you would cut Luten out. It is only his money she is after, Reg.”

“I believe she has settled on Yarrow after all. He was there. I could hear him talking in a loud voice in the saloon, while I was arguing with the butler. Yarrow has managed to get her an invitation to Lady Melbourne’s ball this evening. She said something about a girl called Sylvie. Has Yarrow been carrying on with someone else, I wonder? Am I merely a pawn in her game?”

“Sylvie is her daughter. Luten said he took Chamaude to Colchester to fetch the girl. He seemed surprised to hear that Chamaude is back in town.”

“I wonder if all this flurry of romantical activity on Yvonne’s part has to do with trimming Yarrow into line, forcing him to introduce her more fully into Society, or she would find a patron who would.”

She told Prance all about Luten’s visit and about the engagement ring.

Prance was a connoisseur of jewelry. The ring diverted his attention. “How many carats? What cut was the stone?”

“Emerald cut. Black says ten carats.”

“Magnificent! And not any of the Luten entailed collection either. It must have been a sore temptation to you.”

“Not in the least.”

“I am a beast to even suggest such a thing, but... the ring does not sound like you. Such a gaudy ornament would sit more naturally on another lady’s finger. You know to whom I refer, I think.”

“Then why give it to me?”

“To make a point, perhaps. Luten’s pride dislikes being bested, even in a jilting. He must have the upper hand, always. The ring implies his innocence, putting you in the wrong. He could always buy another for Yvonne.” When he saw the tears gathering in her eyes, he rushed into an avalanche of apologies. “Forgive me, my heart. It is mere speculation. I should be muzzled like the rabid cur I am.”

She blinked away the tears. “No doubt you’re right. Did I mention I am going to Melbourne’s ball this evening with Harry?”

Prance pulled a moue. “I had hoped you would go with me.”

“Will you be going?”

“It seems it is the place to be this evening. Byron is bound to be there. He and Lady Melbourne are close as inkle-weavers. We ought to have gone together, Corinne, to bear each other company in our gloom. To think of seeing Yvonne with Yarrow, and Byron swarming about, being stroked by all the ladies. I am not sure I am up to it.” He looked for encouragement. When Corinne did not urge him to attend, he had to urge himself. “Of course, it will be amusing to see how Yvonne behaves to Luten.”

“Do you think he’ll go?”

He gave a sly smile. “I wager he will when I tell him Yvonne is going. I’ll call and drop him a hint as soon as he returns.”

Luten drove posthaste to see Brougham to discuss Chamaude’s return to London.

“Demmed odd,” Brougham said, frowning. “It was all a hoax, then. Well, I warned you the lady was lethal. Wise of you to take a roundabout way home.”

“Has there been any word from Bow Street on Boisvert’s murder?”

“A well-known felon by the name of Daugherty was seen in the vicinity. He’s for hire for any sort of dirty work, if the price is right. Townsend has picked him up, but we haven’t got anything out of him.”

“It might be interesting to release him and see where he goes, who he gets in contact with.”

“It’s an idea. I’ll send for Townsend and let you know what happens. You’ll be at home?”

“Waiting on nettles.”

Brougham gave him a quizzing grin. “As your lady friend lives just across the way, that shouldn’t interfere much with your romance.”

“What romance? I have been given my congé
,
Brougham.”

“It’ll pass. The course of true love never runs smooth.”

Luten had a good deal to think about as he sat in his saloon, sipping claret to calm his nerves, while he waited to hear from Brougham. The open ring box sat on the table beside the wine decanter, taunting him. He had to devise some plan to win Corinne back. He knew from past experience that her volatile temper flared like one of Congreve’s rockets and soon settled down. He admired that openness in her.

His own tendency was to nurse his grievances in silence. For four years he had sulked over her rejecting his first offer, made too soon after her husband’s death. He had behaved deplorably, snipping and sniping at the poor girl. And she had risen to every barb, giving him back what he deserved. A wan smile tugged at his lips. They had both enjoyed every minute of their little tiffs. But this was different. When diamonds and flowers can’t console a lady, the matter is serious indeed.

When this Yarrow business was finished, he’d call on her again and try persuasion. Meanwhile, he pondered Prance’s brief visit, announcing in the most casual way possible that Yvonne was attending Lady Melbourne’s ball. What was the meaning of that? Should he attend himself, to keep an eye on things?

He only left his study to sit down, alone, to dinner. As soon as he was finished, and he ate virtually nothing, he went back to his study. It was from there that he saw Harry’s carriage drive up to Corinne’s house. His heart thumped in anger. He waited and watched as the two came out the door together, laughing and holding hands like young lovers. Harry was demmed attractive. She had always had a soft spot for him. When Prance had told him that Corinne was attending Lady Melbourne’s ball, he assumed she would be going with Prance and Pattle. Not a word about Harry. They were all conspiring against him. He was suddenly eager to attend the ball himself, but he had told Brougham he would be at home, awaiting word on Daugherty.

It was after nine o’clock when Brougham called in person at Berkeley Square. “Our friend Daugherty went to a tavern and is still there,” he announced.

“That’s not much help.”

“I haven’t got to the cream of it yet. He sent a note—to Yarrow.”

“By God, I’d like to get a look at that!”

“It might be possible. Yarrow was just entering his carriage with his lady when the note was delivered. He read it and put it in his waistcoat pocket. I mentioned he’s attending Melbourne’s ball. If only there were some way to read that note.” He directed a meaningful glance at Luten.

“I’ll take care of it,” Luten said. He felt the old excitement pounding in his blood. If Yarrow had the note, he’d get hold of it if he had to knock the bastard senseless and steal it. Really he couldn’t think of any other way to do it. It would give him infinite pleasure to knock Yarrow down. If he couldn’t strike someone soon, he felt he would burst.

He darted upstairs, called for Simon, and made a fresh toilette. Simon was vastly relieved to be back in his master’s favor. He attended most solicitously to cravat and jacket, recommending the new dark green from Weston, with the diamond cravat pin. “To match the pin to the jacket lacks originality,” he said.

“If Prance ever heard you say that, he’d commit suicide
—
or murder.”

Before leaving, he picked up the blue box holding the engagement ring. It made a lump in his jacket. He extracted the ring and slid it into his pocket. With luck, it would be where it belonged before he returned.

Chapter Twenty-three

An autumnal mist clung to the ground as Corinne went out to the carriage to join the stream of carriages wending their way through the West End of London, their lamps glowing like earthbound moons in the darkness. At those houses where parties were in progress, lights blazed at every window. The sight had seemed magical to Corinne when she first arrived in London. It excited her still, but on that evening she failed to notice it. When Harry’s carriage reached Melbourne House, his liveried footman leapt down and opened the carriage door. Gold-laced footmen in powdered tail wigs lined the steps of the house, ready to offer assistance.