Season For Desire (23 page)

Put that way, duty wasn’t a bad beginning.

Lord Xavier held out the paper and squinted at it. “So those quotations she added in there are meant to encourage love or forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness, bah. What I want to know is, where are all those diamonds she’s supposed to have left behind?” When everyone looked at Lady Irving, she scoffed, “Don’t act so missish. You were all thinking it. That’s why you Rutherfords came to England: to find diamonds. There must be something to that final bit, that ‘search the tower.’ She wouldn’t say that if there was nothing to find.”

“A tower that’s part of her ancestral home, perhaps?” asked Lord Xavier.

Giles cast his mind back over the marquessate’s family properties, all visited fruitlessly at some point in the past few months. The house in London was a neat stone slab in a row of identical town homes, just like Xavier House. It had no claim to a tower; the only structure to break the straight line of the roof was the chimney pot.

Richard’s mind seemed to be working along the same lines. “Not the property in Devon . . . no, no tower that I recall in Shropshire. Derbyshire? Giles, was there—hmm. No. There is no tower there either. They’re just . . . houses. Grand houses, but none of them possesses a tower. I can’t imagine what it refers to.”

“Not to worry.” Giles pitched his voice low, mindful of the sleeping baby cradled on Lady Irving’s—argh—bosom. “I’ll start working on a list of every tower in England, and we’ll search them all from south to north.”

“Maybe just the ones in London,” said Richard. “And Yorkshire, since that’s where the puzzle boxes all ended up. Oh, no—Lincolnshire, too.”

“A joke, Father. A joke.” Giles skimmed the paper again. “There must be some other clue we’re overlooking. The names of the girls?”

Lady Xavier fiddled with her quills. “Since they were real girls, their names might simply have been a way to link the puzzle boxes together. What about the Bible verses, though? If I could look at the other two original boxes . . .” She held the small
ruiji
box beneath the bright circle of lamplight.

“She might have hidden the jewels in a church,” Lady Irving suggested. “Bible verses, churches have towers, et cetera.”

Giles stared at her. “That . . . makes sense. Huh. Her parents wouldn’t have balked at letting her go to a church, no matter how angry they were with her.”

“You needn’t sound so surprised, young Rutherford. Remember, I’m the only one who recognized one of those canticles for what it was. The rest of you were shamefully ignorant.”

“So.” Richard rubbed his hands together. “We only have to search churches now. This is good!”

“There are about fifty million churches in England,” grumbled Lady Irving. “I don’t know why she couldn’t just write, ‘I hid my diamonds here. Go get them.’”

“
Thank
you,” said Giles. “Yes.”

“But that wouldn’t have been an adventure,” Lady Xavier replied.

“
Thank
you.” Richard grinned.

Giles raised his eyes to the ceiling. “That, yes. But the code also kept anyone from finding the jewels.”

“Only the perfect partnership could have done that.” Richard smiled.

Lady Irving groaned. “Spare me the sentiment or I’ll be sick in a bucket.”

“Oh, nonsense. You love it,” said Richard, and he stretched an arm about her shoulders. She went stiff—and then, after a tense second, she relaxed like a cat in the sun.

“I’ll be sick in a bucket instead,” said Giles.

“You love it, too,” said Richard.

“No, I really don’t.”

“You don’t have to love it, damn it, young man,” said Lady Irving. “You just have to respect your father’s decision.”

Giles’s mouth fell open.

When he managed to close it, it was smiling. And so was Richard’s. “Well said, Estella. Thank you.”

Lady Xavier, heedless of this tiny upheaval, was continuing to mull over the verses from the puzzle box. “These are an old translation, but I recognize the text.
Nunc dimittis, Benedictus, Magnificat
. They are the three Canticles from the Gospel of Luke.”

“Hidden in a church with a tower,” Giles mused. “Gospel of Luke. Is there a Saint Luke’s in London? Or in Yorkshire?”

Lady Xavier blinked up at him. “Of course there’s a Saint Luke’s in London. That’s where William Caslon’s grave is.”

Lady Irving sidled toward Lord Xavier. “Take this baby away, Xavier, so I can shrug properly. Louisa, my girl, I am certain I speak for everyone here when I say that I have no idea who William Caslon is.”

Her niece granted her a sheepish grin. “He designed a rather lovely typeface. Why, most of these books are probably printed in Caslon’s typeface.” She shook her head, dismissing this topic with an apparent effort of will. “That’s beside the point, though. Yes. There is a Saint Luke’s in London. And it does have a tower; a rather famous one.”

“Could the jewels be in London?” Giles questioned his father. “The puzzle boxes were all in the north of England. I thought she gave the puzzle boxes away when she was at the marquessate’s Yorkshire estate.”

“We met in London and—ahem, decided to elope here. Maybe she posted the puzzle boxes to her young friends. I don’t believe I ever asked Sophy if she received the puzzle box in person or through the post.”

“So. London. Saint Luke’s. The tower.” Lady Irving looked from one of them to the next. “Well, shall we go right now?”

“Not yet.” Giles’s heart gave a stutter. “We can’t go without Audrina. She’s part of this . . .” He paused. “Adventure.”

“Good boy.” Lady Irving beamed at him. “We’ve got a stop to make at Alleyneham House, then.”

In his father’s arms, the future earl gave a tiny yawn, as though nothing at all of moment had occurred—when almost everything had, or was about to.

Based on his last meeting with the Earl of Alleyneham, Giles thought the blustering aristocrat might have locked up his daughter, Rapunzel-like, until his fortunes were safe. Giles was perfectly willing to spirit Audrina out a window, but in the end, no dramatics were required. Lady Irving simply marched ahead of the Rutherfords up the stone steps to Alleyneham House, rapped at the door, demanded Lady Audrina’s presence, and glared at the servant when he goggled at her.

“That glare of yours is a formidable weapon, Estella,” marveled Richard.

“Enough of your love talk,” said Giles. “We’ll celebrate if she actually comes to the door.”

Two minutes later, she did, descending with as much grace as if she were floating down the grand staircase at a ball. The sound of a baby’s cry and a thundering shout chased her, but as soon as the door closed behind her, all sound was shut away.

Dimly, Giles heard her greeting them, and then saying something about her sister Petra having arrived, and Llewellyn having been silenced—and somehow, a baby was involved in the whole affair. It was all difficult to follow when every speck of his awareness was working on drinking in the sight of her, the scent of her, wanting to embrace her and swing her around in that great dark bell of a cloak, letting it wrap about them both.

“Giles? Giles?”

“Hmm?” He bounded down the steps to catch up with them.

“I was just saying”—Audrina’s lips curved with mischief—“that I have got my garter back from Llewellyn. It turns out the Duke of Walpole was not interested in having his wedding canceled. Also, I appear to be an aunt.”

“You’ve had an eventful morning.”

“I have, rather.” When she clambered into the carriage, she took the backward-facing seat next to Giles. “My sister Petra insisted on studying art in Italy, but it was actually a ruse to hide a—a pregnancy.” She blushed at the word.

“Vulgar,” said Lady Irving from her seat next to Richard as the carriage began to roll.

“That’s what Papa said, too. Petra will not say who the father of baby Adam is, only that he wasn’t suitable for marriage, which made Papa shout all over again. Then the baby cried, and Mama held him. Then she shouted at Papa to stop shouting at her only grandchild.” A dazed expression crossed her features. “And Petra said it wasn’t a lie after all about studying art because she began to paint while in Italy and wants to return there. She has fallen in love with an Italian artist.”

“Art is vulgar,” said Lady Irving.

“Now, Estella, you’re just saying things to make a spectacle of yourself. If you want me to pay attention to you, all you’ve got to do is say so.” Richard’s tone was mild, and he took her hand in his.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Pay attention to Audrina’s vulgar story.” Giles noticed that she did not remove her hand from Richard’s.

His own prickled—not with pain, but with the feel of Audrina at his side. So near, yet for the moment, still untouchable.

“That is the end of my vulgarity, at least in relation to this particular subject,” Audrina said. “It seems I am no longer the most scandalous daughter in the family.”

“Does that matter to you?” Giles asked.

Her hand slipped free from the folds of her cloak; her knuckles brushed his. “No. I have always only ever been myself.”

“You said the Duke of Walpole arranged Petra’s visit, though, didn’t you?” Lady Irving demanded. “If so, your parents will come around. Especially if she takes herself back to Italy and gets married. Not to speak ill of your parents, but they would eat their own heads if a duke told them to.”

“I don’t even know how that would work,” said Giles.

“I don’t either, but it is true.” Audrina laughed. “It is not as if the duke loves having an illegitimate nephew-in-law, but . . . how did he put it? He will not revise anyone out of his future wife’s story. Something like that.”

“Hmph.” Lady Irving shoved at her listing turban. “Walpole might not be a complete horse’s ass after all.”

“I have begun to think he is not a horse’s ass at all,” replied Audrina.

“Steady, now,” said Giles. “You two are going to send us into a swoon with all your profanity and your talk of other men.”

“Vulgar,” Richard said solemnly—though a smile broke across his features after a shamefully short interval.

Audrina’s hand had settled in next to Giles’s now, and shielded by the folds of her cloak, her thumb stroked his skin. As Giles’s toes began to curl within his boots, she asked with perfect calm, “Now you must tell me about your own eventful morning. I presume something fascinating has happened for you all to come retrieve me in such haste.”

They passed the remainder of the carriage ride catching Audrina up on the letters, the clues, and the deductions that were leading them these several miles through the cluttered streets of London. Had Giles been less distracted by the sly sweetness of her touch, he would have contributed much more. But the tale rolled on, just like the carriage wheels, and by the time Richard and Lady Irving halted, Audrina glowed like Yorkshire moonlight.

“You solved it,” she said. “You all solved it. That is amazing. We are going to find those diamonds if I have to crush rock into gemstones myself.”

“If you can do that,” said Richard, “I’d be glad to offer you a position in my shop.”

Her smile turned puzzled. “If we find these jewels, Mr. Rutherford, will they rightfully belong to the mar-quessate?”

“No, these jewels were given to Bea personally and irrevocably. Which means, I guess”—Richard tilted his head—“that they’re now mine.”

Lady Irving snorted. “They won’t suit you.”

“Would they suit you?”

She pulled her beringed hand free from Richard’s. “No, I’d rather choose my own. I’ll clear a finger for you, though.”

Giles and Audrina exchanged
does that mean what we think it means
glances.

“Why, Estella!” Richard beamed at the countess. “I believe you just accepted my proposal.”

Nonchalantly, she patted her turban, which was crusted with bright paste gems. “I believe I did.”

A few more minutes’ drive brought them to the possible home of Lady Beatrix’s jewels. Saint Luke’s was a small church of pale stone, simple in form, with lightly ornamented arched stained-glass windows. The small, neatly trimmed lawn and cemetery, now winter-dry, were fenced in by wrought-iron pickets.

“There’s a tower,” observed Richard as they disembarked.

This was not a particularly insightful observation, for the tower was taller than the church was long. A strange tower it was, flanked by small domes, all dotted upward with round and arched windows, and topped with a reeded obelisk. As they walked up to the entrance, Giles noticed something yet more odd: The windows had an alarming cant, as though bits of the church were sinking. Peeling away from the others, Giles prowled along one side of the building, noting signs of subsidence in the foundation.

Though this was bad news for the church, it was good,
good
, to allow himself to notice such details. Like greeting old friends instead of hiding from them.

Not wanting to test the others’ patience too much, Giles strode back to join them, and the four entered the small church together. A robed rector was moving about the pews, a service clearly just over. He welcomed them and asked how he could help.

“We wish to look at the tower,” said Richard.

“We need to pay our respects to a relative,” Giles said.

“We’re here to visit Caslon’s grave,” barked Lady Irving.

The rector blinked at them.

“What we mean,” Audrina said smoothly, “is that we wish to do all of those things.” She lifted her chin, that look he’d once thought of as haughtiness. Now it looked like confidence.
I have a right to be here
. “We will, of course, leave a generous donation in the poor box before we depart.”

Coins jingled in her reticule, and suddenly the rector was tucking something into his pocket. “Take all the time you require. I shall leave you in peace.”

“Peace be with you,” called Richard after him.

“Papist,” muttered Lady Irving.

They were left alone, then, with the smell of damp stone and just-snuffed candles and no idea where to look next. Giles’s gaze roved the white-painted lines of the church, the small round stained-glass windows, the wall of stained glass behind the altar.

“Quit making flirtatious eyes at the windows, young Rutherford, and come smash up the floor.” Lady Irving jabbed Giles’s side with an elbow, then pointed to the pattern of tiny black and white squares.

“I am
not
going to smash the floor of a church.” He rubbed at his ribs. “Besides, Mother couldn’t have hidden anything beneath the floor or she would have had to smash the tiles herself.”

“Damn. She couldn’t have made our hunt easier, could she?” Lady Irving mused.

“Oh, she could have,” said Richard. “But what would be the fun in a life with someone who made everything easy?”

“You and I, Father, are very different.”

“Indeed we are.” Richard clapped Giles on the shoulder. “And what on earth is wrong with that?”

“Nothing in the slightest.”

“While you all are arguing, or agreeing, or whatever it is you are doing”—Audrina’s voice echoed off the stone walls—“I have begun looking around the base of the tower, and I’ve found a stone with a date on it.”

“Let me see!” Lady Irving was the first to reach her.

“Oh, phoo—it says 1729. That’s got to be the year the church was built. That doesn’t do us a bit of good.”

“Not that stone.” Crouched on the floor, Audrina pointed to the beveled stone molding that joined floor and wall. “That one.”

To bring his eyes to the level of her finger, Giles had to lie flat on the floor. He cast up a silent prayer of apology, then slid his hand after Audrina’s.

“I felt it,” she explained. “The rest of the stone is so smooth, and then something is chiseled into it. Once you know it’s there, you can make out the numbers.”

It was real.

Lady Beatrix had left behind jewels and puzzle boxes thirty-five years before. Her message, her gift to a family she didn’t know yet.

“I never knew my mother had such a fondness for chiseling things.” He traced the numerals, so small and faint that he doubted their existence—but there they were, tiny imperfections in the stone. He smiled as he sat up again, though tears pricked at his eyes.

She seemed found again, the woman who had been lost to long illness. When she scratched these numbers into stone, she was hopeful and happy and full of mischief, a laughing woman with Giles’s blunt-fingered hands and rangy build, his freckled face and fiery hair. “I wish you could have known her,” he told Audrina.

“I do, too,” she said. “Though I feel I’m getting to, a bit. She certainly enjoyed an adventure.”

“So there’s something behind the stone.” Lady Irving straightened back up, one hand at the small of her back. “Hmph. None of us brought a single tool with us, did we?”

Audrina pawed through the folds of her cloak and put a hand into the pocket of her golden gown. “I have a penknife. I picked it up earlier after writing some notes, in case Llewellyn caused any trouble.” She said this matter-of-factly as she unfolded the flat blade from its ivory handle and extended it to Giles.

He caught her hand instead of simply taking the knife. “I love you. Did you know that?”

He hadn’t meant to say that. But when the words tumbled forth, they were exactly right.

She sat back on her heels, brows lifted. “I didn’t, actually, but that’s good. I love you, too.”

Each folded into a ridiculous pile on the cold floor of the church, a stone and a knife between them—they smiled. No, smile was too mild a word for what Giles’s face was doing. It wasn’t just his lips; it was his heart and his mind and every sinew of his frame, all wanting to leap and jump with swooping delight. “You do?”

“Yes.”

She blinked, then laughed, a low bubble that made him forget the hard cold stone or anything that wasn’t her face and her laugh and her kindness and her brilliance, because
good Lord, the woman has a penknife with her.
Giles caught her up and planted a smacking kiss on her lips. “You amaze me, princess. You. Are. Amazing.”

“No doubt this is all beautiful”—Lady Irving’s voice filtered down as though from a great height—“but if one of you doesn’t use that knife on the stone, I will use it on you.”

Giles rolled his eyes. “Do you feel as though we’re being chaperoned?” Not that he minded, really. He wouldn’t mind anything right now. He felt as though his face must be permanently folded from all the grinning.

Taking up the penknife, he caught its tip in the top seam of the stone molding. “Here goes.” He pressed down onto the beveled joint with the thin blade.

Something crumbled.

His hands shook. “It’s joined with mortar. It’s not solid stone.”

“Lady Beatrix mortared the hiding place? Was she in the habit of carrying mortar about?” Lady Irving sounded skeptical.

“Surely she would have brought what she needed to hide the jewels,” Richard said. “Mortar, tools—anything to hide her treasure.”

“Keep working at the joint, Giles!” Audrina urged.

Giles needed no urging, though. Drawing in a deep breath, he steadied his hands and followed the line of the stone. A grating sound issued as the knife blade split the thin seam of old mortar. With a satisfying pop, the last bit came free and a plate of stone molding the height and width of his hand tipped forward. Audrina worked it free and set it gently aside.

“What do you see?” asked Richard.

Giles leaned back so they could all look together: a crack, likely from the settling foundation, which had been chipped out and widened into a space the size of a fist. Stuffed into it was a wad of faded, discolored velvet.