The Genuine Article (15 page)

Well, now his relations were here. What in hell was he going to do about it?

To find Michael and thrash him within an inch of his life seemed the only reasonable alternative.

Chapter 12

Reginald stared morosely at his mud-spattered boots as the air rang with laughter around him. It seemed the ladies of Effingham and Oglethorp were as familiar with kitchens as they were drawing rooms.

They were having a grand adventure exploring larders and pantries and wine cellars, sending the maid and valet scattering in search of fuel for the ancient stove and the lanterns hanging from the beams overhead. His own valet had gone missing at the first hint of any work that might besmirch his immaculate cuffs.

Reginald fingered the necklace in his pocket to reassure himself. He had already hidden the copy from his valise in a secret drawer he had located in the desk in his sitting room. Let O'Toole spend his hours searching for that.

His trouble wasn't related to the necklace, however. Reginald grimaced as Darley asked if he had minced the carrots fine enough. The resulting laughter answered the question without need of further explanation. Reginald's trouble was that he was almost beginning to believe that Lady Marian might be the wife for his friend after all.

He didn't know why that should bother him. He should be relieved. Instead of sitting here admiring his boots and tending the fire, he should be on his way back to London to fetch a preacher and a license. Darley's wealth would set the ladies up in comfort, and they need no longer worry about a pestilent marquess who hadn't the grace to put in an appearance in his moldering castle.

Perhaps he ought to once more attempt to make Darley see the lady's true colors. He couldn't let his friend go into marriage thinking his lady all sweetness and light when she could also be tart as a cold lemonade on a hot summer's day, and swift and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. Reginald wasn't certain Darley would be as appreciative of these character traits as he ought, but he was smitten enough to accept them if he must. He just needed to have his eyes wide open before he proposed this marriage.

The thought of the scene that must be enacted made him surly. Reginald poked at the fire and announced it ready, then started for the door with the immediate goal of hiding in the library.

"Mr. Montague! You cannot desert us now, unless you are going to fetch that annoying valet of yours. Someone needs to slice the bacon, and these knives seem quite dull." Lady Marian indicated the assortment of cutlery hanging near the cutting board.

Reginald scowled. He wished to say he knew nothing of kitchens or knives, but in reality he did. He would have starved long since if he had not worked out a few of the intricacies of his landlady's kitchen in the days of his misspent youth. He crossed the floor, grabbed a knife, and went in search of the whetstone.

"I do believe Mr. Montague is sulking," Marian said brightly to the room in general. "P'raps we ought to let him sit upstairs and enjoy the must and damp while we wait upon him."

Darley grinned at his friend's rigid back. The scene earlier when Darley had discovered the lady in earnest and intimate conversation with Montague had left him feeling uncertain, but Marian's teasing tones reassured him. Ladies did not generally insult gentlemen whose attentions they wished to attract.

"I thought I saw a throne in one room. We could sit Reginald there and fetch a few hounds to lay at his feet. But I think we need venison with bones he can gnaw and fling to the dogs. I believe his valet can successfully play the part of fool for his master's entertainment." Darley brandished his knife so his carrots could be inspected again.

Lady Grace gathered the vegetables and added them to the pot, ignoring their badinage. She hummed to herself as she stirred the contents of one pot and kept an eye on Jessica, who was managing the egg dish.

"If I am to be crowned lord of this castle, I'll demand better peons than the lot of you, I should say. Insolence will get you horsewhipped." Reginald finished sharpening the knife and slammed the hunk of bacon on the cutting board for slicing.

O'Toole miraculously appeared through the back entrance with two plucked chickens, and the entire company stared. The storm was still rattling the rafters, but the valet didn't appear in the least bit damp. He looked questioningly to his employer.

Reginald gave him a surly glare. "Excellent. We shall have eggs for dinner and fowl for breakfast. You're a trifle late, lad."

Lady Grace offered the servant a gracious smile and relieved him of the hens. "I shall simmer these tonight and we can have them for lunch tomorrow."

Darley looked uneasy. "I think we should leave in the morning. It does not appear as if our host is at home."

"He sent his coach for us," Marian reminded him. "P'raps we ought to instigate a search of the house after we eat. He may be lying ill in a chamber we have not yet discovered."

"Oh!" Jessica let her spoon clatter against the pan. "If he is ill, we should go look for him right now. The poor man could be dying as we speak."

"Unless the 'poor' man does his own cooking," Marian said, "he is undoubtedly caught by the storm in the village with his cook. He is probably tucked up at the inn keeping his frail old bones warm and dry while cackling at the thought of our arrival."

Darley glanced askance at the hint of sarcasm in Marian's voice, but a sound from the walls made them all jump.

"That sounded like a moan," Jessica whispered, her face growing pale as she scanned the shadows in the far corners of the kitchen.

"I'd say it sounded more like some dimwitted ghost laughing," Reginald said dourly, then regretted the remark when both timid Oglethorp ladies went white. Marian, on the other hand, appeared intrigued.

"I could not tell the direction," she said, listening for a repetition.

"It was no doubt squirrels in the walls. We had them once in our hunting box. The wretched things made all kinds of racket until we chased them out. I'll take a look after we eat." Darley offered the women a reassuring smile.

Lady Grace and Jessica returned happily to their cooking, but Reginald noted Marian looked justifiably peeved. Squirrels did not moan or laugh. Or groan or chuckle. Whatever the sound had been, it was more human than squirrel, unless one believed in ghosts. Remembering their jests about the missing marquess, Reginald had his own theories on the matter.

He waited until after their impromptu supper—which was quite good considering he had been hungry enough to eat boiled shoe leather if need be. While Darley was lighting the way to the drawing room, Reginald slipped back downstairs to explore.

Minutes later he heard the sound of light footsteps, and he stepped behind a door to hide his candlelight. The thunder had rolled away, but he could still hear the rapid patter of rain on the windows. The roads would, in all probability, be impassable on the morrow. He ought to save his explorations for morning.

"Mr. Montague, I know you are in there. Do not try to scare me or I'm likely to set the place on fire with this infernal candle."

At the sound of Marian's voice, Reginald stepped from his hiding place. "I should have known better than to think you'd sit quivering in the drawing room with the others. Do you have no fear of what happens to young ladies who wander about strange places all alone?"

In the candlelight, her upturned oval face seemed smooth and serene. The dark hair pulled back from her brow and dangling in curls about her ears was no more than a shadow in the darkness. Reginald had the insane urge to bend and kiss those parted lips. He wasn't at all certain that wouldn't be the best thing to do for all of them.

"This was my home, sir. Why should I fear it?" she asked before he could take action on his desires.

Reginald retreated to a safer distance, searching for a lamp on the desk. "It hasn't been your home for nearly twenty years, as best as I can determine. Anything can happen in that length of time."

The lamp, when he found it, was freshly filled. Reginald frowned at that, but the sudden flare of light as he lit it removed some of the temptation of darkness. He turned and found her still clinging to her candle. So she wasn't entirely impervious to the perils of darkness.

He reached in his pocket and produced the purse that had bothered him all day. "Here is your necklace. I would rather that you held on to it until you decide what to do about it."

Marian didn't take the offered purse. She looked at it sadly, then turned to examine the book shelves behind her. "I don't think there is any decision to make. It is rather obvious that the marquess won't be able to help us save our home. He must be in danger of losing his own from the looks of it. The necklace will have to be pawned."

Reginald frowned at being left in charge of a piece of jewelry worth almost more than he was. He opened the purse to inspect the piece and reassure himself once more of its existence.

The lamp light caught on the brilliant red stone and glittered on the setting of—

Reginald gasped and turned the necklace to the light again. A setting of crystal?

He tried to remain calm. After all, the necklace had been in his possession all day. He had dealt with gems for years and was well aware of the difference between paste and real. It had been genuine diamonds and rubies he had pocketed this morning. It could not change by magic during the course of a day.

He turned the gem to a better angle. Glass. The ruby was glass.

His strangled gasp must have carried across the room. Marian swung around to face him with curiosity.

"Are you all right? You look a little pale. Perhaps you ought to sit down. I'm certain there must be brandy or something around here. I thought I saw a decanter earlier."

Marian held up her candle in search of the decanter she distinctly remembered seeing on a table when she had explored before dinner. It was gone. She blinked in confusion, but Mr. Montague was shaking his head and staring at the necklace with such a terrible look on his face that she forgot her search and hurried to stand beside him. "What is it? What is wrong?"

As if unable to speak, he held out the necklace for her inspection. She saw nothing wrong with it. She fondled the intricate chain, but it felt real to her. She glanced up to his face for explanation. Usually, his cool gray eyes were aloof, and pride made his expression seem stiff and unyielding. Now, there was a terrible panic revealing his true humanity beneath the handsome mask.

"This is the copy," he managed to grind out between clenched teeth. "It is not possible. I put the genuine article in my pocket before we left this morning."

Cold seeped around her heart as Marian gazed at the glittering jewel. "It looks real to me. I don't find this a very funny jest, Mr. Montague."

"It's not in the least funny, I assure you. Come, I left the copy upstairs. If this is the genuine thing, then the copy will still be where I left it."

* * *

As the sound of their feet echoed away in the distance, the figure behind the tapestry sighed and fingered the weighty necklace in his pocket. If Michael was right about the worth of this jewel, it would be sufficient to fund the purchase of enough lands to set this estate properly functioning again. He just hadn't realized he would cost the ladies their home by stealing it.

Carrying the brandy decanter, the eighth marquess stepped out of his hiding place and settled into his desk chair. He took a healthy swig of the potent liquor and sighed again. Not bad for an old man with frail bones, he chuckled to himself as the brandy burned a trail to his stomach. That damned young cousin of his was too clever by half, and she had a sharp tongue to boot. His empty insides growled in complaint. His guests had finished off the entire delicious meal they had cooked right before his very eyes. He wondered if ghosts could be credited for eating chicken legs.

Carrying the decanter and staggering only slightly, he went in search of the kitchen and the chicken that had been stewed for the morrow. He didn't know how long his unwelcome guests would stay, but he would enjoy their cooking while they were here.

* * *

As Mr. Montague turned down the hall to the gentlemen's wing, Marian wanted to protest that she couldn't follow him, but she wasn't about to let that necklace out of her sight, either. She didn't know what kind of trick he meant to pull, but she was determined to catch him at it. She couldn't believe a gentleman like Mr. Montague could be so dishonest as to steal their only source of income, but she wasn't inclined to trust anybody for very long.