The Theft Before Christmas (5 page)

Daphne stopped dead still. “What is the matter, dearest?”

“I forgot all about Colonel Bond!”

“Poor Miss Huntington!”

* * *

Colonel Bond found himself in a most perplexing quandary. He and this innocent had criss-crossed London throughout the night and were not one step closer to learning what had come of Dryden and his wife than they were when they’d set out hours ago. His knowledge of Dryden, gleaned over many years, convinced him an extremely conscientious fellow like Dryden would not go off to Addersley without Miss Huntington—or himself.

Could Miss Huntington’s fears be justified? Had something happened to the Drydens?

The even more perplexing dilemma was, what to do with Miss Huntington? He could not just deposit her at the Drydens, where not a soul was. But, of course, he could not bring her to his own house. She was, after all, a young lady of good birth.

The interior of his carriage was especially dark on this moonless night. He could not see Miss Huntington, except in his mind. When he had first gazed upon her sitting in his morning room, he had frozen. She looked so young. And incredibly innocent. She truly did look like she could be the daughter of one of his friends. Then as she stood and spoke, she sounded more mature.

He supposed in the conventional sense she would not be considered pretty. For one thing, she was much too thin, and her bosom was damned near nonexistent. She was fair and blonde, but her face looked as if she spent too much time in the sun without a bonnet. Instead of the porcelain white skin all the ladies strove for, Miss Huntington’s was freckled.

Thank God she wasn’t prone to giggling—which he found most young ladies did with proficiency.

“Colonel?

He snapped from his reverie. “Yes?”

“I have enjoyed this night excessively. I have seen more of London than I’ve ever seen before. Of all the cities where Papa has been posted, I never preferred any of them to London.”

He swallowed over the lump in his throat. It was the same with him. There was nary a European capital he’d not seen, but he was happiest in bustling London. “I have always felt the same.”

“Then I daresay it’s a great compensation to you that if you cannot be where the military action is, you at least can be in the world’s greatest city.”

How could she have possibly known his exact feelings? “Miss Huntington, do you always read minds with such acuity?”

Now she laughed. Not a giggle, thankfully. “Mama says I’m perceptive beyond my years.”

He must keep telling himself that she was not even twenty. To her youthful eyes—blue, if he recalled—he would seem very old. “I will own that there have been times tonight when I forgot your chronological years were so few.”

“I shall take that as a compliment.”

That awkward silence erected itself again.

“If you have no objections,” he said a few minutes later, “I shall have my coachman go once more to Dryden House.”

“I pray they’re there,” she said solemnly. “It is so unlike Lady Daphne to . . . forget me. She’s wonderful about anticipating others’ needs over her own. I suppose that’s because she was a firstborn.”

“As am I.” It was sad even though so many years had passed to remember his little brother and sister who had been claimed by a fever when he was at Harrow.

“Then you were made to command.”

She made him feel seven feet tall—even if he might seem very old in her eyes.

* * *

“There’s not a single window lighted,” Daphne said as they drew up in front of Dryden House.

“I know what a good chap Colonel Bond is. He will have made sure Miss Huntington was not left here alone.”

“She could hardly stay at his house! She’s a maiden.”

“There is that.”

“But we don’t actually know if the colonel agreed to come to Addersley. He may have declined our offer and sent her on her way. Oh, Jack, I shall die if something has happened to Miss Huntington. It’s all my fault.”

Andy threw open the coach door, and assisted Daphne as she climbed from the conveyance. Before they reached the darkened doorway of their home, Daphne heard the clopping of horse hoofs. That was not a common occurrence at midnight on their quiet Chelsea street. She spun around. “Pray, dearest, is that the colonel’s coach?”

“How am I to know? It’s too blasted dark to see.”

Her question was answered when the coach stopped in front of their house and even before the coachman could get down off the box, the door flew open and Miss Huntington leaped from the coach. “Oh, Lady Daphne! I’ve been frightfully worried about you.”

“As I have been about you.” It suddenly occurred to Daphne that both Miss Huntington and the colonel—who had disembarked the carriage just behind Miss Huntington—would demand an explanation as to why she and Jack had left without even leaving a note. It was massively thoughtless of her not to have left a note.

Miss Huntington rushed to Daphne and drew her hands into her own. “I am ever so relieved to find you well.”

Daphne sighed. “I wish I could say the same for my dear husband.”

Said husband was in the process of lighting a candle just inside the front door. He looked up quizzically at his wife.

“Come in, Miss Huntington.” Daphne glanced at the colonel. “And you too, Colonel. I feel so dreadful to have forgotten to notify you of our whereabouts. You see, the Regent summoned us just after you left, and it was a urgent matter.” Which she was prohibited from discussing with them. “’Twas nothing that would interest you, but the upshot of all of this is that as my dear Jack was descending the stairway at Carlton House, he sprained his ankle.”

Now that the entry hall was lighted, her gaze swung from Miss Huntington to the Colonel. “Do come into the morning room.” Her gaze shot to Jack, who was glowering. “You will see my poor husband is incapable of walking without a limp.”

She knew Jack would not be happy with her, but she was not especially gifted at fabricating under pressure. She shrugged. “Once the dear Regent found out about Jack’s ankle, nothing would do but he send for his physician, but it being Christmas, the man had already gone to the country. Of course we didn’t know that as we sat waiting and waiting and waiting at Carlton House.

“I would have sent Andy to you, but I honestly thought the physician would be there at any moment, then after the examination of Jack’s poor, swollen ankle, we’d be here as quick as a kitten.” She was pleased with her fabrication. Now she had to count on Jack playing his part.

The very breath swished from her lungs with relief as Jack limped into the morning room, candelabra in hand. Regrettably, he still glowered at her.

“Pray, Dryden,” the colonel said, “do sit down. Take your weight off that ankle.”

Jack placed the candelabra upon the table between the two chairs and sat on one of the chairs.

Daphne thoughtfully dragged the other chair in front of Jack. “My darling, remember what the physician said. You are to keep it elevated.”

“Then did the physician finally come?” Miss Huntington asked.

“The Regent finally decided to send for the queen’s physician. And fortunately, he was still in London. Of course, it took some time because he was occupied with a needier patient—‘twas a matter of life and death. We didn’t know that, though, so we just waited and waited.” She dare not let it be known she was at the home of the notorious Harriette Wilson.

“And waited and waited,” Jack added.

“I regret to tell you two,” Daphne said to their guests, “that Jack’s injury will prevent us from going to Addersley just yet, but we very much hope to go for Christmas.” She prayed she and Jack could restore the Michelangelo to the Regent and join her family at Addersley on Christmas.

“Had you agreed to come with us, Colonel?” Jack asked.

“I was delighted with the invitation.”

“It will be such a jolly good ride with the four of us going to Addersley.” Daphne faced the colonel. “I promise to send word to your house the minute Jack’s released from the physician’s care. We told him we wished to be in Essex for Christmas.”

“Then I shall take my leave.” Colonel Bond turned to Miss Huntington. “It has been a distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Huntington. I pray you sleep well after this trying evening we’ve spent.”

“It wasn’t trying at all,” she told him. “But I will own, I’m tired.”

Jack was awfully good as he hobbled upstairs with Daphne to their bedchamber, but once their door was closed, he launched into the tirade she had known he would. “Mistress of Evil, you have done it to me again! How many times have I told you that when you make up lies about me, you are to ask me first?”

“I couldn’t very well ask you with Miss Huntington and the colonel standing right there.”

“
Jack’s poor swollen ankle.
. .” He mimicked her—and not in a nice way.

“But my dearest, you were so wonderful in your impersonation of man with a sprained ankle. Have you suffered that affliction before?”

“You, madam, are changing the direction of this conversation.”

Whenever he called her madam he was angry with her.

“If I change the direction of this conversation, I should like to ask you if you believed Miss Wilson’s story.” They’d been so concerned about Miss Huntington and the colonel, they had not had the opportunity to discuss their impressions of the visit with the famed courtesan.

“She was an even better liar than you, my dearest, most exasperating prevaricator.”

Chapter 4

"I think you're wrong, my dearest, and do get off that leg. Have a care for your ankle."

His eyes narrowed. "There is nothing wrong with my damned ankle." That was another good thing about being married. He no longer had to watch his language around Daphne.

"I was just trying to . . . as the actors say,
stay in character
. I mustn't slip up in front of poor Miss Huntington." She presented her back to her husband. "Do help me out of this dress."

As he complied with her request, she continued. "Thank God the colonel stayed with Miss Huntington. I truly would have wanted to do myself in if something happened to the poor girl because I got so wrapped up in what we were doing, I completely forgot her existence."

"It was shabby of us to have forgotten her. And the colonel." He slipped the dress from her milky shoulders and dropped a kiss on the slender column of her neck. Then he began to unlace her stays. He mustn't allow himself to contemplate his wife's body, or they would never proceed to solve the Regent's problem. "Pray, why do you think I'm wrong about Harriette Wilson?" he asked.

"Everything she said was so entirely plausible."

"But a woman of her ilk cannot be trusted. Their very existence is fraught with deception."

"That may be, but I believe her. Think about it, dearest. If you wished to hire her to provide a diversion at the Regent's fete, you wouldn't take the chance of being identified, would you?"

"I suppose it is possible the thief could have set up the whole diversion by letter, but I find it difficult to believe she didn't know that the theft was occurring whilst she was providing the distraction."

Nodding, she rubbed at her arms. "It's beastly cold in here with no fire."

"I shall do the honors." He knelt at the hearth, poured several lumps of coal into the grate, and lit them. "It will take a while for the chamber to warm. I suggest you put on your warmest nightclothes."

She dressed hurriedly. "What you said about Miss Wilson knowing what was going to occur in that chamber sounds plausible, too. Perhaps we need to post some Horse Guards for surveillance at her residence."

He shook his head. "Then the thief would never show."

"What about Andy? He would love to watch her house and be part of our investigation. You know how he adores that sort of thing."

He nodded. "I'll send him there in the morning." Finished lighting the fire, he stood and looked around the chamber for his own possessions. "Damn, everything I own has been sent to Addersley. I don’t have a night shirt, and it's too blasted cold to sleep in nothing. "

Now dressed in her own nightclothes, she faced him and shrugged. "You'll have to sleep in your clothing, love. I'm fortunate that I didn’t send everything I owned on to Addersley."

As he was attempting to remove his boots, he thought of something. "I'm sure d'Arblier is behind all of this."

She put her hands to hips and faced him. "Now, dearest, you blame all the evil in the world on that man, and while I will own he is the most vile, contemptible man in all the world, he couldn't possibly get into Carlton House."

"He's got men—and women—everywhere."

She got beneath the covers, then bolted up. "It
is
just the sort of mischief the duc d'Arblier would love to orchestrate. If the King of Spain believes the Regent sold the Michelangelo, he could very well take that as an open snub to his country and dissolve all relations with the British."

"Exactly." Jack untied his cravat, folded it lengthways, and carefully hooked it over the back of the chair he'd just vacated. He started to take off his jacket, but the chamber was so damned cold, he put it back on. "Did it not strike you as peculiar that the servant who took those notes to Harriette Wilson's was thought to be a mute?"

"You are brilliant! Of course he couldn't speak because his French accent would have given him away."

He nodded. "There's no way any Frenchman would ever be permitted at Carlton House," she said.

"He could send someone else."

"He must have."

 She lay back into the cold sheets. "I could vouch for everyone who was in the Regent's saloon last night. Except for the Strickland fellow. Though he did come with Lord Harvane, who's a dear."

"We start with Strickland."

She sighed. "I was so hoping we could wrap this up in time to go to Addersley for Christmas. It's not just that I've never been anywhere else on Christmas, but I was so longing for our first Christmas together to be at Addersley."

He went to her side of the bed and bent to kiss her. "Me too."