Unmasking the Spy (34 page)

“Sorry,” Alicia apologized with a
sheepish grin. “What are you working on? May I see?”

“I suppose,” Poppy responded and
flounced from the room, leaving Alicia to scramble up from the bench and follow
her outside, where a small easel stood off to the side of the house, facing the
lake. Expecting some sort of watercolor landscape or the like, Alicia gasped
when she discovered an extraordinary likeness of her great-aunt Beatrix peering
back at her from the canvas.

“Amazing,” she breathed. “I
didn’t realize you were such an artist. However did you get her to sit for
this?”

“Sit!” barked Poppy and produced
her fan in order to hide titters of laughter. “No one sits for my portraits. If
I wish to draw something, I do so. If I wish to paint someone, I do that as
well.”

“You mean you can capture such a
perfect likeness from memory alone?”

Poppy closed her fan with a snap,
tilted up her nose, and turned back to the canvas with a sniff.

“No, it’s wonderful! I didn’t
mean to sound like I doubted your ability. And to think, I thought I was an
accomplished watercolorist just because I could make a passing river scene,
with a tree or two and a sun overhead. Your skill is astonishing.”

Poppy slanted her a quick peek
from the corner of her eye then returned her attention to the canvas, fleshing
out the rest of the portrait with swift, deft strokes.

“Do you think you could create
something for me? Could you draw Ian and I? Would you mind?”

Just as Poppy seemed about to
respond, a footman appeared bearing a calling card. Alicia took one glance at
her cousin’s name and groaned.

“Poppy, I’ll be right back. First
I’ve got to get rid of a pesky problem.”

Alicia followed the footman
inside and discovered Louis barricaded by the butler at the front door.

“He won’t let me in!” whined
Louis peevishly as soon as he caught sight of her.

“As well he shouldn’t,” Alicia
responded, smiling at the butler. “He is all that is proper. I have asked you
not to call here, and I had hoped you would be in London by now. Why have you
come back?”

“I told you, I’m not going back
to London. For a while. I wanted to spend time with you.”

“Well, that’s not what I want,
Louis. Good day.”

“Wait! Come, let’s walk. Let’s
discuss things.”

“I have no wish to walk anywhere
with you.”

“You’re married now! What could
you possibly have to fear from me? Come, now, cousin. Leaving me out here is
really quite bad of you.”

“Is it?” Alicia asked, affecting
her most bored expression.

Louis stamped his foot. “I demand
entry!”

Alicia narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’m sorry. We’re not at home.” She nodded to the butler and stalked off,
grinning to herself when the soft click of the closing door drowned out the
last of her cousin’s spluttered reply.

When Ian knocked on the big front
door at Chadwick House, he was relieved to discover the butler in residence. He
was disappointed to learn the master was at a collector’s conference and not
expected back until nightfall, but as such an event seemed unlikely to attract
Larouche, Chadwick should be safe for the moment.

Promising to return later, Ian
relinquished his card to the butler and rode to his own townhouse for the first
time since he’d been back in London. He’d hoped never to return in his life,
but he tried not to dwell on that.

After helping Cobb lug the
baggage into the house, Ian drug his aching body up the stairs to his chambers
and threw himself across his bed where he promptly fell asleep in his clothes,
boots and all.

Having forgotten to inform Cobb
what time he wanted to be awakened, darkness bathed the room when Ian’s eyes
opened. Cursing, he scrambled out of bed. He paused long enough to squint at
his red-eyed reflection and splash cold water on his sleep-lined face before
heading outside to ready his horses.

This time, when he knocked at the
doors to Chadwick House, he was told the master was not just at home, but
expecting him. The butler escorted Ian into a large sitting room and bid him to
relax by the fire while he informed Chadwick of his arrival.

Ian’s stomach growled, reminding
him it was well after suppertime and he hadn’t eaten all day. A quick glance at
his watch gave the time as almost eleven. With luck, the butler was even now
ordering sandwiches and tea. Ian rolled his shoulders and stretched out his
legs, preparing to wait as long as necessary, when Chadwick lumbered into the
room, his face a mask of concern.

“Is it my daughter?” he asked
between panting breaths. “Is she all right? Where is she? What happened?”

Thrusting out his hand, Ian
sprang to his feet. “She’s fine. She’s safe. I came to discuss Larouche.”

Chadwick paused, his fingers
arrested just inches from Ian’s. Rather than shake hands, his arms sank to his
sides and his face crumpled. “Come to my office, then. We won’t be bothered
there.”

Frowning, Ian followed him into
his office, taking a seat when motioned to do so and watching as Chadwick
peered down both sides of the corridor before closing the door behind him and
leaning against it, heaving an immense sigh and wearing a face tortured with
emotion.

“Louis told you,” Chadwick
stated, his voice hollow. “Does Alicia know?”

Ian blinked. “Er, no.”

“Please don’t tell her. I’d die
if she found out. I’d hoped that by marrying you, she’d stay in the country and
need never hear a word of it.”

“Why don’t you explain your
perspective on the matter,” Ian suggested with a mild smile, hoping against
hope that Chadwick wasn’t about to say what he suddenly suspected he was about
to say.

Chadwick sagged against the
doorframe. With another frustrated sigh, he lurched to a chair across from Ian
and fell into the seat, dropping his head in his hands. “Of course. Where should
I start?”

“At the beginning?”

“The beginning? No. I think the
family coffers dwindled to laughable levels long before I had any knowledge of
the matter.” Chadwick’s face contorted into a brief, mirthless smile. “No, I
think the true turning point came with the death of my wife. Have you ever met
my Anna?”

Ian shook his head. “I’m sorry. I
never had the pleasure.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t. She
was beautiful and kind. And – I thought – unaware of our financial plight. Why
burden her with such things? She was a woman. She had no income of her own. She
was an orphan… or so I thought.

“The week before the accident,
she told me she did have family, but had been estranged from them for years.
She was dead to them, she told me, although she’d grown up in a good deal of
luxury. Her eyes looked at me with such sadness that I knew she’d somehow
learned we were on our last pennies.

“The morning she died, I saw her
sneaking into the garden with a strange man. I knew – I knew! – she’d taken a
lover in order to escape, to leave behind the poverty that was sure to befall
us, to leave
me
far behind.

“When I saw their tangled bodies underneath the
twisted carriage, I thought my life would never get blacker than that moment in
time. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the ‘lover’ was in fact the
solicitor for her estranged family, sent for by my wife so she could beg a loan
to repair our nonexistent fortune. She’d broken her vow of silence and pleaded
with those who despised her because she loved me. Because she wanted a happy
family.

“What a fool I was, Morrissey.
What a fool I
am
. Because rather than bury my pride and react like a
man… when my cousin Louis approached me with a scheme to make money fast, I
said yes. When I discovered it wouldn’t be honest money, I should have told him
no. But I didn’t.

“Instead, we went out of town, to
a house party, where I used my knowledge of appraising to point out to Louis
whose jewels were real and whose were paste before we headed back to London. From there, I am not sure what happened, but when he later sent me to this or that
pawnbroker to buy some specific item, there was always a stench of danger in
the air, a sense of being wrong. But I did it.

“I did it and I hated him for it,
for exploiting my weakness and turning it against me even as the coffers
refilled and the barony became better padded than it’s been in generations.
After a year and a half of suffering through my involvement with his chicanery,
I finally told Louis I wanted out. No more. The barony was healthy enough to
support the future of my daughter and her children, which was all I ever
wanted. I knew no greed for more.”

Ian shifted in his chair. “What
happened?”

Chadwick drummed his fingers
together and contemplated a spot on the wall for several long moments before
responding.

“I’m not sure. Whatever happened,
happened so quickly that I’m still trying to make sense of it. One day, I was
under investigation. That day was the beginning of the end.”

“Investigation?”

“What if I were hung for my
crimes? What would happen to my daughter then? Louis has friends who can erase
such charges before they occur. For a price. Isn’t there always a price? I
offered everything I own – I’d rather die poor than have my daughter suffer the
indignities of a father hung for his own stupidity and weakness.”

“What did Larouche say?”

“He said he wanted to help above
all else, but by accepting a large sum of money from me, he could incur
suspicion upon himself as well, which would serve no good purpose to either of
us.”

“So he came up with the plan to
wed your daughter?”

“Exactly. Two birds with one
stone and all that. I could give Louis as much money as I wanted in the form of
her dowry, and I would know my daughter was safe and married, just in case the
worst came to pass. I hated to give her to someone she didn’t want – she’d
always wanted to marry for love, the little innocent – but I knew Louis would
take care of her.”

Ian clapped a hand over his face.
Well, at least there was one man whose blindness outshone his own.

“And now that she married you,
things have changed again. I have changed. I know she’s safe, she’s away from
the wagging tongues of London, she may yet be happy. I’ve decided not to pay a
drop of blood money to Louis’s friend and face my accusers like a man.”

“Oh, God. Please tell me you
haven’t informed Larouche of this decision?”

Surprise stretched Chadwick’s
face. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because he’s the one plotting
against you! There is no friend who can save you from the rope. There’s just
Larouche and his outrageous gambling debts.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know he gambled?”

“All young men gamble… Louis had pockets to let? But
he kept up all appearances of being a man of means…”

“No doubt the reason why he went
through such trouble to pry money from you. The only investigation underway was
the one I conducted myself–”

“You?”

“And the only reason that one
came about is because an anonymous note arrived, labeling you as the complete
and sole perpetrator of the crimes. I’m going to give you one guess as to who
the letter-writer might be.”

Chadwick goggled at him in
disbelief, humiliation staining his round cheeks with a splotchy pink. “But
he’s
family
,” he said, throwing his arms wide. “And my friend.”

“No. He’s a blister, bent on
infecting you. He was using you. And your daughter.”

“Oh, God. Alicia! But you said
she’s safe, didn’t you? Where is she?”

“At Heatherley, of course.”

“Heatherley!” Chadwick choked.
“But that’s where Louis is!”

“What?”

“Louis went to Heatherley to drop
off Beatrix. He said he planned to stay a while to prove he had no hard
feelings for her choosing you over him.”

“What?” Ian repeated, staring at
Chadwick in horror. Louis was at Heatherley? At best, he’d be making a pest of
himself. At worst… oh, God. He hadn’t even told his wife how much he cared for
her. His last words had been about the portentous appearance of the vase, not
about love. And hers had been light commentary on the beauty of Heatherley and
the health of his sisters… wait. The health of his sisters? For the love of
God.

“Chadwick,” Ian said, his voice
shaky and tense even to his own ears. “Have you any relatives named Elizabeth?”

The expression on Chadwick’s face
would have been comical if Ian’s stomach hadn’t turned into a churning mass of
icy acid.

“No. What the devil does that
have to do with anything?”

Christ. Alicia was Elizabeth. He’d been married to his mystery woman all along.

Twice he’d made love to his wife
and neither time had he done it right. Maybe next time he could bother to divest
them both of clothing.