The Counterfeit Lady (22 page)

She lowered her pistol. “Damn you, Georgina. How did you know to look here for the blueprints?”

“I followed you downstairs. When I found Snelling, you had disappeared, but I knew you hadn’t gone far.”

“I didn’t think anyone would suspect me.”

“I didn’t. For the longest time I thought it was Lark Bennett.”

She laughed, but the sound was brittle. “I showed my hand too soon.”

“You said Lady Bennett wanted the blueprints in exchange for her silence.”

“I lied to you, Georgina.”

I hoped she was sorry. I was. I’d liked her.

Once Fogarty had taken the small pistol from her hand, she gave me a searching look. “You’ve not given away all my secrets, have you?”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Thank you.”

Leave it to the duke to put things together at that moment. “Lady Peters is the one who had the affair with Ken Gattenger.”

“Yes, Your Grace. She had an affair that Clara found out about the day she was murdered. They were his letters to Lady Peters that Clara burned in the fire that evening.”

“Is that all of her secrets?” Blackford asked.

“Yes. Of course. Aren’t spying and a sexual liaison enough for one woman?”

Rosamond Peters gave me a grateful look.

His mother may have killed a man, but there was no reason a young boy should pay for her sins with the loss of his name and title.

The police raced in and took Lady Peters into a hesitant custody. She said, “Duke, would you contact the French ambassador for me, please?”

He bowed as she was led away.

Only then could I allow myself a gasp. I smacked Blackford in the chest with the blueprints and left the room to go upstairs and sleep for what little was left of this night. I’d had my fill of aristocrats.

I
awoke to sunlight streaming in my window. “What time is it?” I mumbled.

“One in the afternoon. You’ve slept through everything, including the local vicar and the Bishop of Wellston discussing whether you should have been awakened for Sunday services. The duke forbade it.” Phyllida smiled. “But now the duke has sent me to wake you. He said you have an appointment this afternoon.”

My eyes flew open and I sat straight upright in the bed. “I’ll need Emma to help me dress. Ring the bell for her, will you?”

“She’s in with the police, giving them the official line. You’re stuck with me.” Phyllida was fairly gloating.

“Well, help me, then.” I pulled off my nightgown and yanked on a shift, rolled my stockings up my legs, and then grabbed my corset. “What is the official line?”

“You went to your old friend, the duke, to ask for his help in proving Clara’s husband didn’t kill her. The duke learned about the missing blueprints for the new ship the Admiralty has ordered. When you had Gattenger draw a picture of the burglar, Blackford passed it around Scotland Yard. Once he was identified as Mick Snelling, the duke had him followed. When the burglar came here, Lord Harwin came to your aid by inviting you to his house party.”

“This story seems to leave out a lot,” I said as Phyllida finished tightening my laces. Between us, we hooked my stockings to the ribbons dangling from my corset.

Her next words were lost as we pulled my petticoat over my head.

“What was that?”

“The two of you discovered Snelling approaching the house. By the time you caught up to him, Snelling was dead and the plans were gone.”

I slipped on a blouse, and Phyllida hurried through fastening the buttons. “Are the police buying this?”

“Dukes can be very persuasive.”

“How did he say we caught Lady Peters?”

“You found the blueprints while searching the downstairs, and she tried to kill you, confessing her crime. The French ambassador is in negotiations with Whitehall to have her sent back to France. He’s citing diplomatic immunity.”

I’d completely misjudged the French spy. “What about her son? He’s staying with relatives currently, but will she be allowed to see him? She is his mother.”

Phyllida shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“What about Baron von Steubfeld?”

“What about him? No one is mentioning his name.” Phyllida helped pull my skirt over my head.

“He hired Snelling to steal the plans.”

“There’s no proof of that, so the duke decided Snelling must have burgled the house, found the drawings, and saw his opportunity.”

“Blackford has a lot to answer for.” I slipped on my shoes and raced for the door.

“We have to put your hair up,” Phyllida cried.

My hair didn’t look like much when we finished pushing pins into it, but everything was staying in place. Phyllida grabbed a simple hat with a wide brim to protect me from the sun and pinned it on. The brim fortunately hid the worst of my hairdo. Then I grabbed my gloves and ran out of the room and down the hall to the stairs.

“Finally.” Blackford’s voice rose from the front hall. “Are you ready to go?”

I skidded to a stop and proceeded with decorum. “Of course, Your Grace,” I said while smoothly descending the staircase. “How nice of you to escort me.”

We climbed into Lord Harwin’s carriage. Once we were settled and the horses were in motion, I asked, “What has happened to Lady Peters?”

“She was taken to London under police escort. The baron also left this morning, so the blueprints will return this afternoon under armed guard. No sense tempting fate. Lady Peters did explain about the stolen hatbox.”

“What did she say?” And what would they do about Henry at Fortier’s? He was also part of France’s spy network.

“She had taken something for her contact in a hatbox. His shop was busy, so they’d made previous arrangements under these circumstances for her contact to hire someone to take the hatbox from her and bring it to the shop. The young man grabbed the wrong hatbox.”

“He must have been shocked when Emma and I gave chase. He dropped the hatbox and tried to run when he was cornered, no doubt thinking he’d get away and continue to look for the woman who had the hatbox he was supposed to take. No one could have foreseen how many Gautier hatboxes were being carried that morning.”

Blackford smiled. “I take it Emma had her knife with her?”

“Yes. Suggest to Whitehall they keep an eye on Fortier, the jeweler. She came in with a hatbox and looked unhappy to see us in his shop, Your Grace.”

“I will.”

I looked out the window at the sunny afternoon. The weather was ideal. “Did Lady Bennett leave?”

“She’s taken over the nursing duties for Sir Henry. Apparently she’s bossing the servants around unmercifully.”

“And everyone still thinks I’m Georgina Monthalf?”

Blackford lifted my gloved hand and kissed the back of it. “Yes, my love.” In a drier voice, he continued, “Although people are starting to wonder why I’m not visiting you at night. As a widow, it would be appropriate if we were discreet.”

I held his gaze. “And what does His Grace think?”

He squeezed my hand before he let it go. “His Grace is conflicted. Do you want me to visit you in your room tonight?”

I did, but my heart would be ground to dust when he chose a suitable duchess. “I appreciate you not beginning something that will end badly when you marry Miss Amanda Weycross.”

He jerked his head back. “Miss Amanda Weycross? Good God, woman, I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with that addle-brained female for all the crown jewels and Buckingham Palace.”

“Lady Anne Stewart, then.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you met her mother?”

“Briefly.” At dinner and the ball the evening before. I planned never to make that mistake again.

“She’ll turn into her mother. She’s already a close approximation.” He started laughing. “Georgia, are you jealous? Don’t be. There isn’t a woman in the British Isles to match you.”

“But you have to produce an heir.”

“That necessity is the curse of being a peer.” He looked out the far side window of the carriage, giving me a clear view of the short, damp curls at the nape of his neck.

I studied that stiff neck, memorizing it for the times ahead. He’d soon be gone from my life, while I’d be back in my bookshop dreaming of becoming a duchess.

And he’d said there was no other woman in England to match me.

When he faced me and said, “We’re here,” it took me a moment to remember where “here” was. It took me longer to give up on the pleasant daydream of being the Duchess of Blackford.

I was about to face my parents’ killer with a heavy heart from thinking of the man who would never be mine, while Blackford stepped out of the carriage looking completely unruffled and held out a hand to help me out.

I smoothed my afternoon dress with my palms, straightened my hat, and climbed down. I couldn’t hide the pleasure his words gave me.

Lord Harwin’s footman knocked on the front door while I looked at the house. Much smaller and older than the Harwins’ palatial block, it had a faded air from the grimy stonework to the chipped paint on the window sashes. When the door opened, Harwin’s footman announced us and handed over our calling cards. The butler held the door wide, and we walked in.

I glanced back to see the footman saunter back to the carriage, the driver sliding over in the seat to make room for him. No doubt they planned to take advantage of their freedom from work by sitting and gossiping.

“If you’ll wait in the parlor, Sir Wallace will join you in a moment,” the butler said as he shut the front door and opened one off the hall.

The room was done in washed-out gold and pale blue. Sunshine didn’t seem to penetrate beyond the overgrown bushes outside the windows. The duke grabbed my hands, and I discovered I was wringing them.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Georgina. I know how much this means to you, meeting an old friend of your father’s from India.”

Was he suggesting I pretend that was why I was here when I finally met him? It wouldn’t work. He would recognize me as surely as I’d known him the moment I saw him.

Sir Wallace Vance entered the room and we went through a round of bows and curtsies. After we were seated, he asked, “To what do I owe this honor, Your Grace?”

“Actually, I came at the request of Mrs. Monthalf. She recognized one of your guests at the ball last night as a friend of her father’s in India. She hopes to renew the acquaintance.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late. They’ve left already. Which one of my guests was it?”

“He’s a well-dressed older gentleman with silver hair.”

“That describes both my guests.”

“Tall, has a faint accent—”

“Again. Both of them.”

“He’s in the antiquarian book business.”

“Any guest who’s ever been here is interested in antiquarian books. That’s what we have in common.” Sir Wallace shifted in his chair, clearly wanting to stand and end our interview, but reluctant to upset a wealthy, antiquarian-buying duke.

I couldn’t say that the man I searched for had icy pale eyes and a cruel mouth. “He has the habit of carrying his newspaper neatly folded and tucked under one arm.”

“We all do that if our hands are occupied.”

“He does that even if his hands are free.”

Sir Wallace squinted in concentration. “It must be Mr. Wolf. He has that habit.”

“I was told your two guests were Count Farkas and Mr. van der Lik.”

“Formally, he’s Count Farkas. In England, he often goes by Mr. Wolf. He finds it simpler when doing business.”

“Is that a translation of his name from his native tongue?” Blackford asked.

“Yes. Hungarian. He’s a member of their nobility.”

The same name I’d heard from my South African contact. I had a name and a nationality for the man who killed my parents. I could have cheered. Remembering that I mustn’t destroy my persona, I asked, “Do you know where Mr. Wolf is headed?”

“To the continent. Where, exactly, he didn’t tell me. There’s a Gutenberg Bible he’s pursuing.” Sir Wallace shrugged. “He’s been seeking it for years. I hope he gets it. What a trophy.”

“I’d hoped to renew his acquaintance, but I guess that’s not to be. If you hear from him, please tell him I was hoping to speak to him.”

“Where should he get in touch with you?”

I glanced at the duke and smiled. “Have him write to me at Blackford House.”

*   *   *

UNFORTUNATELY, THE DUKE
had already agreed to stay until the morning, which meant Phyllida, Emma, and I had to. Our house party was joined for dinner that night by the Marquis of Tewes and his guests. Dinner was pleasant enough, seated between a younger son, who was far too interested in the wines being served, and a married, middle-aged earl whose passion was outdoor sports. I didn’t believe England held as many birds as he claimed to have shot. At least the food was good and no one took credit for shooting any of the courses.

I looked down the long, crystal- and white-linen-covered table at Blackford. He was seated between Lady Harwin and Lady Ormond. Two middle-aged women wearing jewels and dour expressions. The picture of his wife in twenty years. Neither woman looked capable of joyous laughter, frightening exploits, or wild passion.

I’d never be a duchess.

Blackford didn’t appear to be enjoying their company. I couldn’t hide a small smile of satisfaction.

Lady Bennett, sitting nearby, said, “What are you smiling about?”

I went for the blandest explanation. “I’m enjoying the food, the conversation, everything about this dinner. The Harwins are excellent hosts.”

“Too bad you’re leaving in the morning. My sister and her husband, the Viscount Chattelsfield, will be here in the afternoon for tea. You could have reminisced about Singapore with them.”

I smiled as if that were a wonderful idea. Thank goodness I’d be back in London by then. “What a shame. Perhaps I’ll be introduced to them another time.” But not if I could help it.

I was leaving in the morning for stifling London and my own comfortable, middle-class life, my friends, and my bookshop. I could hardly wait. But I’d leave a little piece of my heart behind.

When the ladies retired to the parlor after dinner, I found myself the subject of Lady Ormond’s inquisition. “How is your ankle, Mrs. Monthalf?”

“Fine, thank you. I’ve quite recovered.”

“That was a foolish thing to do, to race out into the street. Whatever caused you to do that?”

She wore a sly smile as if she hoped the duke and I had quarreled. “I thought I saw an old friend of my father’s. I wanted to let him know I was in the area.”

“So did you get in contact with this—old friend?”

“No. I saw him at the ball last night, and then went with Ranleigh, I mean Blackford, to the home where he was staying. Unfortunately, the gentleman had been called away in the morning, and I missed him.” I glanced around the room. No one looked in our direction, but no one else was speaking. Apparently their curiosity about Georgina Monthalf hadn’t been satisfied.

I planned to retire Georgina tomorrow. I wondered if any of them would wonder what had happened to her.