A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season (24 page)

Timms stepped forward, his face set. ‘Miss Ebdon was with me, and where we was—’

‘Precisely,’ said William smoothly. ‘Two of you. Very convenient. I should think—’

‘Not unless you can make a better fist of it than that, you shouldn’t,’ said Anthony, hanging on to his temper by a thread. ‘I’ll thank you to leave this to me, cousin. This is
my
home and
my
staff!’

‘Well, what were the two of them doing so far from the house?’ argued William. ‘Really, coz—’

‘Timms asked for the day off,’ snapped Anthony. ‘I granted it.’

‘And Ebdon?’ William’s sneer was palpable.

Cassie stepped forward, shaking off Quinlan’s hand. ‘Eliza had the day off as well.’

William snorted. ‘There you are. They had it all planned. For heaven’s sake, Anthony! I dare say you need look no further for a solution to your missing pearls either. Timms was probably behind—’

Timms lunged at him. ‘Why, you snivelling—’

‘Timms!’
Leaping forward, Anthony managed to grab Timms before he could reach William. ‘For God’s sake, man! Calm down. Let me handle this.’

Breathing hard, Timms met his eyes. ‘Just as long as you do, Major. I won’t put up with no one saying as how Liza stole Miss Cassie’s ring! Quality!’ He spat in
William’s direction. ‘That one’s got all the quality of a bilge rat! And how the hell does
he
—?’

Anthony trod hard on his foot. He knew exactly what Timms wanted to know. How the hell had William known about a theft that
no one
, bar himself and Timms, had ever known about?

Timms swore and stepped back. ‘I’d appreciate the favour of a word with you, sir,’ he said. ‘Privately.’

‘The library,’ said Anthony curtly. Best to get Timms out of here before he went for William.

Stalking into the library, he turned to see that not only Timms, but Cassie’s maid had followed him, with Cassie right on her heels.

Icily he said, ‘I believe Timms requested a
private
—’

Timms cut him off. ‘I don’t suppose there’d be the least chance of you leaving this to me, lass?’

Anthony felt his jaw sag.

Ebdon shook her head and went to him. With a resigned sigh Timms drew her to him, slipping his arm around her in a protective gesture.

Anthony’s jaw collapsed further.

‘I’ll be giving notice, sir. Me and Eliza is getting leg-shackled. Spoke to the Rector this morning about the banns. That’s where we went together.’

Cassie’s gasp summed it all up.

Outraged, Anthony stared at Timms, who met his gaze calmly.

‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, ‘that it occurred to you to mention this to me this morning, did it? I’d have told you to take the gig! As for resigning—!’ he snorted ‘—we’ll work something out. The lodgekeeper said something about moving to the village the other day.
Apparently Mr Devereaux tried him pretty high. You can probably have the North Lodge.’

‘You’re stealing my maid!’ said Cassie indignantly.

‘Now, Miss Cassie,’ began Ebdon gently. ‘You don’t need me now.’

Cassie laughed. ‘Oh, Eliza! Don’t be silly! I was only funning. I think this is lovely. And of course Major Lyndhurst and I don’t think either of you had anything to do with my ring. Do we, Anthony?’

She turned to Anthony, a challenging glint in her eyes.

‘Don’t be a peagoose!’ he told her. ‘Of course I don’t. Unless they pawned it at the Rectory!’ He turned to Timms. ‘Did you go anywhere else in the village?’

Timms nodded. ‘The bakery. Mr Lyndhurst-Flint saw us. Dare say he thinks Martha Higgins is passing stolen jewels in her loaves these days! But what queers me is—’ He stopped dead, his eyes on Anthony’s face. ‘Major—you don’t think—?’

‘Yes,’ said Anthony. ‘I do think. After four years I’m finally thinking—’ Suddenly aware of Cassie’s puzzled gaze, he stopped. ‘Cassie—I beg your pardon, but could you and Ebdon leave us now? Ebdon, I know you would never have stolen so much as a pin from your mistress. I shall wish you happy. If Timms takes half the care of you, that he has of me—’ He broke off and cleared his throat. ‘Well, he’s a damn good fellow. I’m only sorry that I’ve been partially responsible for keeping you apart so long. But, just now, I do need to talk to Timms.’

Cassie snorted. ‘I dare say you know exactly what’s going on and have no intention of telling the rest of us! Just as long as whoever stole that ring is caught. Poor Peter is terribly upset!’

Anthony nodded. ‘I know. And I swear that it shall be found and returned to you. Trust me, Cassie.’

She held his gaze for a moment. ‘Idiot! Of course I trust you. Very well. Come along, Eliza.’

As soon as the door shut behind them, Anthony turned to Timms. ‘It all fits. He must have come back to the lodgings and taken the pearls after your mistress left. Apparently she left a note. Whoever stole the pearls also took the note. Apart from the thief, you’re the only person other than myself who knows that the pearls are gone.’

‘And you think he’s taken the ring? Would this have something to do with that Grant?’

Feeling sick, Anthony explained.

Timms listened, disgust etched on his face. At last he said savagely, ‘First the mistress and then Mr Marcus? His own family! Makes you fair sick! What are we going to do about it?’

‘There’s a spyglass in the desk in my bedchamber,’ said Anthony shortly. ‘My cousin has been taking an inordinate interest in the woods on that side of the house. I’m afraid, Timms, that you are going to become as sick of my bedchamber as Mr Sinclair.’

He cocked a brow at Timms, who grinned and said, ‘I take you. Trust me, sir!’

‘I do,’ said Anthony quietly. At least he’d managed to get that right. ‘If my cousin is in the woods, I want to know about it. If he’s meeting Grant, it’s more than likely that Grant’s putting the screw on him. Without money, he may have taken the ring to buy Grant off.’

‘Aye, Major.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it be all right for me to tell Liza about this? After His Nibs’s suggestion that she might have prigged something from Miss Cassie—’

Anthony blanched. Tell a female?

Timms looked as though he were trying very hard not
to laugh. ‘You’ll get used to it, sir,’ he said encouragingly.

Anthony felt his own lips twitch. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think. Tell her if you are assured that she will tell no one else. Even Miss Cassie. That will be all, Timms. Please assure the staff that none of them is under any suspicion.’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Ah, yes, well…’ His throat felt beyond tight. ‘Congratulations, Timms. And I expect to be a godfather!’

To Anthony’s utter gratification Timms went absolutely puce.

B
y the end of dinner, Georgie had a perfectly genuine headache and her jaw also ached with the effort of smiling and pretending that nothing was wrong. To make matters worse, Anthony kept staring at her from his end of the table, frowning slightly every time their eyes met.

Aunt Harriet took one look at her when they retired to the drawing room and sent her to bed. ‘Go along with you,’ she said. ‘We can look after ourselves.’

Lady Mardon backed her up. ‘You look fagged to death, my dear. Don’t worry about us. We will see you in the morning.’

Instead of going to bed, she went up to the cupola where she could face what she had done.

She sat, staring out at the dark woods. Above the stars blazed. What had happened to the note she had left? More importantly, what was she to do about her marriage? Anthony had been through four years of hell because of her foolishness. Four years of disgrace and slander. How could he even bear the sight of her?

Yet somehow she would have to face him. Apologise.
They had to build a life together. But how could they do that if he believed her capable of theft?

She sat for a long time, tired, but reluctant to return downstairs. Voices still floated up from the open drawing-room windows. Further away in the woods she heard the scream of a vixen. Closer at hand a dog barked.

When she went down she must tell Anthony the truth, that she couldn’t fulfil his most important requirement for a wife. Pain shivered through her. She should have told him the moment he had said he would not divorce her. Now she had tied the knot that much tighter.

A footstep sounded and she swung around with a startled gasp.

‘Good God! Who the devil—oh, Cousin Georgiana! I thought you had gone to bed.’

It was Mr Sinclair. He came towards her. ‘How is your headache?’ he asked, in kindly tones that tore at her.

‘Much better,’ she lied, hoping he wouldn’t come close enough to see her reddened eyes.

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ he said and strolled over to the parapet. ‘A lovely night, is it not?’

‘Y…yes.’

‘We all came here for holidays as children. Anthony and I would sneak up here to sleep. Our fond mamas were not impressed when they found out.’

She could just imagine. ‘And your fathers?’

He chuckled. ‘Having sinned in the same way themselves, they knew all about it. Little did we know they took it in turns to keep an eye on us at first until they were confident we wouldn’t fall off the roof.’

Despite her misery, Georgie found herself laughing a little. ‘Just you and Anthony? Not Lord Mardon and his brother?’

Mr Sinclair snorted. ‘No. John’s a good bit older than we are, you know. And William! Well, he’s only a couple of years older than Anthony, but he never took much notice of us younger ones. More interested in currying favour with Anthony’s elder brother, The Heir.’

He stiffened, staring down into the park. ‘Speak of the devil! What in Hades is he about?’

‘Who?’ asked Georgie.

‘William.’ He pointed. ‘Look.’

Obediently Georgie looked. She saw a darker shadow moving in the park towards the woods.

‘How can you be so sure that it’s Mr Lyndhurst-Flint?’ she asked. She could see it was a man, but how Mr Sinclair could tell…‘Oh!’ The man below had bent down and was rubbing at his boots. ‘Yes. It must be him. He’s very…er…
particular
about his clothing, isn’t he?’

‘Damned man-milliner,’ muttered Mr Sinclair. ‘And I’ll thank you not to tell Anthony I said that in front of you!’

‘You don’t like him, do you?’

‘Anthony?’

She flushed. ‘Mr Lyndhurst-Flint.’

‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘And if you’ll take my advice, Cousin—
you
shouldn’t trust him any further than you can sp…throw him!’ He frowned at her. ‘Don’t stay out too long, Cousin. It does become chilly up here, even on the warmest night. Goodnight.’ He sketched a salute and was gone.

Anthony slipped into their bedchamber very quietly. It had not needed Aunt Harriet’s assurance to convince him that Georgie had felt unwell. Even though they had been
separated by the length of the dining table, her pallor had been obvious.

Aunt Harriet’s advice had been, ‘Leave her be. Sleep will be the best thing for her.’ She had fixed Anthony with a beady eye and he nearly choked on the effort not to inform her that
he
hadn’t been keeping Georgie from her sleep. At least, not in the way that she meant. He didn’t doubt that it was his presence in the bed disturbing her.

Moonlight poured into the room, removing the need for a candle or lamp. He trod softly over to the bed to see if she were asleep. She wasn’t there.

Panic churning in his gut, Anthony strode back out of the bedchamber and crashed into Marcus. Staggering back a pace, he swore.

Marcus blinked. ‘Anthony, are you all right?’

‘Georgie’s gone!’

A positively delighted grin spread over Marcus’s face. ‘Oh. She’s in the cupola. I just left her there.’

‘In…in the
cupola
? What the devil is she doing there?’ He stared suspiciously at Marcus. ‘More to the point, what the devil were
you
doing there?’

Marcus raised his brows. ‘
Not
meeting your wife!’

‘Dammit, Marcus! I never thought you were!’

‘If you must have it,’ continued Marcus in pained tones, ‘I intended to meet Miss Devereaux up there, but your wife was there already. I didn’t ask, but I would assume that she needed some fresh air since she had a headache earlier.’

‘Oh.’ He should probably pretend he hadn’t heard that bit about Miss Devereaux.

‘I think she’d been crying her eyes out,’ added Marcus helpfully.

‘Crying…oh,
God
!’ Pain lashed him.

‘Anything I can do, Anthony?’

He shook his head. All he wanted was to get to Georgie. ‘No.’ Then common sense cut in. ‘No, wait. Yes, there is. Come into my room for a moment. Marcus.’

Without a word, Marcus followed him.

Anthony shut the door behind them and went to light a candle. He turned to find Marcus leaning against the door frame. ‘I’ve been a damn fool,’ he said bluntly. ‘Over your mess and with her. But there’s a link. William.’

‘What?’
Marcus’s shoulders surged off the door frame.

Briefly Anthony told Marcus his suspicions. ‘Don’t you see?’ he finished. ‘Each time he has tried to safeguard his own position by destroying my trust in someone. And it’s worked. Because he was dealing with a damn fool.’ He said nothing about John’s revelations, or the pearls.

Marcus swore. ‘Damn him! I knew he had to be behind this business with Frobisher, but you! Hell, Anthony—he’s stolen four years of your life. Every time
I
lay eyes on him I want to break his neck! How the devil can
you
stand the sight of him?’

‘I can’t,’ said Anthony grimly. ‘But if I kick him out, what odds would you give that he won’t shop you to the nearest magistrate? And what of John? This will hit him hard.’

Marcus said a few things under his breath. ‘Something else you should know,’ he went on, ‘William has developed a yen for the beauties of nature.’

Anthony blinked.

‘He was going into the woods just now. Your wife and I both saw him. At least, I thought it was him.
Anyway—it’s his second trip today. Cassie mentioned that he’d taken a stroll this afternoon.’

‘Third trip. He was there early this morning,’ said Anthony, his brain whirling. ‘And Timms says William was in Lynd today. Not his usual style at all.’

Marcus nodded. ‘Mmm. Fishy. If we’re lucky it’s only an assignation with some wench, but there is the possibility that Grant is still in the area.’

‘I know. I’ve put the word out quietly. You’d better be prepared to leave. Ufton is checking the mail, but if Grant, or someone else, posts a letter for him—we could have that magistrate down on us very quickly.’ He swore as he saw the stubborn set to his cousin’s jaw.

‘I’ll break William’s neck first,’ vowed Marcus. ‘No, thank you. I’ll stay and see this out.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘One other thing, Anthony—’

Flushing, Anthony said, ‘I know. I’m sorry. I was a fool to mistrust you. There’s no excuse—’

‘Oh, shut up, you idiot,’ growled Marcus. ‘I wanted to apologise for poking my nose into your drawers and finding that miniature. I had no business—’

‘Oh, go to the devil,’ said Anthony. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife.’

She was still there. A small shadow, leaning on the balustrade staring over the dark woods.

‘Georgie?’ He kept his voice low, but relief made it harsh. He had somehow feared that she would be gone.

She turned. ‘How you must hate me.’ The tired whisper seared him.

‘Hate you?’ Swift strides took him to her, but she flinched and he forced his hands back to his sides, despite the aching need to hold her.

‘I didn’t understand, didn’t know until your cousin told me—’

‘Marcus?’
What the devil had Marcus said to upset her?

‘Not Mr Sinclair. Lady Quinlan.’

He knew now what was coming. Georgie’s headache was explained. ‘Damn Cassie,’ he growled. ‘If Quinlan hadn’t taken her off my hands, I’d warm her backside. What rubbish did she tell you?’

‘That people believe you murdered me. And Justin. That you made sure he died at Waterloo! That you were nearly cashiered for it!’

He froze at the horror in her voice. Oh, God. After the way he’d raged at her, after he’d informed Finch-Scott that his seconds would call—what did Georgie believe? ‘And you? What do you think?’

‘That I ruined your life! Oh, Anthony! If I’d known! How could they think such a thing? Didn’t they
know
you?’

No. Of course she would never believe such a thing of him. Her faith humbled him.

He shook his head. ‘No. They didn’t. But the people who mattered knew. My neighbours. My family. And I wasn’t nearly cashiered. Wellington sent a message to my colonel, demanding that the pressure to do so be resisted, and received a very dusty answer that the Guards could look after their own, thanks very much.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

He came to her then, unable to bear any longer the pain in her voice. Ignoring her protest, he took her in his arms. ‘No. Let me hold you.’ His voice cracked. ‘God, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to do this in the past four years. How much I’ve hated myself for
what I said that night. My damnable temper! You were so young. It was my fault, not yours.’

He felt the sobs racking her slender body and pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair, absorbing the scent, the feel of her, drawing it deep. ‘I told myself that if you ever returned to me, I’d do better…’ He shuddered. ‘And when you did come back, I hurt you again. Georgie, I’ve been such a fool. I was wrong to lose my temper that night, wrong to accuse you. Can you not forgive me?’ He drew her closer, feeling the wrenching of grief as it poured from her. ‘Will you let me be your husband again?’

She struggled free and gazed up at him, the despair in her face a physical blow. ‘With all my heart,’ she whispered. ‘But I can be no wife to you, Anthony. I cannot give you what you want.’

‘What I want?’

‘A…a child.’ Her voice broke and she turned away. ‘I mean, an heir.’

Silence hung between them. He waited. Not understanding, but knowing somehow that he hung on a knife edge. That the wrong word now might lose her forever.

‘You asked what I would have done if I had been carrying your child. Well, I was.’ Her voice sounded remote, a distant echo of something that had happened to someone else. Something she could no longer bear to feel. ‘I knew, whatever had happened between us, even if you no longer wanted me, I had to tell you about the child. So I wrote.’

She had written? ‘But—’

‘No.’ The bleak voice cut him off. ‘It was never posted. I had a miscarriage after I reached Aunt Mary, my godmother. The doctor who attended me said that
losing the baby so early, it was likely that I would be unable to have children.’

‘Oh, my God,’ whispered Anthony. Grief and horror welled up inside him as he realised the pain, the fear and the bitter loneliness she had been through, believing that he had abandoned her. That all he wanted of her was an heir. No wonder she had not come back.

With hands that shook, he drew her back into his arms and rocked her, burying his face again in the fragrance of her hair. ‘My poor darling,’ he whispered. ‘It’s all right. I’m here now.’

A wave of peace flooded Georgie. At last. He knew. Whatever he decided later, he was holding her now, giving the comfort her bruised heart had needed. She clung tightly, never wanting to let go. And knowing that she must. But when she tried to pull away, he held on, his arms tightening, his hands trembling over her hair, her face. His tenderness surrounded her, warmth where there had been only the deadly chill of despair.

‘Anthony, what if I can’t give you a child?’

‘It doesn’t matter, Georgie. It’s you I want. Just you. You’re mine. I’ll never let you go again.’ His voice was hoarse, shaking.

‘But—’

He silenced her with his mouth, with a kiss that said everything his breaking voice could not express. His longing, his need.

Urgency hammered in his blood. Fighting for control, he lifted his head and stared down at her dazed eyes, soft with passion. He wanted her more than his next breath. The night breathed around them, dark, seductive. If he took the cushions off the seats…No. He dragged in a deep breath, forcing himself to restraint. It didn’t take genius to know why Marcus had been meeting Miss
Devereaux up here and the last thing he needed was any interruptions.

‘Anthony?’ The uncertainty in her voice tore at him. He had to tell her, show her, how much he needed her, loved her. But—

‘Not here,’ he whispered. And lifted her into his arms.

Georgie clung to him as he carried her downstairs, her thoughts chaotic. He
couldn’t
want her, but—Kicking the bedchamber door shut behind him, he strode across the room and laid her gently on his bed. No.
Their
bed. Their marriage bed.