BRIGHTON BEAUTY (19 page)

"What is the meaning of this?" Chelsea demanded of Jared.

Bending a slight nod Chelsea's way, the butler replied, "It appears, miss, that your girl was caught . . . meddling."

Her own heart hammering wildly, Chelsea threw a startled gaze at Dulcie, whose face, she noticed now, was decidedly ashen. "Is this true, Dulcie?"

Dulcie thrust her chin up. "I didn't take nothing, miss! Honest, I didn't! I was just . . . "

"I say, what's this?" came a deep voice from the far end of the corridor.

Everyone watched as determined strides carried Lord Rathbone forward. "What seems to be the trouble, Jared?" he asked coolly.

Jared's nod of greeting to his lordship was almost imperceptible. "It seems Miss Marchmont's abigail was observed leaving her ladyship's bedchamber a moment ago."

Lord Rathbone cast a gaze at Dulcie. "I take it this is not customary behavior?"

"Indeed it is not!" Mrs. Phipps cried. "The girl's only duties are to attend Miss Marchmont. She don't have no business whatsoever in . . . "

"That will be enough, Mrs. Phipps," Lord Rathbone said sternly. He turned to Chelsea, a dark gaze flicking over her person. Chelsea tightened the wrapper about herself. "What do you have to say to this, Miss Marchmont?"

Before Chelsea could reply, Dulcie cried out again, "I didn't take nothing, sir! Honest, I didn't!"

"No one has accused you of taking anything, girl," Lord Rathbone said, then he glanced at Jared, "have they?"

"No, sir; not yet, sir."

"I see." His gaze reverted again to Chelsea. "May I suggest we resume this investigation downstairs. The library will suit. You will join us, Miss Marchmont, when you have . . . that is, when you are properly clothed." He turned away. "You will fetch her ladyship, Jared. Mrs. Phipps, Dulcie, you will come with me."

The party dispersed.

Ten minutes later, Chelsea breathlessly joined the small group already assembled in the library.

A cool glance from Lady Rathbone, who was seated in her Bath chair a bit apart from her son, was enough to set Chelsea's heart pounding again in her breast.

"Perhaps you will be good enough to explain your abigail's odd behavior to all of us," Lady Rathbone said, as soon as Chelsea had taken up a position just inside the doorway.

Chelsea had no idea what had already transpired. In an effort to determine if Dulcie had been forced to divulge anything, anything at all, she flung a glance at the trembling girl. Though the maid's eyes were wide with fright, something in them told Chelsea she had indeed kept her word and said nothing incriminating.

Chelsea turned to address Lord Rathbone. "Dulcie was merely carrying out my orders this morning, sir. I had sent her to inquire if Lady Rathbone wished me to read to her today."

A snort from Mrs. Phipps said she did not believe that for a minute. Then, apparently unable to contain herself, the stout woman cried, "The girl was hidin' somethin' in her skirts! Them London gels ain't to be trusted, I tell ye! They's no better than they have to be!"

"Mrs. Phipps, you will kindly hold your tongue," Lord Rathbone said sternly. He glanced at Dulcie, a shuttered look obviously trying to determine whether or not some sort of article might still be concealed beneath the girl's apron, or perhaps in a pocket. "Has . . . er . . . has anyone determined precisely what the missing article might be?" he asked.

Apparently believing that he was being addressed, Jared replied, "No, sir; not yet, sir."

"Then it appears there is nothing for it but to conduct a thorough search of the girl . . . "

Chelsea cut in sharply. "If Dulcie said she did not take anything, then she did not take anything!"

"Thank you, Miss Marchmont," Lord Rathbone said, his tone a bit patronizing. "Nonetheless, it appears a search of the girl's person is in order."

Mrs. Phipps made a lunge for poor Dulcie.

"Owa-oh!" she cried, with an indignant jerk gathering her skirts about her.

"Mrs. Phipps!" Lord Rathbone bellowed. "Leave the girl be."

"Leave me be!" Dulcie chimed in. "You's nothing but a old busybody!"

Lord Rathbone folded his arms across his chest, his lips pressed together with disgust. "Miss Marchmont, you will please take Dulcie aside and determine the contents of her pockets." When Chelsea seemed to hesitate in carrying out his orders, he said, "Now!"

Deciding that perhaps it was best to remove Dulcie from the library altogether, Chelsea signaled to the girl, then froze in place when Lord Rathbone said, "Mrs. Phipps will assist."

Chelsea's head jerked up. "Are you saying you do not trust
me
to tell the truth?" Her tone revealed her outrage at being thought a liar.

"I am saying nothing of the sort, Miss Marchmont." He paused, then said, "Perhaps a search of Mother's room is also in order. Mrs. Phipps, you and Jared will undertake that office. If it is determined that anything is missing, you will report your findings to me at once. I take it that arrangement is satisfactory with you, Mother?"

Lady Rathbone flung a glance at Chelsea. "Indeed."

"Very well. Everyone, save Miss Marchmont and her abigail, have leave to go."

Chelsea chewed on her lower lip as Jared, Mrs. Phipps and Lady Rathbone quitted the room. She had no idea what a search of Lady Rathbone's chamber would reveal. She hoped nothing. She had never asked poor Dulcie to rifle through Lady Rathbone's belongings, she had merely asked the girl to keep an ear open, and an eye out, for any sort of evidence or incriminating murmurings amongst the servants. If it was true that nothing escaped them, it was likely they might have an idea where, how, or from whom, Lady Rathbone had learned the truth about Chelsea.

She turned what she hoped was a reassuring smile on Dulcie. If the girl was, indeed, concealing something on her person, it was likely not to be discovered now by anyone but herself.

When Chelsea heard the heavy oaken door to the library click shut behind Jared, she directed an expectant gaze at Lord Rathbone. He stood with legs planted wide apart, a stern gaze fixed on Dulcie. After drawing a breath, he announced, "Under the circumstances, Dulcie, Miss Marchmont will no longer require your services."

Both Chelsea and the girl gasped.

"No!" Chelsea cried, "you cannot . . . !"

Rathbone turned a cool gaze on her. "I cannot," he mouthed with disbelief. "Indeed I can, Miss Marchmont, and I have. The girl will quit the premises at once."

"But . . . " Chelsea's bosom rose and fell as she fought to contain her rage. "Dulcie, you will please await me upstairs."

A stricken look on her face, Dulcie scampered from the room.

When the door had clicked shut once again, Chelsea whirled on Ford. "I forbid you to dismiss that poor girl. She has done nothing wrong and I will not have it!" She knew she was overstepping the bounds, but she could not,
would
not, be responsible for causing Dulcie to lose her position.

"You
forbid
me?" Lord Rathbone stared at her, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "It appears I am seeing your true colors once again, Alayna." He moved to take a seat behind the massive desk. "I refuse to retain a servant who cannot be trusted. Apparently you have forgotten our recent experience with Sully."

"This is hardly the same thing!"

"It is precisely the same thing!" He flung open a drawer and withdrew what appeared to be an account book. Chelsea watched with horror as he deliberately reached for a pen.

"But, Dulcie was merely carrying out my orders this morning! That is the whole truth, I tell you. There is nothing more to the matter, save the fact that the castle servants do not like the girl."

Dipping the pen in the inkwell, Rathbone did not glance up from his scribbling. "The girl goes, Alayna." He blotted the bank draft he had written and held it out to Chelsea. "Here is sufficient money to pay what is owed of her wages and to see her back to London, or wherever else she wishes to go."

Chelsea folded her arms across her bosom. "No! I will not turn her out! You've no idea how difficult it is to find employment."

Rathbone snorted. "You sound as if you have had experience at that yourself, Alayna, which, of course, is quite ridiculous." He waved the draft at her. "Take it. The matter is concluded. I will hear no more of it."

Her nostrils flaring with each breath she drew, Chelsea stood her ground. At length, she said, "If you insist on turning Dulcie out, then you leave me with no choice but to refuse to return with you to Honduras."

Rathbone stood. "Very well." His eyes on her were cold as he let the bank draft flutter to the desktop. "Perhaps I have been wrong about you, Alayna. Perhaps we would not get on well together, after all." His tone was firm as he went on. "Where I live in the tropics, it is very often superstition and magical beliefs that guide men's lives. There, it is imperative to guard against insurrection, rebellion, or disloyalty of any sort. Orders given by the master must be followed to the letter. I have seen danger of the worst sort, to say nothing of costly disorder, caused by a single untrustworthy servant. What type of example would be set if even a planter's wife refused to obey him? It is not to be tolerated, Alayna."

With her heart in her throat, Chelsea listened closely to his words. She knew he spoke the truth, but in this case the decision she had made in the matter could not be reversed. Through the fine mist that was gathering in her eyes, she returned his steady gaze. "Dulcie and I will leave immediately for London once you and I have recited our marriage vows, my lord," she said quietly.

With her head high, she turned and swept from the room.

* * * *

I
n bleak silence, Rathbone watched her go. In a word, in one small word, she had made a mockery of all that he stood for. No. She had said, no. She had flatly refused to obey him and had done so in the presence of others. Though it broke his very heart to do so, he could not back down.

D
espite the tears of sadness gathering in her eyes as she made her way back to her bedchamber, Chelsea decided that the sudden turn of events would in all likelihood prove a blessing in disguise. Now, when Alayna returned to the castle she could decide for herself if she wished to accompany her husband to a foreign clime. After all, what the pair of them did after they were married was none of Chelsea's concern. For her part, she was simply glad to have preserved Dulcie's living.

Discovering the little maid hugging her knees like a frightened child in a corner chair in her room, Chelsea cried, "Dulcie, assure me that you did, indeed, take nothing from Lady Rathbone's chamber!"

Dulcie sprang to her feet, her eyes wide. "I meant to return it, miss, right after I showed it to you, but . . . "

"Oh, Dulcie," Chelsea groaned, her eyes rolling skyward. "Give it over this instant! Whatever it is, I must return it at once."

"You mightn't want to do that, Miss." So saying, Chelsea watched horror-struck, as Dulcie twisted about to lift the hem of her skirt. In seconds she had produced the stolen article and thrust it at her mistress.

Staring at a perfect likeness of Alayna Marchmont, Chelsea moaned. "Oh-h-h. Where did you find it, Dulcie? And why were you in her ladyship's room?"

"In the top drawer of the commode next to her ladyship's bed. Her own maid said there was a picture of a yellow haired beauty in the package the post delivered up yesterday, and I was worried it was Miss Alayna's."

Still gaping with disbelief at the miniature, which without being told, Chelsea knew to be the missing portrait of Alayna, she murmured, "But who could have sent it?"

"Don't know, miss. Perhaps that foul man wot kidnapped you done it."

"Sully," Chelsea breathed, thinking that if the man were indeed still trying to disprove her identity, it made sense that he would try to elicit Lady Rathbone's help. Yet Lady Rathbone had heard all about Sully's accusations and as well the conclusion drawn by Ford and Mr. Wainwright. Therefore, the portrait alone should not be enough to convict her, should it? "Did you find anything else, Dulcie?"

"No, miss. I looked for the letter, but when I heard Mrs. Phipps approaching, I froze up. That's when I slipped the picture in my pocket and I . . . "

"I know, you skulked from the room." Chelsea shook her head with dismay. "Oh, Dulcie, you should never have entered Lady Rathbone's bedchamber. That was never my intent when I solicited your help in the matter."

Dulcie hung her head. "I'm sorry, miss. I only meant to help."

"Well" . . . Chelsea sighed heavily . . . "I shall have to return the portrait before it is discovered missing." She turned to go, pausing only long enough to say, "By the by, there is no need for you to leave the castle, Dulcie. Lord Rathbone regrets his . . . er . . . hasty decision. Your position with Miss Marchmont is safe."

"Oh! miss!" Dulcie dropped a grateful curtsy. "Thank you ever so!"

Chelsea didn't hear the girl; she was already hurrying toward Lady Rathbone's suite.

Upon reaching the nearly hidden chamber, she spotted the heavy oaken door standing wide open and marched inside as if she had every right to be there. Mrs. Phipps and two housemaids were roaming about, sifting through the piles of dusty books and yellowed newspapers. Without a word to either of them, Chelsea made a bee-line for the little cabinet that stood next to the old woman's bed. There, she turned completely around, her body shielding the cabinet from view. Palmed in her hand behind her back lay the tiny miniature, which she skillfully tucked into the top drawer, all the while gazing calmly at the distracted women who were too intent on their work to notice what Chelsea was about.

After a pause, she said, "I take it neither of you has yet to discover anything amiss?"

"Nothing as yet, Miss Marchmont," the housekeeper replied coolly.

"Very well . . . " Chelsea made a move toward the door, "if you should come across anything out of place, I will thank you to report the matter to me straightaway." Holding her chin aloft, she breezed past the women into the corridor. Then, with an immense sigh of relief, she quickly retraced her steps back to her own suite, confident that she had, indeed, saved the day for Dulcie. She only hoped when all was said and done, she would fare as well.