Her Officer and Gentleman (12 page)

Christian realized he was holding the letter so tightly, he’d crumpled the edge of it. He relaxed his hold and smoothed the letter a bit, his mind whirling over the words. His mother had asked about him and Tristan often. And wished them found.

Of course, by that time, he and Tristan had been forced to move from their house because of the creditors, but Mother wouldn’t have known that.

Christian continued reading.

Christian set down the letter. Sinclair. There it was again, that name. Was it a code name for the duke? Christian sucked in a deep breath.

“My lord?” Reeves’s voice broke through the silence.

Christian struggled to the surface to answer. Mother had not been completely alone at the end. Father Durham had found her and had done what he could for her. Until that moment, Christian hadn’t realized what a burden that had been.

Reeves’s voice cut through the fog in Christian’s mind. “What His Lordship needs is more tea.”

“Humph,” Willie said. “Brandy is more like.”

Christian folded the letter and placed it on the table beside him. “No more tea. Or brandy.”

Reeves bowed. “May I ask if the letter contained what you thought it would?”

“Yes,” Christian said, staring down at the folded missive. “Somewhere in the duke’s house is a necklace belonging to my mother. If I can find that, then I will have proof he was involved in my mother’s false incarceration.”

Willie scratched his ear. “What sort of necklace is this?”

Christian glanced at the letter, his heart sinking. “I don’t know. The bishop said it was famous, though.”

“Ah, the sapphire necklace.” Reeves nodded.

Christian looked at Reeves. “You know it?”

“Your father gave your mother a sapphire necklace the day you and your brother were born. It was quite spectacular, as it was set in a very elaborate silver setting. I’ve never seen one like it.”

“Do you think you could draw a picture of it? I must know what it looks like.”

“I can do one better. I can show it to you as it is featured in the portrait of your mother which is hanging at your father’s country estate. It is but a two-hour ride from here.”

It was ironic that the portrait his father had commissioned would assist Christian in finding who betrayed his mother. In some ways, it was as if his father was helping him from beyond the grave. Christian shook off the thought; he didn’t believe in things he couldn’t see. He never would.

He looked at Reeves. “Excellent! We will leave within the hour and then return this evening. And then—” Christian nodded to himself “—then I must find a way into the duke’s household. Now, more than ever.”

“Can’t ye just go callin’ and visit ’im?” Willie offered helpfully.

“He doesn’t receive anyone. That’s why his granddaughter is so important to this project. Only she and her stepmother have access to him, and the stepmother is almost as reclusive as the duke. She goes nowhere without the escort of a certain Lord Bennington.”

“Well, then,” Willie said affably. “Ye’ll have to go through the granddaughter then.”

“I was attempting to do just that, but…now things aren’t so simple.” Christian rubbed his chin. He supposed he
could
do this without Elizabeth’s help, but it would be so much easier
with
her.

He frowned, wondering if perhaps he was simply looking for reasons to be with her again. Their meeting this morning had whet his appetite for her company, even though she’d made it plain she’d no longer meet with him alone. It would be difficult to find a way to have private speech with her, but it could be done. The problem was whether he could get close enough to her, gain her trust enough to garner an invitation to visit Massingale House, especially as he’d already managed to raise her suspicions. He thought of her fixed smile as she’d left him at the museum and he sighed. “I do not know if I will be able to gain Lady Elizabeth’s confidence or not.”

“And why is that?” Reeves said, suspicion in his voice. “What happened in your meeting with Lady Elizabeth, my lord?”

Christian shrugged. “At the moment, she will not have anything to do with me.”

“How do you know this?”

“She realized I was interested in meeting her grandfather and not in her alone and she—” Christian made a slicing motion with his hand.

“Goodness!” Reeves said, a pleased expression on his face. “What a very astute young lady.”

“Women,” Willie said with disgust. “Trouble, the lot of ’em.”

Christian stood as a sudden realization struck. Perhaps he did know a way to gain Elizabeth’s cooperation. “I am not done with her yet. Lady Elizabeth will assist me, one way or the other.”

“What is ‘the other’?” Reeves asked.

“The lovely Lady Elizabeth has great cause to fear me as I know a secret about her.” Christian smiled for the first time that hour. “Did you know that her voice is as pure and musical and lilting as a summer brook?”

“If that is her secret, then I can see why she would fear you,” Reeves said in a dry tone.

“Ah, but she has no wish for that information to leak out. She has been affecting a stutter while in public. It is her protection against a swarm of importuning suitors.”

“If Lady Elizabeth has already challenged you as to your designs, it might be a better plan to simply tell her the truth and enlist her aid.”

“Gor!” Willie exclaimed. “I thought ye was on our side.”

“I am,” Reeves said smoothly. “But there are times when the truth is the best policy.”

Christian shook his head. “You want me to tell Lady Elizabeth that I think her beloved grandfather is responsible for my mother’s death?”

“Yes, my lord. I believe she will help you search for the evidence merely to prove you wrong.”

“If I get desperate, I will remember your suggestion.” Christian refolded the bishop’s letter. “In the meantime, I have a few other ideas. Willie, off the carpet. Clean up and rest. I may need you soon. Reeves, order warmed water sent to my room. I want a bath, and then we’ll be off to see that portrait. I need to know what that necklace looks like so there can be no mistake.”

“Very well, my lord,” Reeves said, watching Willie hop off his towel rather like a very large and ungainly toad, mud and dirt smearing the towel and the area around it. “I can see we shall all have a very busy afternoon ahead of us.”

B
eatrice set down her cup of tea, the click of cup to saucer quite loud. “What I just told you is completely untrue.”

Beth blinked.

“You did not hear a single word I said, did you?” Beatrice said in an accusing tone.

Beth hadn’t. She’d been thinking about her meeting yesterday with Westerville. Since that meeting, she’d had the uneasy suspicion that though she’d won the battle, she still had an entire war to fight.

She’d been absolutely right to tell the man she’d never see him again as it was painfully obvious his real desire was to get closer to her grandfather. The problem was, that did not lessen her interest in the man one bit. If anything, it had sharpened it.

She sighed loudly. “Beatrice, I am sorry. I am a sad woolgatherer. Grandfather is forever scolding me for that.”

Beatrice slathered butter on a piece of toast with more force than form. “I don’t care if you ignore me before we’ve had tea, but anytime thereafter, I expect your complete attention. Especially when I’m talking about something important.”

Harry lowered the morning paper just enough to peer over the top. “You were talking about bonnets.”

Beatrice’s face colored. “Bonnets are important!”

He raised his brows. “Why?”

She opened her mouth. Then closed it, her brow furrowed in thought. Suddenly, she gave a little hop in her chair. “Bonnets are important because without them we all might have horrid freckles!”

Beth chuckled, but all Harry said was “Humph!” He was a handsome man, but with none of his wife’s gadfly tendencies. He was quite happy to stay at home with a thick tome, or visit his club, or attend any one of the dozen or so of the scientific societies he so loved. They were a very disparate couple, Beth thought wistfully, but still quite in love with each other. It did her heart good to see them together.

Even now, Beatrice leaned across the table and pulled down one corner of Harry’s paper, amused
outrage on her pouting lips. “Harry, if you have something to say, then say it and do not make those rude humphing noises behind your paper.”

His blue eyes, exaggerated in size by the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, twinkled a bit at this direct sally. He obligingly put the paper down. “My love, it is not fair for you to tell Beth you expect her complete attention when you ramble on for so long about a bonnet. I couldn’t have borne such a weighty conversation, either.”

Beatrice sent a frowning glare at her husband before turning to Beth. “I asked if you wished to see that adorable bonnet I saw in Bond Street yesterday, the one with the blue flowers and silver bells? It is gorgeous and would look absolutely lovely with your coloring. I just thought that if you wanted to see it, we could—”

“There!” Harry laughed. “Rambling. Thank you for proving my point.”

Beatrice flounced. “Beth, do you see what I have to live with? The harshness I must endure? The criticism I am subjected to? I am so put upon I scarce know whether I should stay or go.”

Harry chuckled, lifting his paper back in place. “You will do what you will do, my love.”

“I am quite distraught. There is only
one
thing that will cheer me up.”

“Beth,” Harry said from behind his paper, “pray escort my poor, forlorn wife to Bond Street. She will perish does she not spend some of my hard-won funds this very instant.”

“With pleasure!” Beth said, standing. “I will get my reticule.”

“Excellent!” Beatrice said, smiling at her cousin. “I shall order the carriage and then tell Harry what a horrid husband he has become. We can meet in the hall in ten minutes.”

Beth bid Harry goodbye and made her way to her room, where she quickly changed gowns, and then collected her reticule and a pelisse with green stripes that perfectly matched the color of the leaves embroidered on her slippers. She paused in the foyer to admire her morning gown of white muslin. It was adorned on one shoulder with pink and green flowers. A wide green ribbon delineated the seam just below her breasts, while her skirts flowed over her hips and to the floor. The neckline of the gown was deceptively simple, rounded with tiny cap sleeves that fit her to perfection.

“Admiring your gown?”

Beth turned to find Beatrice standing a little behind her, a knowing look in her blue eyes. “What?” Beth said, her cheeks heated. “This gown? It’s nothing special—”

“Oh, don’t even start that with me. Have you forgotten who I am? I can only wonder who you might be hoping to meet in Bond Street. Westerville, perhaps?”

“I don’t care what Westerville thinks of this, or any other gown.”

“Of course you don’t. By the way, I found out some very interesting tidbits about our friend.”

“That’s nice,” Beth said, trying not to meet Beatrice’s gaze. Beth knew she shouldn’t ask any questions. The less she knew about the viscount, the better.

“Don’t you want to know what I discovered?”

“No. Not really.” Beth removed her gloves from her reticule and pulled them on. “Shall we leave? I must see this bonnet you’re so in love with.”

Beatrice’s brows rose. “Beth, you must want to know about the viscount.”

“Well, I don’t. Now, may we go shopping? I need to find a pair of slippers to go with that new silk ball gown Grandfather sent last week.”

Beatrice looked Beth up and down. “Hm. I see what it is. You are upset. With Westerville.”

“I am not.”

“You are, too. Why else would you not want to hear the gossip about Viscount Westerville unless you were angry with him? Which means, of course, that you’ve seen him since we last talked.”

“Ah!” Beth said with relief at the sound of a carriage pulling up. “There is your cabriolet. Are you ready?”

“Beth, I want to know what happened. Has he said something to you? Been rude or suggested something improper? Did he—” Beatrice’s eyes widened. “He
kissed
you, didn’t he?”

“No!” Beth said, very aware of the stoic footmen who stood flanking the hallway. She grabbed her cousin’s hand and pulled her to the front door. “Come! We can finish this conversation in the cabriolet.”

“Oh yes we will,” Beatrice said, not a bit abashed. She tucked Beth’s arm in hers and led the way to the waiting carriage.

They were barely settled and on their way when
Beatrice faced Beth. “
Now.
Tell me everything. Why are you upset with Westerville?”

Blast it, would Beatrice never leave this alone? Beth gritted her teeth. “I told you before that I am not upset with him, I only—oh bother. Just tell me what you found out about the viscount.”

Beatrice sighed. “You are a woman of secrets. I wonder why I never knew this before.” She slid a bit closer in the seat and leaned toward Beth. “When I started inquiring about our friend, I was given the oddest looks, but no one would really say anything! Oh, there were the usual rumors, that he’d taken up with Mrs. Edlesworth, which is not to be wondered at, for I vow, every man newly come to London seems to do the same thing. She’s had more traffic through her doors than London Bridge. They should just declare the woman a national monument and put a plaque on her door that reads, ‘Here is the house of Louisa Edlesworth, London’s most notorious female!’ I would pay money to see such a thing and I think other women would, too, if—”

“Beatrice.”

Beatrice blinked. “What?”

“What did you find out about the viscount other than he dallied with Louisa Edlesworth?”

Beatrice clasped her hands together excitedly. “Well! There are the oddest rumors floating about that have to do with the viscount—”

“Yes, yes. You said people were whispering that he was a highwayman. I don’t believe that myself, but—”

“Oh, they are saying all sorts of things! Apparently he was nowhere to be found for several years. Rumors are rife that he was doing something”—Beatrice lowered her voice—“illegal.”

“It would not surprise me.”

“Or me!” Beatrice gave a delicious shiver. “There is something dangerous about that man. Lady Chudrowe was wild with envy when I told her he’d ridden with us in my new cabriolet.” Beatrice sighed happily. “And Lady Thimpkinson was positively
green
when she discovered I—”

“Beatrice, I am certain you are widely admired. What else did you find out about Westerville?”

“Well, some would have it he runs a widespread smuggling operation off the French coast. Others whisper he was the kept lover of an Italian countess—”

“Those all sound preposterous to me,” Beth said in a lofty tone, though to be honest, she could see any of those dashing professions fitting the viscount. He seemed to have no fear of danger, and heaven knew he enjoyed taking chances.

She frowned. She knew how he
seemed
but not how he really
was.
The man was a mass of secrets. In fact, all she really knew was that he could turn her bones to jelly with one well-placed kiss. Well, she knew a little more than that. She knew, for instance, that he had an interest in Grandfather for some inexplicable reason. That he had a warm and witty sense of humor. That his eyes crinkled in the most beguiling way when he smiled. That his lips were firm and—

“Beth? There you go again! I have said not less
than three important things in the last minute and you haven’t heard a one.”

“I’m sorry,” Beth said, instantly contrite. “What did you say?”

“Lady Jersey says Westerville asked if he could meet her privately to discuss his mother.”

“His mother?”

“Yes. I don’t know the entire story, of course, but Lady Jersey thinks he’s on some sort of quest to find out about his past.”

Beth found herself looking down at her gloved hands, which were clasped in her lap, the fingers neatly interlocked. Westerville had said something about searching for the truth. But what truth?

The truth about his mother, perhaps?

Beatrice pursed her lips. “I think I like the story of the Italian countess best, though I can quite see him as a highwayman. He does wear black well.”

“As do all the best highwaymen,” Beth said in a dry voice. “Beatrice, did you find anything else out? Anything certain?”

“Well…he dresses well and dances divinely. Lady Hemplewaite declares she’s in love with him, and Miss Lucinda Garner has already told her father—who is nothing more than a fat cit—that she will marry Westerville and no one else.”

For some reason, the mention of so many admirers quite put Beth out of humor. “Yes, yes. The list of his admirers is endless. Lady Hemplewaite and Mrs. Edlesworth and Miss Sofia Longbridge and Julia Carslowe and—”

“The Carslowe chit? The one with big front teeth? I didn’t know—”

“Beatrice, the point is that it would be simpler to list those women who do
not
admire him rather than those who do.”

Beatrice pursed her lips. “I can only think of one. You.”

“If you knew him as I do, you wouldn’t think him so dashing, either.”

Beatrice’s brows rose. “Beth, just how well
do
you know him?”

Beth toyed with the ribbons on her reticule. “I
may
have spoken to him after our cabriolet ride.”

“I knew it!”

“It wasn’t anything serious. I ran into him at the British Museum.”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. “By yourself?”

“No! Of course not. There were many people there. I was standing at one of the front cases, talking to a woman about a fan that was on display, and suddenly, he was there.”

“I see. Did you speak for long?”

Beth hoped her cheeks were not as red as they felt. “Not long, no. He…he knows I do not stutter.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Beatrice exclaimed.

Beth frowned. “That is not a good thing.”

“It is for me,” Beatrice said frankly. “The sooner you get rid of that stutter, the better. It is most vexing for those of us who must listen to you.”

“As soon as there are no more suitors, I shall do just that.”

“I know, I know. And I do not blame you for taking up a stutter in the first place. Being placed upon the marriage mart is a fine idea for a chit of seventeen; you are too mature to be cursed with such an effort. What your grandfather should have done was simply sponsor some quiet house parties at Massingale House. House parties are all the rage nowadays. Perhaps I should mention that to him the next time I see him. I am certain he would—”

“No. Beatrice, please. Massingale House is my home and I love it because it is peaceful. It would not be so if it was infested with obnoxious suitors who might trod upon my flower gardens, spill their wine on my carpets, and never give me a moment’s peace.”

Beatrice looked at her oddly. “Beth, do you never wish to marry?”

“Of course I do. Only…it must be someone
interesting.
”

“And none of your suitors are interesting? What about the viscount? You seemed quite taken with him. In fact, I was worried you’d do something rash, like meet him in private or begin a correspondence with him, both actions that could get you into severe trouble with your grandfather. Of course,” Beatrice sent a sly glance at Beth, “your grandfather might well find the viscount a good match for you.”

“You said it’s rumored he was a highwayman!”

“He
was
a highwayman. Or a smuggler, depending on who you ask. Now it seems he has
joined the cream of society and everyone is enamored of him. Beth, I was astounded at how many people are inviting him about.”

“I am not surprised. The man thinks he’s a charmer.”

“He does have excellent manners. I did hear that one of the stipulations of his fortune is that he cannot be involved in a scandal. Of course, now that I’ve thought about it a bit, I can see where he might have been desperate before coming into his inheritance. There is no telling what I might have become had I been left alone at the age of ten.”

Beth raised her brows. “Left alone?”

“His mother was imprisoned, charged with treason. It was later disproven, but he was left to fend for himself. He and his brother, Tristan, who is now the new Earl of Rochester.”

Beth bit her lip, thinking of Westerville’s expression when he’d spoken of his past. There was something dark there. Something infinitely sad. She wondered if she’d dismissed him too quickly. Perhaps what he’d needed was understanding.