Miss Cheney's Charade (21 page)

He smiled, a slow smile full of charm and enticement. “We must arrange to have your mother bring you over one day.”

“Mother?” she replied with alarm. “I think not. She would faint at the sight of the mummy,” Emma replied, not realizing what she revealed at that remark.

Sir Peter gave her a bland look, then countered, “My aunt would most likely do the honors, then. We shall arrange it when you return to London.”

“I came here to see how George goes on, you know,” Emma said, trying to convince Sir Peter, although she wasn’t quite certain why she must.

“I know,” he replied gently.

“And now I wish to become acquainted with Beatrice and her charming family. I sense we all might be related one of these days,” Emma explained earnestly.

“It is possible,” he replied in that same gentle manner.

“Well,” she said with the manner of one who has concluded business, “how do things go with you? Does the man from Bow Street believe he can nab the culprit who tried to steal from your collection?”

“He does,” Sir Peter replied, a definite twinkle in his interesting green eyes.

That twinkle unnerved Emma for some reason. She didn’t think he laughed at her; he was too polite for that. But something lurked in his mind, and she wished she knew what it was.

“Are you pleased with the fellow who guards your home at night? I gather you must be or you would never have left London,” she mused, thus answering her own question.

“He is a sterling chap if you can describe a man who looks as though he has cauliflowers for ears and a nose that is all askew in that term. But he has possession of his faculties and is burly enough to discourage the most daring of souls.”

“I hope so. I’d not like to think of the mummy going to be smashed up for medicine, or something equally horrid.”

He wrinkled his brow and Emma felt her heart sink to her toes. She ought not have known about that particular bit of information. It hadn’t been mentioned to her in his hearing.

“Ah, George told me about it,” she hurriedly inserted.

His brow cleared, and he smiled at her again.

“Dinner is served, my lady,” the servant announced, and Emma breathed a sigh of relief.

Sir Peter wheeled in Lady Johnson while Lady Titheridge accepted the arm offered by Sir William. Emma found herself being seated next to Sir Peter and gave Beatrice an inquiring look.

Beatrice gave a tiny shrug back, so it was not her doing.

Emma slipped her gloves off and laid them across her lap. The food was offered to her, and she accepted generous helpings. After being outside much of the afternoon and tramping about the church all morning, she was starving.

“Country air gives one a healthy appetite,” Sir Peter commented quietly to her.

“Indeed,” she replied. Then she caught sight of her hands. While
they
were clean, there was telltale dirt beneath a few of her nails, something no well-bred lady would ever permit. What could she do? Were she on the other side of the table it wouldn’t matter in the least.

However... she sat next to Sir Peter, and if he happened to observe the dirt, might he not wonder how she acquired it while wandering about a church? As far as he knew, she had not been in the field today, but had taken a nap after arrival.

She tried as best she could to keep her nails out of view until she remembered that Sir Peter was nearsighted. At that recollection she relaxed and began to eat normally.

“You had a busy morning?” he inquired politely.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, recalling the pretty interior of the Priory.

“Did a bit of investigating, did you?”

She gave him the blankest of looks, not understanding what he meant in the least.

He almost smiled, then gave a pointed look at her hands.

“That is exceedingly bad of you to notice,” she said with a forced smile. He had found her out. Yet perhaps she might salvage all somehow. She thought frantically, then said. “I wanted a cutting of a geranium, and I fear I must have picked up a bit of dirt. I cannot think how it escaped the soap and water. I guess I was in a bit of a hurry.” She was babbling, she knew it, and it made her sound as guilty as could be.

“I see,” he said in reply.

Emma wondered what it was he saw and how he managed to see it.

When the ladies went to retire to the drawing room, Emma discovered that things were done differently in this household, mainly for the sake of Lady Johnson. They all left the table at once, the men deciding to enjoy their port by the comfort of the fire with their charming ladies, as Sir William graciously phrased it.

Emma quickly pulled on her gloves and strolled to a window where she could make out the distant fields in the dusk. Sir Peter joined her, his glass of port in hand.

“Do join us by the fire, you two,” Lady Titheridge commanded from her chair. “We decided to play a game of crambo.”

Emma slipped away from Sir Peter like an eel, taking a seat next to Beatrice with deceptive speed. From this point of safety she spent the remainder of the evening, praying she might elude that provoking man until time for bed.

She hoped he intended to leave on the morrow, even as a part of her rejoiced in seeing that handsome face. Was ever a girl in such a dilemma as this?

Chapter Twelve

When Emma entered the breakfast room the next morning, she found Sir Peter seated at the table. Her hand crept up to fiddle with the pretty pleated muslin ruff she wore around her neck. She had taken such a liking to it that even though the bruises had faded some, she continued to wear it over her dresses. Now it served to occupy her nervous fingers. What would he say after last evening?

“Good morning, Miss Cheney,” he said pleasantly, looking spruce and fit. There was not the least sign that
he
had found it difficult to fall asleep.

“Indeed,” she murmured in a voice deliberately a little higher than normal.

He gave her an assessing gaze, then continued, “You really do look remarkably like your brother. I suppose everyone tells you that. Enough to be twins. Amazing.” He sipped his coffee while watching her over the rim.

Beatrice, who had entered directly behind Emma, smiled as she walked to the sideboard to fix a plate for her morning meal. She said, “It truly
is
remarkable how much they resemble each other. As you said, they could easily be twins. Emma is a trifle shorter, but only just. Even their voices are a bit alike. Perhaps that is what makes me so drawn to Emma,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her pretty blue eyes.

Sir Peter appeared confused at this agreement with his evaluation. He looked from Beatrice to Emma and back.

More relaxed after Beatrice’s assistance, Emma joined her at the sideboard to select a modest repast. When she sat opposite Sir Peter at the table, she felt better able to withstand any searching looks he cast her way.

“Has George come down as yet?” Sir Peter inquired of Emma.

“Actually, I believe he is still asleep. It was very late when he returned here last night, from what Braddon told me. He did send me a note, however.” Emma stopped speaking to sip at her tea.

“And? Do not leave us in suspense,” Sir Peter scolded.

“I believe he intends to make a hasty trip to London. Something to do with the coins he has found, I think,” she concluded vaguely.

“Oh, I do hope he finds out they are worth a fortune,” Beatrice said softly to Emma.

“Does he intend to sell them?” Sir Peter asked idly, even though such a question was somewhat improper. But then, he did not appear to allow propriety to stand in his way when he wanted something.

“I could not say,” Emma replied with a demure glance from beneath half-closed eyes.

“Well, if your brother is to hare off to London, I may as well follow him. He’s dashed elusive, I must say.” Sir Peter finished the last of his coffee, then announced his intention to return to London shortly, with a brief stop to visit a friend along the way. He promised to seek out Sir William before he departed, to say good-bye and to thank him for his hospitality.

Once Sir Peter had left the room and Emma could hear his steps receding up the staircase, she gave a sigh of relief.

“I quite agree,” Beatrice replied with a fond smile at Emma.

“I have never in my life tried to deceive anyone before. This has become so terribly complicated I wonder if I shall ever straighten it out,” Emma said with a grimace. She rose from the table, leaving a partially eaten meal behind her.

Beatrice gave Emma a troubled look, then followed.

The young ladies lurked about the drawing room so as to know when Sir Peter came down. At last they heard a clattering on the stairs that could only be a gentleman in a hurry.

Emma glided to the hall to catch sight of his portmanteau and other gear by the front door. Sir Peter had disappeared toward the study where Sir William often spent his time when not out of doors. She heard a low murmur of voices, then saw Sir Peter striding back along the hall toward where she stood. Before she could retreat, he caught sight of her.

“Ah, there you are. I hoped to say good-bye before I left.” He reached out to take one of Emma’s hands, and she was thankful she had carefully scraped her nails clean last night. She had even persuaded Braddon to find a slip of a geranium for her in case he inquired about it later.

“When do you plan to return to the City?” He gazed at her with such an intensity that Emma almost forgot to speak.

“Ah, I am not certain. Perhaps in a day or two. Your aunt announced that she never travels on Sunday. So that would be next Monday, I suppose.”

Emma sought to remove her hand from his clasp and failed. His touch did such peculiar things to her. Standing so close to him made her long to throw herself on his manly chest and sob out her sorry tale of woe. Would he forgive her for her deception? Some men wouldn’t like being hoaxed. She knew he had strong emotions, for he had reacted to the attempted robbery and the shooting of his butler in a very intense manner. What would he say to her in the event the truth be known?

“I shall look forward to seeing you when you return. Tell George I wish him the very best.” Sir Peter dropped her hand, and half turned to leave, then he paused. “Oh, and do tell George that I hope he can give me a hand once again. The man from Bow Street wants to set up a trap for the thief. We feel George would be a great help to us in that. And I would like to give your brother another lesson in fencing. He has a natural aptitude for the sport. The next lesson will be in tactics.” His eyes seemed to dance at the word, compelling Emma to wonder at his thoughts.

Too unnerved to answer, she merely nodded.

Coming to her rescue, Beatrice stepped forth and bade Sir Peter a pleasant farewell. “I shall remind Emma to give him those messages in case she forgets,” Beatrice concluded.

Sir Peter gave her a smile that would have had most women swooning with delight. Since Beatrice had an interest in George, she was immune, but Emma took note of that smile and coveted it for herself.

Then he turned again to her and his smile intensified. “Until later, Emma,” he murmured in that deep rich voice that sent tremors to her heart. In moments he was gone.

“Mercy,” Beatrice said, fanning her face with her handkerchief, “you two are enough to start a fire without a tinder box.”

“Nonsense,” Emma declared stoutly. “He smiles like that at Lady Amelia Littleton as well. I saw him while at Almack’s last week.”

“You have been to Almack’s?” Beatrice cried excitedly. “Oh, do tell me all about it. What did they wear? And was the Princess Esterhazy there? Is she as interesting as they say? And are the refreshments truly as deplorable as I have been told?” Beatrice drew Emma along to a pretty sofa by the window that looked out on the ripening fields of grain, with the cattle grazing in a distant meadow.

Her lively interest in a topic Emma could eagerly explain brought the two girls together for a comfortable coze. About an hour later George looked in on the scene and grinned.

“I’m off to the field,” he announced. “I trust the other guest has departed? I may safely go out?”

“Indeed, you may,” Beatrice replied with a fond look.

“I told him you intended to make a quick trip to London about your find. He thinks you will see him there,” Emma said, prudently omitting the business about the fencing lesson. George didn’t need to know everything.

Beatrice gave Emma a puzzled glance, but did not interpose any comment.

“How long do you intend to remain here?” George said, mostly out of curiosity and not of concern.

“We most likely will return Monday,” Emma said with a little frown.

“As a good Christian, Lady Titheridge does not travel on Sunday,” Beatrice added.

“In the meanwhile I shall have a chance to watch you at your dig,” Emma declared with great satisfaction, crossing the room to join him near the door.

“I am glad you had a crack at digging, Emma,” her brother told her.

Emma grinned and gave him an affectionate pat on his arm. “Well, I do know how much you long to make a find, and I’m sorry that you didn’t uncover those coins, but it was great fun, I must admit.”

“We have yet to hear what your authority said about the coins,” Beatrice reminded him.

“Oh, the chap declared them to be genuine Roman coins of considerable antiquity. He thinks the fellow depicted is the Emperor Honorius. He lived from
A
.
D
. three ninety-three to four twenty-three. Impressive, is it not?” George said with pride.

“And the gold coins are quite valuable?” Emma said breathlessly.

“Oh, indeed they are. I believe I can finance quite a dig using those as collateral.” The look he sent to his dear Beatrice quite excluded Emma and the rest of the world.

Emma gave him a disappointed frown. “I expected something different, somehow.”

“Oh, never fear, I shall be able to ask for my dearest before long. You see, I believe you, little sister. I think there will be more treasure trove out there. That is why I am gone as of this minute.” With that he turned away, then disappeared out of the front door.