Never to Part (6 page)

Daphne impulsively hugged the thin figure. “You are too good to me.” Drawing back, she smiled weakly. “At least I can now pay part of the salary due you.”

“Just a bit of it,” Saddie told her. “Pay the cook, the maid-of-all-work, and footman in full. They’ve more the need and it wouldn’t do at all for them to go without.”

“No, it would not,” Daphne agreed. “Use more than a thimble of tea leaves this time. We can now go shopping for more.”

Warmed by the tea and refreshed by its full-bodied strength for the first time in ages Daphne sat comfortably in the silence that had fallen between her and Saddie.

Her mind, however, worked. The respite won with Sir Joshua’s loan would be short if Geoff’s gambling wasn’t halted. Even then she could not see how to repay the kind old gentleman.

Her thoughts jumped from Sir Joshua to Richard. She puzzled over her inability to see his aura. Then she began to fret more about Eldridge’s words. Was he correct about the baron?

Daphne looked down at the hand Richard had kissed, and then, impatient with herself, snapped her gaze from it.

I can’t become maudlin. I must think of something—of some way to come into enough of a fortune to pay Geoffrey’s debts
.

“Perhaps you should tell Lord Dremore about the letter his mother sent you,” Saddie said thoughtfully. “Explain about what happened.”

Daphne stiffened as a mental picture of that horrid scene in the Rose Salon popped into mind. Richard’s angry hauteur stood in sharp contrast to the kindness his mother had shown.

‘Haps then the baron wouldn’t be so put out,” Miss McRae continued. “He seemed a real gentleman in the carriage this morn—bringing us home and all. He even gave me a hand down.”

Deep in thought about the baroness’ kindness Daphne didn’t hear her. She abruptly recalled Mr. Blanchard’s parting words.
I wish I could help you find the Dremore Treasure
.

“I wonder if the legend is true,” Daphne murmured. “If it is, can someone outside of the family—can just anyone find the Dremore Treasure?”

“Treasure?” scoffed Miss McRae. “What silliness is this?”

Her common sense returning, Daphne sighed and set her tea dishes on the tray. “Nothing. I had best see to paying the bills or as many of them as I can.”

At her brother’s desk some time later Daphne sealed a last envelope with drops of hot wax. Only a small amount of money remained from Sir Joshua’s loan. She put her elbows on the desk and rested her chin in her hands to consider more fully what had teased her the entire time she had worked with the duns.

“The Dremore Treasure,” she murmured. Concentrating, Daphne recalled the extraordinary interview with the baroness shortly after she had walked with Richard in the garden.

“Did you enjoy your stroll?” Lady Laurissa greeted Daphne as the young woman sauntered into the library.

Daphne could not conceal the blush that crept up her cheeks. The walk in the gardens had been a true delight especially in Lord Dremore’s company.

The baroness patted the space on the sofa beside her. “Join me. What think you of Heart Haven?”

“’Tis beautiful,” Daphne answered. She sat with her usual natural grace. “There’s almost a magical quality here.”

“That is very true,” Lady Dremore said eagerly. “The first Lord Dremore owes this estate and his wife to magic. All Dremores do.

“Let me tell you the story of Ricman Blanchard and Laurel Clandon.” Lady Laurissa continued. “It is most romantic and exciting. I believe you mentioned Ann Radcliffe when we were in the long gallery.” She pulled a leaf of parchment from the pages of the book in her lap.

“Remember the verse I recited when we visited the portrait? This is the original copy.” She recited parts again,

“For trumpets stern to change mine family future

And sing puzzles by lovers taunted and denied

Treasure tossed wickedly away; encased in wrought gold

Secreted by champions leaves til freed by lovers’ sight.’

Lady Laurissa reverently fingered the parchment, “This is the first verse of the clues to solve to find the treasure.”

“The treasure is real?” Daphne asked hesitantly.

“Think you not?” gently scoffed the baroness. “’Tis as real as you or I.”

Lord Dremore’s disbelief the first time the baroness recited the verse came back to Daphne. She was tempted to agree but for the portrait and its aura.

“Ricman Blanchard, the first Lord Dremore and his wife were the lovers taunted. Her father thought Ricman a poor prospect for a husband,” she repeated. “The treasure enabled them to marry. No one knows where it came from or where it went, for it disappeared long before they died.

“It is made up of very valuable gems—diamonds, rubies, emeralds. The wrought gold refers to the locket pin in the shape of intertwined hearts,” Lady Laurissa explained eagerly. “The one in their portrait. Lady Laurel enjoys wearing it.”

The dowager took Daphne’s hand in a punishing grip. “It is very important that you believe me. Say that you do.”

“Assuredly I do, my lady. Are there other verses? Other clues?”

The baroness released Daphne’s hand. She heaved a sigh. “Certes other clues reside in other verses. Unfortunately, they have been lost, but ne’er fear. Lord Ricman toys with me. He shall let me know where they are when they are truly needed.”

“Lord Ricman?”

“The first Lord Dremore. Come child, you are no slow top.”

“You believe Lord Ricman will reveal the hidden verses?”

With a nod, Lady Dremore tucked away the parchment. “The time is close at hand when he shall do so.”

A firm purposeful approaching tread echoed into the library. The baroness leaned close and whispered, “We must speak again, Miss Stratton. Keep all I have said private.”

It had been an odd conversation what with the present tense used when the Blanchards’ in the portrait were two hundred years in the past. The eagerness in Lady Laurissa’s eyes had taken on a too-fervent gleam during their conversation. But neither then nor now did she wish to have “bedlamite” whispered behind Lady Laurissa’s back, especially after the dear lady’s letter. Her heart swelled with compassion for the baron. She understood why he was ever solicitous of his kind mother.

 Others would ask if the baroness was mad but is she “maddeningly” truthful? Daphne was certain that the baroness was as right in her mind as she. Besides, she thought, her aura was kindly without any shade of desire to harm in it with truth at its base. Thought of the dowager’s aura turned her to Richard’s. Hmm, why could I not see his after that walk in the garden?

Forsaking that presently unsolvable, Daphne’s let her thoughts wander back to Geoffrey’s gambling debts.

The Dremore Treasure. A jest on Mr. Blanchard’s part but what if?
“
For trumpets stern to change mine family future
,” mused Daphne.
What a fitting solution to my problems.

It would put you beyond Dremore forever
, Common Sense murmured.

“Daphne, dear, what is it?” Saddie repeated. She rose and bent to pick off an object clinging to the hem of Miss Stratton’s skirt.

“I was . . . was just thinking about possible ways to keep Geoffrey from gambling.

“What is that?” Daphne asked looking at the green in the other’s hand.

“A sprig of leaves of some sort. I’m surprised to find them on your hem this time of year, especially with the rain.”

Daphne held out her hand. Her companion placed the sprig in it. It was just like the sprig on Richard’s boot. Exactly like the memento of a small twig Daphne had plucked from the topiary of two laurel trees trained and pruned into the shape of intertwined hearts at Heart Haven.

Laurel leaves. Again and again.

Sharp and clear in her mind’s eye Daphne saw the locket from the portrait. But it was not pinned on a gown. It lay open in someone’s hand. In it glittered precious reds, luminous greens and priceless white twinkles.

Lord Dremore gazed unseeing at his untouched breakfast. Yet again he played the scene of walking Daphne Stratton to her door. His harsh words to her taunted him. The anger in Daphne’s eyes when he spoke of her brother and her accusation pained him.

How dare she call me a degenerate
?

Richard’s thoughts turned traitorous.
What beautiful blue eyes. How keen her mind. What a pleasure it would be to solve the clues of the legend with her.

With a mental shake he forced himself to recall her cruel imitation of his mother’s limp and voice. Then there was Daphne’s disguised interest in the legend. She was as degenerate as her brother.

Picking up a fork, Richard determinedly speared a clump of scrambled eggs. It was not his fault the fool was deep into dun territory. Nor was last eve his doing.

Blast Eldridge. That sap skull insisted he only had tried to stave off the disaster but who else could have orchestrated it? If only he could figure out why. To embarrass Stratton?

The eggs were still on the fork when the Honourable Mr. Christopher Gunby was announced. The thickset gentleman was of an age with Richard but shorter and darker. He plopped down in a chair across from the baron with the nonchalance of long friendship. With a nod he indicated the untouched food.

“Are you brooding over last eve?”

“What do you know of it?” Richard asked with deceptive coolness. His eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of a tight rein on a strained temper for those who knew him well.

“Stratton’s debacle. The rumour mongers are hard at it. There is even a broadsheet telling of your, err, skill.”

For long seconds Richard sat frozen in place. A vision of Daphne Stratton reading such a piece of innuendo and lies nearly choked him.

She shall believe it,
Richard despaired, and then despised himself for caring whether or not she did. The baron balled a fist and pressed it against his chin.

His friend straightened in his chair. “Your friends shall know better,” he assured him.

Lowering his hand, Richard drew in a deep breath. He released it with deliberate slowness. When he was able to unclench his fist he asked, “What exactly are they saying?”

Gunby grimaced. “Have you aroused someone’s ire of late?”

Miss Stratton’s. Angered when she accused me of leading her brother astray, I cast care all aside and was idiot enough to seek him out,
thought Richard as he steadily met the other’s gaze.
And found myself surrounded by Bedlamites
.

He drummed his fingers on the table. How to phrase his reason for asking after Geoffrey Stratton? “A broadsheet, you say? About Stratton and me?”

“It purports to tell how you led him into the iniquitous habit of gambling and have nearly bilked him out of his entire estate. ‘Tis doggerel,” Gunby added. “Not much skill to the wording. Heavy handed. Oafish.”

“I imagine it achieves its purpose no matter how poorly written,” Richard said dryly. He slammed a fist on the table.

Startled, Gunby eyed him closely. “You know who wrote it?”

“No.”
Daphne could not. I refuse to believe she did.

But she is clever and was clearly incensed
, countered the cynic in him.

Richard rubbed his forehead to ease a mushrooming headache. “I must have been in my cups to follow Blanchard’s advice last eve. He suggested I lose to Stratton so the cub could redeem the voucher I held at the time,” he explained.

“You followed your cousin’s advice?” Gunby snorted.

Seeing an eyebrow arched in disbelief, the baron said acerbically, “I had my reasons. Unfortunately Geoffrey Stratton proved caper-witted. Missed every blatant effort I made to play to his hand. In fact the whole table played like the merest cubs. If I didn’t know better I would think that they were—”

Eldridge Blanchard strode into the breakfast room. “I came as soon as I heard.” He pointedly ignored Gunby and halted at the far end of the table to face his cousin. He gripped the back of a chair.

“Had I but known what would happen I would ne’er have suggested you play Stratton,” Eldridge said. “What can I do to correct the situation?”

“Speak the truth when you are asked about it,” Gunby told him dryly. He caught Richard’s gaze.

“’Twill pass,” Gunby told the baron. “Those who know you will regard those reports as farcical.”

“Do you have any idea who would write such abhorrent drivel?” asked Eldridge. “Who has reason to be so angry at you?” He gasped.

Richard saw what looked like realization spread across his cousin’s features.

“Who did it?” demanded Gunby.

“It couldn’t be— No,” Eldridge said, shaking his head. “Miss Stratton is too much the lady and far too kind hearted to e’er be capable of such a churlish deed.”

“Miss Stratton?” Gunby’s gaze swung back to Richard. “The one you walked with in the garden at Heart Haven?”

“As Blanchard says, Miss Stratton has no reason to—” the words died on his lips.

Eldridge drew out the chair and took a seat. “I happened to meet Miss Stratton yester afternoon. She made to cut me and when I did not permit it she explained in rather unflattering terms what she thought of Blanchards in general and you in particular, Dremore.” He drew a cheap penny paper sheet from his jacket and tossed it onto the table before his cousin.

“Most of what she said is writ there. You should tell Stratton to curb his sister. Warn him that you will call him out if doesn’t,” Eldridge advised.

“That bloody well is no solution,” Gunby swore.

“Calm yourself,” Richard told him. “I have no intention of doing any such thing. It would only make the tattles believe that the tale is true and lengthen its life.”