Oh My Laird!: A Risqué Regency Romance (18 page)

“Actually, there is something you ladies can do.” Ian spoke quietly.

“I’d appreciate it, Léonie, if you would invite someone for tea. I’m not sure of the pretext, but I think between you, you can come up with a way to get him here.”

“Of course,” Léonie nodded. “Who should we ask?”

Ian sighed. “Rigsby DeVere.”

As soon as Lionel Springer walked into his study to greet the four gentlemen who had called, Ian knew he’d found the man who had given Amelia the brooch. In other words, the man who had started this journey and caused so much trouble for his wife.

His fists clenched, but he managed to keep his temper in check.

“Mr. Springer. Thank you for seeing us. My name is Ian McPherson, and this is Sir Lucius Gordon, Mr. Delaney Deverell and the Earl of Penvale.”

“Gentlemen. Please take a seat and tell me how I may be of assistance.”

Ian remained standing, as did the others. “Well, sir, you may begin by enlightening us as to why you gave a young lady a very valuable piece of jewelry that more correctly belonged with the Springer estate.”

Springer paled, but kept his countenance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, sir. I will caution you at this moment—I am a representative of Bow Street.” He opened his jacket to reveal the Runner’s baton and the distinguishing crown which topped it. “As such, I am making these inquiries in relation to the charge of theft currently open against that same young lady.”

The three men remained silent, but Ian felt their presence behind him and was glad of it. Springer’s expression was changing, his face reddening and his demeanor becoming more threatening.

“How dare you walk in here and try to intimidate me with your Bow Street hokum.” Springer’s words were harsh and ugly. “Get the hell out of my house. All of you.”

“I think not, sir. Not until you’ve answered my question. We know it was you from the description given us by a witness. The description we have of you matches perfectly. Right down to the design on your cravat.”

“That’s impossible,” blustered Springer. “There was nobody there…”

His voice tapered away as he realized his mistake.

Ian stared at him and could almost feel similar gazes coming from Charles, Lucius and Dev.

It was sufficient to drain the last of the fury away from the old man and he slumped into the chair behind his desk.

“Tell us, sir. Let us have it all if you please. This is a bad business. The sooner you make a clean breast of it, the easier it will be to rectify.” Ian spoke calmly and clearly, hoping his words would get through.

Finally, Springer raised his head, his face looking as if he had aged ten years in five minutes. “Very well. But there’s something you must see.” He rose and slowly made his way to a glass enclosed cabinet, where he opened a drawer and removed a small book.

“This. It was this, you see. Her own words. What else could I do? She was my youngest, and my dearest…” Tears were beginning to trickle over the wrinkled cheeks.

Ian took the book from him and turned it over. It was a notebook, and there were many handwritten pages within. It was, he realized, a diary.

And then he saw the name—Lucy Springer Harris—and understood the old man’s grief.

“Your late daughter’s diary.” Ian confirmed the nature of what he held, his Bow Street training rising to the fore.

Springer nodded. “She had fought so hard to get over her husband’s death. I thought all was well and she re-entered Society. But then I started seeing the change in her. She was so vibrant of an evening, picking her events carefully, and because I loved her, I pried. I started reading her diary and learned of her love for a certain gentleman. It had brought her so much joy and I was happy for her. It would have been a good match too.” His face fell. “But she couldn’t compete with Amelia DeVere. That woman ate men up and spat them out as quickly.”

“Easy.” Dev had moved up to Ian’s side.

“I’m all right.” Ian knew he had to be all right. He needed every scrap of information if he was to clear his wife’s name.

“So you assumed then that Miss DeVere had stolen your daughter’s gentleman?”

“Stolen? No. Seduced, yes. Lucy said so. Right in there.” He pointed to the diary. “You can read it for yourself.”

“And if this proves to be incorrect? If your daughter was in error in any way…?”

“I would be very surprised to learn that, sir. My daughter was a young woman of integrity and great intelligence. She was sensitive and aware of so many things that today’s young people can ignore completely.”

“She was your youngest, I believe, sir?” Dev inquired politely.

“Indeed. She was our surprise, if you will. Neither Mabel nor I expected another blessing. She was all that and so much more.” He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly. “And now she rests beside her Mama. Such a tragedy, gentlemen. Such a terrible loss.”

“You have our sympathies, sir. But you must understand that the charges of theft are invalid. Miss DeVere may have stolen your daughter’s intended, but she did not steal your late wife’s brooch.”

Springer looked down at the floor. “I didn’t know what else to do. Once I learned what had driven Lucy to take her own life, I was filled with such anger…such fury…”

Ian watched as the color rose in Springer’s face and this time it was the old man’s fists clenching around the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white. “I could have killed her. Ripped her limb from limb and thrown everything into the Thames. And I would have done if it would have brought Lucy back.”

Ian took a step back and Dev followed suit.

“I am retaining this diary for evidence, sir. I will see that the Magistrate receives it and understands the relevance of the contents.”

At that Springer jumped up. “No. No, man, you cannot. ‘T’would be a violation of my Lucy’s thought, her life, her privacy. You cannot take that away from here.”

“I can and I will,” answered Ian firmly. “I am sympathetic to your loss, sir, but I am committed to seeing that justice is administered fairly to those who are guilty. You have already confirmed, before witnesses…” he gestured to the three silent men, “…that Miss DeVere in no way stole anything from you. That you, in fact, gave her the brooch, as she has so stated several times. Now I’m sure this diary will assist in confirming Miss DeVere’s story. I will treat it with care, of course, but I cannot vouch for what will happen once it reaches the Magistrate’s office. It is quite possible that parts might become public…especially if they are entered into the proceedings of a court case…”

“Bravo.”

The merest hint of a whisper from Lucius reached Ian’s ears, but he remained silent, watching Springer as the magnitude of the situation finally dawned.

“Very well.” Springer bowed his head acknowledging defeat. “I will withdraw my accusation. The Magistrate will be informed immediately. Now please…return my daughter’s diary.” He held out his hand.    

“I will return it, trusting you to be a man of honor who will stand by his word. I caution you once more that your statements have been heard by myself and these three gentlemen, who will act as witnesses to confirm all that you have said, should the Magistrate feel the need to become privy to our conversation here today. “

Springer nodded. “I will not go back on my word.”

“Very well. Good day to you, sir.”

Ian turned his back on the old man and walked from the room, followed by his three friends.

As the door closed behind them, each looked at the others and grinned.

“Champagne?”

“Definitely.”

*~~*~~*                        
 

Amelia awoke to brilliant sunshine and Hannah, Countess of Penvale, leaning over her, wiping her face.

She blinked, coughed and stared. “What are you doing?”

Hannah grinned. “Washing your face.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Because you’ve been horridly sick and can’t do it yourself?”

“Oh nonsense. Here. Give me that.” She attempted to reach for the cloth and found her arms were apparently now made of jelly. “Damn.”

“Thank you. Now you understand.” Hannah finished cleaning Amelia’s face.

“You don’t have to be smug about it,“ pouted Amelia.

“If you’re well enough to complain, then you’re definitely better.” Hannah plopped down on the side of the bed. “I’m so glad. We were all terribly worried.”

“You were?” Amelia was surprised. “That’s…very kind of you. Julia and Léonie as well?”

“Yes, all of us. Even Aunt Beatrice, who is the loveliest and brightest lady with a dreadfully naughty wit, and I sense she has stories that would shock us out of our slippers. But I haven’t managed to pry one out of her yet…”

Amelia managed a weak chuckle. “You will. I’d lay guineas on that.” She stretched a little. “Am I allowed out of bed?”

“You think you can stand?” Hannah raised one eyebrow.

“I’m going to have to. I have a rather pressing need.”

“Aha.” Hannah nodded. “I’ll call the maid. She’s very good at that. You’ve been using her support for the last day or so.”

Amelia blinked. “Oh good God. I have no privacy left, do I? Everything is now a matter of public record, including my trips to the chamber pot. Fortunately, I’ve been ill and remember nothing.” She managed to lift a hand dramatically to her forehead.

“Nicely done. That should work quite well, I think. With anyone who hasn’t been in this house for the last forty-eight hours.”

“My husband has been here, I suppose.” Amelia’s spirits sank. “He must be so tired of all this by now.” Her eyes stung. “I’m such a failure at being a wife, Hannah. I have a notorious past, I can’t even avoid being arrested, and now I manage to get horribly sick at his friend’s house. How much more of a nuisance could I be?”

“Oh do stop, Amelia. That’s complete and utter silliness, and I’m only excusing it because you
have
been horribly sick. But you’re not sick now, so stop acting like an idiot.”

“Uh…” Amelia was rather taken aback.

“It’s time someone told you that you’re not perfect. Nobody is. And it’s time you also learned that there are a few of us who actually like you. No matter what you did in your disreputable past. So consider all that while I get the maid to help you to the chamber pot.”

With those blunt words, the Countess of Penvale made a rather rude sound with her mouth, something like a horse breaking wind, and clambered down off the bed.

“By the way, you’re probably not fully up to it yet, but if you have a bite to eat and think you can endure us all for half an hour, I believe your husband may have a bit of news that will set you on the road to recovery right enough.” Hannah tossed the Parthian shot over her shoulder, leaving the room with a wicked grin on her lips.

Gritting her teeth, Amelia allowed herself to be assisted, washed and dressed after a fashion. The wardrobe of choice was another robe, this time a deep ruby red and high at the neck. It was modest but close to her favorite color, so she accepted it, having no other options at this point.

Ian arrived, smiling, and held out his arms.

“God, love, it’s good to see you looking so much better.”

She went to him and buried herself in his embrace. “If this is better, then I really must have been at death’s door.”

She felt his chuckle as it rumbled through his chest. “Well, you scared me. Let’s leave it at that.”

She gasped as he picked her up, not sure if she’d ever get used to him sweeping her off her feet in the literal sense.

“You’ve lost some weight too. We must make sure we fix that.”

“Ian?” He was carrying her from the room and down the stairs. “Has there been any news from the Magistrate’s office?”

“In good time, love. Let’s get you settled first.”

Her heart dropped. It must be bad news because he was taking such extraordinary care of her. It could only be in preparation for the worst. Steeling herself, she leaned against him for a few moments, trying to draw on his strength.

Then he carried her into the salon where everyone awaited her arrival. There was a polite—and a bit embarrassing—round of applause at her appearance, but she smiled and waved elegantly, the queen in her carriage.

Ian laughed aloud. “Very nice, dear. Now stop waving to your adoring public and tell me if you’ll be comfortable here?”

“Here” was an overstuffed chair and ottoman, where several soft blankets were already in place.

“Goodness, Ian. I should think anyone would be as comfortable as a cat here. Yes, please put me down.”

He did so, making sure she was tucked up, warm and near his own seat on one end of a large sofa.

“Right then.” Dev took center stage in front of the fireplace. “I’m going to do a brief recounting of how we gentlemen spent our morning, which I think you’ll all agree was extremely productive.”

With all eyes on him, he spoke clearly and quietly, not dramatizing the facts but painting a perfect and accurate picture of their visit with Lionel Springer. He pointed at the diary, lying on a side table.

“These are poor Lucy’s own words. She was convinced that but for Amelia, she would have claimed this man for her own.”

“Who was he?” Amelia asked.

“Um…” Ian leafed through the pages. “Here it is. His name was James Wheatland.” He looked up at his wife. “Do you recognize the name?”