Regency Masquerade (15 page)

“You did well, Jon. Do you think Hartly believed us?”

“No, he thinks we are common thieves. You could see it in his eyes, but as his precious diamond pin was still there, he could not say much. I doubt he will offer me a ride in his curricle again,” he added disconsolately.

“Never mind, you can set up your own curricle when we recover our money. That is the main thing. We must not lose track of that with Cousin John’s problem.”

“Can I really? With a pair of matched grays like Hartly’s? And a yellow rig with silver appointments?”

“Why not? You have earned it.”

Moira found her own good advice hard to take. It was difficult to concentrate on Lionel March. She kept remembering the cold way Mr. Hartly had looked at her. She could not face the Great Room for lunch. She kept brooding over Mr. Hartly. She had a cold collation brought to the sitting room, where she and Jonathon shared a quiet luncheon. After lunch, Jonathon planned to watch Hartly and follow him at a discreet distance if he left the inn. He also spoke of taking another run down to Cove House, to see if he could be of any help to Cousin John.

Moira had to take herself by the scruff of the neck and force herself to go belowstairs, where she knew Major Stanby would look for her. She felt the time was ripe to try to sell him the jewels. The settee was empty when she entered the Great Room. The servants had cleared away the traces of lunch. The only person in the room was an elderly gentleman, a traveler, reading a magazine at one of the tables while he sipped coffee.

Moira picked up a journal and sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. Within a quarter of an hour, she heard the firm tread of Lionel March, and her spine stiffened. She forced a smile of welcome when he came bowing and scraping forward.

“I was concerned when you did not come down for luncheon, Lady Crieff,” he said, lifting his coattails and sitting closer to her than she liked. “I hope the headache is not worse?”

The major had made a dashing run to Dover, where he had spent an hour at the newspaper office, looking into the history of Lady Crieff. He was now in full possession of all the details, including the value of the Crieff collection.

“Truth to tell, Major, it was something else that was bothering me. The jeweler from London should be here by now. I begin to wonder if he has changed his mind, after having me come all this way to meet him. I don’t know what I shall do if he does not come.”

“Have you thought over my offer?”

She gave a small, trusting smile. “You are so kind, but truly I could not let the jewels out of my possession for only five thousand pounds. They are worth twenty times that. Who is to say you would not be robbed on your way to Paris? I shall just take them to London and try my luck there.”

“If you mistrust me—and you are quite right to mistrust a stranger’s ingenuity, if not his honesty—you could come to France with me,” he said.

She gave a gasp of alarm. “Major Stanby! I could not travel about with a gentleman! What would people think?”

“You misunderstand me, my dear. I meant you could hire a chaperon and accompany me. In that manner, you would see I do not plan to run off with your fortune.” He gave a disparaging laugh at such an idea. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

“No, I have never even been to London.”

“You were made for Paris, and Paris for you. It is delightful.”

She had to talk this idea away and said, “I do not speak French. I would not be comfortable there. I would prefer to deal with an honest Englishman.”

Stanby shook his head doubtfully. “I do not wish to add to your troubles, my dear, but if the jeweler has not come, there must be a reason for it. It is very difficult to sell jewels of—how shall I put it— doubtful origin. Jewels that the law might say are stolen, even though they are yours by rights.”

“But that is why I was willing to sell them for half their value. I am aware that they would be difficult to sell in the short term. Eventually the talk will die down. I shall write to Mr. Everett, the jeweler. Do you think I ought to lower my price?” she asked uncertainly. “He might come for forty thousand.”

“You would be fortunate to get ten for them, milady.”

“Ten thousand! But that is ludicrous. Aubrey’s lawyers would settle for more than that, to avoid going to court. They spoke of giving me a fifth of the value, twenty thousand pounds. If I cannot do better than that, I shall take them back to Penworth.”

Stanby was happy with the figure. He patted her hand gently. “I see you are shrewd as well as pretty. I have a broad circle of acquaintances from my business dealings in London. I might know a collector who would give you a little more than twenty. Just between ourselves, what would you take?”

“Thirty,” she said, knowing there must be some haggling but determined not to take less than the twenty-five March had stolen from her and Jonathon.

He frowned. “I doubt Lord—my friend would go that high. Let me offer him the collection for twenty-five and see what he says.”

“Only a quarter of their worth? I had hoped to get more. Oh, very well. I suppose I must, as I am at my wit’s end.”

“Of course, I would have to see the jewels. I daresay my friend would trust me to act as his agent in the matter. We are old and true friends.”

Moira felt a suffocating excitement invade her. She could hardly speak for the blood pounding in her ears. She was on the verge of success, and she must deal most cautiously or all her work was in vain. March knew her face now; there would be no second chance. The first item was to show the jewels in a poor light. In daylight, he would see they were fakes.

“You have seen one set of diamonds, and the sapphires,” she reminded him.

“It is the emeralds, however, that are most valuable, I believe. I wonder you did not wear them with that enchanting green gown last night.”

“They are much too valuable to be flaunting at a public inn. But I shall wear them this evening so that you may judge them,” she said.

“Excellent. You shall dine with me, Lady Crieff, to allow me to study them a little.”

She gave an insouciant smile. “Good gracious, Major, do you not trust me?” she asked. “I have admitted I do not have full legal entitlement to the collection, but I assure you the jewels are genuine. I can show you articles from the journals, if you do not believe me. They were quite horrid about it, but even the most scurrilous hack did not suggest the jewels were fakes. Why would the lawyers make such a fuss over paste jewels?”

Her naive arguments convinced Stanby that she had the goods right enough. His next ploy was to firm up a future alliance with her.

“We must keep in touch when you go to London, my dear. A lady possessing twenty-five thousand pounds will attract every gazetted fortune hunter in town. You will require a protector. I have a broad circle of acquaintances. I would be delighted to sponsor you into society.”

She smiled fatuously. “Would you really, Major? I was a trifle concerned about how I should meet the right sort of people.”

“I would be honored, my dear.” He took her fingers and squeezed them warmly. “You and I shall deal very well together.”

“What part of town should I live in?” she asked, quelling the urge to withdraw her fingers.

For half an hour they discussed such things as living arrangements and Lady Crieff’s debut into society. The major recommended a house close to his own, allegedly on Grosvenor Square. It was not of a presentation at St. James’s Court or society balls that he spoke but of such low amusements as the Pantheon masquerades and Vauxhall. Moira expressed a suitable enthusiasm for them all.

“How soon do you think you can be in touch with your friend about selling the jewels?” she asked.

“I shall dash him off a note this very minute. Send it by special messenger. And you will remember you are dining with me this evening, Lady Crieff.”

“I look forward to it, Major.”

Moira drew a deep breath of relief as she watched him go. The tension eased out of her shoulders, leaving her limp. She felt soiled from such prolonged contact with Lionel March. And she still had to face dinner with him, knowing he was assessing a set of paste emeralds. She must distract him as much as possible. Flirtation seemed the likeliest way to do it—that, and a very low-cut gown. Worst of all, she had to carry out this disgusting charade under the eyes of Mr. Hartly. Her twenty-five thousand pounds were being hard-earned.

Chapter Fourteen

“What did Hartly do this afternoon?” Moira asked Jonathon when he returned to change for dinner.

“He was riding about the countryside, poking into ditches and haystacks and barns looking for brandy. Then he sat on the cliff with a spyglass, watching the smuggling ships for a bit. When he returned to the inn and went into the taproom, I took a run down to Cove House. Cousin John tells me he has brandy hidden all over the countryside. If Hartly moves tonight, he will recover some of the cargo, but he will not be able to tie Marchbank to it. Cousin John means to lie low.”

“That is the main thing, that Marchbank not be arrested. He will have to suffer the loss in silence.”

“That is what Marchbank said. I am to continue watching Hartly.” He looked at his sister and said, “I say, Moira, why are you wearing the emeralds?”

“Major Stanby wants to see them. He has taken the bait, Jon,” she said, and laughed a nervous laugh.

“By the living jingo! Tell me all about it.”

She outlined her afternoon’s work. “We are to dine at his table this evening,” she said in finishing her tale.

“Well done! I wonder you could bear to let the old goat touch you. I should rinse myself off with bleach if I was you. Do you think he will know the stones are paste?”

“God only knows. If he asks me to take them off and looks at them under a loupe, we are lost. I shall just have to claim Sir Aubrey left me a box of strass glass and depart with my tail between my legs. Run along and change. It is nearly time for dinner.”

The major wore the smile of a suitor when he met Moira and Jonathon at the door of the Great Room. His eyes went straight to the necklace even before he looked at her face. Expecting to see a fabulous emerald necklace, he found no fault with the stones.

Moira put her hand on his arm and began speaking at once, to distract him. She said in a low voice, “Say nothing in front of David. He does not know of my plan. Did you write that letter to your friend?” she asked.

“Indeed I did. It is on its way to London. We will have an answer by morning.”

She spoke more loudly then, including Jonathon in the conversation. “Shall we take our seats?”

The major led her proudly to his table, holding to her arm as if she were a prisoner, which was exactly how she felt.

“I shall sit next to you, Major,” she said with a bright smile. He would not have such a good view of the necklace from her side as he would if she sat across from him.

Stanby drew her chair and they all sat down.

Stanby said, “I have ordered champagne, knowing it is a treat for you youngsters.”

“David may have only one glass. That will leave the rest for us, Major,” she added, smiling flirtatiously.

The champagne was brought and poured.

The sight that greeted Hartly’s eyes when he arrived was Lady Crieff and the major, sitting side by side, laughing and sipping champagne, while David was completely ignored. Hartly could not make heads or tails of it. Lady Crieff spoke of mistrusting Stanby. Why had she elected to make a special friend of him? He bowed stiffly, then took up his own seat.

He already knew Lady Crieff’s jewels were paste. If she knew it, too, then she might be making a play for a wealthy bachelor. She could hardly have chosen worse than Stanby. It was only her fortune he was after. Yet she was in no real danger; the worst Stanby could do was relieve her of her paste jewels. It might prove a salutary lesson for her. Having settled this, he hoped to forget the matter.

But his mind would not leave him alone. It was aggravating to see her flirting her head off with that old goat of a Stanby. Good God, had she no taste, no scruples at all? Having sold herself to one old man, was she about to repeat her folly?

By dint of outrageous flirtation, Moira managed to keep Stanby from making too close an examination of the “emeralds.” Every time his hateful gooseberry eyes turned to look at them, she set up a new round of flirtation. She touched his hand, she smiled and chattered and teased, she leaned forward to let her gown reveal a little more of her bosoms, and generally behaved like a hoyden. All this kept the major in spirits but so annoyed Hartly that he left halfway through his dinner.

Jonathon gobbled down his mutton and said, “May I be excused, Lady Crieff? I have had enough dinner. I would like to go for a ride before it comes on dark.”

“Very well, David, but be back before dark.”

Stanby turned and seized her fingers. “Alone, at last,” he said in dulcet tones.

Moira’s heart rose to her throat. What would come next? She never thought she would be happy to see Mr. Ponsonby, but when he stopped at their table, she was so relieved, she greeted him like a lost-lost friend. She teased him about how much he had drunk and asked if Bow Street had discovered him yet.

“Did you know Mr. Ponsonby is a murderer, Major Stanby?” she asked.

“I have heard the tale of Noddy.” Stanby smiled.

“Are you on for a friendly game this evening, Major?” Ponsonby inquired. “We missed our game last night because of the assembly.”

“Later, Ponsonby. Lady Crieff and I plan a tête-à-tête by the fireside first.”

Stanby was smiling at Lady Crieff and missed the brief flash of intelligent interest that shone in Ponsonby’s eyes. Moira caught it and wondered if Ponsonby was as foolish as he let on. His loose smile hardened to cynicism. Then, so quickly that she was not sure she had not imagined it, his stupid, expression was back in place.

“Do I smell April and May?” he asked coyly.

“You are too foolish,” Moira scoffed.

‘‘Business, Ponsonby. Purely business,” the major said. “We shall meet around, say, nine? I look forward to it. See if you can round up Hartly as well. I am feeling lucky tonight.” He directed a telling look at Moira on the last sentence.