Season For Desire (13 page)

“And if I had not?”

“Then . . .” Miss Corning paused. “Then I would have had to figure out what else to do.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that.” Lord Dudley eased himself into Sophy’s chair, his raspy voice full of delight. “Our Soph’s got the puzzle box, you see, and you’re welcome to stay as long as y’like. Good to have a bit of company about the place.”

“More than a bit,” grumped Lady Dudley. “Where will she stay? She shan’t take the dogs’ room.”

“Of course not, dear,” the viscount soothed. “The dogs sleep in the stable, don’t you recall? You said yourself we’d plenty of room in the house.”

“You’ve put me in a beautiful guest chamber,” Miss Corning said. “I cannot thank you enough. Though I didn’t mean to be, I’m a foundling on your doorstep until the weather clears. My coachman cursed me heartily for traveling in this weather, and on a Sunday, but you see—” She pressed her lips together.

“You had nowhere else to go.” Lady Audrina spoke up. The earl’s daughter was a bit of a mystery to Sophy: proud and prickly, but with a curious mind—and sometimes, like now, flashes of soft sorrow.

“Nonsense, nonsense.” Lord Dudley positively glowed, his white hair like a halo about his beaming face. “You may stop and bide here as long as you like.”

Sophy could not recall seeing him so transported since Jack’s death, and probably not since quite some time before. A long illness such as Jack’s ground away at a family, so death came in tiny stages over endless attenuated time.

“How gratifying,” barked Lady Irving. “But we’ve still got another puzzle box to open. You, Corning girl, do you think you can do that same trick with the golden one? No one here seems to know what to do with it at all.”

Giles Rutherford made an incoherent sound.

“Shh,” said Lady Audrina. Did she slip a hand within the crook of his arm? No, only a trick of the shadows; darkness split them apart even as Sophy squinted.

“I can but try,” said Miss Corning. “If Mrs. Parr will permit?”

“Sophy,” she corrected through numb lips. “Please, feel free.” A deeper admonition than she intended. A deeper hope for herself.

Miss Corning followed the same set of movements she had used to open her rosewood box; this time Sophy counted forty-five slips and catches of the panels. Panels she had never realized her parallelepiped possessed until a few days ago, and now they were loosening under this stranger’s touch as though her very fingertips were keys.

“That’s done it, by God.” Richard Rutherford touched the golden lid as Miss Corning began to slide it free. “Sophy, will you open it?”

With fingers cold and heart a thunderstorm, Sophy freed the lid from the puzzle box. A neat little compartment was hidden inside, empty as they expected. Pulling in a deep breath, Sophy turned over the lid.

Again, dizzying letters were scratched in neat rows. Every head leaned inward, blocking the lamplight until they jostled into a better arrangement.

“I’ll be damned,” muttered Lady Irving. “‘One of three. Sophia Angela Maria.’”

“‘His mercy is from generation unto generations,’” Sophy read. “More of the
Benedictus
?”

“How should I know? I was fortunate to remember the first bit, you pack of heretics,” Lady Irving replied. “Surely there is a Bible in here somewhere. We
are
in a library.”

“I’ll get one.” Relieved to step away from the tight circle of faces, Sophy slipped to one of the familiar shelves. In brown, she would be as invisible as shadow itself. She had fallen into the habit with Jack in the dark days of his illness. What he did not see, he could not speak to. Could not touch.

The library held several Bibles; the first one Sophy laid hands on was an antique quarto in crumbling black leather. She carried it back near the desk, standing in the penumbra outside the lamplight. For a book of moderate size, it was heavy, the paper old and thick.

She handed it to Lady Irving, who rolled her eyes before accepting the book. “Must I be the voice of God? Well, if you insist.” The countess flipped open the cover. “A Douay-Rheims Bible. My, my. Harboring Papist tendencies?”

“Harboring old books,” said Sophy. “If you will, my lady?”

Lady Irving sniffed, then flipped pages. “Ah,” she said after a few minutes of skimming. “The
Magnificat
. Richard, your Lady Beatrix had a fondness for the Nativity story.”

Sophy could not imagine why Richard Rutherford looked sheepish. “Ah—so it seems, yes. How interesting.” He cleared his throat. “And more of those coded letters?”

More indeed. Seeing a second set made the code seem even more impenetrable:

“Well, that’s that,” said Giles. “We shall have to find Maria’s puzzle box or there will be no peace until the end of time.”

“I believe, son,” said Rutherford, “that I am being remarkably peaceful. Although, Miss Corning, I would very much like to know what you learned regarding my late wife’s acquaintances named Maria.”

“Of course,” began Miss Corning, “I should be glad to—”

“Did she know Jack?” Lady Dudley’s voice cracked with hope. “Did you ever find a letter with some reference to Jack? What do you know about Jack?”

Sophy shut her eyes.

There was a pause before Miss Corning spoke. “My coachman goes by Jack, and I know that he was annoyed at having to drive out today. But surely that is not whom you meant?”

Sophy hauled her eyes open.

“Lady D, we must be getting you to your room for a rest.” The viscount spoke up. He shot Sophy an apprehensive look.

“Her ladyship refers to her son, John. My late husband. We called him Jack.” For once this afternoon, her voice was clear.

“Ah.” Miss Corning’s oddly elegant features went soft. “You all have my condolences. It is difficult to lose a loved one.”

“It was a long time ago,” Sophy said. Not that that was so much a reply as an explanation. An excuse.

But why, or for what, she could not let herself think.

The subject of the puzzle boxes, the codes, and the identity of the unknown Maria occupied the party at dinner that afternoon until Giles felt he could have thrown his fork at the wall. Just two things prevented him from doing so: First, that there was every chance he would miss the wall and hit one of the enormous glass windows instead.

And second, the roasted widgeon was delicious. Besides the widgeon, there was a beef tongue in redcurrant sauce, potted shrimps, and a variety of vegetables. Broccoli, artichokes, and tender little lettuce leaves. Best not to throw the fork until the cloth was removed.

“Yes,” Miss Corning answered Lady Dudley for perhaps the seventy-fifth time. “I wrote to all the Marias I identified through my cousin’s correspondence, too. Only two remain from whom I haven’t received a reply.”

In dressing for dinner, the new arrival had exchanged the small feathers in her headdress for larger plumes. Enjoying having money and being a peacock for the first time; well, Giles couldn’t blame her for that. If he found that someone had given his sister Rachel a fortune—and that someone else was trying to take it from her—he’d urge her to spend every penny of it however she wished.

Miss Corning had paused after her explanation; now she looked abashed. “I hope you do not mind, my lord—my lady—but I gave the direction of Castle Parr should either of the Marias wish to reply. I did not mean to presume by doing so, only I knew I should not be returning to my brother’s household.”

“Quite all right.” Lord Dudley smiled. “We send a servant to the village for mail almost every day. Lady D, I haven’t seen any odd letters arrive for a few days, have you?”

“Thank you, my lord. You are very good.” Miss Corning’s voice wavered a bit.

She must have traveled with everything she owned. No wonder she was so relieved the Dudleys were willing to take her in. But that seemed to be their way. It was a wonder they were so rarely visited; maybe their hospitality wasn’t known. Giles had met a number of worthless hangers-on in London who would shoulder their way into any aristocratic household with which they had the slimmest of family connections.

“And you, young Rutherford.” Lady Irving’s blacksmith hammer of a voice clanged at Giles’s ears. “What are you going to do with yourself now?”

Giles stared at her. His stomach gave an uncomfortable twist.

Lady Irving waved her knife. “Now that Miss Corning has opened the puzzle box, of course. You’ve got nothing more to work on while you bill and coo.”

“Oh, that.” His stomach untwisted. “You’re right, I need some new occupation. Maybe I could decorate a few of the statue heads in the antique passage.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait a moment; I can’t. Because
you
did that already while
you
billed and cooed.”

“Son, really,” said Richard mildly. “No need for such rough talk. You must feel free to decorate those statue heads all you like. The effect is pleasingly festive.”

“Indeed!” Lord Dudley wheezed. “Exactly the sort of thing m’lady and I like.”

It did not pass Giles’s notice that his father had not protested the bit about billing and cooing. With a shudder, he drained his glass of wine.

No puzzle box. No jewels. Nothing but another mystery, and home seemed farther away than ever.

Much as he hated to admit it, Lady Irving asked a fair question. What was he going to do with himself now?

 

 

After dinner, the cloth was removed for syllabub and candied oranges and ginger. When the rest of the party seemed inclined to head into the drawing room for more tinkering with the puzzle boxes, Giles caught his father’s arm and held him back.

“Father. Wait. I need to ask you something.”

Richard looked delighted. “Of course!” Over Giles’s shoulder, he waved on the others. “Go ahead, Estella. I shall meet you in a few minutes. Mind you don’t start gambling without me.” He chuckled. “Funny woman. She pretends to be so irritable, but you know, I think she’s not nearly so bad as she wants everyone to believe.”

“I wouldn’t want to contradict a lady.” Giles pulled out chairs for himself and Richard, waving off the servants who had come in to clear the table. “If she wants me to think she’s terrible, I’m happy to do so.”

“Oh, son.” Richard chuckled again. Picking up a bit of candied ginger from its porcelain dish, he pointed it at Giles. “What’s on your mind?”

Giles picked up a piece of ginger, too, rolling the sugar crystals between his fingertips. “It’s our time in England.”

“Yes?” Richard popped the ginger into his mouth. “My, that’s tasty. Warms you right up, doesn’t it?”

Ignoring this aside, Giles said, “We’ve got two puzzle boxes and no real information. What if we never find anything else? Without the lost diamonds, how will you set up a new shop in London?” He took a deep breath. “How will you care for the family? They need you, Father. They need you more than you need this . . . adventure.” The word was so sour in his mouth that he crunched at the ginger root, sweet and fiery and sharp enough to make him squint.

Richard made a tidy stack of the candied orange peel, crossing one slice over another. “Are you certain of that? They’re grown, Giles. You might be the eldest living, but you should not still think of them as children. Now, don’t protest—you do think so.”

“I do not.” Giles bit his bottom lip, hard. He knew they were no longer children; they were scattering off to begin their own lives. Even his bosom companion, Rachel, had left the family home to live with an aunt. “That doesn’t mean they don’t still need a father’s guidance.”

“You asked me to wait to return to England—my wife’s final request—until Sarah was engaged to be married, and I did. Now they’re all building their own lives, Giles. All of them except you, and if you had your way, me. But don’t we all deserve better than a dreamless life?”

“We support one another,” Giles ground out.

“Support or shackle?” The smile disappeared from Richard’s features, the smile that customers at his paper mill and shop liked because it made them feel that Richard cared about them and not only how much paper they ordered. Without the smile, he looked far older. Worn and tired. “Son, I love you, but you mustn’t think I don’t know why you’re here. You didn’t want to see the land of your mother’s birth; you didn’t want to meet relatives and old friends. You wanted to keep watch over me and make sure I didn’t do anything reckless.”

“I—”

“Don’t worry yourself; I’m not angry in the slightest. You might grumble and grouch, but you do it out of love. And I wanted you to come along. Because whether you intended to or not, now you
have
seen your mother’s birthplace, and you’ve met some of her friends. And now you know where I intend to live. Giles, I never wanted to work with paper. I always meant to be a jeweler. That’s why I wanted you to do it so much—so you would know that it was possible.”

He sighed, and the smile flickered back for a gray moment. “You want a father’s guidance? Here it is. Go home, Giles. Go home whenever you’re ready.” Another chuckle. “Maybe we can work together. Your designs and my execution, what do you say? We could be the first trans-Atlantic jewelry firm the world has seen.”

There it was, like a wall. A smiling, oblivious stone wall with a mouth full of candied orange peel. For Richard to pursue his dream, Giles had to return. To be his proxy in America. “I don’t want to work with jewelry, Father.”

With an effort, Richard swallowed the tough citrus. “You may think so now, but you’ll say something quite different after a few years working with paper.”

“But I do want to work with paper,” Giles murmured. Not for its own sake, but because it could hold folded dreams: the furled plans for a home or a warehouse or a shop or a church. Anything. Paper could hold the design of a future hope. Paper was a springboard.

Paper could become a spring. He smiled, thinking of Audrina’s absent hand gestures that turned flatness into a toy. Thinking of Audrina’s drawing of Castle Parr, which was nearly, tantalizingly close to what he wanted to do.

“You want to run the mill?” Richard’s brows furrowed; dark brows so unlike Giles’s features. “I’d be glad for your brothers to have the guidance, but I’ve never heard you say so before.”

“You didn’t hear me say so now, either.” Not for the first time since arriving in England, he felt he was speaking a different language from the people around him. This was the first time he’d had that impression with his father, though.

He didn’t want to pursue this stone wall of a conversation anymore. Richard was sure everything would work out, because . . . well, for no good reason. Just because he wanted it to. Because that was the sort of person he was: He could cross an ocean for an apprenticeship, then cross back with a marquess’s daughter. Then cross it again for an
adventure
.

Really, Richard was right. Everything did seem to work out well for him. Maybe because someone else was around to tie up the loose ends he left behind.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t been here to open the puzzle box?” Giles tried to match his father’s calm.

“But you didn’t open it.” With a smile, Richard topped his citrus tower with a curl of candied ginger. “Miss Corning opened it. And she’d have done that whether you were here or not.”

“Assuming you were here at Castle Parr.”

“Why wouldn’t I have been? I’d have met up with Lord Alleyneham eventually, and he and Lady Irving would have directed me here.”

“Not necessarily. Remember, Lord Alleyneham’s family is unraveling on a precise schedule.”

“They needn’t be.” And with a shrug, he indicated that he was done with the topic.
Simple as that. If they don’t want to be torn apart, they needn’t be
. Maybe he was right, but it was still infuriating. More so because Giles felt the same way about their own family.

“If you loved it so much in England, why did you ever leave?” Giles hardly expected an answer. It was one of those questions asked out of annoyance, the main purpose of which was to let the other person know how unfathomable their actions were.

Of course, Richard answered at once. “When it came time for a family, my best prospects were in America. I couldn’t support a marquess’s daughter in England.”

“Why not finish your apprenticeship first? Why the urgency to start a family?”

Richard raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, good God,” Giles groaned. “Are you serious?”

Richard raised his other eyebrow.

“The puzzle boxes with the bits about the Nativity—the elopement—Mother was with child?”

Richard tipped his head. “It happens to the best of us.”

“Not if you don’t—ack. Never mind. I don’t want to hear any more about that.”

Giles knew that two older siblings had been lost: a sister and a brother, not much more than babies when illness took them. He shouldn’t have been the oldest child at all.

But he had never known before that his mother left everything she knew, including her own parents and the native land that valued her blue blood, for the sake of her child. A child who would never be accepted by the
ton
that had birthed her, because of its father.

Giles had thought her adventurous—and yes, she had been. But she’d been more than that. She’d been brave.

For the thousandth, millionth, infinitely numbered time, he looked at his hands. So much of him was a legacy from Lady Beatrix.

And she had left one last legacy in the form of these puzzle boxes. A mystery, an impossible adventure. Richard loved that nonsense. Maybe that was part of why Lady Beatrix had done it: She’d known that nothing would capture her beloved’s imagination like a mystery.

But the answer slipped away like air. Always, there was another gasping step, and another. Giles was damned tired. His dreams were in pieces, scattered about Philadelphia and New York.

And York, too?

No, no. Nothing tied him here except a thread of fascination with an aristocrat’s daughter. Quite a family tradition the Rutherford men had.

An ancient dream was better than nothing, and he couldn’t take that from his father. He couldn’t break that spirit of adventure. In a way, it had given Giles life.

“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll help you wrap this up. For Mother.”

Then Richard could do what he liked. Giles’s place was clear—and it was half a world away, picking up the pieces others had left behind.

 

 

After Giles left him behind in the dining room, Richard toyed a bit more with the candied citrus peel. He knew he ought to let the servants get on with their work. The rest of the party had long since found their way to the drawing room—and judging from the jingling heard through the open doors, at least one of the dogs was in there, too.

Good, good. Lord and Lady Dudley seemed to enjoy having company about, whether human or canine. But Richard wasn’t quite ready to be a part of it. My God! The span of one day had brought him the solution to one puzzle box, then had introduced and solved another he had not known existed. Then introduced a third.

After three years’ wait, this was the end of his quest—or the beginning of the end, at least.

Richard rather liked thinking of this time in England as a quest.

On a quest, he had traveled to England thirty-five years before, to apprentice to the watchmakers and smiths who created art in precious metals for Rundell and Bridge. His nation’s independence was new and rough, and there were some things the English did better.

Ignorance was bliss, in some cases. In Richard’s case, it had been. Because when he dared look at the marquess’s daughter who called at the shop, she had looked right back at him. Her frank blue eyes, her freckled sunniness, her free laughter were irresistible to a young jeweler’s apprentice who had no right to raise his eyes so high.