Tall, Dark and Disreputable (16 page)

‘That is the point; I don’t wish her to become aware of it at all. Unfortunately, I left the Countess in possession of some rather…damning information. I never gave it a second’s thought, though, until just months ago, when she thoroughly enjoyed rubbing my nose in my carelessness.’

‘So she blackmailed you,’ Mateo said flatly.

‘I suppose you could call it that. Though it was done very prettily and in the sweetest tone imaginable. She assured me that she would
not
whisper such choice titbits in my wife’s ear if I handled a delicate matter for her.’ He glanced apologetically at Portia yet again. ‘I’m sorry, but after the scandal of your husband’s death, I was not in the least surprised to learn that he had also gambled away your home. The Countess told me the man who had won the estate was unable to claim it himself. She claimed that the timing was important and asked me to see it done.’ He lookeda way. ‘I was not inclined to refuse. I am quite fond of my wife, you see, and hated to think that something so unimportant to me might be dreadfully painful to her.’ He sighed. ‘In truth, I was relieved that what the Countess asked was not more…unsavoury.’

Portia kept her gazed fixed firmly on her hands in her lap. Nothing about this episode in her life had been savoury.

‘Dowland,’ Mateo said in a strange, strangled voice, ‘did the Countess give you the papers right then?’

‘What? Oh, no. She sent them later.’

Portia did look up then, and straight into Mateo’s eyes. ‘By courier!’ they said together.

Mateo leaned in towards the desk. ‘Tell us about the courier.’

The baron frowned. ‘He did ride an exceptionally fine mare,’ he mused. ‘Fifteen hands, I’d say, well developed and the softest grey colour, like the breast of a dove.’

Portia could not help but laugh. Mateo cast his eyes heavenwards.

‘Anything you can recall about the man himself, Dowland?’

‘He had an unusual name. Foreign. Wait, I’ll have to think a moment.’

Portia met Mateo’s gaze again. Breathless, they stared. And waited.

She couldn’t stand another second, of anticipation or of Mateo’s warm regard. ‘Might it have been Lorenzo?’ she suggested.

‘No.’ The baron leaned back in his chair, his face a study of concentration. ‘Stranger than that. Cormi…Corsica…’ He sat straight up. ‘Cosimo—that is it!’

‘Cosimo?’ Portia repeated, disappointed. Was it not the same man, then?

‘What did he look like?’ asked Mateo.

‘Hmm. Tall, if I recall correctly. Well done up, for a
servant, I thought. His clothes were plain, but of good quality. Well-favoured, I would have to say. I remember thinking that the Countess might have turned in a different direction for her pleasures.’

He sat straighter. ‘I also remember thinking that I wanted the job done as quick as possible. My wife is in a delicate state again, you see, and at that point she was feeling particularly unwell. I didn’t wish to be gone from her for long, nor did I wish to answer many questions as to what I had to do. We were fresh out of all the trouble that occurred with Bright Early Morning—I assume Riggs told you about that?’

Portia nodded.

‘Suffice it to say that I was steeped in enough misery and not looking forward to bringing it on to someone else—on to you, in short. That’s when I hit upon the idea of having Riggs handle it for me.’

‘It was your idea?’ Mateo asked. ‘This Cosimo did not suggest it?’

‘No, it was my notion. Riggs was feeling particularly guilty and I thought he might be better for something to do. The man needed something else to think of besides the accident. So I wrote him a long letter and asked the courier to continue on to Longvale and make his delivery there.’

He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, clearly thinking. ‘The man appeared struck by the notion. I thought it was because he knew his mistress intended me to carry out the deed. I assured him it would be taken care of.’

Mateo stood. Portia watched him as he walked over
to the double doors and stared out. She knew he wasn’t seeing the afternoon sun falling softly over the lush green landscape.

‘Do you think that
he
might be Averardo? This courier?’ she asked suddenly.

Mateo turned. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. But why? Why place so many barriers between you? Why would he not just tell you himself that he was taking over Stenbrooke? It’s almost as if he’s toying with you.’

Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Perhaps he is a former friend of J.T.’s. It does seem like something his crowd would do, out of sheer malice.’

He stared at her for a moment. ‘Perhaps it is as I said before and the conveyance is a fake.’

‘That would be the best possible outcome,’ the baron said. ‘Although the documents appeared to be correct. It would be a lot of trouble to have witnessed accounts and everything else made up or forged.’

‘And what am I to do? Sit at home and wait for someone to show up and throw me out? Or not, because it is all a hoax?’ Anguish stabbed through her. ‘I cannot do it. How could we live with such uncertainty?’

Mateo slammed a hand against the door frame. ‘Then why all the subterfuge? None of this makes a damned bit of sense!’

‘Lord Dowland, would your Countess be likely to know what all of this is about?’

Wry, he said, ‘If there’s the smallest bit of skullduggery afoot, then the Countess is
highly
likely to know about it. That is, if she’s not thoroughly entangled in it.’

Before Portia could reply, the study door swung open.

‘Reginald!’ sounded a bright, happy voice. ‘Your son has something to show you!’

A pretty woman with tired eyes stood on the threshold, a toddling child clutching tightly to her hand. They advanced into the room and Portia saw the moment when she realised her husband was not alone.

‘Oh! I do apologise. I had no notion you had company.’

Lord Dowland’s face had changed, softened. It cost Portia a pang to see it.

‘Come in, dear,’ the baron said, standing swiftly. ‘An old friend has come to visit. This is Mr Cardea, and this is
his
friend, Lady Portia Tofton.’

‘How do you do?’ The baroness dipped a curtsy. She was hampered when the child at her side objected to the presence of strangers and hid behind her skirts.

The baron coaxed him out and took him up in his arms. ‘Cardea, Lady Portia, this strapping fellow is the next Lord Dowland. Now come, my boy,’ he wheedled, ‘take your finger from your mouth long enough to say hello!’

The boy opened his mouth, but kept his finger firmly in place towards the back. ‘Ungh!’ he said.

His father was able to correctly interpret this. Obligingly he peered into the boy’s mouth. ‘By George, look at the size of that one! Well done, my boy! It’s no wonder you’ve been wearing your mother’s nerves to a frazzle!’

The boy, reminded of her existence, reached for his
mother. Smiling, she took him and he snuggled close, emitting a sigh of utter bliss before laying his head on her shoulder. From his perch he granted his father a sloppy baby grin and turned a magnanimous eye to the rest of them. A chubby king, surveying his domain with satisfaction.

They made a beautiful picture. The three of them, complete and happy. It seemed almost a sacrilege to witness their moment of contentment. Portia glanced away, looked to Mateo to gauge his reaction to the family’s tranquillity—and caught him in an unguarded moment. He stared, white-faced at the scene, an odd intense emotion washing pale his tanned complexion. If Portia had been forced to label it, she would say it looked like…pain.

But the baroness had spotted an incongruity in her perfect world. ‘Reginald!’ she scolded. ‘You haven’t even sent for a tray? Your friends must think us incredibly inhospitable!’

‘It’s quite all right, Lady Dowland,’ Portia assured her. ‘We’ve come on business, truly, not a social call and we won’t intrude much longer.’

‘Nonsense, you must stay for tea at least.’

‘I wish we could, ma’am,’ Mateo replied. His expression had cleared. ‘But our business is pressing and it sounds as if we’ll have to be setting out for London.’ He looked to the baron. ‘Am I right, Dowland? London is where we’ll find the answers to our remaining questions?’

A worried frown wrinkled the baron’s brow. ‘I should think so, but you’ll have to be fast. The…men
you seek should be there now, but they are racing enthusiasts. They’ll be leaving for Doncaster soon for the running of the St Leger, and then back to Newmarket.’

Portia stood. ‘Then we must be off.’ She smiled. ‘It was lovely to meet you all.’ To the baron she said, ‘Thank you for your help.’

He shifted his stance. ‘It was nothing, really, the least I could do.’

The baroness glanced outside. ‘But there are only a few hours of daylight left. Perhaps you should stay the night and set out in the morning.’

‘They are pressed for time, dear.’ Her husband went still, pondering, and then his head came up suddenly. ‘Of course! I can loan you my post-chaise. It’s very well sprung and my teams are the fastest you’ll find on the roads. I’ll be happy to send one of my men along as postillion.’ He clapped Mateo on the back. ‘You’ll be halfway to London before the night is out.’

‘That is very kind of you, but we’ve left my companion in Hungerford and must meet up with her when we leave here. A post-chaise will likely not seat three comfortably.’

‘No.’ The baron’s face fell. ‘It has just the one frontfacing bench on the inside.’ He glanced at Mateo. ‘But there is the outside seat in the back, over the rear wheel.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s by far the fastest option.’

Questioning, Portia met Mateo’s gaze. He turned away and looked out of the doors again. She could almost see him weighing their options, calculating time and distance and measuring days in his head. He turned back.

‘It’s enclosed. Will you manage?’

She thought about it. ‘A post-chaise?’ She turned to Lord Dowland. ‘Is it the travelling chariot sort? With the glass panel in front?’

He looked startled at the question. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘Then I should be all right.’

‘I would feel better if you would allow me to help you in this way.’ The baron meant it, she could tell.

Mateo’s gaze held hers first, then moved to Dowland’s. Grimly, he nodded.

D
amned if Dowland hadn’t been right. Mateo marvelled as the post-chaise moved smartly along, especially once they reached the well-travelled roadway in West Shefford. The beautiful Berkshire countryside passed by in a blur. They’d likely reach Hungerford in less than an hour’s time.

It had been a long day. Portia sat next to him on the bench seat, far enough away so that the bounce and sway of the carriage did not jostle her against him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her, and tried hard not to be caught at it.

The line of her limbs, the way she sank into the padded bench—they spoke of her weariness. Even as he watched, she tilted her head back to rest and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t sleep, though. Her trust only extended so far, and she was too noticeably
not
touching him to be truly relaxed. A sigh escaped him.

Her hair was falling again. Did it ever stay put? The
strands lay, a delicate adornment to the slender column of her neck, pointing the way to
his
spot. The spot he loved to kiss, longed to taste again. When he touched his tongue to her there, she made the most delicious sounds in the back of her throat.

He closed his eyes and sought to distract himself before he began to think too hard about touching his tongue to all the other delectable parts of her.

That stable boy’s outburst rang through his head again. And the carefully blank faces of all those other men. What did they all know about J.T.’s death? It seemed wrong, a disgrace that the world should know something so basic about her life while he did not.

He opened his mouth to ask her.

‘You had a very strange look on your face today,’ she said into the silence.

He resigned himself to waiting a little longer. ‘Did I?’

‘You did—when Lord Dowland and his wife and son were grouped together, looking like an artist’s rendering of the perfect young family.’ She rolled her head on the cushion to look over at him. ‘You looked as if it hurt, seeing them like that.’ After a moment she continued. ‘I wondered…were you perhaps thinking of your father? Of the problems you had with him?’

‘No,’ he was surprised into answering. It was a difficult subject, his family, one he never spoke of, nor often allowed himself to dwell on.

But Portia was the one person, perhaps, who would understand. It felt important, suddenly, that she did understand.

‘It’s just that—it struck me—the way tht boy lay his head down on his mother’s shoulder. That little sigh. Such peace. I felt it, right here.’ He pressed a fist to his gut. ‘And I knew, suddenly, that I hadn’t felt such a thing since my own mother died.’

She nodded. Quiet fell over the carriage again. Except, of course, for the rumble of wheels and the pounding of hooves and the jingle of harness and trace.

‘Have you been seeking it, do you think? For peace?’ She wasn’t looking at him any longer.

He pondered his answer. ‘No. My father used to ask me much the same thing. He’d get so upset with my wandering, pursuing new imports and markets and contacts. What was I doing? Why could I not stick to the tried and true? What was I searching for? He’d ask it with such exasperation. I used to answer him quite truthfully: nothing.’

He set his own head back against the cushion. ‘I don’t think I’ve been searching. Instead I’ve just been keeping busy…distracting myself. Perhaps so I wouldn’t have to think about what I was missing.’

Her gaze had fastened on him again. He could feel the weight of it, a substantial thing that made his skin flush with warmth. He kept his own gaze directed towards the glass panel in the front, where the road unravelled over the steady rise and fall of the horses. ‘It shames me when I think of what we spoke of yesterday—about becoming part of the vast ocean. Suddenly I’m thinking about what I’ve done with
this
life—and I realise I’ve wasted so much time. I think I’ve only been skimming the surface of life, afraid to look too deep.’

Her head shook in disagreement and she followed his gaze forwards. ‘I don’t believe that at all. You delved deep enough all those years ago, enough to see a young girl’s loneliness and offer her your friendship. You looked hard enough to notice her feelings and treat them gently. You weren’t skimming when you worked so hard and long for your family and their legacy or when you acted as a good friend and example to my brothers.’ She reached out then, and touched his face with gentle fingers, forcing his head to turn, his eyes to meet hers. ‘Perhaps it is only your own needs that you are afraid to look too closely at.’

He stared, unable to even begin to summon a response to that.

Her hand fell away. She stretched and yawned. ‘Now, I am extremely weary. We have a short while before Hungerford, yes?’

Still silent, he nodded.

‘Then I think I’ll take a quick nap.’

And to his amazement, and utter gratitude, she did.

Portia did sleep a little, lulled by the rhythmic sway of the carriage and the warm feeling of having returned a little of Mateo’s kindness. Her last thought, before she drifted off, was that perhaps he should be happy that she did not repay some of his more painful lessons.

The postillion’s calls as he pulled his team to a stop awakened her. The Bear Inn loomed, large and hulking in the last of the day’s light. They left the horses in their harness and went in together to fetch Dorinda.

They found her, looking very smug and awaiting them in a private parlour.

‘I hope you’ve no room reserved for the night,’ Mateo warned before Portia had even fully withdrawn from her companion’s embrace. ‘We must go on tonight.’

Dorrie’s face fell. ‘Must we?’

‘I’m sorry, but we do. I’ve nearly given up on making it home in time to see my ships fitted for the Orient.’ His face hardened. ‘Months of work, this has cost me, and perhaps the best chance for my family’s future. But by God, I am going to see this through, and quickly, before he has a chance to throw even more obstacles in our path.’ He waved a beckoning hand at Dorrie. ‘The horses are standing. We’re to London as quick as we can manage.’

Dorrie sighed, but looked resigned. ‘I’ll assume, then, that your mission did not go well?’

‘It went exactly as well as last time,’ Mateo said sourly. ‘Which is not saying a great deal.’

‘Then you’ll be happy to hear that I accomplished something here,’ she announced, ‘although not as much as I’d hoped.’

‘What is it, dearest?’ Portia asked. ‘You look like the kitchen cat that’s just lapped a whole bowl of cream.’

Her companion squared her shoulders and drew herself up to her full height. ‘I believe I’ve met your mysterious courier.’

Portia gasped.

‘What?’ Mateo nearly shouted. ‘What did he say? Where is he now?’

Dorinda winced.

‘Dorrie, please, tell us what happened. How did it come about?’

‘Of course, but should we not speak in the carriage? I thought we were in a hurry.’

‘We were, we are, but you’ll have to tell us now.’ Portia could hear that Mateo was losing patience.

‘We have new travelling arrangements, dear. Mateo will be forced to ride outside. Come, let’s have your bags loaded while we hear your story. Then we’ll go on.’

‘He arrived before me,’ Dorrie said after the luggage had been dispatched and they had all settled uneasily about the room. ‘He’d just bespoke the last private parlour. I was understandably dismayed when the landlord told me there were none left; I’d said I’d meet you here and I was not going to wait in the public room.’ She shivered. ‘I’d just decided to take a bedroom when he spoke up.He was still lingering and must have overheard me talking to the innkeeper, because he offered to share his parlour. He said he would not need it for long in any case.’

‘What did he look like?’ Portia asked, more than a little curious.

‘He was very handsome,’ she answered on a little sigh. ‘Tall, with hair even darker than yours, Mr Cardea. Cut too long for my taste,’ she told Portia, ‘but a very dashing fellow, none the less.’

‘Did he give you a name?’ Mateo asked.

‘Yes, that was my first clue as to who he might be. He used another exotic-sounding name: Giovanni.’

‘He used yet another with Lord Dowland,’ Portia told her.

‘What makes you sure it was him, Miss Tofton?’

‘I was not sure at first. He made pleasant, unexceptional conversation. He asked where I was from and I told him I lived now in the vicinity of Newbury. He said he’d been there, but knew it very little. We talked of London and the foreign places he had travelled. We had a light meal brought in, it was all extremely pleasant.’ She made a face at Mateo. ‘I’m getting there, Mr Cardea, don’t look so impatient.’

‘I do apologise.’

Portia was glad to hear a twinge of humour in his reply.

‘I had told him earlier that I was awaiting friends. We’d just finished our tea when he asked if we would be returning to Stenbrooke once my friends arrived.’ She paused and shot them a significant look. ‘I had never mentioned Stenbrooke by name, you see.’

Admiration flooded Portia and she allowed it to show. ‘That was so quick of you, Dorrie! What did you do?’

‘I pretended that I did not notice. I answered his question and told him I wasn’t sure of our plans. Then I asked him if he wouldn’t mind a small fire to chase the evening chill. When he went to see to it, I slipped some laudanum into his drink.’

Portia gasped again. ‘Dorrie! You didn’t!’

Mateo only laughed, but Dorrie was preening at the approval in his face.

‘You know I always carry a small vial, dear,’ she said. ‘A lady never knows when she’s going to need it.’

‘And did he drink?’ Mateo asked.

‘No,’ she said with chagrin. ‘I’m afraid I must have given it away. Perhaps I watched him take up his cup a bit too avidly.’

‘There’s a lesson for you,’ Mateo said. ‘The next time you think to poison someone, you’ll know better.’

‘Mr Cardea! Laudanum is not poison. I merely thought to put him to sleep, so he would still be here when you arrived.’

Portia could barely contain her impatience. ‘But what happened?’

‘He raised the cup to his lips, but then he hesitated. He met my eyes over the rim and then he set it down. He smiled brilliantly at me. Then he arose and took my hand, kissing it in the most improper fashion.’ Her tone had grown a little wistful. ‘He told me I was a woman to be reckoned with.’ A flush spread across her face. ‘Can you imagine? Me?’

‘Certainly I can,’ Portia said stoutly. ‘It was a wonderfully brave thing to do.’

‘He left then, most cordially, but not before he asked that I be sure to give you both his regards.’ She heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cardea.’

‘There is not the slightest need for you to feel sorry, Miss Tofton. I applaud your ingenuity. It would seem none of us is as crafty as our nemesis.’

‘It must be Averardo—they must be one and the
same. There’s no other explanation for the way he’s playing with us.’ Irritation grew hot in Portia’s chest. ‘And if he is, there is still no explanation for it!’ Her fists clenched. ‘I suppose I should just be grateful that he did you no harm, Dorrie, but I am growing wretchedly tired of being manipulated!’

‘I know, dear.’ Dorrie’s tone was comforting. ‘Have you any idea what he’s about, Mr Cardea?’

Mateo did not respond. His gaze had lost focus. Portia exchanged a glance with Dorrie. He stared into the fire, his mouth moving silently.

‘Mr Cardea?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said distantly. ‘All of those exotic names—surely they mean something. I’m trying to recall…Lorenzo, Cosimo.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘And, yes, Giovanni! Medici!’

Portia stared. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Yes, I’m sure I’m right. Prominent Medici names, all!’

‘Medici?’ Dorrie’s face twisted in confusion.

‘Yes, yes. It’s been nagging at me and I finally remembered. It’s something my father spoke of. It was when he was trying so hard to convince me to—’ He stopped, flushing. ‘When he tried to convince me to abandon the idea of a privateer’s cruise.’

And suddenly Portia flushed too, because she knew just what else his father had been trying to convince him of, at the same time. Marriage. To her.

‘They planned for us to move to Portsmouth, do you recall?’ His voice sounded only slightly strangled.

She nodded. She couldn’t have forced an answer past her tightened throat if her life had depended on it.

‘I was to open the office there. When I…when it did not work out, he hired someone else to do it, a man named Salvestro. He praised the man’s performance repeatedly throughout the years and always made specific mention of his name because it also belonged to the first prominent Medici.’

‘They were merchants, as well, yes?’ Dorrie asked, frowning in concentration.

‘They were a family who started out in trade and grew into one of the greatest dynasties in Italian history. It was my father’s dream to see his family prosper in that way. I drove him mad because I would not cooperate.’

‘But you worked long and hard for Cardea Shipping!’ Portia protested.

‘Eventually I did, but never in quite the direction he wished to go. And always without the proper degree of seriousness,’ he said with a wave of his hand.

And that was likely another reason why he needed so strongly to prove himself now, she realised.

He stood abruptly and his chair nearly tipped over behind him. ‘I knew that this had the taste of my father’s handiwork smeared all over it! But how? Why? I’m tired of the manipulation, as well, and I’m damned tired of being one step behind.’

He started towards the door. ‘We should go, ladies.’ He halted. ‘Or should we, at that? Perhaps we are just playing into his hands?’

Portia stepped up beside him and laid a hand upon his arm. ‘What choice do we have, truly?’ She squeezed. ‘Let’s see this thing through. All of us, together.’

‘You’re right, of course. But damn it! You know I’ve always been one to lay my own course.’ He shook her off, then held the door and gestured for them to proceed. ‘Let’s go then. The postillion says his teams can make it to Reading tonight. We can get a short night’s rest and we’ll be in London early tomorrow afternoon.’His tone grew grim. ‘Just in time for a social call.’