The Bride's Necklace (12 page)

Tory sighed into the dim light in the attic, determined not to think of Cord. Kneeling in front of the first steamer trunk, she lifted the lid and began to search through the contents, mostly dresses and gloves, an ostrich-plumed hat, a pleated satin turban, a lovely ermine muff. The gowns in the trunk were slightly dated, purchased while her father was still alive, but they were beautiful just the same.

The second trunk held an array of kidskin slippers, stockings, garters, a pretty lawn chemise with little pink bows down the front. Tory ran her fingers over the garment, thinking of her mother, feeling the sting of loneliness she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in years.

Oh, Mama, I miss you.

She wished her mother were with them now, wished her father were still alive and none of this had ever happened. Tory closed the lid of the trunk, knowing it was useless to wish for something that could never be. Her mother and father were dead. There was no one to take care of them. They had to take care of themselves.

She raised the lid on the third steamer trunk, found a small, black lace fan, a tasseled velvet spencer and several colorful shawls. Carefully lifting the items out of the way, she spotted her mother’s black lacquer, mother-of-pearl-inlaid jewelry box in the bottom of the trunk. She gently touched the glossy black surface, lifted out the box and set it on the floor in front of her.

Her hand trembled as she opened the lid. She remembered some of the pieces nestled on the blue velvet lining—the black jet cameo; a pretty rhinestone brooch her mother often wore on the front of her pelisse; an embroidered collar; a string of tiny pale pink gemstones with matching earbobs.

Something beneath the necklace caught her attention. Tory lifted the gemstones out of the way and picked up a satin-wrapped object that seemed to be hidden away. She unwrapped the cloth, and when she saw what lay inside, she couldn’t seem to breathe.

Tory picked up the heavy garnet ring with a shaking hand, recognizing the piece at once. The ring had belonged to her father. He had been wearing it the day he had been killed. The footpads who killed him had stolen it, along with his coin purse and any other valuables he’d had with him.

The ring had belonged to his father and his father before him. It was treasured. Her mother had despaired that something so precious had been lost.

Where had she found it? Why hadn’t she mentioned it to Tory? And why had she hidden it away?

Tory felt the hair rise at the back of her neck as her suspicions grew. Glancing round the attic, she began a frantic search for her mother’s diary. Perhaps she would find the answers there.

But the diary was nowhere to be seen.

Tory remembered her mother writing in the journal nearly every day, but she had no idea where the diary might have wound up after Charlotte Whiting had died.

The afternoon sunlight filtering into the room grew weaker. The day was slipping away and Claire would begin to worry. Rewrapping the satin around the ring, she tucked it into the pocket of her skirt, picked up the pretty pink necklace and tiny earbobs, and closed the jewelry box. It went back in the bottom of the trunk, beneath the clothes, shawls and black lace fan. As she descended the narrow attic stairs, she reached into her pocket. Even through the satin, the ring seemed to burn her fingers.

T
he day of the wedding dawned windy and cold. Sullen gray clouds loomed over a grim, damp world, and the sun hid behind an overcast sky. On the garden terrace at Forest Glen, a flower-covered arch sat at one end, a cluster of white wicker chairs in front of it, waiting for the small number of guests who had been invited to the nuptials.

They gathered there now, the ladies in high-waisted silk gowns, the men in tailcoats, waistcoats and cravats. From the window of the upstairs guest room she had been assigned, Tory could see the people on the terrace beginning to take their seats for the event.

Dressed in a pale blue silk gown, her hair swept into soft dark curls interlaced with white rosebuds, she was ready to face the consequences of all that she had done. The happenings of the past swirled through her head, her stepfather and Claire, stealing the necklace, her desperation in London, meeting Cord.
Falling in love.

Setting the trap that forced him to marry Claire.

She was responsible for much of what had taken
place and yet she felt as if most of it was out of her control, a path fate had led her down that had left her standing here, at the window above the garden, wishing with all her heart that she were anywhere else in the world.

A light knock sounded. Lady Aimes stepped quietly into the room and closed the door. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. But she would never be ready to watch Cord marry someone else, not even Claire.

“You look beautiful,” Sarah said.

Tory swallowed. “Thank you.” Cord’s cousin was taller even than Claire, slender, blond and lovely in a rose silk gown with tiny embroidered flowers beneath her breast and around the hem. There was a softness in her features and a serenity about her, an inner glow of happiness that Tory envied.

“I need to see my sister, make certain that she is all right.”

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid Claire has already gone downstairs.”

She should have left sooner, she knew, but a terrible lethargy had settled upon her and she couldn’t seem to shake it.

“They’re waiting. I’ll walk down with you.” Lady Aimes held something out to her and Tory saw it was a nosegay of beautiful white rosebuds mixed with delicate baby’s breath. It was tied with blue ribbons, set upon a circle of white Belgian lace.

“Are those for Claire?”

“Claire has her own bouquet. These are for you.”

She accepted the flowers, thinking how lovely they were, holding them up to inhale the subtle fragrance. Her hand trembled as she started toward the door Lady Aimes held open for her. She tried to summon a smile
but couldn’t manage even a curve of her lips as she preceded the viscountess out into the hall.

Most of the guests had taken their seats on the terrace. She could hear the soft murmur of voices coming through the French doors in the drawing room. Little Teddy stood in the hallway, waiting for his mother, a miniature of his father in the same navy blue coat, white piqué waistcoat and dark gray breeches.

He looked up at her and grinned as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “You look pretty.”

She finally managed a smile. “Thank you. How is your puppy?”

“His name is Rex. He’s getting bigger all the time.”

“Yes, I imagine he is.”

Jonathan Randall came forward. “My son is right. You look lovely.” To her surprise, he bent and pressed a light kiss on her cheek.

“You’re very kind,” Tory said.

The viscount turned a soft smile on his wife. “You both look beautiful.” He rested a hand at Sarah’s waist. “Come, love.” He took hold of Teddy’s hand. “We had all better find our seats.”

Lady Aimes smiled at Tory. She thought that it held a trace of sympathy. “He’s a good man. Claire will be fine.”

A lump rose in her throat. Tory turned to look for Claire, but instead the earl of Brant walked toward her. He looked so imposing, so unbelievably handsome. He wore a dark brown, velvet-collared tailcoat and snug beige breeches. A white cravat topped a gold-flecked waistcoat that matched the gold of his eyes. For an instant, she forgot what was about to happen and simply allowed herself to look at him.

Then one of the servants darted past, carrying a sil
ver tray heavy with crystal goblets, and the moment disappeared. The earl stopped in front of her and Tory forced herself to look into his face.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know that is scarcely enough, but I wish none of this had happened.” Cord said nothing. “I don’t suppose, at this juncture, you are interested in an apology.”

“Not at the moment.”

She glanced away from him, no longer able to stand the censure in his eyes. She searched the hallway, gazed back up the staircase. “Where is Claire?”

His expression shifted, changed to a look that could only be described as triumphant. “I’m afraid your sister is no longer at Forest Glen. She has left with Lord Percival Chezwick. They have eloped to Gretna Green.”

Her heart seemed to freeze, to simply stop beating. She could feel the blood slowly drain from her face. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

Cord took her arm and led her into one of the drawing rooms. “I’m telling you your sister is still getting married. Only the groom has changed.”

Her legs seemed to fold beneath her. Cord urged her down in the closest chair. “How? When did they leave? I—I don’t understand.”

“Then allow me to explain. As you correctly deduced, your sister was in need of a husband to rescue her from Harwood. I simply believed that Lord Percy was better suited to the position. Fortunately, he agreed. I’m sure the two of them are going to be very happy.”

“I can’t believe this.” Her head was swimming.

“Yes, well, it is most definitely true, and there is one other small thing.”

“What is that?”

“As I find myself short of a bride, you will be filling the position.”

“What!” She came up out of the chair.

“That’s right, my lovely bride-to-be. In language you might better understand, your pawn has been captured and you—my queen—will also be in danger if you think to gainsay me again.”

Tory’s mind spun. “You can’t…can’t just… What about the scandal? First you are going to marry me and then you are going to marry Claire. The guests will all have received invitations. You…you can’t simply show up with a different bride.”

Cord smiled wolfishly. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, he drew out a gold-embossed invitation and handed it over.

Tory read the words, more incredulous by the moment. Instead of Claire’s name imprinted on the card, her own name glittered in small gold letters. “But Lady Aimes sent the invitations. She…she agreed to such a plan?”

“I explained the situation and my cousin volunteered to help. She approves of the match between Lord Percy and your sister. And apparently, she also approves of you.”

Tory swallowed, her thoughts in turmoil. In her days as housekeeper, she had seen Percival Chezwick several times at the earl’s town house. He seemed shy and reserved, handsome in a youthful sort of way. Claire had even mentioned him once or twice. What had she said about him? Tory couldn’t recall.

She remembered the viscountess’s words.
He’s a good man. Claire will be fine.

She hadn’t meant Cord, but Percival Chezwick. Tory prayed it would turn out to be true.

“You’re looking pale. Perhaps the gift I have for you in honor of the occasion will help lift your spirits.”

Reaching into the inside pocket of his tailcoat, he pulled out a blue velvet box and flipped open the lid. A strand of exquisite pearls gleamed up at her from a bed of white satin, each perfect sphere interspersed with a glittering diamond. She knew what she was seeing, the beautiful pearl-and-diamond necklace she had stolen, the necklace that had once belonged to the bride of Lord Fallon.

Tory swallowed, unable to pull her gaze from the dazzling display. The necklace seemed to hold her entranced, to mesmerize her in some way. The diamonds winked up at her like long-lost friends. Each creamy pearl seemed to beckon her to touch it.

“The Bride’s Necklace,” she whispered, unable to take her eyes off the brilliant strand.

“If that is what it’s called, the name is fitting.” Lifting the necklace out of the box, he draped it round her throat and fastened the diamond catch. The pearls felt cool against her skin, yet in her mind they burned with accusation. She had stolen the ancient jewelry. Now it encircled her throat as a reminder of all she had done.

A faint shiver ran through her. She wanted to tear the necklace away and run from the room, from the house. At the same time, nothing had felt so right as the lovely yoke Cord had placed around her neck.

“Wh-what about my stepfather? When he sees this, he will—”

“Harwood has received full compensation for his loss…though I imagine when he spots you wearing it, he may turn a few shades of green.”

“It is…it is beautiful.” She wondered if Cord knew
the legend, if perhaps he had given her the necklace hoping it might bring retribution for the trouble she had caused.

He looked down at her and the curve of his lips held a trace of satisfaction. “The game is over, my sweet. This is check and mate. Your stepfather is waiting down the hall, so furious he can hardly find his tongue. I believe your only move is to take his arm and let him guide you down the aisle to the bishop.”

Tory swallowed. Her hand trembled as she touched the pearls at her throat. They felt warmer now, oddly comforting. The game, indeed, was over, and Cord had won. She wondered what price he would extract for his victory.

His hand settled firmly at her waist. “Ready?” When she simply stood there, completely at a loss and unable to move, his deep voice softened. “You’ll be safe, Victoria. And so will your sister.”

Perhaps Claire would be safe. She prayed Lord Percy would be good to her. As for Tory, the earl posed an even graver threat than the baron.

The man about to become her husband wanted to marry someone else.

The wedding passed in a blur. Thank God Gracie was there. Apparently the earl had discovered their friendship—there seemed no end to his supply of information. Once Grace understood what was happening, she eagerly agreed to act as bridesmaid, and having her there gave Tory a badly needed shot of courage.

The ceremony seemed to take forever yet be over in the blink of an eye. When the bishop pronounced them man and wife Cord swept her into a hard, almost punishing kiss. Afterward, a wedding feast was served at
the opposite end of the terrace. Standing beside her, the earl casually accepted congratulations while it took Tory’s full concentration just to nod and smile.

“We’ll be leaving soon,” he said. “Riverwoods isn’t that far away. They’re expecting us. We’ll be spending our wedding night there.”

Wedding night.
The words made a knot form in her stomach. Cord would expect to consummate the marriage, though in truth the deed had already been done. They were husband and wife. Cord played the part well, but beneath his surface calm, she knew he was angry that he had been obliged to marry her. “Riverwoods? That is your country estate?”

He nodded. “There is another in Sussex.”

And he would have owned more lands yet if he had married an heiress, as he had planned. Tory concentrated on the plate of delicacies her husband had set on the linen-draped table in front of her. Pheasant with candied carrots, oysters in anchovy sauce, perigord pie with truffles. The smell made her stomach churn.

Grace sat to her right, next to the duke of Sheffield. They made a nice-looking couple, she thought, Sheffield tall and dark, Grace with her fiery auburn hair swept up and her cheeks blooming with roses. Her eyes were a vivid emerald green and today they sparkled with excitement.

But Grace had no interest in the duke, other than that of a friend, and he seemed to feel the same about her. Jonathan and Sarah Randall sat to Cord’s left. Little Teddy had accompanied his nanny upstairs to the nursery for a nap.

Grace leaned closer. “So how does it feel to be married?”

Tory lifted an eyebrow. “I am married? Why didn’t someone tell me?”

Gracie laughed. “I vow you will know it by morning. I have never seen a man look at a woman in quite the way the earl looks at you.”

Tory’s gaze shot to her husband’s face, but he was deep in conversation with the viscount.

“He didn’t want to marry me,” Tory said dully. “He planned to marry an heiress.”

Cord laughed at something Jonathan Randall said and Grace studied his handsome profile. “Sometimes plans change. It is obvious he has feelings for you. I imagine he will show you exactly what they are tonight when he comes to your bed.”

“Gracie!” Her friend merely laughed. She had always been a bit irreverent. It was one of the things Tory liked best about her.

“Well, it’s true. The earl has a wicked reputation. They say he is quite talented in the bedchamber. Whatever happens in the course of your marriage, I imagine you will learn a great deal about pleasure.”

Tory’s cheeks went hot. “Gracie, please…”

Grace’s burnished eyebrows drew together. She stared hard into Tory’s face. “Oh, my God, how could I be so stupid! He has already made love to you!”

“Gracie! Someone will hear you!” Tory looked away, mortified that Grace had somehow guessed. “For heaven’s sake, I hope it doesn’t show.”

“Of course not, silly. At least not to anyone but me.” Grace flicked a glance at the earl, whose gaze fell on Tory. A corner of his mouth edged up and his eyes seemed to glitter with heat. For an instant, Tory couldn’t breathe.

“You must be in love with him,” Gracie whispered. “That is the only way you would have let him take liberties.”

Her throat went tight. She lowered her head. “I don’t know how it happened. I tried to stop myself. I knew I wasn’t what he wanted. Nothing I did seemed to matter.”

Gracie reached down and caught her hand, which was colder than her own. “You mustn’t feel bad. Once he gets to know you, he is bound to fall in love with you.”

But Tory wasn’t convinced. The earl was a man of lusty appetites. He had wanted her as his mistress, not his wife. He was also a man of honor. He never would have made love to her if she had told him she was the daughter of a peer. Tory wondered if he would ever forgive her.