The Cavendon Women (23 page)

Rising, Daphne cleared her throat and said, “Shall we adjourn?” Glancing at Hugo at the other end of the table, she went on, “I will take the ladies to the blue room, so that you, Miles, and Paul can have a bit of masculine chitchat in the library.”

Hugo nodded, gave her a loving smile. “Come along, chaps, let's take the hint and leave the ladies to their own devices. For a short time, at least.” As he spoke he pushed back his chair, and made to leave, followed by his brother-in-law and Paul.

Lady Gwendolyn, as fast on her feet as any of them, instantly rose, glided across the dining room, and slid her arm through Diedre's. They headed through the entrance hall together. “We must speak about Paul,” Lady Gwendolyn murmured in a low tone. “Let us sit down over there, my dear; I have some thoughts to offer.”

Diedre glanced at her swiftly. “I hope you like him, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn. I think he's special.”

“So do I,” her aunt responded. “And as the matriarch of this family, I would certainly be happy to welcome him into it, let me assure you of that.”

Diedre gave her a huge smile.

The two of them settled down in a corner of the room, near the bay window. Lady Gwendolyn said, “You never told me he'd been married before. And that he was a widower.”

“We haven't had much chance to speak about him, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn,” Diedre pointed out, giving her aunt a faint smile. “I'm just getting to know him myself.”

“I know. I'm not taking you to task, my dear, simply making a comment. When did she die? And of what?” Lady Gwendolyn asked in a quiet voice.

“He never explained anything. Paul merely said he was a widower. And before we … well, before we became involved, I didn't know anything at all. Because I was hardly ever at Cavendon.”

“More's the pity; I missed you. And Paul wasn't around. He was looking after Hugo's American interests and living in New York. I truly
do
understand.”

Lady Gwendolyn paused, sat back in the chair, thoughtful for a moment or two. Finally, bending forward, leaning closer to her great-niece, she said softly, “Did he ask you any questions? About
your
previous relationships?”

Diedre stared at her aunt, shook her head. “He asked me if I had ever been married, and I said no. I did add that I had been in a couple of relationships, and left it at that.”

“He didn't ask you any questions about other men?”

“No,” Diedre murmured, frowning at her aunt.

“Smart man. And you were smart not to volunteer anything, Diedre. At least I'm assuming you didn't. You didn't, did you?”

“To be honest, Aunt Gwendolyn, there wasn't much to tell. And we became involved so unexpectedly, it never occurred to me to question him about his late wife. I didn't want to know about her. And I'm sure he felt the same.”

Lady Gwendolyn sat back, smiling at Diedre, and filled with relief. “Is it serious?”

“I'm not sure. It's too soon to tell,” Diedre said evasively.

There was a small silence.

Diedre glanced around the room, saw that Cecily and DeLacy were sitting together on the sofa. She was glad that these two old friends had made peace with each other. Cecily was a good influence on DeLacy. Diedre loved her younger sister, but she knew she was still upset about her divorce, and needed the support of a loving and genuine friend like Ceci Swann. They were happily chatting as if they'd never been estranged.

Dulcie hovered in the doorway of the room, and when her eyes caught Diedre's she smiled, waved, and floated toward her. She now loved Diedre, and had always thought that Great-Aunt Gwendolyn was unique; she enjoyed their company.

“I rather like the idea of the women getting to spend time together after dinner, don't you?” Dulcie laughed and winked at Great-Aunt Gwendolyn. “We can talk about things men don't actually understand. They're so dense in certain ways.”

“You've never spoken a truer word, Dulcie. However, they are also rather sweet, and definitely most essential, don't you think?” Lady Gwendolyn gave her a knowing look and winked back.

Dulcie burst out laughing. “You're such a treat, Great-Aunt Gwen. There's nobody like you. Oh, here's Daphne, and she's looking very serious. She told me she had something special to tell us.”

Daphne closed the door firmly behind her and walked over to the fireplace, where she stood staring at the women of the family gathered there. They had been served coffee, tea, water, and some even had liqueurs. They looked comfortable and relaxed, and this pleased her.

Daphne said, “All of us here are fully aware that some of the Ingham jewels are missing, and understand full well who the culprit is. I promised Papa I would get them back. And I shall.”

Without any further preamble, she filled them in about Felicity's return to London, her teatime chat with Olive Wilson, and her plan to steal the jewelry with Wilson's help. And perhaps a burglar. If the jewels were not given to her voluntarily.

Her sisters laughed when she told them about needing the lock of a cupboard to be picked, whilst Great-Aunt Gwendolyn looked askance when Daphne added that Eric would be looking for an experienced burglar to assist them.

“You must confront your mother before Wilson leaves,” Cecily exclaimed. “You need her. She's the best witness you have. She can corroborate what you say.”

Daphne nodded, wondering whether Wilson would remain strong, or lose her nerve.

Lady Gwendolyn said, “I think Cecily is correct. Wilson is the vital element in this matter. I also think you should be armed with a legal letter from our solicitors, a demand for the return of the ‘borrowed jewels,' shall we call them? So that Felicity can save face.”

“Why not start out first in a friendly way?” Cecily suggested, looking around the room, finally fixing her eyes on Daphne. “You told me you and your mother have been estranged, so perhaps someone else has to make an overture, go to see her, and—”

“I had tea with Mama yesterday,” DeLacy announced, cutting in and taking everyone by surprise, including Cecily.

Dulcie cried, “Why didn't you tell us you'd seen that monstrous woman?”

“I haven't had a chance,” DeLacy protested. She looked stricken, stared at Daphne. “I tried to telephone you this morning, and this afternoon. Your phone has been perpetually busy.”

“It's all right, DeLacy, I understand,” Daphne answered gently. “So please do tell us how this tea came about. And give us a picture of Mama, and what's happening at Charles Street.”

*   *   *

When DeLacy remained silent, looking around nervously and twisting her hands in her lap, Daphne walked across the room and sat down in a chair near her. DeLacy had always been sensitive and fragile of nature; since the divorce she had become nervous and easily upset.

Reaching out, holding DeLacy's hand, she said, “Take your time, darling; nobody's in a hurry or about to leave. Just be relaxed and tell us slowly.”

DeLacy nodded, giving her sister a small smile. She had been close to Daphne since childhood, was devoted to her, and understood how kind and compassionate she was. It was Daphne she trusted wholeheartedly.

Taking a deep breath, DeLacy began, “It all came about like this. A few weeks ago I was feeling lonely, very sad, and I suddenly thought of Mama. I realized that over the years I had missed her from time to time. I know she behaved badly—” DeLacy paused, cleared her throat. “She ran away because of another man, and well, she abandoned her children. All of
us
. Still, I did have an unexpected longing to see her, to talk to her.”

Then she began to speak again. “At first I thought of phoning her. But I sort of, well, I lost my nerve, I suppose. So I wrote her a letter instead, telling her that I would like to see her, to catch up over tea. The note was brief and simple, but friendly. I didn't get a reply.”

“Did you go to see her?” Dulcie asked, staring hard at DeLacy, not exactly happy to learn that her sister had weakened in her resolve, had broken the promise they had all made to each other years ago: They would limit their availability to their mother.

DeLacy has seemed bewildered and lost since the breakup of her marriage, Dulcie now thought, and she said quickly, “Please tell us about it, DeLacy. I'm so sorry I interrupted you.”

“Out of the blue, I received a phone call late on Saturday morning,” DeLacy explained. “It was Lawrence, inviting me to tea that day—”

“
Lawrence,
” Diedre exclaimed. “Do you mean her frightful husband? You call him Lawrence?”

DeLacy simply nodded, withdrawing again, noting the angry tone in Diedre's voice. She suddenly wished she hadn't told them.

Daphne was fully aware of this and of DeLacy's growing nervousness, and she said somewhat sternly, “Please let DeLacy speak without any interruptions. That only makes her more anxious. And it is very important for me to hear what she knows. Come along, darling, do continue.” As she spoke, Daphne reached out again and took DeLacy's hand in hers, gave her an encouraging smile.

“Lawrence Pierce sounded very cordial on the phone, and said if that afternoon wasn't convenient, I could go for tea on Sunday. I chose to go on Saturday because I was coming to this supper tonight. And I did try to get hold of you, Daphne, to tell you.”

“I remember the phone was busy a lot today … Hugo was using it, and so was I. But no one is being critical of you, darling.”

“I know. So I went to tea. Mama was lovely. She's had bronchitis, and she appeared to be somewhat … fragile. That's the best word. She's still beautiful, you know. I told her about my divorce and Simon, and she and Lawrence were so nice, and sympathetic. Later they spoke about their holiday in Monte Carlo. That was it, more or less. Mama did ask about everyone, but I didn't reveal too much. Oh, and she was very nice about your success, Ceci.”

“I bet she didn't ask about me,” Dulcie exclaimed. “And do tell us, what's the crazy knife-wielding surgeon really like in the flesh?”

Everyone laughed, DeLacy included, who said, “He's pleasant, and he does have a certain charm. Very handsome. Nobody's exaggerated about that. But there was something about him that I couldn't quite fathom.”

“What do you mean, DeLacy?” Lady Gwendolyn suddenly looked perturbed. “He doesn't have a very nice reputation. So I've been given to understand.” She scrutinized DeLacy intently.

“It's nothing like that, nothing strange. Or nasty. I suppose he's
distracted;
I think that's the best way of describing his demeanor. It's as if he's extremely preoccupied, and that his mind is on other things.”

Diedre remarked, her eyes narrowing, “In my experience, anyone who displays those traits is highly involved in
something,
is focused on that and nothing else. The body is there, but the mind is absent. Do you understand what I mean, DeLacy?”

“I do. And you've described him perfectly.
He was absent mentally
. That's it.”

“How did he treat your mother?” Lady Gwendolyn probed.

“He's nice with her, courteous, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn. But…” DeLacy's voice trailed off, and she bit her lip.

Leaning into her, Cecily said, “There's something else, isn't there, DeLacy? Something you're not saying.”

DeLacy stared at Cecily, then looked across at Daphne, her face suddenly filling with sadness. “He doesn't seem interested in her as a woman. She is very affectionate with him, loving actually, but he's not like that with her.”

Lady Gwendolyn said, “I'm sure Felicity is still romantically involved with him, is still in love with him. However, it is quite possible he does not have those same feelings.”

No one spoke for a moment. Finally Daphne broke the silence. “It sounds as if he's lost interest in her. Sexually. And perhaps that preoccupation you mentioned, DeLacy, is with another woman.”

“How about
women,
plural. I've heard he's a real chaser of skirts,” Dulcie exclaimed, and laughed. “You know what they say … revenge is a dish best served cold. And if he's got another woman and doesn't love his wife, then this is my moment of revenge. She abandoned me at the age of six, and I've waited a long time for this moment. Revenge served cold can also be very sweet.”

 

Thirty-one

DeLacy sat at the small desk in her bedroom, writing a letter to her father. She missed him, and would be much happier when he returned to England. He had been away far too long for her liking. He was the rock of her life, as he was to all his children. Somehow she felt safer when he was around. More secure.

She sat back in the chair, suddenly thinking of her mother. Felicity had been so warm and loving at tea; DeLacy had been quite startled by her demeanor, but had responded with warmth herself.

She grimaced. Now she was to be the pawn in the plan to get the jewels back, and she dreaded the thought. She would do it, though, because Felicity was in the wrong. And she was on the side of the Ingham Estate; after all, she was an Ingham born and bred, and would protect their interests.

The ringing of the phone brought her up with a start, and she reached for it, saying, “Hello?” in a quiet voice.

“May I speak to Lady DeLacy, please?”

It was a masculine voice, and she knew at once that it was Lawrence Pierce. Whatever could
he
want? “This is Lady DeLacy,” she said. “It is you, Lawrence, isn't it?”

“Yes,” he replied, sounding pleased that she had recognized his voice.

“How are you?” DeLacy asked politely, and quickly added, “Having tea with Mama and you was so nice.”

“Yes she, we, enjoyed it too. Your mother was thrilled that you reached out to her, DeLacy. The reason I am calling is to do with your mother, actually. I've been trying to think of a present for her, something that would be a genuine surprise. And I've come up with an idea that is wonderful, in my opinion. But it would involve you.”