The Girl with the Pearl Pin

by Lynne Connolly

  “On the contrary, it’s so good to see you. Are you shopping?”

  “Yes. My mother is finishing our purchases. She will be out directly.” Phoebe would have crossed her fingers.

  When he moved, she caught sight of a jewel on his coat. A pin. “Where did you get that pearl?” she asked abruptly. Surely there was only one of those pearls in all London.

  “This?” He tweaked the pin. “Lucinda gave it to me. It is nothing, a fish-scale pearl, I have no doubt. But I didn’t want to upset her by saying so.” He laughed. “Lord, if it was real, it would be worth a fortune! Where would Lucinda get that kind of jewel?”

  “From my drawer,” she said bitterly. She had not checked the box’s contents this morning. With her light-fingered sister around, she should have changed the hiding place, for surely her sister had seen it when she’d interrupted her the other day. “You should return it to me. It was not hers to give.”

  How ironic, to be accused of stealing a diamond necklace and then being actually responsible for the loss of such a piece as this.

  He glanced at it again. “Is it yours? A strange jewel for a lady to have. Too short to be a hatpin, more the kind of thing a gentleman might use in his cravat.”

  “Exactly. It isn’t mine. It belongs to the Duke of Leomore.”

  His eyes widened. “Dear me.” He leaned back. “You’d better come and get it, then.” He tsked. “What was Lucinda thinking?”

  Sighing with annoyance, Phoebe lifted her skirts and scrambled into the carriage. It had the kind of mechanism where the steps were let down when the door was opened, so she didn’t need help. She would take it and go to her mother’s carriage. No doubt he would try to tease her for a kiss or some such. Marcus was never so happy as when he was taunting someone, usually her. She would loftily ignore it.

  From behind, she received a hard shove. Losing her balance, she tumbled into Marcus’s waiting arms. The door of the carriage was slammed, and at the same moment the vehicle began to move.

  “Spring ’em!” Marcus shouted, and the carriage jolted into action.

  Phoebe emerged from folds of cloth. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “What I should have done to start with. You, my sweet Phoebe, are coming home with me. You are mine. You always were.”

  She lunged for the door, but before she could reach the handle he had her around her waist.

  “Oh no, dear one,” he murmured into her ear, a triumphant laugh in his voice. “You are well and truly compromised, Phoebe. You belong to me.”

  Chapter 13

  Leo should really not feel as good as he did, considering he was all but trapped in marriage. Although this time he did not feel trapped. He looked forward to starting his new life with Phoebe. After calling at Doctors’ Commons to pick up the license he’d applied for yesterday, he took a chair to Pall Mall. The day was still young, and he had some time to kill before he could go to Miss Childers’s house for dinner.

  He had a spring in his step as he climbed the narrow stairs to the upper floor where his club was situated. The rage for clubs was in full swing, and now the new fad for gentlemen’s clubs, where only members were allowed and they could take their ease, was in full swing. This was a smaller example, the St. James, but it suited him well.

  A porter inclined his head to Leo as he passed through the small lobby. He smiled back. Every time he entered the establishment, a bit more had been done to improve it. He’d already performed his part, paying his subscription and arranging for a good supply of spirits from his contact in the City. The club was developing so quickly that obviously it was filling a place that should have been occupied some time ago.

  The large room he entered was comfortably full, but his particular friends were not present. Never mind, he would relax, read the papers, and have a drink.

  “Leomore!” A call attracted his attention. Several people sat around a small table, playing cards in hand. “Shall we deal you in?”

  He shook his head, smiling.

  “Come and have a drink anyway,” Cavanaugh urged. “We’re not playing deep, only a guinea a point.”

  One of his companions groaned and tossed his cards facedown on the table. “Not even that,” he said, disgustedly. “Perhaps when your betrothed brings you the diamonds you can liven up the gaming tables with them.”

  Fury erupted in Leo. He sprang to his feet and put his hand on his sword hilt. “I will not let that stand.”

  Leigh held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I do beg your pardon, Leomore. It was a poor jest in bad taste. I meant no harm by it.”

  Leo took a deep breath, then another before he released his grip on his sword. “Very well, I accept your apology. The lady is my future duchess, and I was with her when the diamonds went missing. Proposing,” he added grimly, realizing that in fact he had not proposed to her yet.

  “That’s not what the Latimers are saying.”

  Leo took his seat once more and reached for the brandy decanter and an empty glass. “The Latimers can go hang. If they say it in my presence, I’ll give them the same response.” He had not seen the Latimers for a while, but if he did, he would have no hesitation confronting them. Perhaps he had let them get away with too much and he should seek them out. “They should spend their efforts discovering who stole the jewels, not persecuting an innocent woman.”

  Perhaps he would take a hand of cards. When Cavanaugh gave him a querying glance, he nodded to be included in the deal. An hour here, then he would pay his visit to Phoebe. They were one step closer to marriage, with the settlement agreed upon. He could be a married man by the end of the month.

  Fool that he was, the thought made him smile.

  But he’d heard the talk. Just because Phoebe was with him didn’t mean she was not involved in the theft, the gossip went. Had she gone to the grotto in order to receive the stolen goods from the thief, and he, Leomore, had interrupted her? He could hardly refute that piece of nastiness without admitting he’d carried her there.

  “Your wife-to-be has an interesting family,” Cavanaugh remarked. “I had the pleasure of meeting Lady North at the theater last night. She is a most…remarkable woman. She informed me that she had no desire to remain in town much longer. I would have thought that finding oneself at the center of society would have pleased any woman, but apparently not.”

  “My wife prefers the country,” Leigh put in. “She sighs every time I suggest a visit to our London house. In fact, she is going home this weekend, barely halfway through the season.” He wrinkled his generously built nose. “The country stinks. But her absence will give me more time to visit the lovely Pauline. I have her installed in St. John’s Wood, in a cozy little house. Much more to my taste.” He discarded a nine of spades.

  Leo picked up the card and added it to his hand. “Mistresses can be too much trouble.”

  “So you’re settling down with your wife?”

  Yes, yes he was. But he would not give them the pleasure of calling him a dead bore once he’d turned his back on other women. “I don’t have a wife yet.”

  He could hardly believe he was going ahead with this. However, if he had to choose between losing the woman who had made his life a delight recently and claiming her, he would take the latter. He had, earlier today, and he was still wondering what he was doing. He was not in love; he was incapable of it. His grandmother had shown him cool affection; his parents changed their minds every other moment. He had not learned how to fall in love, or what it was. Surely he would have to understand it to undergo it?

  Men in love lost their heads, committed foolish acts, and he had not done that. Apart from seeking her out to steal kisses, but surely he was allowed that indulgence. Love was for mistresses, a fleeting emotion that had no place in the longevity of marriage. With a little training, Phoebe would make an excellent duchess. She had intelligence and beauty. The rest, th
e things she’d have to know, would come in time.

  He discarded the nine. It wasn’t as useful as he’d supposed. His mind was not on the game.

  A disturbance by the door made everyone look up. Newspapers rustled as Lord Marston entered the room in a state of high agitation. His hands were tightened into fists, and his neckcloth was decidedly askew. As he neared their table, Leo became aware of the beads of sweat on his brow and the wide-eyed expression of, what—horror? Shock?

  When he reached them, he did not mince his words. “It’s La Coccinelle. She’s dead.”

  A murmur set up around them, with a few shouts of “What!” and “You don’t say!” as the news spread.

  “Lisette? What happened?” Shock arced through him, galvanizing him into action. Once more he rose from the chair.

  “Isn’t she your mistress, Leomore?” Cavanaugh asked.

  Leo spared him a glance. “No. I cast her off weeks ago.” He turned his attention back to Mars. “What happened?”

  “Murdered,” Mars said. “I’ve come straight from her house. I found her.”

  Abandoning the dish of guineas at his elbow, Leo took Mars’s arm and dragged him from the room. “What did you do?” he asked as they strode through the lobby.

  “You think I killed her?” his friend demanded indignantly, his thick black brows drawing together in a frown.

  Leo made a sound of exasperation as they clattered down the stairs. “No, you dolt, I mean what did you do when you found her?”

  “Notified Bow Street and came to find you. Left a key with the servant. Recalling that scene at the theater the other night, I thought you should know.”

  The necklace. Was it, after all, the real thing?

  Outside, Mars had a hackney waiting. Leo flung himself inside and onto the nearest street, rapping the roof with his knuckles when it did not immediately start into motion.

  Mars slammed the door as they set off.

  “Where is the house?”

  “In the City, the one she uses for business. She has another residence further out of town.”

  “I know,” Leo said. “I bought that one for her. What happened?”

  “I turned up, rapped on the door, her servant let me in, and I went up to see her. She was dead. It’s not a pretty sight, Leo. Someone shot her.” Marston sighed and shook his head. “Such a waste.”

  “Nasty.” He winced. “Any idea why?”

  Mars shrugged. “She wasn’t exactly talking to me. This was my first appointment with her. And my last.”

  They arrived in fifteen minutes. The house was in the City, one of a line of houses built after the Great Fire, and as was usual in the City, crammed next to shops, businesses and residences. It was easy to spot because a crowd clustered around the door.

  After tossing a coin to the hackney driver, Leo shouldered his way through and rapped on the door. Mars arrived at his side.

  The door opened, and a small man in a russet coat stood there, glaring at them. “I found her and sent for you,” Mars said, and the man moved aside just enough to let him through. Leo didn’t give the man a chance to block his entry.

  Mars was already halfway up the stairs. With tension rising to his throat, Leo followed him to the second floor, where he pushed open a door. These houses were not built for men to stand side by side, but Leo managed it.

  The stench of fresh blood tainted the air, mingling with the acrid stink of ignited powder. His stomach churned, but he forced his bile back down.

  Lisette sat on a sofa set before a huge, gaudily draped four-poster bed, wearing a silk-and-lace confection that barely covered her naked form. Her head was tilted to one side, slumped in an ungraceful way she never affected in life. Lisette had been full of energy, elegant, and witty. Not now. Her long blond hair was stained with blood where it dangled over the wound in her chest.

  At least she hadn’t been shot in her face. She would have hated that. But the lovely features were forever at rest now. Her eyes stared at him, sightless and dead.

  He couldn’t bear to look at them. On silent feet he crossed the room and gazed into her sightless eyes. So beautiful, so lifeless.

  He stepped back, rubbing his shoe against the carpet to get the blood off it.

  “Sir, I must ask you not to touch the corpse.” The little man had followed them up.

  “Who are you?” Leo demanded.

  “Cocking from Bow Street.”

  Leo spun around. “Cocking?”

  The man scratched his neck. “Cocking,” he confirmed, meeting Leo’s gaze defiantly. “And I know you, Your Grace.” He cleared his throat. “You were the lady’s protector, were you not?”

  “I was once, but I haven’t been so for some time.”

  The room was draped in sumptuous fabrics, but beneath them was bare plaster, damp and cracked. Leo turned his attention back to Lisette. “She was difficult and temperamental, but she didn’t deserve this.” Had a lover killed her in the height of passion? Or when she refused him? Or was his first instinct right, and someone had come for the necklace?

  “She could have done it herself.” Mars had noticed what Leo had missed; too engrossed in the lady, he hadn’t spotted the weapon lying by her left side.

  “She had no reason to do that.” He glanced at the pistol, which had definitely been discharged. Ordinary enough, but he’d never seen it before in Lisette’s company. Something was odd. Ah yes, he had it. “Lisette was right-handed.” He added the extra information. “She damaged her left hand as a child, and her grip was poor. Not strong enough to pull a trigger.”

  The small man in the russet coat cleared his throat. “That is useful information. Then we are looking at a murder, are we not?”

  “It appears so,” Mars said slowly. “Who would do that?”

  “A spurned lover?” the little man said.

  “Doubtful,” he said. “She had men flocking around her. But don’t discount it.”

  Mars came around his other side, the old timbers of the floorboards shaking under his weight. These houses in the City had been thrown up after the Fire, not all of them as sturdy as they should be. The walls were thin. “Did nobody hear the shot?”

  “A couple of neighbors,” Cocking said. “But they didn’t raise the alarm. This area is a bit…colorful.”

  So many things had happened since he’d given Lisette her congé. “I cannot tell you where she has been or who she entertained recently.” He marked the scene again. Her neck bore a red mark. If she’d lived, that might have turned into a bruise. Did people bruise after their deaths? Damned if he knew.

  “She was wearing the necklace,” Mars said abruptly. “Or at least, a necklace, and the thief tore it off her.”

  “A burglary?” Cocking rubbed the back of his own neck, as if in sympathy with the woman. “A man was seen leaving the house hurriedly. Nobody heard the shot, or so they claimed, but a few saw the man. And they identified him.”

  Mars clicked his tongue, frowning at Cocking. “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, man! Tell us his name!”

  “His name was Forrester, and he’s a ruffian of the first order. Been up at Bow Street before now, but he’s a slippery one.” He paused. “Buys himself out of trouble. Pays other people to do his dirty work. He must have seen the necklace and assumed it was the real one. Gone after it and took it.”

  “Interesting that he did this himself, then,” Leo remarked.

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to share,” Mars commented.

  Leo’s mind raced. “Or maybe he did share to start with. That would explain much. If his original conspirator betrayed him in some way, perhaps ran off with the necklace, that would explain why he is still in pursuit.”

  “Interesting.”

  Leo could almost see the Bow Street man’s mind working. His thick brows drew together, and a deep frown creased his fo
rehead. “The Latimers have been creating a great to-do about the diamonds they have lost. But did Lord Latimer give the necklace to his mistress, and then arrange the theft to cover up his transgression?”

  That would make sense, especially if this was the real necklace. It would be just like Lisette to flaunt that she had it. But would Lord Latimer be so besotted as to hand over a family treasure?

  After considering the point, reluctantly Leo shook his head. “Lady Latimer would have known the real jewel from paste and would hardly create such a fuss if she knew the piece was not real. And if her husband had taken the necklace, why would she create such a fuss when the copy was stolen? On the other hand, why would someone steal this one if it was paste?”

  “Either someone thought this was the real jewel, or they killed her for another reason,” Mars put in. “Or it was the real one.”

  Leo determined to pay a visit on Latimer the first chance he got. He needed answers rather quickly. “It might not have been the Latimer necklace that was stolen. Her lovers gave her some pretty pieces,” he said, but his gut told him that it was. He moved closer and saw something glint under the lady’s tumble of hair.

  Before Cocking could order him to move away, he tweaked the hair aside.

  Well, that answered his question. She was wearing the matching earrings. Or rather, earring. The other must be lost in her clothing. No, there it was, on the sofa, half covered with fabric. Picking it up, he turned it over on his palm. “These are the earrings that accompany the necklace.” Lifting the article up to the light, he sighed. “Look, there’s a chip on the central stone. That doesn’t happen to diamonds. It’s as paste as the necklace was.”

  He glanced down. Under the frill of lace on her arms, he saw the gleam of a bracelet. Lifting the obscuring lace, he confirmed his supposition. “My betrothed returned the real bracelet to her ladyship, so this is a copy.”

  Mars crossed the room to look at the earring. Leo handed it to him.

  Someone wanted the necklace. Which led Leo to a few suppositions, none of which pleased him. The matter had become urgent. His blood ran cold. Would the thief have killed Phoebe, if she’d been in her bedroom when it was ransacked?