“You made the best choice possible, my boy. Look after her well.”
“I intend to.”
The ball, at another of London’s great houses, was well attended, but noticeably the crowds had begun to thin as society, having done the business it had arrived for, had begun to slip away to the country. Tomorrow she and Leo would join the exodus.
The girls who had not snagged a match in their first season were there, and the women who would never find one. Phoebe went to them first, sweeping a curtsey. She was much better at those now.
Miss Manners’s blue eyes sparkled. “You are so fine, Phoebe, I declare I hardly know you. How will you bear it when you become the latest toast?”
“W-we are leaving town t-tomorrow, so I won’t care.” Phoebe flicked out her fan, enjoying the snapping sound, and held it high, fanning herself with exaggerated boredom. “Indeed I d-do n-not know what we are to do in the c-country.”
Which sent the ladies into whoops.
Miss Manners’s merriment stilled, and her expression slipped into distant repose as she looked past Phoebe. “It’s that blasted woman.”
Phoebe didn’t need to turn around to know who her friend meant. “G-good. Just the p-person I have c-come here to see.” And to show society that she and Leo were one. She didn’t have to hear the rumors to know they were beginning. Her night apart from her husband would have done the rounds. But not this afternoon, or the days to come. She wouldn’t miss the gossip.
Turning in a swirl of pink froth, Phoebe pasted on a society smile and went forward to confront Lady Latimer. This task had to be done here, in the full view of society, so there was no confusion.
Delving into her pocket, she retrieved the pouch. Lady Latimer shot her a glare, then her eyes widened in alarm when Phoebe kept on her path. From a few feet away, Leo strolled across to stand by her side. Boxing her ladyship in nicely.
Phoebe kept her smile firmly in place. “My lady, I have s-something for you.”
After undoing the gold cord that held the pouch closed, she upended it and poured the contents onto her ladyship’s open palm. “We were f-fortunate to t-track down the wicked man who stole this from you and retrieve the object. No doubt you have heard some of the s-story f-from Mr. C-Cocking, the Bow Street Runner.”
Her ladyship swallowed. The diamonds—or rather, glass stones—dripped from her open fingers. An earring dropped to the floor, and her husband, who was standing silently by, hastily snatched it up.
Lady Latimer found her voice. “How do I know that for sure?” Tears stained her voice. Understandably since her last chance of retrieving her fortune had gone. The worthless gems she held in her hand saw to that.
“Friends set about solving the mystery, and eventually the Bow Street man became involved,” Leo said, his tone bored. “We can furnish you with all the assurances you might need.”
The thief and murderer was dead.
Leo continued to speak, in a voice loud enough for all interested parties to hear. “We retrieved the gems from the man who stole them. He was a footman in your service.”
Mr. Cocking had been assiduous in identifying Chapman, who had been a footman in Lady Latimer’s service. Once they had discovered his identity, the rest fell into place. Lady Latimer had paid him to steal the gems, so she could claim compensation for their loss. But she had not told Chapman the jewelry was fake. Chapman was to pass the gems to Forrester, who had contacts who would break up the necklace and sell the result.
“You blamed my wife for the theft,” Leo said to the woman before them. The room had fallen silent, nobody even trying to pretend not to listen. “That sent the thief after her. He abducted her in the street, before her mother’s horrified eyes. You put her in danger.” His voice hardened, became dangerous.
“How was I to know?” her ladyship wailed, tears pouring down her face.
“The man abducted my wife. You know about that. Half of society knows. I was forced to pursue them, but at that time the man got away. I was too eager to comfort my wife than to chase him down. By accusing her, you set the thieves after her.”
“When did you marry?” His Lordship demanded.
“The day before she was abducted.”
Phoebe’s mouth dropped open. Leo had just changed the scandal of Marcus’s abduction of her.
If he blamed Chapman instead, that made it less of a scandal and more of a crime. The whole nature of the adventure had swiveled. Of course that made Leo a complete hero for chasing after the carriage and rescuing her.
Marcus would escape scot-free, but she couldn’t have everything. If he ended married to Lucinda, that would be punishment enough.
She didn’t need Lady Latimer’s stammering apology, but the words flowed over her, like soothing balm.
“Come, my love.”
As she laid her hand on Leo’s arm, finally, Phoebe felt like a duchess.
Author Biography
Lynne Connolly was born in Leicester, England, and lived in her family’s cobbler’s shop with her parents and sister. She loves all periods of history, but her favorites are the Tudor and Georgian eras. She loves doing research and creating a credible story with people who lived in past ages. In addition to her Emperors of London series and The Shaws series, she writes several historical, contemporary, and paranormal romance series.
Visit her on the web at lynneconnolly.com, read her blog at lynneconnolly.blogspot.co.uk, find her on Facebook, and follow her on Twitter @lynneconnolly.
References
For a list of references and books I used, check my website, or contact me directly.
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