The Imposter's Inheritance (Glass and Steele Book 9)

by C. J. Archer

  "We spoke to him."

  "You ought to look closer to home for the theft," Mrs. Delancey said.

  Willie dropped her teacup onto the sauce with a loud clatter. "You accusing us of stealing the coronet?"

  "No!" Mrs. Delancey cried. "Not at all. I meant someone close to the coronet's owner. The brother, for example. He might think it's rightfully his."

  "Why would he steal something he'll probably inherit soon?"

  Mrs. Delancey sat forward, every part of her alert, like a bloodhound on the scent of a fox. "So the claim is legitimate?"

  "I didn't say that," Willie muttered into her teacup.

  I tried glaring at her, but she wasn't looking my way.

  Mrs. Delancey pressed her hand to her chest. "This is thrilling. Mr. Delancey will laugh and laugh when I tell him. We have no love for the upper classes. They look down their noses at people like us, even though we're richer than most of them. They'll do business with my husband when they have to, but they'll never invite us to dinner. They think we're no better than tradesmen simply because Mr. Delancey works. Lord Coyle and Louisa are our only friends among the nobility, and sometimes I think they look down on us too. Tell me, India, who is it?"

  "I can't say," I said.

  Mrs. Delancey appealed to Willie. "I'll give you a hundred pounds, Miss Johnson, if you tell me."

  "No," Willie said.

  "Two hundred."

  Willie reached for a slice of sponge cake. "I don't need money. Why do you want to know, anyway?"

  "To offer to buy the coronet off him—or his brother—when it's returned, of course. I have every faith in India's abilities to find the thief and retrieve the coronet."

  "You'll just have to wait for his name to come out in the papers," Willie said.

  "But then everyone with an interest in magic will descend on his doorstep and offer to buy the coronet."

  "Lucky him."

  Mrs. Delancey sighed. "It's going to cost a small fortune. A magical golden coronet will enhance anyone's collection a thousand-fold. Imagine the value in five years’ time!"

  "Who among your collector friends could afford to get into a bidding war over it?" I asked.

  "Aside from us? Lord Coyle. Louisa—but she doesn't collect objects. Her interests lie in the spells and theories, like Professor Nash."

  "What about Lord Farnsworth?"

  She shook her head. "Most of his wealth is tied up in his estate. He hasn't got a lot to splash around."

  Willie nodded thoughtfully. "It's prob'ly expensive to keep a Nubian princess."

  "Is that some kind of statue?"

  "Yes," I said quickly. "And Mr. and Mrs. Landers? Could they afford to buy the coronet? I hear they're well off."

  Mrs. Delancey sipped her tea, her gaze lowered.

  "Are they well off?" I prompted.

  "I shouldn't gossip."

  "This ain't gossip," Willie assured her. "It's a nice chat among friends. We don't spread gossip, do we, India?"

  "Definitely not," I said. "Anything you tell us will remain a secret."

  Mrs. Delancey put her cup down. "The Landers are in our close circle. Not only are they members of the collectors club, but Mr. Landers and my husband are both in the financial business. We see them quite a lot socially. They've never lacked for anything. She always had the finest clothes and jewels and he has the latest conveyances and the finest horses. Until about a year ago, that is. That's when they began selling off London properties like a dog shakes off water. My husband noticed the properties coming on the market at regular intervals and sometimes selling for less than what they were worth to ensure a quick sale."

  "Do you know why they began experiencing financial difficulty?" I asked.

  "Gambling debts, most likely, but we don't know for certain."

  So neither the Landers nor Lord Farnsworth could afford to buy the coronet legitimately. That must be why they were on Lord Coyle's list in the first place.

  "Would you introduce me to Mrs. Landers?" I asked.

  "I'd be delighted. Oh, I know! They're hosting a soiree tomorrow night. I'm sure she'd be delighted to meet you again."

  "Again?"

  "Don't you remember? You met here once before, along with several other female members of our little collector's group. She was the one wearing a diamond tiara. A little much for a simple gathering, but that's Dorothea for you. Why do you want to meet the Landers?"

  "I feel a little sorry for them," I said. "They've lost so much and I thought I could put some of my magic into one of their watches. It might make them feel a little better about their plight."

  I could feel Willie's stare boring into me, no doubt wondering at my weak excuse. Thankfully Mrs. Delancey didn't suspect anything.

  "How charitable of you," she said. "You have a good heart, India. I'm sure they'll be delighted." She put a hand on my knee and her smile turned to a frown. "Be sure not to let them know that you know about their plight."

  "I won't."

  She patted my knee and sat back. "I've been thinking about the coronet ever since you told me it was stolen. Mr. Delancey and I spoke about it last night. He thinks that whoever stole it had the right idea."

  I almost choked on my tea as I sipped. "Pardon?"

  "A bidding war, as you put it, India, is unlikely to happen. An item as valuable as the coronet that also has sentimental value would never come up for sale. The only way to get one's hands on it would be to steal it. Pity," she muttered into her teacup.

  Later, as Willie and I were in the carriage, she said, "I got the feeling she's disappointed she didn't think of stealing it herself."

  "So did I. Yesterday she was horrified when we suggested she might have stolen it. She's a hypocrite."

  "That's what money does to some people, India. It makes 'em do and say strange things. Like that widow, Mrs. Rotherhide." She turned to me, all earnest frown and serious eyes. "If she's rich and young and fun, why does she need Duke? She can have any man."

  "Duke's kind and sweet. He's handsome, too, and strong."

  She grunted.

  "She might also like that he's American and working class. Some women of her standing find that interesting, desirable."

  She screwed up her nose. "See what I mean?" She drew little circles at her temple. "I don't think it's a good idea for Duke to get involved with her."

  "Because she might be mad?"

  "Because she's a suspect."

  "I thought we agreed she wasn't. Duke saw her magical collection and the coronet wasn't there."

  "She could be hiding it elsewhere," Willie said.

  I let the silence settle for a few seconds to give my next words more impact. "I think you're jealous."

  "Of Duke? I haven't even met the woman, how can I be jealous of him?"

  I laughed. "I meant jealous of her. I think you hold a small candle for Duke."

  "You're mad. Me and Duke go back a long way. If I wanted him, I could have had him."

  "I suppose."

  "Your problem is you're a romantic. You want everything tied up in neat bows, especially relationships. You and Matt, Cyclops and Catherine, me and Duke, or me and Jasper. But relationships aren't neat. They're messy. You just got to learn to embrace the mess, India. Like me."

  Sometimes Willie was the oddest creature. And sometimes she made more sense than anyone.

  Chapter 9

  A note arrived in the early afternoon from Cyclops. It contained the address of Lord Farnsworth's mistress, a Miss Angelique L'Amour.

  "That ain't her real name," Willie said. "I bet she has a fake accent, too. All the whores do."

  "She's a courtesan, not a whore," I said.

  Aunt Letitia peered at me over her spectacles and Willie arched a brow.

  "Anyway, how do you know it's a false name?" I asked. "If Lord Farnsworth likes exotic women, she could be French."

  "France is not an exotic country, India," Aunt Letitia said, returning to her book.

  "All the whores
back home have French names and some put on bad accents too," Willie said. "They think it makes them more sophisticated."

  "Do the men fall for it?" I asked.

  "The stupid ones do, and there are plenty of those."

  Aunt Letitia turned the page with a vigorous swipe of her finger. "Do change the subject. Preferably to something that doesn't involve prostitution."

  "Can't," Willie said. "Lord Farnsworth's got himself a mistress and now we have her address. Want to call on her, India?"

  "No!" Aunt Letitia cried before I could respond. "India is not going to call on a whore."

  "Courtesan," I corrected. "And you're right, Aunt Letitia. I'm married to the future Lord Rycroft and shouldn't be paying calls to women like Angelique L'Amour."

  "Thank you." She shot Willie a triumphant smile.

  Willie slumped in the chair and inspected her fingernails for five minutes. When she finally looked my way again, I winked at her and jerked my head in Aunt Letitia's direction.

  Willie sat up straight. "I'm going to pay a call on Jasper."

  "Marvelous," I said. "Can you give him an update on the progress of our investigation into the missing coronet? I know he's not in charge of the case but we ought to involve him, considering it's related to magic."

  Willie screwed up her nose. "I don't know if I can remember everything to tell him. There's a lot of suspects and a lot of information."

  "Then I'll come with you."

  Aunt Letitia was none the wiser as Willie and I exited the sitting room together.

  "Well done," I said as we headed down the stairs. "You understood what I wanted you to say perfectly."

  "That's because you and me are alike. Different but alike." She hooked her arm through mine. "Like peas and pods. Wood and nails. Bullets and guns."

  "Those are the worst analogies I've ever heard."

  "What do you expect from an uneducated, sharpshooting, rough riding cowgirl?"

  Angelique L'Amour's rooms were located above a butcher in a Pimlico street lined with shops. The busy thoroughfare was alive with activity on this sunny Thursday as pedestrians passed the plain black door without even glancing at it.

  "It's locked," Willie said after trying the doorknob. "Told you she was a prisoner."

  "Of course it's locked," I said. "What woman living alone would keep her front door unlocked?"

  She knocked but there was no answer.

  "Perhaps she didn't hear it," I said.

  She knocked again, louder, but there was still no answer. "I'm right, India, and you know it. She's being held against her will by the toff. I'm going to break the door down."

  "You are not," I hissed, glancing around.

  A few people stared as they walked past, but it was hard to tell if that was because we were lingering or because Willie was a woman dressed in men's clothes. A young man in a bloodied apron peered out of the butcher's window. He rearranged the display of meat and sausages then rearranged them again, slowly.

  "There are too many witnesses," I said. "We'll come back later. Oh, wait a moment."

  A woman with ebony skin approached from the south. She was very pretty, with sensuous lips and large, chocolate colored eyes set in a delicate heart-shaped face. Her purple outfit strained to contain her bust but showed off her tiny waist. Her proportions defied nature, and I wondered how she could even breathe with her corset laced so tightly. She held a key in one hand and a fully laden basket in the other. The end of a loaf of bread poked out from beneath a cloth.

  "Good afternoon," she said in a thick accent. "May I help you?"

  "Are you Miss L'Amour?" I asked.

  "Oui. And you are?"

  "My name is Mrs. Glass and this is my friend, Miss Johnson. We're from the Pimlico Female Protection Society, a charitable institute that seeks to reclaim young women who have fallen from the path of virtue. We want to help you." It had been my idea to pretend we were from a charity, but Willie hadn't liked it. From the way Miss L'Amour's spine stiffened, perhaps I should have listened to Willie.

  "I am not in need of your help," Miss L'Amour said.

  "Perhaps we can have a chat over a cup of tea."

  "Step aside, s'il vous plaît."

  Willie moved to block the door. "Are you being held here against your will?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Against your will, by your keeper?"

  Miss L'Amour spoke rapidly in a language that sounded French to me, but could have been made up words. I wished I'd asked Fabian along.

  "That fake accent might fool Farnsworth but it don't fool us," Willie said.

  Miss L'Amour's lips pressed together. "Your fake clothes do not fool me. You are a woman. A stupid woman."

  Willie tilted her chin forward. "How do you figure that?"

  "Because you do not see what is before your eyes." She clicked her tongue. "Come inside. You are making a scene."

  She unlocked the door and led the way up the steep stairs to the parlor above. It was a cozy space, large enough only for a sofa, armchair and occasional table. The thick brocade curtains, deep burgundy upholstery and dusky pink cushions gave the room a homely yet elegant feel.

  Miss L'Amour deposited the basket beside a small gas burner on a table in an adjoining room that seemed to be used as a larder. A second door led to a bedchamber containing an enormous four-poster covered with sea green velvet blankets and several pillows. It was unmade. Such a large bed couldn't have been brought up the narrow stairs. It must have been assembled in the bedroom.

  Miss L'Amour caught us peering into the bedroom and shut the door. "What do you want?" she asked mildly.

  "We want to know if your master treats you well," Willie said.

  Miss L'Amour bristled. "Davide is not my master. Or my keeper. He is my lover." She had no qualms admitting it. If anything, she was defiant, daring me to gasp or show shock. If only she knew the sort of household we kept, she would realize it took quite a lot to shock me nowadays.

  "Gentlemen don't pay their lovers," Willie said. "They pay their wh—"

  "Courtesans," I cut in. "They pay their courtesans. We know what you are, Miss L'Amour, and it's of no concern to us. You may live your life however you wish. We will not judge you."

  She regarded Willie from beneath thick lashes.

  "I was only making sure you weren't held against your will," Willie muttered.

  Miss L'Amour suddenly laughed, a deep, joyous sound that brought a smile to my face. Even Willie blushed and almost smiled. "It is very sweet of you to worry, Miss Johnson. I see where the mistake is made. Let me assure you, I am quite well and not a prisoner here. I am cared for." She indicated the room with an elegantly languid lift of her hand. "I live better now than I did in Paris where Davide found me two years ago. I am luckier than most."

  "Aye, but you're still at his beck and call," Willie said. "You have to be here for him whenever he wants you."

  "As does any member of staff, non? Or a shop girl? A governess? We must all be in our place of work when it is required. I am no different." She took Willie's hand and clasped it between both of hers. "Merci, Miss Johnson. I thank you for your concern, but it is not necessary. I am very content. Davide is a good man. A little, how do you say, excentrique, and a romantique, but he is kind. Now, does that satisfy you? Are you content that I do not need your charity?"

  I wanted to drop the charity ruse, but could think of nothing else on the spur of the moment. She didn't sound like a woman who would betray her lover to spite him or to extract herself from their arrangement. Making promises to help free her from his clutches would only result in another of those throaty, joyous laughs. But the truth wouldn't work either. She needed Lord Farnsworth's patronage and wouldn't assist us if he were guilty of the theft.

  "We're satisfied," I said. "We're also relieved to know no one is taking advantage of you." I scrambled to think of something else, but it was useless. This woman unnerved me. She was so confident, so sensual and lovely. I felt like an unsophisticated frump
next to her.

  Willie coughed and rubbed her throat. Her coughing increased until she was bent over, making awful choking sounds. "Water," she gasped out.

  "I have wine," Miss L'Amour said with alarm.

  Willie nodded and hustled her toward the room used as a kitchen. With Miss L'Amour's back turned, Willie jerked her head at the bedroom door.

  I hurriedly opened it and looked around. Far more attention had been paid to decorating the bedroom than the parlor. It was very feminine with its sprigged muslin bed curtains festooned with bows and tassels. Matching tassels hung from the window curtains, and a lace cloth adorned the dressing table. A green and gold Oriental rug covered part of the floor. I raced on tip toes around the room, checking under the bed, in the dresser and night table drawers. I tried the large trunk at the foot of the bed but it was locked. Damnation. It would be the perfect place to store stolen objects.

  Willie coughed again, loudly.

  I returned to the parlor where I sat on the sofa and settled into a position that I hoped made it seem as though I'd been there the entire time. Willie clutched Miss L'Amour's hand, a glass of wine in her other. Miss L'Amour's back was still to me, but she seemed to be listening intently to something Willie whispered in her ear.

  When Willie joined me in the parlor, Miss L'Amour watched her go, her smoky gaze on Willie's derriere. I pretended not to notice and hoped I didn't give away my surprise.

  "We better go, India," Willie said.

  Miss L'Amour's gaze snapped to mine then she dipped her head coyly, embarrassed to have been caught.

  "Thank you for your concern," Miss L'Amour said. "Your charity is kind, but it is not for me."

  "We're glad to hear it," I said.

  She gave Willie a small knowing smile. "Goodbye, Miss Johnson. I will see you later, yes?"

  Willie blushed and nodded.