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

by C. J. Archer

  "Did he return with anything?" Matt asked.

  "A box." She spread her hands apart. "About this big."

  "Large enough for the coronet."

  "He wouldn't tell anyone what was in it."

  "Did you tell the maid that he gave Mrs. Landers a gift on the night of the soiree?" I asked.

  Willie nodded. "The maid knew nothing about a gift. She reckons none of the staff knew or it'd be the talk among the servants."

  "So the butler is still a suspect," Aunt Letitia said. "What will you do, Matthew?"

  "Confront Mrs. Landers," he said. "I can think of no other option open to us. We have to find out what the butler gave her."

  "I'll do it," I said.

  "I was hoping you'd say that. Visit her tomorrow while I'm with Farnsworth at Tattersalls."

  "I'm coming with you to Tattersalls, Matt. I'll visit Mrs. Landers in the morning. We're not meeting Lord Farnsworth until three."

  One side of his mouth curved up. "There won't be many women there."

  "Probably none," I agreed.

  "You'll be a rose among thorns."

  Willie snorted. "More like a cat among pigeons. Or a mouse among the horses."

  "It's sweet of you to think of me as a mouse," I said. "But there's nothing mousey about me."

  Matt just grinned.

  Monday dawned cool, wet and windy, the sort of day that kept ladies of Mrs. Landers' station indoors. Unless one had to go out to work or perform errands for an employer, it was best to keep warm and dry.

  "How delightful," she said, with genuine enthusiasm upon receiving us in the drawing room. "I'm so pleased to see you again, Mrs. Glass."

  I had expected a less amiable greeting after I ruined her party and devalued her magical collection. It was an enormous relief to be received with friendship. I probably didn't deserve it.

  She invited me in and asked Wentworth to serve tea. Unlike his mistress, the butler's reception was cool. Not that he addressed me directly, but there was certainly a frostiness in the room that vanished when he left to fetch the tea.

  "I just wanted to clear the air after the other night," I said. "I'm truly sorry about the toy drummer. I should not have spoken in front of everyone."

  "It's quite all right," she said with a hint of steel in her tone. "It's in your nature to be honest."

  "I still should have saved the truth for later. It wasn't my intention to crush your spirit."

  Tears welled in her eyes but she rapidly blinked them away.

  "To make up for it, I wanted to give you a gift," I said.

  "Oh, that's not necessary, Mrs. Glass." She laughed, scanning me from head to toe. She spotted my black and silver beaded reticule.

  "My gift is not a physical item," I said. "Not precisely anyway. It's words."

  Her brow wrinkled. "Words?" Her forehead cleared. "Oh! A spell! Oh, Mrs. Glass, do tell me you're going to speak a spell for me."

  "I am. Would you like it in a watch or clock?"

  She clapped her hands. "Marvelous. Just marvelous. I'm thrilled and honored." She leapt to her feet. "Let me see. The old long case clock in the hall is too big. My husband's watch is with him and mine has sentimental value." She gave me an apologetic look. "I keep my magic items locked away, as you saw, and I'd rather have my watch on me. How about this clock?" She indicated the exquisite gold mantel clock with bronze classical figures representing Study and Philosophy bracketing the white enamel dial.

  I checked the time against my watch. "It's running on time."

  "Please do the spell anyway," she begged.

  The clock was too heavy to lift safely so I left it in situ and rested my hand over the top. I quietly spoke the spell. A warm flare shot through me and burst out of my fingertips into the clock.

  I removed my hand.

  Mrs. Landers blinked at me. "Is it done?"

  I nodded.

  "I expected sparks."

  "There's nothing to see," I told her. Only Matt's watch glowed when he used it. I assumed that was because the magic was being withdrawn. None of the other magical objects I'd encountered had their magic used in such a manner.

  Mrs. Landers stood back and admired the clock. "Wait until I tell Mr. Landers. Thank you for your special gift, Mrs. Glass."

  "Will you lock it away with the others?" I asked as I sat again.

  "Of course. It must be protected."

  Wentworth brought in the tea and set the tray down on the table between us. He didn't leave immediately but hovered by the door.

  "That will be all, Wentworth," Mrs. Landers said.

  He hesitated. "Are you sure, Madam?"

  "Of course."

  He retreated but left the door open. Mrs. Landers poured the tea and handed me a cup.

  "He seems very dedicated to you," I ventured.

  "He's a marvel. He was a footman in my father's household, you know. When I married and Mr. Landers said we needed a butler here in London, I suggested him. We're lucky to have him. It's terribly difficult to find reliable staff in the city, so Mr. Landers tells me."

  "You are very fortunate indeed," I said with a sly little smile. "I noticed at the soiree just how dedicated he is to you."

  Her face froze in a tight smile. "Pardon?"

  My suggestive overture made me feel somewhat dirty. Although relationships between staff and their employers must go on behind closed doors, it was quite a different matter to accuse one's hostess.

  I forged on anyway. "He comforted you when you were upset. Indeed, he even gave you a gift."

  "I have no idea what you mean." She sipped her tea, her face flushed.

  "Come now, Mrs. Landers," I said, mimicking the tone that Louisa used when about to make a snide remark. "It was clear that he's in love with you."

  "No!" The word burst out of her mouth like a bullet.

  "Of course he is. I witnessed how he was with you."

  She glanced at the door. "He's good to me. Nothing more."

  "It seemed like more." I loathed myself at that moment. The more I pushed, the more horrified Mrs. Landers became. Because the thought was abhorrent to her, or because I had discovered their secret? "He gave you a lover's gift," I went on. "It was a magical object, wasn't it? He knows how much you value them."

  "Lord, no! Nothing like that." She turned away, her face glowing.

  I waited, hoping she would dig her own grave. But she suddenly got to her feet. "Come with me," she said. "I'll show you what he gave me that night."

  We passed Wentworth on our way out of the drawing room. "Madam?"

  "Stop fussing, Wentworth," she snapped. "I'm not a child."

  The butler sank back against the wall.

  Mrs. Landers lifted her skirts and led the way up two flights of stairs to the level that was reserved for the family's private chambers. She marched down the corridor and into a bedroom, startling her ladies' maid as she inspected a dress hem by the window. Mrs. Landers asked her to leave.

  Once alone, she stood in the middle of the room. It was a feminine bedchamber with floral curtains. Colored perfume bottles and pots for creams were arranged neatly on the dressing table. The bedspread was embroidered with roses and vines, and against the pillows was a yellow-haired doll dressed in a blue and white gingham dress with a white apron.

  Mrs. Landers pointed to the doll. "Would a man give the woman he loved a doll she cherished as a child?"

  "I…don't know. Mrs. Landers, I'm sorry—"

  "You're not leaving here until you understand, Mrs. Glass," she said primly. "That doll was my constant companion as a child. I had no friends. My company consisted of my parents, some elderly neighbors and the servants. And that doll. When I came to live with Mr. Landers in London, I didn't think I'd need my childish toy. But it wasn't easy for me here. I missed home. Wentworth knew that, and he thought my beloved doll would once again be a comfort. He wrote to my family's housekeeper asking for the doll to be sent here. It arrived last Monday afternoon, but he waited for the right time t
o give it to me."

  "Monday afternoon?" I said weakly.

  "Apparently he had to rush to get to the post office before it closed at six, but then he didn't have the courage to give it to me straight away. He worried he'd overstepped. On the evening of the party, after you—after my toy drummer was proven to be a fake—he felt it was the right time. Perhaps you still think we are lovers, even now, but I can assure you, we are not. He is merely concerned about me."

  I could have pointed out that wanting her to be happy was a sign that he loved her, but I'd done enough damage for the day. He might be in love with her, but she wasn't in love with him.

  My task was not yet complete, however. "May I take a closer look at her?" I asked. "I do so love dolls."

  "Go ahead," she said, a little softer. "She's nothing grand."

  "I can see she's special to you, and well loved." I picked up the doll. She wasn't warm to touch. I ran my hand over her hair. It felt real but not warm. Her arms and torso didn't hold magical heat either. Wentworth had not sought out an expensive magical gift for his employer, just a sentimental one. That wasn't the act of a man who would steal to please her.

  I put the doll back, nestling her against the pillow where she smiled at us with full, pink lips. "I'm sorry for my ridiculous behavior," I said. "I've been cruel. I do hope you can forgive me."

  "Of course, Mrs. Glass. You are always welcome here."

  I doubted it. I suspected I would never be invited back. What I did know for certain was that neither Mrs. Landers nor her butler stole the coronet.

  Lord Farnsworth stood at the stone archway of the horsey capital of London, as Tattersalls was called by many. The auction yard in Knightsbridge was responsible for the sale of most of the city's riding and carriage horses, and attending auction day at Tattersalls was one of the great gentlemanly pleasures, so Matt told me. He'd heard all about it from Lord Cox whom he'd visited that morning.

  Lord Farnsworth spotted Matt first but his gaze soon settled on me as we approached. He eyed me coolly. "You'll grow bored out here, Mrs. Glass," he said after greetings.

  "I don't plan on waiting out here," I said. "I'm going in with you."

  He laughed. When I merely smiled back, he turned to Matt. "A fine joke, Glass. Very amusing. But I wouldn't want my wife hanging about outside Tattersalls. Is your conveyance near?"

  "She's coming inside," Matt said.

  Lord Farnsworth's brow plunged. "She can't!"

  "There's no law against it, is there?" I asked.

  "Should be," he muttered.

  I took his arm. "Come along, my lord. Time is a-wasting."

  "You won't like it."

  "Why not?"

  "It smells of horse."

  "Every street in London smells of horse."

  He sighed. "Most unprecedented, this."

  "I'll try not to embarrass you."

  "My dear Mrs. Glass, it's not me who shall be embarrassed if you get ahead of yourself. If you so much as raise an eyebrow during the auction, your husband will find himself with stock he might not want."

  "I'll try not to buy the pretty horses. Only the fast ones."

  "Very amusing." His frown continued as we entered the auction yard.

  The spacious area reminded me of London's railway stations with its grand glass roof overhead letting in an abundance of light. In the middle of the yard was a magnificent colonnaded structure that looked like a classical temple, but I soon realized was a fountain.

  "Sorry," Lord Farnsworth said to a gentleman who stepped aside to let us pass. "I'm very sorry," he said to another.

  I thought he was apologizing for muscling through the crowd, but after several more apologies, I realized they were for me. Not only did he not want me there, but none of the others seemed to, either. They stared at me as if I'd grown two heads. There were no other women present among the hundred or so gentlemen.

  "All around the perimeter are the stables," Lord Farnsworth said to Matt. "There's a viewing gallery up there, where I suggest Mrs. Glass stands. Down here amongst it is more fun but not appropriate for a lady."

  "And who do I speak to if I want to find out about the quality of today's offerings?" Matt asked.

  "The quality is for you to judge. There'll be someone on hand to answer any questions about sires, that sort of thing. Want to take a look?"

  "I prefer to go alone," Matt said. "Do you mind escorting my wife to the gallery?"

  Lord Farnsworth looked as though he minded very much. "Don't you want help, old chap?" he asked, somewhat desperately. "I'm very good at picking out a mudder. Got a knack for it, in fact. I don't want you making a poor decision at your first Tattersalls auction."

  "I'll be better without my wife's influence." Matt shot me an apologetic shrug.

  "Then why's she here?"

  "For the thrill," I said, tightening my grip on his arm so he wouldn't follow after Matt. Lord Farnsworth's glare drilled into Matt's back as if willing him to return and take charge of me. "Don't worry about him. My husband is quite good at choosing the right stock."

  Lord Farnsworth sighed. "Come along, then. I'll find you a nice spot to stand where you can see the action from a safe distance."

  He directed me through the crowd, apologizing all the way. "This isn't the place for a woman," he said, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

  "Oh, I don't know." I took up a position in the gallery, overlooking the auction yard where a horse with a gleaming black coat was being taken through its paces. "Lots of women like horses. I never learned to ride but I can appreciate a fast racehorse."

  "Perhaps when you move to the country you can learn."

  "Move?"

  "When old Rycroft fertilizes the daisies and your husband installs himself in the family pile. There'll be opportunity aplenty to learn to ride then." He was too short to see the proceedings from behind me so maneuvered himself into position on my right. "Lots of new clocks too, I s'pose. You'll have a grand time in the country." He sniffed. "Not my thing, of course. Too many matrons, not enough gambling hells."

  "You do like horses, I see, and gambling. And magic objects, of course," I added, steering the conversation in a direction that would serve my purpose. I turned to him suddenly, startling him. "Tell me, now that we are alone, who do you think stole the coronet?"

  "Dear lady, I don't have so much as an inkling."

  "I suspect it's someone from the club."

  He looked over his shoulder. "Where's Glass got to? Perhaps I should go and find him, see how he's getting on."

  I caught his arm. "He won't appreciate the interference."

  "Interference?" he spluttered. "I say, my opinion is worth something around here."

  I hugged his arm in case he decided to leave anyway, and giggled into my hand like a silly girl. "I have to confess that I thought you had taken it."

  "A horse?" he asked, still looking for Matt, or perhaps just an escape route.

  "The coronet."

  He swung around to face me. "Me?"

  I gave a little shrug. "You're a gambler and gamblers like taking risks. Theft is an enormous risk."

  "Gambling doesn't land a fellow in prison. I'm not a thief, Mrs. Glass."

  "No, of course not." I laughed lightly. "As I said, it was just a passing thought when I first met you."

  The auction of the first horse began and we both turned our attention to the yard. The auctioneer stood on a wooden rostrum, the horse and its handler beside him. Someone placed an opening bid but I didn't see where it came from. I soon got caught up in the auction and assumed Lord Farnsworth did too.

  "You can look through my house," he said, proving his thoughts were elsewhere. "Today. Right after the auction."

  "My lord?"

  "I want to prove I didn't take the coronet." He looked serious, not at all like the jovial idiot I was used to.

  "There's no need. I believe you." I could have kicked myself. My manners had stopped me accepting his offer and searching his house. Perh
aps that was precisely what he'd hoped and he was bluffing, poker-style. There was one way to rectify my mistake. "I'm sure if you did take it, you wouldn't store it at home." I lowered my voice and leaned closer. "You would hide it elsewhere. At your mistress's apartment, for example."

  He went very still. Only a vein pulsed high in his throat. "My what?"

  "Don't blame my husband," I said. "It wasn't he who told me about her."

  His nostrils flared.

  "While I don't approve of women like that, I do want you to know that I don't blame either her or you,” I went on. “You are not married and she is quite possibly better off with your arrangement. That is neither here nor there." I bit the inside of my cheek before I talked myself out of the opportunity that had just presented itself.

  "I beg you, don't tell any of your friends about her," he whispered.

  "Of course not. I have no friends among your set anyway."

  "You know the Rycrofts. Anyway, ladies gossip." He screwed up his nose. "They've got nothing better to do."

  "That's because all the interesting endeavors are reserved for the men." I indicated the auction yard. "If we could come to Tattersalls, we wouldn't need to pass the time gossiping in parlors."

  His lips flattened. "Please, Mrs. Glass, for the sake of my future wife, do not tell any of the Rycrofts about Angelique. It wouldn't be fair."

  "For your future wife?"

  He cleared his throat. "Yes, of course. That's what I meant. Not fair for the girl I eventually marry to know someone came before her. Wives don't like that sort of thing."

  "So I hear."

  "It's going to end, anyway."

  "When?"

  He stared down into the yard and applauded along with the crowd as a filly was sold.

  "My lord?" I prompted.

  "Soon. I've got my eye on a prospective bride. Good breeding, pleasing face, not too much of a bore. I think we'll get along."

  "Have you told Angelique that it must end?"

  "Not yet."

  "You really ought to. That way you can propose to this girl with a clear conscience."