by Tracy Grant
"Brougham’s a showman, but he has sincere beliefs."
"Yes, that’s the problem." Hubert pushed up his spectacles. "Brougham wouldn’t cavil at using a lady’s personal correspondence for his own ends. So I’d actually think you’d prefer I got them. I obviously won’t make them public."
"Not for the same reason Brougham would. But if you found something in them that would be useful to the king’s cause, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t use it."
"I’d—"
"Otherwise, you wouldn’t mind my retrieving the letters and burning them."
Hubert adjusted his right earpiece. "Surely even you see the disaster that could ensue if the king became too unpopular."
"Such as the country’s ceasing to believe in hereditary monarchy?"
Hubert gave a wry grimace as he adjusted the left earpiece. "All right. It was worth a try."
"You’re usually more adroit. For what it’s worth, I don’t think the king will topple. But I also think the queen is being ill used."
"If it were just a matter of the two of them, I’d cheerfully leave them to sort it out for themselves. But of course, it isn’t."
"Rather making the argument against hereditary monarchy." Malcolm folded his arms. "I don’t suppose you’ve gained any insights from your friends in the Elsinore League?"
"They’re hardly friends."
"With you, the word ‘friend’ is a bit elastic."
"They’re too clever to reveal anything."
"Dalton was fool enough to lose the letters."
"Dalton’s just an agent."
"An agent they trusted with a commission he bungled."
Hubert grimaced. "Yes, that was sloppy work. But tell me you’ve never had an agent let you down."
"I’ve even been known to let my superiors down, as I recall. Though I don’t think I’ve ever been this sloppy."
"Don’t fish for compliments, Malcolm. You know perfectly well you haven’t."
"All of which dances round my original question. You’ve been determined to bring down the League for more than two decades. They’ve been openly at war with you for at least two years. And yet you’re making deals with them."
"I wanted the papers. The League were willing to work with the highest bidder."
"You didn’t wonder if they were setting you up?"
"Of course I did. I’d be extremely careful before I used the papers. But since my main objective was to keep them out of Brougham’s hands, it made sense to buy them."
"We’re supposed to be allies against the League, at the moment."
"And we are. But being allies in one thing doesn’t make us allies in everything." Hubert tugged at his shirt cuff. "I should have thought your wife and father would have taught you that."
Sandy held out his arm to Bet. "You’re smiling."
Bet felt her smile deepen as she took his arm. "I’m glad we came. It’s good to be reminded of how many friends we have."
He grinned, and for a moment it was as though they were at home instead of in the midst of a vast ballroom where half the guests probably wouldn’t acknowledge her if they knew who she was. "I think I’m done doing my duty," Sandy said. "Mama and Father don’t seem to have come after all. We can have supper together. With Lucan and Nan. I’ll scout out a good table—"
He broke off, his gaze locked on a tall dark-haired woman in midnight blue satin and sapphires. Bet had only seen her from a distance, but she recognized Sandy’s mother at once. She pulled her hand from Sandy’s arm and stepped back, but Sandy caught her hand. "Mama." Sandy inclined his head.
"Alexander." Lady Marchmain took a step forwards, gaze on Sandy. In fact, Bet suddenly knew what it was like to be treated as though one were invisible. "Come with me. There’s someone I want to present you to."
Bet did her best to melt into the background, but Sandy’s grip on her hand tightened with determination. He’d always been careful to keep her away from his parents, but apparently it was a different thing when they were all actually thrown together. "I can’t now, Mama. We’re just on our way in to supper. I don’t believe you met Miss Simcox."
Lady Marchmain’s eyes widened in horror. "I don’t know what’s worse. That you brought her here or that you have the effrontery to attempt to introduce me to your common—"
"Mama," Sandy said, in a voice like ice. "Don’t say anything neither of us will be able to get past."
Lord Marchmain stepped up beside his wife. He had graying blond hair and a tired face, but his eyes, Bet thought, were not unkind. As he put a hand on his wife’s arm, Bet felt a flash of unexpected solidarity. They were both trying to prevent a scene. "No need for a disturbance, Helen. It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Simcox. We’ve heard a great deal about you."
"Thank you." Bet curtsied and managed to keep her voice steady.
Spots of crimson darker than her rouge showed on Lady Marchmain’s cheeks. "Marcus—"
"We must let Sandy escort Miss Simcox into supper, Helen. I wouldn’t have it be said he was derelict in his duty."
Sandy held his arm out to Bet. Bet took it—this seemed the safest way out of the conversation for all of them.
"I’m sorry," Sandy murmured, white-lipped, as they went through the archway to the supper room. "I should never have exposed you to that."
"I shouldn’t have come," Bet said, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. "It was bound to be awkward for all of us."
"It wouldn’t have been awkward at all if Mama could have been civil or at least kept her distance if she couldn’t manage civility. She’s disappointed me a great deal lately. But I didn’t think she’d stoop—"
"Sandy." Bet tightened her fingers on his arm. "She’s your mother. No matter what. Family are important. Don’t ever let anything come before that."
Sandy looked down at her, his features tight, then seemed to force a smile to his face. "Let’s enjoy supper. There are Lucan and Nan. I told them to find a table."
Sam and Nan were at a table on the edge of the room, thank goodness. Sam was leaning over to speak with a gentleman at the next table. Rupert Caruthers, Bet realized. He was a viscount and an MP but he was a friend of the Rannochs’ and now of hers as well. Nan waved to them.
"Good to meet an old friend," Sam said as Sandy and Bet joined them.
"Lucan was my best supplier in the Peninsula when I needed things unofficially," Rupert said with an easy smile. "And yes, I knew even then he supplied the opposite side as well. More often, I think."
"I did have my preferences," Sam said. "No offense."
"None taken."
Bertrand Laclos joined them. "Lucan supplied me, too. When I was undercover working with the French." He dropped into a chair beside Rupert with an easy smile. Bertrand had been a formidable agent, and now, though no one had ever quite said as much to Bet, she knew he helped former Bonapartists escape the Continent. And she also knew, though no one had ever quite put it into words either, that he and Rupert were lovers. "I flattered myself Lucan didn’t know I was a double," Bertrand added.
"Oh, I was taken in all right," Sam said. "Half the time I couldn’t even recognize you in your different disguises. But then, there were plenty who worked for different sides. Including our host. Still can’t get over the idea of him as someone—"
"Safe?" Nan asked.
"Someone who believes in something."
"Yes," Bertrand said. "He has a lot of surprises. I met him once or twice on missions. Under different identities."
"But you could recognize him?" Bet asked.
"Yes." Bertrand smiled. "At least, there were times I recognized him. Not at once. And I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were other times I encountered him and still don’t know whom I was dealing with."
"Sam says Lady Carfax was just as formidable." Nan said.
"She was," Rupert said. "They both still are."
Sam shot a look at him. "We’re on a battlefield right now, aren’t we?"
"Perhaps a tilting fi
eld would be more accurate," Rupert said. "But tonight is definitely a shot across the bow, if I’m not mixing my metaphors."
They got plates of food and somehow Rupert and Bertrand turned their chairs round to join the table Bet and Sandy were sharing with Nan and Sam, and Bet found she was laughing and not worrying about Sam and Nan and almost forgot about Sandy’s parents for seconds at a time. She was giggling at a joke Rupert had made when a scream sounded from the table on the other side.
"My bracelet! It’s gone!"
17
Bet looked up to see a stout lady in a puce satin turban and gown clutching her wrist.
"Must have fallen off," said a red-faced gentleman seated beside her.
"Don’t you think I’d have realized?" she said.
"You don’t know what’s happening with your jewels half the time. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached to your neck."
Rupert pushed his chair back and got to his feet. "I’m sure it’s somewhere about, Lady Derby. Let us help you look."
Bertrand and Sandy got up to join in the search as well, and after they did, Bet, Nan, and Sam also did, holding back a bit, as none of them knew the Derbys. Others from nearby tables joined in as well. A flurry of search followed, including some indecorous poking under Lady Derby’s skirts. "I tell you it couldn’t have fallen off," Lady Derby said. "I just had the stones cleaned and reset, and Rundle & Bridge checked the clasp." She scanned the group now clustered round her table. "You." Her gaze fastened on Sam.
"I beg pardon, ma’am?" Sam straightened up. He was on his knees, looking under the table with the aid of a candle taken from their own table.
Lady Derby stared down at him as though he were a rat that had crawled out from beneath the damask tablecloth. "You stole it."
"I what?" Sam sat back on his heels. "No, upon my word. Wouldn’t dream of such a thing, ma’am. I’m sure the bracelet is about here somewhere."
"You would say that. You jostled up against me at the buffet table."
Sam’s shoulders straightened. "Madam, I did not—"
"Lady Derby." Sandy pushed himself to his feet on the other side of the table. "There must be some mistake. Mr. Lucan is a friend of mine."
"He’s a friend of all of ours," Rupert said, getting to his feet as well.
"Who is Mr. Lucan?" Lady Derby demanded.
"The gentleman you’ve accused," Bertrand said. "We were all sharing supper a few moments before. Upon my honor, he would never do anything of the sort."
"It’s not your honor I’m concerned with, Mr. Laclos. It’s his."
"Mr. Lucan’s honor is unimpeachable," Sandy said.
"Good of you, Trenor, but no need to make a fuss." Sam blew out the candle.
"I’m afraid you’re not to be trusted, Alexander," Lady Derby said. "Everyone knows the company you consort with these days."
Sandy’s gaze grew cold in a way Bet had never seen. "What precisely are you referring to, Lady Derby?"
"I think it’s plain enough." Lady Derby’s gaze shot to Bet, who had gone still kneeling beside Sandy.
"Do not force me to take offense, Lady Derby," Sandy said.
"Sandy—" Bet pushed herself to her feet and plucked at his sleeve.
"Lady Derby," Rupert said, before Sandy could speak, "perhaps we could repair to one of the salons—"
"With my bracelet in this room? I think not."
"The footmen can organize a search," Bertrand said.
"There’s no need to search," Lady Derby declared.
"Lady Derby—" Sandy said in a voice that sent a chill of fear through Bet.
"I appreciate it, Trenor, but let me handle this." Sam took a step round the table towards Lady Derby. "I don’t have the bracelet, madam. I’m not a thief. And if you don’t believe that, believe that I’d be a fool to have taken it under these circumstances."
"Why should I believe anything you say?" Lady Derby asked.
Sandy drew a breath of outrage. "Because—"
"I demand we send to Bow Street," Lady Derby said, gaze on Sam.
"No need to send anywhere." Jeremy Roth emerged from the crowd. Bet breathed a sigh of relief. Not only was Jeremy Roth a Bow Street runner, he was eminently sensible. And as he was not one of the beau monde, either, she’d always felt a certain kinship with him. "Lady Derby, we can begin an investigation into the loss of your bracelet," Roth said. "Perhaps we could speak in one of the anterooms."
"I will not be moved into an anteroom, and there’s no need to investigate. That man took it." Lady Derby gestured at Sam. "Search him."
"I can scarcely search a fellow guest."
"See here, my good man," Lord Derby said to Sam. "Empty out your pockets."
Roth turned to Sam. "You have no need to follow such a suggestion."
"On the contrary. Glad to do it." Sam drew himself up to his full height. He could have bested most of the men in the room. So could Nan. But his expression spoke of wounded pride, not an impulse to battle. He emptied out his pockets onto the damask tablecloth laden with plates and glasses with the dignity of a judge, while the crowd looked on with interest. Coins. A pocketknife. A small wooden horse that belonged to Nan’s daughter Sarah. A perfume vial that was probably Nan’s. A pack of cards. Two spare buttons. And then, just as he stared at them with the contempt of one who has proved his case, the unmistakable glitter of diamonds.
Sam stared at the sparkling stones and white gold in disbelief, momentarily robbed of speech. Bet heard Nan draw a sharp breath, then saw her clamp her lips shut.
Lady Derby snatched up the bracelet and held it aloft. "Proof. How dare you!" The stones caught the candlelight. "Arrest him." Her gaze shot to Roth.
"I’ll do nothing of the sort. Lady Derby, you must realize that if Mr. Lucan had actually taken the bracelet, there’d have been no reason for him to agree to voluntarily empty out his pockets."
"What are you suggesting?" Lord Derby demanded. "That someone deliberately planted the bracelet on Lucan?"
"That seems to be the obvious conclusion."
"Why, in God’s name?"
"Why indeed?"
"Must have been that girl." Lady Derby’s gaze went to Bet. "She wanted it."
Sandy surged forwards, pulling free of Bet’s grasp on his arm. "You will retract that remark, madam."
"Going to challenge Lady Derby to a duel, Sandy?" Someone in the crowd let out a rough laugh.
"I won’t stand by while she commits slander."
"What seems to be the trouble?" Lord Carfax—Julien, as Bet was learning to call him because she couldn’t call him "Mr. St. Juste" anymore—strolled through the crowd, which somehow parted without his doing any pushing. Bertrand was behind him. Only then did Bet realize that Bertrand had melted away from the crowd in that quiet way he could. He must have gone to fetch Julien.
Julien cast a look of inquiry round, though Bet was sure Bertrand had already briefed him on what was happening. He raised a brow in a way that seemed to dare everyone to ruffle the cool waters in the supper room.
"This man stole my bracelet," Lady Derby said. "Or that girl did and put it in his pocket."
Sandy’s hands curled into fists. Julien dropped a hand on his shoulder, a fraction of a second, Bet thought, before Sandy lunged at Lady Derby. "I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding. I’m quite sure my friends would do nothing of the sort."
"The bracelet was in his pocket," Lord Derby said.
"And he turned out his pockets without a blink," Roth said. "The bracelet appears to have been planted on Mr. Lucan without his knowledge."
"By—" Lady Derby began.
Julien held up a hand before Sandy could take umbrage again. "I fail to see what the fuss is about. You have your bracelet back, Lady Derby?"
"Yes. But—"
"They look like particularly fine stones." Lady Carfax—Kitty—slipped through the crowd to stand beside Julien. "I’m so glad you have it safely back, Lady Derby. It must be a great relief. I can quite see why yo
u were concerned."
"Yes, but having it back doesn’t explain how it disappeared. It didn’t slip off my wrist into that man’s pocket."
"No, indeed," Julien agreed in a cordial voice. "I can’t know for a certainty, of course, but I would say this has all the hallmarks of an undergraduate prank. I never attended university myself, but I’m familiar enough with stories from friends to know the type of action."
"You think someone took my bracelet and put it in Mr. Lucan’s pocket as a prank?" Lady Derby demanded.
"Why else would someone take a bracelet and hide it in the pocket of a quite unconnected person?"
Lady Derby opened her mouth as though to object, but apparently could not frame adequate words.
"All settled, I think," Julien said. "My apologies, Lucan. I’m sure when Lady Derby recovers the power of speech, she will tender her apologies for the inconvenience to you and to Miss Simcox, as well."
"No matter." Sam waved a hand. "I’m fine."
"So am I." Bet tucked her hand through Sandy’s arm, willing him to restraint.
"You must all have some more champagne," Kitty said before anyone could protest. "Oh, good. Here’s Giles with a fresh bottle just in time."
18
"Out with it, Sylvie." Julien fell into step beside Sylvie St. Ives, fingers curled round her gloved arm before she even turned to look at him. "Why did you do it?"
"Why did I do what?"
Julien tightened his grip on her arm. "Plant Lady Derby’s bracelet on Lucan."
Sylvie pulled free of his grip and smoothed her glove. "What on earth makes you think I did that?"
"Among other things, because you’re one of the few people present with the skills to carry it off."
Sylvie pulled away from him and slid a gold bracelet up her arm. "Don’t be silly, Julien. Either of the Rannochs or the O’Roarkes or the Davenports—probably all four of them—could have done it. Your wife certainly could have done it."
"Point taken. Which leaves aside the fact that none of them would have a motive."
"And I would? I have several lovely diamond bracelets. Lady Derby’s is a vulgar setting and the stones are inferior."
