Trinidad West

by Cecily’s Secret

  Perry gave her hands a gentle squeeze—and the letter rustled. Cecily looked up at Perry, feeling much more guilty than the situation warranted.

  Perry’s eyebrows shot up and he slowly lowered his hands, his fingers brushing lightly over her skin.

  “A love letter, I assume?” he asked.

  “Well,” Cecily said slowly. “Well, yes, actually.” Easier to agree with this guess than make something up, she decided. She couldn’t let anybody know she might be helping the prince steal away her aunt’s cook.

  “Carrying on with one of the footmen, are you?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye—but there was a shadow behind the twinkle.

  Cecily stood up as tall as she could, but they were still standing very close, so she had to crane her neck to look him sternly in the eyes.

  “How dare you, sir! To even suggest such a thing! Of course, it is not my letter. I’m delivering it for one of the maids. I helped her write it, actually.” Now why did she say that? Her brother had told her time and again that it was always best to keep lies simple. It had been unwanted advice, but she had tucked it away in her memory, just in case.

  “Ah,” Perry said in a knowing sort of way. “Helping to spur along a reluctant suitor. How very romantic of you.”

  Perry was leaning his shoulder against the wall, lounging in a particularly infuriating sort of way.

  “If you think to insult me, Mr. Munk, you are far off the mark. My nature is, in fact, of a romantic bent and I’m not ashamed to admit it. And what are you doing lurking about in stairwells?”

  “I was waiting, Miss B., not lurking.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Waiting for something interesting to happen.”

  “In a back stairway? That sounds a lot like lurking to me.”

  “It might have been if nothing had happened. But something interesting did happen, didn’t it? I stumbled upon you, Miss B.”

  Cecily gave him her sternest skeptical look—one she’d been practicing for years on Sebastian. His logic left so much to be desired that she could only ignore it.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to deliver.”

  But Perry made no move to get out of her way. He stood there, smiling down at her and said, “You really should see yourself, Miss Bettencourt. Your eyes sparkle when you’re angry.”

  “Oh! Stand aside, you odious man.” Cecily resisted the urge to stomp her foot.

  Perry emitted a snorting sound that Cecily hoped wasn’t laughter.

  “I was hoping,” he said, “that we might resume our walk that was interrupted this morning. I can wait while you deliver your letter.”

  Cecily hesitated. She wanted desperately to be rid of the letter but she didn’t want to give Perry the chance to discover the recipient.

  “It can wait,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket. “I could do with a bit of fresh air.”

  They continued up the stairs side by side, then on to the main staircase and down. Perry stopped at the bottom stair.

  “Lead on,” he said.

  As they walked through the cool, quiet entry hall they heard the voices of people gathering for tea in the yellow drawing room.

  Cecily paused. “Perhaps we should…”

  “Do you really think they’ll miss us?” Perry asked in a low voice. “We’re only minor players in this drama, after all.”

  Cecily smiled. With any luck Franco would be there, wondering where she was. With a little more luck he would notice that Perry was also not at tea. Yet somehow the thought of making Franco jealous didn’t please her as much as she thought it should. In fact, the strangest thing was happening. She could no more make herself care what her father or Franco might think if they saw her take Perry’s arm than she could stop herself from smiling as she led Perry through the deserted breakfast room and on out to the formal garden. It was a perfect, golden afternoon, the kind that made her feel nostalgic for the days when she and her cousins used to wander the grounds from dawn to dusk, before life became complicated by suitors and secret letters. They wound their way along the gravel path, heading in the general direction of the lawn beyond.

  “I would choose this over tea and polite conversation any day,” Perry said.

  “It is a beautiful place, isn’t it?”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the scenery, Miss B.,” Perry said, though the scenery did appear to have riveted his attention.

  Before Cecily could think of a reply, he said, “I believe I heard your aunt speaking of an ornamental lake, did I not?”

  “Yes. It’s just beyond the trees. Would you like to see it?”

  “I never miss an opportunity to view an ornamental lake.”

  As they walked toward the trees that bordered the lawn, a sound behind them caught Cecily’s attention. She looked over her shoulder and saw a man hurrying toward them from the house.”

  “Oh dear,” she said. “I do believe they’ve sent somebody after us.”

  “I didn’t realize missing tea was such a serious offense,” Perry said, squinting into the sun at the man, who had slowed to a walk but was now waving at them.

  “Good Lord,” Perry said.

  “What is it?”

  “That’s George Darby.”

  Perry started walking to meet George, who stopped waving as soon as he saw that he’d been recognized. Cecily trotted after and discovered that it is impossible to look mysterious while trotting to keep up with a long-legged man. She gave up in favor of what she hoped was a leisurely stroll—not aloof, but unconcerned. When she caught up with them, Perry had a firm grasp on George’s arm and was whispering frantically in his ear.

  Perry smiled a little too innocently and made the introductions.

  “But I say,” said Perry when they had gotten through the social niceties. “What on earth are you doing here, George?”

  “I’m merely a message bearer.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a letter, which he handed to Perry. “From your father’s friend.”

  “My, that sounds ominous,” Cecily said, not wanting to be left out.

  But the men’s attention had been entirely taken up by the letter. Perry’s eyes widened as he read.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said when he looked up from the letter. “I’m afraid we’ll have to finish our walk another time, Miss Bettencourt. I have to speak to our host immediately.”

  Chapter Nine

  Reginald Weldon, tenth Earl of Sedgewick, sighed, leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the intricate design of the ceiling plaster.

  “I wish old Crowell had just out and told me why he wanted you invited.”

  Perry shrugged and smiled apologetically.

  “And you say you’re definitely done with the fellow you were sent here to watch in the first place.”

  “Most definitely, sir. I can only suppose there was a grave misunderstanding that caused him to be suspected to begin with.”

  “Hmm. Well, I won’t ask you who it was.”

  Reginald cast a hopeful glance at Perry, who ignored it with a studied lack of understanding.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to know,” Reginald continued. “The thing is… Well, I suppose you can see how dreadfully awkward it is for a man in my position to be told he’s invited a traitor into his home. And then to learn that there’s a second one in the neighborhood, possibly in my own household, if this letter’s to be believed. I mean to say, I dine with the prime minister when I’m in town.”

  “I’m sure it’s quite uncomfortable for you, sir,” Perry replied. He looked at George, who had not spoken a word since he’d been introduced.

  “Time is of the essence, of course,” George said, apparently seeing that some contribution to the conversation was expected of him. “We’ve got to find the local man before the party breaks up or we’ll have no hope of discovering which of your guests is his contact. I’ll stay and assist Perry with his investigation if you’d like, sir,” he added with a wink to Perry. “An additional ma
n on the job may speed things up.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Reginald said. “Stay as long as you like. I don’t think Beatrice will be giving any more house parties for some time, after all. Really! To have invited a spy to enjoy our hospitality. Very careless. I intend to have a word with her when this is all cleared up. Excuse me, gentlemen, I must check on that foal.”

  He looked like he had forgotten about them before he even reached the door.

  “You don’t suppose he’s the spy, do you?” George wondered after a moment.

  Perry snorted. “That Italian prince, more likely. He’s got an untrustworthy air about him.”

  George stood up and helped himself to brandy from a decanter on a side table.

  “I’ll wager you say that because your mystery lady has taken a fancy to him. I saw him in London a few weeks ago. He left a trail of swooning women wherever he went. But really, Perry. What luck that she’s here. Is she as perfect up close?”

  “That’s neither here nor there. I’m not in a financial position to be noticing her perfection. Besides, we’ve got a job to do.”

  “Precisely. And won’t finishing that job put you in a financial position to think seriously about the woman of your dreams?”

  Perry stood and began to absentmindedly pick objects up and put them back down.

  “It’s not enough. I can buy the farm back, but the sheep were sold off years ago. I’d have to restock it before I could have any hope of an income. And the house needs a hundred little repairs that’ll have to wait. No women in her right mind would want to marry into that.”

  “With any luck, then, Miss Bettencourt isn’t in her right mind.” George settled deep into a chair by the empty fireplace and watched Perry pace.

  After a moment Perry stopped and said, “It doesn’t matter about the farm, anyway. She doesn’t even like me.”

  “She was walking with you, wasn’t she?”

  “Well, why not. She finds me amusing. I’d hardly call that encouraging. Most of London finds me amusing.” Perry flung himself into a chair. “I want more than that, don’t you see? I want her to be able to see past these ridiculous clothes I wear. Oh Lord, I sound like the heroine in a bad novel.”

  The words reminded Perry of the little book he had found in Cecily’s room and his face grew warm. He looked down at his hands in case he was blushing.

  “So that’s your test, then?” George asked, giving the top of Perry’s head a long steady look.

  “What?”

  “You want her to see the true Pericles Munk, not the fop in the outrageous getups. In short, you want her to see you the way Lily and I see you.”

  Perry fidgeted. “Well, yes, I suppose that’s it.”

  “But don’t you see?” George said, leaning forward. “Lily and I already know you. We knew you long before you transformed yourself into a professional party guest. If you want Miss Bettencourt to see you, you’re going to have to show yourself to her.”

  Perry leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He’d had quite enough of Perry the fop, even though playing that role made it possible to save money for his farm and still help Lily and her brood. It had seemed like such a good idea at the outset and it worked too. When he was in London, there were sometimes days on end when he didn’t have to buy himself a meal, and his shabby rooms in a less-than-desirable part of town were made bearable by his frequent stays at country houses and hunting boxes. He was a very entertaining guest, much in demand. It would take an inept hostess indeed to have a gathering fail if Pericles Munk was on her guest list.

  Even so, tired as he was of playing court jester to the Ton, the thought of removing his mask was a bit unsettling. It was one thing to be rejected for something he was merely pretending to be. It would be quite something else if Cecily was even less interested in what lay behind the mask than she was in the mask itself.

  In the stillness of the room Perry could almost hear George waiting for his reply. From the other side of the heavy door came the muffled sound of footsteps and a deep voice speaking too quietly for Perry to distinguish the words. This was followed by a burst of hearty, not-quite-ladylike laughter that Perry recognized with a peculiar twist of his stomach. Cecily had laughed just that laugh when he danced with her the night before. She threw her head back when she laughed like that and the desire to kiss her exposed neck and that silken expanse of skin to the south had driven all rational thought from his mind. It had only been the image of her glowering father, who kept flitting in and out of Perry’s peripheral vision as they danced, that had saved him from completely losing his head.

  That thought led inevitably to the moment on the stairs when he had come so close to kissing her. He was sure he would have if not for the unwelcome interruption of the letter in her hand. That letter. With its seal, which Perry had gotten enough of a look at to see that it wasn’t just a blank lump of wax, but enough of a look to identify the image in the wax.

  “If you were to write a letter for your valet to help him with a romantic pursuit, how would you seal it?”

  George gave Perry a puzzled look from over the top of his raised brandy glass. “I seem to have missed a crucial bit of conversation. What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Just imagine such a letter. Let’s say it’s intended for Lord Abercrombie’s upstairs maid down the street. You wrote the letter for Cooper because his arthritis was acting up or maybe because you have such a way with words and a romantic inclination. What would the letter look like?”

  “Me, a romantic inclination? I flattered myself that you knew me better than that. Really, after all these years.”

  “Please, George, must you always try so hard to misunderstand people? This is important.”

  George gave Perry a long look.

  “Very well,” he said after a moment. “I’ll humor you. I don’t think I’d take the trouble to seal such a letter at all. I might fold it. If Cooper wanted its contents more securely hidden he could roll it up and tie it with a ribbon. I’ve heard that ladies are partial to ribbons, probably even Lord Abercrombie’s upstairs maid.”

  “Exactly!” Perry exclaimed, triumphant. “So why did she lie to me?”

  “I think you’re going to have to fill me in on a detail or two here, old chap.”

  It was the invitation Perry had been waiting for. He launched into a recounting of his meeting with Cecily on the stairs. He paused in his narration, wondering if he could have gotten away with pulling her in a bit closer when he stopped her from falling. Perhaps if she had felt her life sufficiently endangered she would not have objected to him catching her around the waist instead of by the arms.

  “And she made no further mention of the letter?” George asked, reminding Perry he was in the middle of a conversation.

  “Not a word, though she did seem to be in quite a hurry.”

  “But not in such a hurry that she wasn’t willing to go off walking with you.”

  “Unless she didn’t want to have me see exactly where she was delivering the letter.”

  “Or unless she was more eager to walk with you than do anything else. Why are we discussing this? Do you suspect she was delivering a coded message to her accomplice?”

  Perry shrugged. He didn’t really think Cecily could be a spy. The problem was, he had trouble thinking straight when Cecily entered his thoughts.

  “Miss Bettencourt is probably our least likely candidate,” George said.

  “Perhaps,” Perry mused, “she has charmed me in order to throw me off the scent.”

  “You are fighting it, aren’t you? Why would she single you out to charm? Unless you’ve told her of your purpose,” George added in an accusatory tone.

  “I haven’t said a word.”

  “You’re not thinking straight. This business has got you suspicious of everybody. I expect you’ll start giving me prying looks any minute now.”

  “She was acting very suspiciously, George. You didn’t see her.”

  And you’re
looking for a reason to not like her, aren’t you?”

  Perry stood up and walked to the window.

  “Maybe I am. It would certainly make things simpler. I just want to concentrate on the job at hand, get it done and get my farm back. It’s very difficult to concentrate when I see Miss Bettencourt everywhere I turn.”

  “Discipline, my friend. Now about this letter. You saw the seal?”

  “Only the briefest glimpse.”

  “Has it occurred to you that the lady may be innocent, but the letter is not?”

  “But then why would she lie about it?”

  George shrugged. “That’s what you have to find out. I suggest you interrogate her thoroughly. I’m sure you can think of some way to keep her off her guard,” he added, standing up and putting his glass down. “Time to dress for dinner, I expect. I’d better go find out what godforsaken closet of a room they’ve delegated me to. I do hate arriving in the middle of a house party.”

  Perry looked fondly after him and sighed. It was good to have George at hand, but he knew he would get no peace on the subject of Cecily. Although George actively avoided any hint of romance in his own life, he was always encouraging his friends to pursue it for themselves. Perry had always found George’s matchmaking efforts entertaining. He doubted that he would enjoy it so much to have George’s energies focused on himself.

  Chapter Ten

  Cecily tried out excuses for being late as she hurried down the servants’ stairs. With any luck, she wouldn’t be late. She had dressed quickly to give herself time to deliver the letter while the servants were all still busy preparing for dinner. If all went well, she would not have to answer any questions.

  She thought back to the morning two years ago when the cook had fallen ill just before Uncle Reginald’s sister was due for a visit. Aunt Beatrice had been despondent, as though her very survival depended on impressing her snobbish sister-in-law. She had sent Cecily downstairs to check on the cook’s condition.

  Cecily strained her memory to recall what then had been an unimportant, if unusual, occurrence. She remembered the cook’s rooms vaguely. He had a bedroom and a sitting room, the same as the housekeeper. She had only seen the sitting room, as the invalid had recovered sufficiently to leave his sick bed and take some tea by the fire. The room had been bare, looking almost unlived in, but that memory would not help Cecily identify the door that led to the room. She remembered that it wasn’t at the far end of the corridor and she knew the first door was the housekeeper’s. That left the two doors in the middle.