The Black Diamond

by Andrea Kane

  Too curious to wait, Aurora tucked the sketchpad beneath her arm and went downstairs, peeking into the first sitting room she encountered.

  "May I help you, Your Grace?"

  Aurora jumped, whirling about to face the Morland butler. "Oh, Thayer. You startled me. Yes. I was looking for my husband."

  "He's in his late father's study," was the haughty reply.

  "Which is…?"

  "Down the hall, fourth door on your left."

  "Thank you." Aurora hastened off, still unnerved by Thayer, the manor … everything that reminded her of Lawrence Bencroft.

  The slam of a drawer greeted her as she stepped into the study.

  "Julian?" she asked tentatively, watching him rifle through the desk.

  He was on his feet instantly. "Did you find something?"

  "I don't think so—at least nothing significant. 'Tis just that all the bedrooms I went through were utterly bare with the exception of the last. I found this—" She held out the pad. "—in the desk."

  Julian walked around and took the sketchbook, flipping it open to the first scene. An odd expression crossed his face and he scrutinized the picture, drinking in every stroke, almost as if he'd been reunited with a long-lost friend and wanted to absorb every detail he'd missed during the time they'd been apart. Swallowing hard, he sifted through the pages, pausing now and again to study a particular scene or part thereof.

  "They're exceptional," Aurora offered softly, feeling as if she was intruding upon an intimate reunion—and as if a vast chasm had suddenly sprung up and was now separating her from her husband.

  "Yes. They are. He was incredibly talented. I'd almost forgotten." Julian turned away, his tone strained, his shoulders stiff. Wordlessly he placed the pad atop the desk.

  "Did Hugh draw those sketches?" Aurora tried.

  A prolonged pause. "Yes. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to discuss my brother."

  "Why not? He obviously meant a great deal to you."

  "He did. But he's been gone over thirteen years."

  "My parents have been gone nearly eleven. That doesn't mean I've stopped missing them."

  Slowly Julian turned to face her, his stance less rigid, his expression veiled. "I know, soleil. And I'm sorry for all you've endured, both then and now. However, my situation is entirely different. Any unresolved issues I have regarding Hugh involve much more than a sense of loss or grief. So while I appreciate your concern, please—don't deem me some broken toy that needs fixing."

  Frustration annihilated discretion. "A broken toy?" Aurora blurted. "Hardly. What I deem you is a stubborn man who needs friendship. Or who needs anyone, for that matter. You're so bloody self-contained, so determined to preserve your damned autonomy. You infuriate me!"

  To Aurora's amazement, a corner of Julian's mouth lifted. "And you're going to reform me?"

  "I'm going to try," Aurora retorted. "If you'll let me."

  For a long moment, Julian said nothing. Then, he leaned back against the desk, regarding her from beneath hooded lids. "What would you like to know?"

  "About your brother. Tell me about Hugh."

  "Why?"

  "Because he was an important person in your life. Because you obviously cared a great deal about him. And because I have the strangest feeling he's indirectly responsible for our marriage."

  That brought a flicker of interest. "Do you?"

  "Yes. If you recall, on the day you proposed I said I believed there was some reason—or person—that was compelling you to right the past, to find the black diamond in order to untarnish the Bencroft name. Someone other than your father or your grandfather. You chose not to answer me then. Perhaps you'll answer me now. Was that person your brother?"

  "Ever the intuitive one," Julian murmured, folding his arms across his chest. "Very well, soleil, yes, it was."

  "Then I'd like to hear about him."

  "Hugh was the finest man I'd ever known—principled, compassionate, wise beyond his years, even as a child."

  "Were the two of you close?"

  "We were as different as day and night. Hugh was even-tempered, composed. I was opinionated, wild. He was as stable and traditional as the heir apparent he would have become; I, on the other hand, was restless, impatient—disinterested in the estate, the businesses, and a title that meant as little to me as the unsavory man who held it. Hugh chose to overlook—no, I suppose a better choice of words would be that he chose to accept, though never share—our father's utter lack of scruples. I didn't, couldn't. Nor could I understand Hugh's tolerance. He himself was such a decent, moral man. But he believed in loyalty to one's family; that was one of his most fervent principles. Now that I think of it, I suppose the only traits my brother and I truly had in common were our commitment to our respective principles and our devotion to each other." Julian lowered his gaze, stared at the floor. "I wish we'd also shared my good health and strong constitution. But we didn't. Hugh was as frail as I was hardy. I scarcely recall a time when he wasn't either ill or recovering from an illness. I used to lie awake at night listening to his coughs and wishing I could share some of my vigor with him. Unfortunately it wasn't possible. When he died…" A shrug. "…the last filament connecting me with Morland Manor was severed."

  A lump formed in Aurora's throat. "I remember the year he died," she said quietly. "I was young, but I vividly recall Slayde relaying the news to my parents when he returned from Oxford on holiday. He was terribly upset, family differences or not. Clearly he thought very highly of your brother."

  "Slayde was decent as hell when Hugh died, despite the hatred that existed between our families. I've never forgotten him for that. I never will."

  "As I said, you and Slayde are alike in many ways."

  "Including our commitment to our families—at least those members of our families who need and deserve that commitment. Slayde would give his life to protect yours. I didn't have that option; I couldn't save Hugh no matter how hard I prayed, how desperately I tried. But I'll be damned if I'll let his name be tarnished—either by my father and grandfather's evil or by a theft that was never committed. So, yes—I intend to restore Hugh's honor. I only wish to God I could restore his life."

  Aurora couldn't help it. She went to Julian, her palms caressing his forearms. "Hugh's honor is as intact as your feelings for him. Neither need be restored. Why would you believe otherwise?"

  "Because as my father cleverly pointed out, Hugh's honor is no longer his to demonstrate but mine to reestablish."

  "Why would Lawrence say that?"

  "To get me to do his bidding. And the damned thing about it is, the bastard's reasoning was sound. Every wretched word of it."

  "He conveyed all this to you after Hugh's death?"

  "No—after his own."

  Aurora sucked in her breath. "I don't understand."

  "Let me fill in the missing pieces, then." Now that Julian had begun talking, he seemed unable to stop. "My great-grandfather isn't the only one who bequeathed me a formidable challenge the day I asked Slayde for your hand. When Henry delivered Geoffrey's strongbox to Morland Manor, I also had the dubious privilege of hearing my father's will read. He, too, left me something—only in his case it was hardly a gift." Aurora felt Julian's arms tense. "He bequeathed me the curse of the black diamond, dared me to find the stone and undo the curse. And he accomplished precisely what he sought: my cooperation. How? By reminding me that it was not only my name and his that were sullied, it was my brother Hugh's as well. That until the stone's theft was resolved, Hugh's name would always be associated with a tarnished past. And that as the last remaining Bencroft, I was the only one who could right this heinous wrong—not for him, but for Hugh. He was right. As were you when you guessed I had another motivation for wanting to find that bloody diamond. I do. And that motivation is my brother."

  "Lawrence blackmailed you into finding the stone?" Aurora repeated, stunned that even a scoundrel such as Lawrence would stoop so low. "He actually taunted you into
feeling it was your responsibility to clear Hugh's name?"

  "I'm immune to my father's barbs, Aurora. At least those aimed at me and those without basis. But consider it. As the last living Bencroft—and a man who cares not for his own reputation but for his brother's—whose responsibility is it to protect Hugh's memory if not mine?"

  As livid as Aurora was, she couldn't argue with Julian's logic. Whether or not the burden he now carried was undeserved, it was his nonetheless. "No wonder you were hell-bent on convincing me to marry you," she murmured.

  "That wasn't my only reason."

  "I know," she assured him quickly. "I didn't mean to imply that it was. Nor am I surprised by your motives. As I said, I knew something personal was driving you. I simply didn't know what. Now I do." Her small jaw set. "But if I hated Lawrence Bencroft before, I could kill him now."

  "Because of me?"

  "Weren't you the one who just spoke of protecting one's family?" Aurora demanded. "Well, you're my husband. Doesn't it stand to reason that I'd want to protect you, too?"

  A tiny flame warmed Julian's eyes. "Yes, soleil, I suppose it does." He drew her against him, pressed her head to his waistcoat. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." She smiled, elated that she'd actually made some progress in her attempts to penetrate Julian's stubborn emotional wall. "See? Sharing your feelings is a great deal like making love. It only hurts the first time, and only for an instant. After that it's sheer pleasure."

  Julian's laughter rumbled against her ear. "I'll take your word for it, soleil."

  "See that you do." Aurora's gaze fell on the sketchbook. "Hugh was a very talented artist."

  "Yes, he was." Julian released her, bending to scoop up the pad. "He had an incredible flair for detail. In that way, 'twas he, not I, who took after Geoffrey."

  "Your great-grandfather sketched?"

  "Not in the true sense of the word, no. Still, I'd say he was quite good. Wouldn't you?" Julian pointed at the wall, where a detailed sketch of Morland's grounds hung.

  "Geoffrey drew that?" Surprised, Aurora walked over, closely examining the diagram, which appeared to be a vast expanse of land strewn with large sections of hedges, delineated by two paths leading south to the manor below—one from the stables, the other from the gardens—and a third path winding about from the tenants' quarters north to the far grounds of the estate.

  "He did indeed. If you look closely, you'll see his signature and the date. I should know. I spent over an hour scrutinizing the bloody sketch in the hopes that it would provide us with a clue. Unfortunately it's precise but unrevealing."

  "Precise," Aurora muttered. "Like a falcon. Ironic, given that Geoffrey was the Fox. Then again, equally ironic that you're the Merlin. Almost as if fate wanted to ensure that Geoffrey and James's partnership prevailed—as they themselves did with the equal division of their legacy." She studied the diagram, marveling at the time it had taken to capture such detail. "You're right. Hugh did inherit his great-grandfather's skill. It's astonishing how vivid these paths look, almost as if they're all rushing purposefully toward specific destinations." She traced the two converging lines with her forefinger. "These two are surging toward the hedges surrounding the manor, first separately, then as one. And this one—" She pointed to the rambling path leading from the tenants' quarters. "This one's veering north, to disappear completely." A fascinated smile touched her lips. "Do you know, this whole drawing reminds me of a legend Mr. Scollard likes to tell—he's shared it with me many times, probably because it's been a favorite of mine since I was eight."

  "And which legend is that?" Julian asked with an indulgent grin.

  "The legend of the Tamar River. Do you know it?"

  "All I know of the Tamar is what I discovered navigating it. It's incredibly picturesque, winding through hills and valleys, flanked by villages and limestone peaks as it divides Cornwall from Devon and flows down to Plymouth. That whole region breeds the sort of lyricism poets write about. So while I'm not familiar with any particular legend regarding the Tamar, I'm not surprised one exists."

  "Would you like to hear it?"

  A chuckle. "I'd be delighted."

  "The legend explains how the Tamar got its name." Aurora gazed at the drawing, lost in her story. "The river was named after a beautiful sea nymph—Tamara—who in ancient times lived in a cave far beneath the earth and wanted desperately to see the magnificent colorful world she knew existed above. So despite her father's warnings that giants tread the grounds of Dartmoor directly above, she found her way to the surface only to discover her father's warnings had indeed been true. Two giants—Tavy and Torridge—saw her and fell in love with her, each determined to have her for his own. They pursued her across the moors to the North Cornish coast, where they captured her and demanded she choose between them. Her father, furious that she'd disobeyed him but unable to convince her to return, used his magic to cast the giants into a deep sleep and to transform Tamara into a silver flowing stream. When Tavy awakened, he sought his own father, who used his enchantment to convert his son into a stream that rushed across the moors and wound its way through the woodland in pursuit of Tamara. Tavy found her at last, and they joined together, flowing slowly into the Hamoaze. As for Torridge, he, too, managed to be transformed into a stream, but became confused and ran about in the wrong direction, heading north through the hills where he spilled into the Atlantic Ocean." Aurora touched the line that in Geoffrey's drawing was the path, leading from the tenants' quarters northward. "This would be Torridge, rushing north through the woods to disappear into the ocean. And these—" She traced the two lines on the diagram that headed south, converging in the front section of the hedges that enveloped Morland Manor. "—these would be Tamara and Tavy, meeting in Dartmoor, near Tavistock, and flowing together to the sea."

  "Meeting in…" Julian's expression sharpened, his eyes narrowed on the sketch. "Did you say that legend is well known?"

  "Why, yes, I suppose so. Mr. Scollard has recounted it often enough."

  Abruptly Julian shot to his feet, crossing over to Aurora in four long strides. "Repeat that final part—about the two rivers meeting."

  Aurora shot him a puzzled look. "I never suspected you to be such a romantic. Very well. These paths here resemble the course Tamara and Tavy took as they merged in Tavistock and flowed toward the Hamoaze."

  "That's it."

  "What's it?"

  "You just gave us our answer." Julian pointed to the area on the sketch depicting the manor, the section where the two paths merged and wound their way downward. "The strongbox is somewhere in this vicinity."

  "Julian, what in the name of heaven are you talking about?"

  "Think, Rory. I suspected the strongbox was at Morland, yet it was nowhere to be found. So I decided it wasn't the box itself James and Geoffrey had concealed here, but a clue leading to its recovery. As it turns out, it was both. The clue is right here, staring us in the face. And the box? Figuratively it's in Morland Manor, just as the sketch depicts. Actually it's somewhere beyond the moors of Devonshire, between Tavistock and Calstock."

  Aurora's eyes widened. "You're saying Geoffrey drew this sketch as some sort of secret map?"

  "Exactly. Look closely and think of your legend. If these two paths represent the two rivers, and Morland Manor represents the place where they meet, then these smaller hedges in front of the manor are the hills of Tavistock and the tall hedges behind the manor are the limestone cliffs that lead to the ocean. See the different shapes? That's precisely the way the cliffs look, at times split by crevices, at times soaring into towering summits that pierce the sky."

  "Yes—it makes sense." Aurora's heart began slamming against her ribs, her gaze poring over the entire section of the sketch that defined Morland Manor. "No wonder Mr. Scollard kept reiterating that particular legend to me. When will I learn that everything he says means more than it seems, even if I don't realize it at the time? He obviously knew I would someday need that information to…"
/>
  She broke off as with a rush of exhilaration she located what she sought.

  "Julian, look." Her hand shook as she pointed to the base of the first rear hedge—a blurry section that was nearly lost beneath the majestic peak that rose from its foundation. "There's a heavy pencil mark here—rather like a filled-in circle—that doesn't seem to belong. Do you suppose…?"

  "Indeed I do." Julian studied the spot, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "What better place to conceal the strongbox than in a crevice at the base of a lone cliff? 'Tis ideal, brilliant. And so are you." He pulled Aurora into his arms, kissing her fiercely then releasing her. "Let's go."

  "Go?" Her breath caught, and not only from the impact of Julian's kiss, but from the implication of his words. "To the cliffs?"