by Rose Gordon
Elijah's blood shot through his veins. He'd never heard Henry shout like that. He cast an apologetic glance to a startled Amelia and then ran to the front door. “What is it?”
Henry ignored him and rushed into the cabin. Then, without a word, he shoved something into Elijah's hands.
Elijah's eyes scanned the words written on the missive.
16C Call Street. Bath. Eleven.
Elijah locked gazes with his brother. “Something isn't right.”
“I know,” Henry said quietly. “That's why I wanted your opinion. It's not a puzzle.”
“No. Nor is it his custom to send missives so frequently.”
Henry shrugged. “I don't know about that. He might just be getting impatient.” He took the missive from Elijah's hand. “It gives a location: Bath. He might have known we were in the area and wanted to get this over with tonight.”
Elijah nodded. That made sense. There was no need to let any more girls be sold into prostitution. But still, something was off. “Let me see that again.”
Henry handed him the note. “The handwriting is different,” Elijah murmured, frowning. Why hadn't he noticed that the first time? Likely because he'd been so distracted by Henry's shouting and the note's content. “The letters in the past have been formed perfectly, and all the Cs have had that extra swoop at the top.”
Henry frowned. “The man was clearly in a hurry, Elijah. If he didn't bother to make his clue cryptic with arithmetic equations and rhymes, he probably didn't care too much about writing it in a hand to please a dandy.”
“I concede.” He began folding up the missive and froze, his eyes narrowing. “This isn't from him. I know it.”
“Oh? Is the wax seal not in the precise place he's put it in the past? Or perhaps it's a different shade of red. Burgundy instead of crimson?” Henry asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“No, you coxcomb. The others had wax that was flat, almost as if someone had flattened it with the bottom of a candlestick holder. This one was stamped with a signet ring.” He turned the paper around so his brother could see it. “It's light but you can still see the bottom half of a crest there in the wax.” It was just enough that they might be able to identify it if they could compare it to a picture, but as it was, there wasn't enough there to recognize just whose crest it was.
Henry took the paper from Elijah's grasp and cursed under his breath. “Damn. How did I miss that?”
“Because you lack the attention to details I have.”
Henry snorted. “I could say something in response, but since I have a feeling we're about to spend the next few hours locked in Alex's library poring over Debrett's like two giggling debutantes on the hunt for a lord, I'll refrain.”
“I'd say you're capable of using your mind for something other than dreaming about horseflesh after all.” He cast a glance at the closed bedroom door and handed Henry back the paper. “Let me get Amelia to the house so Caroline, Edwina and Mother can fuss over getting her ready for the costume ball tonight. I'll meet you in the library in thirty minutes.”
“Very well. I'll go to the stables and see if anyone knows what type of building is at this address.”
“Amelia,” Elijah called, coming back into their bedchamber.
“What's wrong?”
Elijah forced himself to ignore the look of confusion on her face. “Oh, you know Henry, he has a flare for the dramatic that's only outmatched by an actor on Drury Lane.”
“No, he doesn't. What's wrong?”
“Mother has threatened to look for a wife for him at the ball tonight,” Elijah said thickly. He hated lying. Especially to Amelia. But it would be the last one. Ever. Tonight, after they apprehended the men involved he'd tell her the entire truth and never utter another lie to her as long as he lived.
“Gracious. I had no idea he was so opposed to matrimony.” She looped her arms around his neck, came up on her toes and then pressed her lips to his. “Perhaps he'll enjoy it more than he thinks if he gives it a chance.”
“Have you forgotten who we're talking about?” he murmured against her lips. Unable to resist their temptation, he kissed her again.
“He's not as bad as I originally thought. Some lady might even enjoy being married to him.”
“Yes, if she likes sarcasm and insolence,” he agreed, dropping his head to kiss her neck. He forced himself to stop. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight he'd tell her every one of his secrets then make love to her until they were both too tired to move. “I think it's time you go join the ladies and start getting ready for the ball.”
“Do I have to?” She slipped her hands under his shirt; her fingertips brushing every edge and hard plane. “I'd much rather stay here with you tonight.”
His heart leapt. He'd rather stay here with her, too, but he couldn't. “I'm sorry, Amelia, but we have to attend. This is very important to Caroline.”
She sighed. “All right, I'll go.”
“Good.” He helped her repair her gown well enough to go to the main house and start getting ready for the ball.
Elijah walked her across the lawn to the house, savoring every step along the way. He loved spending time with her. He was a lucky fellow, indeed.
He led her upstairs and helped her find where the ladies were chatting it up in the drawing room. Of course when he left, they were all chatting about having the perfect costume for Amelia. He grinned. How fortunate he was to have a large family who welcomed Amelia as if she'd been the lost family member they'd always been searching to find.
Content that she'd be taken care of, he went to the library.
“Have you found anything?” Elijah asked.
Henry shook his head, but didn't bother to look up from the table. “No.” He turned the page. “Why must everyone put swords or a horse on their coat of arms?”
Elijah chuckled and sat down next to him. “Because rabbits and flowers aren't nearly as powerful.”
“You're a true jester, Elijah, aren't you?”
“I try,” he said dryly. He peered over at the nine crests on the page closest to him. He studied each of them, then glanced at the wax seal, hoping for a match. Not in the top row. Nor the second. He sighed. “It's not any of these.”
Henry flipped the page and in silence they both scanned their sides of the page. Nothing. Henry flipped the page again. Nothing again.
“What do you propose we do when we find it?” Elijah asked.
“Call the constable to arrest him. Then torture him until he gives up the names of everyone else involved,” Henry suggested.
“So then we're in agreement, the author of this missive is involved?”
Henry nodded. “You were right earlier. About the handwriting.” He turned the page. “While you were taking your precious time kissing your wife goodbye, I compared the writing on this one to the writing on the others we've received. There were differences that couldn't be accounted for by haste. The one who sent clues never used punctuation at the end of sentences or commas. This person used both.” He turned another page. “The other fellow crosses his Ts and Fs up at an angle, this chap goes straight across. Even in a hurry, he'd still make the same movement.”
“All right, but what reason would someone have to give themselves away?”
“That's the part I don't understand, either,” Henry said on a sigh. “My guess is that the one who wrote this won't be there tonight.”
“No,” Elijah agreed, dread washing over him. “And neither will we if we don't find out who this crest belongs to.” Dash it all, he'd hoped to be done with this nonsense tonight; but even the greenest of those who worked for the Crown knew better than to go anywhere on an anonymous tip that raised more questions than it answered.
“It's not in here,” Henry said, closing the book with a thump.
Elijah leaned his head back and pressed his fingers against his eyelids. The sun had fallen from the sky more than an hour earlier. Caroline's costume party would start in less than an hour and whateve
r was going to happen at 16C Call Street tonight would happen without them in a little under two.
“What if the ring is old?”
“Yes, I imagine it is,” Elijah mumbled.
“No, I meant, the title and crest could be dormant,” Henry explained.
Elijah whipped his head around to look at the only shelf in the library that didn't hold some sort of science tome. “Is that the only copy of Debrett's we have?”
Henry scanned the shelf. “It appears so.”
“I wonder if Mother has her old copy.”
“Why would she?” Henry asked, coming back to the table. “She said she never cared for the Season and her marriage had been arranged. She wouldn't have needed a copy.”
“No, but perhaps she kept the one issued after she became a baroness.”
Henry snorted. “Have you met our mother? I don't think she ever gave a fig about being a baroness.”
Elijah stood. “Nonetheless, if there is an older version to be found in this house she'd be the one to have it.” Mother may not have been so high in the instep as to shoot icicles at people who didn't address her with the proper respect due her rank, nor did she enjoy participating in Society overmuch, but she was a bit sentimental; and if Elijah had to guess, she'd kept a copy because it had listed his father as the Baron of Watson.
A swift set of raps halted Elijah's steps to leave the library.
“Enter,” Henry bade.
Their grey-headed, bespectacled butler opened the door. “Master Henry, it would seem Curtis is downstairs, asking to speak to you.” The twist of his lips left no doubt what he thought of a stablehand seeking an audience with Henry.
Henry and Elijah exchanged a look. “Very good. I've been waiting to see him.”
Elijah tried not to chuckle at the way the butler's eyes widened just a hint before recomposing himself. Snatching the missive from the table, he stuffed it into his breast pocket and set out to find his mother.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amelia looked ridiculous. Her gown was made of a light blue silk with a high waist that formed a point. That part wasn't so bad, but then had come feathers for her hair in various shades of blue and green and a bright white mask that tied behind her head. According to Elijah's outspoken cousin, Brooke, Lady Townson, she looked like a princess. According to Amelia, she looked like a fool.
Oh well, the good thing about costume balls was that nobody knew who anyone was and usually everyone else looked just as ridiculous. Or not. She scanned the drawing room where she, Regina, Caroline, and Edwina were all waiting while the others finished getting ready. Regina had on a regal gown worthy of a queen. Caroline wore solid black with black lacy gloves and a matching fan. She certainly looked like a seductress. Edwina had worked the hardest on hers, and had sought some help from her Aunt Carolina in fashioning a gown that would have been the height of fashion in Charleston back when Aunt Carolina was a young debutante.
She glanced at Edwina again. She really needed to talk to her, to clear up her...er...earlier statement. Now certainly wasn't the time, but it was important that Amelia clear up any confusion. She still hadn't started her monthly, but had noticed that while her breasts were still sensitive and her emotions were a little off, she wasn't nauseous. Perhaps in her worry over it, she'd made herself sick and convinced herself of symptoms that weren't really there. That was silly, of course, but possible considering the young ladies she'd heard of who took to the waters in Bath more frequently than they bathed in their own homes. All of their ailments couldn't possibly be real, could they?
A soft knock stole Amelia from her wandering thoughts.
“Yes,” Caroline called, appearing as confused as Amelia felt. Why would any of the other ladies knock before entering Caroline's private sitting room?
“Is everyone decent?”
Amelia's heart fluttered with excitement. She knew that voice.
Caroline winked at her. “You'll just have to wait to see your wife at the ball, Mr. Banks.”
“Caroline, this is not the time. I need to come in, is everyone decent?”
The fluttering abruptly stopped, panic taking its place. His tone was strained, holding a similar edge that Henry's had held earlier. She got up and walked over to the door. “Is everything all right?” She hadn't meant for her tone to be so shrill, but his unkempt hair, rumpled clothes and stoney, impassive face had set her on edge.
“Yes.” He peered over her shoulder. “I need to speak to my mother for a moment.”
Amelia looked to Regina and then turned back to Elijah. “I think we need to speak first.”
Elijah hesitated, but then took a step backwards.
“What's going on?” she asked when they were out in the hall together and she'd closed the door to Caroline's sitting room.
“I need to speak to my mother,” he said as if he'd lost all other words in his vocabulary.
“Yes, I heard that. Why?”
Elijah took a breath. “I need to ask her if she has a copy of Debrett's.”
Amelia fought to contain her mirth. “You're not helping your mother find Henry a wife by looking up daughters of the titled, are you?” she asked, smoothing down the front of his coat. Her finger brushed something stiff by his pocket. When he bristled, she moved her hand to cover it. “You don't have a piece of foolscap with possible brides listed, do you?”
He covered her hand with his. “No.”
Her humor fled. “What are you hiding, Elijah?”
He clamped his jaw, but didn't release her hand.
“I know you're not above ripping pages out of books, you know,” she whispered, trying to hide her smile as she inched her fingers toward the opening of his pocket.
“I know. But that's not what's in my pocket.”
“Then just let me see it.”
His hand tightened. “No.”
“Elijah, much tighter and you'll hurt me.”
He relaxed his hold a bit. Not a lot, but just enough for her to reach into his pocket and pluck out the note.
She closed her fingers around it and stepped backwards out of his reach. “Is this a letter?”
“No,” he barked, taking it from her.
Her hands flew to her hips. “Then why does it have a seal?”
“Because it's private.”
“Then it is a letter,” she countered.
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “Then show it to me again.”
“No.”
“Now, Elijah.”
Something flashed in his eyes. “I'll explain everything later.”
He couldn't have hurt her more if he'd slapped her. What was so important he couldn't explain it to her now? “What are you hiding from me?”
“Nothing,” he bit off.
“Then show me the letter.”
“It's not a blasted letter, Amelia. It's just a missive.”
She crossed her arms. “Is there a difference?”
“I consider letters to be a lengthy compilation of someone's feelings—which this is not. A missive is just a short note giving a directive or soliciting one's opinion on a simple matter.”
“I still don't see the difference between the two,” she muttered. Perhaps it was some sort of nonsense that only gentlemen understood. “All right, then let me see the missive.”
“I don't have time—”
“For me?” she finished for him, anger now mixing with the hurt from before.
He grumbled something then unfolded the paper and quickly turned it toward her then away so fast she hadn't had time to actually read it, but had seen it was in fact a very short, to the point piece of correspondence.
“Why do you have a missive with the Kirkham seal on it?” she asked after he'd tucked it back into his pocket.
Elijah's eyes widened and his hand stilled. “What? Whose seal?”
“The Kirkham seal.”
“Kirkham?”
“Perhaps not.” She shrugged. “That's just what it
looked like.”
Elijah pulled the paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Is that the seal you thought it was?”
“Yes.” She nodded her head. “That's Philip's seal all right.”
***
Elijah's gut clenched. “Philip?” he echoed in disbelief.
Amelia nodded and then chuckled. “Although he's normally not so sloppy with how he stamps it. Quite the opposite, in fact. He's usually very careful with how he stamps it to make sure the receiver can see its every line and groove.”
Unless he didn't want anyone to recognize it. “I didn't think your father had any lesser titles.”
“He didn't. Not always, anyway.” She reached up as casual as could be and readjusted one of those hideous feathers sticking out from the top of her hair. “Mother was the only child of Baron Kirkham. When no male relative could be found after his death, his title went unclaimed.”
“And then?”
Amelia shrugged. “Philip always hated that he didn't get a lesser title as other earl's sons who waited until they inherited, so after years of Philip's begging, Father finally petitioned the Crown to have Kirkham assigned to him. It took a while and a lot of convincing, but the prince finally approved, considering Father had no lesser titles already and that Kirkham did pass to a male relation.”
Elijah nodded numbly. So much about the last clue made sense now. The clue about church was right there: kirk; and even why it was worded thy maiden fair, the person who wrote it clearly knew Elijah had married Lord Kirkham's sister. His heart twisted, Amelia. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and brought her against him, those dratted feathers tickling his nose.
“I cannot wait to have my own wardrobe again,” she commented when he released her.
A memory from yesterday sparked in his mind, but he couldn't come out and ask her about it. “Isn't that what your brother came by for yesterday?”
“He said something about it,” she agreed, her brows furrowing just a little. “But I don't remember what exactly.”
“Do you not think that was his real reason for coming?” he hedged, hoping she wouldn't suspect his real reason for asking.
