The Genuine Article

by Patricia Rice

  “Lost you again, didn’t I?” Charles inquired genially. “I can remember before I married Harriet, I went around with a third leg for months. Hits you like that sometimes. Never thought it would hit you though. You always come across as a deuced cold fellow, little brother. I still haven’t figured out how you’ve set yourself up so well without father’s help. He swears it’s that racing stable of yours, but I’ve watched the odds. You can’t make a living that way.”

  Reginald sighed. It always came around to that. He’d bum in hell before he’d tell his family he was a shopkeeper. He wasn’t certain how he was going to tell Marian either, but he was still having a hard time dealing with even the idea of Marian. He took another swallow of wine.

  “The stable takes care of itself. I’ve been lucky. You may tell father not to worry. We won’t come begging at his doorstep. I’ve set aside funds for Marian’s welfare in case anything happens to me. If we could just find her damned necklace, she’d have an additional income to fall back on, but the thief’s been too clever for me.”

  Reginald glared at his wine glass. The port must be stronger than he had thought for him to blurt that out. He seldom mentioned anything that troubled him to anyone, and he had a good head for wine. He’d better leave the rest of the blasted bot­tle alone.

  Charles refilled his glass. “Necklace? The lady’s jewels have been stolen? Why didn’t she call Bow Street?”

  Now he was in for it. Cautiously, Reginald outlined the bare details of the theft, leaving out the reasons for the copy but including his suspicions about his valet and the mar­quess. Charles appeared fascinated.

  “So, you end up offering for the lady to make up for the loss of her dowry, eh? Very noble of you.”

  Reginald slammed his glass down. “No, I did not. I of­fered to reimburse her for the necklace. That is neither here nor there. I am marrying Marian because she is all that I could ever ask in a wife. We will rub along very well to­gether.” He found himself believing this quite thoroughly. Maybe he ought to stock up on a case of this port. He glared at the glass again. He hated port.

  Charles sat back, satisfied. “Just wanted to make certain you weren’t doing something foolish that we could get you out of before any permanent damage was done. Marriage is a lifetime sentence, Reggie. You don’t want to go into it with your eyes closed. Didn’t think you’d do anything bumble-headed, but where women are concerned, men can be damned blind. Father will tell you that. He’s been wor­ried you’d do something foolish if the tide started going against you. I knew he’d want me to ask. Maybe we ought to settle the cost of that necklace on her as a betrothal gift since you feel responsible for its theft. Seems to me there ought to be a few other baubles in the vault that she might wear, too. Harriet is fair and can’t wear the colored things.”

  His head was beginning to feel rather light. Reginald found himself nodding foolishly, thinking how well Marian would look in the family jewels. He didn’t think even his father possessed a ruby to match the one lost, but Marian wouldn’t mind that.

  He’d like her to know that her hus­band’s family wasn’t impoverished, even if her husband was. He wanted her to feel like she would be taken care of in any event, unlike her mother. He was glad Charley was an understanding sort. Reginald closed his eyes and tried to remember the path of his thoughts, but they had gone wan­dering.

  Charles laughed. “Think it’s time we took you home, old boy. You never were much of a port drinker. Bet you had a bottle of brandy before you even got here. Never mix your alcohol, that’s what I always say.”

  Reginald allowed himself to be pulled from the chair and led home like a drunken schoolboy. He felt like a drunken schoolboy. He was about to be married and he had never before given the state of marriage a thought. He could be a father by this time next year, and he’d known the potential mother for all of four weeks, at best.

  His mind flickered from images of Marian lying naked in his bed, to children screaming up and down the stairs, to chattering women in his parlor. He was about to be very, very sick.

  Charles held his head as his younger brother cast up his accounts in the gutter, then hired a hack to take them the rest of the way home.

  The viscount wasn’t in the least surprised when an auburn-haired servant ran down the stairs of Reginald’s town house to help carry his master in. The surprise came when Reginald looked up to see who it was, gave a cry of rage, and launched into the smaller man with two fists. It wasn’t like Reginald to take advantage of his greater size.

  It took two nightwatchmen and the secretary, Jasper, as well as the viscount to pry Reginald off the man now iden­tified as his valet. Charles nodded approvingly as Jasper paid off the watch and closed the door firmly behind them. These things were better kept in the family.

  Reginald continued to glare at the man lying on the par­quet floor, holding a handkerchief to his nose and bleeding from cracked lips. “Where in hell is it, you miserable ex­cuse of a lying, thieving ...”

  He seemed on the edge of launching himself at the smaller man again, and Jasper and Charles grabbed his arms.

  The man on the floor gasped for breath as he answered. “A man can’t visit his dear old parents for two days without being treated like a mangy dog. That’s what I get for falling onto sad days. My father always told me never to lower myself to begging. Lord knows, I tried to hold myself proud, but a man can only stand so much, you know. Here I’ve turned your wardrobe into a thing of beauty, a thing to be admired by Brummell himself, and what do I get in re­turn, I ask? He wrinkles his linens and muddies his boots and comes home with his coats covered in filth, then com­plains to me about it. I’ll not have it anymore. I’ll go back to begging in the streets before I do this again. I’ll—”

  Charles kicked him lightly in the ribs. “Shut up, you wretch.” He looked at Reginald, who appeared little the worse for wear although a trifle wild-eyed. Charles kept a firm grip on his brother’s arm. “I suppose you’re going to tell me this is the valet who made off with the necklace?”

  “Damned right, and I’m going to beat every miserable little diamond out of him if I have to bring them out through his nose.” Reginald launched himself forward, only to be jerked back again by two firm holds.

  The man on the floor sat up, dabbing daintily at his nose, which did not seem to be in serious disrepair. “Now I’m ac­cused of being a thief, I suppose. Damned suspicious lot, you are. I just went to visit the old folks. They live right there in the village. Had a little too much of the hair of the dog, you know, and they put me up for the night. Had to make my way back here alone when I found I’d been left behind. Not the way a man ought to act to his personal ser­vant, if you ask me, but then, no one ever asks me.”

  “Rightly so,” Charles said sourly. “You talk too damned much. My brother says you absconded with a lady’s neck­lace. Unless you want to end up in Newgate, you’d better put that fast tongue to better uses.”

  O’Toole made a show of dragging himself from the floor and scraping a low bow. “My pardon, your lordship. I didn’t recognize your worthy self.”

  He grabbed the hand­kerchief to his nose again to keep a fresh spurt of blood from staining his shirt. “I do not steal necklaces, my lord. They are not at all suitable for my attire.” The words came muffled through the cloth. “I may occasionally borrow a shirt stud or two, but I always return them. And I have never so much as touched a watch. I can assure you, I have no necklace on me.”

  Reginald made a threatening noise and Charles was tempted to allow him to go for the fellow’s throat. It would do the rascal good to turn purple for a while, but it wouldn’t solve the puzzle of the lady’s necklace. The vis­count lifted an eyebrow at the somewhat bewildered secre­tary. The man had obviously been in his bed when the commotion erupted. He had trousers pulled on backward over his nightshirt.

  “You’d best call the watch back. Let him try his tongue in Newgate for a while, then maybe he’ll be a little more forthcoming.�
�

  The valet shuddered visibly. “No, no, sirs, please do not do that to me. I am innocent. I am a cherished only child. I would never survive such a place. If you are looking for a necklace, perhaps you want the one I found in Mr. Mon­tague’s coat pocket when I cleaned it. Blue fustian of the finest quality, and he brought it home covered in filth. Cob­webs! I have never seen the like in all my born days. There’s no accounting for what the aristocracy will do.”

  Reginald went still. His eyes were murderous as he glared at his valet. “O’Toole, produce that necklace at once!”

  O’Toole looked at him with green-eyed innocence. “Why, it is on your desk just as it was before we left, sir. I’m sure I wouldn’t know what to do with anything so valu­able as that. It seemed odd to me, sir, but I’m not one to question my betters.”

  Reginald was halfway up the stairs before the last of these declarations was out of his valet’s mouth.

  * * *

  Chapter 21

  “That the genuine article?” Charles asked, watching his brother hold the stones to the lamplight and examine them thoroughly.

  Reginald made a dissatisfied noise and reached in his desk for his glass to better examine the stones. “It is the original,” he agreed coldly.

  “Then what is the problem? Admit you made a mistake, give the poor fellow a bonus, and return the necklace to your lady.” Charles watched with bewilderment as his younger brother scowled. Reginald had been stubborn and independent as a boy, but he had always readily admitted his mistakes.

  “The five largest diamonds are paste. The bastard’s had them replaced.” Reginald set his glass back in the drawer and clenched the necklace as if he would murder it.

  Charles whistled. “We’d best call the watch, then. He’ll remember where they are once he’s spent a night in New­gate.”

  Reginald frowned thoughtfully. “No, let him think we’re fooled. He could have hidden those stones anywhere. He could have sold them already. We have no proof of any­thing. I still firmly believe he’s working with Effingham. I want to catch him at it.”

  “I don’t know how you plan to do that.” Puzzled, Charles looked at the necklace for himself. He could see no differ­ence between the glittering bits.

  Feeling quite weary and more than out of sorts, Reginald made a gesture of dismissal. “I don’t know yet either, but I will find a way. Take the damned thing with you. I’ll not give the scoundrel another chance at it.”

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Wait. I’ll have to take it back to Mar­ian.” He had cost her the advantageous marriage with Darley; he would not take away her only other alternative. He wondered if she would use the return of the necklace to call off their betrothal. His head ached too much to think about the other aches that thought engendered.

  Charles slid the necklace into his pocket. “I’ll be around to get you tomorrow. We’ll go to see the ladies together. If they are going to the ball, they will be back then. It always takes ladies days to prepare for an occasion like that”

  Not Marian, Reginald knew, but he didn’t say it aloud. He wanted to say that Marian was different. Marian didn’t waste time primping and painting and adorning herself and deciding between this ribbon and that. Marian would be plotting to wring O’Toole’s neck or to sell the Effingham library or to find her sister a husband.

  Marian wasn’t like any other lady he knew, but Charles wouldn’t appreciate her finer qualities. Reginald kept them to himself, as he kept his own secrets.

  He just nodded in agreement and watched his brother leave with the necklace in his pocket.

  He didn’t even have to yell for O’Toole before the ever-efficient valet appeared to help him off with his coat. At least the thieving bastard had the sense to hold his tongue.

  * * * *

  When the butler came up to inform Marian that Mr. Montague and Lord Witham were below, she almost pan­icked—not because she couldn’t remember any Lord Witham, but because she feared Mr. Montague had come to beg out of their betrothal. Having had a day or two to re­consider, he might have realized what a bad arrangement he had made.

  Surely he wouldn’t do anything like that in front of an­other man. A Lord somebody-or-another wouldn’t be a so­licitor. Reginald had just brought a friend to lend him support since he and Darley were no longer speaking. She would have to find some way to repair that damage.

  Since Jessica and Lady Grace were still recuperating from their journey, Marian called Lily to act as chaperone and waited nervously for the gentlemen. Her gaze went in­stantly to Mr. Montague when he entered.

  He looked splen­did in his chocolate-brown frock coat and fawn trousers with his Hessians polished to a high shine, but there was a smudge of color under his eyes and a crease upon his brow that spoke of an uneasy night. She felt her heart lurch when he bent over her hand.

  “You do not look as if you slept well, sir,” she murmured quietly, for his ears alone, as he straightened.

  A trace of a familiar wicked smile touched his lips. “I thought only of you while you were gone.”

  That was the Montague she knew. With a slight blush staining her cheeks, Marian jerked her hand away and turned her interest to his guest. He was very distinguished looking, and there was a trace of something familiar in his face. She tried not to stare too boldly.

  “Lady Marian, may I introduce my brother, Charles? Charles, my betrothed.”

  Of course, she had forgotten. Mr. Montague was the son of an earl, but not the heir. It stood to reason that he had an older brother. She just hadn’t considered his family, since he seldom spoke of them. She tried not to bite her lip as the viscount bowed over her hand. He really was quite formi­dably dignified. She felt like a schoolroom miss.

  “My pleasure, sir,” she managed to murmur, wishing her mother were here to help. Darley was a viscount, but he hadn’t made her nervous as this man did. For all that mat­tered, her cousin was a marquess, but he didn’t have the kind of presence that demanded respect and dignity. Marian sent a helpless look to Mr. Montague.

  Reginald took a seat beside her and propped his arm along the back of the sofa as if he belonged here and as if she belonged to him. Which she did, she admitted uneasily to herself. She had given him every right to think of her as his.

  He crossed one booted leg over the other and watched his brother settle into a chair across from them. Marian very much thought her betrothed was hiding a grin that probably deserved an elbow to the ribs, but she played the demure miss as well as she could.

  “I’m glad to have this opportunity to meet some of Mr. Montague’s family, sir. He speaks of you often.” She kept her eyes modestly on the rug between them.

  Charles lifted a doubting gaze in his brother’s direction. “Why do I find that hard to believe? Reggie would prefer to behave as if we don’t exist except when it pleases him.”

  Reginald caressed a curl at the back of Marian’s neck and leaned familiarly toward her. “Hadn’t you ought to call me by name now, my dear? We would not wish to give my brother the wrong impression.”

  He was laughing at her, she could tell. He knew she was putting on the same act for his brother as she had these past weeks for all society. She really ought to open her mouth and let out all those things she really wished to say, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her chances another time. She didn’t wish his family to take offense at her and talk him out of this marriage. And he knew it, the dastardly toad.

  She turned a sweetly admiring smile in his direction. “I didn’t wish your brother to think me too familiar, Reginald. I am sure Lord Witham is much too proper to behave as you do.”

  Charles chuckled. “I think I am beginning to see the at­traction, Reggie. All these years you’ve been cleverly rip­ping people to pieces in front of their faces without their ever knowing, and now you’ve found a female with as much wit as you. You needn’t be polite for my sake. Lady Marian. The rogue needs to be taken down a peg or two, and that’s a fact.”

  Mar
ian turned a real smile to her guest. “Would you care for some tea, my lord? We could discuss your brother’s faults over scones, if you’d like.” With a nod, she sent Lily to fetch the tray.

  Reginald growled at the insult and tugged on the curl in his possession, but when the maid was gone, his voice was pleasant. “We have a surprise for you, my dear. Charles, the necklace, if you will.”

  Marian looked up in surprise as the viscount stood and presented her with a velvet pouch. He seemed to be watch­ing her curiously, but she forgot that as she opened the pouch and saw the glitter of her ruby. She gave a cry of de­light and drew the necklace through her fingers. “My mother’s necklace! You have found it. Where? Did you catch the thief?” She turned excitedly to Reginald.

  He smiled at her excitement, admiring the way it made her eyes dance. He also liked the way she automatically as­sumed he was the one responsible for returning the jewel, even though it was his brother who had presented it to her. He could do worse than Lady Marian Lawrence, Reginald decided. If one had to have a wife, it ought to be one who believed in one’s worth.

  His smile disappeared as he answered. “O’Toole re­turned last night with some story about finding it in my coat pocket. You and I know that the necklace in my pocket was the copy, but I have no proof of his guilt.” He hesi­tated, wondering if he ought to mention the missing dia­monds. If the marquess was involved, it would disturb family relations. But if she discovered they were fakes, she might blame him for the theft. He glanced to Charles for advice.

  Charles shook his head. “We have no way of knowing who was responsible for the theft. You’d best give the lady the whole truth. Since the necklace was in your hands at the time, I think we can safely offer to replace the missing pieces.”

  Marian looked questioningly back and forth to the two men.

  Reginald was the one to explain about the missing dia­monds and O’Toole’s wild explanations of his where­abouts. Marian looked at the necklace again but could see no difference in it, but then, she couldn’t tell the fake from the original, either. She slid the jewel back into its pouch and closed it.