by Regina Scott
Still, Emily could not ignore the feeling that she was being carefully observed—even hunted. She glanced around, but no gaze met hers among the courtly guests. Where was Lord Robert? Not among the dancers. Nor could she spot him by the sofas. The hermit was surrounded by giggling ladies; more laughter came from the maze. Wait—was that a russet head by the buffet? Her heartbeat was as unsteady as her steps as she started forward.
Suddenly, the door to the kitchens opened, and out danced a group of children dressed like fairies in fluttering gowns, with gossamer wings on their backs. They darted across the ballroom, making bows, dipping curtsies, and handing out little packages of comfits. The guests exclaimed in delight.
And Emily lost sight of Lord Robert, if she’d ever had him at all.
This was getting her nowhere! Priscilla was the only one who might guess where a gentleman would hide. As the second dance ended, Emily parted the beaus besieging her friend and begged a moment.
“Of course,” Priscilla said, then clapped her hands again, prompting the statues to twist into more elaborate poses. One looked a bit like a braided bun.
Before Emily could get in another word, a gentleman pushed his way forward. He had brown hair and was only of average height, but his gaze was keen and bright behind his spectacles. He inclined his head to Emily before turning to Priscilla.
“I doubt you remember me, Miss Tate,” he said. “We met at Lady Baminger’s musicale when you were in town last Christmas. I’m Nathan Kent.”
Emily had no time for such interruptions, but Priscilla smiled politely. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Kent.” Her gaze returned to Emily, as if she had already dismissed him from her thoughts.
But the gentleman was entirely too persistent. “Forgive the interruption,” he continued with another smile to Emily, “but I came to beseech a favor.”
He was doomed. Mr. Kent was simply not handsome enough to capture Priscilla’s attention. She tossed her curls and gave him her very best “you’d be wise to go away” stare.
Until he added, “For my employer, the Duke of Rottenford.” Priscilla’s jaw dropped, and Emily felt her own doom approaching. It wouldn’t matter what she said. She would never get Priscilla’s attention now!
“The Duke of Rottenford?” Priscilla asked, voice trembling.
“Yes, Rottenford,” Mr. Kent agreed with an amused smile. “I serve as his personal secretary.”
“Priscilla,” Emily tried without much hope.
Priscilla fluttered her lashes and laid a hand on the arm of Mr. Kent’s black evening coat. “I would do anything for His Grace.”
Mr. Kent detached her hand from his arm. “Then tell me the way through the maze. It’s blocking the stairs to the retiring rooms and, after six glasses of your excellent punch, it’s become rather urgent, I’m afraid, for His Grace to find his way through.”
Priscilla’s smile remained on her face, disguising the immense disappointment she must have felt that His Grace was not requesting a dance. “I’d be delighted to tell His Grace, but I cannot spoil the fun for my other guests. If you’d bring him to me, I’ll whisper it in his ear.”
Oh, but she was cunning. Just what Emily needed!
“Alas,” Mr. Kent said with a bit of humor in his voice, crossing the room to your side might pose a difficulty. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to whisper it in my ear.”
“No, Miss Tate,” another young man nearby called. “Whisper it in my ear, and I’ll be happy to tell His Grace for you.”
They all jostled to get closer, and Priscilla held up a hand. “Gentlemen, gentlemen. We must have mercy. Mr. Kent?”
Mr. Kent eyed Priscilla as if expecting some trap, but he leaned closer. Priscilla pressed her lips to his ear and murmured low. He straightened and walked away, his steps decidedly crooked. But what amazed Emily was the dreamy smile that played upon Priscilla’s face!
“Help me find Lord Robert!” Emily demanded.
“Who?” Priscilla asked, blinking.
Emily groaned and gave up. When she needed action, she should have known who to ask. She dodged around the dance floor once more and finally located Daphne and Ariadne near the far wall. Daphne was deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman, her train over one arm.
“Excuse us,” Emily said, seizing their arms and dragging them to the side. “I need your help to find Lord Robert.”
“Of course,” Daphne said. “I was merely trying to find Lord Snedley. He’s here somewhere! My night will not be complete unless he pronounces me a success.”
Ariadne rolled her eyes.
“Once I deal with Lord Robert, I’ll be happy to help you find him,” Emily promised.
They started about the circuit again, peering around, under, and over everyone they saw. Ariadne kept silent, one hand around her waist. It seemed even her emerald gown had not emboldened her to converse with strangers. Not even to the deerhound lady.
“Gorgeous gown, my dear,” she said to Ariadne as they paused near her. The beast at her side turned his golden gaze on Ariadne as if wondering how long it would take to run her down. His mistress held out the chain to Ariadne. “Be a love and hold my pet while I find my partner to dance.”
Ariadne gasped, but she could not protest quickly enough as the lady pressed the leash into her hand.
“Actually,” Emily tried, nudging Ariadne, “we were trying to find Lord Robert Townsend, my fiancé.”
“Look in Lady Skelcroft’s circle,” the lady advised as she sailed onto the floor. The deerhound and Ariadne regarded each other, the beast’s head level with Ariadne’s chin. Only the deerhound looked amused.
“Go on,” Ariadne said, so still she might have been frozen in place. “Find Lord Robert. I’ll be all right. Very likely the creature is trained.”
“I could stay,” Daphne volunteered, but Ariadne shook her head.
“You’ll be of more help to Emily. You can talk to people.”
In the end, Emily and Daphne left her and hurried for the dowagers’ circle, not far from the hermit’s grotto. Lady Skelcroft sat among the silver- and gray-haired ladies, complaining, as usual.
Emily dipped a curtsy in front of her. “Pardon me, but I’m trying to find my fiancé, Lord Robert Townsend.”
Lady Skelcroft clutched her lace shawl closer, the brooch flashing. “Why come to me, then? I’m not his keeper.”
“Not recently,” another woman said. The rest laughed behind their fans.
Lady Skelcroft drew herself up haughtily but spoiled it by sneezing three times. “Bother these plants! Whatever possessed Miss Tate to drag in the entire countryside?”
“I believe she was trying to portray an enchanted garden,” Daphne said helpfully. “Gardens do have plants.”
“Be that as it may,” Emily tried, “I would appreciate any word you might have of Lord Robert’s whereabouts.”
Lady Skelcroft opened her mouth, and Emily cringed to hear what would come out. But the lady sneezed again, in violent bursts. Her hair flew off, landing in a heap on the polished floor.
Everyone stared at it. The black curls lay spread like a bloated spider. Emily swore they even twitched. Her gaze jerked back up and met Lady Skelcroft’s. The woman’s gray eyes were round, as was her very bald head.
“You stupid girl!” She leapt to her feet, snatched up the wig, and crammed it back on her head. With the curls dangling in disarray, she ran for the maze and disappeared inside.
“My, that was a surprise,” Daphne said.
No, that was a tragedy. With Lady Skelcroft in hiding, how was Emily to prove her brooch false?
“Go after her,” she told Daphne. “I’ll find Lord Robert.”
She circled the room yet again, growing more concerned each moment. Where was Lord Robert? How had he disappeared so well?
Where was Jamie? Had she so demeaned herself in his eyes that he could not bear to keep his promise and come?
Priscilla met her beside the dance floor. “Sorry, Emily, but this is n
ot going as I’d planned. Rottenford is lost in the maze, despite my precise instructions, and I have no idea when he’ll escape. I’d find him, but I’m supposed to be the hostess!”
She clapped her hands. The statues twisted about again, and two ended up on their rears. “Oh, for pity’s sake!”
Daphne hurried up as well. “The night’s a disaster! Lady Skelcroft won’t come out. And no one will admit to being Lord Snedley.”
Ariadne puffed up. “I’m exhausted of looking after that dog! And I go to all the trouble of procuring a decent gown, and I still cannot find a single word to say to a gentleman!”
“Lord Snedley advises letting the young man initiate the conversation,” Daphne lectured her sister. “And to keep the topics to the weather, your horses, and your grandmother’s snuff recipe.”
“Lord Snedley,” Ariadne said through clenched teeth, “will not help me now.”
Daphne shook her head. “Lord Snedley knows a great deal, like Mother. You should read him. You read everything else.”
“I don’t need to read Lord Snedley,” Ariadne grit out.
Daphne sucked in a breath and let it out forcefully, as if trying to keep her patience. “You can be the most stubborn person! There’s nothing wrong with taking advice, especially from someone as learned and experienced as Lord Snedley.”
“He isn’t a saint, you know,” Ariadne argued, her color rising.
“Well, he’s certainly a lot wiser than you,” Daphne countered.
Emily exchanged glances with Priscilla and knew they were both wondering how to intervene.
Ariadne put both hands on her hips. “The fellow’s ridiculous. And you’re ridiculous for caring so much what he thinks!”
“You take that back,” Daphne demanded. “You know nothing about him.”
“Yes I do!” Ariadne snapped. “I am Lord Snedley!”
Emily stared, and Daphne turned as white as the statues. Priscilla rubbed her ear. “I am truly going mad tonight. I thought you said you’re Lord Snedley.”
“I am,” Ariadne insisted. “I wanted to dress well for the ball, and my allowance wasn’t enough for a gown. I may not be able to speak my mind, but I can certainly write. So I gathered up all Mother’s platitudes into an etiquette book. I was afraid no publisher would take me seriously, so Lord Snedley was born.”
Ariadne turned to her sister. “I never thought he’d go over so well, or that you’d become a devotee. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just wanted to be myself for once, with a gown I liked, and writing the etiquette book was the only way I knew.”
Daphne stared at her, jaw clenched, then turned and stalked off, heading for the maze. Deep inside it came another high-pitched shriek.
“Is that the peacock or one of my guests?” Priscilla asked with a frown. “I simply cannot tell the difference.”
Ariadne sighed. “Daphne had such high hopes for tonight. I’ve ruined it for her, haven’t I?”
“Nonsense,” Emily said. “We’ll speak to her. But please, you must help me. I’ve looked everywhere, and I can’t find Lord Robert.”
Ariadne frowned. “Have you tried the veranda?”
The veranda? Why would he be on the veranda? Emily needed him in the ballroom, where she could accuse him before witnesses. Where Jamie, when he arrived, could see that she knew Robert for what he was. Where she could hand him to Jamie and say, “Arrest him, my love.” That is, if Jamie ever showed up.
Well, if Lord Robert was on the veranda, she’d simply have to lure him back inside. “I’ll look,” she said to Ariadne. “Perhaps you should rescue Daphne from the peacock.”
“Or vice versa,” Ariadne agreed, hurrying away.
Emily slipped outside. Moonlight shone on the stone terrace, frosting the plants below with silver. Another white peacock strutted past, like a dandy’s ghost in his finery.
“Good evening, Emily,” Lord Robert said, moving out of the shadows. “It’s about time you showed up.”
Her heart began to pound as he walked toward her. Out of habit, her hand came up to her chest for her locket and met the hard stones of the emeralds. She’d finally discovered him, yet she found herself completely unprepared for the confrontation.
“Robert, you startled me,” she said, hoping he would take her breathlessness as nothing more.
“How very bad of me,” he said. He didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “Walk with me and let me apologize.”
With him in this strange mood, she didn’t dare. “Come back inside with me,” she tried, “and you can apologize there.”
“Ah, no,” he said. “Jewel thieves prefer the night.” Something was wrong. He shouldn’t be confessing. She was supposed to surprise him with the truth. She edged away from him along the balustrade, feeling the stones snag on her gloves. “A jewel thief?” she asked.
“Oh, come now, Emily. You know I stole Acantha Dalrymple’s pearls and Lady Skelcroft’s brooch and replaced the stones with paste so no one would be any wiser. Is taking a few jewels so wicked? Miss Dalrymple and Lady Skelcroft won’t miss them.”
So, she had been right. If she agreed now, would he let her get away? He was watching her every movement; Emily could see her gown outlined in the dark of his eyes. She took a step toward him, ready to bolt. “And what of Lavinia Haversham? Her family is not so fortunate.”
His face twisted. “They should be honored I would even notice their daughter. What were a few baubles compared with acceptance in Good Society? But would she be silent when she caught me with my hand in her jewel case? Oh, no.”
The emeralds felt as tight as a noose. Emily could not move. “Oh, God. You killed her!”
“It was an accident,” Robert spat out. “I struck her once, to keep her quiet. I can’t help it if the stupid chit fell into the sharp point of the dressing table. I was lucky to escape before anyone knew I’d been higher than the sitting room.”
“You’ll hang,” Emily said, gathering her wits. If she ran, would he catch her? If she could get past him, she knew help was waiting inside. Surely he’d do nothing before witnesses. “If I were you, I’d take ship for the Continent, tonight.”
He drew himself up. “Are you mad? I’m a Townsend. I have a reputation to protect. Besides, the only one who suspects anything is that bastard Cropper. And you.” He lunged for her.
“Priscilla!” Emily cried, darting around him for the door. “Ariadne! Daphne! Help!”
One hand came down on her shoulder, jerking her to a stop and slamming her back against him. The other hand came over her mouth, pressing her lips back against her teeth. She could taste the silk of his glove.
“Silence!” His shake rattled her bones.
Never! She wiggled against him, turning her head this way and that, but his grip was too sure, his arms too strong. He dragged her toward the stairs to the garden below.
“I heard what Cropper said to you that night at dinner,” he said against her hair. “I already suspected you conspired against me. So I thought I’d let you have your ball. Let everyone see you cavorting with Cropper. Only Mother knew I was here, and she’d never speak a word against me. And when you were found dead in the garden and the emeralds missing, Cropper would be blamed. After all, Good Society would hardly accuse one of their own. Why even your father must have heard me say I’d blame Cropper if anything happened to you. Any accusations from Cropper against me would be taken as the ravings of a desperate criminal. And I would play the grieving lover.”
He gave her another shake. “As if I would grieve for you.” Panic crushed the breath from her, made her heart jerk in her chest, threatened to swamp all reason. No, no, she could not give in to it. Robert didn’t know Jamie hadn’t come. He’d kill her, and no one would know what had happened.
She had to do something. As Lord Robert started down the stairs, she wedged a leg between his.
He stumbled, and for a moment she thought she’d killed them both. Cursing, he righted himself, but she could feel his hold slipping. She s
ank her teeth into his hand.
He jerked away from her, and she fell onto the ground at the bottom of the stone steps, landing on both feet with her gown beneath her. She ran anyway, pulling it up as she moved, dragging the silk through the graveled path. Her only coherent thought was that she mustn’t damage her gown or Priscilla would kill her.
If Lord Robert didn’t catch her first.
24
Three Meanings of the Letter “L”
Emily dodged behind a shrub and gasped for breath. Why did her gown have to be white? The pearly color glowed in the moonlight, like a beacon guiding sailors to harbor.
Or a murderer to his victim.
She could hear Lord Robert blundering through the bushes, curses tainting his breath.
“Do not make me hunt you down,” he called in warning. “It will go worse for you.”
Worse? He was going to kill her anyway. Like the soldiers in her paintings, she must face the fact that she might meet her Maker. Please, Lord, not until I tell Jamie I love him!
The scent of cloves drifted past, much too close. Emily whipped her head around as she tried to find him before he found her. Was that dark shape Robert? No, another shrub. That snap, his foot on a twig, or her own? She crouched lower, scrunched her skirts together, ready to flee at the least movement.
“Lady Emily!”
Jamie’s voice was like a rope reaching down to rescue her from a well. Yet she dared not respond, even as other voices joined his. She could hear movement, coming closer. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she held back a thankful sob.
“Not yet, I think,” Lord Robert said.
Emily’s heart slammed into her chest as he yanked her to her feet. She struggled for purchase in the damp dirt of the garden, but her cry for help was cut off as his hand looped through the gold setting of the emeralds and wrenched it against her neck. Her voice was locked in her throat, her breath in her lungs. She scrambled with her fingers, gloves slipping on the stones, trying to break the hold. She could not let him win!
