by Andrea Kane
Elizabeth stroked her daughter’s hair. “Daphne, listen to your heart. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Believe me, I speak from experience.” That faraway look reappeared, then vanished. “Now, when will your duke return for his answer?”
“Today.”
In response, Elizabeth pressed the brooch into Daphne’s palm. “Then I suggest you hurry off and dispose of this repulsive bauble. Give the money to the vicar, then fly home to greet Pierce.”
Daphne kissed her mother’s cheek. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you for everything.”
“It’s barely dawn, Your Grace. And, I repeat, I can’t help you.”
The Tragmore butler addressed Pierce with haughty censure, simultaneously blocking his entry into the manor. “I’ve specified, three times, in fact, that Lord Tragmore is in London.”
“And I’ve specified, three times, in fact, that if such is the case I insist on seeing Lady Daphne.” Pierce was fast losing his patience. He’d scarcely had time to bathe and change his clothing before riding to Tragmore. He was in no mood to argue with an ornery servant who was hell-bent on thwarting his attempts to see Daphne.
“It appears that Lady Daphne has gone out.”
“Out?” Pierce stifled the urge to choke him. “At dawn? Where?”
“I really couldn’t say, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance.” Elizabeth’s tentative voice drifted from the hallway. “I’ll speak to the duke.”
The butler started, then swerved to face the marchioness. “Very good, Madam,” he agreed with a bow. Casting one last distasteful look at Pierce, he stalked off.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Elizabeth smiled as she approached him.
“Lady Tragmore, thank you for seeing me. I apologize for arriving at this ungodly hour. I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep.”
“Not at all. As you can see, I’m up and dressed.” Elizabeth hovered in the doorway. “Forgive me for not inviting you in. To be candid, I’m simply too much of a coward.”
“I understand.” Pierce nodded gravely, besieged, once again, by a wave of compassion for this gentle, broken woman, and the indignities she must suffer. “I assume the marquis is not at home?”
“No, or I wouldn’t be taking this chance. He’s not due home until late this afternoon.”
“I see.”
“But then, you’re not here to call on Harwick, are you? You’re here for Daphne.”
Pierce started, carefully scrutinizing Elizabeth’s face. How much had Daphne told her?
“She said she was expecting you today,” Elizabeth eased his way by supplying. “But I don’t think she expected you quite this early. Otherwise I know she’d be home to receive you.”
“So she really is out?”
“Yes. She left Tragmore about an hour ago.”
“Before dawn? Why?”
Elizabeth studied the intricate pattern of the marble floor. “I’m not free to discuss Daphne’s activities with you, sir. I can tell you that her intentions are sound.”
“She is well, though?”
At that, Elizabeth’s head came up. “Yes.” Her gaze locked with Pierce’s. “Safe and well. You can see for yourself later today.”
“All fight, I shall.” Pierce nodded, convinced Daphne’s mother spoke the truth. “Would you give her a message for me, please? Tell her I’ll be back for tea and a reply.”
“Very well.”
“And one thing more.”
“Yes?”
“If your husband returns, tell him of my impending visit. I want him to expect me.”
A shadow of fear crossed Elizabeth’s face. “I’ll see that Harwick receives word of your forthcoming call, Your Grace.” Nervously, she glanced about the deserted hallway. “Now I have a message for you.” She leaned toward Pierce. “Keep Daphne safe,” she whispered. “And make her happy. Please.”
A current of communication ran between them.
“I shall, Madam,” Pierce replied solemnly. “You have my word.”
The noon hour was approaching, and Covent Garden bustled with activity.
Daphne shifted from one aching foot to the other, wishing she had some idea where to find the highest-paying buyer for her mother’s brooch. In the several hours since she’d arrived in London, she’d cautiously wandered the streets, ducking whenever she saw a man who even remotely resembled her father. She was taking an enormous risk, and she knew it. But the high price she intended to procure for the brooch could not be found in her little village. Hence, she’d appealed to the vicar, using the only avenue of persuasion she knew would succeed: the children, and how much this money would mean to them. Muttering a fervent prayer for her safety, the vicar had arranged for a carriage, and Daphne had been off to London.
Her goal had been to conduct her business and be gone within the hour. What a childishly naive idea that proved to be.
The eminent West End jewelers were acquainted with her father, which made dealing with them akin to suicide. Should they breathe a word of her actions to him—Daphne shuddered at the thought. So, she’d limited herself to the lesser-known, more modest proprietors elsewhere in London, very few of whom, she soon discovered, could be trusted.
Covent Garden was her last resort.
The innkeeper she’d approached two blocks from here had mumbled something about a man named Thompson, a jeweler who reputedly paid well and asked no questions.
Now all she needed to do was find him.
“You did well, my friend.”
Frowning in concentration, Thompson pried a single emerald from the last garish necklace, studying each of the stone’s glittering facets. “Every one of these trinkets you brought me is worth a pretty penny. Now I see why you made that long trip to Mansfield to pilfer them.”
Pierce nodded, stretching his booted legs out in front of him. “I thought you might come to that conclusion once you’d seen the spoils from last night’s venture. Now, tell me, how much are they worth?”
“I’ll need a few minutes to figure that out.” Thompson set down the stone, his eyes alight with curiosity. “What I can’t figure out is why you couldn’t get here last night. You know I hate doing this type of business during the day.”
“I have my reasons. As for your concerns, that’s why we meet in your back room. If you’re suddenly swarmed with avid patrons,” Pierce’s sarcasm clearly indicated he didn’t see that as a likelihood, “you can sprint right up front and sell them your wares. No one need ever know I hover in wait.”
As if to challenge Pierce’s skepticism, a bell tinkled, indicating that someone had entered the shop.
“You were saying?” Thompson asked triumphantly, smoothing his worn coat. “It appears I have a customer.”
“It appears so. You’d best hurry, before he discovers your seedy reputation and races back whence he came.” Chuckling at Thompson’s poisonous look, he folded his arms behind his head. “I shall patiently await your return. Don’t bleed the chap too badly.”
Thompson swore under his breath, then pasted a smile on his face as he exited for the front room.
“May I help you—ma’am?”
Whoever his female patron was, Pierce mused, Thompson sounded totally taken aback. She was either rife with gaudy jewels or blatantly available. Pierce grinned, listening.
“I hope so,” a feminine voice replied. “I was told you purchase fine jewelry. What can you offer me for this elaborate brooch?”
Pierce’s grin vanished, and he came to his feet like a bullet. That voice belonged to Daphne.
He took two strides forward, then checked himself. What the hell was she doing here? Before he charged out and dragged her from Thompson’s disreputable clutches, he had to know.
“Hmm,” Thompson was saying. “The brooch is well made, the pattern ornate. Did you have a specific price in mind?”
“I was hoping you would tell me.”
“I see.” Pierce could almost hear Thompson’
s slimy little wheels turning. “Well, let’s have a closer look. Ah, I didn’t notice this at first.”
“Notice what?”
“The stones are a bit cloudy. And the quality of the engraved gold?” A deep sigh. “Passable at best.” A pause. “I’ll be as generous as I can, my good lady. I’ll give you one thousand pounds.”
Daphne gasped. “A thousand pounds? Why, the brooch is worth more than three times that amount.”
“Really? Have you actually been offered that lavish sum?”
Silence.
“You appear to be a sensible young woman. Also one who is eager, for reasons that are none of my concern, to sell your jewels here, rather than in a more appropriate, fashionable establishment in the West End. Therefore, I shall disregard my better judgment and raise my initial offer. I’ll give you fifteen hundred pounds for the brooch.” He sighed dramatically. “I’ll take a large loss, no doubt, but I always was a fool for a beautiful lady in distress.”
“You’re robbing me. I’m well aware of that. But I haven’t any—”
That did it.
Pierce lifted his chair and banged it loudly against the wall, not once, but twice.
“Shouldn’t you check to see what that commotion is?” Daphne asked, her voice fraught with the anguish of her decision.
“No. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Pierce took an empty ale bottle and let it crash to the floor.
“Perhaps someone has broken into your shop!” Daphne exclaimed.
Thompson couldn’t wave away that possibility without arousing Daphne’s suspicions. “It’s probably some stray cats who wandered in searching for food,” he muttered. “But I’ll check. Wait here.”
A moment later he plunged into the back room.
“What the hell are you doing?” he whispered angrily at Pierce.
“Summoning you.” Pierce’s eyes were blazing. “Now the question is, what the hell are you doing?”
“Business!”
“You’re stealing that young woman’s money.”
Thompson blinked in disbelief. “Coming from you, that’s almost funny.”
“I don’t find it the least bit amusing. My targets are greedy noblemen, not helpless women.” A muscle worked in Pierce’s jaw. “Offer her five thousand pounds.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Get out there and offer her five thousand pounds for that bloody brooch.”
“Are you insane? I can’t sell that thing for—”
“I’ll buy it.”
A long pause.
“You’ll buy it?” Thompson stared. “Why?”
“That’s my concern.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“Nor do I care to. Just do as I say. Now.”
Thompson shook his head in amazement. “You’re a bloody lunatic, you know that, Thornton? A bloody lunatic. What am I supposed to tell her? That I abruptly changed my mind and realized the brooch was worth a fortune?”
“You’ll think of something. You’re good at that.”
With a disgusted grunt, Thompson turned on his heel and stalked out.
“Is everything all right?” Pierce heard Daphne ask.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, everything is fine. Some boxes just fell over and knocked a bottle to the floor. A bit of a mess, but nothing serious.”
“I’m glad.” Daphne inhaled sharply. “Mr. Thompson—”
“While I was cleaning up the shattered glass, I suddenly remembered a particular customer of mine, an eccentric old lady whose particular tastes run to sapphires and rubies. As I recall, she’s willing to pay a fortune for a piece made entirely of those two stones combined. She’ll be ecstatic when she sees your brooch. Doubtless she will buy it on the spot, no matter what the cost.” He paused for effect. “So, since I won’t have to take that loss after all, I’m going to be a gentleman and offer you five thousand pounds.”
“Five thousand pounds!” she managed. “But you said the brooch wasn’t worth anywhere near that amount.”
“Worth is a relative term. I’m a fair man. If I make a profit, you make a profit. So, how about it? Is five thousand pounds more like what you had in mind?”
“You’re certain this woman will pay enough to compensate you? I wouldn’t want—”
“I’m sure.”
Daphne made no attempt to hide her relief. “That’s wonderful. Consider the brooch yours. And I thank you very, very much.”
There was a rustle of activity as the exchange was made.
Then, the jingling bell indicating Daphne’s departure sounded. Simultaneously, Thompson re-entered the rear chamber.
“Christ!” the jeweler exclaimed. “Instead of snatching that ludicrous sum and bolting before I came to my senses, she’s worried about my profit? She’s as daft as you! Doesn’t she know a gift when she’s handed one?”
“Perhaps she has a conscience.”
Thompson shot Pierce a suspicious look. “And you? You just paid five thousand pounds for this.” He tossed Pierce the brooch. “Now are you going to tell me why?”
“No.” Pierce leaned forward, snatching up the single emerald Thompson had removed from the stolen necklace and shoving it into his pocket along with the brooch. “These are mine. And these,” he extracted ten five hundred pound notes and thrust them at Thompson, “are yours.”
The jeweler shook his head as he accepted the proffered money. “I still say you’re crazy. But that’s your problem. In any case, we’re even except for what I owe you for the impressive spoils you brought in today.”
“Keep the jewels—and the money you make on them.”
“Why?”
Pierce grinned, already halfway out the door. “Don’t you know a gift when you’re handed one?”
He was gone before Thompson could reply.
12
TRAGMORE WAS IN THE foulest of tempers when he stormed into the manor in the mid afternoon, still irked by having been dragged into an unproductive two-day excursion to London. Hollingsby’s missive had led him to believe that the insurance claim on his stolen jewels was finalized, when all the solicitor really needed were more signatures on yet more documents.
If he weren’t so eager to avoid another meeting with Thornton, he would have discharged Hollingsby on the spot and taken his leave. As it was, however, he’d stayed and signed the bloody papers—whatever purpose they served—and lingered in Town, hoping against hope that his remuneration would be expedited.
It wasn’t.
“Where are the marchioness and Lady Daphne?” he barked now, spying his butler.
“The marchioness wasn’t expecting you for several hours, my lord,” the servant replied. “But I believe she is in her chambers. Lady Daphne has yet to return to Tragmore.”
“Return? Return from where?”
“I don’t know, sir. As I advised the duke, she didn’t tell me her destination, nor did I see her leave. It was quite early.”
“The duke?” A vein throbbed in Tragmore’s temple.
“The Duke of Markham, my lord. He was here at dawn, asking for both you and Lady Daphne.”
“Why the hell would he want to see my daughter?” Tragmore didn’t wait for an answer. He was already heading down the hall toward the staircase.
Taking the steps two at a time, he rounded the second-floor landing and, an instant later, flung open the door to his wife’s bedchamber.
“Harwick!” Elizabeth rose from her needlepoint, surprise and fear mixing on her face. “You’ve arrived home earlier than expected.”
“Evidently.” He shut the door behind him. “Where is Daphne?”
Elizabeth wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I told her you wouldn’t be home until late. Otherwise, I’m sure she’d be—”
“I didn’t ask you why she wasn’t here!” he snapped. “I asked you where she was.”
Silence.
“Has she gone to visit that miserable vicar again?”
“I’m not certain prec
isely where she is,” Elizabeth replied truthfully.
“Really? Then suppose I ride to the village. I’m confident I can locate her.”
“He’s her only friend, Harwick.” Elizabeth’s eyes beseeched him. “There can be no harm if she spends a few hours at the church.”
Rage ignited and spread swiftly through the marquis’s being. “She’s been away from the manor since dawn. By now, knowing Daphne’s pathetically soft heart, Chambers has doubtless convinced her to join him in yet another of his blasphemous crusades for the poor. Well, I’ve warned her one time too many.” He turned on his heel. “This time is the last.”
“Harwick, wait!” Elizabeth grabbed his arm. “Please don’t.”
He flung her aside. “Get out of my way!”
“For God’s sake, let her be,” she pleaded, recovering her balance. “Give her a chance to be happy.”
Something about Elizabeth’s tone gave Harwick pause. He turned, eyes narrowed on his wife’s face.
“Happy? What does that mean?”
Instantly, she recognized her faux pas. “Only that Daphne has done everything you’ve demanded for twenty years. It’s time she was allowed to pursue her own life.”
“Her own life?” Suspicion tempered outrage. “She’s been sneaking off to visit that weak-minded vicar since she was a child. Why would those visits suddenly alter her life?” He bore down on his wife in a flash, one hand closing around her throat. “Tell me, Elizabeth, what are Daphne and the vicar planning?”
“I didn’t mean the vicar,” Elizabeth denied, her eyes wide with terror. “I meant—” She broke off.
“Who?” His grip tightened. “Who else could Daphne be consorting with.” A new thought struck. “Thornton?” His affirmation came in the acceleration of Elizabeth’s pulse. “It is Thornton, isn’t it? Is that why he asked for Daphne earlier today when he invaded my home?”
Elizabeth sucked in air. “The duke came to see you. He plans to return to Tragmore later this afternoon. He asked me to tell you so.”
“Did he? And whom will he be visiting, Daphne or me?”
Again, silence.
“Why did he want to see our daughter?” A muscle flexed in Tragmore’s cheek. “Is that bastard involving Daphne in his attempt to bleed me? Is he?” His fingers dug into Elizabeth’s throat.
