by Adele Clee
Valentine considered the last topic on the list. “You discuss worldly matters—wars, famine, or do you contemplate the ideology of mysticism?”
His mother raised her chin defiantly and yet he had offered no challenge. “Not that I would expect you to understand, but we attempted to prove that the living could contact the dead. Enlightened ladies must—”
“You did what?” Valentine almost shot out of the chair. “It is dangerous to dabble in the unknown.” Though some held a keen interest in the macabre, he’d heard enough eerie stories of malevolent spirits to put him off the practice for life.
“We were not dabbling, Lucius. We hired a professional. Mr Cassiel.”
“Cassiel?” After the archangel? Valentine had seen an illustration of the figure in The Magus, sitting astride a dragon. While the name proved appropriate for a man claiming to possess a godlike ability, no doubt it was as fake as the paste ruby. “And his first name?”
He would make a few enquiries regarding the legitimacy of the man’s otherworldly powers.
Honora pursed her lips. “Angelo.”
“Angelo Cassiel? Of course.”
“I know that tone, Lucius. You think it foolish. But one must keep an open mind to such possibilities.”
When the mind was open to possibilities, it was open to manipulation. Some people knew how to pray on those looking for an answer to the question that had plagued humanity for centuries.
“Personally, I need to see something to believe it. The philosophy has served me well.”
The corners of Honora’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Has it? I beg to differ. Faith and love are two of the strongest emotions known to man—besides hatred. You cannot see them, but that does not mean they don’t exist.”
Dear God. The last thing he needed was a lecture on love, marriage and responsibility.
“Have you proposed to Lady Durrant?” his mother said bluntly. “No, of course you haven’t as that would mean believing in something you cannot see or touch. It would involve things like trust and hope.”
Valentine shrugged. He refused to be drawn into a discussion about his failings. Something prevented him from making the final leap into matrimony, though he knew not what. Perhaps Miss Kendall had the right of it. Perhaps some people needed more than a life partner. Some people needed a friend, a lover, a trustworthy confidant. Perhaps his list of criteria would prove longest of all.
“Forgive me, Lucius. I did not invite you here to argue.” Honora came to her feet. She closed the gap between them and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s just that you have so much to give and it breaks my heart to see you alone. After what happened with your father … well, I fear it has affected you more deeply than you think.”
Valentine placed his hand on hers and rubbed gently. It was a gesture of solidarity shared many times over the years, when his father’s delusional mind had resulted in another irrational episode.
“What happened affected us both,” he said. After a lifetime of trauma, he wished to ease his mother’s burden not add to it. “I understand your concerns and will do what Society demands of a man in my privileged position.”
She pushed a lock of hair from his brow and cupped his cheek. “I want you to be happy. Is that so wrong?”
Valentine sighed inwardly. What was happiness? It was winning at cards, the purchase of a new curricle, a passionate moment of ecstasy. The task was to make it last longer than an hour, to make it last a lifetime.
“Let us get back to the matter of treachery,” he said in a light-hearted tone to banish the air of melancholy. “What do you want me to do with this list?”
His mother leant down, kissed his forehead as if he were a boy of five and then returned to her seat. “I want you to investigate all four ladies. Miss Kendall lives across the street, though I doubt she would disgrace her father’s name by doing the unthinkable.”
Deep in his gut, Valentine knew Miss Kendall was as honourable as she was courageous. Theft was beneath a woman willing to fight a duel out of principle. “What about Miss Faversham?”
“Major Faversham’s daughter lives with her family on Mount Street. A nervous girl terrified of her own shadow. We are encouraging her to find her voice.”
Valentine knew the short-tempered major but not his daughter. “As to the other ladies listed, I am acquainted with Mrs Madeley and Lady Cartwright.” Valentine glanced at the ornate goblet in the display case. “And you think one of these ladies stole into the cabinet?”
Honora pursed her lips and nodded. “I believe someone was brazen enough to steal the ruby while attending our weekly meeting. We always sit in the day room. One of them could have snuck in here under the guise of using the pot.”
Valentine refused to form a mental image of the ladies going about their ministrations, and yet in his mind’s eye, he saw Miss Kendall hike up her skirts to reveal soft, milky-white thighs.
Damnation.
“And what of Mr Cassiel’s visit? When did you attempt to correspond with the dead?” Valentine wondered what Miss Kendall thought of the mystic. Would a woman with her logical mind possess the ability to recognise a fraud?
“Mr Cassiel came two weeks ago. He arrived at midnight and left before dawn. Apparitional experiences are more common during the witching hour.”
Most probably because tired minds were weak minds.
“And did you make contact with a so-called spirit?” Scepticism dripped from every word.
“That is not important,” his mother chided. “Perhaps you should speak to Miss Kendall as she seemed to have the most success communicating with souls on a higher plane.”
Suspicion flared.
Had his mother received a message from his father? Was the deceased lord keen to torment his wife from beyond the grave? Was that the reason for her reluctance to discuss her findings?
“Can you not tell me? It would save me troubling the lady.” And yet Valentine could think of nothing he would enjoy more than probing Miss Kendall’s mind.
“I cannot, as I am not party to that information. Mr Cassiel placed us all in different rooms so as not to confuse the messages.”
“I see.” Most people imagined strange noises when alone in the dark. When alone, there were no witnesses to challenge any eerie observations. “And who did Mr Cassiel place in this room?”
“Erm … Miss Kendall spent an hour alone in this room.”
An odd pang in Valentine’s stomach forced him to take a deep breath. “Then the lady had ample opportunity to make the exchange.”
His mother winced as if unwilling to accept his theory. “Well, yes, but she is such an honest sort. I cannot see her risking everything when she must have a house brimming with precious gems.”
Valentine held a similar view of the lady he had met only this morning. “Who suggested hiring Mr Cassiel?” It was an unusual way for anyone to spend an evening, even for a lady seeking enlightenment.
A blush touched his mother’s cheeks. “Miss Kendall made the initial suggestion, but we were all in agreement.”
Yet more reason to suspect his mother’s alluring neighbour. Valentine sat back in the chair and took a moment to consider why he had the sudden urge to prove Aveline Kendall’s innocence.
“Very well,” he said. “I shall make a few enquiries.”
An investigation would distract his mind from thoughts of marriage. Assisting his mother might ease the crippling guilt he invariably felt every time he failed to offer for Lady Durrant. It would also give him an opportunity to cross paths with Miss Kendall.
“You understand that my eagerness to find the culprit has nothing to do with money,” his mother said. “It is not the value but the manner in which the theft occurred.”
“Of course.” He understood that when one had lived on a knife edge for years, trust and confidence in one’s friends mattered more than expensive gems. “Where might I find Mr Cassiel? The man had opportunity, after all.”
Anyone who dab
bled in the occult for a living had motive, though the mystic would have needed prior knowledge of the ruby, an etching or detailed description at the least.
“You will need to ask Miss Kendall. She was responsible for hiring someone suitable.”
So, the lady knew the mystic.
Were Miss Kendall and Mr Cassiel partners in crime? Surely not. Was Cassiel the gentleman who had mistreated her, the gentleman who made her doubt her love?
Annoyance turned to anger for no reason at all. “And how am I to do that without alerting Miss Kendall of our suspicions?”
Honora Valentine smiled. “You’re an intelligent man. I am sure you will think of something.”
“In my current unmarried status, I can hardly knock on her door.” In the eyes of the gossips that would mark the lady as his mistress.
Hmm … the idea proved tempting.
Perhaps an affair with Miss Kendall was exactly what he needed. No doubt, the liaison would be fraught with tension and trauma, much like his friendship with Lady Durrant, and might make him long for the quiet indifference that came with an arranged marriage to a wallflower.
His mother craned her neck and narrowed her gaze as she stared at a point beyond his shoulder. “There is no need to worry about disturbing Miss Kendall.” Honora’s sapphire-blue eyes widened. “Here she comes now. I shall make the introductions, and you may reveal your interest in hiring Mr Cassiel.”
Valentine’s gaze shot to the window—and his heart shot to his mouth.
Wearing an elegant blue pelisse and matching bonnet swathed in burgundy ribbon, Miss Kendall crossed the street. There was an elegance in her bearing that instilled confidence in her ability to conquer the world if she so desired. Intelligence, grace and beauty radiated to make a captivating package. And yet the urge to weaken her position—to see a glimpse of vulnerability—took hold.
Valentine stood, straightened his waistcoat and brushed the sleeves of his coat. “I’m afraid I cannot stay. I have an appointment across town.” He would not risk his mother noting his amorous interest in her neighbour.
“At least stay long enough to permit an introduction, else how will you ever speak to her publicly?”
Having forced the lady to converse on an intimate level while they brushed knees in a hackney cab, he would have found a way.
His mother rang for Jenkins and informed the butler to usher Miss Kendall into the drawing room as soon as she knocked on the door. The dull thud of the brass knocker hitting the plate echoed through the hall. The sweet timbre of her voice reached Valentine’s ears. The clip of her boots on the tiled floor sent his heart thudding against his ribs.
Damnation—this was downright ridiculous.
Following Jenkins’ introduction, Miss Kendall stepped into the room, wearing the knowing smile that gave a man no clue what she was thinking. Her composure faltered for a second when her gaze swept over him. Excellent.
“Honora, please forgive the intrusion.” Miss Kendall stepped forward with outstretched hands, and his mother stood and gripped them affectionately. One might call the matron a hypocrite. Who embraces a suspected thief? But Honora Valentine condemned no one until proven guilty.
“An apology is unnecessary, my dear.” Honora wore a beaming smile as she gestured to Valentine. “You have heard me speak about my son. Allow me to present Lord Valentine. He has recently returned from a lengthy visit overseas.” The last sentence bore a hint of disapproval regarding his absence.
Valentine inclined his head, and Miss Kendall offered her hand. For the second time in a matter of hours, he captured her fingers and pressed his lips to her glove.
“Ah, my lord. I did not expect our paths to cross again quite so soon.” Brown eyes, as dark and delicious as liquid chocolate, glowed with amusement.
Honora frowned as her gaze moved back and forth between them. “What? You know Miss Kendall?”
“We met briefly this morning.” Even when Valentine released his grip of Miss Kendall’s hand, his fingers still tingled. “In the park.”
He despised lies and untruths.
On the rare occasion, they were necessary.
“In the park?” His mother looked bemused.
The corners of Miss Kendall’s lips twitched. Surely the minx was not about to confess they had met on the duelling field.
“Lord Valentine kindly warned me how unsafe it is for a woman out alone at dawn.” The lady offered his mother a reassuring smile. “I informed him I carried a pistol and would shoot any scoundrel who dared to overstep the mark.”
His mother chuckled. “Miss Kendall is an expert shot. Hamilton taught her when she was but a girl. A man would not want to rouse her ire on a cold autumn morning.”
“No.” Valentine groaned inwardly. “I am aware of her skill with a pistol. Indeed, when I noted her butler loading luggage into a hackney, I feared she may have accidentally shot a vagrant and had consequently booked passage on the next ship to sail from Dover.”
Miss Kendall raised her chin. “You should not jump to conclusions, my lord, else one might mistake you for a gossip. Let me put your mind at ease. My brother has been staying with me temporarily and has now moved on.”
Curiosity forced him to ignore her teasing. A host of questions burned in Valentine’s mind. Had her brother lashed out in rage? Had she grown tired of the pup’s foolish antics?
“Do I look like a man who thrives on tittle-tattle, Miss Kendall?”
Their gazes locked. Sparks flew. The air thrummed with excitable energy.
Valentine felt the heat of his mother’s stare and decided he had already revealed too much.
“Well, I shall leave you to your business.” Valentine offered a graceful bow.
“Oh, wait,” his mother said. “Did you not tell me that your friend Mr Drake wishes to hire Mr Cassiel for a dinner party?” She turned to Miss Kendall. “Do you happen to have the man’s card to hand, my dear?”
Miss Kendall stiffened. A look akin to panic flashed in her eyes. After a brief pause, she cleared her throat. “No. I’m afraid I do not. Mr Cassiel works on recommendation only.”
Valentine observed her odd reaction. “Then you know how to contact him?”
She pursed her quivering lips. “I—I can enquire on your behalf.” A faint blush stained her cheeks. “The nature of his business means that he must be cautious when selecting clients. Persecuting those with unconventional ideologies is a pastime for some.”
Valentine supposed it was a plausible explanation. “Please reassure him that my interest is genuine. That I fall into the category of the spiritually curious.”
“Really? You strike me as the logical sort.” Miss Kendall narrowed her gaze. “Mr Cassiel will wish for a private meeting before agreeing to provide a service for your friend.”
“I understand.” After the meeting, Valentine would stalk the mystic to discover more about his background. “Please tell him it is a matter of urgency.”
“Mr Cassiel determines whom he sees and when, but I will explain that your quest for enlightenment is pressing.”
Yes, perhaps those clients with expensive jewels on display took priority.
Honora cleared her throat and eyed them both suspiciously. “Are you certain you only met this morning?”
God’s teeth. Valentine had stayed far too long. A blind fool would notice his interest in his mother’s neighbour.
Miss Kendall offered Honora a reassuring smile. “Most certain. Though we seem to lock horns over the simplest things.”
“That’s because my son is unused to dealing with enlightened ladies.” His mother chortled. “Well, you cannot stand here exchanging quips all day. Is there not somewhere you need to be, Lucius?”
“Indeed. No doubt you’re eager to hear what prompted Miss Kendall’s visit.” No one was as eager as he.
“I am on my way into town and came merely for advice regarding a dress for this evening.” Miss Kendall screwed up her dainty nose. “I’m to attend the Rockford ball and
haven’t the first clue what to wear.”
The Rockford ball? The place was a hive for those keen to gamble away their fortunes. There would be more than a few scoundrels in attendance, more than a few eager to find some other means of entertainment once their coffers ran dry.
“May I suggest something conservative, Miss Kendall?” Lord, he sounded like a doddery matron not a virile man in his late twenties. “Rockford’s gaming tables attract a rather wild crowd.”
Miss Kendall offered one of her beguiling smiles. “Rest assured, my lord. I am accustomed to dealing with challenging situations. But in case you’re in any doubt, know that I am never without my pocket pistol.”
Chapter Five
“All I can say is thank heavens you’re both alive.” Portia Durrant’s seductive gaze drifted over Jonathan Kendall before coming to rest on Valentine. She kept her hungry eyes trained on him as she sipped champagne. “Fighting a silly duel, and all because of me.”
Valentine firmed his jaw. Neither the golden glow of the chandelier nor the soothing music of the orchestra could settle the writhing frustration in his stomach. He wanted to correct the misconception—had fought the duel merely because honour demanded he act—but he could not risk Kendall revealing the truth about his sister’s involvement.
“The least said about it the better.” Valentine scanned Lord Rockford’s ballroom, searching for Aveline Kendall. Oddly, her brother knew nothing of her desire to attend and had scoffed at the suggestion.
So what had prompted the lady to accept the invitation?
“When it came to skill on the field, we were evenly matched,” Kendall boasted whilst salivating over the exposed swell of Portia’s breasts. “Is that not correct, Valentine?”
Valentine seethed at the suggestion they were somehow equal. One derogatory remark from Mr Kendall and Valentine was liable to lash out and rid the pup of his arrogant grin. The fool should be grateful he wasn’t stretched out cold and bare on a mortuary slab.
“Being an expert marksman, I would say we were far from evenly matched when it came to skill,” Valentine corrected in a tone sharp enough to draw blood. “But I suppose we both employed an element of logic in a life-threatening situation.”
