About an Earl (What Happens in the Ballroom)

by Diana Lloyd

  “Father was gifted that town house when he reached his majority and, in all his years of gambling debt, he never once sold it for quick blunt. Debt never bothered him much, he wouldn’t have done it. Not unless…forced.”

  “Awfully difficult for a mere mister to force a peer to do something,” Penry said, pulling the document away from Oliver so he could look at it again.

  “Father was an unpleasant drunk with a gambling problem; he could have made an enemy anywhere. But he kept records, and I assure you, Penry, that there were no mentions of either a Mr. Smith or a Mr. Gatts.”

  “I’ll journey back up to London tomorrow and speak with Bartleby about this. We’ve only a month and he may need to hire a man of investigations. Can we spare the coin?”

  “Only just. There’ll be no surplus until after the quarterly rents come in, and I had hoped to put a bit aside to help Miss Latham.”

  “Miss Latham. Miss Soules. Miss Latham-Soules.” Penry shrugged. “That doesn’t seem at all suspicious or make you look a bit crazy.”

  “She’s helped us both. What do you expect me to do, toss her out into a ditch?”

  “Of course not.” Penry rose and began pacing the few steps across the room. “The house on Clifford Street is our only London property. I never set foot in the place until after the old sot died. It’s nice enough and good proximity to Mayfair. It’ll cost us a mint to replace. I’m afraid Mary is already dreaming of redecorating.”

  “Think, brother, why would anyone want the town house and have me hidden away in Bedlam? You saw Smith, he’s worse off than we are, and Gatts doesn’t have the brains to button his coat. What’s their angle?”

  “Maybe they’re acting on someone else’s behalf.” Penry stated the opinion without offering up a name.

  “If a single person is behind both these things, then it has to be a peer. Only a peer would have access to the House of Lords Committee of Privileges. That narrows down our pool of suspects but doesn’t help much with a motive.”

  “There’s no telling who father angered in his last few years. He was unreasonable to all, angry at the world. But why would they wait an entire year after his death to come forward with a deed just as you claimed your seat in the House of Lords?”

  “They wouldn’t. Not if it were real. Each accusation is meant to distract from the other, keeping us divided and fighting a war on two fronts.”

  “It’s brilliant in an evil way. Who do we know with those two qualities who’s also a peer?” Oliver asked.

  “All of them. Bartleby and I can start poking around London, you concentrate on those more local.”

  “Jewel and I will join you there soon enough. I promised her I’d take a day or two to look into her problems.”

  “We don’t have a spare day or two.”

  “I promised. We’ll get it all sorted out, Penry.”

  “We’d better, because if your blood is tainted by lunacy, so is mine. We lose in this and the Winchcombe name won’t be worth a ha’penny. The Chalford family goes down in inglorious failure on our watch.”

  “Thanks, I wasn’t feeling quite bad enough until you said that.” Penry’s pretty face represented the title, but he’d no idea how seriously Oliver applied himself to the task of keeping the leaky family ship afloat. He’d done little else since the age of fifteen. Losing the town house and having the dark mark of lunacy attached to the title insured that he’d never prosper, never marry, and never be accepted as an equal in the House of Lords. The town house was the only gift the estate could afford to give to Penry upon his marriage and gave Oliver a safe place to stay while the House of Lords was in session.

  “Sorry. I’m worried. I’ll get things going with Bartleby in London as soon as possible. In the meantime, get Miss Latham in line before the end of the week and join me in London.”

  “In line? Have you met Miss Latham?” Penry was accustomed to the docile Mary Bartleby. He didn’t stand a chance standing up to Jewel. He’d like to see him try.

  “Marry her, Oliver. Has she any dowry? We need an ally, and we need the money.”

  “Sometimes you can be a real shit, Penry.” Oliver brushed his knuckles against Jones’s feathers. The familiar motion—one he’d performed a thousand times over the years—calmed his building anger and frustration. As loud and obnoxious as the bird could be, Jones’s presence was constant and reassuring.

  “Then get rid of her quickly. I can already see you developing feelings for her.” Penry shook his head as he spoke.

  “Am I so obvious?” Leaving Jones to rearrange his feathers, Oliver poured himself a generous splash of brandy and raised the glass to his brother. Jewel was going to leave. Her mind was already made up. Despite her reassurances of friendship in their last conversation, she would leave, would rather face war and imprisonment than the possibility of becoming his bride.

  “Only to me. I’m sure the girl has no inkling.” Penry frowned at the half-full glass. “Take her to the nearest port and drop her on a ship before your heart gets involved.”

  “Too late.” Oliver took a gulp of the warm liquid to avoid further explanation. It was a difficult admission to make, but he wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer.

  “You know everyone, Oliver. Half the countryside owes you a favor or two. Write one of your magically persuasive letters and get the girl on a ship to the colonies.”

  “Hmm. Johnstone might do it. It would cost us dear, though.”

  “Make her use her own money.”

  “Conundrum,” Oliver said. “I can’t get her money unless I’m either her husband or her guardian. I highly doubt her uncle has the authority to legally release her into my care unless we marry.”

  “Shit.”

  “Shit,” Jones repeated.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Oliver raised his now empty glass to the parrot.

  Chapter Eight

  “What about this?” Holding up another gown, Jewel angled it to get the best light from the attic’s open window. “The color has faded a bit, but the embroidery has held up and is quite lovely.” Elvy’s response was to pinch the fabric between her fingers and frown.

  “It’s faded unevenly,” Elvy explained. “Most likely it was stored away soiled.”

  “I imagine when she died the servants just packed everything away as it was.” Oliver’s mother’s clothes had once been fashionable and expensive. After twenty-six years packed away in the attic, it was a testament to their quality that there was anything left of them at all.

  “Rosewater.” Elvy leaned over and gave the gown another sniff. “Still a hint of it after all these years.”

  “Sad to think that the last woman to wear this,” Jewel said, running her hand over the soft fabric, “has been gone for so long and never got to meet her twin sons.”

  “Do you suppose this is one of hers, too?” Pushing a small wooden trunk across the floor, Elvy raised a cloud of dust in her wake. “It’s the only one that’s got a lock.”

  “Then we should leave it be.”

  “Oops.” Elvy gave the trunk a healthy kick and smiled sheepishly as it tumbled over.

  “What do you mean oops?” Turning her attention to the smaller trunk, Jewel stuffed the dress back into its linen wrapping.

  “The lock is just hanging here, it isn’t closed. Someone must have been in a hurry and left it unfastened. Either that or it’s been emptied.”

  “Probably her traveling trunk,” Jewel said, reaching out to examine the lock.

  “Only one way to know.” Setting the lock aside, Elvy lifted the lid. “Correspondence and such— Oh, wait, there’s jewelry in here, too.”

  “Then we should leave it be.”

  “Ain’t no harm in looking.” Gathering up the letters, Elvy set them aside. “Ooh, there’s some lovely pearls here.”

  “We’re not here for pearls,” Jewel
said, neatly stacking the letters so she could return them to the trunk. “Dunwoody.” She read aloud the signature at the bottom of the letter.

  “What’s a Dunwoody?”

  “My uncle. These letters are from my uncle.” Shaking her head in bewilderment, Jewel asked, “Why would Oliver’s mother have letters from my uncle?”

  “Posh folk is up in each other’s nethers all the time. Maybe they was secret lovers.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Unfolding the top letter, Jewel read a few lines to prove the preposterousness of Elvy’s suggestion. “This letter is dated long after Oliver’s mother’s death. There’s something about a meeting, a farmer named George, and windowpanes.”

  “Farmer George?” The smile evaporated from Elvy’s face. “That’s what some call our good king.”

  “I’m going to show these to Oliver.” Counting out the letters from her uncle, Jewel set them aside. “They might be important.”

  “Where is his lordship this morning?”

  “He’s in his office with his brother,” Jewel replied. “He said he’d come up here after he saw Penry off to London.”

  “That was a good turn you did for him, claiming to be his intended.” Pushing aside the pearl necklace in the bottom of the case, Elvy pulled out a small velvet pouch. “Do you think you’ll save him from Bedlam?”

  “He’s just as sane as you or I. They won’t lock him up.” Confidence oozed from her words as Jewel weighed her conviction. “They’ll see the truth eventually.”

  “He don’t do himself any favors. Skulking around in the shadows talking to a bird for ten years is hardly the way to convince folks you ain’t dicked in the nob.” Playing with the ribbon drawstring of the velvet pouch as she spoke, Elvy twirled it around her finger, deep in thought. “What if the only way to prove he’s right in the head is to marry him? For real.”

  “It won’t come to that. I’ll hear from my father, Penry will get this challenge sorted out, and we’ll all walk away happy.”

  “And I used to think my Davey and I would grow old together living above his tailor shop.”

  “I’m sorry your life’s been so hard.” Placing her hand on Elvy’s arm, Jewel forced a smile. “Come back to Boston with me. You could have your own cabin on the edge of a great forest with mushrooms and flowers and an herb garden.”

  “I’m not complaining. It’s just that, sometimes, life has its own plans that don’t have anything to do with the plans you make. Things change in an instant.” Snapping her fingers to illustrate, Elvy dropped the velvet pouch on Jewel’s lap. “Might as well open that. We’ve looked at everything else.”

  “You don’t believe it will all turn out right, do you?” If the point was that life could change quickly, that lesson had been learned when Eldridge had walked away and reinforced when she’d stepped off the coach to Scotland. What choice did Jewel have other than optimism? She had to hope for the best while also being willing to fight for it.

  “However it turns out is the way it’s supposed to turn out. It might not be the way you wanted it, but it will be right.”

  “I choose to be optimistic.” Grabbing up the velvet pouch, Jewel loosened the ribbon and poured the contents out onto the floor. “God’s elbows, what are those? I mean, are those what I think they are?”

  “Diamonds.” Rocking back, Elvy’s mouth fell open. “That wee pile is a fortune. Offer even half of those to a ship’s captain and he’ll give you the whole damn ship.”

  “They aren’t mine to bargain with. We should just put them back.”

  “It’s bona vacantia, so finders keepers.” Standing up, Elvy paced a few steps before turning around. “I considers myself an honest person, but were I you, I’d find that sore tempting.”

  “It is.” Scooping them up, Jewel made sure every last one made it back into the pouch. With those diamonds, she could hire a ship, sail all the way back to Boston in luxury, and still have some left over to bribe her father’s way out of prison. Tying the drawstring into a knot to keep the jewels from falling out, she placed the pouch atop her uncle’s letters. She’d present it all to Oliver and let him decide what to do with it. Father would never forgive her if she took them. She’d never be able to forgive herself.

  “Finding useable cloth?”

  “Among other things.” Rising to her feet, Jewel kept the letters and pouch clutched in her hand. They’d been so involved with their discovery that neither she nor Elvy had heard Oliver coming up the stairs to the attic. Once again, she hoped that doing what seemed right didn’t land her in an even worse situation. “You’re going to want to look at these.”

  “Thank you,” he said, reaching out for the bundle. “What are they?”

  “Letters from my uncle. We thought this small trunk was part of your mother’s things, but these letters are dated after her death. As for the pouch, well, you’d better open that and see for yourself.”

  “Curious.” Stuffing the letters into the pocket of his waistcoat, Oliver emptied the diamonds into his palm. His face blanched and his mouth fell open as he stared at the shiny stones. “These did not belong to my mother. I’ve never seen these before.”

  “Are they real or paste?” Turning away, Jewel bit her lip. Whether they were real diamonds or not was none of her concern. It was greedy of her to expect him to use them for her benefit, especially since he’d already done so much. Desperation was tempting her to act ungraciously. Pushing away the guilt, she turned back to him and smiled. “If they’re real, it could only help your case. You might even be able to bribe your way out of it.”

  “If it comes to that, I’m glad to have them. I’ll have a footman take one to the watchmaker; he’ll know if they’re real or not.” Taking a few steps, he turned around. “I’m going to read these letters in my office where the light is better. Meet me there when you’re done.”

  “Of course.” Reading Oliver’s face was an art she hadn’t yet perfected. If she had to guess, she’d say he wasn’t as pleased as she thought he’d be at finding a possible fortune in gems. Five minutes ago, a handful of diamonds had produced a raw flicker of hope. But as she watched him walk away, a knot of worry tightened in her gut.

  Standing in the doorway to Oliver’s office, Jewel put her hand to her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Oliver and Jones were playing a lively game of fetch with a crumbled ball of paper. Oliver did most of the fetching while Jones squawked and flapped his wings. Judging by the shreds of paper on the floor, they’d been playing for some time. Jumping down to the floor, Jones grabbed the paper ball with his beak and flung it to her feet.

  “Can anyone play?” Jewel tapped the ball with her foot, sending it sailing toward Oliver.

  “Of course, do come in.” Offering his arm, Jones flew to it and ran up to perch on Oliver’s shoulder. “He gets a bit destructive when he’s bored. As you can see,” Oliver said, pointing to the ragged corners of his desk. “He’s quite the chewer.”

  “I did wonder. Rather looks like you’ve taken to gnawing on your desk when hungry.” In the habit of straightening her father’s office, Jewel gathered up random bits of paper from the floor. “Did you read those letters yet?”

  “Sorry, no. Jones needed attention, and I needed time to sort out and come to a decision about something.”

  “They might be important.”

  “You read them.” Oliver pushed the letters across the desktop. “This decision is more important than five-year-old letters, because it concerns you.”

  “Have you heard any more news of my father?” Gathering up the letters, she hugged them to her chest. Oliver was too distracted now to hear more about her troubles. He had his own. The marriage offered so flippantly a few days ago was now a dangerous choice for them both.

  “No.” He hung his head for a moment. “But I have a friend with a ship who might be able to smuggle you back to Boston. We’ll hav
e to make our way to Thornbury first thing in the morning if we’re going to make it in time.”

  “That’s…that’s amazing news. I don’t know how I’ll repay you, but I will. Every penny.” As much as she wanted to squeal with joy, she couldn’t without knowing if her leaving ruined his chance of overcoming the protest against him. “Will my leaving cause you to lose your challenge?”

  “No.” Oliver shook his head. “Marriage was just another layer to the illusion of normalcy. If the opposition finds enough people to swear to my alien nature, it won’t matter to the committee if you’re by my side or not.”

  “It will matter to me.” It was a surprise to her to realize how much it did. Legally, she held no sway but morally, emotionally, it felt wrong to leave him to face it alone. It was as right for her to return to her father as it was to stay and stand with Oliver and Penry. But which right choice was…right?

  “I’ll write you a letter letting you know how it turns out. Shall I?” Oliver’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “It won’t be an easy journey. When I asked Johnstone to take on passengers, I never mentioned your sex. I thought he’d turn me down outright. He named a price that I can meet, but if they balk when they see you, I can offer more. There’s little I can do if they refuse outright. We won’t know unless we try.”

  “Do you think I should go?” Doubt flooded her conscience. What had seemed like the answer to her prayers now loomed like a dark cloud obscuring Oliver’s future. Either decision would leave her in constant torment over whom she’d left behind. Silence filled the space between them as she searched his eyes for her answer.

  “I can’t decide that for you,” he said at last. The emotion in his eyes only made the decision more difficult. Turning his attention back to Jones, Oliver whistled a few notes that the bird repeated. “Pack your things and think on it tonight. We’ll have to leave at first light. The Judith will set sail whether we’re there or not.”