Thomas met Damien’s eyes, his expression shocked.
“That is a possibility which had never occurred to me…”
“I will be amused to see the look on our family man of business’ face when he first meets you…”
For a moment, the brothers laughed together, and Mr Swithin looked on, a gentle smile spreading across his face.
Chapter Eleven
Lady Georgette bit into the lemon cake, and took a moment to savour it, and to bolster her courage. She was sitting in Lady Camellia’s private parlour at Elbury House, her sister beside her. They had debated seemingly endlessly since the day of the musical soiree, when that terrible threat had been whispered into Georgette’s ear, about whether they should tell Lady Camellia about it. In the end, they had decided that they must, that they needed someone else to know of it, who might offer them reassurance of a sort – for, of course, they could not tell their brother – on that point they were in full agreement.
She swallowed, then sipped her tea, before carefully setting the cup down. Lifting her chin, and stiffening her spine, she met Lady Camellia’s eyes.
“Lady Camellia… I… I wanted to tell you about something, and ask your advice.”
Kind brown eyes regarded her.
“Certainly – I will help if I can.”
“It’s… about that blackmail letter. I.. I hesitated to place the advertisement, even though I believed that I should – only a few days, mind you – and then, at that musical soiree a few days ago…” she hesitated, and a shiver shook her as she remembered the horrible voice whispering in her ear. Lady Camellia watched her, her eyes filling with concern. “…when everyone left the room to seek the refreshments during the break, we were caught in the crush at the door of the salon, and…”
“What happened?”
“A voice… a person, who must have been right behind me, whispered in my ear – terrible words! A threat. It was, I think, a female voice, although low and harsh, even in a whisper, as if the person tried to conceal the timbre of their normal voice. They told me not to turn, and I didn’t, not until they had finished, and moved back. For a moment, I just shuffled towards the door with everyone else, in shock, but then I spun around. Everyone obviously thought me mad. I could not tell who it might have been – indeed, it could have been any one of the women there, so tight were we pressed together in the crowd.”
“A threat? What did they say?”
“I will try to remember, but it may not be exact – I think it was ‘My dear Lady Georgette – don’t turn, or you will regret it. This is a reminder. If you do not agree to the terms you were sent, then what gossip you have noted so far will seem mild in comparison to what will follow. There are many ways to ensure that a reputation is ruined, many ways. Do be a sensible woman, like your mother was.’ Marie heard only a small part of it, as she was a little ahead of me, and so cannot corroborate it entirely.”
Marie nodded.
“From what I did hear, I do think that you have it right, Georgette.”
Lady Camellia paled a little.
“Oh dear, I had hoped that whoever it is would be patient, so that we might have time to decide on a plan. That does sound most unpleasant.”
“It was quite terrifying at the time. And the very next morning, I placed the advertisement, as that nasty letter had instructed. But we have heard nothing since. I had expected, by now, to have received another missive, with instructions on what they want us to do next. But there has been nothing. And the fear is preying upon us – what if they simply proceed to worse gossip? What might they accuse us of?”
“I don’t know – and I really don’t wish to imagine! Are you sure that you won’t tell Blackwater? Surely now…”
“No!”
“Definitely not!”
The sisters both spoke at once, and Lady Camellia gave a resigned nod.
“As you wish. But I will, very circumspectly, see if I can discover anything. For now, all that you can do is wait to see what message you next receive – and tell me, immediately that one arrives, so that we may plan what to do.”
“We will, and thank you. The waiting is most difficult to bear, and being able to speak of it to you makes it a little easier.”
<<<
Camellia’s mind was a turmoil of thoughts, even as she led the girls on to talk of other things – especially the Ball which would be held next week – the Ball which would be their first venture into the full glare of society’s view. They were excited about it, even whilst afraid that the unknown blackmailer would spoil it all for them.
Her heart went out to them – they had suffered so much in the last two years, and this situation was a final cruelty heaped upon their heads. She would have to send a message to Lily, and ask to call upon her, and her husband, the Marquess of Canterford. Trent, as well as his responsibilities as Marquess, carried out some other activities, known to only a few of his close family and friends. Those activities were at the behest of Lord Setford, and revolved around protecting the Crown from betrayal from within the ton.
If anyone might know of a way to discover the blackmailer’s identity, it would be Trent. And, from the sound of the threat that the sisters had received, Camellia needed to have that conversation with Trent, very much sooner, rather than later.
<<<
That afternoon, as Camellia sealed the letter to Lily, Marks tapped at the door of her parlour.
“Enter.”
“A message for you, my Lady.”
He proffered a letter on the silver tray, and she took it.
“If you could send this letter, please Marks.”
Camellia held out her note to Lily, and the butler took it, bowed, and left the room.
She looked at the letter he had brought in, and smiled – it was from her man of business. She broke the seal, and unfolded the paper. It was short, as his letters so often were – short and practical.
Dear Lady Camellia,
I wished to enquire whether you have made a decision yet, about potentially investing further in the shop which you sought directions to recently?
Yrs. Mr S.
She sat for a minute, staring across the room towards the painting of Brookhill Hall, her favourite amongst their country estates, but not really seeing it.
Had she reached a decision? Yes, she rather thought that she had, even before she had left the shop’s location. Reviewing that decision now, it had not changed – it was simply that, since then, she had been distracted by the mysterious blackmail letter to Blackwater’s sisters, and had been remiss in not notifying her man of business of that decision.
She pulled out a clean sheet of paper, and uncapped the inkwell again. Once the letter was written, she sealed it, and left the room, asking Marks to send it post-haste, then went to the main parlour, to see what her sisters were doing. Hopefully, she would receive a response from Lily that afternoon.
<<<
Bond Street was crowded, for the afternoon was fine, and rather warm for February, and many of the ton were out enjoying the day – and spending their money as well. Beside her Damien walked, carefully protecting her, and Marie, from the crush of people, some of whom Georgette could not fail to notice, whispered and almost pointed at them. Damien glowered when they did, but it did not seem to deter them.
“It’s not far now – just down here, and into the side street a short distance. Directly past two jewellers, though – might I lose your attention to that, or does the promise of a book shop hold greater allure?”
His voice was full of amusement, and Georgette knew that he teased, for he was fully aware that she cared little for jewels, and barely more for books. It was Marie who could lose herself in a library for days.
“Are there likely to be books on horse breeding? If so, that holds far more interest for me than jewels.”
Marie glanced around her, then back to her brother.
“You know very well, Damien, that I will always choose a book sho
p over any other entertainment. How varied are the books in this shop you are taking us to?”
“Very. It seems tiny, yet it is filled with a veritable treasure trove of books on every imaginable topic, and the bookseller knows exactly where every book is – even though there are likely thousands in there.”
Marie’s eyes widened.
“Thousands? In one small shop? Oohhh!”
The people around them moved past, pushing them a little to the side as a carriage moved along the street, moisture and mud splashing up from its wheels, and Georgette clutched her reticule to her as a small hand touched hers. But rather than attempt to steal from her, the urchin thrust a paper into her hand, and ran, twisting through the strolling shoppers, and out across the street, to disappear down an alley.
Georgette tightened her grasp on the crumpled paper convulsively, suddenly feeling light-headed, then unceremoniously shoved it into her reticule. She had a dreadful suspicion that she knew what it was, and she was most definitely not going to admit to its existence in front of her brother, let alone read it. She was most grateful when they turned into the side street, away from the bulk of the people.
Not far along the street, Damien stopped, and pulled open the door of a tiny shop. The sign above it proclaimed it to be ‘Bigglesworth’s Books’, and the narrow shopfront of the three-storey building did not seem big enough to fulfil Damien’s promises of thousands of books.
She stepped inside, and stopped, startled. There was barely room to move amongst the shelves, which ran in banks from floor to ceiling. Behind a small counter at the rear of the space, a slightly wizened older man sat, a stack of books beside him, and a ledger open in front of him. he looked up, and smiled. They went towards him.
“Good day to you, my Lord, my Ladies – how may I help you?”
“Good day. My sisters would like to browse through the books, and perhaps seek out some specific topics.”
“Of course, my Lord – just ask, if there is anything you’d like me to find for you.”
As Georgette turned away from the counter, undecided where to look first, the crumpled missive in her reticule weighing on her mind, she thought that she saw, just for a moment, a flicker of movement at the edge of the curtain which hung behind the man – the entrance to the rear of the shop, no doubt. She shook her head – she was so shaken by receiving that note, that now she was imagining things!
<<<
Cecil Carlisle, Baron Setford, paused at the sound of voices the other side of the curtain. Very few people knew that he owned this building, or that above the bookshop, there was a series of rooms in which he did the clandestine business of the Crown. It had, so far, proved to be a very functional arrangement, even if there were moments like this, where he was delayed by the unfortunate timing of a person shopping for books.
He cautiously edged the curtain aside a fraction, and peered out. For a moment, he struggled to stifle laughter, as he dropped the curtain again, and listened. Blackwater! It seemed that the man had a talent for arriving at shops used by Setford, with the precise timing required to force him to hide behind curtains.
Perhaps he should look into the man a little more. The gossip of late was disturbing, even though it did not align with what he knew of the man, or his sisters. And that visit to Thomas Black’s shop had been… interesting. Surely this visit was simply coincidence – a man and his sisters buying books was not unusual. But still – the gossip suggested that there were still secrets to be uncovered about this family – and uncovering the secrets of the ton was part of his role for the Crown.
He settled onto the chair which was placed there for exactly this sort of occasion, and reviewed, mentally, everything he’d ever heard about Blackwater, whilst he waited for the man to leave.
<<<
The afternoon seemed interminable, but, eventually, each with a rather large stack of books in hand, they were back at Blackwater House, and Georgette could finally escape her brother’s overview.
In the small parlour which lay between their rooms, she tossed her bonnet onto a side table, and dropped into a chair. Marie looked at her curiously as Georgette abandoned the books which she had chosen, and instead, reached into her reticule to pull something out.
“What have you there, Georgette?”
“I don’t know. But I suspect. An urchin pushed it into my hand as we walked along Bond Street.”
Marie paled, dropped her own books on the sideboard, and came to sit beside Georgette. Silently, Georgette unfolded the paper, which was, as the first note, sealed with plain red wax, and written in an odd spidery hand on good quality paper.
It is very wise of you to comply. Leave five hundred pounds, in fifty-pound notes, well wrapped in oilcloth, sealed, and tied with a dark blue ribbon, with Mr Tanner at the Perfection Pawnbrokers shop, with the message ‘The past will be paid for by the present’. He will know what to do. If you do not do so within the next two days, rest assured, the ton will hear more of the disgusting immoral proclivities of your family.
“Oh my! But… Georgette, we can’t, we don’t have... so much money! What will we do?”
“I don’t know, but I do know that we can’t pay it.”
Georgette turned her head away and sobbed.
Chapter Twelve
Lady Prunella Danby waited, and waited, and waited. The message she desperately hoped for did not come.
After all that she had been through, it was almost too much to bear. But she refused to give up. She might be reduced to drinking plain hot water, and just remembering what tea tasted like, but she could not allow herself to despair. Not after all these years on the fringes of society, not after surviving what her foolish sister had done to her life.
Much though the very idea rather disgusted her, it was time to be true to her word. If she was not, then, of a certainty, the message would never arrive, and, if it did not, she was not certain that she would survive the next year. She went to her escritoire, and drew out a pen, the inkpot, and paper.
The pen needed sharpening – well, replacing, if she was honest about it, the ink had been watered down twice already, and the paper… well, that was one of her last sheets of a decent quality. That she was reduced to this horrified her, and filled her with anger.
Perhaps it was for the better. A pen this worn made the writing on the page look nothing like her normal tidy hand.
Carefully, she composed a letter – a letter which suggested that some things passed down through families, which were far more distasteful than family portraits and heirloom jewellery.
Then, on a second sheet of precious paper, she penned another letter, one which would go more directly to the heart of the matter, to the person who, in the end, owed her a life lost. When it was done, she sealed each of them with her plain wax, wrote the direction on each, and went out to find an urchin to deliver them for her, a small coin in hand.
Part of her resented the need to spend even that – but what choice did she have, at this point?
<<<
Camellia left the footman who had escorted her in the hall, and followed the butler up the stairs in Blackwater House, to be shown into Lady Georgette and Lady Marie’s private parlour. It was the day of the Ball, and she had promised to call on them, to make certain that they were prepared, and to reassure them that all would be well.
Which was, admittedly, a challenge.
Lily had responded to her letter, and soon after, Camellia had visited her sister, and spoken to Trent, who had frowned at the story, and promised to set a quiet investigation in train. Since then, Camellia had heard nothing.
It had only been a few days – she should not be so impatient, she knew, but the whispers had been increasing, and she was genuinely worried for Blackwater’s sisters. And, if she was honest with herself, for Blackwater. She found that she did not want to see him hurt, and, no matter how aloof his manner at times, she knew that this situation would disturb his peace of mind greatly.
�
��Good day, Lady Camellia, I am so very glad that you are here!”
Lady Georgette came forward to greet her, and Camellia looked at her, shocked. The normally vibrant young woman looked worn and tired, as if she had not been sleeping well.
“My dear Lady Georgette, are you well? Forgive me for saying so, but you look most careworn.” At which words, Lady Georgette burst into tears. Camellia rushed to embrace her, her heart breaking for the two girls all over again. “Whatever is the matter, my dear? How can I help?”
Lady Georgette attempted to stem her tears – and failed. Lady Marie spoke from where she stood, near the small table in the centre of the room.
“This…” she waved what appeared to be a newspaper, “…is the problem. Or rather, part of the problem.”
Camellia gently guided Lady Georgette to the couch, and they both sat. Lady Marie brought the newspaper to Camellia, and thrust it into her hands, pointing at a small article in the section of the paper which was reserved for what appeared to be thinly disguised society gossip. The fact that the paper was the Daily Tattler did not bode well, and that feeling of foreboding increased as Camellia read the first words of the article which Lady Marie indicated.
‘Is a lack of moral rectitude inheritable? Our correspondent thinks so. It is suggested that two certain young ladies, G and M, whose father was discovered to have been a philanderer, may have learnt a great deal from their parent., and applied those lessons in a shocking manner – a manner which no virtuous young woman would ever consider.’
“Why… that is dreadful! Why would someone do this?”
Lady Georgette gulped, drawing out her handkerchief to wipe her face, and whispered her next words, as if they were too terrible to speak any louder.
“They are doing it because we have not paid what they asked for. Marie, show Lady Camellia the note.”
Lady Marie hurried away, returning moments later with a rather crushed sheet of paper in her hand. She thrust it at Camellia.
A Diamond for a Duke : Book 4: Camellia: Clean Regency Romance (A Duke's Daughters - The Elbury Bouquet) Page 9
