by Amy Corwin
“Release me immediately!” The lady twisted her arm again, but he refused to let her go.
Or let her drop the glittering item she clutched in her gloved hand.
Aware of the growing silence, John stepped to one side, pulling the lady forward.
“What are you doing, Archer!” Taggert called. Hands fisted at his sides, he strode forward. “Release that lady!”
Smiling grimly, John raised the woman’s arm.
Despite the smoke, the tiara glittered in her hand. His hold tightened when he felt her jerking and trying to edge behind him, out of view of the others.
“What the…” A confused look on his face, Taggert halted.
With a gentle push, John released the lady and stepped behind her. She stumbled forward a few steps, with the headdress still clutched in her hand, before coming to a halt in front of Taggert.
“Miss Owsley!” Taggert exclaimed. He gave John a stern look and said, “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
“He made me take it!” Miss Maud Owsley shrieked. “He shoved the tiara into my hand!” She held out the tiara in John’s direction, her hand shaking.
Raising a brow, he folded his arms and studied her sardonically. “Really, my dear? Is that the best you can do?”
Her entire body shook with rage. She stared at him, a fleck of spittle forming at the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes flickered back and forth. “I found it! She must have hidden it—I just found it!”
“How astute of you,” John commented dryly. “Considering it was apparently resting in that delightful Chinese vase, quite hidden from view.” He cocked his head to one side. “One would almost believe you knew it was there.”
“What are you saying, sir?” Taggert faced John. “Surely, you cannot accuse Miss Owsley.”
“Can I not?”
“We all know Lady Victoria took the thing,” Taggert said impatiently.
“Do we? It makes one wonder, then, why Miss Owsley is holding it in her hand.”
With a sharp gasp, Miss Owsley threw the tiara onto the floor at John’s feet.
“Now, now.” As Sir Arnold strode forward to join them, John noticed the lessening of the smoke.
Their host must have managed to reopen the flue and make it draw again before coming out of the drawing room. Around them, a few puffs of acrid smoke spiraled up the stairwell toward the magnificent painted ceiling two stories above.
Sir Arnold spread his plump hands out, palms up, a pleasant, conciliatory expression on his face. “No need for unpleasantness—we have the tiara.” Corset creaking, he bent and picked up the headdress.
He held it up, a hopeful smile on his round face as Mrs. Stedman moved forward to take her tiara.
“While we are all pleased Mrs. Stedman has her property, and cherish no desire to cause any inconvenience, I believe at least one of us would appreciate having her reputation restored.” John leaned a hip against the console table. “Despite Miss Owsley’s protests, it must be clear that Lady Victoria had nothing to do with the theft, except to find the empty case. Precisely as she explained.”
“I did not do it!” Miss Maud Owsley shrieked again before covering her face with her hands and sobbing.
After threading her way through the guests clustered nearby, Miss Grace rushed forward to put an arm around her weeping sister. Her nostrils flared as she lifted her head and glared at John. “How dare you! Can’t you see she is innocent?” She lowered her mouth to her sister’s ear and murmured something to her.
Miss Maud grabbed her sister’s wrist. “I did not mean to do it—I could not help myself. I never have anything—nothing like your necklace—why does everyone always favor you? We are twins—precisely the same! And yet everyone adores you while I…” A sob broke her words asunder. She gulped and caught her breath, staring at her sister’s lovely necklace. “It was just so beautiful, and it was sitting there—the case was open—right on top of the dresser. It looked so lovely in the candlelight… I could not help picking it up, just to look at it. I only wanted to hold it for a moment to see what it felt like to have something so beautiful in my hands.”
“Come, Miss Owsley, you see?” John asked, directing his question to Miss Grace, who stared at him accusingly. “She has admitted it.”
“So she looked at it—there is nothing wrong with that,” Miss Grace stated, her restless hand playing with her diamond and pearl necklace. Her eyes cut to Lady Victoria. “She is the one who took it.”
A wail erupted from Miss Maud, and she buried her face against her sister’s shoulder while Miss Grace patted her awkwardly. She stared resentfully at the other guests, her angry visage looking more like her sister’s than her normal, smiling self.
“Miss Maud is the only one who knew where to find the tiara.” John stated the obvious once again.
Miss Grace was growing increasingly tedious in her refusal to accept the truth, despite her sister’s tearful admission. John adjusted the position of the vase and stepped away from both it and the twins.
“Please, do not worry, ladies. There is no need to cry,” Sir Arnold begged, wringing his hands. “Don’t cry—please!” He looked to Mrs. Stedman, a pleading expression lining his face. “Can we not settle this peaceably?”
“If we agree Lady Victoria was not responsible, then you may do as you see fit,” John commented in a silky voice, casually studying his right shoe.
“Of course, of course,” Sir Arnold agreed hastily. “No one ever blamed Lady Victoria, I am sure.”
“Well, I’m relieved that you are sure,” John murmured.
Sir Arnold stared at the twins, panic over the sight of the weeping woman crumpling his doughy face. His hands twisted together uselessly. “Don’t cry, Miss Owsley, please don’t cry. We quite understand. The gee-gaw would have caught anyone’s eye—no one blames you. Bright, sparkly thing.”
“You cannot believe my sister is responsible!” Miss Grace insisted, standing rigidly next to her twin with an arm looped around her shoulder. “I insist you agree that she is not a common thief!”
“Not common, perhaps,” John agreed in a bored voice.
Sir Arnold wiped his sleeve over his sweating brow, streaking it with soot from the fireplace. His red-rimmed eyes darted from the twins to his aunt. “Aunt Jane, surely you agree—no need to assign blame. We are all friends here. Let us drop the matter.”
“The scandal…” Mrs. Stedman sighed heavily as she stared at the tiara she held in one hand, distaste clearly written on her face. “I have no desire to court scandal, however…” She glanced up to fix her gaze on Miss Owsley and frowned.
“My daughter is clearly innocent, however,” Lord Longmoor said, stepping past the other men. All eyes focused on him. He squared his shoulders and nodded to Lady Victoria. “I regret these events deeply, and can only offer my daughter my most sincere apologies. Our behavior was inexcusable.”
Lady Victoria pushed past the others to throw her arms around her father and press a kiss to his lean cheek. “You have no need to apologize to me, Papa. Ever.”
“Indeed, I fear we do.” With a tight grip, he returned his daughter’s hug and stiffly kissed the top of her head. “We should have realized… Well, no harm done.”
No harm? John’s jaw tightened.
Stepping awkwardly around her husband and daughter, Lady Longmoor patted Lady Victoria on the shoulder and bent closer, speaking softly. Lord Longmoor finally released Lady Victoria, and she moved a step away, although the family remained in a tight knot on the landing.
John searched Lady Victoria’s pale face. Although her mouth had relaxed and the lines were gone from her marble forehead, her gray eyes were dark and wary when they caught his gaze.
Surprised, a devastating thought raced through his mind. She’s lost to me. He took a deep breath.
Piffle. It was just a reaction to the night’s events. She was understandably confused after being accused of theft and then proven innocent. Anyone would be off-kilter, and her wa
rm, soft heart had been bruised, despite her father’s apologies and whatever her mother had said.
Nonetheless, the distance between them yawned, hollow and cold, despite the guests milling around, whispering in tight groups.
Chapter Sixteen
The muddle surrounding the Owsley twins was as tearful as ever when Lady Victoria’s parents made their hasty adieus to Mrs. Stedman and Sir Arnold. They guided Victoria to their carriage and bundled her inside, heaving deep sighs of relief.
“Poor Mrs. Stedman,” Lady Longmoor said, settling against the squabs and taking one last look at Sir Arnold’s townhouse as the carriage jerked forward and rattled away. “I hope they do not prosecute those poor girls. They will be ruined—their first Season, too.”
“Sir Arnold was very good about it,” Victoria offered in a hesitant voice, her mind racing. Ice filled her veins and hardened. “He proved to be very kind and thoughtful. Did he not?”
Her mother leaned forward to pat Victoria’s clasped hands. “He was, indeed, my dear. He would make an exceedingly agreeable husband.” She cast a coquettish smile at her husband. “Though perhaps not quite as agreeable as your father.”
“My thoughts, precisely.” Victoria’s lips felt numb. She rubbed her gloved fingers against the side of her mouth, wishing some sensation would return. It was not that cold—not cold at all, really—so why did she feel as if all the warmth had drained out of the world, leaving everything icy, dull, and gray? Forcing her hand down to her lap, she caught her father’s gaze. “I—I have been considering matters very carefully. I believe I would like to accept Sir Arnold’s offer.”
Her father stared at her, his eyes wide with surprise. He exchanged glances with his wife before they both turned their startled gazes on her. “Of course—er, excellent. I must say I am surprised you are being so sensible—er…” He broke off and flicked another uncertain glance at his wife. “We had not expected—er—em, he is a fine man…”
“He certainly behaved very well this evening,” Lady Longmoor said. She smiled at Victoria and laughed lightly. “He alone refused to believe you were involved, rather like the true knight that he is.”
“Not quite alone,” Victoria murmured, staring down at her lap as she swayed and clutched one of the leather straps when the carriage slewed around a corner. A bit of the ice inside her crackled, fault lines running through her, the coldness brittle under building pressure. Salty tears stung her eyes. She blinked rapidly and gazed out of the window.
They were almost home.
In a few hours, her father would send for Sir Arnold and their respective lawyers. They would begin hammering out the details of the marriage contract.
She clamped her mouth shut to keep from wailing as hopelessly as Miss Maud had sobbed less than an hour before.
So much had happened so quickly, and the changes would only increase in pace. In a few weeks, she would be married. Her future settled.
The pressure inside her increased.
John… Her back ached with tension. He had been a mistake, a terrible, humiliating mistake.
But he had believed—had known—that she was innocent. Her parents were incorrect. Sir Arnold hadn’t believed Victoria was not a thief, he simply didn’t want to accuse her, or anyone, for that matter. Not wanting to make an accusation was a far cry from believing someone was innocent.
But his beliefs—John’s beliefs—no longer mattered. She was going to do the sensible thing and marry Sir Arnold. A man who smelled of boiled chicken instead of the clean, ocean breeze.
“Home at last!” her father announced, glancing out the window.
They jerked forward and back, the carriage creaking and moaning as it came to a halt. She gripped the leather strap so tightly her fingers protested.
“I shall send for Sir Arnold first thing in the morning,” he continued. “No doubt he will be pleased to receive such happy news.”
“Oh, we must arrange for a supper—and perhaps a dance—to celebrate. Would Tuesday be too soon?” her mother asked as one of the footmen opened the carriage door and lowered the steps.
Her father chuckled as he climbed out, the carriage leaning and bouncing as he stepped onto the walkway. “Not soon enough, eh?”
“Nothing is ever soon enough for these young people. You know how impatient they are.” Her mother laughed as Lord Longmoor elbowed the footman aside to hand her out of the coach.
The two of them were laughing excitedly, making plans as they moved through the front door ahead of Victoria.
Feeling more than ever like a minor detail, easily forgotten, she stood on the stoop, watching them enter the hallway and hand their wraps to the butler. At least the two of them were pleased. Her mother’s eyes were shining, her cheeks aglow with soft rose as she tossed ideas for Tuesday’s supper dance to her chuckling husband.
“I believe I will retire,” Victoria announced, handing her cloak to the waiting butler.
“Of course, dear.” Lady Longmoor waltzed over in a swish of silken skirts to press a kiss to Victoria’s cheek. “Sleep well, my dear. We have a great many plans to make tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mother.” She nodded to her father, repeated her good nights, and fled to the empty darkness of her bedroom.
After a long night spent mostly sitting in front of the window, staring at the moon passing between dark clouds, Victoria stood stiffly and yawned. A timid knock at the door sounded before it opened.
“Oh, Miss!” a young girl, certainly no more than fourteen, exclaimed. Her cap was askew over lank, pale brown hair, and her apron was a worn, dingy gray. Her pale blue eyes were round as she stared at Victoria, water sloshing out of a water pitcher onto her limp apron as it wobbled in her thin hands. “I didn’t mean to disturb you—I thought you were fast asleep.” She lifted the jug and more water sloshed over her wrists. “I’m so sorry—I brung your morning water.”
“Thank you.” Victoria stood aside as the maid hurried over to place the pitcher on the washstand. “What is your name?”
“Mary, Miss—er—Lady Victoria.” The girl sketched a hasty curtsey.
“Where is Rose?”
Mary’s eyes cut first left and then right. “Er, gone, Miss—er, Lady Victoria.”
“Gone?”
“Went to live with her lover, I heard,” Mary confided, before pressing grubby fingers to her mouth. “Sorry, Miss, em, Lady Victoria.”
“Are you replacing her?” Victoria asked with a smile, trying to set the girl at ease.
Mary nodded, one hand going up to keep her cap on her head. “Yes, Miss Lady Victoria. Cook says as how I’ll do for now.” Her blue eyes went wide again as if she were listening to the echo of her words for fear she’d said something wrong.
“And Rose is gone?”
“Yes. I heard as she came late last night, packed her things, and left. Didn’t say a word to anyone ‘cept Cook. Not even Mrs. Eadle, and she were that mad, too!” Mary’s eyes widened at the thought of Rose’s defiance in not notifying the fearsome housekeeper, Mrs. Eadle, of her departure. “Mrs. Eadle said as how she hoped Rose’ud known what she were about, as she’d find precious few places for her now, what with her burning her bridges and such.”
Victoria laughed. “I believe Rose has left to get married, so we should all wish her the best.”
“She’s a lucky one, then, ‘cause Cook says as how Rose weren’t no better than she ought to be,” Mary said in a matter-of-fact way that made her seem years older. Then she glanced up at Victoria with a bright sparkle in her blue eyes. “We heard as how you might be getting married, too!” She curtseyed, smiling. “So, you’re a lucky one, too!”
The pale morning light, spilling in through the window, grayed. Victoria glanced away, focusing on the glass panes. “Yes.” The word grated in her throat. She took a deep breath and pushed the trapped, desperate sensation aside. “Thank you for the water, Mary. That will be all.”
“All?” Mary’s freckled nose wrinkled. “Don’t you need my h
elp? Dressing and such?”
“Not this morning, Mary. I’ll send for you, if I need you.”
“Yes, Miss Lady Victoria.” The maid curtseyed and left, closing the door softly behind her.
After dressing in a dove gray morning gown, she finally wandered downstairs. As she expected, she was soon caught up in the whirls of plans, and dragged to the library by her father before being hauled away by her mother to the white and yellow drawing room she favored in the morning. In some ways, their excitement and the necessity to create guest lists, dress patterns, and plans kept Victoria from brooding over her dismal future.
By noon, her sleepless night was beginning to tell. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head drooped over the gown illustrations in the latest issue of Ackermann’s Repository.
“A Mr. Archer and Mr. Wickson are here, Lady Victoria. Are you at home?” Mr. Kingston intoned from the doorway.
Her head jerked up as her heart fluttered. Then she caught her mother’s warning glance. “No. I am not at home to Mr. Archer. Or Mr. Wickson. In fact, I don’t believe I am at home to anyone today.”
“Except Sir Arnold, of course,” her mother amended. “That will be all, Kingston.”
“Very good, Lady Longmoor.” The butler bowed and closed the door gently.
“I am so pleased you have finally come to your senses, my dear,” Lady Longmoor said as she gently slid the fashion magazine out of Victoria’s hands. “I was worried about whom you might select.” She paused before murmuring, “He was not a very nice man, my dear.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Never mind. We have all sorts of exciting plans ahead of us, and I assure you, you will be quite happy with Sir Arnold. He is a very kind man.”
“Yes, Mother,” Victoria replied dutifully, staring at the gleaming top of the walnut table next to her. “At least we shall dine well.”
Her mother laughed. “Indeed. Sir Arnold is noted for the table he sets. And he is reputed to be very generous. I am sure you shall want for nothing.”
Nothing except love. Her mouth tightened, and she pressed a hand against her hollow stomach. She’d been unable to eat more than the corner of a piece of dry toast, and yet she felt no hunger—nothing but a sensation of yawning emptiness that sapped her energy and will.
