by Vanessa Gray
Julian’s plan was simple in the extreme. He knew that Chloe, being as honest and clear as a fresh spring of water, would not pay to get her pearls back. And Julian did not have them to return. It would become a question of being able to produce the goods, and there could be a nasty aftermath.
But if Julian Stoddard had Lydia’s person, and her reputation, in his hands to do with as he would, then Chloe certainly would pay for the girl’s release. He was delighted at his own astuteness, for he would get the fortune without the girl.
How to get the note to Lydia? He could not go to Rothwell Manor himself, but he was not without resources. He stepped into the taproom and studied the idlers who were there in the middle of the day. One in particular caught his fancy. He was a little better dressed than the others, and he looked at Julian Stoddard with a frank curiosity that boded well for his intelligence.
Julian, had he only known it, had made a mistake. The idler was Grimes, one of the footmen at Davenant Hall. The gambling fever had struck all the servants of Sir Richard, and the footman, rightly considered by Julian as more intelligent than the average, had become suspicious of the actions of Sir Richard’s butler. Dall knew something, that was certain. So the idler had come to town to hedge on his bets on the London ladies.
In the taproom he had found other gamblers of a like mind, and he was much satisfied at his cleverness in making his wagers so that he could not lose no matter which way Sir Richard’s choice fell.
When Julian Stoddard gave Grimes the letter addressed to Miss Lydia Rothwell and enjoined him privately not to give it to anyone else, he accepted with alacrity. It was the easiest half crown he had ever earned.
But he had kept his eyes and ears open on other subjects than Sir Richard’s approaching choice of a bride, and he knew he did not like Julian Stoddard. The man was a mischief-maker; his eyes were set too close together, which proved — at least to Grimes — dishonesty. The footman, on his way out of town, reflected that it was not at all likely that Miss Lydia, barely out of the schoolroom, would have legitimate business with the likes of yon fancy man.
On his way home, Grimes pondered. What would be best to do? Should he deliver the message, as he had been given it, to Miss Lydia, which would in fact make him much later home than he wanted, or should he tell somebody in authority what he thought? Part of his reasoning lay along the lines of the question, Could I get in trouble with this and lose my job? The answer came clearly — Yes.
It was the right thing to do, then, to allow Sir Richard to decide what to do with this missive which burned inside his jacket pocket. Having made up his mind, eased his conscience, and thrust the responsibility onto someone else, the footman quickened his pace and was soon at home.
Julian Stoddard, lolling at his ease in the private parlor at the inn, planned the most persuasive conversation of his life, to be carried on with Lydia.
In his mind he followed the rude fellow whom he had entrusted with the note. He did not stop to think that his judgment might be mistaken — that his letter might have gone astray.
A knock came on the door, and without waiting for an answer the door opened. So soon! Julian’s eyes lit up, and the name Lydia trembled on his lips.
The newcomer was not Lydia. Instead, the caller was a man above the average height, somewhat stocky in his build, and dressed with quiet elegance. Stoddard gibbered. In spite of himself, his weakness overcame him. It took a supreme effort to pull himself together.
Stoddard cried out, “Sir Richard! You’re in London.”
Richard, calmly, said, “Fortunately for you I have returned. In time.”
Stoddard’s wits scattered. “In time?”
Davenant said, “In time, yes. To save you from a grave error.”
Stoddard said, “I don’t understand.”
Sir Richard said, “I think you understand me only too well. I have here a note to Lydia. I confess I should have thought better of you. You must be under the hatches indeed, to resort to such a foolish stratagem.”
Stoddard eyed the folded slip of paper in Richard’s hand. “How did you get the note?”
Richard said, with a hint of a smile, “Your choice of a messenger played you false. He was one of my own men.”
Julian, seeing his hopes lying in pieces around his feet, yet struggled. “Save me? You said, to save me?”
Davenant, checking to see that the door was closed behind him, explained. “You would not wish to be horsewhipped like a common fellow, I am persuaded.”
Stoddard said, “You? Why you?”
Davenant said, “Not I. I would not soil my hands with you. But Rothwell —”
Stoddard said, “No! He wouldn’t dare!”
Davenant added persuasively, “Rothwell is very old-fashioned. Even gothic. He has a strong sense of his family’s honor, and you would have been well advised to avoid him like the plague.”
At length, seeing Julian sitting with his head in his hands, Richard provided him with a solution. “I suggest that you leave town at once. Brighton or London, your destination is immaterial to me. But I must tell you this, any further word to the Rothwell ladies — even a note of farewell — will have dire consequences for you.”
Stoddard, not trusting his voice to reply and longing to find an occasion to throttle Sir Richard, at a time when there would be no chance of harm coming to himself, nodded agreement. Sir Richard turned and opened the door, and then giving Julian one last look and dusting his fingers lightly as though to remove dirt, vanished from Julian Stoddard’s ken.
Chloe, at Rothwell Manor, did not know that Richard had returned from London. Her attention was still centered on the lost pearls. Lady Partridge had sent word that she had turned her house upside down and there was no sign of the necklace. She was leaving in a couple of days, and told Chloe kindly that she had left word for the servants to continue the search and to let Chloe know if the pearls were discovered.
Chloe avoided the company of her family, for she could think only of Lydia’s thoughtlessness and her very cruel remark. Nimrod, sensing that his mistress was distressed, did his best to divert her. She watched his antics with an absent air, and at length he gave up and crawled into her lap to sleep. Chloe, trying to shake off her brooding thoughts, reached for the book that Richard had lent her. Opening it at random, she expected to become lost in the story — but it was to no avail.
The sound of carriage wheels in the drive roused her, and carefully picking the puppy up from her lap and carrying him with her to the window, she looked out. She could not see the front drive from here, but she could see the carriage when it was brought into the stable yard beyond. It was the Rothwell closed carriage. Edward must be home! He had planned to stay a week, but something must have happened to bring him back so soon. She hurried downstairs. Edward scarcely noticed her, going at once into his book room. She looked at Lady Rothwell in the foyer, and Lydia, and both wore expressions that matched her own feelings. Whatever was in Edward’s mind, whatever had happened to him in London, it had brought him home in a foul mood.
Lydia and Lady Rothwell, who had separately decided to plead with Edward for a reversal of his decision on Lydia’s trip to London, kept their silence and realized the time was not right. Sophy, pursuing her own strategy, remained out of sight. If Edward did not see her, then he would not miss her.
Upon returning to the bosom of his family, Edward was gratified to find that Francis had left. “Now,” he said, “we have our own family group. I have had enough of outsiders.”
Lydia, having tasted the heady air of excitement, with visitors from London falling over each other in the entry, took exception to Edward’s calm pronouncement. She had not recovered from her disappointment at having her prospective gowns cancelled. Still in her mind lay the rose brocade, the gauzes embroidered with silver thread, not to speak of the most fetching bonnets!
Edward, a somber mood upon him, said, “There are going to be some changes made around here. I will want to talk to you,
Mama, about Lydia and Sophy.”
Lydia, still smarting from her sense of injustice and her great humiliation by Miss Sinclair, worked on the theory that misery loved company. “You may not have a chance to work on Sophy very long,” she said, spitefully.
Edward, more alert than usual to nuances around him, inquired, “And why is that, pray?”
“You’ll have to put it off for a month or two, until Sophy gets back from Bath with Lady Partridge.” Lydia, watching Edward’s face grow pink, wished that she had not spoken.
Edward turned to his mother. “Pray tell me that this is not true, for you know my wishes in the matter.”
Lady Rothwell, almost afraid of the alteration in her only son, said, “I saw no harm in a little diversion for the child.”
“Child!” cried Edward. “That’s the point. She is no more than a child, and I will not have her away from the house. There is much to be done before either of my sisters is fit to come out into society. I take it amiss that you, Mama, have abetted this mad scheme. I shall not wish to have the family name disgraced, and if Sophy’s behavior is anything like Lydia’s, then we are in for it.”
Lady Rothwell bridled, but even she was no match for Edward. She gave him a quelling look, and was dismayed to see that it had no effect whatever.
Edward was strangely exercised. “There will be no Little Season for Lydia, and I am not at all sure that her faults can be mended even in two years.”
Lady Rothwell cried out, “But you cannot keep Lydia from town forever!”
Edward agreed. “I have no wish to keep Lydia in this house forever, nor Sophy either. My peace of mind will be assured if both the girls are out and safely wed. But I cannot countenance turning them loose on society until they have learned a little decorum.”
Lady Rothwell allowed her jaw to drop unbecomingly. This son was like no son she had known before, and for the first time it began to cross her mind to wonder why he had gone to London.
Edward, in no mood to enlighten her, said simply, “Let me have no more of this. I am the head of the family — all the family — and I do what I consider best for us all.”
Chloe, in an unaccountably low mood, had gone upstairs to her own room. She had had her fill of the family, even though she would not admit it to herself. It was quite likely that Richard’s absence had given her some dismal thoughts, but even if Chloe had realized that it was his defection that had set her into a depression, she would have fought that idea as well, for she had no claim on Richard.
Even Nimrod, digging furiously in the wood basket next to the fireplace, failed to divert her.
Her mood, while dark, was also reflective and tending toward decision. She could not live the rest of her life in the mopes. She must get out and make some change, or she would have no one but herself to blame for her continued low mood.
There seemed nothing to do, no decision she could make, that was satisfactory. Byron’s hero, in the book that Richard had lent her, moved on when his affairs became unmanageable. He had a goal, of course, and that was the difference. Chloe had none. She did not want to be away from her family, she could not wish to be alone, and yet her choices were greatly limited.
All the stirrings of the past weeks, the unsettling news that she had inherited Highmoor, seemed to be the beginning of her depression. And yet she would not wish to give away Highmoor, for it represented at the same time both cause and escape. Inheriting Highmoor was the event that had set all of this in motion — her unwelcome suitors, even her foolish cousin Francis joining their ranks — and yet the only thing she could think of doing was going to live in her own home.
And yet it was not home, for her family was around her here at Rothwell Manor and Edward had said this was her home as long as she wanted. Her fearful self told her, You need your family. But the unexpected stirrings echoed, Why?
It took a long time, but she finally threw out the idea of removing to Highmoor. She would simply have to make the best of it here, and she told herself she was simply sickening for something. Her head began to ache, and she remembered she had not eaten most of the day.
But at last she was back on an even keel, she told herself, and moving to Highmoor was out of the question.
While Chloe thought her mood had been settled, yet beneath the surface lay fuel and tinder invitingly ready for a spark. Into this mood of uncertainty and dissatisfaction came Sophy, unwittingly carrying the spark.
Sophy, having carefully avoided Edward in the hall below, was nonetheless quite aware of his new-found sentiments.
There was very little that escaped Sophy, and almost everything she did was for the direct benefit of Sophy herself. She was oblivious to other people’s feelings, and was totally insensitive to others’ moods. This moment was no exception. She burst into Chloe’s room, without ceremony, intent upon her own feelings.
“Edward is unjust,” she said without ceremony. “He has no feelings for anybody else.”
Chloe cocked an eyebrow, since Sophy could have been describing herself.
“How dare Edward tell me that I may not go to Bath with Lady Partridge! There is no harm in it — Edward simply wants to show his authority. That’s what he said, you know, ‘I am the head of the family.’”
Nimrod ceased his digging in the wood basket. There was very little in there, after he had finished, to excite his attention, and he now turned to the protection of his mistress. Nimrod had a strong recollection of tweaked ears and pulled tail, and he held Sophy in abhorrence. Just now he watched her with suspicion, and a certain amount of distrust. Sophy, in the exercise of her strong feelings, paced the floor. Nimrod retreated to shelter himself behind Chloe’s skirts. Sophy narrated a quick overview of the scene in the hall below. She had not been there, but she was not far away.
Chloe said, “Too bad, but there will be other times.”
Chloe’s own “other times” never came, she reflected silently. Even Highmoor had come too late, drawing only rickety flies to the honeypot of her legacy.
“Besides,” added Chloe, “if Lydia can’t go to London — then her disappointment is hard indeed.”
Sophy dismissed her sister’s unhappiness with a wave of her hand. “Other times are fine,” she added, with an air of sweet reasonableness that sat oddly on her, “but I want to go now.”
Chloe was unutterably weary of the tug-of-war constantly going on between the different members of her family. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Sophy came to stand before her and repeated, “I want to go now. And you can help me.”
Chloe said, without interest, “How?”
“You could stand up to Edward.”
“Why should I?”
Sophy said, “You are independent. He’ll listen to you because of your fortune. Mama said so.”
“I doubt that very much, for Mama often says exaggerated things. Besides, why should I?”
Sophy came to kneel beside her. “For something you want back.”
There was an altered tone in Sophy’s voice that struck Chloe. She opened her eyes to stare steadfastly into her half-sister’s pale blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
Nimrod, at Chloe’s ankle, decided things were not going to his taste, and growled. Sophy said, “Don’t you want your pearls back?”
The reaction that Sophy received was beyond her wildest expectations. Blood drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it white as a sheet, as Chloe took in the enormity of Sophy’s monstrous blackmail. She could get her pearls back — at a price!
In a strangled voice, she said, “Do you know where my pearls are?”
And Sophy, still not as astute as she would have liked to be, nodded wordlessly.
Chloe stood up, ashen, shaking, but a blaze in her gray eyes that Sophy had never seen. Always before, her half-sister had been calm, tolerant, and totally to be trusted in secrets that Sophy would just as soon did not reach the ears of her mother or brother.
Now Chloe blazed at her, and Sophy scram
bled to her feet. Chloe could hardly speak. Sophy could barely understand the words, but even the ones she could understand she had never heard before from Chloe.
Never before had Sophy been called a grasping, selfish monster!
25
If Sophy had never seen her half-sister in such a rage, neither had the other Rothwells.
Chloe stormed out of her room, followed by a stunned and belatedly contrite Sophy. To do her justice, Sophy was not maliciously inclined. She was possessed of a juvenile wish to seek her own advantage, and she had her heart set on the trip with her dear friend Emma. To her all means to attain that end were feasible.
Sophy hastened after Chloe. She had clearly made a mistake, and while she had little hope of retrieving her error, at least until Chloe calmed down, yet she dared not leave Chloe’s side. She hurried along in her half-sister’s wake, feeling the very air churned by Chloe’s angry passing.
Chloe’s mind, as she moved swiftly to the head of the main stairs, was a jumble. Everyone knew how much store Chloe set by her mother’s pearls. She wore them only rarely herself, and she had lent them with great reluctance to Lydia. But Lydia had paid so little heed to Chloe’s wishes that she had lost the pearls. The house had been turned upside down trying to find them, and Lady Partridge had joined in the search at her home.
To think that Sophy had known all the time where the pearls were — Chloe could not think of words strong enough to use. There was only one thought that emerged from this jumble in her mind — she had been betrayed. Driven by resolutions she did not yet know she had made, she swept down the stairs. She was still holding Nimrod, and she did not remember picking him up. As she reached the foyer below, Field and the footman sprang to attention and stared at Chloe. There was scarcely time for them to think. Certainly they too had never seen Miss Rothwell in such a regal rage, and they were struck dumb. Chloe said in an icy voice, “My brother?”
Field, still mute from shock, nodded, and the footman sprang to open the door into the Green Salon. Chloe crossed the tiled entry and left both Field and the footman bobbing in her wake. The butler’s remark, “Lord Rothwell is in company,” died a natural death on his lips. Chloe would not have heeded him had he been able to find his voice.
