Thea giggled. "Do you know that there are times that your son sounds remarkably like you?"
"What a charming thing to say," Lady Caldecott replied, her eyes twinkling. "Now tell me, have you and Modesty decided who is to sew your gown?"
Modesty and Lisbeth wandered over and there was a spirited discussion of the merits of several well-known dressmakers currently working in London. Patting Thea's hand, Lady Caldecott said, "I was never blessed with a daughter... I hope that you will allow me to guide you in this matter." She smiled gently. "Allow me to pay for your gown. It will give me such pleasure."
Thea was never certain afterward how it came about, but she found herself meekly agreeing to Lady Caldecott's request Lady Caldecott, having accomplished what she had set out to do, rose to her feet. "Leave everything to me, my dear."
Gradually the crowd dispersed, and the newcomers became fewer and fewer. The last of them had just departed, leaving Lisbeth, Modesty, and Thea to sink back into their chairs in exhaustion, when Edwina erupted into the room.
Her blue eyes stormy, she strode into the room, and, tossing a copy of the morning Times onto Thea's lap, she demanded, "Is that true? Are you going to marry Patrick Blackburne?"
Modesty and Lisbeth exchanged a look, both of them straightening in their seats.
Taken aback by her sister's entrance, Thea blinked, and admitted, "Yes, it is. I am to marry him on Saturday."
Edwina sucked in her breath. "Why, you sly thing! You compel me to marry a nobody like Hirst and then you snatch a wealthy, well-connected gentleman for yourself!"
"That's enough, Edwina!" Modesty snapped. "No one compelled you to marry Hirst. You insisted upon it—despite Thea's pleadings to the contrary. You should be happy for your sister's good fortune."
A pout upon her pretty face, Edwina sank into a nearby chair. "I am happy for Thea," she insisted in a tone that gave the lie to her words. "It just doesn't seem fair," she complained, "that Thea should be the one to make the grand match in the family. I always wanted to marry someone like him—and I would have if it weren't for that dreadful scandal Thea caused." Edwina fluffed her golden curls. "Everyone always says that I am much prettier than she is, and besides—I don't have her reputation."
Edwina's words cut deep, and the glow that surrounded Thea vanished. Edwina's vanity had always been difficult for Thea to understand and excuse, but she always blamed herself for much of it. After all, she helped spoil Edwina, and the child was young—and lovely.
Lisbeth made no excuses. It was her oft-stated opinion that Edwina Hirst was a spoiled, headstrong, selfish little witch. A fighting gleam in her sea-green eyes, Lisbeth murmured, "Pretty is as pretty does, and as for a reputation... I wouldn't be too certain that yours is spotless."
Edwina glared at her. "What do you mean? Who is talking about me? Is someone spreading lies about me?"
"Not that I know of," Lisbeth returned carelessly. "But I would be careful, my pet, that you do not earn the reputation of being a spoiled brat. Or a woman who makes a cuckold of her husband—and I don't mean with Lord Pennington."
"How dare you!" Edwina exclaimed, leaping to her feet. Glancing at Thea, she demanded, "Are you going to let her speak to me that way?"
The urge to soothe Edwina's ruffled feathers was instinctive, and yet Thea hesitated. She might overlook and make excuses for many of her sister's childish and arrogant actions, but she was not blind to them. As much as she did not want to admit it, there was enough of a ring of truth about Lisbeth's words to make her say, "Your argument is with Lisbeth, not me." Stiffening her resolve to allow Edwina to fend for herself occasionally, she added, "As you have told me often enough—you are a grown woman, a married woman, and quite old enough to make your own decisions. If you are offended by Lisbeth's comments, you settle it."
Edwina's pretty mouth dropped open unattractively, and she could not have been more astonished if Thea had spit on her. Modesty looked away, biting her lip, the faintest of smiles creasing her cheeks.
Lisbeth glanced approvingly at Thea. "Well done, my dear. I wondered how much longer you were going to put up with her antics."
Edwina gasped. Looking from one face to another and seeing that there was no help to be found, she jumped to her feet. "Well! If you feel that way, there is no reason for me to stay any longer." Stomping to the door, she rushed out of the room.
Thea half rose to her feet, but Modesty's firm grip on her arm kept her in place. "Let her go," Modesty murmured. "Everything you said was true. It is time that she learns to curb that tongue of hers and begins to think about the effect of her actions on other people. For too long Edwina has only thought of herself and what she wants."
Thea smiled unhappily. "I know, and it is my fault. I do not want to be too harsh on the child."
"She is not a child," Lisbeth said. "And you are doing her no good by your misguided coddling." Lisbeth rose to her feet. Pinching Thea's cheek affectionately, she added, "Be happy, sweet—you deserve it. I look forward to dancing at your wedding on Saturday."
The room seemed very quiet after Lisbeth had departed. Modesty and Thea looked at each other.
"This morning has been rewarding," Modesty said, "but you know, I am glad to have peace descend upon us—at least for a while."
Thea smiled. "Incorrect it may be, but me, too!"
Tillman knocked and entered. He was holding a silver salver almost overflowing with calling cards and notes. "Would miss care to go through these now, or shall I set them away for later?"
Thea shrugged, and after Tillman had left, leaving the salver with them, she and Modesty began the very gratifying task of reading the messages and reliving the morning's triumphs.
Thea found the note halfway through the pile. A smile on her face, she opened it and began to read the contents. Her shocked gasp made Modesty look up in alarm.
Her features ashen, her eyes great black pools in her white face, Thea handed the note to Modesty. Quickly Modesty scanned it, her mouth tightening as she read:
I know what you did and I have the evidence to prove it. If you wish my continued silence, you will follow these instructions precisely. Tell no one. If you go to Bow Street, I shall know and make plans accordingly. If anyone interferes with any of the steps I have set forth, I shall expose you.
There will be a black hackney waiting at the entrance to Hyde Park this afternoon at thirty minutes past five o'clock. The hackney will be empty. The driver knows nothing. Leave nine thousand pounds in small notes in a satchel on the seat of the coach. Do not make any attempt to follow the hackney—if you do, it shall go ill for you.
Chapter 11
It was later that day when Lady Caldecott climbed the steps to her own home. She'd been very busy on Patrick and Thea's behalf and was pleased with her efforts. Upon leaving Thea's town house, first on her agenda had been a visit to her favorite dressmaker. When she left the discreet little shop, after two hours of intense discussion, she was confident that her son's bride was going to look positively ravishing on Saturday afternoon... and that the gown would be ready. From there she had called upon a half dozen of the most powerful female leaders of the town and oh, so, politely cultivated their support for Patrick and Thea. All in all she felt very satisfied.
Upon entering her home, she ordered a tea tray and settled comfortably in her blue sitting room, prepared to spend a pleasant afternoon planning for Saturday's event. The Lords Garrett and Hazlett had indicated their willingness to handle all aspects of the wedding, but Lady Caldecott politely brushed their offers away. This was to be her show. And when Lady Caldecott let it be known, ever so sweetly, that she had certain plans in mind, wise people found it agreeable to demur to her, er, wishes.
Her butler entered, and along with the silver tray covered with tea things, he also presented his mistress with all the cards and notes that arrived while she had been out. Idly picking through the piles of cards and reading the names of some of the well-known members of the aristocracy who had come to
call, her last doubts about the gamble she and Modesty had undertaken eased. Hastily planned the wedding might be, unorthodox it undoubtedly was, but it would be a success—she would see to it.
She had just taken a sip of her tea and was on the point of pushing the heap of cards away for later, more leisurely, contemplation when a folded note caught her eye. Picking it up she broke the seal and read the contents.
I have the letters. They make fascinating reading. If you wish their return, wear the Caldecott pearls to your son's wedding on Saturday. However, if you wear the Blackburne rubies, I shall know what to think... and make other plans.
Her fingers trembling, Lady Caldecott reread the note at least a dozen times. Her first impulse was to write to Patrick, demanding his presence, but she hesitated. Her son was to be married in less than four days; she was not going to have him involved in her troubles at a time like this.
Her lips twisted. It was bad enough that she and Modesty had sprung their trap on Patrick and Thea—even if they had the couple's best interests at heart—to add to Patrick's troubles at this time was unthinkable. She would not let her worries distract her. No. She would wear the bloody pearls and see where it led. There would be time enough to tell Patrick what she had done after the wedding. In the meantime, she would wear her pearls—she had planned to wear them anyway, and the Blackburne rubies would have clashed dreadfully with the puce gown she had selected to wear on Saturday.
Lord Caldecott wandered in, looking very handsome in his dark gray jacket and black breeches. His silvery-fair hair was brushed back from his patrician brow, and his sky-blue eyes were tender as they rested on her. Lady Caldecott's pulse jumped at the sight of him. She had never thought to love this deeply, this profoundly, and the powerful emotions this one man aroused in her bosom astounded her. Even more astonishing—he seemed to feel exactly the same toward her.
She was always happy to see him, but his presence just now was particularly soothing to her. For a while, in his company, she could push aside all her worries and fears, forget for the moment that there was a blackmailer hounding her and that her dear son was risking his own safety to find the culprit. The days ahead were going to be busy and full, and she was determined not to let anxious thoughts ruin it for her—or her son.
"Hello, my dear," Lord Caldecott murmured, as he leaned over and kissed her on the mouth. "You are looking very beautiful this afternoon." He smiled. "And very, very pleased with yourself."
He seated himself beside her and it was only after she poured his tea and he had taken a sip that he set his cup down and said, "It seems that you and your friend, Modesty, are to be congratulated. Mind, I did not think you could bring it about, but it seems that your gamble paid off. Everywhere I went today, no one could talk of anything else but your son's impending nuptials." He smiled. "I did my best at my various clubs to scotch any speculation about the announcement and the hastiness of the wedding."
Lady Caldecott beamed at him, gratitude warming her breast. "As I knew you would," she murmured with a teasing glance.
He chuckled. "You know me too well, my sweet." His gaze became intent. "You hold my happiness in this little hand of yours," he said, picking up that member from where it lay on the sofa between them. "You know," he added softly, "that there is nothing I would deny you—remember always, my sweet, that I will do everything within my power to keep you safe and happy." He grinned. "Even if it means helping you hoodwink society about your son's sudden marriage."
Deeply moved, Lady Caldecott laid her head on his shoulder. "You are too good to me."
He kissed her. "And you are everything I ever dreamed of in a wife." They kissed again and for a time the world went away.
Lord and Lady Caldecott were enjoying their tea, when Patrick rapped on the door a short while later.
"Good afternoon," he said as he entered and walked across the room to stand in front of the hearth. "I hope that all is well with both of you."
Lord Caldecott murmured something polite and, putting down his cup and saucer, stood up. "Very well, indeed. After last night," he said with a mocking glint in his eyes, "I am sure that you have much to discuss with your mother—so I shall leave you to get on with it."
"Coward," murmured Lady Caldecott, over the rim of her cup.
Lord Caldecott glanced at her. "Indeed not, my dear—prudent."
Once her husband had departed and Patrick declined her offer of refreshment, she looked up challengingly at her son as he stood in front of the hearth, one arm resting on the white-marble mantel. "Well?" she demanded. "Are you very angry at me?"
Patrick smiled, albeit sourly. "Why should I be when you have given me the one thing I wish above all else—Thea as my wife."
His mother regarded him closely unable to discern anything from his dark, shuttered features. His words gave her hope that he was not too furious with her, but she could not tell for certain. Patrick had never been easy to read. She took a breath, and murmured, "I must say, you are taking it better than I expected."
"And you, dear Mama, are bloody lucky that the scheme you and Modesty hatched last night did not explode in your faces," he said. "Tell me what would you have done if I had risen from my seat and denied your announcement... or Thea had?"
"We were counting on surprise... and the feelings we suspected you have for each other to win the day." She cocked her head to one side and, a question in her eyes, she said, "And it worked, didn't it?"
"Beautifully," Patrick replied, a grin spreading across his face. "I could not have arranged it better." He sent her a warning look. "But I would not try such a trick again. Next time it might be you who are surprised—unpleasantly."
She nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of that, and if the matter had not been so urgent and necessary, we would never have taken such drastic steps." She leaned forward. "You know that I only want your happiness. When Modesty wrote to me and explained the situation, we could see no other way—for both you and Thea. Will you forgive me for acting like a doting mother?"
"You have won this hand," he conceded, "and I have no ill will toward you—in fact, you may say that you have my gratitude—a bit grudgingly, but gratitude nonetheless." He flashed her a narrow-eyed stare. "But I would warn you—in the future, no matter how, er, urgent or necessary you think a thing to be—do not meddle in my affairs."
"Oh, of course not," replied Lady Caldecott meekly. "Why, such a thought would never occur to me."
Patrick burst out laughing. "Don't try to bamboozle me with that meek as milk look either!" He paused, a speculative glint leaping to his gray eyes. "I wonder... never tell me that the pair of you also have plans for our bridal journey."
"Well, it did occur to us," Lady Caldecott began with suspicious carelessness, "that with the rush and everything that you might not have..."
* * *
While Patrick was having that discussion with his mother, Modesty was doing her best to prevent Thea from making a mistake. Despite all of Modesty's arguments and pleading to tell Patrick about the note, Thea refused to be swayed. Her expression fixed and stubborn, Thea said, "I will not involve him or anyone else in this. It was my foolish insistence that I meet Hirst alone that put me in this position in the first place. It is up to me either to get myself out of it or pay the price." She threw Modesty an anguished look. "You must understand!"
"I understand all too well that you have an unlimited capacity to blame yourself for all the ills that have ever befallen mankind," Modesty snapped. "How do you even know the note refers to Hirst? His name is not mentioned, and remember—according to Patrick, who was also there that night, you did not kill Hirst. You struck him, knocking him senseless, but you did not kill him, so what do you care what the note says?"
"Because the person who wrote the note is obviously the one who hid Hirst's body."
"And? What does that have to do with you? At least his death would be known." For the first time Thea looked undecided, and Modesty pressed forward. "If presenting the body to the aut
horities is what the blackmailer is alluding to, wouldn't that be a good thing? It will be hard on Edwina, but the fact that her husband is dead, murdered, has to come to light sometime. Wouldn't it be better if it is sooner than later? Is it fair to let Edwina continue to believe her husband is alive and visiting friends somewhere in the country, when we know very differently?"
Thea was clearly torn by Modesty's arguments. Hesitantly, she said, "The note mentioned 'evidence.' What if this person really has some sort of evidence to connect me to Hirst's death?"
Modesty sighed. "Thea, listen to yourself! You did not murder Hirst. You did not hide his body. Why play into this person's hands? If you are foolhardy enough to give in to this demand, it will only be the first of many—you have to know that! You didn't kill Hirst, why should you care what some cowardly opportunist thinks?"
Modesty's argument was beginning to sound more and more sensible to Thea. There was another reason why her resolve was weakening: She realized that all of her troubles stemmed from having gone to see Hirst alone... was she on the brink of compounding the situation by doing the same rash thing again? She looked thoughtful. And did someone know her reactions so well that they were counting on her acting in such a reckless manner... again?
Thea took several steps around the room, her hands clenched into fists, her chin held at a pugnacious angle. She did not like being manipulated—it was bad enough that Patrick was manipulating her, but she was damned if she was going to let a stranger control her like a puppet.
She looked over at Modesty. "You have won. I will ignore the note."
"Oh, my dear, you are making a wise decision. I just know it."
Thea wasn't entirely convinced, but she was willing, for the time being, to follow Modesty's urgings.
Worn out from the morning's constant flow of visitors, as well as the previous night's excitement, both ladies were looking forward to a restful afternoon. Patrick's arrival a short while later put an end to that idea.
Swear by Moonlight Page 20
