“Now I just need to find a way to convince the duke that he hasn’t the least desire to go to Vauxhall tonight,” she declared, reaching for the second parcel, which sat at the foot of the bed.
This was the leather box from Rundell and Bridge and it was the final piece in her plan. Holly carefully opened it and took out an exact replica of the Avonbury emeralds. They sparkled in the candlelight and filled her with a sense of certainty that all would work out in the end.
“It is most remarkable, Lady Strathavon,” breathed Lucy, peering closer, seemingly enchanted by the sparkle.
Remarkable is exactly right, Holly thought.
The necklace was perfect in its execution. A replica so well made that only the trained eyes of the celebrated ladies of the ton would be able to spot the fake, and Holly was certain that Lady Charlotte would be foremost among them. A well-made fake was much more dangerous than a poorly made one, after all.
Pleased, Holly put it back in its box, and called for a bath, craving the rejuvenating power of scented warm water. She hoped it would help her puzzle out what she ought to do about the duke.
She couldn’t sneak out – he would notice when she did not appear downstairs to depart for the Water Music. And yet what could she say that would dissuade him from going?
She wondered briefly if she ought to simply invite him along to her escapade. But he would only disapprove, surely. Maybe try to stop her. And be distracting.
He would be so divinely distracting…
In the end, she took the coward’s way out and sent him a message with Lucy telling him that she was feeling poorly and would have to miss out on the concert after all.
She was still thinking of the matter while Lucy helped her dress in the maid’s uniform, and pin her long hair beneath a simple white cap.
Lucy looked the duchess over in approval. She seemed to have come to terms with the more eccentric aspects of her employment in the Strathavon household.
“It will surely pass muster, ma’am.”
“It has to,” Holly said firmly. “It simply has to.”
She left her room and proceed down the corridor. When she reached the upstairs landing, she stopped abruptly, startling Lucy. It suddenly occurred to her that ‘distracting’ was not such a bad thing after all.
“Just a minute, Lucy. Please go on downstairs – you need not see me to the door. I shall see you after.”
The maid looked surprised. “As you wish, ma’am.” She paused and added softly, “Best of luck.”
“Thank you,” Holly returned warmly.
Alone, she took a moment to gather her thoughts.
Turning, she made her way to the duke’s study. Holly lifted her hand to knock, and hesitated. It was not too late simply to sneak out. He couldn’t stop her.
She remembered how she felt whenever he was near her – as though she could do anything in the world if only she set her mind to it.
Holly knew something the duke did not – a secret her husband had kept terribly well hidden from everyone, including himself. His Grace of Strathavon was a rarity among the pampered ton – a genuinely kind man. But he was also stubborn, and determined to keep his feelings hidden, most of all from himself.
He would easily choose a life of loneliness to avoid taking a chance on the gamble that was the human heart.
There was nothing for it but to be bold, to startle him out his obstinate doubts. Steeling herself, Holly determined to go on sans peur et sans reproche. Fortune, after all, favoured the brave.
*
Strathavon was startled to hear a faint knock on his door so late at night. Who could it be?
Curious, he crossed the room and looked out into the darkened passage.
Holly stood on the other side, dressed in what was unmistakably the plain uniform of an upstairs maid, her hair pinned under a ridiculous cap. Contrary to the message she had sent him, she did not look the least bit unwell.
Sylvester narrowed his eyes. “Whatever is the matter, my dear Holly?” he asked. “I was informed that you are ill. I must say that dress is a very novel choice for a nightgown.” He couldn’t help but notice how tightly the gown was stretched across her delightfully full bosom.
“Shh!” Holly reprimanded, though there was no one else about. “I am going riding. I find that I am restless. You could come with me, if you wanted? But quietly.”
Strathavon was somewhat baffled as he gazed into her sparkling eyes.
“Riding? But it is night out.”
“So it is. What of it? It’s a perfectly good time – we need not worry about crowds. And it is a very beautiful night! I have looked outside.”
He watched various emotions play unguardedly across her little expressive face and fought the urge to pull Holly into his study and kiss her.
The lady, however, seemed unaware of his inner struggle, because she raised an eyebrow, tugging at his sleeve. “Well? Are you coming?”
Was that the solution to the puzzling behaviour she had exhibited all evening?
Strathavon stared dumbly a moment before letting her pull him out into the corridor.
“There could be ruffians –” he began.
“I promise I’ll keep you safe,” she replied, throwing him an amused look over her shoulder.
“Do you! I’ll hold you to it.”
He procured his coat and, on further consideration, his pistol, then they called for their horses, ignoring the confusion on the face of the only stable groom on duty.
As they rode out into the chilly London night, Holly let out a peal of laughter, and spurred her horse down the street. Strathavon had no choice but to follow her as they flew all the way to Hyde Park, no doubt waking every slumbering resident of Park Lane in the process.
At last, under the eaves of the trees, Holly drew her horse to a halt and waited for the duke to catch up. Strathavon was struck once more by her magnificence: dressed all in black, she was a lithe shadow against the moonlight, her face pale and lovely like some lost fairy queen who’d accidentally stumbled into his world.
She turned and caught him looking at her.
“You are a right infamous hellion, and I only wonder it took me this long to notice it,” he said once he was level with her. “Why, what will London think of galloping horses in the night?”
Holly did not miss the amusement that coloured his tone. “They will think it was the Wild Hunt! Or a rowdy new haunting. Does it matter? It was such good fun – I have always wanted to do that.”
She nimbly slid from the saddle and tied up her horse. Strathavon followed suit.
“Then I am pleased to be of service,” the duke said with mock gravity, surprised at his own sense of enjoyment. “But what are we doing here? Wherever we are. And you have yet to explain your dress.” He shifted awkwardly as her horse tried to nibble his shoulder.
“Why, we are in Hyde Park, Sylvester. Don’t you recognise it? What a silly question to ask,” Holly murmured, peering off into the trees. She lifted the heavy drape of her skirt and crept forward into the hedge.
“More specifically, if you please.”
Fallen twigs cracked underfoot as they picked their way forward.
“We are just outside Park Lane. You’ll see the lights in a moment, just on the other side of the hedge. I checked when I went riding with Verity.”
“What the devil are we doing here?”
If Holly noticed the profanity, she paid it no attention, waving a hand impatiently for him to keep his voice down.
“We are watching. And waiting. That is the house of your friend, Lady Charlotte Holland. But do please try not to make a racket.”
She stopped, parted the greenery in front of them, and motioned to the road beyond and the house in question.
“And why are we watching the house?”
“Because that way we will know when most everyone has gone to bed. Lady Charlotte has gone to the country, and so she had no reason to bring the emeralds with her. Since you had such deplorable luc
k getting her to surrender the jewels last night, we’ll be getting them back today. This is the ideal place from which to observe.”
“The emeralds,” Strathavon stated blankly. “What do you know about the emeralds? I see my cousin was not so very incomprehensible after all.”
“Not quite,” Holly agreed. “I know that the awful woman has got them, and won’t hear of giving them back. It has Avonbury in despair. I know that you went to demand them last night at Young’s and that she refused you too, though you had probably offered a handsome sum for them.”
“Twenty thousand. She told me that she had no need of money.” He was feeling very dazed at this strange turn of events. Whatever he had expected, this was not it.
“I’m not surprised. This is not about money. It is about humiliation. To humiliate Avonbury, and through him, the dowager countess. You see, his mother had once given Lady Charlotte what she perceived as a mortifying and unjust snub. Nothing but vengeance will do for her now.”
“You learned all that from Avonbury?”
“Certainly not. Some of it is from paying attention and keeping my ears open. I am not a gentleman, you see, so I do not rush in with pistols drawn or bank notes at the ready.”
Strathavon ignored this last remark. “And how then do you mean to retrieve these emeralds?” he asked warily.
“We are going to steal them back. It’s quite alright. I have a very sound plan. You see, we will sneak in and replace the necklace with the one in my pocket, a paste replica. I am good at lock-picking. The Boy’s Own Guide triumphs again.”
Paste? Replica? Strathavon decided not to ask the particulars of that. It was probably best he didn’t know.
“And how exactly did you procure the dress?”
“The same way I procured directions through the house. My new maid, Lucy, has a friend who works for Lady Charlotte, Geraldine, and, as it happens, she owed Lucy a bit of a favour. At midnight, when the housekeeper’s done her final rounds, Geraldine will unlock the servants’ entrance for us, just there down that little side street. Then we shall go in, and find the emeralds, which are kept in an ebony box in Lady Charlotte’s boudoir.”
“I own, I don’t really know what to say to that,” sighed Strathavon.
Holly reached out for his sleeve, pulling him nearer.
“Watch for the lights to be dimmed,” she whispered, even though Strathavon was very sure they were the only souls sneaking around Hyde Park at night. If you didn’t count the ruffians. He hoped no one made off with their horses while they attempted Holly’s madcap plan.
Her perfume of sweet oranges titillated his senses and he found it very difficult to concentrate.
“I am not at all certain that is the best course of action.”
“We can hardly walk up the front door and ask. You oughtn’t fret about it. Imagine Avonbury’s poor mother if she finds out the jewels are gone. And his sister – a proper presentation is so important to a girl entering society.”
Ah. Avonbury spared his duchess a look in the gloom, though he could not see much of her. “And did it affect your entering society? I don’t suppose you had emeralds.”
He could feel her hesitate, debating whether she should share this private thing with him. He held his breath, hoping more than anything that she would.
“I didn’t. But it isn’t emeralds, or pearls, for that matter. It is meeting the right set of prerequisites so that one feels that one belongs. I don’t suppose you could understand. Such things are very different for gentlemen.”
How long had she felt that way? And had he somehow made it worse when he offered for her?
He wanted very much to reach out and take her hand in his, but he couldn’t make sense of this strange urge, so he did nothing, merely waited for her to continue.
“I didn’t think the manner of one’s presentation was at all a big thing, because I wasn’t brought up to think of presentations. Papa and mama do not think much of society: not when there is scholarship to be conducted. And possibly that it how it ought to be, but the hard truth is that it is not how the world really is.” She paused a moment.
“Fripperies and balls may be silly nonsense, but I have learned better than anyone the true value of them. It is amazing how inconsequent one feels being a pale wallflower surrounded by glittering heiresses. And the irony of it is that the more one is ignored, the more one secretly longs to be noticed, and the more one hopes to pass unseen, because only mortification could follow as a result of that.”
Sylvester didn’t know what to say, and yet he felt he ought to say something. “You were not invisible. I saw you, did I not?” The moment the words left him, however, he realised that she deserved better.
Holly snorted softly in the dark. “Only because I spoke to you of houses. Else you wouldn’t have paid me any mind at all.” Her voice was distant now and closed off.
Strathavon tangibly felt the sudden lack of closeness, though she still stood right next to him, her warm arm against his. He wanted to tell her of how he had glimpsed her in the park, looking defiant and so alive that she had entirely stolen his breath away, but he didn’t get the chance.
“Here we go. The lights are out. Bang on the mark.” Her voice sounded cool. “There’s a gap in the fence just there that we should be able to squeeze through.”
Her plain dark dress made her little more than a shifting shadow and Strathavon followed carefully in her wake.
He did his best to ignore common sense, which told him just how undignified it was for the Duke of Strathavon to go sneaking through the undergrowth.
Holly crossed the street, and ducked into the narrow alley on her right, waiting for him to catch up.
She stood before him in the pale lamplight a moment, taking in the house from this new angle. She looked enchanted and lovely, the light gently caressing her pale cheeks. Strathavon could not but admire the artfulness of his lady duchess.
He could not imagine what his life would have been if he hadn’t seen her in the park, or if she hadn’t spoken to him of houses that night. Would he have wed some languid heiress instead? It didn’t bear thinking about.
They found the servants’ door unlocked as promised, and Holly wasted no time opening it and peering inside. She motioned for the duke to follow her, her soft boots making no sound as they crossed the scullery at the back of the house and made their way into the upstairs environs.
There was not a soul to be seen – Holly supposed that Lady Charlotte must have taken most of her household with her to the country, or else they had taken advantage of her absence to retire early.
“Are you certain you know what you’re about?”
“Very! But hush – it is just through that door on the left.”
They froze when the door creaked faintly, and then Holly quickly pulled the duke inside, shutting it behind them.
“What if the emeralds aren’t here?” Strathavon asked. The question seemed really obvious now that he was sneaking through a dark house like a common burglar.
“La, Your Grace, then we’ll have to hold up the carriage.”
While Strathavon tried to decide whether that was a joke, Holly slipped inside Lady Charlotte’s wardrobe, which had been the powder room when it was still modish to wear one’s hair poudree. She proceed straight to a jewellery box that rested on a polished table.
“I think we had better risk some light,” she whispered, producing a candle stub and a tinder box from her pocket.
The candle caught light and the room was illumined in a pale orange glow.
There were several large chests, a wardrobe and an eerie mannequin on which was displayed a magnificent gown of silver net and satin.
Holly glanced around the room before returning her attention to the box, firmly reminding herself that this was no time to lose her nerve.
“Be so good as to hold this, Sylvester?” she said, handing him the candle carefully, to avoid dripping any wax.
The ebony box was approximately the si
ze of a miniature chest and decorated in a pattern of flying birds. It was also locked. Holly picked it up and looked at it a moment, before reaching beneath her dreadful cap to remove a pin.
A chestnut strand fell free, framing her face as she inserted the pin into the lock with a look of intense concentration.
Strathavon moved carefully to the door to listen for any approaching footsteps.
He wondered what Max would have said if he could have seen Sylvester just then. Holly was more trouble than his brother and Avonbury combined.
He fought the urge to check his fob watch to see how long they had been in the house – not very, he thought, and yet it felt like hours.
At last he heard a soft click, and a triumphant exhalation from his wife as she opened the box, hurriedly rifling through pearls and diamond bracelets.
She found the emeralds and lifted them high to catch the candlelight, producing their exact replica from the pocket of her dress. The resemblance was remarkable. Holly seemed satisfied with the comparison, because she dropped the paste emeralds into the box, and clicked it shut.
She had just fastened the Avonbury emeralds around her own neck, carefully locking the clasp and tucking the necklace into her demure fichu, when the unmistakable sound of footsteps on a wooden floor sounded outside.
Without further thought, the duke snuffed the candle, and snatched Holly around the waist, hiding them both behind the mannequin.
At the last moment, he snatched the white cap from her dark hair, crumpling it into his fist.
They were so close together that he could feel the beating of her heart and the soft warmth of her pressed against him. Unnecessarily, the duke tightened his hold, pressing her body flush against his.
The door creaked open, letting in a thin sliver of light that quickly grew fatter.
A face peered in.
“I’m certain I saw light in here.” A young man’s voice. Perhaps a footman.
“Light!” scoffed a woman. “There was no light, Ben, you imagined it.”
“It was flickering there under the door.”
“What did you think, old Maltby had come up here to try on gowns while the mistress is away?”
“She certainly acts like lady of the house, Jenny, my sweet,” the young man murmured.
Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 24
