As if on cue, Mrs. Fryer entered with a tray piled high with the formal flatware.
“Do set it on the table, Ingrid dear.” Lady Cartwright stood from where she sat in a straight-backed chair and looked over the pile. “Yes, there is no doubt. At least three pieces have gone missing.”
“You cannot possibly know as much simply by looking at a heap of metal,” Cart retorted. “It is highly unlikely.”
His mother set aside her paper and nub to turn her stare on him—in his youth, that look would have sent him running. However, he stood his ground, refusing to cower no matter the hardness behind her look.
“Simon.” She preferred using his given name only as it vexed him so. “I have been the lady of this house far longer than you have been in this world. I know every square inch of it and all it contains. I assure you, my assessment is correct.”
He wanted to snort at her words. Even if a few forks went missing, no one would be the wiser or care as they hadn’t entertained since before his father’s passing—and his uncle’s petition for guardianship of Cart until his majority. It was then everything had come crashing down on him. Not all at once, but a slow tidal wave of decay, his family title and estate going from once affluent to only a step above destitute.
It had taken his uncle, Mr. Julian Montgomery, a mere three years to empty the family coffers and abscond to The Colonies.
In the several years since Cart had reached the age of majority and returned from Eton to find his finances and estates in disrepair, he had worked tirelessly to recover all that his uncle had piddled away or sold. It was a tiring activity and frowned upon by polite society, but his drive had never waned, regardless of his mother’s thoughts on the matter.
“Did you expect I would return to slumber?” his mother inquired. “And trust you to attain answers and justice for the violation of our property last night?”
Cart didn’t expect anything from his mother—except the headache that was currently taking over.
Bloody hell, but she made it difficult to cherish her sometimes.
A man should adore his mother, as she should adore her son in return. Yet, his mother sought to undermine him at every turn.
“I did as I said I would do,” Cart reassured her. “I followed up with the night watchman, who confirmed they had detained someone, but they found nothing on their person to warrant holding them or sending for a magistrate to take the matter further.”
“And you did not insist on summoning the magistrate?”
“I was assured the night watchman likely plucked the wrong miscreant from the street.” Cart had been disappointed as well with the assistance the night watchman had offered. Moreover, regardless of the inadequacy of the man, the thief was certainly long gone by the time the alarm was sounded. Cart had little to no confidence that anyone would be apprehended. “Alas, I will not see Theo worrying herself into a fit over this. I shan’t allow this or anything similar to transpire again.”
Lady Cartwright’s brows pulled together, doubt clouding her expression. “You cannot say that with any certainty, Simon. Once you lock yourself away in that dreadful room or, heaven forbid, depart to see a client…” She said the word in a whisper as if it were a vulgarity not proper to cross her lips. “Your sister and I will be left to fend for ourselves once more.”
The fact that their survival depended on Cart’s clients as well as his need to earn a wage to sustain their way of living irked his mother to no end. As a matter of fact, it angered him, as well. However, they’d been left with no other option; anything not entailed to the Earldom had been sold—if it hadn’t been pilfered by his scoundrel of an uncle first—and any servant who hadn’t been with the family for over a decade had been helped to find another position elsewhere.
She’d gone so far as to demand he keep his disreputable activities from coming to light at social engagements. He’d readily agreed as he very seldom attended anything ton related, preferring to spend his unoccupied time searching through old tomes to increase his knowledge of antiquities or attending auction houses in pursuit of his own missing family heirlooms.
“I shall never leave you and Theo to care for yourselves,” he promised, no matter how often his mind wandered to the notion of stealing off to the country in the dead of night with his sister in tow.
“Her name is Theodora, Simon. How many times must I correct you?” Lady Cartwright resumed her seat before the table containing every jewel on the property. “She is the daughter of an earl, not the bastard offspring of a sully maid. Such a nickname will tarnish her chances of finding a suitable match.”
Cart longed to tell his mother a nickname was the least of Theo’s worries pertaining to her future.
However, he wanted to hold on to hope that Theo would live a far less taxing life than Cart had thus far. He’d worked so hard to put aside money for her dowry—and to guarantee she would never gain worry that her family had been cast into ruin, as Cart had. He’d been overwhelmed and angry when Eton had discontinued his education due to non-payment from his uncle’s solicitor. He’d been banished from his living quarters without benefit of any further explanation, his studies cut abruptly short just shy of his twenty-first birthday.
That was something Theo would never experience—he’d given her that vow years ago. He would move heaven and Earth to keep his promise.
Until their fortunes changed, Cart would continue to study and keep abreast of antiquities. As far as he figured, the market for making coin quickly dealing with rare objects was far superior to investing in shipping and business ventures, which required more funds upfront with little guarantee that any return on investment would be seen. And that the business allowed Cart to retrieve his own treasured family heirlooms in the process was a boon. A painting of the very first Earl Cartwright or a gilded, gold leaf chair constructed by his great uncle may not be of any significance to his mother, but his ancestors and their journeys were of great import to him.
He lowered himself into the chair directly across from his mother before responding. He immediately regretted his decision to sit because she huffed and went back to her work—her normal dismissive nature.
“Please, look at me,” he requested. He needed to see her eyes when he spoke his next words; needed to see that she did not dismiss his meaning before she allowed the words to sink in. “You—and Theodora—are the most important people to me. Your well-being is my utmost priority, whether that means providing a financially secure future for you both or allowing you an ear for listening.”
Her chin lifted ever so slightly in reproach.
He’d noticed her reactions to his sentiments for years, her guarded rejoinders and avoidance of their true situation. It was as if she had something more to say, some light she could shed on the situation. Instead, she reverted to silence or cutting remarks.
And Cart allowed it.
In a way, he felt like the wall she’d built between herself and her two children was warranted.
He’d let his mother down, disappointed his young sister—and never questioned the activities of a man he was supposed to trust. A man who had been as close to him as his own father. Cart had never thought his uncle capable of the dubious actions or the deceit he’d obviously been more than proficient at.
Cart continued to hold his mother’s stare, softening his own expression to communicate his sincerity.
“You will care for us as you did with the night watchman?” she asked, looking back to her notes. “He said there was no need to further search for the person who broke into my home—who absconded through the room your dear, sweet sister resided in, no less. And what have you done about it?”
A sharp pain of hurt tore at him.
“Exactly nothing,” she sighed. “As I expected. You took the man’s word and, in turn, have left us vulnerable to thieves. What is to stop him from setting his sights on this house once more? What if word spreads in society about your lack of gumption? Who will do business with you then?” Lady
Cartwright continued to fire questions Cart was unprepared to answer, though it was her way of things. If she overwhelmed her only son, then he would become speechless and do as she bid. “And think of Theodora! If anyone hears she was unchaperoned in a room alone with a man…”
He scrubbed his face with his hands, giving himself a moment to think. “Theo is only twelve years old. She is far from society’s scrutiny—at least for the next several years.”
“Then what about your prospects for the future?”
“Truly, Mother.” Irritation inched into his words. It was a subject neither broached. His mother would not take kindly to becoming a Dowager Countess and Cart relished his many hours pursuing subjects that interested him. If he were to tie himself to a woman, it would mean the end of his pursuits for knowledge—a woman of an educated nature was a rarity. On this topic, he and his mother were aligned, a definite infrequent occurrence within their household. “You think I should divert my attentions to the fairer sex now?”
“I did not say it was what I wanted.” His mother paused, staring out the open window. “Only something you should not banish from your mind.”
Lady Cartwright, regal and domineering, would never allow her only son to marry a woman of his choosing, for that woman would not conform to his mother’s wishes and demands—nor would Cart ever wish her to.
And so, Cart did not entertain the thought of marriage.
“What more do you plan to do to catch the person who violated our home?” She switched tactics rather seamlessly, using the term our, when normally it was “my” to refer to anything dealing with the Cartwright estate. “I fear that sitting back and doing nothing will only show other miscreants that my home is easily compromised and ripe for the taking.”
He tired of the daily pressure to complete every task to his mother’s specific instructions and wishes—no, demands. He’d thought that as their fortune turned around, she would loosen the noose about his neck, decrease the burden she heaped on his shoulders. Alas, she only became more challenging as the years passed.
Cart was not able to bring his father back, nor was he able to bring his uncle to justice for taking all he had from them. But he was doing his best to secure a favorable future for the three of them. One that included a proper education for Theo and allowing his mother a life full of society’s frivolous living, as she’d been accustomed to her entire life. Surely Lady Cartwright understood it would be far less expensive for the trio to retire to the country, live a less grand lifestyle without need for extravagant wardrobes, carriage upkeep, and two homes with servants. However, his mother refused the move and demanded her lady’s maid keep her position even though Cart had given up his valet, a man who’d served Cart’s father faithfully for over fifteen years.
For his own selfish reasons, Cart partly agreed with his mother. If he were to remove himself from London, it would significantly reduce his meager income. There was only a small village surrounding his family’s country home, with absolutely no other peers or collectors within a few hours’ ride on horseback. Being in town provided Cart with the ability to visit bookstores and auction houses.
The stiff-backed chair afforded him no opportunity to slouch, much the same as his mother.
Standing, he looked down at the woman who’d given him life, wishing he could give her all she wanted, but knowing he—or any other man—would not be capable of living up to her high standards. “I will return to the night watchman after my appointment and request instructions for following the matter up with the magistrate.”
“Very well,” she said, looking up from her work. Her mouth was closed in a tight line. His words hadn’t appeased her, but there was naught else she could say or do. “Please come to me when you return. I will be awaiting further resolution.”
“Very well.” He echoed her response as he issued a curt bow and departed, pulling his timepiece from his vest pocket as he closed the door.
The hour was later than he expected.
His meeting with Lord Gunther was scheduled for one hour hence and he was not a client Cart kept waiting, even though he had no new information about the lord’s missing vase. It had appeared nowhere on the open antiquities market. There was no one seeking a quick and quiet exchange of coin for an unspecified ancient piece, nor any buzz about town of such a precious item being whisked out of the country. It was peculiar, to say the least. There were few collectors whose extensive collections were not public knowledge within their limited circle of antiquities enthusiasts.
It was possible a new collector was in their midst, working diligently to amass sizeable holdings before revealing himself.
Cart suspected in time the thief would be revealed or, if not the thief, at least a man who was not above buying stolen goods.
“Brother,” a small voice called to him. “Are you going out once more?”
He searched the shadows under the foyer staircase. His younger sibling’s preference for small, dark hiding spots was known to all who lived within their walls. Finally, he found her watching him from the deepest corner beneath the stairs, a book clutched in her hands.
“Come out of there, Theo,” he called, holding his hand out. “You cannot actually be reading in such dim lighting.”
She crawled from her spot, an unlit candle in one hand and her book tucked under her arm as she pushed to her feet. Once standing, her gown and pinafore fell to just below her knees, a light pastel pink with white stockings—now smudged with dust. Her hair, neither blonde nor brown in hue, was braided and pinned in normal fashion for a girl of her age.
Cart couldn’t help but smile at her precocious ways.
“Why the unlit candle?” he asked.
“I heard you and Momma quarreling.”
“We were not quarreling, Theo,” he tried to reassure her. “We were discussing last night.”
“You were quarreling,” she said again with a shake of her head, as if she felt sorry that her elder brother did not have enough brains to realize they had, in fact, been having a tiff. “I heard the door close and did not want Momma to find me under the stairs—nor reading. You know how she wishes I would set my sights to more ladylike endeavors and apply my talents elsewhere.”
He certainly did. His mother hadn’t gained an education past learning to read and the basic arithmetic needed to keep track of household valuables. And, in turn, she did not think Theo needed any studies past this, either. However, Theo’s continuing education had been Cart’s compromise to remain in London proper.
Theo would have a full-time tutor until she voiced that she no longer needed her studies.
The shock of returning home after Eton to a sister who’d never learned her letters had saddened him greatly, but he’d remedied the situation quickly. Currently, Theo was mastering Latin and studying the Turkish Empire.
“Rest assured, I will not relegate you to the salon for needlepoint anytime soon. If—” he paused, pulling a serious expression.
“If what?” she demanded.
“If you promise to read with proper light. And no more staying up past midnight with your nose in a book. You need a proper night’s rest to keep your mind primed for storing knowledge.” He tapped her nose to emphasize his point. “Now, shall I have someone light that candle for you once more or will you be preparing for your morning lessons?”
She giggled, a light, airy sound that reminded Cart that there was a much less demanding life to live. A life with carefree mornings and afternoons spent learning, without rushing to and fro, meeting with clients.
“I think I can read another few pages before Mr. LeMaux arrives for my lessons.”
“Very wise decision.” Cart smiled to show his approval. “If you think you are in the correct mindset for lessons today.”
He couldn’t help voicing his concern for her after her encounter the night before.
“Oh, I was reading of pirates and treasure hunters,” she gushed. “I was at the most exciting point in the story—that was the only
reason I screeched at the sight of the intruder.”
“Ah, well, you know I will not let any such thing take place again.”
“Of course not, Cart,” she said with a smile and wink. “But Momma may not be as certain.”
“I do not need her to believe me as long as you trust me to keep you safe,” he replied. He’d vowed to never allow anyone to take advantage of his family again—it was a promise he took seriously. “You believe me. Right, Theo?”
“Incontrovertibly.”
“Word of the day?” he asked.
“Nope, it was my new word of the day yesterday.” She handed him the candle and slipped her book from below her arm. “Now, if you will excuse me. I have only a short few minutes to read.”
“And I must depart for a meeting.” Cart leaned down and pecked her cheek in brotherly affection. “Scamper off now and enjoy your time before Mr. LeMaux arrives. Will you dine with me this evening, Lady Theodora?”
“Only if fish soup is not on the menu.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust at their mother’s favorite dish.
“I can assure you, I smelled pheasant cooking in the kitchen,” he confided. “Maybe Mother will be having her dinner with friends this evening.”
“I do hope we are ever so lucky.”
“We will always be lucky as long as we stick together.” He felt the truth of his words deep in his soul. “Now, do not let your stodgy, old brother keep you from your endeavors.”
With a flip of her plaits, Theo took off to the stairs, her soft footfalls making no sound as she climbed.
Cart only hoped Lord Gunther was as silent at hearing the news of his still-missing vase.
Chapter 3
Jude looked over the expanse of the lawn before her, dotted with colored blankets spanning the entire rainbow. A light, warm breeze pulled at the edges of the coverings where they lay on the finely trimmed lawn. The same small gusts played with Jude’s hair and the hem of her long skirt as she, Sam, and Lady Chastain stepped around picnic arrangements in search of Lady Haversham, their hostess for the day.
Thief Steals Her Earl Page 3
