by Jane Goodger
Behind him, the hack driver, the same man who’d brought him nearly a year ago to say good-bye to his grandfather, waited, his collar turned up, his arms folded across his chest as plumes of vapor streamed from the noses of his team. “My cousin can set you right, m’lord,” the driver said. “But he can’t be doing any construction until the weather breaks.”
“In June, then,” Nathaniel joked, and the driver laughed in appreciation.
The driver looked up to the gray sky and grimaced. “We’ll be getting more snow tonight, I’ll wager,” he said. “But as soon as the sun is shining, Tommy will be ready to get to work.” He studied the house. “May take a while and he doesn’t have a crew.”
“He’ll have me,” Nathaniel said, and ignored it when the driver raised his eyebrows in surprise. He couldn’t very well leave until the most necessary repairs were completed, and if that meant helping out, he would do it. After laboring in a garden for months, Nathaniel wasn’t afraid of a little hard work, especially if it meant returning to St. Ives—and Clara—sooner. He needed only to do enough repairs to keep out the weather and prevent any more damage to the already sad estate. Even now, snow was accumulating in what had been the home’s music room. Though there were no instruments at risk—his father had sold anything of value years ago—Nathaniel did not want any more damage done to the old home. If everything went as planned, he would be living here by summer. With his new bride.
“Lord Alford? Ho there.”
Nathaniel looked behind the carriage to see a man approaching on horse, his figure obscured by the snow. “Do you recognize this fellow?” Nathaniel asked the driver, who twisted around so he could get a look at the approaching man.
“No, sir. Never seen him before in my life.”
“Do you have a firearm?” he asked, and the driver looked suddenly alarmed.
“Surely a robber wouldn’t call you by name.” Sensible fellow.
“Of course.” A knot of worry filled his stomach. No one knew he was in Cumbria but his solicitor, and this man was not his solicitor.
Nathaniel studied the visitor as he dismounted. He was young, with dark blond hair and sparse muttonchops that did little to make his youthful features more mature. Tall, thin, and pale, with deep circles beneath his striking green eyes, the fellow appeared to be ill.
“You are Baron Alford?” he asked.
Nathaniel schooled his features, careful not to show any surprise. He noticed two things about the man: The stranger was completely focused on Nathaniel’s person, even though they both stood outside a fire-damaged building. And the other man was quite certain, despite his question, of who he was. “I am. And you are?”
“Roger King. I am looking for a blue diamond.”
Though his gut clenched, Nathaniel raised one eyebrow and made a casual show of looking about at the snow-covered ground. “Good luck,” he said.
Mr. King smiled blandly. “I am here on behalf of Mr. Jonathon Belmont. The diamond belongs to him.”
Nathaniel quickly debated whether to let on that he knew what Mr. King was talking about, and decided to prevaricate. “I do apologize, Mr. King. But you have me at a disadvantage, as you seem to know what you are talking about and I do not. What is this about a blue diamond?”
Mr. King moved closer, obviously aware of the driver behind them listening to every word. “Your grandfather stole the diamond from my client’s father. It is worth a fortune.”
Nathaniel started to laugh, then looked behind him. “This is the country seat of the Alford barony. Does it look to you as if we have a fortune? I daresay I would appreciate having a fortune so that I might begin making the necessary repairs and taking care of my tenants. My needs are great and my funds are nonexistent. So, please, Mr. King, do tell. Where is this mythical diamond that can save my estate from ruin?”
Frowning, Mr. King looked uncertain for the first time. “Do you know of any papers your grandfather might have left behind that I could examine? They may offer information as to where the diamond is.”
“After my grandfather died, I spent two months going through his papers and learning the extent of the estate’s debts. If there is a paper I missed, I wouldn’t know where to look for it. Sadly, I saw no mention of any hidden treasure.” This was true. Despite his instinct not to reveal his knowledge of the diamond’s existence, he did not feel entirely comfortable blatantly lying to this gentleman, who seemed so earnest in his inquiry. “If you have time, I would like to discuss this with you in a warmer, drier place. Perhaps I have information that could help you in your search.”
The younger man seemed taken aback, very nearly disappointed, with his cooperation. “I believe that would be beneficial to both of us.”
“Certainly.” Nathaniel chuckled. “I am staying at the George Hotel. I will be here for a time, but I can meet you…” He pulled out his pocket watch. “…at four o’clock.” He smiled. “Perfect. Tea time.”
Mr. King smiled uncertainly, as if confused by the way the meeting had gone. It was almost as if he’d expected resistance, and Nathaniel congratulated himself on his decision to pretend ignorance. Now he would find out Mr. Belmont’s motivation and whether he was as obsessed about the diamond as his father had been. If his life was in danger, he would like to know about it.
Just before four, Nathaniel returned to the hotel and found Mr. King already seated at a corner table in the hotel’s small dining room. Only one other table was occupied, for the hotel rarely drew visitors during the winter months, remaining open mostly to serve drinks and meals to the locals. The Lake Region drew many visitors in the warmer months, but was quite desolate once winter had set in.
“So, Mr. King, tell me the tale of the blue diamond,” Nathaniel said, once they had been served a pot of tea.
Mr. King folded and re-folded his napkin, clearly deep in thought. “Some of what I have to tell you does not shine a particularly flattering light upon your grandfather,” he said hesitantly.
Nathaniel tensed inwardly, but smiled blandly. “My grandfather and I were hardly close, so I can assure you, you needn’t feel as if you must tread lightly on his memory. He squandered my inheritance, leaving me with no staff, an estate in shambles, and a mountain of debt. Do go on.” Forgive me, Grandpapa.
The story Mr. King related was so far from what his grandfather had told him, it was difficult to believe it was the same tale. Outwardly, Nathaniel seemed horrified by what his grandfather had done, but inwardly, he grew more and more enraged. He had no doubt that his grandfather had told him the truth, that he’d had every intention of sharing the proceeds of the sale of the intact diamond. In all his life, he’d never met a man of greater honor than his grandfather, who, despite his infirmity, had managed to protect Nathaniel from his father and make his childhood, if not carefree, then at least happy.
“I knew nothing of this tale,” Nathaniel said, secretly delighted that he was able again to tell the truth. This story was not the story he knew. “You believe my grandfather hid the diamond in St. Ives?”
“I do,” Mr. King said. “Or somewhere nearby. Mr. Belmont’s father could think of no other reason for your grandfather to have been in St. Ives. Perhaps you did not know this, but your grandfather enjoyed anagrams.”
Nathaniel was very much aware of his grandfather’s love of word games. They had spent many hours challenging one another. “Really? And how do you know this?”
“The letters he wrote to my client’s father before they had a falling out. He always included an anagram. In his last letter, after he’d returned to England from Brazil, your grandfather wrote one last letter containing only two words: gravesite dens. Of course, it made no sense to Mr. Belmont, not having read the other letters. Do you know what the solution is?”
Nathaniel thought for a moment before he realized what his grandfather had written. Gravesite dens had all the same letters as St. Ives garden
. Nathaniel’s lips twitched in admiration for the old gent and his inability to completely keep a secret. “St. Ives garden,” he said. “Clever, I suppose, but what makes you believe that is where the diamond is hidden?”
Mr. King shrugged. “I cannot know for certain. But was not your grandfather accosted just outside of that village? Proof that he was there. A strong coincidence.”
“Indeed.” How he wanted to tell Mr. King the truth of what had happened. How his client’s father was not the victim in this tragic tale, but the villain. It would do no good to tell him, not yet at any rate. Not until he found the blasted diamond. “Shall we hie off to St. Ives together?”
Mr. King shook his head. “I’ve been there. It’s a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, isn’t it? I got the locals interested for a time, but I think they’ve already grown weary of the search and are probably doubting the tale I told them. I was hoping you could shed some light on this mystery. I fear I’ll have to return to Mr. Belmont empty-handed. In truth, I don’t know what else I can do.” He took a bite of scone and chewed thoughtfully. “Would you object to my poring over those papers? Perhaps I can spot something of interest that you missed.”
Nathaniel smiled, knowing there was nothing in the papers that would be helpful. “Of course. They are all in London with my solicitor. Stacks and stacks of them. I hate to see you waste your time, Mr. King. I can assure you there is nothing there of interest.”
“Perhaps, but I’ll feel better having a look myself.” Mr. King stood and held out his hand to shake. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, my lord.”
“I’d wish you good luck with your search, but I highly doubt Mr. Belmont would be willing to share the proceeds from the diamond.”
Mr. King allowed himself a small smile. “That is the one thing about this case I am fairly certain of.”
Chapter 13
“Lord Berkley has just arrived. With Harriet!” Hedra had rushed into Clara’s room, her cheeks flushed, her face beaming. They both ran across the hall to her mother’s sitting room so they could look below. “Oh, good Lord, he kissed her!”
Indeed, Lord Berkley, who had broken her sister’s heart so coldly, was now kissing Harriet rather passionately beside a smart little gig. Or rather, they were kissing each other rather passionately. Clara had no idea what had precipitated this change, but she was thrilled for Harriet, who had been so melancholy of late. Even more melancholy than Clara herself.
It was March and weeks and weeks had passed since Nathaniel had been seen or heard from. She couldn’t expect a letter from him; that would be seen as highly improper. When she had finally gotten the courage to ask Mr. Standard if he’d heard from him, he said he had not. Just last night, looking out over their new hothouse, Clara had come to the realization that Nathaniel would not return, despite what he’d written in his letter. Perhaps when he wrote those words, he’d meant them. But it was clear now that if he had once intended to return, he no longer did. Either that or something terrible had happened to him, and Clara refused to dwell on that possibility.
Next to her, Hedra did a happy little dance and squealed, sounding like a young girl. “Oh, it’s happening, Clara. It’s truly, truly happening.” She ran to her mirror and fluffed up her hair before turning around and waving at Clara to follow her. “Where is your father? Oh, at work, of course. Of course! Have Joseph fetch him, will you, Clara? I’m nearly certain Lord Berkley has come to ask permission for Harriet’s hand.” She snapped her mouth shut, and suddenly looked doubtful. “You do think that is why he is here, don’t you? He’d better be, hadn’t he, after that kiss.”
“I can think of no other reason for him to behave with Harriet in the manner in which they did unless he was here for that very reason,” Clara said, praying she was right.
Hedra spun around and headed for the door, then stopped again, her face alight. “Do you know what this means, Clara? With a sister who is a countess—a countess!—you will have so many more opportunities. This is a miracle. A miracle! Now go fetch Joseph and have him make haste.”
Laughing, Clara promised to make Joseph ride as quickly as possible to find her father. She chose to ignore her mother’s other statement, for she had no wish to travel down that particular road ever again. How could she even begin to contemplate marrying anyone when she was still in love with Nathaniel? As foolish as that was, she could not keep her heart from longing for him.
As Hedra made her way down to the parlor, where the couple could be heard talking, Clara found their footman and directed him to fetch her father immediately.
“Shall I give him a reason? Mr. Anderson does not like being pulled away,” Joseph said.
“Tell him Lord Berkley is here with Harriet and that they seemed supremely happy,” Clara said with a huge smile. Joseph returned her smile, clearly pleased with this news. “But please don’t say a word to any of the staff just yet. It’s not quite a fait accompli.”
“Yes, miss. And I’ll make haste, do not worry!”
Clara hugged herself, hardly able to contain her happiness for Harriet. Indeed, she’d been so worried about her little sister, who had been listless and uninterested in anything of late. She’d even abandoned talk of her little cottage, that imaginary place where the two of them would live together into their dotage. And now she would be a countess! Lord Berkley had best not break Harriet’s heart again or his life and limb would likely be in danger.
When she reached the parlor, Hedra was weeping and Harriet seemed to be consoling her, and her heart broke…until she spotted Lord Berkley looking at the pair with a chagrined and rather helpless look on his face.
“Happy tears?” Clara asked him, trying not to laugh aloud.
“I believe so,” Lord Berkley said solemnly.
“Of course they’re ’appy tears,” Hedra said, slipping into her Cornish accent. “Our ’arriet is to be married, Clara. Married to an earl!”
“Mother, sit down before you faint,” Harriet said, leading Hedra to the nearest chair.
“I’m not going to faint,” Hedra said irritably, then beamed another smile. “Oh, dear. Where is Mr. Anderson?”
“I’ve just sent Joseph for him and they should be here momentarily.” Clara caught Harriet’s attention and gave her a look that tried to convey to her sister how very happy she was.
The four sat in tense silence for a time as they waited for her father to arrive, until Clara said, “If you don’t mind my asking, how did this all come about?”
“I came to my senses,” the earl said, giving Harriet such a look of adoration, Clara was rather taken aback.
“Clara, wait ’til you see. He built me my cottage.” Harriet’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It’s rather grander than I pictured in my imagination, but it’s perfect. It’s almost as if he reached into my mind and found the paintings I had created of the place.”
“Oh my.”
“I needed to prove to Harriet that I was serious about my attentions. I’m afraid I bungled things considerably,” Lord Berkley said.
The way they were looking at one another, with such obvious affection, made Clara momentarily jealous. Clara wasn’t sure of the details of how the earl had come to love Harriet, but it was obvious that he did—and just as obvious that Harriet loved him. Hedra started crying again, abruptly stopping when her husband strode through the door.
“What’s this all about?” he said angrily, seeing only that his wife was crying and that Lord Berkley was standing in his parlor, uninvited.
Clara rushed to his side and laid a placating hand on his arm, instantly calming him. “Lord Berkley is here to see you about Harriet,” Clara said, unable to stop the smile that spread over her face. Her father’s eyebrows at first snapped together, but as he realized what those words meant, his expression cleared.
“In my library, my lord?”
Lord Berkley nodded. �
�Of course, Mr. Anderson.”
The two men disappeared, leaving behind three women who could hardly contain their excitement, particularly Hedra. “He came around,” she gushed. “I knew he would.”
Clara and Harriet exchange a look, for that was such a blatant lie it was very nearly laughable. Everyone in the family, including Harriet, had long given up hope that Lord Berkley would return—and certainly not to ask for Harriet’s hand.
“He loves you,” Clara said softly, and Harriet nodded.
“He does.” She shrugged. “I really can’t fathom why but I’m glad he does. You should see the house, Clara. It’s perfect. He even made a room for you, overlooking the garden.”
Clara smiled, but those words hurt far more than she let on. At the moment, just thinking about the garden was more painful than she could bear. It was wonderful that Harriet had found her love, but it only drove home the reality that Clara had not—and might never find love. Perhaps when Harriet and Lord Berkley were traveling on the continent, doing things that earls and countesses did, she could live in that little cottage, the spinster sister. And she would look out at the garden and wonder what it might have been like if Nathaniel hadn’t disappeared, if he had stayed and they had married.
“Mother is ecstatic, thinking you can now help me find a titled husband.” Clara sighed. “I fear this will only make her redouble her efforts on that front.”
Harriet winced. “I am sorry, Clara. I cannot help it that Augustus is an earl. I do wish he wasn’t, but he is and I must adjust to the idea.”
Clara laughed. “Listen to us. Most girls would give anything to be in such a position, and here we are making do. Perhaps Mother had it right all along; we should just be happy and appreciate what fate has dealt us. In truth, your marriage will make me more attractive to the ton.”
Harriet wrinkled her nose. “I do hope we aren’t forced to socialize too much in England. You know how I am in crowds.”
