“Do you think Rossington will be happy to see his daughter settled with a man who makes the pittance paid to a constable? He could not continue his leisurely life as a country gentleman on those few pounds. No, he is hoping his daughters will bring him enough money from their husbands to enjoy his life. Mayhap if his other daughters were already wed richly to generous sons-in-law Rossington might consider it. As it is, everything you do is futile.”
“You cannot be certain.”
“I can be certain that I will not be able to talk you out of trying.” He slanted her across his lap, their faces close as her arm curved around his shoulder. “But not now. For whatever time we have until Agatha and Edgar return, let us forget about everything but you and me, sweetheart.”
“I agree.” She slid her arms up his back and slanted into him, savoring his hard chest. “Where did we leave off?”
“Why not start from the beginning again?”
“Something else I agree with. Who would have imagined that we would agree on two things in a row? If—”
His lips capturing hers silenced her teasing. When the breath from his chuckle swirled into her mouth, she delighted in its warm taste. Her mind reeled with his kisses, each one as wondrous as the first, each honing her craving for more. Her heart pulsed in time with her rapid breaths.
No, not her heart. Someone was banging on the door.
Priscilla pushed back from Neville and jumped up. As she turned toward the door, Neville caught her hand. “Let me, Pris,” he said, standing.
“Stay here. If you go to the door now, you will bite off Edgar’s or Agatha’s head.”
“Mayhap both.”
She brushed another kiss across his mouth. “We knew our respite would be short.”
The door crashed open as soon as Priscilla pushed back the bolt. Agatha stormed in, almost walking right over Priscilla. Edgar followed, but said nothing as Agatha lambasted them for locking them out. Instead he regarded Agatha with awe and pride as she outlined everything that Priscilla and Neville risked by trying to ignore Mr. Cross’s orders.
Priscilla let Agatha vent her fury until she began to make veiled threats toward Aunt Cordelia and the children. At that point, Priscilla broke in to say, “That is enough! If we wanted to lock the door to keep one of Lord Rossington’s servants from overhearing the plans we were making to help you, then you should not complain.”
“But we are to watch you.”
“You were just down the hall. If we had tried to sneak out, you would have seen.”
Edgar said, “She be right, Agatha. If they ’ad tried to go out the door, we would’ve seen them. If they ’ad climbed out the balcony, we would’ve seen them, too.”
“Why are ye takin’ ’er side?”
Priscilla was shocked to see what looked like tears in Agatha’s eyes. The two thieves had disagreed before, but Agatha had never acted so fragile. What was changing?
She did not get an answer because the two continued their argument until Neville gave a roar. That halted them, but they continued to grumble the rest of the day.
Or so Priscilla assumed, because she left the room to sit with Miss Verlyn and Lady Rossington. The young woman could not hide that her mother’s company was difficult. Priscilla understood. Lady Rossington seemed to believe that her daughter would heal more quickly if she had something to look forward to—something like her introduction to the ton.
“Yes, Mama,” Miss Verlyn said time and again.
Satisfied that her daughter had come to her senses, Lady Rossington drew Priscilla into the conversation by asking, “You know that Lady Priscilla has a daughter close to your age, don’t you?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“I have no doubts that you soon will be bosom-bows.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“What is your daughter’s name, Lady Priscilla?”
“My older daughter is Daphne,” Priscilla replied. “The younger is Leah.”
“Don’t you agree that Verlyn and Daphne should be good friends?”
Priscilla smiled, even though she was tempted to say that she had learned long ago that her children would find their friends without help from their parents. Instead, she said, “They will not have to wait until you come to Town, because the children should be arriving tomorrow afternoon.”
“Arriving? Here?” Miss Verlyn sat up. Shock sharpened her voice. “Your children are calling here?”
“Verlyn!” chided her mother. “Remember yourself. Rossington Hall has a proud tradition of welcoming travelers.”
“Sir Neville believed we should travel together.” Priscilla hated the falsehood. “For safety.”
The curse Miss Verlyn snapped brought another reprimand from her mother.
“I am sorry for such an oath, Lady Priscilla,” Miss Verlyn added, her lips so tight that she could barely speak. “That we have to remain prisoners within our houses and cannot ride safely on our own lands infuriates me.”
“Tut-tut,” chided her mother. “Do not upset Lady Priscilla with what is not her concern. Miss Daphne must be made to feel welcome. We shall have a hop for you youngsters on Friday evening. Won’t that be fun? You may not be able to dance, Verlyn, because it is only two days from now, but you can watch the other guests and enjoy the conversation. You will have a lovely time, and all the neighbors can be reassured that you are fine.” She glanced at Priscilla. “I am sure you understand how important it is that no rumors reach London that suggest Verlyn has been permanently damaged.”
“Lady Rossington,” Priscilla replied, “the ton prattles about people in residence in London. Unless someone has left Town in disgrace, those not present provide little fodder for gossip.”
Miss Verlyn gave her a grateful smile. “There. You see, Mama. Lady Priscilla is well-familiar with the Polite World. You need not worry about me.”
“Nonsense!” Lady Rossington hastily added, “I mean no disrespect, my lady.”
“I understand,” Priscilla said. “We all have been under a great deal of stress, so we must forgive ourselves strong emotions.”
This time, both Rossington women gave her grateful smiles.
Lady Rossington did not let the silence last. “But I insist on having a gathering for the young people. A weekend, so our neighbors can travel to and from the house during daylight.” She clapped her hands with excitement. “Oh, the girls will be so eager for a chance for friends to call, and this will allow them to practice for events in Town.”
Neither Miss Verlyn nor Priscilla were able to slip in more than a few words while Lady Rossington outlined the plans she would set into motion that very afternoon. Priscilla took her leave as soon as she could, feeling guilty for abandoning Miss Verlyn. But such an event would be in the young woman’s best interests, and Priscilla knew her own daughter would be elated.
She stopped in the middle of the stairs and gripped the banister. Would Lady Rossington extend an invitation to Constable Kenyon? Unlikely, and Miss Verlyn must realize that. No wonder the young woman had been so reluctant to be caught up in her mother’s anticipation.
Nothing was simple, and Priscilla suspected it was going to become much, much more complicated once her family arrived.
Chapter Fourteen
PRISCILLA WAS NOT surprised when her aunt’s arrival set the whole household to buzzing. Cordelia Emberley Smith Gray Dexter never arrived without fanfare. There might not be actual trumpets announcing her entrance, but there should have been, as she swept into the light blue sitting room in Rossington Hall the following afternoon.
She was a woman who commanded every place she entered. Slender and without a single gray hair, she dressed in the latest style. Priscilla had great sympathy for her aunt’s modiste because Aunt Cordelia was as exacting about her clothing as she was about everything else. However, she could
afford to pay her seamstress well for her troubles. Three late husbands had left her wealthy, and she never let anyone forget that she was the daughter, sister, and aunt of an earl.
“The favorite aunt,” she always added with a smile that brooked no argument.
And no one ever argued with her. Not even Neville, save when Aunt Cordelia began to list what she perceived as Priscilla’s shortcomings. Even then, she allowed only the scantiest disagreement before she put an end to the conversation with an incisive comment. She always expected to have the final word.
“Aunt Cordelia!” cried Priscilla, jumping to her feet from where she had been discussing the latest events with Mrs. Betts. She rushed to hug her aunt, knowing she must explain everything before a wrong word destroyed the whole charade. Her aunt would be satisfied with nothing but the whole truth, and Priscilla intended to give it to her . . . and gird herself for her beloved aunt’s outrage that Priscilla had become enmeshed in another murder investigation.
The embrace lasted but a moment because her aunt pulled away and demanded, “Why do you burden me with those boys? Have you lost your mind? When I think of them—”
“I know it was more than you anticipated, my dear aunt,” she said. “You must be exhausted.”
“Utterly.”
“Where are the children?”
Aunt Cordelia gave a wave in the general direction of the stables. “The boys insisted on seeing the stable, and I told Daphne and Leah to keep a close watch on their brother in case—”
“Let me show you to a room where you may rest after your journey.” Fortunately, only Priscilla and Mrs. Betts were in the room. She knew how far her aunt’s voice could carry, especially when she was irked. If someone happened to catch her saying brother instead of brothers, there could be questions that would make the situation more difficult.
“The Rossingtons have servants for such tasks.” Her haughty tone dared anyone in the room to gainsay her.
“But none of them is as eager as I am to talk with you.” Ah, the truth at last! It was wondrous to speak it.
“Good! You can begin by explaining why those two boys found their way into our carriage shortly after I received your message to come here instead of going directly to the house.”
The house. That is how Aunt Cordelia always spoke of her country home. As if it were the only house beyond London’s borders, and that she believed it was the sole building worthy of anyone’s attention. It actually belonged to Priscilla’s young son, inherited along with the title of Earl of Emberson from his grandfather, but Aunt Cordelia never let a small detail like that get in her way. She had lived there since birth, and even though two of her husbands had left her grand manor houses while the third bequeathed her an amazing London home, she planned to live at Emberson Court until she died . . . or remarried.
Priscilla selected her words with care as she walked with her aunt and Mrs. Betts up the stairs. Now was not the time to be frank. She did not want to upset her aunt with details like the death threats made by the leader of the highwaymen. Storming into the pleasant suite of rooms where sunshine muted the colors of the furniture and the rugs, Aunt Cordelia did not pause until she reached the door to the bedchamber. She turned and faced Priscilla and Mrs. Betts, who closed the hallway door behind them. When Aunt Cordelia drew in a deep breath, Mrs. Betts tensed.
“Are you safe?” asked Aunt Cordelia.
Priscilla had avoided saying anything about Mr. Cross’s threats, but some timbre in her voice must have alerted her aunt. Going to her, Priscilla gave her another hug, this one longer.
“I am fine now,” she said, “that you and the children are here and out of danger.”
“Children? Danger? If you were truly worried about them—and about me—you would not have put us in the unwanted company of those boys!”
“There were extenuating circumstances,” Priscilla said.
“I cannot imagine what.” Aunt Cordelia shook off Priscilla’s embrace and went to where a bottle of wine waited. Even though the hour was not late, she poured a generous serving. She carried it to a chair upholstered in a rich red brocade. “Those two boys! Scugs, each of them!”
“Scugs?” She had not guessed her aunt knew such a low term for ill-mannered boys.
“I demand to know why you foisted them on us.”
“Neville and I were—”
Her aunt’s eyes narrowed. “I should have guessed he had something to do with this hullabaloo. I cannot begin to fathom why you allow him to remain and spread his bad influence on you and the children.”
“He is my husband now, Aunt Cordelia.”
“To my endless regret and I fear, one day not so long in the future, yours as well.”
Priscilla bit back her retort. Nothing she said would change her aunt’s opinion of Neville. Or his of Aunt Cordelia. Rather, she turned to Mrs. Betts. “I believe I should speak privately with my aunt.”
The housekeeper nodded. “If you require anything, my lady—”
“I will let you know immediately.”
Mrs. Betts opened the door to leave, flashing Priscilla a sympathetic glance. Priscilla appreciated the kindness, but she was accustomed to her cantankerous aunt. Picking up the wine bottle, she carried it to where her aunt sat. She selected a chair facing Aunt Cordelia and set the bottle on the table between them.
“Other than the boys,” she said, “I assume your journey was uneventful.”
“No, no!” Her aunt took a sip of the wine. “I will not allow you to act as if nothing is amiss. That man has persuaded you to disrupt what should have been a pleasant sojourn with the children into the country. Of all the places you could have asked us to stop, why here? The Rossingtons are encroaching mushrooms, eager to advance themselves in Society.” She sniffed before sipping again. “I hear there is to be a gathering in our honor. If they can persuade the Polite World that they have a legitimate connection with our family, their standing would be greatly enhanced.”
“Actually the party is a hop for the Rossington girls and Daphne.” She considered a glass of wine for herself, but refrained. She needed all her wits about her when dealing with Aunt Cordelia. “It will be a lovely way for them to spend the evening, and mayhap Daphne will meet a young man who will make her less serious about Lord Witherspoon.”
“Ah, that is a fine idea.” Her aunt poured more wine into her glass. “She speaks too much of him. She even talked about him to those unlicked cubs you foisted on me. You must correct your daughter before that man’s untoward ways rub off on her.”
Priscilla smiled. No matter what they discussed, her aunt found a way to insult Neville. At one time, Priscilla had hoped they could become tolerant of each other. Neville had tried, but Aunt Cordelia was not willing to bend quite that much.
“The hop will be just the dandy. I will ask Lady Rossington to arrange for some local gentlemen to dance with Daphne.”
“And when it is over, we shall continue to the house.” Aunt Cordelia gave her a beatific smile. “The gardens should be in full bloom. A lovely reprieve from Town.”
“Mayhap.”
“Mayhap?” Her smile vanished. “Why would you want to stay here?”
“This is why I wanted to speak with you privately.” She rose and went to the hallway door. Opening it, she saw no one there. Agatha and Edgar had gone to collect the boys, and she hoped they would not hurry.
It did not take Priscilla long to explain what had happened since she and Neville left London, taking care to omit details like where the Order met, but letting her aunt know that Mrs. Betts, Agatha, and Edgar were not their allies. Her aunt’s eyes grew wide, and her lips straightened with disapproval. Priscilla finished by explaining Mr. Cross’s demand for the boys to be brought to Rossington Hall.
“We knew cooperating was the best way to get you here safely,” she add
ed. “I am so sorry, Aunt Cordelia, that the boys caused you trouble.”
“My dear niece, you have always had a predilection for understatement, but that may be the most understated comment you have ever made.”
Priscilla kept a smile from tipping her lips. While chiding someone or, to own the truth, any other time, Aunt Cordelia believed everything she said should be taken to heart.
“I understand,” Priscilla replied. “But if we had denied the request, I fear for what might have happened. I do not want to see anyone else hurt, as Miss Verlyn was.”
“Or worse,” added a deeper voice from the doorway.
“I assumed you would appear eventually,” Aunt Cordelia said, as Neville closed the door behind him and crossed the room to stand beside Priscilla’s chair. “Like an old cat, you have a way of turning up whenever there is trouble.”
“At least this time, you cannot blame me.”
“Do not be so sure of that.”
He bent and kissed Aunt Cordelia on the cheek. “You are looking well despite the troubles on your journey here.”
“Which was most likely your idea.”
Priscilla was about to interject that the idea had been hers, but Neville said, “I understand my good friend Duncan McAndrews called on you the night we left London. Such antics will create gossip.”
“He came to inquire how I fared in the aftermath of your wedding.” High color rose along Aunt Cordelia’s cheeks, astounding Priscilla. She could not recall the last time she had seen her aunt blush. “Do not think I have lowered my standards.”
“I would never give that the slightest thought.” He wore his warmest smile. “I want to prevent any questionable behavior from tainting my family’s reputation.”
Aunt Cordelia sputtered, outraged he would question her actions.
Priscilla took her aunt’s unexpected loss for words as a chance to put an end to the conversation. Urging Aunt Cordelia to rest and saying she would return for tea so they could enjoy a nice coze, Priscilla herded Neville out of the room. She heard her aunt call to her not to be late for tea. Aunt Cordelia had managed to get the last word again.
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