by Sara Ramsey
By the end, Lucy was impressed — and very close to wondering if his claim was real. If Max was a charlatan, he had done an impeccable job of making his records look accurate. And he’d picked the best possible Briarley to claim descent from — the youngest son of the first earl, who was known to have disappeared under mysterious circumstances in the 1500s. It would be difficult to prove with certainty whether the descent was real — but it would also be difficult to disprove it.
“I must say, the evidence is compelling,” Ferguson finally said. “What do you think, Miss Briarley? You’re the expert on the family lineage.”
She looked down at the documents in front of her. The only problem she noticed in Max’s story was that she was almost certain the youngest son had been married before disappearing. She needed to look at the relevant documents in the parish church — but if that was the case, and if the original wife was still alive when Max’s supposed ancestor had been born, Max’s ancestor would be a bastard. That would put an immediate end to any claim he might make.
But she would investigate that in her own time — and use whatever knowledge she gained to her advantage.
She looked at Ferguson and made a noncommittal noise. “I think it’s possible that he’s the earl. I didn’t believe it yesterday. But his documents fit perfectly with what I know about the family.”
“Then do you think he should remain at Maidenstone?” Ferguson asked.
Lucy shrugged. “I think it’s for the best. But I’m sure he would agree that we shouldn’t announce anything until we’re all more certain how we feel about the matter.”
Ferguson couldn’t know that she was referring to their secret engagement as well — but Max wasn’t stupid. He gave her a sidelong look.
She smiled back at him, daring him to speak.
Max turned to Ferguson. “I don’t want to cause any fuss. But I also don’t want to be bundled back to London so you can bury the claim and all evidence of it.”
Lucy expected Ferguson to pull out his quizzing glass — she thought she saw his hand twitch in that direction. She couldn’t fault his willingness to take this seriously instead of feigning his usual boredom. He looked down at the documents spread out in front of him before looking back to Max.
“This is a damnable mess,” the duke said frankly. “If your claim is valid, Parliament will have to confirm your title. It will take an army of solicitors to determine whether the property follows the male heir or whether it should be left to one of the Briarley heiresses.”
Max held up his hands. “I’m not in any hurry to settle this. As long as you treat me and my sister fairly, I expect you to take all the time you need to investigate.”
Ferguson nodded. “I’ll send a messenger to London to look into the documents there. You and Miss Vale should stay here until he returns. But I agree with Miss Briarley — we shouldn’t rush to announce you as the earl until the claim is confirmed.”
“That suits me,” Max said. “I can amuse myself and stay out of the way of the guests.”
Lucy didn’t like the sound of that. If he stayed out of the way of the guests, he would also be out of her way. She had never been in the position of being a seducer — Chapman had orchestrated their affair, not her. But she wouldn’t be able to set a similar trap for Max unless he was with her frequently.
“There’s no need to hide in your room,” she said. “You are welcome to join us for dinner going forward. And I shall give you a tour of Maidenstone today. You’ll want to see the property you may inherit.”
“Can’t say I’m excited to meet your guests,” Max responded. “But I would be delighted to see Maidenstone.”
Ferguson finally pulled out his quizzing glass. “You’re taking this all remarkably well, Miss Briarley.”
She gave him a look that she hoped was innocent. “My grandfather would have been happy to know that his title would continue.”
He continued to look at her for a moment. “Mr. Vale, will you excuse us? I want a word with Miss Briarley.”
Max nodded. “Miss Briarley, shall I meet you somewhere after this? A tour sounds like a better way to spend the day than whatever the other men usually do.”
“Shall we meet in the portrait gallery in a quarter of an hour?” she said. “A footman can direct you there.”
Max nodded and walked out, leaving the proof of his inheritance on her grandfather’s desk — more trusting than she might have expected him to be, since some of those documents were irreplaceable. But it also showed that he had no concerns about any examination they might perform on their own.
“Do you really think he’s the earl?” Ferguson asked as soon as Max was gone.
Lucy considered quickly. She needed to convince Ferguson, but she also needed an escape plan in case Max refused to marry her.
“It’s certainly possible,” she said. “But I will want to hear from your messenger before we make a decision.”
“It’s all very convenient that he showed up right now, isn’t it?”
“Very inconvenient, if you ask me,” Lucy said, hoping to strike the right note between annoyance and resignation. “But better now than after the inheritance is settled.”
Ferguson watched her for a long moment. “Your behavior is even more surprising than his. I was half expecting to wake up this morning and find that you’d murdered him in his sleep and disposed of the body.”
Lucy laughed. “You have a dim view of my character.”
“Not dim. Realistic.”
He wasn’t laughing. She stopped smiling. “What do you wish to say to me? I’ll take my leave unless there’s something else you want to discuss.”
“I only want to tell you to be careful,” he said. “We don’t know anything about him, at least not until my messenger can investigate the matter in London. I am also going to ask Lord and Lady Salford to look at his documents. They’re familiar with the antiquities world — they might notice signs of forgeries that I cannot see.”
The earl and countess were attending the party as Ferguson’s friends. Although Lucy had hardly interacted with them, she had noticed that they seemed restless these last few days. Lucy felt a brief bit of worry that they would be too eager to examine the documents, out of boredom if nothing else.
But Max hadn’t shown any nerves while they were looking at his papers. If anything was wrong with them, she doubted it was related to outright forgery.
“That’s a good idea,” she said. “It wouldn’t pay to trust his story too quickly, would it?”
Ferguson paused. Then, in a voice more serious than she’d heard from him before, he said, “I’m sure you’ve realized it would be convenient for you if you became his countess. But I don’t want to see you take unnecessary chances. Especially since we don’t know yet whether he’s trustworthy.”
He almost sounded like he was genuinely concerned for her safety.
She blinked. “I won’t take any risks.”
Ferguson snorted. “I don’t believe you. But if you decide to kill him, do be sure to tell me so I can help you ferry the body out to sea. I wouldn’t want to be related to a known murderess.”
“I’ll be sure not to implicate you,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I should give Mr. Vale a tour of the estate. And I’ll look for alcoves that will conceal his body until you can arrange a ship to dispose of him.”
“I hope that’s humor and not a promise,” Ferguson responded.
Lucy shrugged. “I can always use the alcove for you instead.”
The duke’s laughter followed her out the door. A week ago, she would have died for the chance to show him that she was likable. If only she had realized then that he responded better to jokes than he did to all the hard work she’d put into hosting the party.
But he wasn’t the focus of her plans anymore. All that mattered was Max — and making sure he followed through with their possible arrangement.
And if that required employing the seductive tricks that had previously been u
sed on her…well, she wasn’t sure she could do it. But she would not let herself fail.
Chapter Eight
“Have you heard of the Maidenstone clearing?” Lucy asked a little later, when they’d reconvened in the portrait gallery.
“Of course,” Max responded. Anyone who had heard of Maidenstone Abbey knew about the infamous stone in the center of Maidenstone Wood that gave the estate its name. “I wouldn’t be much of a claimant to the estate if I didn’t know about it.”
“Would you like to see it?” Lucy asked. “I could order a picnic.”
There was hope in her voice. A walk and a picnic would be an appropriate outing for a couple considering marriage.
But Max would rather start with an extensive viewing of the Briarley jewel collection.
His encounter with the Duke of Rothwell had gone better than he could have possibly expected. The duke had taken Max’s documents at face value — with a little convincing from Lucy. He seemed almost willing to give Max a bloody earldom.
Maybe Titus was right. Max could set his sights higher than stealing a handful of jewels. But he couldn’t help but feel that Rothwell’s friendliness was meant to distract him from the noose dangling over his neck.
Still, while the duke’s motivations were mysterious, Lucy was the real threat. She was determined to keep Maidenstone, and to use Max to do it. It didn’t mean she trusted him, though — those dark eyes saw too much. If he suggested a private tour of Maidenstone’s vaults, Lucy would probably stab him with one of the sharp instruments hanging from her chatelaine and bury his body in Maidenstone Wood.
He would have to get into the vaults eventually. He had no use for the Maidenstone clearing, unless there was treasure buried there — but he couldn’t make it obvious. So he smiled and offered her his arm. “I would be honored to see the Maidenstone, if you would show it to me. But I think I would rather have you show me what you love about the abbey.”
She looked at his arm. There was a strange wariness in her eyes, completely at odds with the offer she’d made him. “You don’t need to charm me, you know. In fact, I’d almost rather you didn’t.”
The wistfulness in her voice betrayed her. She stood in the middle of yet another grand room, wearing yet another perfect dress, shod in calfskin walking boots that Max, in his younger years, might have cleaned in exchange for a stale dinner roll. If he leaned in, whispered something in her ear, and brushed a kiss over the sensitive point where her shoulder met her neck, he could unclasp her coral necklace and slip it into his pocket before she’d recovered enough to draw a breath. She could afford a hundred necklaces to replace it.
But the only women who didn’t want to be charmed were women who had been charmed before — and had been hurt by it. Was that a clue to the secret her servants kept for her?
Max felt a flickering of remorse. When he eventually disappeared, she would be hurt again.
He couldn’t afford to feel pity for her. Lucy could survive heartbreak. He and his siblings, however, would not survive if they couldn’t afford to escape England.
He dropped his arm. “No charm, then. I am terrible at charming people anyway.”
“I rather doubt that,” she said.
“Then if I charm you by accident, I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She relaxed as she smiled at him — a real smile, more like a conspiratorial grin. “Help me win Maidenstone and I’ll forgive anything. Shall we tour your ‘birthright’?”
He noticed the sarcasm dripping from the last word, but it was the grin that went straight to his gut.
He ignored it. “I like the sound of a birthright,” he said, pretending he’d missed the sarcasm. “Shall we start in the house?”
“Walking through all of Maidenstone’s rooms will take more time than a jaunt through the forest,” she warned. “I’m sure the housekeeper wishes my ancestors had spent more time tearing things down than they did building them. It takes an army of servants just to keep the floors swept.”
“How many servants do you have?”
“Already thinking of how many you shall be required to employ?” she teased.
He was actually wondering how she kept so many servants from spilling her secrets to visitors, but he couldn’t say that. “I wouldn’t want to change anything at Maidenstone without first understanding why it’s done the way it is.”
“You won’t have to worry about small matters like the household staff when we’re married. I managed the house for my grandfather. I can certainly run it for you.”
“Still, a proper lord would want to know what he was paying for. How big is the household staff?” he asked again.
“Eighty-three,” she said.
He barely kept his jaw from dropping. “You consider eighty-three people to be a small matter?”
Lucy nodded. “I don’t supervise them all directly. The butler and the housekeeper oversee the domestics, and the groundskeeper and the head groom take care of the outdoor staff. It’s all been more work during this loathsome house party, and we had to hire a few extra hands from the village to help. But when Lady Maidenstone and I are the only ones in residence, there isn’t much to arrange beyond our meals and whatever improvements I’m making in the gardens.”
She had eighty-three people to keep her life in order.
There had been times when Max couldn’t even pay for bread.
“Shall we tour the house?” she asked, continuing as though eighty-three was a perfectly normal number of servants for two people. “You might prefer to see the Maidenstone clearing at dawn or dusk anyway — it’s more impressive then.”
He nodded. “Let’s start here. I would like to see any portraits you have of my ancestors.”
The portrait gallery was a long room in the same wing that held the formal dining room and the dead earl’s study. A pair of glass doors led out into the gardens. Large windows with expensive glass panes allowed light to stream in. The floor was parquet, with interlocking wood laid out in an intricate pattern. But the real attraction of the room was the series of paintings that marched down the walls.
Max had little use for paintings — they were riskier than jewels, since they couldn’t be cut into less recognizable pieces while retaining their value. But he enjoyed looking at them despite their limited utility. And Maidenstone Abbey’s portrait gallery was a stunning example of what a portrait gallery could be.
“You claimed descent from the first earl’s youngest son, correct? Valerian Briarley?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.”
Lucy didn’t hesitate. She led him down the room until they reached one of the largest paintings. It was in the center of the wall, placed precisely between two fake columns that had clearly been designed to accommodate it.
“This is the first Lord Maidenstone,” she said, her voice sounding almost reverent. “And his wife, Lady Maidenstone.”
The man who looked out from the portrait was stern and stout, staring directly at the viewer as though he was capable of reading souls — and destroying them. He wore an elaborate doublet over white hose, in the fashion of the 1500s and the Tudor courts. A gold chain was draped over his shoulders, and his hand rested on a pile of books — titles of the Enlightenment, rather than the church whose abbey he had taken by force.
A woman stood next to him, clothed in an equally elaborate dress. She wore one of the most impressive ruby necklaces Max had ever seen, with matching ear drops and bracelets and a large ruby ring. The countess was young, somber, and quite beautiful even with the high forehead and covered hair that was popular at the time.
“Does that ring still exist?” he asked, unable to help himself.
Lucy nodded. “Those are the Briarley rubies. The earl gave them to the countess when their first son was born. It’s traditional for a countess to wear them only after the birth of an heir.”
Mentioning rings was dangerous. It might give Lucy ideas — ideas he had no intention of following through with. But he couldn’t allow himself to hesi
tate. He either needed to commit to the plan, or abandon it entirely.
“If you cannot wear the rubies yet, what other rings at Maidenstone would you prefer?”
Her eyes turned shrewd. “I thought you preferred to buy a ring yourself?”
Her memory was too good. He shrugged. “I’m rethinking my pride now that I’ve seen that ring. If we decide to marry and you want something as large as that ruby, you’ll have to wait until I’m no longer a shopkeeper. I can only afford brass.”
Lucy laughed. “When you say it like that, rubies do sound preferable. There are plenty of rings to choose from — my ancestors tended to keep everything. We can look later, if we reach an agreement. But let’s make sure you know your Briarley history first.”
He knew better than to press the issue — but he memorized the look of the rubies around the countess’s neck. Those jewels alone, when pulled out of their settings, would be more than enough to pay for passage to America and the start of a new life.
And if the other portraits held clues to similar treasures, it was worth his while to look at all of them. “Is there a portrait of the earl’s sons?” he asked.
“Do you know what happened to the sons?”
While preparing for the job, Max had procured a guidebook to Maidenstone Abbey — many of the grand estates had similar books, printed and sold to tourists who stopped to see the house and grounds when the family wasn’t in residence. That book, along with the church records he and Titus had found, had given him the basics. “Only the eldest son survived. The rest died, mostly at each other’s hands, or disappeared.”
Lucy nodded. “The eldest became the second earl. His portrait is there,” she said, nodding toward a morose-looking man in the next painting. “There aren’t any paintings of the other sons. Rumor has it he burned his brothers’ likenesses. But he paid for elaborate stones for their graves as penance.”
“I almost wish I didn’t come from such bloodthirsty stock,” Max said.
