A Regency Invitation to the House Party of the Season

by Nicola Cornick, Joanna Maitland

  Georgie laughed with the rest of them, pretending that she didn’t see the searching look Aunt Harriet directed at her. This time she must sort it out for herself.

  She made the swiftest toilette that she could, remembering Anthony’s request that she leave him in privacy the previous day. She was still pinning up her hair when Timms appeared, staggering under the weight of a large copper can for Anthony’s bath.

  ‘Evening, mistress,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The Major’s just cleaning his gun. Be up soon, I dare say.’

  Flushing, Georgie worked faster. She’d better hurry, then.

  A knock on the door sent pins pattering across the floor.

  ‘Come—who is it?’ Her voice came out very huskily.

  ‘Quinlan.’ The door opened and Lord Quinlan strode in, frowning.

  ‘Oh!’ He blushed. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Saun…er, Mrs Lyndhurst. Thought it was Lyndhurst’s voice. I’ll take myself off. Thought he’d be up by now.’

  Mutely she shook her head.

  Lord Quinlan regarded her oddly. ‘Mrs Lyndhurst, are you feeling quite the thing?’

  ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘I believe—that is, Timms tells me that Anthony is cleaning his gun.’

  ‘Ah. I’ll look in the gun room, then.’

  Anthony locked the gun cupboard and put away the rags and oil. He could put it off no longer. He glanced out of the window at the deepening sky. Georgie would be dressed for dinner by now. He had to talk to her, beg her forgiveness for that morning.

  The door opened and Quinlan walked in. ‘Ah, there you are.’

  Anthony looked up at him, frowning. ‘Is something wrong?’

  Quinlan’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m afraid so. You…er…might have noticed that ring Cassie has been wearing?’

  Anthony nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I gave it to her as a betrothal ring. My mother’s, actually.’ He grimaced and added, lightly enough, ‘About the only thing my father didn’t hock.’

  Anthony winced. Despite the wry mockery, he knew damn well that what Quinlan had gone through with the Marquis was enough to sour anyone.

  ‘Thing is, Lyndhurst, it’s the only thing I had to give her, and, well, the blasted thing’s gone.’

  Every drop of blood congealed as all the ramifications of that streaked through Anthony’s mind. ‘Gone?’ He clutched at the only straw in sight. ‘You don’t mean she’s lost it?’

  It didn’t need Quinlan’s categoric headshake to consign that forlorn hope to the flames. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘She took it off before we went riding this morning. Doesn’t fit too well under gloves, of course. I saw her put it in her jewel case myself. She only looked for it just now.’

  ‘Damn it all to hell,’ said Anthony, conscious that his response was less than gracious. ‘Sorry, old man. I’ll call everyone together and then I suppose we’ll have to quiz the servants.’ He frowned. Hard to imagine any of them doing such a thing. They were all well paid and without exception they all adored Cassie.

  ‘You’re sure she put it in her jewel case? Not some other safe spot?’

  Quinlan shook his head. ‘Quite sure. Look, Lyndhurst, I can understand your reluctance to call in a magistrate, what with all the trouble Sinclair is in, but that ring—well, it was my mother’s betrothal ring, and—’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Anthony forced a rueful smile. ‘You don’t have to explain.’ He knew exactly how Quinlan must feel. ‘I can assure you Marcus will say the same. We must get to the bottom of this.’ He swore. ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘I’ll go up and change for dinner. Could you tell Ufton that I want all the servants—all of them—together in the hall in half an hour?’

  Quinlan nodded. ‘Thank you, Lyndhurst.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Er…is half an hour enough for you?’

  Despite his anger, Anthony chuckled. ‘Not being a London dandy, like some I could mention, half an hour should be ample. And you may tell Cassie that if she finds that ring after all, I might just tan her backside for her!’

  ‘Cousin Georgiana! Is something wrong? What on earth is going on?’ asked Lady Mardon, coming into the drawing room just ahead of the Earl.

  ‘N…no,’ said Georgie. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The staff is in uproar,’ explained Lady Mardon, sinking gracefully into a chair. ‘Apparently Anthony has demanded that they all assemble in the hall in twenty minutes! Aunt Harriet is having a fit since the maid waiting on her is so upset, she broke a scent bottle all over the carpet!’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells like a bordello in there.’

  The Earl raised a languid brow. ‘While I admit that the atmosphere in Harriet’s room was a trifle overpowering, might one inquire precisely where your information about bordellos—bordelli?—was gained?’

  ‘One might,’ agreed Lady Mardon, ‘but, if one were sensible, one wouldn’t!’

  The Earl gave a crack of laughter. ‘Touché. Remind me to enlarge your experience later on.’

  Lady Mardon blushed and Georgie giggled. Obviously Lord Mardon wasn’t nearly as starched up as he appeared.

  The Earl turned and stared.

  Georgie felt all the blood drain out of her face. Oh, God! She’d just laughed—laughed!—at an Earl. And at his Countess. Over the sort of exchange that she ought to have pretended not to understand. Would she never grow up?

  ‘That’s much better, my dear,’ he said with a twinkle. ‘If I were you, I’d be thanking every god in the pantheon that Aunt Harriet did kick you out of her dressing room. Believe me, you don’t want to sleep in there tonight!’

  ‘Who doesn’t want to sleep where?’ asked Anthony, stalking in. Georgie swallowed. He looked furious. What had she done now?

  ‘Your wife,’ said the Earl. ‘Doesn’t want to sleep in Aunt Harriet’s dressing room. The maid broke a bottle of scent. Upset apparently at your decree that the staff should assemble in the hall.’ He shrugged. ‘From the sounds of it, they all expect to be dismissed on the spot.’

  ‘John, don’t be so unfeeling,’ said Lady Mardon. ‘Something must be wrong. Anthony?’

  He flicked a glance at Georgie. An uncomfortable glance, she thought.

  ‘We may as well wait until everyone is down,’ he said quietly. ‘No point in repeating it over and over.’

  A chill condensed in Georgie’s stomach. His eyes were like flint. Hard, uncompromising. And he avoided her gaze.

  The rest of the party assembled, Harriet fuming over the accident to her scent bottle. Mr Lyndhurst-Flint was the last to stroll in. ‘Devilish kick up,’ he said. ‘Why, I waited twenty minutes for my shaving water! Perhaps you might have a word to your staff, cousin.’ To Georgie’s shock he turned to her.

  ‘After all, they are your responsibility now.’

  ‘Stubble it, William,’ growled Mr Sinclair. ‘There are more pressing worries than your shaving water.’ He shot a glance at Anthony. ‘What’s all this about a missing ring?’

  ‘Cassie’s betrothal ring has been stolen,’ Anthony stated baldly. He flicked a glance at Georgie. ‘She left it behind when she went riding this morning and—’

  ‘Oh, nonsense!’ said Mr Lyndhurst-Flint with a scornful look at Lady Quinlan. ‘I dare say you’ve misplaced it.’

  Lady Quinlan fixed him with a furious glare. ‘You may be careless with other people’s property, William! I am not! I placed it in my jewel case and Eliza saw me—’

  He snorted. ‘There you are, then. It’s obvious. Come to think of it, she was sneaking off in a very havey-cavey sort of way this morning with Anthony’s man, what’s his name—’

  ‘Timms,’ snarled Anthony. ‘And I can think of far more likely contingencies than him having anything to do with it!’

  ‘Eliza wouldn’t do such a thing either!’ Cassie said abruptly.

  ‘Rot!’ said Mr Lyndhurst-Flint. ‘Servants. Really, Cassandra! This ridiculous taste of yours for low company is most unbecoming! Anyone would think—’

  ‘That you were about to offer my wife an
apology.’ The edge in Quinlan’s voice would have shamed a razor.

  Icy horror flooded Georgie as Anthony’s words echoed through her. …I can think of far more likely contingencies than him having anything to do with it. Surely, surely he didn’t think that she would have…She hung on to her self-control. He’d already shown how little he trusted her. If he thought she had taken the pearls, then—

  ‘Good God, Quinlan! Must you take a fellow up so?’ asked Mr Lyndhurst-Flint. ‘It’s plain enough. Ebdon saw her chance and—’

  ‘Enough, William!’ Anthony nearly exploded. ‘I’ll have no accusations against people not here to defend themselves. The staff should be gathered by now.’

  Again his glance flickered to Georgie. She felt as if a knife had lodged deep inside. Gouging a fresh wound. One that might never heal.

  Anthony drew a deep breath as he faced his staff.

  ‘I regret to say that Miss Cassie’s—rather, Lady Quinlan’s betrothal ring has been stolen. It will be necessary to—’ He broke off as an outraged babble erupted. He didn’t blame them. ‘Necessary to question you all. We need to find out if anyone saw anything. Anyone who shouldn’t have been in Lady Quinlan’s chamber—’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said William. ‘All we need to do is find out where Ebdon sneaked off to this morning.’

  Ebdon’s cry of frightened indignation was nearly lost as Anthony turned on William. ‘That’s enough!’

  Timms stepped forward, his face set. ‘Miss Ebdon was with me, and where we was—’

  ‘Precisely,’ said William smoothly. ‘Two of you. Very convenient. I should think—’

  ‘Not unless you can make a better fist of it than that, you shouldn’t,’ said Anthony, hanging on to his temper by a thread. ‘I’ll thank you to leave this to me, cousin. This is my home and my staff!’

  ‘Well, what were the two of them doing so far from the house?’ argued William. ‘Really, coz—’

  ‘Timms asked for the day off,’ snapped Anthony. ‘I granted it.’

  ‘And Ebdon?’ William’s sneer was palpable.

  Cassie stepped forward, shaking off Quinlan’s hand. ‘Eliza had the day off as well.’

  William snorted. ‘There you are. They had it all planned. For heaven’s sake, Anthony! I dare say you need look no further for a solution to your missing pearls either. Timms was probably behind—’

  Timms lunged at him. ‘Why, you snivelling—’

  ‘Timms!’ Leaping forward, Anthony managed to grab Timms before he could reach William. ‘For God’s sake, man! Calm down. Let me handle this.’

  Breathing hard, Timms met his eyes. ‘Just as long as you do, Major. I won’t put up with no one saying as how Liza stole Miss Cassie’s ring! Quality!’ He spat in William’s direction. ‘That one’s got all the quality of a bilge rat! And how the hell does he—?’

  Anthony trod hard on his foot. He knew exactly what Timms wanted to know. How the hell had William known about a theft that no one, bar himself and Timms, had ever known about?

  Timms swore and stepped back. ‘I’d appreciate the favour of a word with you, sir,’ he said. ‘Privately.’

  ‘The library,’ said Anthony curtly. Best to get Timms out of here before he went for William.

  Stalking into the library, he turned to see that not only Timms, but Cassie’s maid had followed him, with Cassie right on her heels.

  Icily he said, ‘I believe Timms requested a private—’

  Timms cut him off. ‘I don’t suppose there’d be the least chance of you leaving this to me, lass?’

  Anthony felt his jaw sag.

  Ebdon shook her head and went to him. With a resigned sigh Timms drew her to him, slipping his arm around her in a protective gesture.

  Anthony’s jaw collapsed further.

  ‘I’ll be giving notice, sir. Me and Eliza is getting leg-shackled. Spoke to the Rector this morning about the banns. That’s where we went together.’

  Cassie’s gasp summed it all up.

  Outraged, Anthony stared at Timms, who met his gaze calmly.

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, ‘that it occurred to you to mention this to me this morning, did it? I’d have told you to take the gig! As for resigning—!’ he snorted ‘—we’ll work something out. The lodgekeeper said something about moving to the village the other day. Apparently Mr Devereaux tried him pretty high. You can probably have the North Lodge.’

  ‘You’re stealing my maid!’ said Cassie indignantly.

  ‘Now, Miss Cassie,’ began Ebdon gently. ‘You don’t need me now.’

  Cassie laughed. ‘Oh, Eliza! Don’t be silly! I was only funning. I think this is lovely. And of course Major Lyndhurst and I don’t think either of you had anything to do with my ring. Do we, Anthony?’

  She turned to Anthony, a challenging glint in her eyes.

  ‘Don’t be a peagoose!’ he told her. ‘Of course I don’t. Unless they pawned it at the Rectory!’ He turned to Timms. ‘Did you go anywhere else in the village?’

  Timms nodded. ‘The bakery. Mr Lyndhurst-Flint saw us. Dare say he thinks Martha Higgins is passing stolen jewels in her loaves these days! But what queers me is—’ He stopped dead, his eyes on Anthony’s face. ‘Major—you don’t think—?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Anthony. ‘I do think. After four years I’m finally thinking—’ Suddenly aware of Cassie’s puzzled gaze, he stopped. ‘Cassie—I beg your pardon, but could you and Ebdon leave us now? Ebdon, I know you would never have stolen so much as a pin from your mistress. I shall wish you happy. If Timms takes half the care of you, that he has of me—’ He broke off and cleared his throat. ‘Well, he’s a damn good fellow. I’m only sorry that I’ve been partially responsible for keeping you apart so long. But, just now, I do need to talk to Timms.’

  Cassie snorted. ‘I dare say you know exactly what’s going on and have no intention of telling the rest of us! Just as long as whoever stole that ring is caught. Poor Peter is terribly upset!’

  Anthony nodded. ‘I know. And I swear that it shall be found and returned to you. Trust me, Cassie.’

  She held his gaze for a moment. ‘Idiot! Of course I trust you. Very well. Come along, Eliza.’

  As soon as the door shut behind them, Anthony turned to Timms. ‘It all fits. He must have come back to the lodgings and taken the pearls after your mistress left. Apparently she left a note. Whoever stole the pearls also took the note. Apart from the thief, you’re the only person other than myself who knows that the pearls are gone.’

  ‘And you think he’s taken the ring? Would this have something to do with that Grant?’

  Feeling sick, Anthony explained.

  Timms listened, disgust etched on his face. At last he said savagely, ‘First the mistress and then Mr Marcus? His own family! Makes you fair sick! What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘There’s a spyglass in the desk in my bedchamber,’ said Anthony shortly. ‘My cousin has been taking an inordinate interest in the woods on that side of the house. I’m afraid, Timms, that you are going to become as sick of my bedchamber as Mr Sinclair.’

  He cocked a brow at Timms, who grinned and said, ‘I take you. Trust me, sir!’

  ‘I do,’ said Anthony quietly. At least he’d managed to get that right. ‘If my cousin is in the woods, I want to know about it. If he’s meeting Grant, it’s more than likely that Grant’s putting the screw on him. Without money, he may have taken the ring to buy Grant off.’

  ‘Aye, Major.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it be all right for me to tell Liza about this? After His Nibs’s suggestion that she might have prigged something from Miss Cassie—’

  Anthony blanched. Tell a female?

  Timms looked as though he were trying very hard not to laugh. ‘You’ll get used to it, sir,’ he said encouragingly.

  Anthony felt his own lips twitch. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I think. Tell her if you are assured that she will tell no one else. Even Miss Cassie. That will be all, Timms. Please assure the staff that none of the
m is under any suspicion.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  ‘Ah, yes, well…’ His throat felt beyond tight. ‘Congratulations, Timms. And I expect to be a godfather!’

  To Anthony’s utter gratification Timms went absolutely puce.

  Chapter Seven

  By the end of dinner, Georgie had a perfectly genuine headache and her jaw also ached with the effort of smiling and pretending that nothing was wrong. To make matters worse, Anthony kept staring at her from his end of the table, frowning slightly every time their eyes met.

  Aunt Harriet took one look at her when they retired to the drawing room and sent her to bed. ‘Go along with you,’ she said. ‘We can look after ourselves.’

  Lady Mardon backed her up. ‘You look fagged to death, my dear. Don’t worry about us. We will see you in the morning.’

  Instead of going to bed, she went up to the cupola where she could face what she had done.

  She sat, staring out at the dark woods. Above the stars blazed. What had happened to the note she had left? More importantly, what was she to do about her marriage? Anthony had been through four years of hell because of her foolishness. Four years of disgrace and slander. How could he even bear the sight of her?

  Yet somehow she would have to face him. Apologise. They had to build a life together. But how could they do that if he believed her capable of theft?

  She sat for a long time, tired, but reluctant to return downstairs. Voices still floated up from the open drawing-room windows. Further away in the woods she heard the scream of a vixen. Closer at hand a dog barked.

  When she went down she must tell Anthony the truth, that she couldn’t fulfil his most important requirement for a wife. Pain shivered through her. She should have told him the moment he had said he would not divorce her. Now she had tied the knot that much tighter.

  A footstep sounded and she swung around with a startled gasp.

  ‘Good God! Who the devil—oh, Cousin Georgiana! I thought you had gone to bed.’

  It was Mr Sinclair. He came towards her. ‘How is your headache?’ he asked, in kindly tones that tore at her.