by C. J. Archer
I set down my teacup and regarded her. "Are you jealous of my relationship with Fabian?"
She set down her teacup too and regarded me with a strained smile. "I suppose I am. You don't know how lucky you are, India." She looked away and huffed out a humorless laugh. "The funny thing is, we both have our pick of men, but in different ways. My wealth makes me attractive to bachelors, while your magic makes you attractive to magicians. Bachelors want to marry me, and magicians want you to extend the life of their magic."
"Not all magicians."
"No. Not Dr. Seaford. He is a unique man." She gave me a sly look. "Anyway, I do hope you'll forgive me for using your name, as I have forgiven you."
I was about to ask her what she meant but closed my mouth again. She was referring to the letter opener. I was wondering when I'd have the opportunity to return it, or, in fact, if I should return it at all. It would mean admitting I stole it.
I removed the letter opener from the large reticule I'd brought and handed it to her. "Did your butler notice it missing?"
She laid it flat on her palm, balancing it. "He said a parcel arrived in the mail before you called and was missing after you left. I told him not to fret but he dislikes having the wool pulled over his eyes."
"I'll apologize to him on my way out," I said.
She turned the opener over and studied the inscription then turned it over again to inspect the numbers. "Why was it important?" she asked.
"The numbers contain magical heat."
She sat back heavily and blinked wide eyes at me.
"Just the numbers," I clarified. "Claridges engraved one side to mark their property, and Fabian used a spell to manipulate the metal on the other to reveal his room number."
She closed her fingers around the handle. "I'm afraid you've got it all wrong. This isn't from Fabian. It's from his brother."
I gasped. "His brother? How do you know?"
"Because I sent him a telegraph the instant I learned Fabian went missing. He sent one back to say he would leave immediately and that he'd let me know when he arrived."
"Why wouldn't he just call on you here? Why send that and not a note?"
She shrugged. "To avoid the notice of the police, I suspect. He can't very well look for his brother if the police are watching him to see if he makes contact."
"I see," I said. "He would squirrel Fabian out of the country if he found him, not caring that it would mean he might never clear his brother's name."
"The Charbonneaus are a proud family," she said. "They would be appalled by the scandal and ashamed if word of it reached France. Maxime would be desperate to find Fabian as quickly as possible and leave, without attracting the attention of your detective inspector. And now I have no way of finding him and helping him. I assume he's no longer at Claridge's?"
"Does it matter?" I shot back. "You can't help him find Fabian since you don't know where he is. Do you?"
She pivoted the point of the letter opener on her fingertip as she studied the numbers again.
"Do you?" I pressed.
"Why would Fabian come to me now?" she asked without removing her gaze from the letter opener. "He rejected my proposal of marriage."
"But not your friendship."
She said nothing as she set the letter opener down again, and she thrust out her chin in defiance. Yet her swimming eyes spoke a different story. Perhaps she cared for him more than she liked to admit. Perhaps she'd asked him to marry her because she loved him, not because of his magic. They might not have met before he arrived in London, but they had communicated by mail, and their fathers had been friends. That connection meant something to her, and his rejection might have wounded her deeply.
Wounded her enough to get revenge on him by making it look like he murdered McGuire?
The more I thought about it, the more the pieces clicked together. Louisa had been there in Fabian's cell when we visited. She'd heard him say he would not be staying in prison long. Where we had thought he meant he'd get out by paying his debts, she might have realized he was talking about using his magic to fashion a key and escape. If she had suspected, then it was only a matter of setting up a meeting with McGuire, stealing Fabian's handkerchief, and planting it on McGuire's body after stabbing him.
It seemed like a complicated and dangerous way to get revenge. So many things could go wrong, and there would be easier ways to punish Fabian for his rejection.
Perhaps revenge wasn't the motive, then. Perhaps she murdered McGuire and planted the handkerchief to implicate Fabian so that she could then help him leave the country. All she had to do was find him before the police, before us or his brother, and take the glory for his rescue herself. And his gratitude. A gratitude that might have him changing his mind about marrying her.
It was the same theory Matt and I had discussed and discarded, but this time the motive was love. It could make people do mad, desperate things they wouldn't normally do and made more sense to me than simply wanting an object infused with Fabian's magic.
I gathered up my reticule and hastily made my excuses to leave. "I have a dinner party to organize," I said, backing toward the door.
She stood, the letter opener in hand. She gripped it so hard her knuckles were white. "Of course. But India…" She rushed toward me, the knife pointed outward, not down for safety.
I backed away quickly, stumbling over the edge of the carpet, straight into the arms of the butler. He lost his balance and we would have fallen if not for the solid chair stopping us.
"Sorry," I muttered, pulling myself upright.
Louisa grabbed my arm, pinning me. Her huge eyes stared into mine, unblinking. For a woman who always looked so composed and sure of herself, this wildness was new.
I jerked free and hurried down the stairs to the front door.
"India!" she called out. "India, wait!
"I—I have to go. So much to do."
I reached the door and wrenched it open. She caught up to me, just as I was about to cross the threshold, and grabbed my arm again. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing and her face was flushed. Her eyes no longer looked quite so wild, but that sharp edge to them was back, the spark of fierce intelligence and confidence that was no less intimidating.
"Tell me if you receive a message from Fabian," she demanded. "Is that understood?"
"Let me go," I snapped, pulling away.
She blinked and took a step back. "Sorry. I'm sorry, India, I'm just so worried about him. Please, just let me know if you find him. I want to help."
I hurried off to my waiting carriage, and I didn't look out the window to see if she watched me drive away.
Chapter 9
Polly Picket arranged my hair and assisted me to dress for dinner. Aunt Letitia's ladies' maid had taken on the role of my maid too when I moved in, although I rarely required her services. I could manage most outfits on my own, but Aunt Letitia insisted I use Polly for special occasions. Tonight's square cut bodice fastened up the back, but it was otherwise rather simple with no overlaying sections that required separate fastenings.
"You look beautiful," Matt said once Polly left. He kissed my throat above the pearl necklace and rested his hands on my hips. "I can't wait to thoroughly inspect this gown later. Very, very thoroughly."
"You have an interest in ladies’ fashion?" I teased.
"Only yours."
A few minutes later, I convinced him we needed to talk about something—anything—or risk undoing Polly's work. I hadn't seen Matt privately after my visit to Louisa's, so I told him how the afternoon had transpired. He sat on the bed against the pillows, legs outstretched and ankles crossed. I did my best to remember the afternoon's conversation, but it wasn't easy. The combination of formal eveningwear and casual pose was distracting. I found my gaze wandering his length without me realizing it.
He noticed too, the devil, and teasingly prompted me to stay focused and continue. When I finally finished the narration, he said, "Love and revenge, two of the
most popular motives for murder, and Louisa has reason for both."
"You think her capable of stabbing someone in an alley?" I asked, perching on the edge of the bed.
"I think her capable of many things, but it's possible she paid someone."
"She's quite a unique woman. Tell me honestly, Matt, is she attractive?"
"She's reasonably pretty."
"I mean is her confidence attractive. Does she have an allure that goes beyond her physical attributes?"
"Not to me."
I tilted my head to the side and regarded him. "It's all right if you think she does. I want an honest answer."
"I am being honest. I don't find her alluring."
"Why not? Is her self-confidence too much?"
"I like confident women." He took my hand and started plucking off the glove. "You're a confident woman, and I love that about you."
"Is she too confident? Arrogant, perhaps?"
"Probably." He sounded distracted as he slipped the glove off.
"Matt, are you listening?"
He drew my hand to his lips. "Mmmm."
I plucked my hand away. "I don't think you are. Concentrate."
He sighed. "How can I when all I'm thinking about is that gown and how wonderful it will look tossed on the floor?"
I laughed. "I think we should go downstairs before either of us gets too disheveled."
Duke and Cyclops found excuses not to attend the dinner, but Willie declared she wasn't going to miss it. She greeted Lord and Lady Rycroft with enthusiasm, seeming to relish in their disgust of her. She had refused to dress like a woman, much to Aunt Letitia's horror, but she had no men's eveningwear either, so she wore the same clothes she wore to the wedding—a fitted jacket that was the height of fashion for equestriennes, and a pair of trousers. The outfit was actually rather fetching on her, but not really suited to a formal dinner—for a lady or a gentleman.
Lady Rycroft gave Willie a cursory glance before turning her back on her, while Lord Rycroft appraised her openly. His lips lifted in what could only be described as a vicious smile.
"I see they let one of the monkeys out for the night," I overheard him mutter to his wife.
Thankfully Willie didn't hear or the night would have been over before it began.
Lord Coyle arrived last, pausing in the doorway to the drawing room as Bristow announced him. He took in the family of Rycrofts and looked like he'd turn around and march out again. He stayed, however, and settled for throwing sharp glares Matt's way. Matt looked smug.
"We hope you don't mind the extra guests," I said quietly to Lord Coyle.
He leaned heavily on his walking stick. "I don't mind, although I do wonder why."
"Can you not guess?"
His thick features settled into ponderous pouches as he inspected Matt's aunt, uncle and cousins in turn. "They're a social climbing pack," he said, matter-of-factly. "I see I am to be the ladder."
"Only if you wish it."
He grunted. "Why would I wish it? To win your favor?" He turned to me, his eyes gleaming beneath the fatty lids. "I am already owed a favor by you, Mrs. Glass."
My chest felt heavy. "I've fulfilled my obligation to them by inviting you. What happens next is your choice."
I walked off, passing Lady Rycroft, her gaze locked on Lord Coyle. Lord Rycroft came from the other direction so that they converged on Coyle at the same time, trapping him between them. I smiled at Willie. She winked back.
We had far too many ladies for a well-balanced table, but we made do. Hope sat next to Lord Coyle, but I was surprised when Lady Rycroft insisted Charity swap with her and sit on Coyle's other side. I suspected she wanted a spare, in case Coyle wasn't taken in by Hope's charm.
Charity wasn't required. To my utter surprise, Lord Coyle didn't need any prompting to engage in conversation with Hope. They conversed almost the entire evening, sometimes alone and in low voices. Lady Rycroft looked like she'd burst with pleasure at the sight of them getting along, and Charity looked relieved. She spent the evening drinking and eating as much as she could.
The meal finally ended, and I announced that it was time for the ladies to move into the drawing room and the men to retreat to the smoking room. They rose and waited for us to leave. Willie didn't look as though she would join us, but Aunt Letitia grabbed her by the elbow and marched her out of the dining room.
"That went well," Lady Rycroft declared as she sat on the sofa. She flattened her velvet skirt around her and smiled at her youngest daughter.
Hope lowered herself onto the sofa with effortless grace. "It did," she said.
"What did Coyle say? Did he invite you to call on him? Did you arrange to meet for a walk or ride? Tell me everything, Hope. I must know."
"Yes, Hope," Charity said as she flopped onto a chair. "Did he ask for your hand yet?"
"Do stop talking, child," Lady Rycroft said without looking at her middle daughter. "Well, Hope?"
"We talked about scientific advancements," Hope began. "Specifically in the medical field. We talked about America and what it must be like there, and that led to a conversation about his travels to France and Italy some years ago. We discussed the history and art of those countries, and we touched on politics."
Lady Rycroft's smile froze. "Is that all?"
"You don't think that enough?"
"It's a start, but what of more personal matters? Did he tell you why he's never married?"
"No and I didn't ask."
"I specifically told you to find out! How do you propose to get him to marry you if you don't know why he has avoided the institution all these years?"
Hope sighed. "Mother, I think I should make something clear. Lord Coyle isn't interested in me as a wife."
Lady Rycroft scoffed. "He spoke to you all night. Of course he's interested."
"He told me at the beginning of the evening that he knows why he's here. I confirmed his suspicions."
Lady Rycroft's head tilted forward, as if her turban had suddenly become too heavy. She looked up at her daughter through her lashes, her eyes dark, forbidding. "You silly girl. You told him our plans and now we're on the back foot."
"This isn't a battle, Mama, and he isn't the enemy."
Charity snorted then hiccupped.
"Could you not feign ignorance?" Lady Rycroft whined.
"No," Hope said. "He would have realized anyway."
"It's true," I chimed in. "He would have."
Aunt Letitia shook her head at me ever so slightly, warning me to stay out of it.
Hope cast a glance toward the door, as if expecting to see the men walk in. Or perhaps she only wished they would. "We conspired to pass the time in conversation and make it look as though we were interested in one another's company," she said.
"Why?" Lady Rycroft asked.
"To appease you and Father. Otherwise you would have tried to control the evening and force conversation. This way we talked about the things that interested us."
Charity gasped. "You like him!" She showed us what she thought of that notion by screwing up her face.
"Don't be ridiculous. I liked talking to him, but I don't want to marry him. You warned me he was old, Mama, but you didn't mention he was fat and ugly. I've seen mangy dogs with more appeal than him."
"But you said you'd consider him," her mother protested.
"I have, and I've come to the conclusion that I don't wish to marry him."
"But…but it's too soon! And you promised, Hope."
"I promised to consider the match."
"Carefully. One evening is not enough time to come to a conclusion."
"I assure you, it is," Hope said, looking away, dismissing her mother.
"Look at me!" her mother all but shouted. Hope turned to her, her face composed but her body rigid. "You will give this due consideration. You will look beyond his physical attributes."
"Or lack of," Charity muttered.
"You will consider all the benefits of marriage to an earl, with hi
s vast wealth. Is that understood?"
Hope paused then nodded. "I'll do as you ask."
Lady Rycroft looked relieved. "Good girl."
"Don't sabotage it," Charity said slyly. "Perhaps you should chaperone them, Mama, to make sure she doesn't do or say anything to put him off."
"An excellent notion. Of course, when the time comes, I'll discreetly leave the two of you alone."
Hope's lips pinched.
"Where are they?" Lady Rycroft said, glancing toward the door. "Letitia, send the butler to the smoking room."
"The butler isn't mine to command," Aunt Letitia said. "Not when India is here."
"The gentlemen will come when they're ready," I said.
Conversation stalled until Willie suggested a game of cards. Hope, Aunt Letitia and I joined her at the card table, but Lady Rycroft remained on the sofa, while Charity slouched in the chair, looking bored. They both cast frequent glances toward the door.
"Do you know Texas rules?" Willie asked Hope.
Hope blinked at her. "Rules for what?"
Willie shuffled the deck, her fingers deft and quick as the cards passed between her hands like a small accordion. "Poker."
"We're not playing poker," I scolded. "Choose something more appropriate."
"Poker is appropriate for ladies," Willie muttered.
"I'd like to learn poker," Hope said. "Will you teach me?"
Willie smirked. I resigned myself to her gloating.
It wasn't long before Lord Coyle arrived, alone. "Rycroft wanted a word with Glass," he said as he lumbered toward us, stamping the end of his walking stick into the floor with a thud.
"Do you play cards, my lord?" Lady Rycroft asked.
"I prefer to keep my money, not gamble it."
"How about a little game just for fun?" Lady Rycroft maneuvered the spare fifth chair next to her daughter. I had to shift my chair over to make space. "There you are," she all but cooed. "Now, what game are you playing?"
