by Regina Scott
But Daphne would have none of it. She caught up with him just outside the gallery door.
“Stay,” she urged, catching his arm. “It won’t be the same without you.”
She knew just what to say to give him hope. “That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ve had enough excitement for the day.”
She squeezed his arm, eyes crinkling up. “Are you certain? You never tire easily in town. Come on. Lord Brentfield must have a chess game.”
She truly was being kind. He always beat her at chess. In fact, she’d probably be annoyed if she knew how he held back to prolong the game as much as possible. It didn’t bother him that she couldn’t remember the moves or develop a strategy. She was vibrant, so very alive. She deserved to dance, not sit along the wall or across a table with him.
“Perhaps another night,” he told her with a smile.
She cocked her head so that a curl brushed her cheek. “But I have a new mystery for you. I saw a man in the woods this afternoon. I think he may have been watching us.”
Wynn couldn’t help perking up. “Interesting. I take it you didn’t recognize him.”
She shook her head. “No. He was back against a tree. I’m lucky to have even spotted his shadow. Do you think he could be our thief?”
“Possibly,” Wynn allowed. “Though it would seem to make more sense for him to watch the house rather than us riding through the woods.”
She sighed as she released him. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I just want something exciting to happen.” She turned for the door, then froze, hand flashing out to grip his once again. “Wynn, look!”
The urgency in her voice forced his gaze across the corridor to where double glass-paned doors gave out onto the rear garden. Someone was passing the glass now, darting so swiftly Wynn might think he had imagined it. Gooseflesh pimpled his skin.
“Come on!” Daphne cried, tugging on his hand. “That must be our thief! After him!”
Chapter Seven
Daphne didn’t wait for Wynn to respond. She knew he wanted to discover the truth as much as she did. She dashed to the doors and peered out into the night. Just outside, a narrow terrace let down into the garden. Lord Brentfield had had torches lit, so that the stone glowed brightly enough to see that the space was empty.
Wynn shambled up beside her. “Did you see where he went?”
Daphne shook her head. “But I’m sure we might spy him if we stepped outside.”
She reached for the door handle, and Wynn put his hand down over hers. “Wait. We should fetch the others.”
Daphne paused. “I suppose that’s only fair, but he might get away. Come on, Wynn. Don’t you want to be the one to say you found the thief first?”
She could see the struggle behind his sea-green eyes, even through his spectacles. He regularly put himself out to prove his prowess, so she wasn’t surprised when he snapped a nod and released her so she could twist the handle.
They slipped out onto the terrace. The evening was clear, with stars twinkling over the fields. She could smell lavender on the air. Something called from the wood, the sound lonely, sad. But nothing moved anywhere that she could see.
Wynn’s head turned as he scanned the area as well. “We’ve lost him already.”
Daphne glanced up at the house. “Perhaps he scaled the wall. That’s what thieves do, don’t they?”
She could hear the smile in Wynn’s voice. “That’s what you would do if you were a thief, I have no doubt. But if he had started climbing, I suspect we’d see him hanging off the stone, or crawling in through a window. Everything looks locked up tight.”
Daphne puffed out a breath as she turned back to him. “Worse luck.”
“It might have been a gardener,” he suggested, smile gentle. “Or a groom hurrying back to the stables after a meeting with a friendly maid.”
“Perhaps,” she allowed. “Maybe we should take a walk around the grounds, just to be certain.”
“You will do no such thing.”
At the sound of the familiar voice, Daphne turned to find her mother standing in the doorway from the house. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her burgundy gown, her brows raised and mouth tight.
“What are you thinking?” she demanded. “You cannot traipse about the grounds at all hours of the night.”
Since the moon was just rising beyond the wood, Daphne knew it could not be so late. Certainly she’d stayed out longer at balls in London. Why was her mother harping on that string?
“We saw someone out here,” Daphne told her. “So naturally we had to investigate.”
“Naturally,” her mother drawled. “And naturally you had to bring Mr. Fairfax with you.”
Who else? Honestly, her mother could be so obtuse. And people considered Daphne dim!
“I insisted on accompanying Miss Courdebas to assist her,” Wynn offered.
“How very gentlemanly,” her mother said. “Particularly as that assistance involved being alone together in the dark.”
“Well, thieves do tend to strike at night, Mother,” Daphne pointed out. “Have you never read a Gothic novel?”
“What I read is immaterial, young lady,” her mother said, eyes flashing fire. “Your conduct is inexcusable. You will retire to your room immediately.”
Frustration curled up inside her like smoke. “But Mother . . .”
“And as for you, Mr. Fairfax,” her mother continued as if Daphne had not spoken, “I advise you to watch your step. We are odd man at table, and your presence is no longer required.”
Wynn blanched. Daphne’s frustration burst into flames. How dare her mother imply that Wynn could be dispensed with like a worn-out riding habit!
“Mr. Fairfax’s company is very much needed,” she told her mother, taking a step closer to Wynn. “He is kind and sensible and a good friend to all.”
“Such a good friend that he kissed you in public and then arranged to be caught alone with you,” her mother scolded. “Open your eyes, Daphne. Mr. Fairfax knows he cannot win you, so he’s resorted to forcing you to marry him by ruining your reputation.”
Daphne frowned at Wynn, who could not seem to meet her gaze. She knew she was often the last person to see the evil in others, but surely her mother was wrong. Daphne had had to convince Wynn to join her on this caper, just as she’d had to convince him to come out onto the terrace. The only thing he had instigated had been the kiss.
Which truly had been marvelous.
Wynn spoke now before she could, his voice firm but gentle. “I would never do anything to harm your daughter, Lady Rollings. I admire her too much.”
“And yet I find you here together, with this improbable tale of chasing a thief.” Her mother raised her head. “I only wish Lord Rollings had come with us so that he could give you the thrashing that you—”
Daphne blinked, watching as her mother’s mouth hung open, gaze fixed on the terrace beyond them. Whirling, she saw a man sneaking past the lower steps. Torchlight glittered on the barrel of a musket in his arms.
“There!” Daphne cried, pointing. “Do you see him? Come on, Wynn!”
The man glanced up, eyes wide under his tweed cap. Then he dashed off around the side of the stairs.
Daphne started forward, but a noise behind her made her spin around again.
Just in time to see her mother collapse in Wynn’s arms.
*
Wynn sagged as he bore the limbless weight of Daphne’s mother. Daphne ran back to him and helped him ease Lady Rollings onto the carpet just inside the door.
“She fainted,” Daphne said, voice awed. “My mother never faints. She says it’s the last gambit of the weak and witless.”
“And your mother is neither,” Wynn acknowledged, straightening. A glance out the door proved what he had feared. Their so-called thief had vanished.
Daphne gazed down at her mother. “What should we do with her?”
“Attempt to wake her, I suppose.” Wynn caught Daphne’s arm as she starte
d to bend. “But first, I want you to know there is no truth in her allegations. I never set out to compromise you, Daphne.”
“Of course you didn’t.” Her confidence went a long way to unwinding the knot her mother’s words had tied in his chest. She sighed. “I just wish she hadn’t cost us our chance to catch the thief.”
“As for that, I’ll go poke around while you wake her,” Wynn offered.
“Very well,” Daphne agreed. “But even though our thief is armed, I think you have the better part of the bargain.”
As she bent over her mother, Wynn let himself out onto the terrace. Plucking a torch from its bracket, he descended the stairs and craned his neck to see past the turn of the house, ready to duck back under cover if he saw the musket trained his way. As he had expected, however, the way lay empty. He scanned the ground, but the grass told little after being trod all day by the feet of the guests. Yet something flashed in the light.
Bending, he picked up a rough pebble. The silver gray rock looked like weathered limestone to him. With Brentfield Manor made of rosy brick, it certainly hadn’t fallen from the house. And any gravel he’d seen had been a powdery white.
Had their thief dropped the rock from his shoe as he ran? The Mendip Hills were made of limestone, if he recalled his geology lessons in school. Did that mean the villain was hiding in the caverns nearby?
Voices above told him Daphne had company. Pocketing the rock, he climbed the stairs, returned the torch to its holder, and limped into the house.
“There you are,” Lord Brentfield heralded. He, Lady Emily, and Sir James were standing beside Daphne, who was supporting her mother. “Hannah sent us to see what had become of you. What happened?”
“We saw the thief!” Daphne declared. “He passed by the terrace, and then below it. We would have caught him if we hadn’t been interrupted.”
“I’m not sure what you saw,” Lord Brentfield said, obviously choosing his words with care. “But I doubt a thief would dare come so close to the house with so many people about.”
Lady Rollings raised her head, spirits reanimating. “And I can assure you, my lord, that my daughter is telling the truth. I saw the creature myself.”
As Lord Brentfield frowned, Sir James pushed himself forward, Lady Emily right beside him. The Runner’s color was high, his gray eyes looking as sharp as the rock Wynn had found.
“What did he look like?” he demanded. “What was he wearing? How did he move?”
Lady Rollings withdrew herself from Daphne’s grip to straighten to her full height. “See here, sirrah! I am not accustomed to being questioned like one of the thieves you catch.”
Sir James had the good sense to look abashed.
“You may not be accustomed to being questioned,” Lady Emily said, “but when you have witnessed something momentous, you have a duty to share your impressions.”
Lady Rollings inclined her head. “Very well. I was standing here, conversing with my daughter and Mr. Fairfax—”
“Scolding more like,” Daphne muttered.
Wynn hid a smile as her mother continued undaunted. “When I noticed some rough-looking fellow creeping past the stairs to the terrace, gun bundled close and face dripping with malice.”
Wynn hadn’t thought the fellow looked particularly malicious. Terrified, more like, even with that musket in his arms. Perhaps he’d thought himself about to be apprehended. Still, Lord Brentfield was right. Why would a thief venture so near the house when he had to have seen the lights blazing and known people were up and about? It made no sense.
“Perhaps it was a groundskeeper,” Wynn offered, “concerned about disturbing your guests.”
Lord Brentfield nodded. “Very likely. We’ve had trouble with poachers.”
Lady Rollings eyed Wynn. “A logical explanation, it seems. Perhaps he wasn’t as mean-spirited as I thought. Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Fairfax.”
Was that praise? He could hardly believe it. Daphne must have found her mother’s words encouraging, for she was grinning at him as if he’d done something utterly marvelous.
Lady Emily turned to Lord Brentfield, who did not seem relieved at Wynn’s explanation.
“You can question the staff tomorrow, my lord,” she said, “but I warrant you will not find one willing to admit to being on that terrace. Someone is stalking Brentfield. There is nothing for it. You must allow us to investigate.”
Chapter Eight
Daphne watched Lord Brentfield. His head was cocked, his blue eyes narrowed as he studied her friend, as if he would see inside Emily to the truth. He truly could not refuse her request to investigate, not with everyone, including Daphne’s mother, regarding him as fixedly.
“Very well,” he said, then quickly raised a finger as Emily brightened. “But under two conditions: you will tell me what you intend to do before you do it, and you will report to me after it’s done. We’ve made extensive repairs on the house, but there may still be places that are dangerous. I won’t have anyone else injured.”
Daphne nodded, but she could see Wynn frowning. She hadn’t told him about the end of their first adventure at Brentfield. The story was part of Priscilla’s Dreaded Family Secret, after all. Priscilla’s aunt was the former Lady Brentfield, the lady married to this Lord Brentfield’s distant cousin who had held the earldom previously. Only a chosen few knew about Lady Brentfield’s involvement in the previous thefts or the injuries to mind and body she had sustained in her attempt to escape justice. Even though Priscilla was off the marriage mart, the story of a mad aunt cared for by keepers could still affect her family’s standing on the ton should it become widely known. Daphne and her friends had all worked too hard to avoid scandal to embrace it now.
“I would like to add a condition of my own,” Daphne’s mother put in. She leveled her gaze on Daphne, who tried not to squirm under it. “No one is to wander about alone. You must take at least one other person with you, and young ladies must be properly chaperoned.”
Daphne nearly groaned aloud. Her mother simply would not give up. Who would think anything remotely improper could happen while chasing after a thief? What did her mother think, they’d chance letting the dastard get away because they simply had to stop for a kiss?
Daphne’s gaze met Wynn’s and knew he was thinking the same thing.
Lord Brentfield, however, nodded. “Wise advice. Well, Lady Emily? Do you and your friends agree to our terms?”
Lady Emily glanced to her Jamie, who touched his forelock in salute, and then to Daphne, who nodded encouragement. She stood taller. “Yes, Lord Brentfield, I do. And I will tell you the next step. Tonight, you must set a footman to watch this area of the house. It may be that the thief was looking for a way in, and you can foil him.”
Lord Brentfield nodded again. “Agreed. And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Emily said, “we will interview the staff, particularly those who claim to have heard noises or may have had cause to enter the secret passages.”
Lady Rollings frowned. “Secret passages?”
“Built earlier in the house’s history,” Lord Brentfield explained. “Their construction has deteriorated with time. I had most of them sealed off earlier this year.”
By the way Emily’s smile threatened, Daphne wasn’t the only one who had heard the word most. So some of the passages remained open and available for use, possibly for nefarious purposes. She’d only ventured into them once, and only for a short time before Hannah, then her chaperone, had discovered her and the others and ordered them out. But she could hardly wait to go exploring again.
“Would you happen to have a map of these passages, my lord?” Sir James asked.
“My friend Asheram and I drew one up last spring,” Lord Brentfield replied. “Come to the library with me, and I’ll show you.”
Emily and Sir James started to follow him, and Wynn hesitated with a look to Daphne.
Daphne’s mother caught her arm before she could take a step. “Oh no, young lady.
You are finished for the evening. I will escort you to bed, and I expect that you will not set one foot outside your door until a reasonable time in the morning. Have I made myself clear?”
Daphne swallowed her disappointment. “Yes, Mother.” She turned to Wynn, who offered a commiserating look. “Good night, Mr. Fairfax. I hope I can count on you to share what you learn from Lord Brentfield.”
Wynn gave her a little bow. “Your servant, Daph—Miss Courdebas.”
Her mother glowered at him before leading Daphne away.
“I do not understand what you see in that young man,” she said, gliding along beside Daphne. “His family is suitable but unremarkable. He has income through his late father’s estate but not true wealth. You, on the other hand, have acquired a certain notoriety on the ton. We have the sons of dukes and marquesses in our sitting room on a daily basis. You could do far better than Mr. Fairfax.”
It was on Daphne’s tongue to protest, but she kept her mouth resolutely shut. For one thing, her mother wouldn’t listen to her explanations. For another, eventually her mother would realize that all those titled, noble callers considered Daphne nothing more than another playmate. Not one had ever conceived of offering her marriage.
Not that she held marriage to be the only path open to her. Emily’s painting and Ariadne’s writing had proven to Daphne it might be possible to support herself, albeit outside Society, without a husband if she must. But there was something sweet about considering a husband at her side, children surrounding them. She thought being a mother would be wonderful, for all her own mother at times seemed a bit annoyed by the entire matter. She could see herself encouraging her children, helping them discover their talents, teaching them to value themselves and their friends and family. She had never spoken about the matter to her friends, because, compared to their goals, her own seemed rather small and provincial. But she thought achieving those goals would make her happy nonetheless.
