Love and Larceny

by Regina Scott

  “Emily learned nothing else of interest,” she whispered to Wynn as the other ladies surrounded Sheridan as if to keep him occupied. “But she says we must focus our investigation on the west wing, for that is where all the noises apparently originated.”

  “What does she plan?” Wynn whispered back.

  “Miss Courdebas,” Sheridan called, holding out his hand beseechingly. “You must come to my aid or I shall be overwhelmed.”

  “Coming,” Daphne cried, hurrying to his side.

  Wynn could merely follow with a smile, for all his face hurt with the effort.

  Once more Sheridan was in his element, charming all the ladies with his witty repartee until even Lady Emily was forced to smile at him. He was in rare form at dinner as well, making the entire company except Wynn laugh. Even Lady Rollings looked on him with apparent favor. Mr. Harrop was the only one to look at him darkly, but it may have been because of the amount of food the Corinthian consumed.

  Worst of all, Sheridan requested that Lady Brentfield allow them to waltz after dinner, a request that was met with excitement by the betrothed couples. Lady Rollings seemed to take particular pleasure in playing the piano as Daphne accepted Sheridan’s hand to dance.

  Lady Minerva settled herself next to Wynn along the silk-draped wall.

  “Scandalous dance,” she complained as the couples glided about the room to the strains of Haydn. “Look there—I don’t believe light would pass between our hosts.”

  Lord Brentfield did indeed cradle his wife close, smile playing about his lips as he gazed down at her. Her gaze never left his as they twirled past.

  “And Miss Courdebas,” Lady Minerva said with a tsk. “I must say, I never thought she had it in her.”

  Though Daphne and Sheridan were a good ten inches apart, it was still ten inches too close for Wynn. She looked undeniably happy as the fellow spun her about, her skirts brushing his stockings below his breeches. Wynn should be happy for her. She deserved a fellow who could match her, whatever she did.

  “He must be a scoundrel,” Lady Minerva said.

  Wynn blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “He must be a scoundrel,” she repeated, a little louder, as if she thought Wynn must be hard of hearing. She waved a hand at the pair. “Look at him. Good head of hair, broad shoulders, witty, charming, graceful. No one is that blessed. My niece would tell you there must be something wrong with him.”

  And wouldn’t that be nice? Unfortunately, he had no reason to suspect that Sheridan was anything less than what he seemed. Even his sudden appearance at the house party was easily explained. He had said he’d been staying with friends. While out riding, he had seen an opportunity to further himself in Society and taken it. Others had done as much.

  “I could look into him if you like,” Lady Minerva said. She smacked her lips as if tasting the juicy morsels of gossip even now. “For a consideration.”

  Was she asking for a bribe? Would she fabricate some salacious story to earn it? Much as he would have liked to see the last of Brooks Sheridan, he could not find it in himself to agree.

  “Thank you for the suggestion, your ladyship,” he said. “But I’m certain Miss Courdebas will take his true measure soon.”

  She snorted. “She’s not that smart, you know.” Rising and shaking out her black skirts, she went in search of easier prey. He was only glad Lord Brentfield suggested everyone change partners then, so he did not have to keep watching Sheridan hold Daphne.

  Unfortunately, a short while later, when they all gathered for whist, Sheridan somehow ended up partnering Daphne, leaving Wynn to partner Lady Rollings if he wished to even sit at the same table. Though he and Daphne’s mother took most of the tricks, she never so much as smiled at him.

  As she tallied the final points, she shook her head. “Disappointing, Mr. Fairfax. Perhaps cards are not your forte either.”

  By the time he retired for the night, he was a boiling mess. He tried not to dwell on his infirmity—what was, was, and no amount of wishing or complaining would make it otherwise. But it seemed to him his courage had shriveled just as his muscle had for a time following the accident. He ought to tell Daphne how he felt, explain that he’d do more than walk to the ends of the earth for her. He would love her, cherish her, cheer her, and support her all the days of his life.

  But if he offered her his heart, she might refuse it. He hadn’t been willing to take that risk. He kept thinking a few more days, a few more hours, and she could come to see his love, appreciate what he wished to offer.

  Now, fire burned inside him, and determination fueled each step. He took to the secret passages and crossed the manor to her room. His heart was thundering in his ears as he rapped on the panel.

  She opened the door immediately. She hadn’t changed for bed. Her hair was still up in the bun behind her head with tendrils framing her face. Her blue eyes positively glowed in the candlelight.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, hurrying on before he could even answer. “Me either. Let’s go exploring.”

  Chapter Twelve

  What a night! Daphne’s nerves were still jingling like bells on a sleigh. First she and the others had had to determine their next steps in the investigation. Ariadne had been all for trying the secret passages, and Daphne had been about to tell her what she and Wynn had discovered the night before, but Priscilla had been adamant.

  “They are dangerous. Remember what happened last time anyone went into them.”

  Daphne knew she meant the time her aunt had fled through the passages to escape capture for her crimes, only to fall through the ceiling. But Daphne and Wynn knew what they were doing. They wouldn’t be so foolhardy as to dash through the dark and step off the beam.

  “What I want to know is why the west wing is so important,” Emily said, finger rubbing at her pointed chin. “You stayed in that wing before, Pris. Is there anything special about it?”

  Priscilla gave an elegant shrug. “As far as I can see, it is merely a duplicate of the east wing.”

  “So why it should be subject to hammering and oaths?” Ariadne had asked. “And who is uttering them? I’m still of a mind to consider a haunting.”

  “No haunting,” Emily had insisted. “Ghosts do not make off with art treasures. Let’s talk to Lord Brentfield in the morning and see if he’ll let us poke around a bit more.”

  Their plan agreed to, Daphne had felt free to rejoin Wynn and Mr. Sheridan. And then, after dinner, her guest had asked her leave to call her Daphne and given her permission to call him Brooks. Swirling around the room in his arms had been magical. Though she’d found it hard to attend to the complicated calculations required to win at whist, he had been charming about her gaffs.

  “You know what they say about being unlucky at cards,” he’d murmured as he’d bid her good night.

  She wasn’t sure, but she knew who to ask. She cornered Ariadne before her sister could retire.

  “Is there some saying about being bad at cards?” she demanded.

  Ariadne frowned. “Not that I’ve heard. The closest saying might be ‘lucky at cards, unlucky at love,’ so I suppose the opposite might be true.”

  Daphne frowned. “So if I’m bad at cards, I must be good at love?”

  Ariadne smiled. “That’s the idea.”

  She had seemed surprised when Daphne had hugged her before dashing off for her own room.

  Given that revelation, sleep was unthinkable. She’d refused her maid’s help, paced the room, rearranged the gowns in the clothes press, straightened the pictures on the wall, and evened out the pleats on the velvet curtains before she’d heard the tap on the wall.

  Now she climbed into the passage beside Wynn. “Which way tonight?”

  He seemed surprised to see her, which was silly given the fact that he had come to find her. Who else did he think would answer his knock?

  “Daphne,” he said, tone somber, “I didn’t come to explore. I have something I must say to you.”

&
nbsp; “Can you say it while we walk?” she asked, pushing past him. “I have a terrible urge to move.” She lifted her skirts to clamber up the steps to the main passage.

  Immediately, the darkness closed around her, and she realized Wynn and his candle had remained behind. Glancing back at the glow below, she called, “Wynn? Is something wrong?”

  “No.” She could hear the sigh in his voice. The space brightened as he climbed up to join her.

  “I can refuse you nothing,” he said, and for once he didn’t sound all that pleased about the matter.

  “That’s because you’re a good friend,” she assured him, reaching out to take the candle from his grip. “Perhaps we should remain here in the west wing, as that is where Emily is concentrating her efforts.”

  “Indeed,” he said, still with that defeated tone. “Lead the way. You can count on me to follow. That seems to be my role.”

  Daphne frowned at him, then held out the candle. “Do you want to go first? You can have the light.”

  “No,” he said. “I need to find the light inside me.”

  Daphne shook her head. “You’re in an odd humor tonight. Perhaps we’ve stayed up too late. I’ll try to get you back by a reasonable hour.”

  “I’m no invalid,” he snapped.

  “Well, certainly not.” She turned and raised the candle high so they could both see their way. “But everyone needs a good night sleep now and then. You can’t expect to be at your best if your brain is muddled.”

  “There isn’t anything wrong with my brain either,” he said behind her. “What I seem to lack is conviction.”

  “About what?” she asked, remembering to lower her voice. They were passing over her mother’s room, and she doubted she could be convincing as a dream two nights in a row. Then she felt Wynn’s hand on her shoulder, pulling her to a stop.

  “The only place I lack conviction is about you, Daphne.”

  Balancing carefully, she turned to face him. “About me?”

  In the candlelight, she could see that his dark brows were down, those sea-green eyes intent on her face. Indeed, every part of him seemed tense, as if he were about to jump a fence or shoot a bow.

  “Daphne,” he said, “there is so much I want to tell you, but I know how difficult it can be for you to stand still and listen. Perhaps it’s better if I show you.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her.

  Once again her world exploded, and she found herself trembling with the sheer wonder of it. The sweet pressure of his lips, his arm stealing about her waist, made her head spin in the most delightful way. Was this how all young ladies felt when they were in love?

  Wait. She wasn’t in love. This was Wynn.

  She broke from his embrace and shoved him away from her. “What are you doing?!”

  He teetered on the beam, off balance and leaning hard on his bad leg. As she watched, horror dawning, he toppled to one side and crashed through the plaster to disappear into the darkness below.

  A cloud of dust billowed up behind him, choking her, but she managed to shield the candle. Waving the grit aside, heart hammering, she peered down into the hole, afraid of what she might find.

  From the great bed below her, her mother and Wynn gazed back, side by side, and it was a question who looked the more shocked.

  *

  Wynn blinked past the dust sparkling in the light from the candle Daphne held as she gazed through the ceiling at him. His spectacles must have been knocked off in the fall, for his vision was blurry, but it seemed to him her face was stricken.

  “Get back,” he warned. “I don’t want you falling through too. Stay on the beam. You know the way back to your room.”

  She nodded. “Are you all right?”

  He refused to acknowledge the pains shooting through him until he was certain she was safe. “I’ll be fine. Now go.”

  Again she nodded, but she still didn’t move away from the hole. “Mother?”

  Mother?

  Wynn’s head jerked to the right. He’d been so rattled by the fall, so relieved to have landed on something soft, that he hadn’t bothered to look around him. Now in the faint light from Daphne’s candle, he saw Lady Rollings gazing back at him from only a few feet away, white ribboned cap settled on her golden hair.

  “I’m only a little dusty,” she assured her daughter. “Please do as Mr. Fairfax asks and come down before something worse happens.”

  At the moment, he could not think of much worse than crashing through the ceiling and landing on the bed of the mother who had all but demanded he leave her daughter alone. But he was thankful Daphne disappeared at last.

  So did the light, but only for a moment. He heard the rustle of bedclothes and felt the bed shift as Lady Rollings must have climbed out. Then the bedside lamp flared, highlighting her aristocratic cheekbones, darkening her eyes.

  Wynn tried to move, and pain lanced through him.

  “Be still, Mr. Fairfax,” she advised, lifting the lamp. “You’ve had a nasty fall, and I suspect you are not thinking clearly.”

  That he could well believe. But what amazed him was how clearly she seemed to be thinking.

  “I’m terribly sorry, your ladyship,” he said as she calmly moved to the bell pull and gave it a tug to summon a staff member.

  “For compromising my daughter, putting her in a dangerous situation, or nearly landing on me?” she asked, going to the wardrobe and pulling out her quilted satin dressing gown.

  Guilt poked at him. “All three. Though I admit I didn’t understand the full danger of those passages until tonight.”

  “So you’ve used the passages more than once.” She returned to his side, giving her sash an extra pull.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Daphne and I share a love of adventure.”

  “And a decided lack of common sense.” She brushed debris off the bed, wrinkling her nose as if no more than miffed at the mess. “Of my daughters, Mr. Fairfax, I worry about Daphne the most.”

  Wynn could not help his frown. “Why? She is amazing.”

  He thought he saw a smile tugging at that stern mouth. “She is indeed. She never walked; she ran. She rode her first pony at age four, began begging me to learn to fence at age five. Where other young ladies had sore fingers from learning to embroider, she had bruised knees from attempting to climb the trees in the orchard. I used a store of bandages and ointment raising her. With her capacity for love and loyalty, she has the potential for a brilliant future, with the right fellow, a gentleman who can appreciate her and harness her unique talents. I am concerned you lack the strength of character.”

  So was he at the moment.

  The door flew open then, and Daphne rushed in. “Is he all right?”

  “That remains to be seen,” her mother said. Then she nodded to the maid who had answered her ring and stood wide-eyed in the doorway. “Alert Lord Brentfield that there has been an accident. We will need a doctor, fresh linens, and a carpenter, in that order.”

  “Yes, your ladyship,” she said before scurrying away.

  Daphne approached the bed. “Oh, Wynn,” she said, lower lip trembling. “Are you badly hurt?”

  He tried to sit, ignoring the pricks and aches that shouted for his attention. Out in the corridor, he thought he heard other voices, as the remaining guests in the west wing must have been roused from their sleep by the sound of his fall.

  Daphne hurried to help him, her hands gentle on his shoulders. “No, no. Lay still until the doctor arrives.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her, but he had to admit leaning back felt much better. “A few scrapes and bruises, I imagine. But nothing seems to be broken.” He knew what broken felt like.

  “Thank the Lord for that,” Lady Rollings said, joining them. “Daphne, help me clear off the rest of this. Watch for nails and sharp edges.”

  Was it because she had raised Daphne that she remain so composed? His mother and sisters would have gone into such hysterics the doctor would likely have had to trea
t them too. And surely clearing the debris off him was the job for a servant.

  Yet Lady Rollings instructed Daphne on how to remove the pieces of wood and plaster, saying nothing about their midnight ramblings and glancing at him from time to time as if her doubts about him had only grown. Daphne found his glasses among the pile, twisted, but unbroken, a bit like him.

  What a mess he’d made, all because he couldn’t bring himself to say three little words.

  I love you.

  He was glad when Lord Brentfield, Mr. Harrop, and a footman arrived to help. The butler eyed the hole in the ceiling and shook his head as if dismayed by the damage. Then he and Lord Brentfield exchanged glances, and the butler hurried out, very likely to summon more aid.

  Lord Brentfield strode to Wynn’s side. “Couldn’t resist, could you?” he challenged as Lady Rollings and Daphne lifted the counterpane away from Wynn.

  “No, my lord,” Wynn said, face heating.

  The earl leaned closer and offered him a wink. “Neither could I when I first discovered those passages. There’s something mysterious about them. And strolling through the dark with a pretty girl is even better.”

  It had been at that. But he could only wonder the price he would have to pay, in Daphne’s respect for him and his own health.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Daphne had no choice but to take her mother and retreat from the room when the doctor, a local practitioner named Praxton, arrived an hour later. The rest of the guests in the west wing had been awakened by the noise, and Hannah had followed her husband to check on everyone. She had gone with a maid to see about another room for Lady Rollings. Daphne was merely glad the gentlemen had been housed in the east wing, far enough away that they had not been roused. At least, none came immediately demanding to know what had happened. She didn’t want to know what Sinclair or Sir James would say about her midnight wanderings with Wynn.

  As it was, her sister and friends were all crowding around the door along with Lady Minerva, who looked particularly keen to be let inside. Daphne was ready to explain, but her mother spoke first.