Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  She ate her dinner and drank the wine, quite unable to wipe the smile from her face.

  A Counterfeit Crime

  Meanwhile, at The Jack of Spades

  “You’re late,” the dunner said as Randolph made his way into The Jack of Spades.

  “I am actually here a few minutes earlier than I planned to be,” Randolph countered. “Have they arrived?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago. They’ve mostly been watching the play, though.”

  Frowning, Randolph realized the dunner referred to the gamblers suspected of passing counterfeit notes. “Is Frank in his office?” He opened his chronometer, confirming it wasn’t yet nine o’clock.

  “He and a few others. Official looking, they was.”

  Randolph inhaled sharply. Perhaps he was late. He quickly made it to Frank O’Laughlin’s office and rapped a knuckle twice on the wood door before letting himself in.

  To find five men turning to stare at him.

  “I apologize. I thought I was early,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

  “Relax, Roderick. We’ve only just arrived a few minutes ago,” Viscount Chamberlain said from where he was ensconced in what was usually Frank’s chair.

  Frank stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He was displaying an expression that suggested he wished he were somewhere else.

  Chamberlain motioned to the others in the room. “These two are agents from the bank, Fields and Gabler, and this...” He indicated a burly bald man who stood nearly six inches taller than Randolph. “ Is Mr. Morton. Home Office.”

  “Home Office?” Randolph repeated. “Aren’t we dealing with foreigners here?”

  “I asked him to join us in the event a bit of muscle might be required,” Lord Chamberlain said. “Did you happen to see if the frogs have arrived yet?”

  Randolph nodded. “They’re watching the hazard tables, but the dunner at the door said they hadn’t yet played.”

  “Probably waiting for you to make an appearance in the billiards room,” Frank murmured.

  “I didn’t realize I would be playing this evening,” Randolph said, his attention going to the two agents from the bank. “Have the bank notes we turned in last week been examined?”

  Lord Chamberlain indicated the agents had the floor. Fields opened a satchel and pulled out stacks of bank notes that had been tied with string. One after another, he set them on Frank’s desk in neat piles. It was clear from the corners that the bills had been marked so they could be pulled from play and turned over to the Bank of England to determine their authenticity. The very last stack was made up of individual one-pound bank notes.

  Randolph helped himself to one of them. He stared at the date of issue—1817—and then quickly splayed the rest in the stack. All of them displayed 1817 as their date of issue. “I didn’t realize you were concerned about one-pound notes,” he remarked, sure these were from the gaming table in Xenobia’s hall. All the banking notes he’d had a chance to examine in the table’s drawers were from 1817.

  “We are when they have that date,” Gabler replied.

  “Why?”

  Fields cleared his throat. “A particularly bad year for counterfeiting,” he stated. “We have since pulled legitimate notes bearing that year from circulation—most are too worn to be of use anyway—so when these were included in your haul from last week, we took notice.”

  Randolph stiffened, remembering the letter he had found in one of the drawers of the gaming table. A note penned by Captain Bradley to his only daughter. A note that described a buried treasure of five-hundred pounds.

  He had been embarrassed at reading the rest, but his opinion of her late father had risen several notches after reading the missive. Bradley made no apologies about loving a woman who would never be beholden to only him.

  Neither did he make excuses.

  If in the next week Xenobia made no mention of the letter, he would see to it she would discover it of her own accord.

  She was more curious these days.

  His attention went back to the seven one-pound bank notes and his opinion of the captain entirely changed. The thought that Bradley might have left his daughter a treasure of counterfeit bank notes had his expression darkening. Had bile rising in his throat. Had anger replacing his usual calm manner.

  So he was entirely unprepared when Fields said, “However, these are legitimate.”

  Randolph blinked. “What?”

  “They’re unusual to find these days, but they were issued by the Bank of England,” Fields explained.

  “Something tells me there will be three ten-pound notes in play this evening,” Randolph said. “Either here or at The Queen of Spades, bearing the same date.”

  “Oh, please let it be at Violet’s gaudy gold emporium,” Frank moaned in disgust. “I just want my business back.”

  Randolph struggled to keep a straight face as Gabler regarded him with a frown. “What do you know, sir?”

  Rolling his eyes, Randolph said, “There are hundreds of pounds of bank notes from eighteen-seventeen in a house in Curzon Street. A buried treasure, so to speak. The owner hid them for his daughter to eventually find, but one of her footmen has pilfered these—” He pointed to the one-pound bank notes—“As well as three ten-pound notes that I know of. He may have taken more in the past.”

  “We’ll arrest him if he shows up this evening,” Fields said, his attention going to Mr. Morton.

  Randolph considered justice would be served should the servant be caught, so he held his tongue.

  “If this buried treasure could be brought to the bank and exchanged for newer notes, it would be most appreciated,” Gabler suggested.

  Nodding, Randolph said, “I will see to it.” His attention went to the stacks of other denominations. “And what of those?”

  Fields displayed a wince. “All counterfeit but these,” he said as he tossed a stack of five-pound notes to Frank.

  The gaming hell owner caught the stack of tied bills in his hands and frowned, his attention going to the piles of ten- and twenty-pound notes. He made a sound of disbelief.

  “Fear not, O’Laughlin. We will compensate you for your troubles,” Lord Chamberlain said. “In the meantime, Roderick, I do believe you need to challenge the frogs to a game of billiards. Just act surprised when they’re escorted out the back door by Morton here, won’t you?”

  Randolph allowed a chuckle. “It will be my pleasure.”

  He left Frank’s office and made his way toward the entrance. Waiting until a wave of new gamblers made their way through the front door of the gaming establishment, he merged with them to make it look as if he had just arrived.

  Finding his marks was easy—they were still watching the hazard tables with looks of boredom. “Ah, you’re back,” he said as he clapped the Frenchman on the back. “Care for a game of billiards?”

  The one from Belgium gave him a shrug that suggested he had nothing better to do while the Frenchman seemed entirely too eager. The three of them made their way to the empty billiards room.

  Ten minutes later, Randolph sunk the last ball in what would have been just the first match against the Frenchman, had he and the Belgium not been removed by Mr. Morton and the bank agents.

  Now Randolph was the only one left in the room.

  He reached into his waistcoat pocket for his chronometer, his fingers brushing against the other object he had deposited there the night before.

  Pulling it out along with the watch, he stared at it and then checked the time. He gave a sigh when he remembered what he’d been doing twenty-four hours earlier. What he’d been doing six hours earlier. What he’d been doing just three hours ago.

  How was it so much could happen in only a day?

  Knowing they were probably counterfeit, he left his winnings on the felt and took his leave of The Jack of Spades, intending to go across the street to The Queen of Hearts. Before he stepped from the pavement, though, he paused when he recognized one of Xen
obia’s servants in the company of another man. When he heard him speak, he knew it was one of the footmen he had overheard earlier that evening.

  The one who had said he had taken the money from the gaming table.

  “You’re quite sure she’s not going to fire us?”

  “I swear it. She said we could each have fifteen pounds as an early Christmas present,” the one he knew as Colburn claimed. “I was sure we was done when she said she knew you had taken the blunt from the table. She must have seen you do it.”

  “I suppose it was too good to last,” the other one said. “Just think if we’d never had to move that table, we’d never have found the one-pound notes.”

  Despite a desire to wallop the footman before he could make his way into The Jack of Spades, Randolph resisted the urge.

  There was somewhere else he wanted to be.

  A Leap of Faith in a Leap Year

  Meanwhile, at Bradley House

  Having consumed her dinner and two glasses of wine, Xenobia collected her treasure into a trinket box she had found on the fireplace mantle in the parlor.

  She had nearly laughed out loud when she discovered five twenty-pound bank notes already in the bottom of the box. Adding the bank notes from the gaming table—all except for a single twenty-pound note—she shut the box and tucked it under her arm before she made her way to her bedchamber.

  Sullivan was already there, ready to take the pins from her hair and help her into a night rail.

  “I’ll warn you now. I’m not wearing my stays at the moment,” Xenobia said as she set the box on her dressing table and took a seat.

  “My lady?”

  “I removed them when I took a nap before dinner.”

  “Oh,” Sullivan responded before she undid the buttons down the back of the carriage gown.

  “Do you know if Smith and Colburn have left for a gaming hell yet?” Xenobia asked as she waited for Sullivan’s response. She wasn’t disappointed to see her lady’s maid’s look of shock reflected in the mirror.

  “They’ve been gone at least an hour. Tail betwixt their legs, too, my lady, if you ask me. Like they knew what they was doing was wrong.”

  Xenobia allowed a prim grin as she pulled the twenty-pound bank note from her pocket and held it up. She watched Sullivan’s reaction in the mirror and smiled. “Happy Christmas,” she said.

  “For me, my lady?”

  “Indeed. Just don’t tell the footmen you got more than they did,” she said in a whisper as Sullivan gingerly took the parchment from her.

  “Thank you, my lady. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much blunt in all my life.”

  “Spend it wisely, but do have some fun with it, too,” Xenobia encouraged.

  “I shall,” the lady’s maid replied as she quickly stuffed the bank note into a pocket. Her expression grew curious. “Did your ride in the park go well?”

  Xenobia nodded. “It did. Sir Randolph is the son of a marquess and a widower,” she said, enjoying the thrill she felt at seeing Sullivan’s expression. “Why, I think I shall have to propose marriage if he does not.” She paused as she watched Sullivan’s eyes widen. “Have I thoroughly scandalized you?”

  The lady’s maid stared back at her reflection and then grinned in delight. “Not at all. It’s a Leap Year, my lady, so you are entirely within your right to propose marriage.”

  Blinking several times, Xenobia stared at Sullivan. “It is? I am?”

  Sullivan angled her head to one side. “Aye. I don’t think it only applies to the Scots or Irish,” she replied. “Besides, it’s not fair they have all the fun.”

  Xenobia whirled around and looked to the clock above the fireplace. “How late would a goldsmith’s shop be open tonight, do you suppose?”

  It was Sullivan’s turn to blink. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, but I expect ten o’clock, my lady. Especially this close to Christmas.”

  “Have Chesterfield hail a hackney.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. I need to purchase a ring if I’m to propose marriage,” Xenobia countered.

  Sullivan rushed from the room, and Zenobia nearly giggled at seeing how quickly her lady’s maid moved. Unfortunately, Sullivan had already undone several of the buttons down her back.

  Xenobia did what she could to refasten the top buttons before she plucked a number of twenty-pound notes from the trinket box. Then she made her way to her father’s bedchamber and the dressing room, where her redingote and a set of petticoats were strewn about the floor. She pulled on the garments and descended the stairs.

  “You’re coming with me,” she said to Sullivan as she entered the vestibule.

  Sullivan’s delight matched her own as they made their way to the curb and into a hackney. “Rundell and Bridge, as fast as you can,” she said to the startled driver.

  “Yes, my lady,” he replied when he saw the bank note she held up. His expression turned to one of delight. “Because it’s Christmas? Or a Leap Year?” he asked with a roll of his eyes.

  “How about both?”

  She and Sullivan climbed into the equipage, giggling as it raced toward Ludgate Hill. “I do hope we’re not too late,” she said as they bounced along Oxford Street.

  “This close to Christmas? Of course they will be open, my lady,” Sullivan replied, pulling her cape closed. “Have you something in mind for your son of a marquess?”

  Xenobia took a steadying breath. “A gold band, certainly. Perhaps they have one with a small gemstone. A sapphire, mayhap?”

  “Do you know what size to buy?”

  Blinking, Xenobia remembered how his hand had held her breast. How his fingers had fondled her. “Large?” she guessed.

  Sullivan giggled. “They may require a more exact measurement.”

  Xenobia couldn’t help but laugh at the comment. “Perhaps they already know,” she murmured.

  When the hackney slowed and stuttered to a halt in front of the goldsmith’s shop, Xenobia could barely wait for the driver to step down from his bench and open the door.

  “Will you wait for us, please?”

  “My lady, you gave me enough blunt to drive around London five times,” he replied. “I’ll be right here when you’ve completed your shopping.”

  Xenobia was about to kiss him, but she thought better of it and instead made her way into the shop.

  Despite the hour, the gift shop was brightly lit. She made her way to the back, past the array of oddities and bright gilt gifts. Several gentlemen had the attention of an older man, a jeweler who held two trays of rings for their perusal. Her attention went to a glass case where larger rings were on display.

  “My lady? Is there something in particular I might show you?”

  Xenobia looked up to find a young man regarding her with a curious expression.

  “I wish to propose marriage,” she blurted. “I need a ring for a man who has rather large fingers.”

  “Ah. Leap Year,” he replied happily. He pulled a tray of gold bands from the glass case and placed it in front of her. “Haven’t had a query like this for several months,” he added as he pulled another tray of silver bands from the case. “Are you looking for a particular gemstone?”

  Xenobia blinked. “He’s the son of a marquess,” she replied.

  “Oh,” the young man responded, his ‘oh’ sounding in three syllables. “A sapphire, then. Mayhap with a diamond or two or three?”

  Frowning, Xenobia examined the tray of gold rings while Sullivan busied herself admiring the array of gold and silver gifts on display in the rest of the shop.

  Taking a deep breath, Xenobia imagined Randolph’s typical day. His mornings were spent in the stables with horses. He drove in the park in the afternoons to exercise horses. His evenings were spent in pursuit of threats to the Crown.

  With those images in mind, she surveyed the gold offerings and grinned when she found a simple gold band with a single square gemstone. “Might I see that one?” she asked as she pointed to it.


  The shopkeeper plucked it from its black velvet bed and handed it to her. Xenobia examined its size, sliding it onto her thumb to discover it was too large. “This one, yes,” she murmured. “How much?” she asked as she pulled a wad of bank notes from her carriage gown.

  “One-and-twenty pounds, my lady,” the young man said as he studied a tiny slip of paper still embedded in the black velvet. “One sapphire and two diamonds in gold.”

  Xenobia grinned as she peeled off the bank notes and handed them to the startled shopkeeper. “Do you have a box for it?”

  “Of course, my lady,” he replied. He disappeared and then returned with the ring encased in a black velvet box. “I hope he says yes, my lady.”

  Her eyes widening in alarm, Xenobia said, “Me, too.”

  She turned to find Sullivan holding a silver candlestick in one hand. “What’s this?”

  “My Christmas gift from you, my lady,” Sullivan replied happily. “I’ve always wanted one of my own for my quarters. An ornate one, like this.”

  Xenobia resisted the urge to wince at seeing the gaudy candlestick. “Do you have enough money to buy it?”

  Her lady’s maid nodded. “Oh, more than enough.” The servant moved to the counter to pay for her find, and once they had their purchases in hand, they hurried out to the hackney. “Bradley House, as quickly as you can,” Xenobia said as they climbed in.

  A half-hour later, they were giggling as they made their way past a startled Chesterfield and up the stairs.

  Meanwhile, Randolph Roderick was making his way into the back door of Bradley House.

  Two Hearts of a Single Mind

  A moment later

  Sullivan sighed as she undid Xenobia’s gown and helped her out of it. “Thank you again for the generous gift, my lady.”

  Xenobia’s smile widened. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling from all that had happened this day. “You’re welcome. Do help yourself to a taper from the stores. I rather imagine you’d like to put your candlestick to use this evening.”