The Necklace

by Corwin, Amy

  One man scooped up the bag. “Ho! What’s this, then?”

  “Chilton—the necklace—the bag! He’s got the bag!” She struggled to exit the carriage, only to find the door slammed shut by Joshua’s heels.

  The valet leapt down from the roof, landing on top of the man rising with the red bag in his hands. He saw Joshua coming, however. He ducked, rising and turning in one easy motion.

  “Stop, all of you!” She yelled through the window. The four men gazed at her in astonishment. “Chilton—Mr. Dacy! Do you know these men? Who are they?”

  “My father’s footmen.” An expression of disgust passed over his face. He slapped his thigh. “Two weeks. It’s been two bloody weeks, hasn’t it?” he asked the man standing behind him.

  The man grinned. “Yes, Guv’nor. Two weeks to the day. Your father sent us to find you. Right nice of you to come dashing up like you done. We was about to give up for the day.”

  “And he’ll be glad to get this, I’ll wager.” The second man dropped the velvet bag into his pocket. “So just you get back into that coach.” He shoved both Joshua and Chilton toward the door while his companion opened it for them. “We’ll make sure the driver gets us there right smart.”

  Shocked, she stumbled back while Chilton and Joshua reluctantly obeyed. When all of them were seated and the carriage pulled into the street again, she frowned at Chilton.

  “Why did you let them order you about?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “We could hardly have continued to fight in the street.”

  “You seemed perfectly willing to do so until I interrupted.”

  “Yes,” he replied ruefully. “But you were right. I’d hate to have the watch called down upon us for being disorderly and a public nuisance.”

  “Well, there you are, then.” She lamely wondered where these uncomfortable adventures would end.

  Chilton’s father must be very, very angry with him to send his footmen out to apprehend him. Or perhaps he had just been worried at not having heard from him for two weeks.

  Odd that it was only two weeks since they met.

  She eyed him. He stared back with a grin on his face. He looked very pleased with himself for a man who had recently been taken into custody by his father’s footmen.

  Before she had a chance to form a proper set-down, the carriage slowed and turned into a narrow alley. She gazed out the window as a very fine townhouse came into view on their left, while lower buildings that appeared to be stables filled the window on the right.

  “Here we are, ladies,” he said in a toneless voice.

  She glared at him only to find his gaze fixed on the door. All the expression had drained from his face, making a stranger of him. He appeared as hard and remote as a statue. Her hands twisted in her lap. She had never seen such a distant expression on his face. It scared her even more than Eric Winkle’s ridiculous kidnapping.

  As soon as the carriage halted, Chilton opened the door. He leapt out and glanced around. Then he reached inside and handed down Oriana and Helen.

  “Wait here,” he called to Joshua. “We shouldn’t be long.” After offering his right arm to Oriana and his left to Helen, he escorted them to the house. The two footmen were ahead of them and stood in the doorway, grinning at the trio. “I’ll get the necklace back for you, Oriana. Then we’ll visit my jeweler. This is just a slight detour.”

  They entered, and the footmen closed the heavy oak door behind them with an ominous clang.

  Her thoughts went fleetingly to a novel she had recently read called “The Castle of Otranto.” She couldn’t suppress a slight shiver. Like the poor heroine, she felt ill at ease and trapped in unfamiliar surroundings. She glanced uneasily at the polished floors and exquisite paintings lining the hallway and wished fervently that she had worn a better dress.

  Finally, a silver haired man came out a side door and paused to examine them with a dour expression on his thin face. She pressed closer to Chilton.

  “Chilton!”

  “Yes, sir,” Chilton replied. He sounded odd to her, as if his voice had lost all emotion.

  “Who are these women? Why have you brought them here?”

  “They are the Misses Archer, sir. Ladies, may I present my father, Lord Chichester?” Oriana and Helen curtsied, although they both kept hold of Chilton’s arms. “And I didn’t precisely bring them. We were running an errand and met with your footmen. They prevented us from completing it.”

  “That is too bad, son.” Lord Chichester motioned to one of the footmen to open a side door. The second footman handed the velvet bag to Lord Chichester. Then he ambled past the main staircase and headed toward the back of the house.

  “Chilton, please step into the library,” Lord Chichester continued.

  “But, Father—”

  “Chilton! Now, if you please...”

  He nodded and flung one last penetrating look at Oriana before striding off.

  “Miss Archer,” Lord Chichester nodded at Helen, who snuggled closer to Oriana. “I regret that you were brought here in such a manner. If you will provide Beech with your address, one of the footmen will escort you to your home. I sincerely hope you have not been frightened or distressed by my son’s…activities.”

  “Not at all, sir. Thank you,” Oriana said in a small voice.

  Her glance rested on Lord Chichester’s pocket for a moment, wondering how to raise the issue of the Peckham Necklace. Before she could decide, Lord Chichester made his adieus and departed, motioning to the butler to assist the two ladies.

  “Oriana,” Helen whispered in Oriana’s ear. “How will we get the necklace back?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said before the butler descended upon them.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Plunger - A reckless gambler who goes on when he can’t afford it, hoping his

  luck will change.

  Chilton paced the length of the library, repeatedly thrusting his hands into his pockets and then removing them. When his father entered the room, Chilton glanced up and nearly fell over a chair. He gripped the back and with a sinking heart watched his father close the door behind him.

  “Chilton,” Lord Chichester said, walking over to the chairs flanking the fireplace. “Do you have the vowel?”

  “No, I do not. And I’ll thank you to hand me back that little trinket in your pocket. It belongs to Miss Archer.”

  “Indeed?” A silver brow floated up Lord Chichester’s high forehead. He plucked the bag out of his pocket and weighed it in the palm of his hand. With a measuring glance at his son, he untied the ribbons and dumped out the contents into his hand. The emerald necklace gleamed like the leaves of a summer tree. “This is Miss Archer’s property?”

  “Yes.” He held out his hand, his eyes trapped by the green fire dangling from his father’s slim fingers.

  “Not yet, I think.” Lord Chichester eased the necklace back into the bag and tied the ribbon in a neat, precise bow. He slipped it safely into his pocket.

  “What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

  “I believe this necklace would serve nicely as a bargaining piece, don’t you? We will trade it for the vowel.”

  “No!”

  “No?” The silver brow journeyed upwards again. “I beg your pardon, son, but did you say, no?”

  “Yes, I did. It’s not ours to barter.”

  Lord Chichester gave him a very searching glance. “Really? How interesting.”

  “It is Miss Archer’s necklace. She’s entirely innocent in this mess of yours. I won’t take advantage of her.”

  “Then how do you propose to get the voucher back?”

  “I’ll talk to Archer. I give you my word.”

  “It has been two weeks, son,” his father said gently. “If you have not spoken to him yet, when will you?”

  “He was...indisposed. I could not. I swear I’ll go back and talk to him. Please, just give me that necklace. I must return it to Miss Archer. Today, if possible.”<
br />
  Somehow, he knew if he didn’t see her soon and return the necklace, he might as well never see her again for she would never forgive him. And he couldn’t face that eventuality. He fought back the black sense of futility that always gathered around him in his father’s house. It hovered stronger, now, with the possibility of losing Oriana.

  He searched his father’s face, hoping he would understand just this once.

  “It stands like that, does it?” Lord Chichester asked at last. He pulled the pouch out of his pocket and held it out to Chilton. When he reached for it, his father gripped his wrist with his free hand. “She must be a very special woman.”

  “Yes.” He choked on the word. A sudden surge of emotion swept through him. He blinked back the hot waves welling in his eyes.

  “I understand. She’s rather like my Violet, then?”

  “No—” he replied violently, without thought. Then he realized the truth of the statement. “Yes. I suppose so.”

  Lord Chichester nodded and pressed the bag into his hand. He didn’t release him, however. “I am truly sorry about your mother—you took it hard. Too hard. And I regret sending you away to school as we did, but you were so angry there seemed no other solution. And after I married Violet, nothing we did seemed to ease your pain. I thought—well, I believed that if you stayed away at school, it would prove easier for you.”

  Stiff shouldered and barely clinging to his dignity, Chilton tried to pull away. His self-control threatened to break under the stress of years of pent-up emotion. He blinked rapidly and swallowed, his throat aching. He needed distance and time to regain control.

  When he tried to speak, he choked. He yanked at his arm, again, desperate to escape.

  His father wouldn’t let him go, however. He held fast with an iron grip to Chilton’s arm.

  “If this Miss Archer makes you happy, then I offer you my congratulations, Chilton. I love her already.”

  “Father, please! I can’t—” he ground out before his father pulled him into a rough embrace and patted him on the back.

  His father gave his shoulders a hard squeeze before pushing him away. “I’m sorry, son.”

  “I’m sorry about Violet—sorry about everything. I acted like an ass.” He glanced hastily at the floor and took a deep breath before running his hand over his eyes. He ran his trembling hand through his hair and straightened.

  “Well, you did give us a few moments of concern, I will grant you that. But I know you loved your mother very deeply. It was difficult to lose her when you were so young. I suppose I should have waited to marry Violet, but...” He lifted his hands, palms up and shrugged in a helpless gesture.

  A crooked smile twisted Chilton’s mouth. His stepbrother had been born a mere month after the nuptials. Regardless of good intentions, his father couldn’t have waited too long to wed her.

  And perhaps that was the part that caused him the most pain. The knowledge that during the last months of his mother’s life, his father had been unfaithful.

  It was a long time ago, however, and maybe it was time to forget. Time to start over with everyone, including Oriana.

  But could he convince her of that?

  “What is it, Chilton?” his father asked, giving him a searching glance.

  He was more astute than Chilton really wished. “I don’t know if she’ll have me, sir. Oriana—Miss Archer—well, I haven’t been exactly honest with her.”

  “Does she know how you feel?”

  He grinned ruefully. “I can hardly see how she could help it. I’ve been mauling her about for days, now.”

  His father laughed. “Then give her the necklace and propose.” He walked over to the desk and picked up a thick sheet of paper. “And perhaps this will help. It came yesterday. You are to present yourself at Court. They’re making you a Viscount, if I read this rightly. For your actions during the war.”

  Chilton’s fingers stroked the scar on his forehead absently, before he realized what he was doing. He dropped his hand, embarrassed. “That ‘deuced Rifle Corps’?”

  His father laughed. “Yes, the deuced Corps, and a few other minor matters. Rather secret, I suppose. It seems you did a fine job, son, without telling a soul. I wish we had known. I wish I had understood. And I regret we never took the time to convince you that we loved you. We’ve always been proud of you. All of us.”

  Clearing his throat, Chilton rubbed his eyes again and ran his hand one more time through his hair. “Thank you, sir. And I would be honored if you would allow me to bring Miss Archer and her sister here to formally meet Lady Chichester and Edward.”

  “Tomorrow night?”

  “If she accepts me.”

  “She will. But you had better hurry. Ladies can be very impatient.”

  “Yes, sir. And thank you.”

  “Get out of here, you devil.” His father gripped his hands once more, vigorously shaking them. And in the flickering candlelight, he saw the gleam of tears in his father’s eyes.

  Abruptly turning away, Chilton escaped, blinking rapidly. The candle flames in the hallway radiated starbursts in his watery vision. He paused to take a deep breath before calling to the butler and asking for Miss Archer.

  However, to his dismay, the butler informed him that the ladies had already left.

  In a desperate rush, Chilton slid through the side entrance yelling for someone to saddle a horse, only to find his dogs tumbling blindly around his ankles. He gazed down in surprise.

  Then an idea struck him.

  Grabbing Widdle, the small brown female, he said, “I’m only borrowing her for a little while.” Josephine stared at him for another minute before settling back with the other pups.

  He tucked the puppy under his coat. Then he bullied the grooms into bringing a horse around. It wasn’t until he was astride the beast that he realized he had no idea where Oriana had gone.

  “Beech!”

  Servants scattered to escape whatever trouble was brewing. There was a great deal of hushed chatter before the awesome Beech came to the door.

  “Yes, sir?” he asked in his rich, plummy voice. He waited impassively, his hands clasped over his blue-and-white striped waistcoat.

  “Miss Archer’s address—what is it?”

  The butler stared at him for a full minute before answering slowly with the address. Chilton barely waited for him to finish. He galloped off, narrowly missing Mr. Beech and the scullery maid who peeked out from behind him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jackpot

  Within the dusty hollows of the Archer townhouse, Oriana straightened the cap on her head and brushed a few cobwebs from her apron. After pulling the Holland covers off the furniture, she was no closer to finding a suitable place to sleep tonight than she had been when they arrived. All the beds smelled musty and needed airing.

  She also kept breaking down into sobs, frequently just collapsing into a heap on the floor. It didn’t seem to matter if she sat in a chair or not. Nothing mattered, really.

  Even though she had already decided she wanted nothing more to do with deceitful men, her heart willfully disagreed. While she could forgive Chilton for deceiving her, she couldn’t forgive him for making friends with her uncle for the sole purpose of pinching a vowel.

  She thought about this for the hundredth time. Then she burst into fresh tears while plumping the pillows in the Green bedroom. Grabbing a corner of the sheet, she dabbed her cheeks with the same harsh, graying linen that covered the bed where she had slept during three miserable Seasons.

  After looking in the other dreary rooms, Helen had cheerfully dumped her bandboxes there. And with amazing sangfroid, she insisted they would both sleep wonderfully well in this bedroom, once the maid remade the bed with fresh sheets.

  That was twenty minutes ago.

  Since that time, Helen had gone downstairs to get a pot of tea brewed. Oriana suspected she just wanted to gossip with the housekeeper. That poor lady was hastily trying to assemble the skeleton staff and
really didn’t have time to talk about the latest on-dits, even if she knew them. But Helen was rather persistent.

  Oriana sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her dusty half-boots. The worst part was that she had failed again. She had foolishly left Chilton’s family home without retrieving the Peckham Necklace from Lord Chichester. And she dreaded telling her uncle about this latest evidence of her lack of intelligence.

  A depressing vision of her future swam before her. She could see herself as a haggard spinster chasing after her uncle to prevent him from gaming or acquiring more unworthy, dissipated friends who would treat her with disdain and contempt. And if she said anything, he would be happy to remind her about Lord Willowby, Chilton, and how she managed to lose the Peckham necklace.

  The thought provoked another bout of tears.

  She should have told Chilton that she had forgiven him. Or she would forgive him, once he told her uncle the truth. And out of all the men she had met, and all of her uncle’s amoral friends, Major Chilton Dacy could have been the one, honest man she had been searching for her entire life. If only he would tell the truth and come back to her.

  Bringing the necklace, of course.

  “Miss, you have a guest in the Blue parlor,” the Archers’ ancient butler said from the doorway. He panted slightly from climbing two flights of stairs and his face glowed a shocking shade of crimson beneath a sheen of sweat.

  “Sit down, Glover!” she replied in alarm, whisking the Holland covers off an elegant corner chair. When he hesitated, she pressed her hands firmly on his shoulders to force him to sit while he caught his breath. “That’s better. Now, tell me, what guest? No one was expecting us. We certainly aren’t expecting anyone.”

  “It is a gentleman, Miss. He wouldn’t give his name.”

  “Then why did you let him in? He’s not a tradesman, is he?” She couldn’t face one of the merchants to whom the Archers owed money. Not today.