Anne Barbour (26 page)

Claudia’s thoughts raced. “After our confrontation with him the other night—he was quite foxed, you know—he must have made his way upstairs immediately to disarrange my furniture. Then—good heavens, he must have risen before first cockcrow and waited, concealed somewhere in the corridor. When he saw me leave my room, he simply nipped inside and put everything back where it belonged.”

“Yes,” said Jem musingly. “I can see where he could have accomplished that. But what about the broken pearls? I mean, breaking them would be easy—but repairing them in two or three minutes ..”

“Well,” said Claudia slowly, considering. “Ugh! He must have crept into my dressing room while I was asleep! For I woke once in the night, thinking there was someone about.”

Intent on her reconstruction of the event, she did not notice Jem’s hands clench into fists.

“As for repairing them ...” She slapped her hand in her lap as realization struck. “Rose has an identical set of pearls! It would be the easiest thing in the world for Thomas to hide himself again outside my door, slipping in when I left. He could have scooped up the loose pearls in a twinkling and replaced them with the whole strand.”

“I think I must have another chat with your esteemed relative,” said Jem harshly. “This is becoming intolerable. I don’t care if it does look strange, that man will leave the house today. He can go home to his own residence, for God’s sake.”

“I agree with you,” said Claudia after a moment. “I have had quite a surfeit of my brother-in-law. Rose will not be nearly so intolerable without Thomas to pull her strings, and the children aren’t such bad little creatures when they are not forever brangling with each other.”

Jem moved to her, and without thinking, lifted a hand to brush a golden tendril from her cheek. “I must apologize again,” he said roughly, “for embroiling you in such a coil.”

For a moment, she stared into his eyes, her own wide and vulnerable. Then, she thrust herself backward and said briskly, “Nonsense. I have told you repeatedly, it is Thomas who is responsible for my present difficulty. And, as you have told me, he will not succeed.”

“No, he will not.” His lips curved downward. “However, I think I shall resume my search for the list described to me by Giles Daventry. It might very well prove to be the one piece of evidence that will see me home—literally.”

Claudia found herself unable to respond. Fighting to conceal the tremor that shook her, she nodded wordlessly.

Jem bowed, and smiled the smile that never failed to turn her knees to jelly. “I shall leave you now to seek out your wretched brother-in-law. Shall I see you at luncheon?”

Claudia swallowed. “No. No—I shall be at Hill Cottage by then. Aunt Augusta began removing her things from the manor house yesterday, and most of mine will be gone later this morning.”

The smile disappeared suddenly, and Jem’s face grew closed. “Of course, but-”

“Aunt Gussie wishes to speak to you, however. She has drawn up a list of those in the neighborhood with whom you will shortly become acquainted—or reacquainted.”

“Yes,” said Jem musingly. “I suppose many of the families I knew are still in the area.”

“And you must meet the Misses Flowers, and Sir Wilfred Perrey’s daughter. They are all eligible young ladies with extremely respectable dowries.”

The surprise evident on Jem’s face at this statement was nothing to what Claudia felt. She prayed devoutly for the ground to open up beneath her, but it remained dismayingly solid. What had possessed her to say such a thing? She knew her cheeks must be flooded with crimson, and she searched frantically in her mind for something to say that might relieve the situation.

Nothing.

Jem’s mouth curved in what might have been a smile. “I shall certainly keep that in mind,” he said softly before turning away.

Claudia watched as he closed the door behind him, then collapsed into a chair. Dear Lord, she thought. He must think her a complete widgeon, to say nothing of the effrontery of advising him on his affairs.

Why had she committed such an unpardonable solecism? After a few moments reflection, the answer became obvious. If Ravencroft were to prosper, its master must marry well. He had, after all, stated his intention of marrying for advantage, and the proper wife, besides bringing him a handsome dowry, would insure his comfort. She merely wanted to see this accomplished as soon as possible. To be perfectly honest, of course, she wanted also to see him removed as a target for her misplaced romantic yearnings.

The silence in the room roared about her as she turned these thoughts about in her head, rearranging and repatterning them in an effort to make them ring true. All at once, bursting from the chaos, a realization struck her like a thunderclap. She had spoken those words to Jem in order to hear him deny them! She had fairly ached for him to turn aside her suggestion that he marry.

But why? Had she not decided that a bride for Jem would solve all her problems? Well, yes, but... She lifted her head as though listening to an unseen speaker, and her eyes widened in horrified disbelief.

Dear God, she had indeed been stupid, for there was no longer any denying that what she felt for Jem was not a brief, aberrant infatuation. She loved him! While she had been prattling on to herself about lust and the necessity of keeping her distance from him, he had somehow become the cornerstone of her existence.

Was this a punishment? she wondered miserably. She had perpetrated a wicked deception on Jeremy Standish, and now she had come to love him—with a passion she had never thought to feel for any man.

What was she going to do?

She stared sightlessly for some minutes toward the window, through which morning sun streamed in uncaring radiance, and rising at last, she straightened her shoulders and moved to her dressing table. There was at least one thing she must do right away.

*   *   *   *

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Thomas’s voice rose in an indignant whine. “What would I know of moving furniture or broken pearls? I think you must have rats in your attic, Glenraven.”

Jem faced Thomas Reddinger in the sitting room that had been allotted to them as part of their quarters in the east wing. Rose had entered the room a few minutes ago, having just seen to breakfast for George and Horatia. She perched on the edge of a straw satin wing chair in anxious attention.

Jem gripped his patience and his temper. “Then perhaps,” he responded smoothly, “you would not mind producing your wife’s pearls. The string she received from her parents on her sixteenth birthday.”

“My pearls!” cried Rose faintly. “Whatever do you need my pearls for?”

Jem related again the attempts to create an impression of madness on Claudia’s part. Rose gasped.

“Are you saying you believe Thomas responsible for such an iniquity? Really, my lord, you go too far.” She sprang from her chair. “If you will but wait a moment, I shall show you my pearls.”

“Rose!” Thomas’s voice roared a warning. Hesitating only an instant, he continued. “I have no intention of dignifying this ridiculous charge with an answer. Claudia has obviously become completely unbalanced. We need prove nothing.”

Rose eyed her husband for a long moment. Then, bowing her head, she left the room.

Thomas turned to Jem. “Now, my lord, if you will be good enough to leave us in peace—”

“You deserve to be left in pieces, Reddinger,” retorted Jem. “It is, however, you who will do the leaving. Your wife and children may stay as long as they like, but I expect you to be gone by this afternoon.”

“
What?
” Thomas had once again gone purple. “If this isn’t the outside of enough! Not content with snatching my sister-in-law’s home from her, you now intend to throw me out as well?”

“You may feel yourself fortunate that I do not accomplish the process bodily, you contemptible swine. When I think of you creeping into that innocent girl’s bedroom in the dead of night—”

Thomas opened his mouth in preparation for a bellow of protest, but observing Jem’s fingers curved into purposeful fists, contented himself with a reproachful, “You wrong me, sirrah!”

“I have not described the half,” Jem grunted. He turned toward the door. “You will be out of this house by lunchtime.”

“Now see here—” began Thomas, with a return to his usual bombast but he was interrupted by the whirlwind entrance of Rose, whose flushed face was contorted with distress. Her hands were clenched, and, advancing on a startled Thomas, she opened one of them to reveal a cluster of loose pearls, which she astonished him further by flinging in his face.

“How could you?” she screamed. “Thomas Reddinger, I have put up with a great deal from you. I have listened silently to your pompous pronouncements, and I have stood by and watched you ride roughshod over anyone who stands between you and what you want. I have been a good wife—and an obedient one. But this”—she thrust out her arm in a sweeping gesture to indicate the pearls scattered about the carpet—”this is the last straw!”

“Rose!” If his wife had sprouted wings and flown about the room, his expression could not have contained more baffled amazement.

“Don’t you ‘Rose’ me!” she cried, her voice ascending in an ominous crescendo. “I know you think me a spiritless nodcock. You’ve told me so, often enough—and worse—but I could not believe my ears when I heard you plotting with that wretched Welker to destroy my sister. I was not overly concerned at the time because I didn’t see how you could possibly accomplish your purpose. I never dreamed you would actually stoop to fabricating vicious lies out of whole cloth.”

Thomas, not to put too fine a point on it, goggled. He opened and closed his mouth several times during this diatribe, but either through his stunned disbelief that it was taking place at all, or merely through lack of opportunity to make himself heard, he said nothing. Rose advanced and, raising her hand, thrust her finger into his chest to emphasize her words.

“Now, you listen to me, Thomas Reddinger. You will contact Cornelius Welker, and you will tell him to drop this whole, miserable action.”

Thomas recoiled, as though he feared his wife might bite him. Still immobilized by her unexpected onslaught, he gasped weakly. “But, Rose—just think. We will lose any chance at— that is, I cannot allow Claudia to be so deprived.” As he spoke, he managed to regain some of his former bluster. “I don’t know what’s got into you. Rose, but I won’t have it. You will cease this ridiculous—”

But this time Rose was not cowed.

“If you do not do as I say,” she said with conviction, “I shall appear as a witness for Glenraven’s attorney. I shall testify as to Claudia’s soundness of mind, and I shall reveal the ugly stratagems to which you were reduced.” Once more, she waved her hand over the pearls.

Thomas turned ashen. “Rose,” he quavered. “I—I cannot believe this of you!”

“Believe it,” she replied simply, in a voice of steel. “Claudia and I were never close, and I disapprove of much of what she does, but she is my sister.”

As though that disposed of the matter, she reseated herself in the chair she had vacated earlier. Picking up her embroidery, she bowed her head in her usual pose of submission and resumed her stitching.

Thomas gaped at her, and Jem, who had remained silent during this entire exchange, stifled the grin that sprang to his lips at the man’s expression of stupefied frustration. Feeling that further intervention on his part was unnecessary, he turned and tiptoed from the room, unobserved by the still reeling Thomas.

Shaking his head in wonderment at the unexpected depths displayed by the woman he had previously considered a veritable cipher, Jem went to find Claudia. He discovered her in his study, where she had evidently come in search of him.

She stood at his desk, very pale, with a queer, blind expression in her eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked in quick concern.

She smiled. “Yes, of course. I—I’ve been looking for you. I must—”

“And I for you,” said Jem with a grin. “You’d best sit down, for the news I have to impart will—”

Claudia drew a hasty breath. “No, Jem, this cannot wait. I have something I must tell you.”

Struck by the sound of his first name on her lips, he grasped both her hands and led her to a small settee.

She glanced down at the papers just visible in her clenched hands. She felt weighted down with the pain of what was to come, but she drew a deep breath and looked straight at Jem.

She spoke clearly and calmly as she told him of her discovery of the charred papers tucked in the spine of Milton’s volume of rural poetry. With scarcely a quiver in her voice, she explained how she had reached her decision not to reveal their existence to him. Her recital was brief, and as she reached its conclusion, she held out her open hands to him so that he could receive the list.

He said nothing as he took them from her, but looked at her disbelievingly before lowering his gaze to the grimy little pages. He perused them with great care, while Claudia sat rigidly on the settee, her hands clasped in her lap. With her eyes, she traced the line of his cheek and the strength of his jaw. With her heart, she bade him farewell, and felt herself die inside.

He lifted his head at last.

“This certainly assures the acceptance of my claim to Ravencroft,” he said, his gaze remote and questioning. “You have had it in your possession all this time?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

“I do not understand. You say you felt you had to negotiate your position?” He said the words slowly and awkwardly, as though he were speaking a foreign language.

“Yes.” She whispered the word.

“I don’t understand,” he repeated. “You evidently feel that Ravencroft is mine by right, but you were unwilling to provide the one piece of evidence that would assure my ownership. You thought it necessary to manipulate me.” His eyes had by now taken on the color of a winter sea, and she could no longer meet his gaze.

“I had nowhere to go,” she said, quietly and without self-pity. “My back was virtually against the wall. I had to provide for myself and Aunt Gussie, and this was the only thing I could think of. I understand that you will no longer want me here, and I shall, of course, relieve you of your commitment. You may consider our contract null and void, and I shall be gone by week’s end.”