‘A golden fob with some kind of seal on it.
Apparently, he is a collector.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I know. And it’s a
French
fob,’ Hester
looked at Grace, her lips slightly pursed. ‘Does that not seem a
little odd to you?’
‘A French… What is it you are thinking? That
Lovington is a French sympathizer?’
‘Would it surprise you?’
‘Not at all,’ Grace said with feeling, ‘but
it does rather complicate our situation?’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, if Lovington is a French spy of some
kind, then whatever he is after - this fob - must be significant.
Would you not agree?’
Hester blanched. ‘You think we should tell
Porter.’
‘I cannot see how it can be avoided. He
needs to know about Lovington.’
‘Then all of this has been for nothing!’
Hester half wailed.
‘Shh. Don’t worry about it now. You are not
going to secure this thing for him so there is no danger that he
will be able to use it, but we cannot allow a man like Lovington to
continue on with whatever he is doing.’ Neither lady could imagine
what that might be.
‘I don’t suppose we can,’ Hester sighed,
‘but at the end of it all, I have a horrible notion that Porter
will find out about the whole affair and I will be in as much
trouble as if I had told him to begin with.’
Grace squeezed her friend's elbow, just as
she caught sight of Morvyn approaching, carrying two glasses of
lemonade. ‘We will discuss it with Bertie back at your house.’
‘Pray God he has that necklace! It would not
surprise me in the least if Lovington did something spiteful, just
to upset things.’
‘There is nothing about that man that would
surprise me,’ Grace agreed softly. Her heart had lifted at the
approach of Morvyn. It seemed to be doing that a lot, lately. She
accepted a glass of lemonade with a smile.
There was, she acknowledged, a great deal
that she needed to think about, some of it rather urgent. What to
do about Lovington, had Bertie managed to retrieve the Woodward
necklace, how was Lovington going to deal with the knowledge that
his best blackmailing tool had gone missing?
Somehow, all of that faded away the moment
Morvyn came into Grace’s orbit. She tried to control her face,
prayed that she was not smiling like a simpleton, but very much
feared she was.
It was impossible not to. Somehow, Grace
acknowledged with an inward sigh of resignation, she had gone and
fallen in love. It was hard to know what to think about such an
extraordinary occurrence, but the one thing she refused to do was
question it too closely. Not now. Not when she might be on the edge
of something that felt so wonderful. It was hard not to make
comparisons with her first relationship, her marriage to Justin.
She had thought the world of him. She had admired him, laughed with
him, had been his companion, in most things, but the feelings she
had for Morvyn were completely different.
Grace’s heart had never skipped a beat when
Justin had walked in the room and while their lovemaking had been
perfectly satisfactory, it had not set her on fire. The marquis set
her ablaze so completely she half expected to see sparks fly when
he touched her.
It was almost like being in love for the
very first time.
It was divine.
He accompanied them home at midnight, seeing
them to the door. Conscious that her cousin would likely be inside,
Hester did not invite him in, claiming tiredness, but he was
perfectly amiable, merely taking Grace’s hand and raising it to his
lips. Her breath stuttered when he turned it, pressing a kiss on
the small hollow behind her wrist, the exact place where a pulse
fluttered with excitement.
She watched him walk away, conscious of
Hester’s eyes. ‘I know what you are going to say and I do not
care.’
‘I do believe my staid Grace has fallen in
love.’
‘I have no idea what I have fallen into,’
Grace said with a slow smile as they shed their cloaks and gloves,
‘but I find I like it.’
‘And so you should. I never
imagined that our dear Morvyn would prove to be so… so
ardent
. It has quite
astonished me.’ She looked at Marsh. ‘Is my cousin
here?’
‘Yes, m’lady. In the yellow drawing room.
There is a fire.’
‘Thank you. Could we have hot chocolate
please? A jug, just in case Bertie does not turn his nose up at
it.’
They found Bertie in the yellow parlor,
playing cards. Beside him was a plate on which was left only
crumbs. Clearly he had been making himself at home. Hester hurried
forward eagerly. ‘Did you get it?’
‘Well, there’s a nice greeting. I’ve been
kicking my heels here for over an hour.’
‘And I bless you for it, but did you get
it?’
Bertie picked up a leather satchel. Reaching
inside, he drew out the lacquered black box. ‘Naturally.’
‘You did not open it?’
‘I was waiting for you to arrive.’
Grace and Hester had taken a seat and now
each of the women was eyeing the box eagerly.
‘Well, don’t keep us in suspense,’ Grace
urged, ‘please open it Bertie.’
He picked up the knife that had been lying
beside his plate and inserted the tip beneath the lid, prying it
open. Lifting the lid, he looked inside, then looked at Hester, his
face wearing a look of almost comical dismay.
‘What?’ Hester whispered. ‘Is it my…?’
Bertie held the box up. Inside was a
necklace, it was true, but it wasn’t the Woodward necklace. Instead
of a fine teardrop sapphire displayed in a cluster of diamonds, a
cheap paste imitation with garish glass baubles sat inside,
glinting dully in the light, a mockery of the genuine article.
Lord Lovington had fooled them all.
They were no nearer to possessing the
Woodward necklace now than they had been a week ago.
Chapter Nine
‘Oh, that
odious
man,’ Grace said,
staring at the cheap imitation. She was incensed. ‘He must have
known we would try and get the necklace back!’
‘But what am I going to
do
now
,’ Hester
demanded, tears forming in her eyes. She had been depending on
getting it back, especially with the threat of a ball looming. She
simply had to be wearing the Woodward necklace at her own ball or
Porter would want to know why.
Bertie picked up the tawdry piece inside the
box in disgust and shook his head. ‘I should have just drawn the
fellows cork for him from the beginning. Disgusting little toad.
Man’s a wrong ‘un. I mean, he even has a valet who's French. What’s
the matter with an English valet, hey?’
‘Never mind what his valet is. I fail to see
how it signifies.’ Hester rose and began pacing the room, wringing
her hands together. ‘What are we to do now?’
Grace was eyeing Bertie, however. ‘How do
you know Lovington’s valet is French?’
‘Heard him, didn’t I? Damn near sprung me
when I was heading out of the library.’
Grace was frowning at Bertie. A French
valet. ‘Hester, I really think we need to tell Porter.’
‘But he’ll be furious!’
‘He’ll be disappointed, but you know
perfectly well that he’ll forgive you.’
Hester turned to stare at her desperately.
‘Just a few more days. Perhaps we will think of another way.’
‘Don’t see what else
we
can
do,’ Bertie
said. ‘If I’m not allowed to have a chat with the fellow. Lady
Pemberton is right, Hester. Tell Porter.’
‘A few more days. Perhaps… perhaps something
will turn up.’
An hour after Bertie had left them to it,
Grace and Hester retired, both in the doldrums. Talk about it as
they may, neither lady could think of anything that might secure
them the Woodward necklace.
I wonder what Morvyn would
suggest
, Grace thought, just before she
drifted off to sleep. Morvyn was familiar with the political
situation within France. He was Porter’s closest friend and, by
association, he must be considered Hester’s friend as well. And
there seemed no doubt now that Lovington was involved in something
highly unsavory, something about which they really needed to tell
someone. All this nonsense about him wanting something of Porter’s.
It did not take a genius to realize that his desire for such an
object must be questionable.
I wonder if I can get
Hester to agree to talk to Morvyn. He has such good sense.
And Grace smiled sleepily at her sudden preference
for a man who, quite honestly, had turned her preconceptions upside
down. He had said that he would call on the morrow and she was
already anticipating it with an eagerness that befitted a debutante
awaiting their first serious beau, but a part of Grace felt like a
debutante. Something about this relationship felt new and exciting.
He made her feel… so alive.
Tomorrow. Perhaps she could convince Hester
that, if she would not tell Porter, then confiding in Morvyn was
their best option. For Morvyn would know how to manage things. She
knew he would.
When Grace suggested it the next morning,
Hester vacillated between agreement and refusal, frequently within
the space of a minute.
‘Oh Lord, he will think me a complete
fool.’
‘He will help us. You know he will.’
‘But he is Porter’s friend.’
‘All the more reason to tell him. As
Porter’s friend he must necessarily want the best for Porter’s
wife. Honestly, Hester, I cannot see another way. Can you?’
Truthfully, Hester could not. She had
experienced a very restless nights sleep, as the shadowed hollows
beneath her eyes attested. For once, she had been grateful that her
husband was away.
By mid-morning, Grace had had enough. ‘Come
along,’ she said briskly, interrupting another bout of feverish
speculation. ‘It is sunny for the first time in days. We are going
for a walk.’
‘I don’t want to go for a walk.’
‘Nevertheless, we need to put some color in
those cheeks before that husband of yours comes home this
evening.’
It was enough to convince Hester. Both
ladies changed into walking dresses and, with their maids in tow,
prepared to take some air. ‘Hyde Park, I think.’
‘Must we? All of London will be out in this
weather.’
‘Excellent,’ Grace said bracingly. ‘It will
take your mind of things.’
It was obvious that Hester wasn’t sure if
she wanted her mind taken off things, but she came along anyway. It
helped that she could give her dressmaker’s latest creation an
airing. The deep blue walking dress of figured muslin had a high
collar offset with a small ruff of Belgian lace, which was echoed
around the wrists of the long sleeves. It was an elegant creation
and she cheered up a little when Grace admired it.
‘It
is
pretty, isn’t it? I do think Madam
Picard is a marvel.’
Grace wore green, with a darker green
pelisse over the top, also most becoming, but then, Hester had
always said that her friend had an even better eye for fashion than
Lady Jersey. After a brisk ten minutes Hester sighed and gave Grace
a rueful smile. It really was very pleasant and the sun was
delicious after long days trapped indoors.
They turned onto one of the many paths in
the park and slowed down, falling into a decorous walk, as befitted
a lady, their maids trailing several steps behind. As Hester had
predicted, the finer weather had brought out a lot of people and
they nodded politely to acquaintances, occasionally stopping to
exchange pleasantries as they went. Grace was relieved to see some
of the tension leach out of her friend. She intended to speak to
Morvyn that afternoon and wished that Hester would have a more
positive outlook when she did so. The knowledge that Lovington was
probably gathering information for Bonaparte was far from
surprising, there was very little about the man that Grace would
not have believed possible, but knowledge of his activities must be
passed on and the sooner the better.
This was no longer some obnoxious man taking
pleasure in a poor female’s foolishness. Lovington was a far more
devious creature than that.
She would speak to the marquis when he came
to see her and tell him what had occurred. The very idea of telling
Morvyn anything, the very idea of seeing him, made her heart skip
like a spring lamb and decided she was either moonstruck or mad.
Either way, she was beyond caring.
Unfortunately, all of Grace’s good work in
lifting Hester’s spirits was undone when they encountered the man
who had been occupying their attention far too much of late. They
had paused to exchange greetings with Lady Brunton, who was out
walking a portly pug of quite extraordinary ugliness when a voice,
hatefully familiar, spoke from just behind them.
‘I do believe there isn’t a house in London
that is currently occupied,’ Lovington drawled. ‘Everybody has
turned out to enjoy this delightful spring day.’
Grace’s heart sank, but she turned, a smile
on her lips to greet the man. ‘Lord Lovington. Enjoying the
air?’
‘I am, although I confess it is rather early
for me.’ He bowed to their group, eyes travelling from face to
face. ‘I am generally still abed at this hour, but the most
distressing occurrence happened last night and it quite disturbed
my rest.’
Grace felt Hester stiffen beside her, but
she did not let her smile falter. Damn the man, he was out for some
sport. ‘Indeed, sir? Whatever happed?’
‘It seems that I was robbed.’
‘Good heavens!’ Lady Brunton said,
horrified. ‘What was taken?’
‘Very little. Apparently the thief focused
on the library.’ While he said the words, those flat black eyes
rested on Hester who stood very still beside Grace.