The Conquest of Lady Cassandra (34 page)

“No, she says she bought them at a pawnbroker.”

His father looked at him, surprised. “Does she? It is possible, I suppose. I would rather not think she took advantage here, and helped herself. The idea of that makes me sad.”

Yates leaned forward with his arms on his knees. He caught his father’s eye. “Is it possible that she neither stole them nor bought them? Is it possible that Grandfather gave them to her?”

It took his father a few moments to absorb the implication. He struggled to sit upright. The effort and his anger made him red in the face again. “No, it is
not
possible. My father hardly knew her, and he did not have affairs of any kind and did not approve of men who did. If you start one of your tasteless investigations into him, you will come up empty-handed, I assure you. Oh yes, I know about that disgraceful avocation of yours. I forbid you to subject this family to such common meddling and the vicious gossip it engenders.”

It was as close to a row as they had come in the last few
months. The earl’s indignation looked set to expand even more.

“I expected the answer you gave. However, it was a possibility that I had to inquire about. Remember that you are the one who charged me with finding out how the jewels went missing.”

“I told you to find the thief, not have flights of imagination about your grandfather, of all men. With your marriage, you want to think the best of the aunt. I understand that. Let us accept the explanation of the pawnbroker and leave it there.” He sighed deeply and seemed to exhale his agitation. He closed his eyes. “Yes, I think that is the kind thing to do all around.”

“Do you want to rest? My other questions can wait.”

“There is more?”

“Quite a bit more.”

Did he imagine that the eyes that peered at him looked more wary than tired? “Best have it out now, then. One never knows about tomorrow, eh?”

“That odd property on the coast—the land with the contestable title—is on the list of locations for the government’s new defenses. The rents will be significant.”

“The government will never lease land that is not clear. You did not pull strings for this, did you? If so, you wasted your time.”

“I did not. Someone else did. Barrowmore.”

His father went still. The entire chamber did.

“That is odd,” his father said.

“Isn’t it? I have to think that Barrowmore thinks to profit somehow. That probably means that his family has the other deed. Don’t you agree?”

His father looked out the window for a ten count before nodding.

“It is strange that two pieces of property that left this estate mysteriously ended up in the possession of my wife’s family. A logical mind has to assume it was not a coincidence. I am
asking you as your son and heir to tell me how it happened, Father.”

His father did not return his gaze. Instead, he stared sightlessly with a slack expression.

“I did not know about the jewels,” he finally said. “The property, yes. He gave it to her. Your grandfather gave it to Sophie. Tied it up in some trust or other, so she gets the income until I die, then title passes to her and her heirs.”

“So there was an affair after all.”

“There was not any affair, I tell you.”

“It is the only explanation. He may not have admitted it to you, and he may have gone to his grave with his reputation for high morals intact, but gifts of jewels and property to a woman normally mean one thing. Hell, is the Highburton name so sacred that you would let me accuse a woman of being a thief rather than admit your father was fallible?”

“I tell you that I did not know about the jewels. I still do not know if they were a gift too.”

Of course they were. His father was being as stubborn on this as he had been during all those old arguments. He refused to accept the obvious because his rigid view of living would necessitate damning his own father.

“Nor, despite your certainty to the contrary, was there an affair between them,” his father said again.

Of course there was.

“Ask her, if you think my memory and judgment is ruled by blind sentiment. She will tell you.”

He planned to.

He had learned what he needed to know. He stood. His father looked up at him.

“I did not expect you to be so thorough, Yates. I only counted on getting your attention for a while, so you were not ignorant when it all went to you.”

“I have enjoyed being thorough, and learning the details about the estate from you.”

“You will probably still vote with the damned Whigs when you get the title.”

“Quite likely. Do not blame yourself, however. It is a perversion of my character that you did your best to correct.”

His father chuckled lowly while he pulled his robe closer.

“The breeze has cooled. I will close the window.” Yates went over and shut the casement. “Does my music bother you when you are resting? I realized today that you can probably hear it if this window is open. My chambers are above. I was inconsiderate not to think of that.”

“It does not bother me. It is pleasant, and often useful. I never understood all that poetic foolishness about music. I find it is good for clear thinking, myself, not emotional excess. You will think me coldhearted to say so.”

Yates turned to look at him. “Not at all. If you ever require clear thinking, let me know, and I will play for you.”

His father waved dismissively. “Your mother says you do not like to perform. I’ll enjoy what comes through that window there, when it comes.”

Yates paused behind the big chair as he walked out. He rested his hand on his father’s shoulder. “It is true that I do not like to perform for audiences, but I will gladly play for
you
.”

His father reached up, squeezed his hand, then patted it like a father comforting a boy.

“W
hat is this place?” Ambury asked. He eyed the blue door, then looked left and right at the mix of common people passing them on the lane. This was not a fashionable neighborhood at all, and Cassandra hoped he would not scold about her coming here in the past.

“It is hard to explain,” she said. “It is a home, and also a refuge, and also a place of business. Come and I will show you.”

She brought him to the door and sounded the knocker.
Voices from within floated through the open window nearby. Ambury heard them and raised an eyebrow.

“French.”

“Yes, mostly.”

A thick elderly woman opened the door. Without a word, she turned. Cassandra followed with Ambury at her side. They stepped into the house’s dining room, only it was not used for eating.

Rows of tables filled the space. Women sat at them with sheets of paper and saucers filled with colors at hand. Brushes and rags dipped and dapped.

Ambury angled his head to examine one of the papers on the table near them. “They are coloring engravings for the print trade.”

Some of the women were young, and others looked quite old, but most were of middle years. Many wore garments that had gone out of fashion in recent years, with fitted bodices and full skirts. A few even sported wigs, although the powder had turned stale and yellow.

“They are émigrés, of course,” Cassandra said. “Women of good birth, mostly. They come here and earn a few shillings to keep body and soul together. A few live here, but most do not.”

“You put your aunt here? There is not a man to be seen. This is hardly safer than Southwaite’s home, or that of my parents.”

“My brother would never find this place. If he did, he would never be allowed to enter. These women know how to protect themselves, and each other.”

Ambury did not look convinced. He eyed the tables, and the heads bowed over them.

A low chatter filled the space, and occasional laughter. The women seemed to enjoy the work and the chance to gossip and chat.

A door at the far end of the chamber opened, and Marielle Lyon entered, carrying another stack of engravings.
She handed them out to women who had finished their last ones, pausing to bend her delicate face close to inspect some of the work.

Cassandra caught her eye and gestured. Marielle set down her stack and came toward them. She too dressed in the old style, and ink stains marred the torn lace at her elbows. Even so, she possessed an enviable, ethereal elegance.

“That is Marielle Lyon,” Cassandra said to Ambury. “She is a friend of Emma’s.”

“I have heard of her. Is this her home?”

“I do not know if she owns it. She does live here. She certainly is the queen here.”

Marielle greeted Cassandra with a kiss, then appraised Ambury while Cassandra introduced them. “You are alone?” she asked. “The other one is not with you?”

“She means Kendale,” Cassandra said. “He had taken to following her around town some months ago. She noticed at once. Didn’t you, Marielle?”

“I am heartened to hear that my friend had the good sense to admire your beauty, although he should not have followed you like that.”

“It was not
l’amour
. He thought I was a spy.” The pitches of her accent made the statement charming.

Ambury turned on his own charm. “And are you one?”

“Since you are his friend, I will let you wonder too. It amuses me.” She half turned, and stretched out an elegant finger. “You aunt is back there, Cassandra. She is most industrious, and enjoys sitting with Madame Chardin. They gossip about dead friends.”

Cassandra spied Aunt Sophie. She wore a white cap that covered her crown, and an apron over her floral-patterned dress. The woman next to her said something, and Sophie threw back her head and laughed.

Ambury joined her as she walked between the tables in that direction.

Aunt Sophie looked up in surprise when they reached
her. She said something to her companion in French, then smiled. “You are just in time for the most delicious story about Mademoiselle O’Murphy and that infamous painting Boucher did of her. Madame says the king insisted that all his women rouge their bottoms and that explains that rosy hue in the center of her derriere in the picture. And here I always assumed it was Boucher’s lack of good taste.”

“Damnation,” Ambury whispered. “We forgot the rouge.”

Cassandra stepped on his boot toe, hard. “Aunt Sophie, we would like to talk to you and explain what is afoot on your behalf.”

“Of course. Marielle will not mind if we seek privacy in the kitchen, I am sure.” She spoke to Madame Chardin, then stood and led the way out of the chamber. “Such a lovely child that O’Murphy girl was. Madame Chardin says that she survived it all, shrewd little Irish minx that she was.”

The kitchen afforded some privacy. Cassandra sat with Sophie at the rustic table. Ambury stood.

Cassandra explained Ambury’s petition to Chancery, and the other efforts on her behalf. “Ambury has let a house,” Cassandra finished. “As soon as we move there, we will bring you to live with us. Until then—”

“Until then, it would be better if you came to my family’s home,” Ambury said.

Cassandra frowned at him. That was not what she had planned at all.

“I would prefer to remain here,” Sophie said. “I have been safe, and I am not intruding.”

Ambury looked at her very directly. “Would staying there discomfort you?”

“Not at all. I merely prefer being here.”

Silence descended. Sophie and Ambury had eyes only for each other. Not the friendliest eyes either.

“Aunt Sophie, about the diamond earrings,” Cassandra began, dreading the accusation she was about to imply. “You said that you bought them at a pawnbroker, but were very
vague. I need you to tell us exactly how you came to possess them.”

Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but Ambury interrupted again. “They were a gift, were they not? From a member of my family.”

Confused, Cassandra looked from her husband to her aunt and back again.

Aunt Sophie gave Ambury a good examination, taking his measure in all ways. “Yes, now that you remind me, they were a gift.”

“They were?”
Cassandra blurted. “From whom?”

“It would be a betrayal of trust for me to say.”

Ambury did not appear surprised by that answer. Cassandra could barely contain her astonishment.

“It was not the only gift,” Ambury said. “I believe there was some property as well.”

Sophie hesitated but gave up with a sigh. “There was. Some is in trust, and I receive the income from the rents. Then there is my house—”

“Your house?”
Cassandra exclaimed. “You have had that for years. Forever. I thought my father bought that for you.”

Sophie reached over and patted her face. “Be calm, dear. Your father gave me money instead. I chose to use it to travel once I had the house and the rents, along with the portion from my mother, to ensure my keep.” She turned to Ambury. “So you have discovered that your family was generous to me. You should not bother yourself with such old business. As Cassandra says, it was forever ago.”

“I appreciate your tolerating my questions, so there are no ambiguities to the estate. As you say, it was forever ago, and there is no reason to pursue it further.”

Cassandra itched to pursue it a lot further. She thought she would burst from the questions galloping through her head.

Ambury finally sat down. He smiled at Aunt Sophie. Suddenly, he oozed charm.

“I have reason to think that Barrowmore will make another try for you. It is wise to accept Highburton’s house as sanctuary. I know that my mother will welcome you.”

“Do you now? Gerald has become an insolent bother. I should tell his father about him, so he can be put in his place.”

Cassandra glanced askance at Ambury. She took her aunt’s hand. “Gerald is the earl now, Aunt Sophie. Father cannot help you. Only Ambury can.”

Sophie’s gaze sharpened on Ambury. “You are not really giving me a choice about where I live now, are you?”

“Not if you want my protection.”

Sophie made a little sniff of resentment. “Then I must obey, since I am in need of someone’s protection after all these years. I will collect my belongings, such as they are, and trust your word that Elinor will not find me an embarrassment or a burden.”