The Handmaiden's Necklace (18 page)

Danielle prowled the bedchamber, watching the ormolu clock on the white-and-gold marble mantel, secretly wishing she didn’t have to leave the protection of her room. When a knock came at her door, she thought that it must be Caro come to check on her one last time. Instead when she opened the door, the dowager duchess stood in the hallway.

“May I come in?”

“Why, yes, of course, Your Grace.” She stepped back out of the way as her dark-haired mother-in-law swept into the bedchamber. Miriam Saunders wore a gown of burgundy silk studded with brilliants. More stones had been woven into the sleek coronet of braids atop her head and they sparkled against the fine streaks of silver in her hair.

Her gaze took in Dani’s appearance. “You look lovely, my dear. Every inch the duchess you are.”

It was a grand compliment coming from Rafe’s mother. “Thank you.”

“Rafael is waiting for us. I simply wanted you to know how very happy I am to have you in the family.”

She knew she should say how happy she was to be married to Rafe, but the words stuck in her throat. Since the night she had worn the daring emerald satin gown and they had made such passionate love, Rafe had not come to her room. Most nights he went to his club and didn’t return until the early hours of the morning.

“Thank you,” she replied lamely, pasting a smile on her face.

“There is another reason I came to see you.”

“Yes…?”

“The two of you have been married several months now. I thought that perhaps…I was hoping there was a chance you might be with child.”

A knot squeezed in Dani’s chest. She just stood there staring, unable to believe her mother-in-law had broached such a delicate subject.

“I suppose I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure you would have said something yourself. It is just so very important that Rafe have a son.”

Dani glanced off toward the window. Having a child had once been her fondest dream, but it wasn’t going to happen. She felt the unexpected burn of tears but quickly blinked them away before the dowager could see.

“The answer is no. We’ve been married several months but…much of that time we were simply…getting reacquainted.” She hoped the woman didn’t notice the color creeping into her cheeks. The intimacy she shared with
Rafe was hardly a subject she wished to discuss with her mother-in-law.

The duchess merely nodded. “I see…. Well, I hope you won’t mention my meddling to Rafael. He would not appreciate my interference in his affairs.”

Dani wasn’t in favor of it, either. At least in this it seemed they were agreed. “I would never repeat what is said in confidence between us, Your Grace.”

The dowager nodded, satisfied, it seemed. “I suppose we had better go downstairs.” She flicked Danielle a glance. “And you mustn’t worry, dear. I’m sure, in time, everything will all turn out as it should.”

But of course it was never going to turn out as it should. She would never bear Rafe a son and his mother would never forgive her.

Danielle ignored a feeling of despair and followed the dark-haired woman out the door. They passed along the corridor beneath the flickering light of a half-dozen gilt scones and made their way to the head of the stairs.

Rafe paced impatiently at the foot of the stairs. The guests had begun to arrive, and as far as he was concerned, the sooner they got the damned affair under way, the sooner it would be over.

He glanced toward the top of the landing, saw his mother and his wife begin their descent down the sweeping marble staircase. Tonight Danielle wore an elegant sapphire velvet gown, beautifully fitted to her tall, slender frame. A feather plume waved from the fiery red curls pinned up on her head, and her arms were encased in long white gloves.

Though she was dressed not nearly so provocatively as
she had been the night they’d made love, Rafe’s heartbeat quickened. The woman drove him mad with lust. No matter how hard he fought it, the desire he felt for her never seemed to wane.

Only the note he had received yesterday afternoon from Jonas McPhee had kept him from her bed last night, as it would again tonight, no matter how much he wanted her.

According to the message, McPhee had found the man who had stolen the Bride’s Necklace. He had traveled from America aboard a ship called the
Laurel,
which had docked in Liverpool, where the pearls had been discovered. According to the note, the man had been apprehended.

Late on the morrow, McPhee would have returned to London. He had requested a meeting tomorrow night and Rafe was eager to hear what the man had to say. Though there was little information in the note, the tone seemed ominous to Rafe. He couldn’t relax until he knew what had transpired those final days in America before they’d set sail for home.

He looked up to see Danielle walking up beside him and buried the worrisome thoughts.

“You look stunning tonight, Danielle.” He made a very formal bow over her white-gloved hand.

“And you look extraordinarily handsome, Your Grace.”

His eyes found hers and he prayed they held no secrets from him, that the feelings for her that continued to grow would not bring him more pain.

“The guests are beginning to arrive,” he said. “I suppose it’s time we took our places.”

She nodded and smiled, but he thought that her smile looked tight. He imagined how difficult it must be to face
the people who had treated her so badly five years ago—thanks to him—and his protective instincts took over.

He brushed a light kiss over her lips, then whispered in her ear, “You mustn’t worry, love. You’re the Duchess of Sheffield—as you should have been five years ago. After tonight, all of London will accept the fact.”

She swallowed and looked up at him, and he caught the glimmer of tears the instant before she glanced away.

His resolve strengthened. “I’m right here, sweeting. I’m not going to leave you.”
Not ever again
were the words that popped into his head, and in that moment he realized how deeply enamored he was becoming. It frightened him and yet he saw no avenue of escape.

Rafe took a deep breath and braced himself for the long evening ahead.

D
ani rested her hand on the sleeve of Rafe’s dark blue, velvet-collared tailcoat, and his fingers covered hers. He looked so very handsome tonight, his dark hair perfectly combed, his eyes such a vibrant shade of blue. He looked strong, powerful, fearless. But then, he always did.

Ignoring a tremor of awareness as she stood beside him in the receiving line next to the dowager duchess, Danielle squared her shoulders and prepared to face the line of guests streaming into the entry. Halfway down the velvet runner leading up the wide front steps, she spotted Rafe’s two best friends and their wives.

A few minutes later, the couples arrived in the huge, marble-floored entry. A massive stained-glass dome rose overhead. Victoria surveyed the guests from a row of ancient Roman busts perched along the wall.

Tory Easton reached over and caught her hand. “I’m so happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” said Dani.

Ethan and Grace walked in behind them and repeated the
congratulations they had made when they had first heard the news.

“You look wonderful, Danielle,” Grace said. “After tonight, you’ll be the envy of every woman in London.”

“That is kind of you to say,” Danielle replied, though she thought more likely her appearance as Rafael’s wife would simply be fuel for more gossip.

Grace just smiled. “I can see you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”

She didn’t want to be envied. She just wanted to be happy. She looked up at Rafe, saw the bland smile he wore to disguise whatever he was thinking, and bit back an unladylike curse.

“We are meeting again on Thursday night for stargazing,” Grace said. “I hope you will join us.”

“I had a wonderful time last week. I shall make my very best effort.” It had been a marvelous experience and she felt good to be included among Rafe’s friends, to feel as if they were becoming her own.

“Your mother has outdone herself,” the marquess said to Rafe, his ice-blue eyes surveying the potted topiary cut in the shape of a heart that greeted arrivals in the entry. “This should set the
ton
on its ear.”

The receiving rooms of the house and ballroom had been done to mimic a giant conservatory, with miniature lemon trees, begonias, geraniums and an occasional branch of exotic, white-and-purple orchids. Huge pots of bright pink camellias added more color, and in the ballroom, there was even a small reflecting pool, complete with lily pads and goldfish.

Danielle spoke a moment more to Grace and Victoria,
and though Rafe seemed to take it for granted, Danielle was warmed by their friendship and continued support. As the foursome headed up to the ballroom, another handsome couple arrived, the woman blond and fair, the man dark-haired and handsome, and Rafe introduced her to Ethan’s sister, Sarah, and her husband, Jonathan Randall, Viscount Aimes.

The stream of guests continued past and Danielle recognized Lord and Lady Percy Chezwick, Victoria’s sister and husband, who greeted them warmly then also made their way upstairs.

The minutes had begun to drag by the time Aunt Flora arrived. “I was afraid you had decided not to come,” Danielle said, her spirits lifting at the sight of her. “I know you’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Nonsense. A few aches and pains could scarcely keep me away from my only niece’s wedding celebration.” Aunt Flora cast Rafe a glance. “Especially not one so long overdue.”

Faint color rose beneath the bones in Rafe’s cheeks. “Much too long overdue,” he admitted, bowing over her aunt’s gloved hand.

It was an elegant gathering that included members of the
ton
who had traveled back to town especially for the occasion. In the ballroom upstairs, an eight-piece orchestra, dressed in Sheffield light blue livery and wearing powdered wigs, began to play, and partygoers drifted in that direction.

Some of the men set off for a game of whist, hazard, or loo, while others made their way into the sumptuous black-and-gilt China Room, where the aroma of roasted meat and fowl, along with a lavish array of exotic foods, drifted in from linen-draped tables.

Dani had to admit Rafe’s mother had done an outstanding job. She and Rafe joined guests in the ballroom, and little by little, she began to relax. Dancing first with Rafe, she also danced with Ethan and Cord, then began accepting invitations from other of the men. As good as his word, Rafe stayed close at hand, and his presence made it easier to ignore the occasional whispers, or the faintly raised eyebrow of a matron who glanced her way.

She was dancing with Lord Percy when she saw Rafe disappear from the ballroom with a man dressed in the scarlet uniform of an officer of the British Army.

“Good evening, Your Grace.” Colonel Howard Pendleton, a late arrival, walked up to where Rafe stood near the dance floor.

“I’m glad you could make it, Hal.”

The colonel sighed. “I needed a bit of a break. It’s been a long day.”

Rafe arched a dark eyebrow. “Anything to do with the Baltimore Clippers?”

“Everything to do with the bloody damn ships,” Hal said, and since he rarely cursed, Rafe knew the news must be bad.

“I’d like to hear it. How about a brandy downstairs in my study?”

“I could certainly use one.”

“I’d like Ethan to hear what you have to say.”

“Good idea. I think Lord Brant may be interested, as well.”

All three men had worked with Pendleton before. Rafe knew Ethan had been made privy to information about the impressive American-built clippers and what might happen
if a fleet of them were acquired by the French. Rafe and Cord had also discussed the subject.

Glancing over to where Danielle danced with Percival Chezwick, knowing she was safe in the younger man’s hands, he led the way out of the ballroom, pausing only long enough to collect his two friends.

Once they reached his library-study downstairs, Rafe walked straight to the sideboard to pour the colonel a drink.

“Either of you two need a refill?” he asked his friends.

Both men shook their heads, content with the glass each held in his hand. Rafe added a dash of brandy to his own crystal tumbler, then walked over and sat down with the group in front of the fire.

“All right, Colonel, let’s hear it,” Rafe said.

Pendleton took a sip of his drink. “Simply put, the War Office turned down the proposal. They say there is no ship built that poses that strong a threat to His Majesty’s fleet.”

Rafe swore softly.

Ethan got up and paced over to the fire, the slight limp from his days as a privateer barely noticeable. “They’re making a costly mistake—I can tell you that firsthand. When I captained the
Sea Witch,
we were able to outrun our enemies time and again—and sink a goodly number.
Sea Witch
was fast and incredibly maneuverable, which gave us a distinct advantage. From the drawings I’ve seen, the design of the Baltimore Clippers would result in even greater speed and mobility.”

“So what can we do to convince them?” Cord asked, leaning back in a dark green leather chair.

“I wish I knew,” said Pendleton. “The American shipbuilders won’t wait much longer to make a deal. They’ll ex
pect an answer from you, Your Grace. When they don’t receive one, they’ll take the offer made by the French—and line the Dutchman’s already-bulging pockets with even more money.”

“What if we bought them ourselves?” Cord suggested. “Separately, none of us could afford that kind of capital outlay, but if we could put together a group of investors, perhaps we could come up with the money we would need.”

“Unfortunately, the best use of those ships is for military purposes,” Ethan said. “They don’t hold enough cargo to make them profitable for shipping.”

“Buying them ourselves doesn’t really seem feasible,” Rafe agreed, “but perhaps we can stall the Americans a little while longer, time enough to convince our government how important these vessels are.”

“We need them,” Ethan said, “if for no other reason than to keep them out of the hands of the French.”

The colonel sipped his brandy. “It will take two months for a message to reach Baltimore. Let’s keep dangling the carrot in front of them. Suggest a higher dollar amount and tell them we are trying to raise the capital.”

“As you say, it might give us a bit more time,” Cord agreed.

“Yesterday, I spoke to Max Bradley,” the colonel continued. “Bradley says the Dutchman must have sailed not long after you, Rafael. Schrader was recently spotted in France, undoubtedly there trying to conclude his transaction.”

Rafe got up from his chair. “I’ll pen a letter to Phineas Brand tonight.”

Cord and the colonel rose as well and Ethan walked away from the fire to join them.

“Belford Enterprises has a ship sailing for America this week,” Ethan said. “I’ll have the captain carry your message directly to Baltimore and personally see it delivered to Phineas Brand.”

For the first time Pendleton smiled. “Very good. Indeed, if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that the battle isn’t over till it’s over.”

“Here, here!” Cord said.

And each man lifted his glass and took a drink.

“Here comes Rafael.” The dowager duchess’s gaze swung toward the door leading into the ballroom, and Danielle’s gaze followed hers. Rafe had only been gone a few minutes, yet as Danielle watched him approach, she felt a trickle of relief that he had returned.

“Sorry,” he said. “I hope my presence wasn’t missed.”

But she
had
missed him standing there beside the dance floor, watching her so protectively, and it frightened her to think how easily she might fall under his spell again.

“Business?” Dani asked, keeping her tone mild.

“The king’s business.” He studied her face. “Weathering the storm all right?”

“Better than I thought.”

“She’s been marvelous,” the dowager said. “A real trouper. And seeing the two of you together…such a handsome couple. By the morrow, the gossips will be convinced it was a love match.”

A love match.
Once it would have been, Dani thought.

“And they’ll be crucifying Oliver Randall,” her mother-in-law finished, “for the pain he caused you both.”

Dani’s stomach constricted. Just the mention of the man’s name brought a rush of hurtful memories she had tried for years to forget.

“Whatever they say about Oliver is nothing less than he deserves,” Rafe said.

“The man should have been drawn and quartered,” said the dowager, never one to mince words. She gave Danielle a smile, then her gaze moved off toward the blond man sauntering their way a bit unsteadily, the drink in his hand sloshing over the rim of his glass.

The dowager’s smile slid away. “Don’t look now, but your cousin, Arthur, is on his way over.”

“I’m surprised you invited him,” Rafe said.

“I didn’t,” said the dowager.

“I don’t believe I’ve heard you speak of a cousin named Arthur,” Dani said.

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw tightened. “It’s Arthur Bartholomew. And I speak of him as little as possible.”

Rafe’s mother pasted on an artificial smile and turned just as the man walked up. “Well, Artie, dear, what a surprise.”

“I’m sure it is.” He was perhaps a few years younger than Rafe, exceedingly handsome, with the Sheffield cleft in his chin and the family blue eyes, though with his pale complexion and wheat-blond hair, they were not nearly so remarkable as Rafe’s.

Arthur made the duchess a rather sloppy bow, spilling several more drops of his drink, and Dani realized he wasn’t just slightly drunk, he was completely foxed.

“Hello, Artie,” Rafe said, and she noticed the harsh note in his voice.

“Ah, Rafael…back from your trip to the wild American
colonies. And this must be your lovely bride.” He bowed deeply over her hand, and she held her breath that he didn’t topple squarely on his face. But Arthur seemed used to his precarious state of inebriation and stood unsteadily upright. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, duchess.”

“You, as well, Mr. Bartholomew.”

“Please…you must call me Artie. We’re all family now.” His smile remained in place, but there was an insolence in his eyes Dani didn’t like. His pale blue gaze raked her as if she were a piece of meat, and a corner of his mouth curled up.

“A fine choice, cousin,” he said to Rafe. “A sturdy pair of hips wide enough for childbearing, and certainly pleasing enough to the eye to keep a man interested long after she conceives. Very well done, old chap.”

Rafe’s big hand shot to the front of Arthur’s coat, and he yanked the man up off his feet. “You weren’t invited here, Arthur. By your vulgarity, you have again proved exactly the reason. Now get out—before I personally toss you out on your ear.”

Rafe let go of Arthur’s coat so abruptly the blond man staggered and nearly fell. Rafe signaled to a footman near the door, and he shouldered his way over to where the group stood.

“Show Mr. Bartholomew to the door, Mr. Cooney, will you?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” The footman was large and he glowered at Arthur Bartholomew in a manner that warned what would happen if he failed to leave the ballroom.

Arthur straightened his tailcoat and combed back his blond hair. “Have a good evening, all.” Turning, he weaved
his way toward the door, the footman close behind him. They disappeared out into the hallway, and the tightness in Rafael’s jaw slowly eased.

“I apologize for my cousin. He can be quite a nuisance when he is drunk—which he is most of the time.”

The dowager sighed and shook her head. “I can’t abide that man. Not only is he a drunk, in two years’ time, he has squandered every cent of his inheritance. He gambles in excess, and even fritters away the generous monthly stipend he receives. Even the remote possibility that fool might become the next Duke of Sheffield is more than I can bear.”

Dani blinked and looked up at Rafe’s mother. “You are not saying that Arthur Bartholomew is in line for the Sheffield title?”

The dowager let out a sigh. “I am extremely aggrieved to say that is so. Until Rafael has a son to carry on the family name, our fortunes are not safe.”

Dani’s chest squeezed. She suddenly felt light-headed. Her face, she knew, must have turned the color of chalk.