Special nails.” She hurried out of the room.
“Rushing away?” Van said. “You would be welcome to stay. I saw you gazing soulfully into Miss Greystone’s eyes.”
Hawk threw him a scathing look, though he’d created that moment of contact for precisely that effect. To alert others, especially other men. To put his mark on her.
“Perhaps I’m fleeing soulfulness,” he said.
“She seems charming.”
“She’s a minx.”
“A charming minx, then. There’s nothing wrong with marriage, Hawk. I recommend it. And Miss Greystone would be an excellent choice. I hear she’s quite an heiress.”
“You think I need to marry for money, too?”
The “too” made it a jab at his friend, who had married a very rich woman. It was deliberate. Hawk didn’t want Van digging into these matters.
Van leaned against the table, completely unruffled. “Running scared?”
“Running cautiously. I hardly know the chit, so why the talk of marriage?”
“I’m like a convert. Ardent to recruit new disciples.”
Hawk laughed. “I’m delighted to see you happy, Van, but it isn’t my path at the moment. Can you imagine me bringing a bride home to Hawkinville Manor, to live among the incessant skirmishing between me and my father?”
“Tricky, I grant you.”
“And I must stay there until the squire recovers strength enough to run the estate.”
He hadn’t told anyone about the squire’s title, or about the threat to Hawk in the Vale. The title was an absurdity, and he hoped to block the threat. At the back of his mind was the thought that if desperate he could apply to Van and Maria for a loan to pay off Slade.
Twenty thousand pounds?
When on earth could he repay a sum like that? And he doubted Maria now had much money to spare.
Hawk knew that she’d been returning money to people her first husband had cheated, and giving generously to charities for veterans because Maurice Celestin had made profits from shoddy military supplies. With the extensive renovations to Steynings, cash was probably in short supply.
More than that, however, he didn’t want to admit what he was doing to try to get the Deveril money.
Though he could justify it, he didn’t want anyone to know what he was up to with the heiress.
“I hope you can take time for frequent visits here, at least,” Van said equably. “Con and Susan are speaking of joining us for a few days.”
“Of course.”
Hawk was spared more conversation when Maria came in with a satchel over one shoulder and a leather bag in her arms. “The nails are rather heavy, I’m afraid.”
He took the bag, pretending that his knees buckled under the weight. “Centaur will never make it home.”
She chuckled. “If I can importune, the carpenter is waiting for them. The decorative heads are part of the design.”
“I’ll get them there this evening.”
“And you’ll be back soon, I hope,” she said with a wide, friendly smile. Remarkable, when he’d done his best at one point to turn Van away from her.
“In pursuit of Miss Greystone, perhaps?” she teased.
“After a fashion,” said Hawk, and escaped.
Miss Hurstman was everything she claimed. Despite her unfashionable appearance and brusque manner, she led Clarissa and Althea neatly into the very heart of Brighton’s fashionable world. Clarissa went with delight, savoring her dreamed-for season like a fine wine. She would have been in heaven if not for her secrets and the worry about Major Hawkinville. He had returned to his home, but he had promised to ask for a dance at the next assembly at the Old Ship.
She knew she should hope never to see him again, but the thought of another encounter was like the last cream cake on the plate.
She couldn’t resist.
He couldn’t really be a danger, she rationalized. He wanted her fortune. Why would he spend time poking around in stale matters of a year ago?
And, she realized, if he wanted her fortune, he would do nothing to upset the situation. Nicholas Delaney had also said that the truth about Deveril’s death could make her ineligible to inherit.
Relieved, she flung herself into every day, her circle of acquaintance constantly growing. Word was out that she was the Devil’s Heiress, but this did not seem to have reduced her appeal. Instead she found herself something of a curiosity, and a lodestone for nearly every unmarried man, along with his mother and sisters.
As common wisdom said, Money will always buy friends.
There were also true friends, however. Althea, of course, but also Miriam Mosely, and Florence Babbington of the famous brother. Unfortunately he was now married and fixed in Hertfordshire, so she couldn’t find out whether his manly orbs still stirred her to poetry.
Even Lord and Lady Vandeimen were friends of a sort, for they always came over to speak to her, and Clarissa and her party had been invited to take tea with Lady Vandeimen one day.
Clarissa understood that this was probably because their friend would like to marry her money, but she didn’t mind.
Now, however, with the night of the assembly here at last, she teetered on the brink of something thrilling.
As Elsie assisted her with her lovely eau de nil silk evening dress, Clarissa tried to disguise the shivers of excitement and nerves that seemed to be skittering over her skin.
It was very strange. Perhaps she was addicted to Major Hawkinville as people were said to become addicted to opium. Miss Mallory had arranged lectures for the girls from Doctor Carlisle on the dangers of the overuse of laudanum. He had described in awful detail the progression of the dependency, so that in the end the addict could not resist the drug, even knowing that it held destruction, in part because of the terrible physical suffering of withdrawal.
But after two—no, three—meetings?
The addict also, according to Doctor Carlisle, lost interest in all other aspects of life. A mother would neglect her child. A father would neglect his work. Even nourishing food and drink were unimportant to the person ruled by opium.
Clarissa bit her lip on a laugh. She wasn’t so far gone as that. She had taken a second helping of Mrs.
Taddy’s jam pudding this evening, and she was enjoying all aspects of this stay in Brighton. Her unsteadiness now was simply that this would be her first grand affair here, her first trial before society en masse.
London didn’t count. In London, Lord Deveril had not wanted her to go to any event unless he was with her.
Her dress, at least, was perfect. The subtly colored silk skimmed her curves and exposed just enough of her bosom to be interesting. The delicate gold-thread embroidery shimmered in the evening light. It would be magical under candles. Her hair looked as pretty as possible, and the bandeau of gold and pearls set it off very well.
Thank heavens for Miss Hurstman.
There had been no jewelry in Lord Deveril’s possession, and Clarissa owned only a few valueless pieces. It was not a matter she had thought of. Miss Hurstman had, however, and had sent an urgent message to the Duke of Belcraven. A messenger had soon arrived with a selection of items.
None of them were precious, which was a great relief. Clarissa would have hated to risk losing an heirloom. They were all lovely, however. The gold filigree set with seed pearls went perfectly with her gown. She’d offered Althea her pick, but Althea had insisted on wearing only her own very simple pearl pendant and earrings.
Clarissa looked at her friend and sighed with satisfaction. In a pure white dress, stripped down to simple lines, and adorned only by her beauty, Althea would outshine every other woman present tonight and have every available man on his knees by tomorrow. She was sure of it.
She held out her gloved hand to her friend. “Onward to our adventure!”
Their hackney coach rolled up to the Old Ship Inn, which stretched along the seafront, every window illuminated to welcome the guests. The stream of people was continuous, the men in dark evening wear or uniforms, the ladies a rainbow of silk, lace, and jewels. All of fashionable Brighton would be here, and excitement danced in the air on a drifting melange of perfume.
Clarissa pulled up the hood of her cloak to protect her coiffure from the brisk wind and stepped down from the coach. She worked hard to keep her smile at a suitably subdued level, but excitement was bubbling up in her like water in a hot pot. Her first true ball, and already she had promised dances to five men! Althea would never sit one out unless from exhaustion. It would be a splendid evening.
She caught Miss Hurstman’s eye on her and tried to rein in her smile even more, but her dragon said, “
Enjoy yourself. Though everyone puts on an air of boredom, it’s a pleasure to be with people prepared to admit to a little excitement.”
Clarissa set her smile free, this time at Miss Hurstman. Her liking and admiration for the woman grew day by day. It was so typical that her dress for this grand event was only slightly more festive than her daywear—a maroon gown and a very plain matching turban. Clarissa was reveling in fine clothes, but she relished the fact that Miss Hurstman did not care, and did not care what anyone else thought about that.
Quite possibly, she thought, as she entered the brilliantly lit hotel, she would be like Miss Hurstman one day. A crusty spinster who did and said exactly as she wished. But not yet, not yet. Tonight was for youth, and excitement, and even, perhaps, a little judicious folly.
Major Hawkinville had asked her to go apart with him on the Steyne. What would she do if he made the same invitation tonight, at the assembly?
If he was here.
He’d said he would be, but until she saw him…
She tried not to show it, but as she looked around, enjoying the company and acknowledging acquaintances, she was looking, looking, looking for Major Hawkinville.
Then she saw him enter, smiling at something said by one of his companions—the Vandeimens and another couple. He wore perfect dark evening clothes, but a blue cravat the color of his eyes was a playful touch that made her want to run over to him to tease. Then he laughed and raised the second woman’s hand to his lips for a hotly flirtatious kiss.
A surge of pure fury hit Clarissa, but then the woman laughed too, rapping his arm hard with her fan, and it was clear that she was with the other man and no threat.
Clarissa realized that she’d been staring and looked hastily away, praying that no one had noticed. But, oh, she hoped he would kiss her hand that way.
She couldn’t help it. She had to glance back. He and his party were approaching!
They were all still in the spacious entry area, for Miss Hurstman had paused to speak to someone, but all around, guests were flowing toward the ballroom. The major and his friends had to navigate the stream.
It was only when they arrived that Clarissa realized that she had watched him all the way. Immediately she decided she didn’t care. She didn’t know how to play sophisticated games, and she didn’t enjoy them, so she wouldn’t.
Hawk approached Clarissa Greystone with increasing concern. It was no good. Time away had not altered anything. He could not see her as a disguised villainess.
Look at her now! Beneath the Ship’s chandeliers, she sparkled and shone, but it wasn’t light on gold and embroidery, it was unabashed excitement. She was innocently, honestly delighted to be here and anticipated a magical evening.
That, surely, couldn’t be faked.
As he crossed the lobby smiling, he was rapidly rearranging the pieces in his mind.
She was someone’s innocent dupe, and that someone would plan to get the money back somehow.
How?
By marriage, or by inheritance.
Theft was a possibility, but as dangerous as the original crimes. Gaming was another, but not until she left her minority and was in independent control of her money.
He almost paused in his step. That would explain that strange provision of the will that put a fortune in her hands at twenty-one. An unpredictable device, however. Who was to say she would become a rash gambler? And who could say that she wouldn’t marry before she reached twenty-one and have a husband to control her? In fact, it was highly likely.
Marriage? Illogical to put the money in her hands, then plan to marry it, especially as no one seemed to have made any attempt to secure her affections during the past year.
Inheritance, then. But Deveril’s will stated that if Clarissa died before her majority her family should have no right to the money and it should go to the Middlesex Yule Club.
That was an absurdity, out of keeping with what he’d learned of Deveril, unless it was a cover for some depraved enterprise. In his week in London, he’d failed to find any trace of such an organization.
His main emotion, however, was a chill fear.
Inheritance necessitated death.
It was only as he introduced Con and his wife to Clarissa’s party that he remembered there was another way to get the money from her—by proving the will false and being Deveril’s default heir.
The course he was pursuing.
It didn’t threaten her life, but seeing her here, shining with the pleasure of this wealthy, privileged life, he suspected that it was close.
Hawk in the Vale, he reminded himself. All the people of Hawk in the Vale, not to mention his own dreams, hinged upon this. He would take care of her, though. She would not be abandoned to the cruelty of the world, or of her family.
As they moved to follow the crowd toward the ballroom, he offered an arm to Clarissa and Miss Hurstman.
The latter immediately said, “You spend much time in Brighton, Major?”
He recognized an attack, though he had no idea why she was hostile. “When the company pleases me, Miss Hurstman.”
At her narrow look, he went on. “My friends the Vandeimens are fixed here at the moment, and the Amleighs have joined them for a week or so.”
“Thought he’d inherited the earldom of Wyvern,” Miss Hurstman said, as if Con’s title was suspicious too.
“It’s under dispute, so he has reverted to the viscountcy. He’ll be happy to have it stay that way.”
“The old earl was certainly a dirty dish. Bad blood.” But it was said with an eye on him. He came to the alert. What did she know? It would be disastrous if Clarissa discovered his connection to Deveril.