Miss Westlake's Windfall (12 page)

“Then the money I found really wasn’t left by the free traders?”

“I—” He blew his nose again in one of his myriad monogrammed handkerchiefs. “I assure you, no self-respecting smuggler would leave a treasure trove in a tree. Devil take it, Ada, why don’t you just spend the cursed money already and be done with it? You are driving me—That is, you are driving yourself to distraction over a trifle.”

She swirled the wine in its priceless crystal glass. “Only Golden Ball would call a small fortune like that a trifle.”

“Then it can pay some of your immediate debts and leave enough to buy something pretty for yourself.”

“Why?”

Why? Because Chas couldn’t buy it for her, not under the rules of polite society. “Because you deserve it, working so hard for everyone else. How long has it been since you had a new gown, one you did not have to stitch up yourself?”

Ada looked down at her perfectly serviceable dark blue dress. Now he was criticizing her clothes, too? “Oh?”

“Lud, there is nothing wrong with your frock.” Nothing except she’d appear the dowd next to the London Diamonds his mother was inviting. Chas couldn’t have cared less. In fact, he’d give his good right arm to see Ada in less, a whole lot less, but he knew she would be conscious of the disparity between her wardrobe and that of his house guests. “I just thought you might like something new.”

Of course she would. What woman wouldn’t? Ada would adore a gown made from something in one of Jane’s fashion magazines, pink, with three rows of flounces. Unfortunately, Ada could not afford a feather for her hair, much less a flounce. With invitations to the Meadows, the Westlakes ought to reciprocate with some kind of entertainment for Lady Ashmead’s guests, besides, if Ada could find the funds—in her own accounts, not in someone else’s sack. If someone, someone she would not name, thought perhaps she would accept his charity, he could think again.

“I cannot, Chas,” she told him. “It wouldn’t feel right, and Tess says we should let our feelings lead the way.”

“You are taking advice from your sister? The sister who ruined her London Season by singing an aria at the opera, from Princess Esterhazy’s box?”

* * * *

Chas insisted on riding beside Ada’s pony cart on her way home, despite his running nose and watering eyes, and despite his mother’s frowns, using the early autumn darkness as an excuse. Ada insisted he come inside for some hot tea before the return trip.

Jane sweetly apologized—to the viscount, not Ada—for having taken over the parlor for her dressmaking, since the light was better than in her bedroom. She had every table and chair covered, taking the lace from this gown and the ribbons from that one, to make one elegant, au courant evening gown. Jane was going to make an impression on Lady Ashmead’s gentleman guests if it killed her. Living the rest of her life as a poor widow certainly would, otherwise.

When Ada informed her that the ball was to be a masquerade, Jane would have had a fainting spell, except there was no available surface except the floor. She shrieked instead. Chas winced.

“No, I shall wear this gown, with this bodice, and this over-skirt and this trim, by thunder. I absolutely refuse to wear some insipid shepherdess costume.”

Since that was Ada’s second choice of outfit for the masked ball, she winced.

“I shall wear a domino over my gown, that’s what I’ll do. Ladies and gentlemen both wear them all the time when they don’t wish to act like some foolish characters in a play. Isn’t that right, Ashmead?”

He nodded, but Ada asked, “Do you have a domino, Jane?” She’d never seen her sister-in-law with one.

“No, we’ll simply have to purchase one. Blue, I think, to match my eyes.”

“I’m sorry, Jane,” Ada said, with an embarrassed glance toward Chas, “but you know we cannot afford the expense right now.”

Jane got ready to scream the house down, but her eyes narrowed instead, focusing on the suspiciously lumpy fur muff Ada hadn’t found a place to set down. “What about that money you found that you’ve been hoarding? I insist on my fair share of it!”

“Oh, this?” Ada clutched the muff more firmly to her chest. “I am bringing it to the magistrate tomorrow.”

Viscount Ashmead groaned.

“You had a better idea?” she asked sweetly.

“I... I..
.
”

“You really ought to be home in bed with a hot posset, Chas.”

* * * *

“Come on, Tally, old girl. It’s going to be another long night.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ada passed another sleepless night. Strange, she thought, how one night she could not fall asleep because Chas had kissed her. The next night she could not, because he had not. She supposed his lack of a farewell kiss could be ascribed to congestion, or abiding by convention. Or the conviction that Ada’s kisses were unsatisfactory.

What if he had not been affected by that storm of emotion she felt when their lips met, when his arms went around her, when he pressed her against his hard chest? Had he kissed her once to make sure they wouldn’t suit and the second time to be certain? What if, as Jane kept hinting, Chas was harboring dishonorable intentions toward her, now that his honorable offer had been summarily rejected? Were such kisses the stepping stones along the primrose path, and he’d reconsidered? Worst, had Chas lost interest in her now that his mother was dangling society’s darlings in front of him?

No, Ada would not dwell on such depressing thoughts.

She brightened. What if he were truly ill? Why, then she’d have an excuse to go visit him later, after her errands were completed.

She hurried through her morning toilette, donning her oldest dress and gulping her morning chocolate and a sweet roll, before meeting Tess in the attics. They were going to see what they could find in their mother’s old trunks that might be usable for costumes. Tess was determined to appear as the sea goddess from her drama, to whet the guests’ appetite for the forthcoming publication. Advance publicity, she explained to Ada. If the house party was interested, perhaps Lady Ashmead would consider having a reading from the book as well.

Tess had not yet convinced Leo to dress as Sebastian, the pirate, for he wished to appear before Lady Ashmead in his finest evening ensemble, not half-naked with a gold hoop in his ear and a curved sword at his side. The question was not whether Tess could talk him into the pirate’s costume; it was whether she could locate a stuffed parrot to sit on his shoulder.

Ada absolutely refused to be the evil kraken, dragging its serpent’s tail through the quadrille.

“What about the princess, then? Sebastian saves her from the monster, and is rewarded by her father the king. Of course he loves the sea goddess, and I have not decided what happens to Princess Pretty, but I am sure she finds True Love and a happy ending.”

Ada fancied the idea of being dressed as a lady from the days of chivalry, if they could find anything resembling a wimple, farthingale, or stomacher. Surely the sisters could unearth something they could make into an embroidered overdress, even if they had to use the table runner Lady Ashmead had presented to them last Christmas. The fact that Chas was to be garbed as a knight of old had nothing whatsoever to do with Ada’s decision. Tess’s epic needed all the publicity it could get.

Having taken trunks down from the attic, Ada proceeded to carry a few boxes up. With Jane’s cousin Algernon due home any moment, Ada wanted to hide whatever weapons and ammunition she could. Mr. Johnstone, it seemed, had taken Rodney’s hunting rifle, but Ada stashed away the dueling pistols, the fowling piece, the butler’s old blunderbuss, and the extra shot. She could always say she sold them, to pay for the damages Cousin Algie was sure to incur. If anyone complained about the house being unprotected, too bad. Ada felt safer with the guns out of Algie’s hands.

Next she inventoried the nearly bare linen closets with Mrs. Cobble, the butler’s wife who was acting as both cook and housekeeper, spoke to one of her herdsmen about winter forage, and to a tenant farmer about his leaking roof. She promised to try to find funds for them all.

Finally she was ready to set out for Squire Hocking’s, with her sack of gold and silver, enough for most, if not all, her immediate needs, even the green gauze Tess required for her trailing seaweed. They’d just have to use paints, and hope for a rain-free evening, for Ada could not consider the money as theirs. She stuffed it back into her muff, thinking of it more like the apple in Eden than bounty from her orchard. “And lead me not into temptation,” she hurriedly prayed, because the money had to belong to someone else.

The magistrate disagreed.

Squire Hocking’s family had held the justice position for the area forever. The Lords Ashmead were too often out of the county, and preferred letting a local man handle local matters. The Westlake baronetcy was much newer.

Cyrus Hocking, the latest holder of Hocking Manor, was a reluctant officer of the law. Instead of being a hale and hearty, heavy-drinking, hunt-loving countryman, Cyrus Hocking was tall and thin, somewhat stooped, with thinning hair. He presided over the courts reluctantly, much preferring his greenhouses, which was where Ada found him. Squire was, in fact, a botanist by bent, a farmer only by fate, and magistrate by misfortune, his elder brother having succumbed to a wasting disease. In addition to the estates and duties, Cyrus had also inherited his brother’s wife and three daughters. Added to his own five hopeful, and hopelessly undisciplined children, the manor was overrun. Ada preferred the glass houses, too.

She always liked the smell, the warmth, the weak autumn sun streaming through the clear ceiling. Unlike Squire’s wife, who was eternally increasing, Ada was endlessly fascinated by the odd plants and exquisite flowers to be found in the steamy, jungle-like enclosures. Hocking always appreciated her interest, and often advised Ada about crops for the kitchen garden and ornamentals for the landscaping. He was less helpful about the money.

“How long did you say you have had the money in your possession since discovering the purse?” He was snipping dead flowers off a trailing vine.

“Less than a week” was her answer as she followed him down the rows of plants on shelves and benches. Others were hanging from hooks in the rafters, and larger specimens were in tubs of their own, on the ground. Ada tried to keep her skirts off the floor at first, but quickly gave up.

“It must be in the books, of course.” Squire waved a trowel-filled hand toward the house and his library of legal tomes. “Everything else is. But I cannot quite recall what the exact ruling is. Thirty days? That sounds about right. Yes, if no one claims the purse in thirty days, you may consider it yours. Finders keepers, don’t you know.”

Then Hocking recalled his visitor of last evening. Fine man, Viscount Ashmead, interested in orchids, he was. Not terribly knowledgeable, but willing to be advised, and there was nothing Squire liked better than talking about his orchids. Why, he could go on for hours, and often did, when he had the rare willing listener like Ashmead or Miss Ada. What had Ashmead called about, before they got on to cymbidiums? “Oh, but you said the money was found on your properly, didn’t you?”

“Yes, in my orchard.”

“Well, then, since it was on your own grounds, I would say that five to ten days is ample enough to wait before declaring it yours, since whoever put it there was trespassing in the first place.”

“Do you mean that if your bull wanders onto my property and stays for five days I can keep him?” Squire was a notoriously negligent landowner, and they had argued about his straying beef before, until Ada realized what a good, free stud the bull was.

“No, no, not at all.” Squire stuck his finger into a pot of soil, checking the moisture. “There are other rules for livestock. The law is very specific there.”

“Where do you think it came from?”

“The law? Some feudal lord who was trying to keep peace at his borders, I suppose, and fancied himself a Solomon.”

“No, the money.”

“Well, if it were lying on the ground, I would say that someone lost it. But in a tree? I daresay the hedgehogs did not carry it up there, and not even I have been able to make money grow on trees. Heh heh
.
”

“Someone put it there, of course, but have you no idea who it could have been? No highwaymen plying their trade? No bank robberies?” Ada was beginning to wish she had not hidden the pistols, after all.

“Now, now, my dear, don’t get yourself in a swivet. We don’t have that kind of crime in this neighborhood, thank goodness, or I would never get any of my repotting done. The occasional squabble, a pilfered hen, that kind of thing is what I hear. No, your bounty must have been left by some passerby with reasons we will never know, like why this flower sometimes has pink blossoms and sometimes lavender
.
”

“So you think I should just keep it then, not advertise for its rightful owner or anything?”

“What, and have every beggar in England on your doorstep, claiming to have lost a leather purse?” Squire heh-heh-ed again, then put down his trowel and his shears. “Do you want to know what I would do with this prize, my dear?”

At her nod, he took Ada’s hand and led her to a stone bench. Luckily she was still wearing her leather driving gloves, for his hands were filthy from the soil. She noticed when she pointedly looked down, signaling him to release her hand. He did not, too rapt in his own thoughts. “If I had a fortune handed to me out of the blue,” he began, all dreamy-eyed, “I think I would run away.”

Ada tugged on her hand. He patted it with his free one.

“Yes, I would leave England, take ship for a tropical island somewhere, where orchids grew wild and colorful birds sang overhead and no one wore neckcloths.”

“But your lands, the estate?” Ada waved her other hand at the manor house behind them, the expanse of the glass enclosure. She could not believe anyone would turn his back on his heritage, not even in jest.

“I have sons to carry on. One of the dolts seems to enjoy counting cows and cabbages. Let him have the lands and the income, and the responsibilities that go with them. I would have sunshine and soft rain, flowers that bloom once in a lifetime, blossoms as big as dinner plates, the sound of water lapping on sandy shores.”