The Marquis At Midnight (4 page)

‘A promise you seem to have well and truly
broken,’ Grace said dryly. ‘How much did you owe?’

‘Three hundred guineas.’

Grace stared at her
incredulously. ‘Three
hundred
? My God Hester, what were you
thinking?’

‘I know, I know!’ Hester wailed. ‘But it was
not all at once. It was over a period of weeks and then I had
gotten myself so far in debt that I kept going back, trying to fix
things, but of course I could not. And then I lost the
necklace.’

Three hundred guineas and the Woodward
necklace. Grace swallowed at the enormity of it. Three hundred
guineas was not something one could bury in the household accounts.
Not that Hester would have ever done the household accounts. She
had no interest in matters domestic.

They sat together in silence for some
moments.

‘Does Porter know any of this?’ Grace asked,
wondering if that was why husband and wife were behaving so coldly
towards each other.

‘Of course not. He is angry with me because
he thinks I am encouraging Lord Lovington when he has specifically
requested I have nothing to do with him. But what can I do? I owe
Silas so much money and he has my necklace. I cannot just cut
him.’

‘And you?’ Grace looked at
her friend frowningly. ‘Why are
you
behaving so coldly towards Porter?’

Hester hesitated for a
moment and Grace caught a glimpse of her mulish friend's famous
temper. ‘He is being impossible. He would not discuss it, just told
me that if he did not want me to associate with Silas, then that
should be enough. He was being so
unreasonable
!’

Once again, Hester burst into tears.

‘Are you all right, Sherry?’ Lady Judith
Morvyn enquired, studying her brother with considerable curiosity.
Unusually, they were at breakfast together. Not unusually, apart
from a grunt of greeting, her brother had not said a word.

Normally, Judith would have accepted this
reticence. Indeed, she welcomed it most mornings, as her brother
could be tiresome about how his young sister should or should not
behave, but last night had proved to be most intriguing. So much
so, that she was now eyeing her brother with something that
bordered on concern.

‘Hmm?’ he removed his eyes from the toast
rack that he appeared to have been studying intently, giving her a
blank look.

‘I asked if you were all right. You seem a
little out of sorts this morning.’

Perhaps, Judith reflected, he was sickening.
March was notorious for illness and, while Sherry didn’t look sick,
his behavior was certainly odd.

Take the previous evening.
Judith had been having a lovely time, the object of admiration from
any number of gentlemen intent on asking her to dance and, perhaps,
to flirt a little. It had all been quite harmless for the most
part, Judith knew perfectly well what was expected of her, but a
masquerade was so
exciting
. Anybody could be behind
those colorful dominos and masks and she had thoroughly entertained
herself for several hours trying to guess people’s
identities.

So entrancing had it been that she had quite
forgotten that she had promised her brother that she would meet him
by the flower clock at eleven-thirty. When she had arrived,
breathless and flushed, twenty minutes late she had been surprised
to find that he was not there. If there was one word that could sum
her brother up it was reliable and so his absence had been more
than a little peculiar.

What had been even more
peculiar was his behavior when he
had
turned up at ten minutes past
midnight. Judith had fully expected to be scolded, but he had
merely nodded when she’d apologized for her tardiness, escorting
her to their carriage and accompanying her home, for the most part
in silence. Sherry was rarely silent when she was caught out and
she could not help but wonder what had gotten into him.

He seemed to come back to himself with an
effort. ‘I am perfectly well, thank you.’

‘Really? Did something happen last night?
Because you seemed quite strange when we were leaving.’

He stared at her blankly for a moment.
‘Strange? What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean that you did not say a word to me
about being late. Although,’ Judith added reasonably, ‘I don’t
suppose you could, as you weren’t at our appointed meeting place
yourself. Did you forget?’ It didn’t seem very likely. Sherry never
forgot anything. Unfortunately.

‘I was dancing,’ the words seemed to come
reluctantly, as if even he couldn’t quite believe it.

‘Dancing?’ Judith repeated,
astonished. ‘
You
were? But you never dance.’

‘I saw a lady on the dance floor that I
thought was you. Her partner was drunk and so I intervened. It was
not you,’ he added, almost to himself.

‘Certainly not. I would never tolerate a
partner who was drunk.’

Morvyn stared at her for a moment, then
grimaced. ‘There you are then.’

‘So you danced with a damsel you had rescued
from distress,’ Judith demanded, hardly able to believe it. ‘Did
you know who you were dancing with?’

‘I did not know. Not until the unmasking…’
Morvyn trailed off, once again looking perplexed, which interested
his sister all the more.

‘And then you discovered
that you
did
know
her?’ Judith prompted.

‘I… yes. I have not seen her for some time,
but I knew her.’

‘How interesting. And did she know you?’

‘She certainly seemed to.’ Morvyn said
grimly. Abruptly, he rose to his feet. ‘I am going out.’

Judith looked up at him in
surprise. Sherry was certainly twitchy this morning. ‘Are you
likely to see the lady again? The one that you danced with last
night?’ The idea that he might have met a lady and immediately
formed a
tendre
for her was an extraordinary one. Sherry, of all
people.

Never one to feed the flames of fantasy, her
brother crushed this one with a brusque, ‘I doubt that very
much.’

Judith watched as he hurried from the room,
shaking her head in bewilderment.

Brothers, she reflected with a certain
amount of exasperation, barely seemed to occupy the same planet as
the rest of humankind. She had been hoping for a glimmer of
humanity, but there it was, exactly as she’d thought.

Dancing at midnight or not, her brother did
not possess a shred of poetry in his entire body.

Morvyn was not thinking
about romance as he left the room although he
was
thinking about Lady Grace
Pemberton and the unusual manner in which they had briefly become
reacquainted on the previous evening. Truthfully, he barely knew
the woman. His two visits to Pemberton before the man’s untimely
demise had been purely business and unpleasant business at that. He
had not stayed the night on either occasion, which meant that he
had not needed to be entertained by the lady of the
house.

Just as well, all things considered. It
would have been difficult to make polite conversation under the
circumstances.

Heading into his study, he found his
secretary Bradford at his desk going through the morning
correspondence. He looked up with a smile. ‘You’ve got a few things
of interest. That contract for the new farm in Sternham has
arrived. It all looks to be in order. And the usual invitations, of
course. I left them on your desk for you perusal.’

Morvyn nodded, sitting himself down. He had
been going to go out, perhaps take his hunter for a ride across the
heath to blow away the cobwebs, but he felt strangely indecisive.
Irksomely so, for he was never indecisive. Bradford had left the
invitations in a neat pile on his desk, envelopes removed. He
sorted through them indifferently, pausing when he saw one for a
ball being given by the Countess of Hartwell at her stately pile on
Hounslow Heath three days hence. He was regularly invited to such
events; not because of his winning address or sprightly
conversation. It was generally considered common knowledge that he
had neither, but he was single, he was rich, and he was not a
relic, three things that made him of particular interest to hopeful
females keen on snaring a decent husband.

‘This ball at the Hartwell place…’

‘Yes, my Lord?’

‘I suppose it will be crowded?’

‘Indeed. Quite the crush, or so I
understand. I believe it is the event that kicks off the new
Season.’

Not his kind of event at
all. He loathed crowds. He despised the empty headed amusements of
the
ton
and as for
the dancing? Good God, no. Besides, there was no reason to suppose
that she would be there. Not that he wanted to see her again,
anyway.

The look on her face when she had recognized
him.

As if she had seen the very devil
himself.

‘I think I might attend it.’

‘Sir?’ Clearly, his secretary thought that
he had misheard.

‘This ball. I shall attend. Please send back
an acceptance on my behalf.’

‘Uh, very good, my Lord.’

Morvyn stared at the invitation for a moment
longer, then tossed it to one side, determined to put the previous
night out of is mind.

For three days, at the very least.

Surely he could manage that.

Chapter Three

A problem shared was a problem halved, or so
the saying went.

Grace wasn’t so sure about
that. After two days of knowing that her friend was in dire
trouble, the two of them had discussed it
ad nauseum
and had reached precisely
the same conclusion at the end of it all.

They had no idea how to get the Woodward
necklace back.

‘You could tell Porter.’

‘I
cannot
tell Porter. He would… He
would leave me.’

‘Of course he wouldn’t leave you.’

‘Well at the very least he would be furious
and probably never trust me again. Besides, he’d probably challenge
Lovington to a duel and the man is a wicked shot!’

Which certainly suggested that it would be
better if Porter remained in ignorance. An angry husband was
infinitely better than a deceased one (as Grace could attest
to).

Half a day later…

‘Perhaps we could appeal to Lord Lovington’s
better nature? If you told him you would pay him the three hundred
guineas back over a period of time, he might agree to give you the
necklace.’

‘Silas does not
have
a better nature. And
it isn’t the money. He… I think he likes the power.’

‘The power?’ Grace had repeated, wondering
what kind of satisfaction could be gained from frightening a
helpless woman with the threat of ruin.

‘He is a very strange man, Grace. So smooth.
Like a snake, all slithering skin.’

‘It’s a wonder you befriended him if he is
so unpleasant.’ Grace had been becoming exasperated.

A flush had stained Hester’s pale skin. ‘I
admit, it was not very clever of me,’ she’d said in a small voice,
‘but honestly Grace, he seemed so nice at first. And Selena Ramsey
vouched for him, said he was vastly amusing, which he can be. When
he offered to help I was so grateful.’

Grace had sighed, squeezing her friend’s
shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to scold, but it’s just so…’ It
was just so many things. Frustrating. Alarming. Nerve-wracking. She
had sat through several meals with Lord and Lady Pemberton, each of
them conducted in a frosty silence, except when one of them chose
to speak to her. Grace could see why Hester had wanted her to stay
so badly. She needed a buffer. ‘Clearly he wants you in his power
for a reason. What is it?’

Hester had frowned. ‘I do
not know. I thought… Well, I thought much as you did,’ she
confessed with a shudder. ‘But it does not seem to be the case. He
wants me to acknowledge him in public. That much he has made clear.
It is dreadfully awkward. He and Porter simply
loath
each other.’

Which, Grace suspected, might be the very
reason Lovington had acquired the necklace and had put Hester in
such an untenable situation. ‘Has he any particular reason for his
dislike?’

Hester had shrugged wearily. ‘I cannot
imagine. Perhaps it has something to do with those ministerial
papers Porter is always writing. Legislature or some such
thing.’

Interesting, but not particularly
informative, Grace had decided.

It was Hester who had come up with a plan
next. Grace had been dressing for dinner when her hostess had burst
in, face alight with excitement. ‘I’ve got it!’

Grace had given her a
quelling glance. She would trust Lucy with her innermost secrets,
but Hester really
had
to learn to use some discretion. Hester, not entirely dead to
propriety, had subsided in a chair while the maid had finished her
mistress’ toilette. The moment she was gone, however, she erupted
again, intent on delivering whatever mad plan she’d lit
upon.

‘I have a way to retrieve the necklace!’

‘Really? How?’

‘We’ll use Bertram.’ Hester announced with a
radiant smile.

Grace had blinked. Bertram was Hester’s
cousin and, while a perfectly amiably young gentleman, was not the
brightest of men. ‘In what way will we use Bertram?’

‘He can steal the necklace back.’

While interesting, Grace could not help but
feel that this plan had some serious drawbacks, not least was young
Bertie himself. She had known Bertram Coslowe for years and did not
doubt that he would do it, he was always up for a lark, but she had
serious reservations about him being able to carry out such a
sensitive endeavor with any degree of success and Bertie, banged up
for attempted theft, would provide exactly the same amount of
scandal as Hester’s own indiscretions.