The Marriage Trap (26 page)

They spent the rest of the day in bed, rising intermittently to partake of the meals the Clarendon's footmen brought to their private parlor. It was close to midnight when, replete and sated, they finally fell asleep.

Jack wakened about an hour later, restless, his mind buzzing. There were so many things to think about, so many puzzles that invaded his dreams.

There's nothing to worry about, is there?

Nothing except who murdered Louise Daudet, who stole the Cardvale diamonds, and who broke into Ellie's rooms. And why did Cardvale's name keep coming into his mind?

Cardvale's punch.
Could the thief have been after the recipe book? Could Cardvale be desperate to hide his connection to Jeanne Daudet? A moment's reflection convinced Jack that he was on the wrong track. The thief had barely touched the books. Then what was he after?

As for Cardvale, he could claim ignorance of the recipe book or having known either Louise or Jeanne Daudet, and who could contradict him? He might have known them once and forgotten them. The book was very old. He'd examined it thoroughly and there was nothing hidden in its binding or between its pages. All it pointed to was that Ellie's mother and Jeanne Daudet had once known each other.

One puzzle was solved. He'd never understood how a callow youth like Robbie had attracted the notice of the leading light of the Théatre Français. Silly young blighter! On the other hand, in Robbie's shoes, he might have exaggerated his appeal, as well. At that age, callow youths liked their friends to think they were far more worldly than they really were.

His mind kept coming back to Cardvale. Just because he didn't like Ellie's cousin didn't mean he was guilty of anything. In fact, his dislike was based on prejudice. He was, he grudgingly acknowledged, mildly jealous. Ellie had nothing but good to say of her cousin, a man who, in his opinion, had let her down badly.

All that was in the past. He was her husband now, and he would make damn sure that she never wanted for anything again.

She stirred in her sleep, sighed, and curled into him. Her trust humbled him. Her passion amazed him. And his driving need to possess this one woman and no other frightened him to death. She had become essential to his existence. How had this come about?

He didn't know and he didn't care. All he knew was that he felt more alive than he'd felt in an age.

He linked his fingers with hers and brought them to his lips. Her bones were delicate. She was more fragile than she liked to think. That was his undoing. She seemed so capable of handling all her troubles, then she would turn to him with that fragile look in her eyes. How could he resist?

He would do anything in his power to keep her safe. He wasn't going to relax his vigilance until he had the answers to his questions.

It was more than time he compared notes with Brand.

Ellie arrived home from her Clarendon honeymoon on a wave of euphoria. Everyone could see the difference in her. Her eyes sparkled, a smile was never far from her lips, there was a spring in her step.

“There goes a woman who is loved,” said the dowager to her granddaughter.

Caro said nothing. She merely looked miserable.

Her ladyship sighed. “Be happy for your brother, Caro. It's not everyone who finds love in marriage.”

“But . . . but what does he see in her?”

Her ladyship knew who had put that thought in her granddaughter's head. She replied gently, “If you would give Ellie half a chance, you might find out.”

Ellie wasn't as sure as the dowager that Jack loved her, but she was patient. After what they'd shared, she was sure he would come to it sooner or later. As for herself, she was a woman reborn. And now that she'd given up her rooms in Henrietta Street, she felt that she'd turned a corner. She had nothing to go back to. She had to go on.

With her newfound confidence came a purpose. She had to get over her feelings of inferiority and make a place for herself in Jack's life. Something had to change, because she was not happy in this gloomy, stifling house. In short, she was going to make changes and turn this house into a home. Frances and she were fated to cross swords, but it would be at a time of her choosing.

The opportune moment arrived when she had the house to herself, except for Robbie and Milton, who were closeted in the library, working on their respective projects. Robbie's examination was fast approaching and Milton was writing a paper on Greek particles for some obscure journal. The ladies were making afternoon calls and Jack was meeting his friends at his club.

It was now or never.

She had a strategy, and it began with the butler. She found him counting the silver in the butler's pantry.

“Wigan,” she said, “I want a word with you.”

He looked surprised at the interruption, but said respectfully, “Yes, my lady. How may I help you?”

“I want the blue salon painted. A soft primrose yellow is what I have in mind.”

“Yes, my lady. The furniture will have to be moved.”

Clever Wigan. “Yes, and it won't be put back. You see, Wigan, I want my own furniture moved into that room. Perhaps you would see to that, too?”

He blinked as she gave him the slip of paper with Mrs. Mann's address, but apart from that, he remained his usual stoic self. “How shall I dispose of the furniture that is already there?”

“I leave it to your judgment.”

“Thank you, my lady. Is there anything else?”

She breathed deeply before she uttered the words that were so hard to say. “I've decided to give a reception to mark my own come-out.” There! She'd said the words and there was no going back. She took comfort from the fact that Wigan didn't look surprised or shocked, though he must have realized that she was stepping into Frances's domain. “Nothing too elaborate,” she went on. “I don't want my reception to detract from Lady Caroline's ball. But it must be exceptional. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly clear,” replied Wigan serenely. “When is the reception to take place?”

“A week from today.” If she left it any longer, she would not have the nerve to have it at all.

“‘A week'?” Wigan's brows rose.

“Is . . . is that too soon?”

The butler's lips almost smiled. “If I may say so, my lady, we should have had this reception long before now. Leave everything to me.”

It wasn't over yet. There was only so much a butler could do. The real problem was Frances and her cohort, Mrs. Leach. They could not stop her, but they could make things very difficult. She was certain that Jack would support her if she appealed to him, but her credit in the servants' eyes would slip by several notches. In fact, she might lose their respect altogether, not to mention her own respect. This was something she had to do for herself.

She spent some time in her chamber, rehearsing what she would say. It seemed absurd, but she found the housekeeper far more intimidating than the butler. Her strategy, she decided, would be to repeat what she had done with Wigan, more or less. Simple.

The housekeeper wasn't in her room, but one of the maids directed Ellie to the kitchens. Ellie heard Mrs. Leach's voice and followed the sound of it to the stillroom where she kept her supplies. That the housekeeper was livid with anger was never in doubt.

Ellie approached the open door, but froze in mortification when she heard Mrs. Leach's words.

“She's a slut, that's what she is. What decent woman goes off to a hotel with her husband when she has a perfectly comfortable chamber in her own home? It wouldn't surprise me if there had been an orgy. Well, we know Alice was there, and Lord Denison. And now Wigan has just told me that there's to be a reception here not a week away. I've a good mind to hand in my notice, except I wouldn't want to disappoint poor Lady Frances.”

She came out of the door ahead of the cook, saw Ellie, and dropped the tea caddy she was carrying. The box broke open and tea leaves scattered in every direction.

As cold as ice, Ellie said, “I want you out of here within the hour. Settle up with Wigan. I'll tell him to be generous, but don't look to me for a character reference.”

The housekeeper tried to have the last word, but by the time she had recovered her voice, Ellie was out of earshot.

They spent only a few minutes in Brooks. Brand wasn't overly fond of clubs since most of them, in his younger days, had excluded him from membership. He preferred the coffee shops in and around St. James's and, after a short consultation, they decided to move to Kenneth's Coffee Shop in Pall Mall.

“Where's Ash?” asked Jack.

“Where do you think? At his tailor, sprucing himself up to take in the season.”

Both men chuckled.

After ordering coffee and buns, Brand studied his friend. “You look relaxed,” he said. “Marriage must agree with you.”

Jack smiled. “Do I detect a note of envy?”

“Hardly. Oh, I'm happy for you, but I'm quite content with my bachelor existence. And believe me, if I see marriage on the horizon, I will barricade myself in the deepest, darkest dungeon till it passes me by.”

“You're quoting my own words back at me,” replied Jack pleasantly.

Brand was smiling hugely. “I couldn't resist the temptation. Ah, here is our coffee. Drink up, Jack. Coffee is good for you. It will sharpen your wits.”

Jack swallowed a mouthful of the bitter brew. He was, he realized, deeply content. He'd known that one day, however reluctantly, he would have to marry and produce an heir, if only to keep the estates and fortune intact to provide for his dependents. He'd never expected to have the good fortune to marry someone like Ellie. She wasn't always easy to live with, but she made life interesting. That she had a passionate nature to match his own was the garnish that made the meal mouthwatering.

Suddenly realizing he had a stupid smile on his face, he frowned.

Brand said, “Now to business. Well, I was right. All our suspects have something to hide.” He buttered his Bath bun and bit into it.

Jack watched him idly. He was interested, but there was no sense of urgency. If Brand had something urgent to report, he wouldn't have wasted time bandying words.

“You must understand,” Brand went on, “that I haven't gathered
evidence.
What I have is only hearsay and gossip. If I were to publish what I've found out, I would be slapped with an action for slander.”

Jack smiled quizzically. “Sounds to me that you've been listening at the keyholes of the very clubs you despise.”

“I don't despise them. I'm indifferent. But they have their uses. I have paid informants who keep me abreast of the latest gossip, as well as highborn acquaintances who would be aghast if they thought that what they told me in confidence would be passed on to someone else. I'm a newspaperman, for God's sake. Nothing is confidential if I can prove its veracity. You would do well to remember that.”

The last remark sounded like a warning. Jack's eyes narrowed. “Are you investigating Robbie?”

“No. I leave that to you. After all, you are in a position to gain the boy's confidence.”

“He's told me everything he knows and I believe him!”

“Oh? I thought you said that his account of events and his friend's were a tad too pat for your attorney's comfort?”

“Well, I did, but . . .” Jack shook his head. “The worst I thought was that he was concealing the fact that he and Louise really were lovers, to protect Ellie's sensibilities. He wouldn't want to lose her good opinion.”

In his distraction, he had bitten into a Bath bun before he remembered how much he detested them. He had to take a mouthful of coffee to wash it down.

“Why the face?” asked Brand.

Jack grinned sheepishly. “When I was boy, I picked one of the currants from the bun only to discover it was a dead fly.”

“Is that all? I didn't realize soldiers were so squeamish.” He took another healthy bite of his bun. “Now, where were we? Oh yes, Robbie. I doubt that he was her lover. Remember, she had a rich protector and was going off with him.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I think I know who our mystery man is.”

Jack sat back in his chair. “Who is it?”

“Cardvale. Ellie's cousin.”

They were all there for dinner that evening, including Milton, and Ellie hoped that the presence of a guest would make Frances mind her manners. She didn't know what to expect. She'd kept to her own room since she'd turned off Mrs. Leach, but she knew that the butler had seen the housekeeper off the premises and that Frances had taken the news of her favorite's dismissal very badly when she arrived home. The sound of her voice carried all the way to Ellie's chamber.

As she took her place at the head of the table, she could feel the tension in her neck and across her shoulder blades. She was beginning to feel like an interloper again, someone on the outside looking in. This family had managed for years without her meddling. They were set in their ways. What made her think she could change them? She was a fool to try. And she could see from the glitter in Frances's eyes that she would not escape unscathed.