What Would Jane Austen Do? (30 page)

   What would Jane Austen do if she were waiting for a suitor to call? She would want to appear nonchalant, not indifferent, but not overly eager. Eleanor decided to sit on one of the wingback chairs, an open book on her lap. That way she could close it when he entered, a signal that he was more interesting than the book, but when he wasn't there she was pleasantly occupied. Perfect.

   After twenty minutes, her anticipation faded. She made excuses for his delay. He met an old friend and couldn't break away. Maybe the countess cornered him and demanded a dance. After thirty minutes, she concluded he wasn't coming.

   Probably for the best. In a few hours she would be going home, and then her memories of him were all she would have. She blinked away tears. She set the book on the table and stood, then paced the room again to get hold of her emotions. Was he even worth her tears?

   Although her heart said yes, she forced her brain to deny it. The man had stood her up—couldn't even find a servant to bring her a message. He didn't have to dance with the countess or spend time with an old friend. Shermont wouldn't have if he'd really cared about her. She fanned her anger because it helped her cope.

   Well, she certainly wasn't going to wait any longer. Did he expect to find her an hour from now, welcoming him with open arms and grateful for his belated attention? Like hell he would. If she happened to see him in the ballroom, she would give him the cut direct. She stood and stomped to the door, but paused with her hand on the knob. There was still the matter of keeping track of him until midnight. Damn.

   The girls or him.

   She'd come to care about the girls and wanted them to have their wonderful Season untainted by their brother's death in a duel. It wasn't as if she thought all her recent actions had been in noble self-sacrifice. There had been plenty of selfish, lusty satisfaction. Well, she would find Shermont and stick by his side a little longer, but she would be strong and resist her physical attraction to him.

   She left the library intending to find him, wait with him until midnight, and then meet the ghosts in her room for the trip home. Six steps outside the door, she stopped at the sound of Deirdre and Mina's voices drifting from above.

   "Aunt Patience said she went to lie down in her room," Mina said. "Where can she be?"

   "You're the gypsy seer," Deirdre said.

   "I knew you were upset about that."

   "I am not."

   Eleanor certainly didn't want to explain why she wasn't in her room. She did an about-face to return to the library and nearly ran over a couple headed toward the same place. But she didn't want to go back to the ballroom because that's probably where the girls were headed, and she wanted a chance to find Shermont without them. She spun around and took off in the opposite direction, even though that took her to a hallway she'd never been down before. Her evening shoes with the soft leather soles made no noise on the thick carpet.

   Yet the voices followed her. The hall dead-ended without an exit. She had to turn around and start back. She tested the first door on her right. When it opened, she ducked inside. And encountered a surprise.

ELEANOR TRIED TO MAKE SENSE OF THE SCENE BEFORE her. Teddy, who had changed into plain traveling clothes, knelt in front of an open iron cabinet built into the wall behind a movable section of wain scoting. He unloaded items and threw them into the portmanteau he'd used in the play and didn't notice she'd entered.

   "What are you doing?" she blurted out without thinking.

   She startled him, and he dropped an oblong green velvet box. A necklace, bracelet, and earrings fell out. She recognized the emerald necklace as the one Mina had a paste replica of in her drawer upstairs. Those must be the real emeralds.

   Teddy jumped up, grabbed a pistol off the desk, and pointed it at her. "What in bloody hell are you doing in my estate office?"

   "Rather a long story. I—"

   "Never mind. It doesn't matter. Sit down and keep silent," he demanded, his expression hard and ugly.

   Shocked, Eleanor slipped into a nearby chair.

   He returned to his task, laying the pistol on the

floor next to his knee, and occasionally glanced up to make sure she hadn't moved.

   She realized he was stealing the girls' jewels, and she was a witness. Not a good omen for a long life. She couldn't expect anyone to rescue her. Deirdre and Mina would never think to look for her here and would likely be distracted from their search in next to no time. Weren't the fireworks supposed to start soon? Once they did, he could shoot her with impunity, and no one would even notice. She had to escape before then. She looked around the estate office and noticed the door leading outside, which was used by tradesmen so they didn't come through the front entrance. If she could distract him from the weapon, she might have a chance to run for it.

   "Why are you taking Deirdre and Mina's jewelry?" she asked.

   "I told you to keep silent."

   "I will, if you tell me why you're stealing from your sisters."

   "Adoptive sisters," he said in a derisive and contemp tuous tone. "If Father had married my mother as he should have and brought her back to England, she wouldn't have died."

   "You can't know—"

   "By the time I arrived here, he'd already married that insipid, mewling female and produced those two whining brats. I hated her for taking my mother's place, and I hated him for stealing my true inheritance."

   "Those jewels are from their mother's family and not part of your—"

   "They stole from me first. Every bit of food in their mouths and every piece of clothing on their backs came out of what was due me. These jewels are scant repayment."

   "If you do this, where can you go? You'll be hunted as a thief."

   "Hah! Let them search. I'm returning to the land of my birth and the land of my ancestors. I will stand with Napoleon and find my real family."

   Eleanor was confused. "But your father was English."

   "The man who raised me was not my real father. My father died on the guillotine before my parents could marry. Mother feared her aristocratic blood would lead to the same end for herself and me, so she wrote to the Englishman she'd met while he was on his Grand Tour and claimed the child was his. Lord Digby was so desperate for a male heir, he sent for the mother and child immediately, even though he knew he could not marry her."

   Teddy's emotional outburst wasn't making logical sense. "How do you know all this is true?"

   "Aunt Patience confessed the truth when I came into the title. How Mother died to see me safe and how she honored Mother's wishes and brought me here and stayed to help raise me after my stepmother died."

   "If Digby wasn't your father, shouldn't you have refused the title? The girls should rightfully—"

   "No! The title and all it entails is mine! Digby legally adopted me, though he named a bastard in the process, shaming my mother's memory. As an American you should understand my hatred for the English. Your people are at war against them, as are mine. We are on the same side. Come with me. I have a carriage waiting down the road and two berths on a fast ship to Holland. From there…"

   Eleanor shook her head. Her memory of her history classes was a bit weak on Napoleon, but she was sure any man who crowned himself emperor and tried to take over the world was no George Washington. "Stealing isn't honorable, no matter what the cause or justification."

   Teddy gave her a hard look. "If you are not with me, then you are my enemy. Unfortunately, I cannot leave you behind to raise the alarm." He closed the portmanteau and directed her at gunpoint to pick it up.

   The fireworks hadn't started yet. A gunshot might be noticed, but that would do her no good if she were dead. So she did as she was told. As long as she stayed alive, she might have a chance to escape.

   He motioned her toward the tradesmen's door.

Shermont entered the estate office to search for evidence and found not only Digby, but Eleanor. They appeared to be on their way out. Both spun around at the sound of the door closing.

   "Oh, Shermont," Digby said. "Your bloody timing is fortuitous. I just caught this female stealing my sister's jewels. I'll hold her while you fetch the constable, but quietly, so as not to disturb the festivities."

   Eleanor dropped the portmanteau and stood up straight. "He's lying," she said in a quiet, dignified voice.

   "Silence, thief," Digby demanded. "She is obvi ously an imposter who has wheedled her way into our affections for her own nefarious purposes."

   Shermont had only a moment to make a decision. He wanted to believe her, but could he trust his heart? She could still be a foreign agent, and Digby could be sacrificing her to make his own escape.

   When Shermont hesitated, Digby said, "Better yet, you keep her here, and I'll go find the constable." He slid the pistol across the desk, and Shermont caught it before it fell off the edge.

   A bold move, especially since Shermont had decided to believe Eleanor.

   "I should not be gone longer than an hour." Digby headed toward the exit, pausing to pick up the portmanteau. "I'll take this for safekeeping."

   "Halt," Shermont said, raising the pistol. Once he'd made the leap of faith, the details he always drilled Carl to notice vindicated his belief in Eleanor. Digby was dressed for traveling, but she was still dressed for the ball. She looked pale and scared, while he appeared flushed and frustrated. She'd dropped the portmanteau like a hot potato, and Digby had refused to leave it behind. "Put the portmanteau on the floor," Shermont said, the steel in his voice brooking no defiance.

   Digby complied, but before Shermont could demand an explanation, the tradesmen's door opened. Patience entered, armed and in a towering rage. Digby flashed Shermont a smug look and opened his arms to his Aunt Patience.

   "
Ma chère tante
. Your timing is impeccable. Keep these two under guard for half an hour, and then join me at the meeting place," Digby said as he again picked up the portmanteau. His cocky grin faded as he realized she had her weapon aimed at him.

   "Leaving without me, I see," Aunt Patience said.

   "Not at all. I just said I'd meet you at—"

   "And you think I believe you, you ungrateful little guttersnipe. If not for me, you'd still be wandering the streets of Paris stealing crusts of bread or prostituting yourself like your mother."

   "My mother was an aristocrat!"

   "Ha! Victorine was a
soubrette
."

   "You said Digby met her at court."

   "He did. Aristocrats often invited actresses to their wild parties. Rent the right clothes, put on a few false airs, and they fit right in. It usually resulted in a romantic assignation and gifts of money and jewelry. Most women of the stage did it. Your oh-so-sanctified mother was one of the best."

   "You malign your beloved sister?"

   "Not my sister." Patience laughed. "I was the one with breeding who had fallen on hard times. I was the one who belonged at court. But Victorine got everything she wanted simply because she was beautiful. The vicious little bitch treated me like dirt beneath her shoe. Your father could have been one of dozens or even hundreds. She forgot one as soon as another better looking, richer, and more generous one appeared."

   "Stop it. I don't want to hear more of your lies," Digby said, putting his hands over his ears.

   "I find it fascinating," Shermont said. Patience had a lot to get off her mind, and he knew the longer they stayed in one place, the more likely his valet would find them. He laid his pistol on the desk, propped one hip on the top, and crossed his arms. "I've always said the lady with the weapon has the floor for as long as she wants it."

   Patience nodded with a smug smile. "After Victorine and her sickly baby died, I went through her posses sions, hoping I could sell something to pay my long overdue wages. When I found a great number of love letters, I hit on the scheme of writing to each as if I were her, claiming the child as his and asking for money to aid in his care."

   "You mean you blackmailed them in her name," Digby sneered.

   Patience shrugged. "While I waited for the money to arrive, I had to sell her fine clothes and jewelry. Months passed until finally one wrote back and sent money. My neighbors were jealous of my bounty and were going to turn me in as an aristocrat in hiding. So I decided to emigrate to England, but I could hardly appear on Lord Digby's doorstep without an appropriate child. So I went out and found you—filthy, dirty, snot-nosed, dressed in rags, crying on a street corner. You had the white-blond hair Digby had mentioned in one of his letters as a family trait. I promised you a good meal, and you said you would do anything I wanted. I'd say you're lucky it was me and not some white slaver who—"

   "You lie." Digby shook all over.

   "Yes, I admit I lied to you when you were a boy, but it was for your own good. Fat lot of profit in it for me. You can take the boy off the street, but you can't take the street out of the boy. You will always be an ungrateful guttersnipe. Now hand over that portmanteau, and we'll all go outside quietly in single file."