A Midsummer Bride (18 page)

“I think we should have tea alfresco.”

It was all the Duchess of Marchford needed to say to convince the other guests to try a meal outdoors. A lovely site on the green in between the manor house and the ruined castle was selected, and an army of servants was recruited to carry up chairs, tables, tablecloths, dishes, and even large canopies—everything one could want for tea, only with much more fuss and bother for the Thornton staff.

The duchess was insistent that everyone come up for tea. No excuses. So everyone came, although the young people were more difficult to tether and immediately went scurrying about exploring the castle above them or the wilderness surrounding them. It was not proper, and everyone enjoyed it.

“You have made the suggestion of the season,” commented Penelope.

“I only hope they can be successful,” said the dowager.

“They? Who is they?”

“You are right, not ‘them.’ Perhaps I should say he or she. I think the handwriting was more feminine.”

“As always, I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about.” Penelope sat next to the duchess at the table but wondered if she could sit on a blanket on the grass instead. It looked as though the young people were enjoying themselves.

“I received a missive this morning, put under my door. It said if I could get the guests and the people out of the house for a while, the pearls could be switched.”

“I beg your pardon?” Penelope instantly turned her thoughts away from sunlight and crickets to attend to what the dowager was saying.

“All I had to do was leave out the pearls and wait for them to be switched.”

“But who is this from? Can we trust this person?”

“I do not know, nor do I care. If this problem can be resolved, so much the better. Of course, I would not have been brought to this had you not refused to help.”

“Refused?” hissed Penelope. “I was caught under Marchford’s bed.”

“A minor mishap.”

“Not to me. But do you think it wise to trust this situation with someone we do not know?”

“What do I have to lose?”

Penelope pressed her lips together. There was a lot to lose, potentially. She went off in search of Marchford. He should know what was happening.

“May I speak to you?” Penelope asked Marchford, but he did not respond. Of course, he was surrounded by a gaggle of gawking young women. He caught her eye and held it. Though he spoke nothing, she felt his silent plea.
Help
me
.

“Your Grace,” she spoke louder.

“Yes, Miss Rose,” he answered, despite the furious glares he received from a few of the ladies surrounding him.

“I do believe there is an important post for you,” she fabricated.

“Thank you. I shall come at once.” And he did.

They were almost back to Thornton Hall before Penelope deemed it safe enough to talk about the situation. “Your grandmother received a note from an anonymous ‘friend’ offering to help out with the situation with the pearls.”

“Exactly what is the situation with the pearls?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

“Penelope!”

Penelope stopped and looked up at him. It was the first time he had used her first name. And it was said with a growl.

He took a breath and amended himself. “Miss Rose. What is this about? I need answers.”

“You said to let you know if anything happened I found suspicious. Well…” She considered what to say. She did not wish to expose the dowager, but she had a strong suspicion something was not right. “Your grandmother lost the pearls to Lord Langley.”

“Cards?”

“Yes, but that is not the important part. What is relevant is that she put up the fakes by mistake. I was in your room to get the real ones so I could exchange them for her and no one would be the wiser. You caught me, and I decided not to attempt entering Langley’s room.”

“Good girl.”

“This morning, the duchess received a missive from an anonymous ‘friend’ saying they could help her if the dowager got everyone out of the house, hence the alfresco tea.”

“My room, now.”

They ran up four flights of stairs, Marchford easily outstriding Penelope. Of course, she appeased herself with the consideration that she was at least a foot shorter and wearing a gown, which made running not quite as easy as it was for Marchford. When Penelope entered the room, Marchford was examining his wardrobe.

“Something of interest?” asked Penelope.

“Someone has rifled through the papers I kept under some shirts.”

“A spy?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Did they get much information?”

“Nothing they would not already know. I do not keep secret documents where they can be found.”

“Where do you keep secret documents?”

He turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

“I withdraw the question. What now?”

“Somewhere here, there is a spy. Now we just need to find out who. Where was this ‘friend’ going to get the pearls?”

“The duchess left them out on her dressing table.”

“Stay here, I’ll check.”

It was a pointless command, one Penelope had no intention of following. She ran after Marchford, who strode down the stairs to the room of the duchess. When they arrived, the pearls were gone.

“Do you think they replaced the fake ones for the real?” asked Penelope.

“More likely they filched these and moved on.”

“Oh dear.”

“The real question is who is our thief.”

“Do you think the person might still be in the house?”

“Possibly, but this is a large home, with numerous rooms and places to hide. We could search for the rest of the day and not see all of the house.”

“True, but we could at least see who is at the tea to know who we can rule out,” suggested Penelope.

A smile spread onto his face. “Quite right, good thinking. Let’s go back to the party.”

“Or we could look from the tower. It would be faster and we should be able to see everyone.”

“Perfect!” Marchford grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it before turning to run down the hall and up the stairs to the tower. Penelope followed along behind, her hand tingling from the unexpected attention.

Marchford was already leaning on the battlements and squinting to see as far as possible.

“Who is there?” asked Penelope. “Or more importantly, who is not there?”

“I do not see our new French noble. All the military seem to be accounted for. Grandmother is talking to the comtesse; Sir Antony is speaking with Thornton’s mother.”

Penelope tried squinting to see what she could. “Most everyone is accounted for. I do not see Lord Thornton or Mr. Neville.”

“I do not see Miss Redgrave, either,” said Marchford.

“Surely she cannot be involved.”

“I never rule out a suspect.”

“Suspect? Are we at the point where we need to assign people the label of suspect?” asked Penelope.

“I find it helpful to call things as they are. Tell me, who was in that card game? Who might know Grandmother had passed the fakes?”

“She was playing with the comtesse, Sir Antony, and Lord Thornton.”

“I can see all three of them.”

“I believe they were playing in the drawing room. Anyone with a clever eye might have seen the game and noted the fakes.”

“This does not help us narrow our suspects.”

“Do you think the spy would be looking for information?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I must go.” Penelope spun and flew down the stairs, as fast as her gown would allow.

Marchford was following her easily. “What is this about?”

“Nothing of importance, truly. I just want to make sure a certain book I have is still where it ought to be.” Penelope walked as fast as she could, but she could not shake Marchford in the least. When she arrived at her room, she tried to tell him good day, but he was in the room searching it for the mystery spy.

Penelope went into her room and checked under the mattress. To her relief, the book was still there.

“What is this?” Marchford strolled into the room, making the small space altogether tiny.

“I simply wished to ensure that my book was here.”

“What book?”

“A copy of the
Peerage
, nothing of any consequence.”

“Miss Rose.” Marchford’s voice was low with warning. “I have ignored whatever schemes you have hatched with my grandmother, but now I need you to be honest and tell me what you two are doing and how this book is of such importance you hid it under your mattress.”

Penelope sighed. She knew it would someday come to this. “The book is one that my sisters and I used when choosing a spouse. The
Peerage
has a list and description of all the peers of the realm, and we augmented the list, particularly in regard to men in want of a wife. We made certain notations regarding their temperament, their holdings, their habits—anything of interest to a future spouse.” She tried to keep the book from him, but he snatched it from her hand and began to read.

“I see if there was a bachelor without a title, you made an entry for him. How enterprising.”

“I can see you are disapproving.”

“Not at all. I bask in the glory of your brilliance. Now tell me what these abbreviations stand for by the potential victim’s name.”

“Perhaps you would like to flip to your own entry and I will enlighten you,” said Penelope with a voice so sweet it almost made her choke.

“Brilliant,” said Marchford, and turned to his entry.

“The
A
and
P
by your name is an assessment of your character—arrogant and proud.”

“Very true, how kind of you to notice. But what of these other initials?”

Penelope smiled until it hurt. “The letters
PP
stand for ‘plump in the pocket.’ I think you get the general idea.” She attempted to retrieve the book to no avail.

“Not at all. What does
QA
stand for?”

“Perhaps we should go down and watch for people as they return.”

“Perhaps you could answer my question.”

“Quite attractive.”

A slow smile spread on Marchford’s face. “You find me attractive.”

“I do not think you are so; I am merely documenting what is plain fact.”

Marchford’s smile did not dim. “You find me attractive.”

“These are merely notes to aid in finding you a wife,” said Penelope, nettled into speaking more than she should.

“You are Madame X, matchmaker to London society.” He spoke with complete confidence.

Penelope paused and said something cowardly. “It was your grandmother’s idea.”

“I do not doubt it. Let me see if I have this correct. When I cut off the additional funds to my grandmother, you both decided to set up shop instead and peddle your wares as a matchmaking service, fleecing your friends and relations. Have I got that about right?”

Penelope was saved from having to respond by the sound of a door closing. Marchford was instantly in action, slipping out the door to discover the culprit, Penelope’s book still in his hand. Marchford ran after the potential spy; Penelope ran after her book.

The hall was a long corridor of closed doors. Was the spy behind one? Which one? Perhaps it was merely a maid or one of the guests returning. Marchford walked slowly down the hall, listening for a sound in any room. At one door he stopped and listened closely. Penelope listened too and could hear the telltale sounds of movement. Someone was in there.

“Whose room?” Marchford mouthed to her.

Penelope shrugged.

He knocked on the door, but nobody answered. He motioned to her to stand back, which she did. He burst open the door to the shriek of the comtesse.

“Marchford! How dare you invade my privacy?” she snarled.

“A thousand pardons,” said Marchford. “I thought this was a different room.”

Penelope flattened herself on the wall outside the room, out of sight.

“Go take your rutting needs and your filthy self out of my room and go straight to hell!”

Marchford took her advice, at least insofar as leaving the room. He walked with Penelope down the hallway to the stairs.

“She seemed a bit put out,” commented Penelope mildly.

“Just a bit,” agreed Marchford.

“You are going to be the talk of the evening I fear. You and your rutting needs.”

“Do let me know how that goes. Apparently I am on a journey to Hades.”

“I hear it’s warm there.”

“Bit hot here too.”

Penelope couldn’t help but smile, which earned her an upward twitch in Marchford’s scowl. His eyes softened and gleamed.

“James, my dear!” The dowager approached them once they reached the entryway, with a throng of people following.

“Where have you been? Did you receive your package? What could be so important you had to leave the tea?”

“Yes, I received what I needed.” Marchford shifted the book from one hand to the other and held it close. “I do apologize for missing the amusements, but sometimes duty calls. Now I need to put this somewhere safe. You will excuse me.” He strode off in full view of the assembly, with Penelope trailing along behind. He still had her book.

He retreated to a small parlor on the second floor in the older part of the manor house. The room was not one that had been renovated and still held much of its Renaissance charm, which some might consider plain old. The large stone fireplace and heavy wood furniture matched the somber expression on Marchford’s face.

“What was that about?” asked Penelope when they were out of earshot and the door was safely shut. “Everyone will think my copy of the
Peerage
is some sort of government document.”

“Precisely the point.” Marchford’s scowl relaxed into an air of self-satisfaction. “Word will spread to the spy that I have received this book, an important book, one that he will want to see.”

“You are using my book as bait!”

“Very good.”

“But I need that book.”

“Miss Rose, please do not tell me that you place the needs of finding a matrimonial partner above the needs of the Crown to defend ourselves from foreign agents who wish only to destroy our way of life, conquer and invade our country—”