Dangerous in Diamonds (14 page)
“I thank you for sharing the gossip, Albrighton.”
T
hey strolled on. Castleford pictured Latham at those meetings, basking in the attention. He saw Latham using his eloquence to make the oppression of free men’s rights sound reasonable and necessary.
hey strolled on. Castleford pictured Latham at those meetings, basking in the attention. He saw Latham using his eloquence to make the oppression of free men’s rights sound reasonable and necessary.
“Have you seen Latham?” he asked.
“In passing. He did not recognize me,” Albrighton said.
“I doubt he will. You were only the man who handed his slave over to face the guillotine, after all. I am the one who told him to his face that I knew he had pulled the strings and had been treasonous for no more reason than his own amusement and a few francs.”
He was sure his voice did not falter as he spoke. Yet putting it into words, what had happened and its horrible conclusion, stuck in his throat as it emerged.
There had been no choice, of course. He often told himself that. But if ever his curiosity had led to unexpected results, that was the time. He had suspected soon enough that Marie was fleecing wealthy Englishmen as she sold shares of her estate to them. He had not expected to discover that the money was going to Napoleon loyalists desperate to raise yet another army in his name.
Now he walked beside Albrighton, much as they had walked on either side of Marie as they handed her over to the French and her fate. He’d had to know, of course, if his last suspicion about the intrigue surrounding her was true.
You were Latham’s lover too, weren’t you? Did he point you at me, so I would be complicit even as I was unaware ?
He had seen her face in the twilight as she gazed at the last of the setting sun, looking so young and frightened that his heart broke for her.
He discovered early where the money that I accumulated was going. He explained that the price of my freedom was my body and half of all I raised.
I do not hate you for this, Castleford—I know you only do your duty, and even if you had loved me it would be the same. But him—unlike you, he has no honor and no loyalty to anything. Kill him, if you ever get the chance, Tristan.
“You are lost in your thoughts, Castleford. If I have called forth unpleasant ones, I apologize,” Albrighton said as their steps took them out of the park and toward the house.
“Unpleasant enough, and sobriety has made them too vivid. Thank you for ruining my day. I will return the favor sometime.” It had been inevitable, however, sober or not. Sooner or later, he would be dealing with Latham’s reemergence in his life. He had known that since he received word of the old duke’s death.
Albrighton actually made an attempt at small talk then, to distract him. The effort was valiant but the results awkward. All the same, the last of the memories had faded by the time they approached the house.
“The wagon is here. You should make your escape while you can,” Albrighton said.
Another set of wheels rested behind the wagon’s. Castleford recognized the carriage as one of Summerhays’s.
A few queries by his steward to households that contracted with The Rarest Blooms had told him the wagon would probably come today. He was delighted that his guess regarding Mrs. Joyes coming as well had been correct.
“I would not think of leaving without paying my respects to your wife, no matter how she is dressed. That would be rude.”
Chapter Nine
“Y
ou could just enjoy town while you are visiting,” Celia said. “You do not have to spend the days on trade.”
ou could just enjoy town while you are visiting,” Celia said. “You do not have to spend the days on trade.”
Daphne did not think Celia’s dismissal of her plan a good sign. They were partners in The Rarest Blooms now. Celia should be more interested in seeing it prosper.
Of course Celia no longer needed the partnership to put food on the table, now that she was married to Jonathan. Her condition, now apparent in the gentle bulge below her garment’s high waist, no doubt accounted for her lack of enthusiasm too.
“I have been enjoying myself. I have already been to Bullock’s Museum and done some shopping on Ludgate Hill. However, I am unable to fill my days with outings completely, Celia. Calling on the steward or butler of one house each day is concluding discussions more quickly than writing back and forth.”
Celia shrugged. “If it gives you pleasure to do so, then I am not going to object. However, it will be some months before they want those flowers or plants, so writing back and forth is hardly a significant delay.”
They sat in her back sitting room, the one where Celia had built shelves near the big window to hold the plants that arrived from Cumberworth. Even as they spoke, the last of them were carried in and handed to Daphne, who placed them where they would not get too much summer sun.
Daphne noticed that a good deal of dirt had found its way onto Celia’s floor. “Where is Miriam? We need a broom.”
“She went above. I do not think she will be down for a while.” Celia smiled impishly. “She is hiding.”
“Not from me, I hope.”
“Of course not. She is hiding from the owner of that horse tied up outside. She recognized him from her past.”
“I expect that was startling. Although she is safe enough if she remains indoors.”
“Not really, since he came indoors too, and she came face-to-face with him. He was not a patron, but she is convinced he saw her in her glory, as it were. I told her it was unlikely he remembers, but up she ran. She took Bella with her, because she does not want Bella to come to the attention of such men.”
Daphne looked out the window, perplexed. “Is he in the garden? I saw no one in the library or front sitting room.”
“He is with Jonathan. They went to the park for a private talk.”
Just then the sounds of a door opening reached Daphne’s ears. The boots that entered the house did not stop at the front chambers but continued toward the back of the house.
Celia’s blue eyes widened in alarm. She glanced down at her soiled apron, quickly untied it, and threw it behind the settee. Her cap followed it. Celia dressed her golden hair so artfully that it made her appear ready for a dinner party no matter how simple her dress might be.
Daphne watched the hurried preparations. She hoped this visitor did not expect her to do the same. Her lilac muslin would have to be good enough.
The steps closed on them. Jonathan appeared in the doorway. Celia gave him a good glare, then quickly masked her face with a broad smile just in time for the visitor’s entry.
Daphne almost dropped the pot she held when she saw the man with Jonathan. Celia might have warned her!
Celia curtsied and Castleford bowed while they exchanged greetings. He turned to Daphne. She remembered to curtsy too.
Celia hid any fluster beneath well-trained poise. “Your Grace, my apologies for not greeting you when you arrived.” She gestured helplessly around the chamber at the plants and dirt. “You can see that I had reason to be less than appropriately dressed for visitors.”
“My dear Mrs. Albrighton, you can never be other than lovely to a visitor’s eye.”
“I hear it said that Lord Castleford is not a stickler about such things, Celia,” Daphne said. “Indeed, he is very open-minded on the entire question of appropriate dress, even when entertaining, I am told. Is that true, Your Grace?”
“It depends entirely on the visitor I entertain, Mrs. Joyes, as well as the form of the entertainment.”
Jonathan smiled and Celia giggled at the bawdy allusions. No wonder Castleford was incorrigible, Daphne thought. Everyone indulged him and only encouraged him to preen in his delight in his own badness.
He had effectively silenced her, however. She could not think of a clever comeback, try as she might.
“The afternoon is warm, Your Grace. May I offer some refreshment?” Celia asked. “Some lemon and honey punch, perhaps? We can all enjoy the garden.”
Daphne all but rolled her eyes. Celia did not know Castleford well if she thought this duke would want to sit in a garden drinking punch. Fortunately, the offer would get rid of him fast.
“That sounds splendid, Mrs. Albrighton. You are too kind.” He turned ever so graciously to Daphne. “I trust you will join us, Mrs. Joyes. I would not want to think that my visit caused you to shorten your own.”
“Of course she will join us,” Celia said. “She is the last woman to run away from anything, even you, Your Grace.”
Celia thought herself very humorous, from the sparks in her eyes. Jonathan’s smile turned a little sardonic.
Trapped before she had time to plan an escape, Daphne of course agreed to join them.
The gentlemen went out to the garden. Celia pulled Daphne aside. “Oh, dear. I just realized that the punch is down below and Miriam—”
“Go out to your esteemed guest, Celia. I will bring the punch.”
“M
rs. Joyes will join us soon,” Mrs. Albrighton said as she settled on the chair her husband held for her. “My woman has taken ill, and, fortunately, Mrs. Joyes is not only capable in every way but also not too proud to help a friend in need.”
rs. Joyes will join us soon,” Mrs. Albrighton said as she settled on the chair her husband held for her. “My woman has taken ill, and, fortunately, Mrs. Joyes is not only capable in every way but also not too proud to help a friend in need.”
Castleford muttered words of admiration for a woman not too proud. Mrs. Joyes had looked none too pleased to see him walk in that sitting room. She might take a good while to arrive with the punch.
In the meantime, here he was, hellishly sober on a sunny afternoon, about to spend a good deal of time talking about nothing of importance.
What in hell was happening to him?
He decided to pass the time doing a bit of prying. Mrs. Albrighton had lived at The Rarest Blooms a long time. She probably knew Mrs. Joyes as well as anyone did.
He doubted that she knew Mrs. Joyes’s secrets, however. Mrs. Albrighton would not know about Becksbridge or how Mrs. Joyes came by that property. She also probably did not know what he had discovered this morning in the War Office cellar—that Mrs. Joyes had been living a long lie about her past.
“Your friend is a lovely woman,” he said to Mrs. Albrighton. “And very considerate, I see. I trust that she is enjoying her visit to London?”
Mrs. Albrighton pursed her lips. “She has found ways to make it other than a sojourn of pleasure. I am not surprised. She has a tendency to seriousness that requires her to be industrious in some way or another.”
“Perhaps travel is a common experience for her. If so, a visit to London might be too ordinary to require diversions.”
“She traveled when she was married, of course. When she followed the drum. Since moving to Cumberworth, however, she rarely missed a night there.” Mrs. Albrighton paused thoughtfully. “There were a few occasions when she removed herself for several days. And once for a longer spell. A fortnight, I believe, although I do not remember well since it was many years ago.”
“Perhaps she prefers friends to visit her in the country.”
“No, not that I recall. Well, Audrianna and Audrianna’s mother, but otherwise we had no visitors from London, for example.”
So, even if the affair with the old duke had continued while Mrs. Joyes used that property, it had not been during the five years that Mrs. Albrighton lived with her. Castleford had wondered about that.
“She holds her own counsel, but I surmise that her life has not been an easy one,” he said.
Mrs. Albrighton glanced over her shoulder, checking to make sure the subject of their conversation was not visible. “Not at all easy. When her father died, her family’s property went to a second cousin who felt no obligation to her. Nor did her other relatives. Audrianna—Lady Sebastian Summerhays—is her cousin, you may know, and Audrianna has told me how humiliated she was that her parents concluded they could ill afford to take Daphne in. When Audrianna herself needed a home, however, Daphne did not hesitate. There were other relatives who were no more helpful, so Daphne had to go into service as a governess.”
“You must encourage her to make the most of this week, Mrs. Albrighton,” Castleford said. “A life with no fun is sad, no matter how admirably virtuous it may be.”
Albrighton raised one eyebrow at that. He said nothing, however, good man that he was. If Hawkeswell were here, he would immediately remark upon the peculiarity of the words “admirably virtuous” coming from a man who never admired virtue.
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