Gail Eastwood (14 page)

He took a deep breath. “Need I remind you that, despite her victories, Boadicea lost to the Romans in the end?”

Venetia raised her head defiantly. “She took poison.” Her eyes told him that she would have done the same.

“Venetia.” He tried to speak gently. “I’m sorry, I know I must still say Lady Venetia. If you would let me help you and let Nicholas, you might not have to lose this war. You might find us useful allies.”

“Nicholas is so impulsive. You see how angry you just became? What do you suppose his reaction will be like when he learns of this? He is our brother. What is to stop him from roaring off like a charging bull, exposing the secret to everyone anyway by the time he gets done?”

“I know how to handle Nicholas. I’ll stop him from roaring off. Will you trust me?”

Opening her hand, she held out to him the small fragment of wisteria blossom she must have kept in it the whole time. Slowly she nodded. “It seems I have already begun.”

***

At dinner the guests were divided and seated at three different tables, as they had been on one of the previous evenings. This time all the younger guests were seated together, and the conversation was lively. Gilbey had no chance to speak to Nicholas until the ladies withdrew after the meal, and even then he could only say he wished a few private moments with him. As the guests reassembled for cards in the blue drawing room, the two friends ducked into an anteroom and Gilbey quickly sketched out what had happened.

“It is more than essential that you stay cool about this, Nicholas,” he counseled. “The situation is delicate and calls for subtle handling. We do not want to alert the blackmailer to our efforts any more than we wish to see your sisters’ secret exposed.”

Nicholas was understandably upset. He paced restlessly and repeatedly struck his palm with his fist. “Who could it be? My aunt and my father handpicked these guests. I’ll kill the blackguard, whoever he is! How dare he come under our roof with such intentions?”

“Get a grip on yourself, man. Do you want someone to overhear? Look, what we need to do is have a war council, the four of us.” Gilbey knew that if he could get Nicholas focused upon some specific steps to take, he would calm down.

“All right, all right.” Nicholas stopped and pushed the hair back from his forehead. After a moment’s thought he said, “We will take my sisters for a drive tomorrow morning. It is the only way I can think of to ensure utter privacy.”

***

Venetia lay awake part of the night thinking out her plan to put Vivian and Cranford together. She had had no opportunity to speak privately with her sister until they had retired to their rooms for the night. In their dressing room she had finally recounted her conversation with the viscount in the garden. But her thoughts she could not share. Now she stared up at the blue velvet hangings of her carved four-poster bed, their tasseled shapes comfortingly familiar in the darkness.

Five things were necessary for her plan’s success, as far as she could see. First, Vivian must want Cranford for her husband. That seemed to Venetia to be the easiest part. Vivian liked the viscount and had noticed how handsome he was from the first moment she had seen him. If Venetia had come to care for him so deeply, certainly it should not be difficult for her twin to arrive at similar feelings if she were given enough opportunities to be with him.

Second, Cranford must be willing to marry Vivian.
That should not be too difficult, either.
Unless she had completely misjudged him, he was not exactly indifferent to her, and Vivian was her twin, after all. He had not been disgusted or horrified at the revelation of Vivian’s epilepsy, and he certainly had the patience, kindness, and understanding that they had hoped for so long to find. Surely a quiet, scholarly man such as he would not mind the limited social participation that Vivian would need to observe. What man in his position would turn down the chance to marry into a family as powerful and wealthy as the St. Aldwyns? A fraction of Vivian’s dowry would undoubtedly restore all of his estates and triple them. Plus, Nicholas was his best friend; surely their brother would lend his support to the match.

A bigger obstacle would be obtaining their father’s approval. Determined to present two perfect daughters to the world, the duke fully expected both of the twins to make excellent matches. How could she get him to see the truth? Cranford was indeed an excellent match for Vivian—they were perfect for each other. His lack of funds should not matter, and what other objections could there be? Lord Newcroft was only a viscount, and her father had deemed him eligible enough. Undoubtedly it was because Lord Newcroft was rich enough to loan money to Prinny himself.

The solution was twofold: her father would have to be convinced that the family would not be diminished by a connection to Lord Cranford, and Venetia would have to make the most brilliant match possible to compensate. That meant, of course, the Duke of Thornborough for her, or at the very least one of the three available marquesses. Old as he was, the Duke of Thornborough obviously still thought he could father an heir, and Venetia hoped so. A child would give her life meaning after the old duke passed on.

She nearly choked on a sudden thought: could the duke be the blackmailer? How ironic that would be. With his high opinion of himself, might he still fear that his matrimonial chances were poor because of his age? Now that she had realized money need not be the only motive behind such desperation, the other possible motives seemed limitless. It was more essential now than ever that the blackmailer be discovered, for her choice of mate mattered now much more than before. She had believed that if they failed to stop him, she would go through with marrying the villain to protect her sister. But if he was not among the prime candidates that possibility now became unthinkable.

As difficult as unmasking the blackmailer might be, she thought the last part of her plan might prove to be the hardest. She would have to overcome her feelings for Cranford. If he was to marry Vivian, he would never be gone from her life, and the pain of loss in her heart would be renewed every time she saw him if she did not succeed in exorcising it. But at least failure here would not jeopardize all. It would only condemn her to years of self-torture for her sister’s sake.

Not surprisingly, Venetia’s rest was troubled when sleep did finally overtake her.

Chapter Fourteen

“There are two things that any blackmailer most specifically must have,” Gilbey commented to his companions the following morning as the St. Aldwyns’ landau crested a hill overlooking Rivington. Venetia, Vivian, and Nicholas sat with him in the carriage, en route to the nearby estate village of Colby Compton. On the floor at their feet were several packets of food, medicine, and clothing to be delivered to poor families in the village.

“I think you had both of these very much in mind when you suspected me, Lady Venetia. After considering the situation. I have come to understand why you thought as you did.”

“You suspected Lord Cranford?” Nicholas cast an angry glare at his sister. “He is my best friend!” Turning to Gilbey, he added in accusatory tones, “You did not tell me about that part.”

“I could not tell you about every detail,” Gilbey said with a smile, remembering Venetia’s warm response to his kiss. “Let us not digress. The two things are: motive and knowledge of a secret.”

“Netia! What possible motive did you think Cranford could have had for blackmailing you into marriage?”

“You force me to be rude, Nicholas. You told me yourself that his uncle had swindled him and that he had been struggling to restore his estates. I am perfectly aware that Vivian’s and my dowries are sweet enough by themselves to attract suitors like bees. Or maybe wolves. It seemed rather clear that Lord Cranford was not numbered among the eligible, so I thought that gave him motive enough.”

“And you thought because of his friendship with me, I might have betrayed the family secret?” Nicholas was rigid with indignation. “I am truly insulted!”

“Will you two stop? We must cooperate if we are to have success.” Vivian’s attempt to intercede was ignored.

“Lord Cranford’s behavior seemed to support my suspicions, Nicholas. No one was less interested in courting us than he, and he seemed to be going to great extremes to avoid attracting any attention. For instance, his deliberate attempt to lose the archery competition.” Venetia’s chin was up and one eyebrow was arched quite impossibly high, even for a St. Aldwyn. Her tone was a mixture of defensiveness and challenge.

“How did you know about that? I am surprised you have not uncovered the blackmailer yourself if that is an example of your investigative skills.”

Venetia sighed. “It took no skill at all—I overheard you saying that he was a Cambridge champion.”

She must have heard me ask Nicholas to change the prize, too,
thought Gilbey uncomfortably. Suddenly he felt rather loath to explain himself. “Could we please apply ourselves to the problem at hand?” he asked, only partly as a diversion. “We should determine who among the other guests are likely suspects.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Nicholas, recovering quickly from his agitation. “Enough time has already been wasted suspecting poor Gilbey, who is the most unlikely candidate of all. He has no interest in marriage at all just now, have you, old man? Planning to bury himself in his studies, travel the world, improve his estates, and enjoy the beautiful simplicity of his Cambridge fellowship stipend for a few years. Plenty of time for marriage later, eh?”

No doubt Nicholas was only trying to help, Gilbey reasoned, quelling a mighty urge to punch his friend. Every word was true, but at the moment it sounded like a very poor plan indeed, and this seemed a most unfortunate place and time to advertise it. He glanced at Venetia, but found her expression unreadable. Was she thinking of the secret kisses they had shared? She had every right to think him the worst sort of cad.

“A-ahem. I think we may assume the other guests are here with a definite interest in matrimony,” he said awkwardly. “After all, they have chosen to be here instead of in London just as the Season swings into full stride. We know all of them appear to be respectable and highly eligible, ’else they would never have been invited. But we also know that one among them is not as he appears.”

Nicholas took up the thread of questioning. “Who among them has a motive, then?”

“Or, who does not?”

“Lord Lindell,” said Vivian with conviction. “His parents and sister are here with him, so I think it highly unlikely that he would attempt something of this sort, even if he lacked scruples, even if he had a motive. But he is almost too young to marry. Indeed, I think it is Lady Marchthorpe’s ambitions which push both him and Lady Elizabeth to pay court to us. The worst we suspect of him is that he writes undistinguished poetry.”

It was quite a long speech for the quiet twin. For a moment everyone looked at her.

“What? Do you mean to say it is not my personal charm that has attached the Lady. Elizabeth’s interest?” Nicholas feigned horror at the very idea.

“Silly. It would hardly be the first time that happened.” Venetia had no mercy.

“How ambitious is Lady Marchthorpe?” Gilbey asked quite seriously.

“Oh ho. He sees a villain behind every tree,” Nicholas teased. “Not ambitious enough for desperate tactics, my friend. Consider how highly placed they already are! And they have plenty of feathers to fly with. No, I am inclined to agree with Vivi. It is not Lord Lindell.”

“By that reasoning, then, may we eliminate the Duke of Thornborough, the Marquess of Ashurst, the Marquess of Wistowe, and the Marquess of Amberton? They are all top of the trees, are they not?”

“No.”

Now everyone looked at Venetia.

“I don’t mean that they are not top of the trees, but that we may not eliminate them.” She sighed. “Although it seems the most probable, money is not the only possible motive. Consider. His Grace the Duke of Thornborough might believe he is too old to win one of us by the usual methods. He is so proud, perhaps he will not settle for someone of a lower rank. Certainly he is running out of time to produce an heir—he might be desperate.”

“Or simply ruthless.”

“Lord Wistowe might believe his reputation is too sullied. Lord Ashurst might fear that we are put off by his reclusive’ ways and his reputation as a cynic. The only one of them I would excuse from suspicion is Lord Amberton—I don’t believe he has the wit to put together such a scheme!”

“Ah, another witless wonder.” Gilbey could not resist the comment. When Venetia looked at him sharply, he grinned.

“The point is,” she said impatiently, “the motive depends upon their own perception of their status. How are we to know that?”

“Well, I shouldn’t think that either Lord Wistowe or Lord Ashurst would feel desperate, even if they harbored doubts about their chances for success. They have a good deal more time left than the duke.” Honor forbade Gilbey from revealing that he had an idea of Lord Ashurst’s state of mind.

“All right, that is true,” Venetia admitted. “If we are looking for desperation, however, something that the Duke of Brancaster said the other morning made me wonder about Lord Newcroft. His Grace said the viscount is extremely ambitious, always trying to prove himself. We have noticed how competitive he is. He has such tremendous wealth, it seems natural that he would seek higher rank to go with it, and marriages always do have political ramifications as well as economic and social ones. Perhaps he is not willing to take his chances along with everyone else.”

“Then we have two suspects, so far, the Duke of Thornborough and Lord Newcroft.”

At that point the carriage swayed and rumbled to a halt, surprising them. They had arrived at Colby Compton and the discussion had to be interrupted.

“Oh dear, we did not make very much progress, did we?” lamented Venetia, “Nicholas, I promise I will not argue on the way back if you will promise, also.”

“Done.”

“Lord Cranford, you go with Vivian to deliver these packets while I go with Nicholas. That way we will not overwhelm anyone’s hospitality.”

It was a logical, thoughtful thing to do, but Gilbey was surprised by Venetia’s instructions—surprised and disappointed. Had Nicholas’s unwitting comment destroyed so easily the fragile friendship he thought had begun to blossom between him and Venetia? Perhaps he was reading too much into Venetia’s choice. Perhaps he should not be concerned over it, anyway, since their friendship could lead nowhere.

They descended from the carriage into a crowd of small children quite naturally attracted by the elegant equipage. Venetia and Vivian seemed to know all of the urchins by name and greeted them cheerfully.

“Many of the families in the village are supported by members working at Rivington,” Vivian explained as she patted a last few heads and then began to walk along the row of neat stone cottages facing the street. Gilbey noticed that she never looked at him directly the way her sister did, but kept her eyes on where she was going. “Some of the others are sheep farmers or simple shepherds.” She nodded at the bundles he carried. “We try to give extra help to any who need it.”

They stopped in at three houses, and were offered refreshment at each one despite the obvious poverty. Vivian handled her duties with tact and diplomacy, leaving the gifts without injuring the pride of those receiving them. He was impressed. His sister Gillian had always performed this duty at home, and since her marriage, he had asked his managers to take care of it. One day he would have a wife to do it. He stopped himself, appalled, when he realized he was picturing Venetia in that role.

Instead he tried to focus on Vivian. Did the villagers know she was epileptic? Would not the servants from Rivington share the secret with their families? From there it was easily spread to neighbors. He could not decide if the deference they showed her was more than the usual to be expected for one of her rank. Did he notice a few odd looks? Did she? He was not certain, and he realized suddenly that she must be accustomed to living in that state of uncertainty. Was that part of the reason she was so quiet and self-effacing, or had she always been like that? He was slowly coming to understand how thoroughly her condition must have changed her life and Venetia’s.

They met Nicholas and Venetia walking back to the carriage. The whole visit had taken less than an hour. Once the four were comfortably settled on the leather squabs of the landau and the vehicle started off, they resumed their discussion.

“We have eliminated Lord Lindell from among the earls, but what of Lord Chesdale and Lord Munslow?” Gilbey asked. “What do you feel about either of them?”

“Neither have pressed their suit with much energy,” Venetia said thoughtfully. “Perhaps they feel their chances are not good. Lord Chesdale is more interested in horses and gaming than anything, and Lord Munslow seems to be interested in Lady Norbridge.”

“On the other hand, one of the reasons you suspected me was that I did not show interest in courting you,” Gilbey pointed out.
In the beginning, before I became a total fool.
“Could either of them have a motive?”

“How can we know?” Venetia said crossly. “I don’t believe we are getting anywhere with this. Colonel Hatherwick is the only suitor left whom we haven’t discussed, and if he is the blackmailer then pigs fly and fish dance.”

Gilbey smiled. “The colonel is a close friend of the family. Is it not possible that he might have learned Vivian’s secret? If he felt certain of achieving his goal, he could afford to relax and spend his time fishing, could he not?”

“You are no help whatsoever!” Venetia folded her arms across her middle and with a toss of her head fixed her gaze on the scenery outside the carriage window.

“On the contrary, Netia,” Nicholas protested. “We have managed to reduce the list of suspects by four.”

“What is the colonel’s motive, then?”

“He is only a baron. Perhaps he wishes to advance his close ties to the family through marriage, but despairs of the chance that either of you would choose him.”

“Fiddlesticks!”

“We must consider who among the remaining five might have had some opportunity to learn of Vivian’s trouble,” Gilbey persisted. “It strikes me that it probably happened quite accidentally—few people would have suspected that there was anything wrong to spur an investigation.”

“You did.” Venetia’s tone was accusing.

“Lord Cranford is extraordinarily observant. That is one of the reasons I invited him to come,” Nicholas said. “It is also why he will be able to help us now.”

Damn Lord Cranford, anyway,
Venetia thought, still staring out at the familiar landscape beyond the carriage window. Just what
were
Nicholas’s reasons for inviting him? The viscount might indeed now be trying to help, but at the moment she felt unaccountably vexed with him. Well, perhaps not so unaccountably.

Not interested in marriage!
How had she so misjudged him? How had she allowed him to take liberties—not once, but twice! She should have slapped his face, but instead she . . . well, never mind that now. This was an unanticipated obstacle to her plans. Perhaps, just perhaps, he was not quite so set on those plans as he had once been. Perhaps if he developed a
tendre
for Vivian, he would change his mind. Perhaps, if he did not, there was still another way . . . .

Venetia stopped herself, shocked that she would ever consider trapping a man into marriage. How desperate she was becoming! But time was growing shorter with each day that passed. Tomorrow was Friday, one day short of the halfway mark. Could so much be accomplished in the week that remained?

“Yes,” Cranford was saying in the carriage. Startled, Venetia forced her mind back to the present moment. “It would indeed be helpful to consider anything we know about the delivery of the note.”

They were not far from Rivington now. Venetia answered quickly to cover her lapse in attention. “It was slipped under our door after we retired from playing cards Sunday night. The note was written in block letters, on Rivington paper that is available to any of the guests. No one but Lady Duncross retired before we did. We asked among the servants, but found none who knew anything about a note being delivered.”

“I retired just after you did,” Cranford observed.

“So you said,” Venetia replied. “It was another thing that made me suspicious of you.”

“Nicholas, you are our only hope there, then,” said Vivian. “Can you recall if anyone else left at about that time?”