Gail Eastwood (18 page)

Venetia shook her head. “There was a carriage accident six years ago. Our mother was killed. Vivian’s head was injured but she recovered almost fully.” She lifted her head. “Please, do not say anything to her about it. And I must beg you to say nothing to anyone else.”

Ashurst gave his word and Venetia returned to Vivian’s side. A few minutes later both twins rejoined the gentlemen.

“They have been picking the flowers we wanted, Vivi, while you rested,” Venetia told her. She saw the lines of concern ease in her sister’s face.

“Of course, now we must hurry back to the house, must we not?” Cranford said. “I assume you will want to put these into water.”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump that had reformed in her throat. As the four of them returned to their boats, she heard Vivian exclaim over the flowers and Ashurst ask, “Are you feeling more rested now, Lady Vivian?”

Vivi’s reply was too soft for Venetia to hear, but there was no mistaking the questioning look she shot at her afterward as she settled herself in Ashurst’s punt. Venetia was thankful that she would have a little time to decide just what she should tell her sister.

Chapter Eighteen

Sunday’s events left Venetia more determined than ever to match Cranford with Vivian, despite troublesome doubts that occasionally assailed her. What could make more sense than joining together two people whom she loved? She had come to accept that she did love Cranford, but dwelling on that truth brought her nothing but heartache.

He had proved how well suited he was temperamentally to be a husband for her sister by the marvelous way he had smoothed over Vivian’s problem on Sunday afternoon. His assertion that he didn’t want a marriage based on love gave her hope that he might agree to such a marriage. Perhaps he would come to love Vivian in time.

How she would convince him to agree to such a marriage still escaped her. He was handsome and in all ways wonderful—he could marry anyone he wished. He was young—ten years from now he would still be considered prime marriage material. How unfair it was that women did not have that advantage! But he was not likely to have another chance to wed a duke’s daughter, or any other woman with so large a dowry. And surely Vivian could make him happy. Such a future would be better than the kind of uncaring union he apparently envisioned for himself.

Venetia accepted that Vivian did not love him. Her twin at least liked and admired him, and that was enough. Love might come later. With such a foundation, love had a better chance to grow than if Vivian were forced to marry someone for whom she felt nothing. Why should they both have to suffer that fate?

However, determination was one thing, success quite another. Neither the viscount nor Vivian cooperated with Venetia’s aim over the next several days. Despite her assurances to her sister that no one had witnessed anything more than the beginning signs of her seizure on Sunday, Vivian renewed old habits, blaming her nerves or her need to rest as a frequent excuse to withdraw from company or refrain from activities. Cranford now seemed determined to avoid both of the twins, and Venetia was lucky if she caught sight of him, never mind having a chance to speak with him.

She thought about him constantly. She could not keep her mind on anything else, for she was always watching in case he should appear. When she complained of his neglect to Nicholas, her brother shrugged and replied that he and Cranford were still working hard to unmask the blackmailer.

She learned from Nicholas that the gentlemen had begun to lay wagers on whom she and her sister would choose as mates by the end of the week. She was not pleased to discover through her maid that a similar betting book had been opened among the men servants. How could any of them guess what she might do when she herself had no idea? She decided to devote her attention to someone different on each of the remaining days, and wondered maliciously what effect that would have on the betting odds.

The party rolled on regardless of Venetia’s emotional state. There was a boxing match on Monday, and on Tuesday the ladies went on a shopping expedition into Cheltenham while the gentlemen hunted hares in the hills around Rivington. Aunt Alice had decreed that on Wednesday evening there was to be a grand extravaganza—a show that would feature the many talents of the guests—and that had set them all in more of a stir than anything else that had happened since their arrival. Most of the purchases in Cheltenham were fabrics and paints for costumes and other decorations required for the performances.

Nicholas and Gilbey continued to dig for information about the suspect guests. They held quiet conversations with servants and asked what they hoped were unobtrusive questions. Reluctant to discuss their employers, the servants were more forthcoming about their fellows, but little useful information was revealed. Gilbey hoped that he would have a reply to his letter to London very soon since he had made clear the urgent need for speed.

On Wednesday morning Rivington was all abuzz with preparations for the evening’s entertainment. Servants scurried to and fro, some busy helping the guests while others were assigned to transform the grand salon into what could pass for a small theater with separate areas for the stage and audience. With no plan as to how he would participate, Gilbey sought to escape the hubbub by slipping out to the stables and arranging to go riding.

One of the Rivington grooms approached him as soon as he appeared in the stable entrance.

“Thomas, isn’t it?” Gilbey greeted him. “Good morning.”

The man respectfully doffed his hat. “Morning, milord. Beggin’ pardon, if I might have a word?” He hesitated until Gilbey nodded. “I remember you were asking some questions t’other day. Might be I’ve thought of something.”

Gilbey gave the man his full attention. “Of course. Here, let us step out of the way. There’s a shilling in it, or maybe more, if the information is useful.”

“One of the guests, Lord Munslow—we were noting that he didn’t bring his own groom with him, though many of the others did. Somebody wondered at it—said as how he had a groom that used to work here and wouldn’t you think the fellow’d want to come back to see his old friends.”

Gilbey felt his pulse leap. “Anyone remember how long ago the fellow left here?” If it was more than six years, the coincidence would still signify nothing.

“Don’t know, milord. I can ask.”

“Here’s for your trouble so far,” Gilbey said, giving Thomas the shilling. “I want to know if it was before or after your mistress died.”

Gilbey decided that he would search out Nicholas to share this development instead of riding. He returned to the house, but as luck would have it, ran into his dinner partner, the baroness, Lady FitzHarris.

“Oo-ooh, Lord Cranford,” she exclaimed, sounding rather as if someone were squeezing the air out of her. “You could be just the man we need! Pray tell me, what are you doing for the extravaganza tonight? Have you something marvelous all planned and ready?”

Gilbey felt a bit uneasy about where this was leading, but what could he say? “To tell the truth, Lady FitzHarris, I plan to do what I do best, namely to show my talent for observation by sitting in the audience and watching everyone else.”

Lady FitzHarris chortled. “Oh dear, no, sir, that will never do! I’m certain that is not allowed.”

“Why, someone has to be in the audience,” he answered reasonably.

The plump baroness chuckled again. He didn’t remember her being so prone to giggling on his other occasions in her company. “We will all be in the audience, silly!” she said. “We will only go up when it is our turn to perform.”

She took his arm and began to propel him along the corridor. “This is too perfect, it is no doubt meant to be. We just needed one more man for our ensemble piece, and here you are. There is still time to have you fitted for a costume.”

Gilbey prayed that Nicholas or someone might appear to rescue him from this situation as he journeyed through Rivington in the clutches of Lady FitzHarris, but he was not so lucky. The first St. Aldwyn he laid eyes on was Venetia when they arrived in the blue drawing room. Unfortunately, he clearly could not appeal to her for help, for she was the exact person to whom he was being delivered.

“Lady Venetia has very kindly gathered all of us who had not the slightest idea what to do and has organized our transformation into a group of dancing cards. Is that not clever? Instead of dance cards! We’ll be dancing playing cards, you see?”

Gilbey’s gaze had locked with Venetia’s and he barely heard Lady FitzHarris at all. He had worked so hard to stay away from Venetia for the past two days, hoping that among other things his ardor would cool without the constant stimulus of her presence. Now in the space of an instant he was cast back into the fire.
Devil and damnation!
Would he never break free of her spell?

Venetia colored under his gaze and was the first to pull her eyes away. “Lady FitzHarris, please!” she said in a rather strangled tone. “I do not think we can force Lord Cranford against his will. He looks quite angry enough to scatter our cards to kingdom come.”

“O-oh,” responded the baroness, no longer giggling. “Come now, Lord Cranford, do say you will help us. You are not angry, are you? How could you possibly decline the honor of assisting your two hostesses and the Duchess of Brancaster, not to mention Lady Caroline Sainsberry, Lady Sibbingham, and myself? You will be in fine company with our other gentlemen!”

How could he decline indeed? He glanced up at the fancifully decorated ceiling, but found no answer there.
Dancing playing cards. In company with both twins.
Nicholas would owe him some new favors by the time this gathering was over—that is, if he survived.

***

An hour later Gilbey was released, all measured and rehearsed and assigned the role of the ace of clubs. He resumed his original errand, searching for Nicholas. He found him in the tapestry room, where a luncheon buffet of cold food had been set out for any who wished midday refreshment.

“I have news,” he said without preamble, taking the empty chair beside his friend.

“So have I,” Nicholas answered. “Where have you been? I have been looking for you.

Gilbey groaned. “Would that you had found me! Some shred of my dignity might have been saved. Instead I am sentenced to perform this evening as a playing card—the ace of clubs, no less—in your sister’s dance performance.”

Nicholas laughed. “Blame my aunt—the show was her idea. I have mail for you—from London, and franked by the new Marquess of Radclyffe. Reaching inside his coat, he produced the thin paper packet.

All else dropped from Gilbey’s attention as he broke the seal and removed the cover. Inside he found two letters, one the awaited answer from his brother-in-law, and the other a note from his sister Gillian.

He scanned the first letter eagerly. “This is it,” he said excitedly, lowering his voice. His brother-in-law had reported various bits of information, some of it irrelevant, but the passage that caught his eye read:

What I have learned about Lord Munslow is not generally known and in fact quite surprised me. He is renowned as a gamester and is generally assumed to be plump in the pockets, for he lives well, pays his vowels promptly, and never blinks an eye at his losses. Discreet inquiries in some unorthodox avenues known to me have revealed that his pockets are in fact quite to let—he hasn’t a feather to fly with. How he manages to go on I can’t begin to imagine.

***

I can,
thought Gilbey, clenching his jaw.
At least, I can now.
Wordlessly he handed the letter to Nicholas. He folded Gillian’s letter and put it in his pocket to be read later.

Nicholas whistled. “Munslow! I never thought it. Why, I’d like to—”

“Nicholas,” Gilbey said. “We must continue to be unobtrusive. Come with me—we must go to the stables.”

“What was your news?”

“You’ll see. I think we’re about to receive more.”

They hurried to the stableyard and were fortunate not to run into anyone on their way there. Gilbey inquired for Thomas and quickly located the young man.

“I’m certain you have been busy with your duties,” he said, “but have you had any time to look into that other question for me? The answer has become more important than ever.”

The groom looked surprised. “Why, yes, milord. I sent a message up to the house asking a word with you.”

Gilbey smiled ruefully. “Of course. You see, Nicholas? Even the servants couldn’t find me in the clutches of those confounded women.”

The groom’s face remained perfectly unexpressive except for a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Go ahead, Thomas, tell us what you learned.”

He looked apologetically at Nicholas. “Beggin’ pardon, my lord, to have to speak of this. Seems the fellow that works for Lord Munslow left just a month or so after Her Grace was killed in that accident . . .” He wrung his cap as if he would say more.

“It’s all right, Thomas,” Nicholas reassured him. “Lord Cranford knows about Lady Vivian. Was it then that the fellow left? There were a few who quit us at that time—you were not here then, were you?”

“That’s right, my lord.”

“There’s the link then,” Gilbey said with satisfaction. “We’ve nearly got him. Thank you, Thomas.” He flipped the man a half crown, “Share that as seems fitting, will you?”

“Well done, Thomas,” Nicholas added.

They headed for the gardens rather than the house. When they were far enough from the stable block for privacy, Nicholas slowed his steps, “What did you mean, ‘nearly got him’? We’ve got a foolproof motive and the opportunity for him to come by the information. We haven’t got that for any of the others. It has to be him.”

“Oh, I don’t question that, my friend. What we don’t have is proof. I’ve got to go to London. The only other question I have now is, do we tell your sisters? If Munslow catches a hint that we’re on to him before I can get back, there’s no saying what may happen.”

“Venetia is a better actress than Vivian.”

How well Gilbey knew that! He gave Nicholas a funny look, but his friend did not notice.

“We cannot tell one and not the other. I’d say we should wait until Saturday,” the duke’s son concluded.

“Your sister and the other ladies will be lined up to kill me if I leave for London before this evening’s performance,” Gilbey said. “You’ve no idea how much I would like to do so, nonetheless. I hate to lose the time, but it might also seem suspicious. I will have to leave in the morning as soon as it gets light.”

Nicholas nodded. “I’ll see to all the arrangements.”

***

That night the usual after-dinner rituals were given over to readying the show. Gilbey stood in the blue drawing room wearing a long black-and-white tunic over his clothes, a tabard of heavy, starched cotton painted to look like the ace of clubs hanging down from his shoulders. Petite Lady Caroline stood on a chair positioning a pasteboard crown adorned with black painted trefoils on his head.

“My goodness but you are tall,” she said. “You do look splendid!”

“I feel like I’m wearing a dress,” Gilbey said irritably, plucking at his long tunic. Lord Newcroft and Lord Lindell, similarly dressed, were conversing in another corner of the room and apparently heard this remark, for they chuckled sympathetically.