Scandal of the Year (11 page)

“I need you to make a journey for me,” James said. “I’d go myself, but obviously that’s impossible at the moment.”

Looking mystified, Thornton cocked his grizzled head. “As you wish, sir. Where am I to go?”

“To Lancashire. My memory of the Cromptons is not quite as clear as I’d hoped it would be. So I’d like you to visit the estate on my behalf and see if there might be any paintings of George and Edith in their younger days.”

“Ah.” Thornton nodded sagely. “And you want me to bring these portraits back here to you?”

“Precisely. Not only will it help in identifying them, it will also give me the necessary proof when the case comes to court.”

They paused for a moment while Roland silently brought them mugs of tea.

Thornton added a lump of sugar to his cup and stirred it with a pewter spoon. “But is there not a housekeeper or caretaker who will question my presence there? Mrs. Barnaby is retired now, and her replacement won’t recognize me.”

James reached inside his coat. “I’ve forged a brief note of introduction for you. The penmanship is a fair imitation of George’s.”

After serving dinner, James had been lucky enough to spot a business letter addressed in George’s hand and left on a tray in the entry hall for delivery in the next day’s mail. He had spirited it away to his room and hastily practiced the man’s handwriting.

Now, he passed the folded paper to Thornton. “I’ve explained that you’ve been tasked with fetching some paintings to London. You’re to have full access to all areas of the house. If you cannot find any pictures of the Cromptons in the main rooms, be sure to search the attics, too.”

James had no doubt that an imposter would have sent orders for any incriminating paintings to be put out of sight. He only hoped they hadn’t been disposed of entirely.

“A very wise plan,” the elderly man said with a nod. “When shall I depart?”

“Preferably on the mail coach in the morning. Roland will give you money for the fare.” James looked at his servant, who was sitting cross-legged on the pallet, drinking his own cup of tea. “Providing he hasn’t squandered all my coin on useless trinkets.”

Roland flashed a grin. “I bin stay right here, mon. I guard your money right dere.”

He pointed beside him to his pallet, and James realized that the lump he’d assumed to be a pillow was actually the outline of a strongbox.

James chuckled as he blew on his hot tea. “You’re a good man, Roland. Remind me to give you a bonus when this is all over.”

“Well, then!” Thornton said, rubbing his palms. “If all goes well, I should be back in about a week or so.”

“In the meantime, I’ll continue to look for evidence myself,” James said. “I’m hoping to find something when I search George’s desk. The sooner I can bring those two charlatans to justice, the better.”

Roland scrambled to his feet. “I can help, suh. You pluck one hair from George and one from his wife, and I make
gris-gris
magic. Den I stick a pin in each one”—he mimicked stabbing an imaginary doll in his hand—“and real quick, dem two be sorry dey stole your money.”

“Voodoo won’t be necessary,” James said with an amused shake of his head. “I intend to rely upon the English court system to handle the case.”

“Maybe den you bring fingernail clipping from Miss Crompton? I make a powerful potion so she fall in love with you, suh. That be a fine revenge on her momma and daddy.”

James sat up straight as if he’d been pricked with a
gris-gris
pin himself. He gripped his teacup hard. “For God’s sake,
no
. There’ll be no witch doctor deeds at all, and that’s that.”

Rising from the chair, he ignored Roland’s crestfallen look. The fellow didn’t know it, but the last thing James needed was a love potion. He was already far too obsessed with Miss Blythe Crompton.

Chapter 11

Blythe needed to finagle a measure of time alone with James so that she could broach her plan about tricking Lady Davina.

With that in mind, Blythe ordered a breakfast tray brought to her bedchamber the following morning. Unfortunately, one of the maidservants delivered it. James was nowhere in sight, either, when she sought out a footman to accompany her to the shops on Bond Street. She was loath to ask for him specifically since that would draw undue attention to her interest in him.

At noon on the second day, she descended the grand staircase with Kasi. They were preparing to take a stroll to Lindsey’s house on Park Lane and visit the children. But upon reaching the entrance hall, Blythe spotted her quarry in an antechamber.

Although his back was to her and he wore the traditional white wig and blue livery, she recognized James at once. No other footman had those broad shoulders or that self-assured stance.

Determination took fire within her, but she hid the reaction behind a cool demeanor. She knew from long experience not to stir the suspicions of her
ayah
.

Going to one of the long windows that flanked the front door, Blythe made a pretense of peering out into the gray day. “Oh, pooh, I do believe it looks like rain. We had better postpone our walk until later.”

Kasi’s dark eyes narrowed to slits. Too wise by half, she glanced from Blythe to the antechamber, then back again. “We take coach, missy.”

“That is an excellent solution,” Blythe said. “Why don’t you order it brought around? Tell the coachman that half an hour from now will suffice.”

Kasi gave her another suspicious look. Nevertheless, she put her palms together and salaamed, then shuffled away down the corridor leading to the rear of the house.

Blythe lost no time in scurrying across the marble floor and through the door of the antechamber. “James, how fortunate that I found you here.”

He turned sharply, a stack of letters in his white-gloved hand. The rugged masculine angles of his face looked at odds with the sober garb of a servant. Certainly, his gaze skimmed her in a way no member of the staff ought to look at a lady.

His bland expression revealing nothing of his thoughts, he gave a slight bow. “Good morning, Miss Crompton. How may I assist you?”

“I wondered if there was any mail for me today.”

“The usual collection of posies arrived earlier,” he said. “The housekeeper put the flowers in vases in the morning room. Oh, and there was a note, as well.”

He flipped through the letters in his hand, selected one, and held it out to her.

She ignored the offering. “Bring it to my chamber,” she said coolly. “At once.”

Turning on her heel, Blythe breezed out of the room. How haughty he must think her to be unwilling to carry one measly little note by herself. But he would understand her purpose soon enough.

His footsteps sounded a short distance behind her. She felt a trifle breathless, and the sensation had nothing to do with the slight exertion of mounting the stairs. It was the giddy anticipation of being alone with James.

Instantly, Blythe lectured herself. She
must
overcome this girlish mooning over a handsome footman. Marriage to the Duke of Savoy had to be the foremost objective in her life. To accomplish that goal, she needed to convince James to take part in the scheme to hoodwink Lady Davina.

Upon reaching the family quarters, she kept a sharp lookout. To her relief, the corridor with its gilded pillars was empty in both directions. Mama was busy in her chamber, writing out invitations to a card party she was planning for the coming week.

That
was her mother’s solution to the problem with Lady Davina. They had gone to another ball the previous night, and the duke’s daughter had snubbed Blythe yet again, refusing to allow her access to Savoy. Mama couldn’t seem to grasp that Lady Davina would not be diverted by fair means.

So Blythe would use foul.

The plush carpet muffled their footsteps. Her hips swaying, she knew that James would be lagging a respectful distance behind her. What was he thinking as he followed in her wake? Was he watching her? Did he admire her figure and envy the gentlemen whose rank allowed them to court her?

Blythe grimaced. How imprudent to speculate on the thoughts of a servant. James might be handsome, even fascinating in his distinctive way, but their lives were irrevocably separated by rank. Nothing could ever come of her attraction to him. She knew full well the necessity of avoiding even the slightest breath of scandal.

Consequently, no one must find out about this clandestine meeting.

Outside her bedchamber, she took another glance around and then proceeded inside. A moment later, James stepped through the doorway. He was holding a silver salver on which sat the letter.

His shrewd gaze met hers, but he said nothing. He must know something was up, but he would leave it to her to make the first move.

Blythe closed the door, then hastened past him to take a swift glance into the dressing room. It was empty. No maid lurked anywhere within earshot. The last thing Blythe needed was for gossip to spread below stairs, because then it would inevitably reach Mama’s ears.

James stood waiting in the same spot. He lifted the salver slightly toward her. “Your letter.”

An undercurrent of irony in his voice revealed his suspicion of her request to come here. But he could have no possible notion of her true intention.

She took the letter, saw that it was from Lord Kitchener, and then tossed it onto the bedside table. Another silly rhyme, no doubt. The viscount had been sending them every day, thanks to Lady Davina’s assuring him that Blythe loved poetry.

Better she should think about James. He might lose his position if he was caught assisting in her scheme. Was she wrong to ask him?

She shook off her misgivings. Instinct told her that now was not the time to equivocate. She must win James over by treating him like a friend, an equal. To that end, she must be frank.

“I’m sure you’ve guessed that the letter is merely a pretext,” she said. “I asked you to follow me here so that we might have a word in private.”

“As your servant, I’m always happy to oblige you.”

She flushed. The swift beating of her heart made her feel light-headed. He couldn’t have meant anything salacious … could he? Certainly not. Envisioning the two of them locked in a passionate embrace was the product of her own wayward imagination.

She took a deep breath. “I’ve a favor to ask you in regard to Lady Davina. You do remember her, don’t you?”

“The daughter of the Duke of Savoy.”

“Yes.” Beset by restlessness, Blythe walked back and forth in front of the fireplace. “You witnessed her rudeness toward me at the ball here. She has made it very plain that she opposes a marriage between me and her father.”

“She was quite clear on the matter,” James agreed in a neutral tone.

He seemed so cool and distant today. What had happened to the camaraderie they’d shared the morning he’d brought her breakfast?

Folding her arms, she continued her pacing. “Since then, Lady Davina has kept to her word. She’s done everything in her power to separate me from her father. A few evenings ago, she even played a nasty trick by creating a circumstance in which I would be embarrassed by Viscount Kitchener.”

James cocked a dark eyebrow. “Indeed?”

Blythe didn’t want to hearken back to that incident, but perhaps it would gain James’s sympathy. “My parents and I attended a musicale at Lady Wargrave’s house. Davina arranged for Lord Kitchener to sit beside me. You see, she knew he’d been smoking opium and she hoped he would embroil me in some sort of distasteful scene.”

“But you’re not in disgrace, so I must assume she failed.”

“Luckily, Kitchener fell asleep before he could do any harm to my reputation. However, I confess to being worried about what she might try next. And whether or not she will succeed next time in humiliating me in front of society.”

James set down his silver tray on a table. He clasped his hands behind his back and regarded her. “Forgive my forwardness, but perhaps you should find another nobleman to wed—someone with more amenable kinsfolk.”

If only it was so simple. Like her sisters, he couldn’t fathom Blythe’s situation. He didn’t know that Papa had his heart set on this union. Mama had said so in no uncertain terms.

Your father believes that a marriage between you and the duke would be an absolutely brilliant match.

Blythe lifted her chin. “My parents wish for me to marry well. Having the duke as my husband would elevate not only my status, but theirs as well. No one would ever again dare to snub them.”

He frowned. “Your sister is wed to an earl and your other sister to a viscount. Is that not sufficient?”

“No,” she said firmly. “There are still those who look down on us. That is why I am determined to wed the duke. However, Lady Davina is an impediment. I’ll need to find a way to distract her so she’ll lower her guard and allow me access to her father.”

“Distract? In what way?”

“I’ve decided to play matchmaker and find a suitor for her, a man who will divert her attention. There’s only one problem.”

Faint amusement tilted one corner of James’s mouth. “Let me guess. No man in his right mind would court a shrew like her.”

It should be shocking to hear such a condemnation of a lady coming from a servant. Yet James seemed set apart from the rest of the staff, a man unique unto himself.

“There is that,” Blythe said. “But I meant Davina is such a snob that only a very few gentlemen meet her high standards. I cannot imagine her settling for any rank less than a duke. And at present, there
are
no dukes—or their heirs—on the Marriage Mart besides her father.”

“A pretty pickle for you, then.”

“Not entirely.” Blythe slowed her steps to watch him closely. “I was thinking that I might have to find a royal for her … a prince, to be precise.”

“Surely you cannot mean the Prince Regent,” James said. “Forgive me, but from what I’ve heard of the man, I doubt you would have any influence over him.”

Blythe shook her head. “I don’t want someone known to society. That would be far too difficult to manage. Rather, I was considering a foreign prince.”