An Unexpected Countess
Laurie Benson
‘Dash it, Miss Forrester, what are you doing up here?’The Earl of Hartwick delights in scandalising the Ton with his behaviour. But it’s his turn to be scandalised when, on one of his escapades, he bumps into Miss Sarah Forrester—in the rain, at night, on a rooftop!Sarah is hunting for a diamond, and the last thing she needs is the infuriating Hart distracting her. But he’s looking for the jewel too! They might be rivals, but the sparks between them are uncontrollable. And soon Sarah finds herself longing for another treasure—becoming Hart’s countess!
“Dash it, Miss Forrester, what are you doing up here?”
The Earl of Hartwick delights in scandalizing the ton with his behavior. But it’s his turn to be scandalized when, on an escapade, he bumps into Miss Sarah Forrester—in the rain, at night, on a rooftop!
Sarah is hunting for a diamond, and the last thing she needs is the infuriating Hart distracting her. But he’s looking for the jewel, too! They may be rivals, but the sparks between them are uncontrollable. And soon Sarah finds herself longing for another treasure—becoming Hart’s countess!
Secret Lives of the Ton (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
What Society doesn’t know...
Meet Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, Gabriel Pearce, the Duke of Winterbourne, and Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick.
In the eyes of the Ton, these three gentlemen are handsome, upstanding men who—mostly!—play by the rules. But what Society doesn’t know is that behind closed doors these three men are living scandalous lives and hiding scandalous secrets!
Read Julian’s story in
An Unsuitable Duchess
Read Gabriel’s story in
An Uncommon Duke
And read Hart’s story in
An Unexpected Countess
All available now!
Author Note (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
Hart and Sarah weren’t supposed to fall in love. When I started writing An Unsuitable Duchess I simply intended them to be the best friends of my hero and heroine. But as I wrote that book it became obvious to me that these two would be perfect together. They needed their own story, and that story would open with them running into each other on a rooftop in London in the middle of the night. I just needed to figure out why they were there!
Around that time I read an article about the Sancy Diamond. This diamond was once part of the pre-Commonwealth Crown Jewels of England, but was sold by James II to Cardinal Mazarin in 1657. In 1792 the Sancy, along with the rest of the French Crown Jewels, was stolen when the Royal Treasury was stormed during the French Revolution. The Sancy Diamond disappeared, and its whereabouts was unknown until Prince Demidoff, a Russian nobleman, bought it from an unnamed source in 1828. The mystery of where it had been for thirty-six years was too intriguing to pass up, and it gave me a reason to put Hart and Sarah on that roof.
I hope you enjoy reading their story. For information about my other releases visit my website at lauriebenson.net. While you’re there you can also search my blog to find information about some of the other interesting historical titbits I uncovered while doing research for this book.
An Unexpected Countess
Laurie Benson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning historical romance author and Golden Heart® Award finalist. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter, where she learned more than anyone could ever want to know about hot dogs and credit score reports. When she isn’t at her laptop, avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing in museums or taking ridiculously long hikes with her husband and two sons. You can visit her at lauriebenson.net (http://www.lauriebenson.net).
Books by Laurie Benson
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Secret Lives of the Ton
An Unsuitable Duchess
An Uncommon Duke
An Unexpected Countess
Visit the Author Profile page
at www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.
For Lori, who crossed an ocean with me and let me drag her around London in search of hiding places. And for Mia, who has been on Team Hart from the beginning. This one is for the two of you.
A big thank-you to my editor, Kathryn Cheshire, for helping me bring Hart and Sarah to life. You’re a gem! And thanks to the rest of the team at Harlequin, especially Krista Oliver, Linda Fildew, Tilda McDonald, Miranda Indrigo and Lucy Gough for all you’ve done for me.
I’m very thankful to my agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan with Handspun Literary Agency, for helping me fulfil my dream of publishing all three books in this trilogy.
To my family–thanks for your support and encouragement while I worked on this book. I’m sorry about the dust bunnies and the empty refrigerator. At least we know a good pizza place that delivers. I love you guys!
And, last but far from least, thank you to my readers. Your enthusiasm and kind words about my books have truly touched my heart.
Contents
Cover (#u3cf7d9a3-490d-5bb2-9108-1a2a6fd5b529)
Back Cover Text (#u7724f24a-c07d-5ccc-bdda-1e08e6b10c99)
Secret Lives of the Ton (#uddc5df9b-5b97-5dc1-bac6-916152aae863)
Author Note (#u299f1f1d-f435-59b4-9524-03800a4735e7)
Title Page (#u9db5469f-9129-5fcc-b91c-0b6139b9e9c2)
About the Author (#ube49e24d-80c4-54a0-bd34-10f2b343eafc)
Dedication (#u8a251737-630f-57dc-8043-167a986e27e0)
Chapter One (#udf15c312-d815-5c04-a03f-378665e47c9c)
Chapter Two (#u158d99f2-b91f-5640-bc73-8acbe1c372ad)
Chapter Three (#uf036c914-6af7-54e9-8395-3f4acda77f73)
Chapter Four (#u4cdb7f23-3b63-5123-ad5d-f791efd9bab1)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
London—1819
This wasn’t the first time Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick, had stepped onto a London rooftop at night in the rain—however, it was the first time he discovered he wasn’t alone.
Hart had to drag himself from Theodosia’s resplendent tester bed on such a dreary night. He wished he could have taken her once more, but there wasn’t time. Her husband would arrive home soon and Hart had no interest in running into the man. He could have been brazen and left by the front door, but there was nothing like the thrill of finding alternative ways to escape the town houses of his female companions—even if one was forced to do so during a downpour.
Shielding his eyes from the cold raindrops pelting his face, he stepped to the very edge of the roofline. Taunting death, he leaned over. It was a straight drop to Mount Street below, four storeys with nothing to grab on to or brace his feet against to climb down. It would also be in view of any approaching carriages.
To his left, the adjacent rooflines of the next three buildings ended at an alleyway that led to Reeves Mews. That appeared to be his best option. The building at the far end might have some architectural mouldings to aid his descent. Just as he was about to have a look, movement to his right caught his eye.
A slim, dark figure about fifty feet away was walking along the roof towards the back of an adjacent house. Apparently it was time for all assignations to come to an end. This gentleman was smart enough to wear a cape and cleric’s hat to shield himself from the rain, although Hart would wager he was no priest.
‘Fine weather for ducks,’ Hart called out.
His interruption startled the fellow so much the man lost his footing. Skidding over the slippery slate tiles, Hart caught him by the forearm the moment the man fell over the edge. It would be a long drop to the back gardens below.
Hart dug his fingers into the stranger’s arm and prayed he wouldn’t be pulled off the roof by the counterweight. ‘I have you,’ he ground out. ‘I won’t let you go.’
Even through his sleeve, Hart wouldn’t be surprised if the man’s nails were drawing blood as he held on to Hart for dear life while he dangled precariously over the edge. He didn’t have much meat on him, which made him appear more of a boy than a man. It didn’t take much effort to tug him back onto the roof.
A light mist was now falling, replacing the earlier downpour. A thank you was in order, however the huddled form next to him was silent as stone, probably mute with fear or shock. Pushing his hair away from his eyes, Hart surveyed his companion—and wished the rain would have continued to obscure his view.
‘Dash it, Miss Forrester, what are you doing up here?’
The daughter of the American Minister to the Court of St James sat up. The cape she wore parted just enough to reveal the open neckline of a gentleman’s black shirt and the curves of her breasts. He recalled seeing her wearing those clothes about a year ago at the Finchleys’ masquerade, where she’d had the nerve to dress as a highwayman, which had also been his costume of choice that night. Now her shapely legs were stretched out before her, encased in black trews and top boots. Those legs were just as enticing as he remembered.
‘Do not tell me you are leaving a masquerade from up here,’ he said, tearing his attention away from those legs to stop himself from imagining them wrapped around his waist.
She arched one of her finely shaped dark brows. ‘I’d ask where you’re coming from, but I can already guess. Is this the time your assignations typically come to an end?’
An unmarried woman should know nothing of assignations. In the few times he had been in her presence, he had noticed that Miss Sarah Forrester enjoyed unnerving people with her candour. He was not about to let her best him.
‘I’m coming from seeing a business associate. More important, does Katrina know you’re prowling the rooftops of London at night?’ he asked to regain the advantage. Katrina was the Duchess of Lyonsdale, a dear friend of Miss Forrester.
‘No.’ She looked away too quickly. Apparently his friend’s wife knew exactly what this chit was up to. He wondered if Katrina would have told Julian.
‘How were you planning on getting down from here?’ she asked, interrupting his thoughts.
‘That is the beauty of leaving in such a manner as this. It forces you to consider multiple options.’ The fact that he hadn’t decided how he would make it off the roof was inconsequential in this discussion.
The clomping of horse hooves and the rumble of carriage wheels on the street below caught their attention and they both crawled to the edge of the roof. A black lacquered carriage rolled to a stop directly below the house next to them and a footman from Theodosia’s house darted towards it, carrying a large black umbrella. Hart had left her bed just in time and smiled at his luck.
‘That might have been a bit awkward, if you remained longer with Lady Helmford,’ she said.
He had momentarily forgotten the pest was beside him.
She leaned closer and the faint scent of lilacs filled the damp air. Her brown eyes held amusement mixed with curiosity as she looked up at him. ‘Have you ever been caught?’
He scoffed at the absurdity of her question. ‘No.’
‘Never?’
‘Not once.’ His chest puffed up at his declaration, then he realised what he had revealed. Damn!
She sat back and removed her hat. The rain had stopped and she casually brushed the droplets off the brim and crown. ‘I hadn’t realised Lady Helmford was a business associate of yours.’
He hated when she found ways to use his habit of bragging against him. While she might believe she had the upper hand, it hadn’t escaped Hart’s notice that she had avoided his question.
‘And what brings you to this rooftop? You never did say.’
She shifted her gaze momentarily. ‘I’m intrigued by architecture.’
‘Architecture?’
‘Yes, you see I came out here to study the carvings on the buildings across the way.’
‘But you don’t live here.’
‘Of course I don’t. What good would it do me to study the buildings across from my home when I already took note of them ages ago?’
‘Is that really the best you could do?’
* * *
Sarah was not about to be found out by the likes of the Earl of Hartwick. No rakish buck was going to best her. She wasn’t one of those empty-headed women who would throw themselves at his feet just because he was charming and handsome—very handsome. And every time she was around him, she had the strongest urge to remind him of that.
‘Those houses across the way are a perfect example of Mr Kent’s work,’ she continued. ‘I couldn’t very well stand on this rooftop during daylight hours. Someone might see me.’ She had no idea what Mr Kent’s work looked like, but she knew he was an architect held in high regard.
‘William Kent?’ Hartwick shook his head and water droplets slid from his hair down his chiselled features.
Hoping to distract him, she brushed off her sopping wet trews.
His gaze shot to her thighs and remained there. ‘So you chose a rainy, dark night for your viewing pleasure?’
‘The opportunity presented itself and I took it. It wasn’t raining when I made my way here.’
‘I see. And how did you manage to sneak away from your parents for this escapade of architectural appreciation?’
He needed more of a distraction and rubbing her hand slowly along her thigh proved to be a good one. But all too soon Hartwick tossed his head, sweeping away a lock of black hair from his piercing blue eyes. ‘Your parents, Miss Forrester, how did you manage to elude them?’
Lud! He was like a dog with a bone. ‘I don’t see how it is your concern.’
‘True. Your welfare is none of my concern. I was merely making conversation—one impressive night prowler to the next.’
‘You can’t charm an answer from me.’
‘I wasn’t aware I was being charming. We’re merely conversing.’
‘You’re trying to flatter me.’
‘By calling you an impressive prowler? Darling, if I intended to flatter you, I would tell you how tempting you look in those trews.’
‘Thank you for the compliment, but I still have no intention of telling you anything.’
‘You misunderstand. I didn’t say you looked tempting. I only indicated that is what I would say if I were going to flatter you.’
Insufferable man! If only she could give him a firm push. But with her luck he would land on his back and see it as an invitation to activities he was most familiar with—or so she had heard. Standing up, she wiped her hands. ‘Well, I really must be off.’
He jumped to his feet. ‘What are you really doing up here?’
‘I told you. I was admiring the architecture.’
‘And I’m next in line for the throne.’ He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. ‘Are you coming from a rendezvous with a man?’
The horror on his face was rich considering his philandering ways, but if it would get him to stop asking questions, there was no harm in a small lie. ‘Perhaps.’ Gossip was rich with tales of his escapades with women. She doubted he would be one to talk of a small indiscretion of hers or even find her significant enough to discuss at all.
‘Perhaps? Perhaps? What kind of man leaves a woman to find her way out of an assignation by herself? Any man worth his salt would visit the lady, not the other way around.’
‘I live with my parents,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘And you seem more appalled by my exit than at the assignation itself.’
‘I’m the last person to judge anyone’s moral character.’ As if counting out the town houses they were standing on, his finger paused on the building under them. ‘Miss Forrester, he is old enough to be your father.’ He visibly shuddered. ‘I always assumed you had finer taste than this.’
She pushed past him, splashing through puddles on her way to the vacant town house at the end of the row. There was no reason for him to be insulting. Lord Baxter was not as handsome as Hartwick, and about twenty years older than the Earl, but he was not an antidote by any means. He was...mature. And why did she feel the need to mentally defend a man she was barely acquainted with? Her hands curled into fists.
Hartwick went after her and grabbed her arm. ‘Where do you think you’re off to?’
‘I’m leaving. I’ve been up here long enough.’
His brow wrinkled. ‘How do you propose we get down?’
‘We are not getting down. You stated you had a multitude of solutions of your own. I’m finding my own way down.’
‘Don’t you enjoy my company?’
‘Not particularly.’
He gave her a devilish grin. ‘Now I know you are lying.’
‘Women can resist you, Hartwick.’
He laughed. ‘There aren’t many.’
‘Well, I can,’ she stated firmly. ‘Now, do release my arm. I have places to be.’
‘Very well, go your own way. I’ll go mine. But you do take the pleasure out of an evening such as this.’ He granted her a slow, exaggerated bow.
She was fun to be with. He just thought too highly of himself to appreciate her. That was the problem. She made her way to one of the back dormer windows and carefully edged along the thin strip of roofing in front of it. She was paused precariously on the edge and her hands began to tremble. One false move and she could tumble backwards off the roof, splattering on the terrace below. Would she have a better chance of living if she aimed for the shrubbery? How much blood did one body contain?
‘What are you waiting for?’
She jerked back and Hartwick grabbed her, pressing her cheek into a cold, wet windowpane. Her heart almost beat out of her chest.
‘Stop doing that!’
He let go of her. ‘If you plan to skulk about in the future, you need to pay better attention to your surroundings.’
‘I told you to find your own way down.’
‘I was, then I saw you mumbling at the window and decided you needed my assistance.’
‘I can do this myself.’
She went to push the bottom sash of the window up, but it wouldn’t budge. He went to have a go at it and she swatted his hand away. ‘I said. I. Can. Do. It. Myself!’
He held his hands up. A few leftover raindrops trickled down the brim of her hat. If he did anything to make her fall backwards off this roof, she was pulling him along with her. The pounding of her heart in her ears was so loud she didn’t hear the creak of the window as she finally nudged the stubborn sash up. Letting out a breath of relief, she closed her eyes.
‘You should make certain no one is about before you enter that room. Unless you would like me to use the charms you say I possess to enchant any maids that might be about.’
Did this man ever stop talking? ‘Keep those charms tucked away. The house is vacant,’ she bit back as she climbed inside the darkened room. Stepping further inside, she left enough space for Hartwick to climb in after her.
‘How do you know this house is vacant?’ he asked, closing the window.
‘I made some enquiries.’ He didn’t need to know that Katrina had told her about it when they had been discussing the Everills. The vacant house annoyed Lady Everill, and while she was put out that a house on her street was considered undesirable, it was a godsend to Sarah. Now, if she could just make it out of the house without the Earl of Hartwick discovering why she was on Mount Street dressed in men’s attire in the first place...
As she walked into the hallway, moonlight from the rooms on either side streamed onto the dusty floorboards. Hartwick walked quietly behind her until she opened the door leading to the servants’ staircase.
‘How did you know that door led to the staircase?’ he whispered.
‘The arrangement of the homes on this street is similar to mine and there is no need to whisper. We’re alone.’
‘I find it best to be safe, just in case,’ he said, close to her ear. The deep rumble of his voice sent a ripple of awareness through her. ‘There still could be someone about.’
That gave her pause. ‘You’re saying that to frighten me.’
‘If I wanted to frighten you, I’d inform you of the rats that are probably scurrying around this house or spiders or any number of creatures that could fall down on us from holes in the ceiling.’
‘What?’ she squeaked and looked up. Her heart slowed when she spotted the ceiling was intact. She stopped dead so he walked into her.
‘What was that for?’ he asked.
‘For trying to scare me.’
‘Why don’t you let me go down the staircase first?’
‘Why?’
‘In the event there is someone else in the house, I believe I am more equipped to deal with them than you are.’
‘I may surprise you.’
‘Miss Forrester, tonight I’m learning you are full of surprises, but as a gentleman, I must insist.’
The light from the dirty window across the way helped them navigate the spiral staircase. Peering over the wooden banister, Sarah could see all the way to the bottom—to the very dark bottom. Was Hartwick right? Was someone living in this house unbeknownst to the neighbours? Would it be some unwashed mountain of a man who would be angry he was discovered?
‘Very well,’ she whispered, ‘I’ll let you go first.’
Down and down they went. And when they finally reached the ground floor, Sarah held him back. ‘There will be a door to the back garden nearby,’ she whispered. ‘From there it should be easy to leave through the garden gate and into the alley leading to the mews.’
‘I agree. Stand back while I open the door.’ Hartwick crouched and retrieved a knife from his boot. The muted light shimmered off the silver blade.
She stepped back. ‘What do you have that for?’
‘One never knows who one will run into on a night like this,’ he replied with an amused grin.
Her palms started sweating as he slowly turned the doorknob and peered out into the hallway. She took off her gloves and wiggled her fingers in the event she needed to scratch an attacker’s eyes out.
Dear God, let us be alone.
He signalled her to follow him while keeping his attention on the silent, dark hallway. She would never admit to him how grateful she was for his self-assured presence tonight. Anticipating having to walk through these houses without being caught had upset her stomach all day. She had no experience at this.
They reached the door leading to the garden and he placed his hand on the doorknob. ‘Are you ready?’
She nodded and took a deep breath. The thought that someone might be close by watching them made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She nudged his shoulder and got a whiff of leather and rainwater.
When they stepped out into the overgrown garden, the damp air was a welcome relief from the musty smell inside. She was finally finished with her evening of breaking and entering.
‘Do you require assistance returning home?’ he asked, searching her face in what appeared to be true concern.
‘No, thank you. I assumed the house was empty but you’re correct. One can never be too cautious.’
‘Words to remember as you go forward with Lord Baxter,’ he said with a friendly smile.
It took her a moment to recall his earlier assumption about why she had been on the roof. ‘Yes, well, thank you again.’
They were facing each other in the moonlight and she had the strongest urge to close the distance between them. His blue eyes, framed with thick black lashes, had her transfixed. For a long moment, she looked back at him. He really did have lovely eyes—but they gave away his suspicions about her story.
She went to walk past him, but he pulled her back by her hand. He stepped closer and his gaze dropped to her lips. The heat from his body travelled to hers through the cool damp air. The rain began to fall again, but she hadn’t noticed.
‘You should go,’ he said softly.
She nodded, but part of her was having a difficult time walking away from him.
His lips slowly curved into his familiar cocky smile. ‘You never thanked me for saving your life.’
She released his hand and stepped back. ‘Do not look for a kiss from me. The kiss you received from another woman tonight should keep you content.’
He crossed his arms. ‘What makes you think it was one kiss?’
Sometimes he made it so easy to resist that pull she felt towards him. She turned and made her way through the overgrown brush to the small, delicate, wrought-iron gate. ‘The details of your love life do not interest me, my lord,’ she replied over her shoulder, grateful to be leaving the arrogant Earl.
* * *
When she climbed into the carriage waiting a few streets away, she met the eager expression of her dearest friend and closest confidant, Katrina, Duchess of Lyonsdale.
‘Well, did you find it?’ Katrina slid across the green velvet bench in the well-appointed carriage, making room for Sarah to sit down.
Sarah shook her head while removing her hat and cape. The danger she had put herself in by breaking into the Everill town house had all been for naught. ‘I searched her room from top to bottom, and the bracelet was nowhere to be found. She must be wearing it tonight.’
‘Now what will you do?’
‘I’m not sure. If she continues to wear it everywhere she goes, I’ll be forced to take it off her wrist.’
Katrina handed Sarah the gown she had changed out of in the carriage when they left the ball. Concern was etched on her brow. ‘You were gone for a long time. I was beginning to worry.’
Sarah let out a sigh as she turned her back so Katrina could button her gown. ‘I was detained by Lord Hartwick on the roof as I was trying to leave.’
‘Hartwick? Does he know what you were doing tonight?’
‘No, he believes I was coming from an assignation with Lord Baxter.’
Katrina’s hand paused midbutton. ‘Do you think that’s wise?’
‘It was better than telling him the truth. With all his indiscretions I doubt he would say anything.’
‘Whatever was he doing on the roof?’
‘Do you really need to ask?’
Katrina resumed buttoning Sarah’s gown. ‘Has he taken up with Everill’s widowed niece?’
‘No, thankfully she was not in residence tonight, from what I could tell by looking into the bedchamber. He was with Lady Helmford.’
‘Why won’t that man ever pursue an unmarried woman?’
‘Because he might be forced to marry one! From what I’ve observed, he grows bored of women easily.’ Sarah began to pin up her hair.
‘I wish he would settle into marriage. I think it would do him good. He always appears rather restless to me.’
‘I pity the woman who falls for the likes of Lord Hartwick. He thinks too highly of himself and is too much of a rake to ever be faithful.’ She turned to face Katrina. ‘How do I look?’
‘You look like you never left the ballroom. I’m sorry this was all for naught.’
So was Sarah. That bracelet was the key to saving her parents great pain. She would not stop until she had it.
* * *
Playing cards with the Prince Regent always proved to be entertaining, especially when the man was losing. Hart leaned back in his chair in the alcove of the bow window of White’s and watched as his friend and sovereign studied the cards in his hand with the intensity of one who was trying to decipher foreign words on a page.
His puffy face was scrunched up as he directed his gaze away from his cards and over to Hart. ‘Do not look smug.’
‘I hadn’t realised I was.’
‘You always do. You have not won this hand yet.’
‘You’re quickly running out of money to bet. I might win by forfeit.’
‘Unlikely.’ Prinny turned to his cards again.
Hart took a sip of brandy and checked his watch. It was close to four in the morning, but it felt much later. He would bow out after this hand and get some much-needed rest. ‘I don’t think the cards will change however long you stare at them.’
‘Don’t rush me, boy.’
Granted Hart was young enough to be the man’s son, however at thirty-two, he was far from a boy. ‘Very well, if I nod off, someone wake me when it’s my turn.’
Prinny finally selected his card and placed it on the table. Hart won the hand and the remainder of his friend’s money. Now he could escape to his bed and sleep for days.
‘One more round, Hart.’
Dammit! How was it possible he was not tired of losing? ‘You have nothing left to bet.’
Prinny turned towards his three companions behind him, ready to plead his case, when they quickly walked away. ‘Useless, the lot of you are useless,’ he called after them.
‘You see,’ Hart said through a yawn. ‘We cannot continue.’
‘One last round. How about we wager for a favour?’
It was always wise to store as many favours as one could. You never knew when you might need them. Considering the luck Prinny was having tonight, Hart was certain he would win. ‘Very well, but this is the last one.’
They went back and forth till finally it was down to one hand. Prinny placed his card down, a victorious smile on his lips. ‘I win.’
Hart had to rub his eyes twice to make certain he was truly awake. Dammit! Now he owed Prinny a favour. The Prince Regent guided him by the elbow to a quiet corner of the room. ‘I mean to collect, you know.’
‘I had no doubt. Something tells me you had a favour in mind all along.’
‘I might have.’
‘You could have simply asked.’
‘True, but now you’re bound by a debt to do this for me.’
‘And there is no one else you could have asked?’
‘No one that I trust to keep this quiet. You cannot tell a soul. Not even Winter.’ If he was not to tell the man responsible for overseeing Prinny’s secret guard, then Hart was truly interested.
‘And you cannot tell Lyonsdale either. I know how close you are.’
‘Very well, you have my word. I shall not tell a soul.’
Prinny lowered himself into a chair and eyed the seat next to him, indicating Hart should sit. Unfortunately, there was a good chance that once he sat down, Hart would not get up until sunrise.
‘Rumours have surfaced that indicate some of the missing French crown jewels are hidden here in London.’
Hart shifted closer to Prinny. ‘I haven’t heard this.’ He prided himself on knowing important details before they became public knowledge and shook off his annoyance.
‘Louis sent word to me through his ambassador. He asked for my help in locating them for France. He wants them back. There is specific mention of the Sancy, a pale yellow diamond that weighs approximately fifty-five carats. It once was part of the Mirror of Great Britain until James sold the stone to Cardinal Mazarin when he needed funds.’
‘What has this to do with me?’
‘I want you to find it.’
‘Why? This seems like a task for the Home Office.’
‘Castlereigh and I have met with them. We were reassured they would locate the jewels.’
‘I don’t understand. If they’re locating them, why would you want to involve me? I do not work with them.’
‘No, but you do work for Winter and I know how cunning you are. I want you to do this for me, without the knowledge of the Home Office.’
Either Hart was much too tired or Prinny was talking in circles, as he was known to do. ‘So you want me to find the French crown jewels that the Home Office is already trying to locate and return them to you?’
‘Just the Sancy.’
‘Why?’
‘Because that diamond should be ours. Just imagine me reclaiming it. It’s too delicious a notion to pass up. I have no intention of returning it to France. I’ll never let Louis or Castlereigh know I possess it. France believes the thief, Guillot, broke apart the crown jewels. He hid clues to the Sancy’s whereabouts in a bracelet shortly after he arrived in England. This bracelet recently surfaced in Rundell & Bridge and was purchased by Everill for his wife. To find the Sancy, you need that bracelet.’
Hart tossed the lock of hair out of his eyes, getting a better look at the man sitting across from him. There was a chance Prinny had too much to drink.
‘Come now, Hart. Ever since you were a small boy, you were drawn to danger. You should be begging me to do this. Your uncle often said it would be a miracle if you reached the age of twenty with your penchant for reckless acts. It is a miracle you are still alive after tumbling down that cliff not long after your mother died.’
Hart shifted in his seat, not at all comfortable with recalling his mother or that day when he was a boy of seven—a boy who only wanted to stand in the last place his mother had stood before he lost her forever.
‘So you will find it for me?’ Prinny’s voice broke the painful memory and, for the first time, Hart was grateful to be interrupted by the man.
He rubbed his eyes. ‘Do you even know what this bracelet looks like? I imagine Lady Everill has quite a few.’
‘As a matter of fact I do know what it looks like,’ Prinny replied rather smugly. ‘I was told there are square gold links with paintings on porcelain. The links are also engraved in a Grecian style. The thief left a note for his accomplice that the bracelet would help him locate the Sancy. Find that bracelet and you find the key to where it is. You owe me this debt.’
Chapter Two (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
Sarah stood at the closed door to the breakfast room of her home and tried to paste on a believable smile. It wasn’t working. She needed to disguise her frustration at failing to get Lady Everill’s bracelet last night before someone noticed her foul mood. There would be questions—and Sarah had no answers she cared to give.
On the other side of the door, her parents were blissfully unaware of how perilously close they were from being thrown back into a world of grief and depression, with Sarah as their only hope. She had lived through that anguish with them once. She prayed she could find the bracelet so she would not have to do it again.
She struggled again to smile. Closing her eyes, she recalled the thrill of racing her horse at full gallop along the shores of the Long Island Sound on her family’s estate. A small smile crossed her lips. It was the best she could do.
When she entered the room, she was met with the faint sound of forks clinking on plates as her mother read a letter and her father browsed his newspaper while they ate breakfast. If the silence continued, she could keep trying to think of another way to secure that bracelet.
As Sarah poured herself a cup of chocolate, her mother refolded the letter she was reading and smiled at her.
‘Good morning. Did you enjoy the additional time you spent with Katrina last night?’
‘I did. Thank you. We hadn’t spent time together like that in so long and we had so much to talk about.’
‘The two of you always seem to have so much to talk about,’ her mother said with a smile. ‘She looks well.’
‘She does, but I do think she was nervous leaving Augusta for the first time at night.’
‘That’s to be expected. The first time I left you after you were born, it wasn’t easy.’
‘She wanted to return home the minute our carriage left the drive,’ her father said, not looking up from the newspaper.
Her mother took off her spectacles. ‘If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the only one,’ she teased before turning her attention back to Sarah. ‘I was just reading a letter from Mrs Colter. Robert will be arriving in Liverpool in a few weeks to settle some business here. She expects him to stay for three months and I was thinking it would be kind to invite him to come down to London for a visit while he is here.’
‘You do?’ Sarah was well aware of why her mother thought it was such a kind gesture.
‘Yes, we can find a room for him at the Pulteney.’
‘Perhaps Mr Colter does not have the funds to stay in such an establishment.’
‘Of course he does. That family is very comfortably settled.’
Sarah took a sip of chocolate. It was a small reprieve.
‘I think it will be wonderful to see him again. He always was my favourite of her four sons.’
‘Which one is he?’
‘We haven’t been gone that long, Sarah,’ she chided. ‘You remember, he is her youngest. The one who is two years older than you. The one with the lovely manners.’
‘Isn’t he the one who doesn’t speak?’
‘He speaks. I have heard him. Why would you think he doesn’t speak?’
‘He doesn’t speak to me.’
Her father put down his newspaper. ‘Perhaps the man can’t utter a single word because you never give him the opportunity.’
‘That’s not true. I’ve never given him the cut.’
‘I meant you talk too much in his presence,’ her father said with a smirk.
‘Perhaps he thinks you’re beautiful and is at a loss for words when he is in your presence.’ From the look on her mother’s face, it was possible she actually believed that.
‘Perhaps Mr Colter and I have nothing in common and therefore we have nothing to discuss.’
‘Nonsense, you are just trying to dissuade me from inviting him.’
‘That is not true. I am simply trying to remind you that even if you invite Mr Colter here, he will not be proposing to me before he leaves.’
‘How do you know that? You have not seen one another in two years. Things can change.’
‘People do not change, Mother. If we did not fall in love two years ago, we will not be falling in love now. Love doesn’t work that way.’
‘How do you know it does not? One day you may suddenly look at him and realise he is the man you cannot live without.’
‘He is mute,’ Sarah stated more firmly.
‘No, he is not,’ her mother replied with just as much conviction.
‘I know you want me to find a nice American man to marry and I want to find one. I do. But Mr Colter is not that man.’
‘You don’t know that. Can I help it if I want to see you happy and in love? Can I help it if I want to be a grandmother some day? I am your mother, and I want what is best for you.’
She looked over at her father for help, but by the amused expression on his face, he would not be offering any.
‘What other news has Mrs Colter sent? I am certain that entire letter isn’t all about her son.’
Dear God, let it not be all about her son.
‘Any news of our neighbours?’
‘Mrs Stevens has had her second child and Mrs Anderson her fifth. Both had girls.’ She arched her brow at Sarah.
Sarah drank more chocolate.
‘And Susan Philpott and Jonathan Van Houten are wed.’ This time both brows went up.
‘Has anyone suffered an injury? Is anyone ill?’
‘Sarah!’
‘I am simply asking because that does happen to people, too.’
Her father laughed and turned to accept a letter from Bayles, their butler. Sarah’s attention was immediately drawn to it and she let out a breath when she spotted the official government seal on the paper.
‘Mr Harney passed,’ her mother said, drawing Sarah’s attention away from her father’s concerned expression as he began reading the letter.
The shadows of grief were back in her mother’s eyes. Sarah didn’t believe they would ever go away. Each time they got word that someone had died, the announcement would scratch at the scabs covering the fresh wounds of grief over Alexander’s death.
‘How sad. He was a nice man.’
‘He was. Mrs Colter says she stitched a memorial for Mrs Harney since the widow’s eyes are failing. Mrs Harney is very fortunate her son lives within a few miles of her. He has taken her into his home.’ She picked up her stack of letters and stood. ‘I’m going to write to her now to express our condolences. Then I’ll pen a letter to Mrs Colter letting her know I plan to invite Robert down to London shortly after he arrives in England.’
As her mother walked out the door, Sarah poured herself more chocolate from the Wedgwood pot. Morning chocolate was the answer to everything—or it had been at one time.
Her father put down his letter. ‘I’m sure this goes without saying, but your mother and I would never force you to marry someone you do not love. She is only trying to be helpful.’
‘By finding every American man in England to place in my path?’
‘If that’s what it takes to find you a husband, I suppose so.’
‘Please convince her not to invite Mr Colter here in hopes of a match. We are unsuitable for one another and both know it. He is much too dull for my taste and I believe my exuberance frightens him.’ She tilted her head and tried to see what her father was reading. ‘Is it bad news?’
‘It’s a letter from Washington. The banking problems at home have not improved. More people are being refused lines of credit and we must decide how we will respond to our countrymen over here.’
‘Should we be worried by this?’
He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘We are fine and our stables at home are unaffected. Men will always need horses, although I will write to Perkins informing him to be cautious in extending credit.’
She adjusted her cup in its saucer. ‘It would be easier if you were home to oversee this.’ If they left Britain, perhaps her parents would never learn about what Alexander did.
‘Perkins is very competent. I trust him.’
‘I hope President Monroe appreciates you.’
‘This is not about President Monroe. I want to give back to the nation that has allowed me to live the life I lead.’
The turn in the conversation made her uncomfortable. If Alexander’s treasonous act was revealed, her father might be relieved of his position. ‘Have you decided what you will do when this is over?’
He shrugged. ‘We will return to New York. Perhaps I’ll run for office or seek a position in Washington.’ Sitting back comfortably in his chair, he took a sip of coffee. ‘Have I ever told you how my father fought as a colonel alongside President Washington and was instrumental in the success of the Battle of Long Island?’
‘You know you have...many times,’ she replied with a grin.
‘Then you understand patriotism is strong in our family. My father was a patriot, I am and your brother proved to be more of a patriot than either of us.’ Talking about his love for his country brought life to her father like nothing else since her brother’s death.
Four days ago she had inadvertently opened a letter addressed to her father that was mistakenly placed with her mail. She read about how this person was in possession of a letter her brother had written to an English general revealing details about Fort McHenry. This person wanted to exchange that treasonous letter for a large yellow diamond that could be located using Lady Everill’s bracelet.
If her father had opened that letter, there was no telling if his heart would have survived the news. They had almost lost him from the grief he suffered over Alexander’s death. The only thing she found that helped him accept her brother’s death was that Alexander had supposedly died a hero protecting the people of Baltimore that night five years ago. What would happen to her parents if they found out he died a traitor?
She needed that bracelet and that diamond to spare her parents further pain. It sounded easy. But it wasn’t. However, nothing was going to stop her from finding that bracelet and the diamond and protecting her beloved parents.
* * *
Gravel crunched under his boots as Hart walked towards the viewing stand at Tattersall’s with Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, by his side. The familiar smell of hay mixed with a tinge of manure carried in the breeze as they passed crowds of gentlemen who were there to view the fine stock of horses up for auction. Approaching a spot near the auction block, Hart gave a friendly nod to Mr Tattersall and scanned the area in anticipation of seeing the beautiful thoroughbred that would make a fine addition to his stable of racehorses.
Julian peered past his shoulder. ‘Do you see it?’
Hart shook his head, still looking for the shiny black coat of the four-year-old colt.
‘Are you planning on breaking your bank for this one?’
‘I will not be on your doorstep any time soon because I cannot afford to keep my set at Albany if that’s what you fear.’
‘That’s a relief,’ Julian said with a smirk. ‘As it is, you’re beginning to consume more than your body weight in food at my home.’
‘Can I help it if Katrina is gracious enough to invite me to dine with you as frequently as she does?’
‘It might have something to do with the matter of you arriving close to dinnertime most nights.’
They had dined together at White’s most nights before his friend got married. It was what they did. They had taken most of their evening meals together since they were at Cambridge. Now Julian wanted to stay home for dinner. Hart had given the newlyweds a month to themselves before he assumed they would grow bored of each other. He never felt as if he was imposing. Was he wrong? ‘Are you saying I am not welcome in your home?’ His tone was teasing, but he discovered waiting for the answer was making him uncomfortable.
‘You are always welcome, as you are quite aware. I’m simply remarking that should you bid more than a reasonable amount today, I might be forced to adopt you as my son.’
‘You could have said as a brother. We are both lacking those.’ The moment the words left his lips he regretted saying them, knowing Julian still felt the loss of his brother who had died years before. ‘Forgive me.’
Julian dug his hands into the pockets of his navy blue coat and shook his head. ‘No need to apologise. I’m finally at peace with Edward’s loss.’
‘I’m glad, but what has changed?’
‘Katrina once told me everyone has a purpose in life. When that purpose is achieved, they move on. I suppose Edward fulfilled his purpose. The notion has helped me accept his loss.’
Hart didn’t believe that. People died and the people they left behind were never the same. How did that fulfil a purpose? He knew of this first-hand. Everyone who had ever meant anything to him, save Julian, was dead. ‘I’m glad you have made peace with his passing.’ Not certain what else to say, he relied on his diversionary tactics. ‘So, I suppose if I remain at your house long enough this evening, I’ll be invited to dine.’ He offered up his friend a teasing grin and raised his brows, expectantly.
Julian let out a low laugh. ‘You are always welcome. Just be prudent with your money. Do you need another racehorse?’
What an absurd question. ‘No, I don’t need another racehorse, but I want this one. He has Derby potential.’
‘Do you have a number in mind?’
‘I think eight hundred guineas is fair.’
Julian shook his head.
‘I do not have a wife to support,’ Hart continued. ‘I do not have as many servants as you. If he meets his potential, this horse will bring me much more than that in winnings and I can make even more money when I put him out to stud.’
As he turned his head away from Julian’s chastising glare, he finally spotted the colt being led down the sawdust path. His black coat, shiny in the afternoon light, was a sharp contrast to the pale stone walls of Tattersall’s. His handler paused with him at the auction block before he was paraded past the attendees. This beast was exceptional. Hart had to have him.
Mr Tattersall gave Hart a slight nod of his head, acknowledging that this was indeed the horse Hart had inspected the day before.
‘Gentlemen, here I present to you a fine, well-bred, four-year-old colt by the name of Corinthian.’
‘You are going to bid on a horse named Corinthian?’ Julian said through a low laugh.
‘That has nothing to do with why I want him.’
‘Well, whatever you do, do not change his name. It’s much too appropriate.’
As Mr Tattersall ran through the horse’s pedigree, the animal stood perfectly still, its muscles outlined in its smooth coat, as if waiting for the men to acknowledge how magnificent he was.
Finally, Mr Tattersall rapped his gavel. ‘What shall I say for this horse? Five hundred?’
Hart nodded slightly and Mr Tattersall acknowledged him. ‘Thank you, my lord. Five hundred guineas are offered for this splendid animal.’
‘Ten,’ came a voice from Hart’s left.
‘Thank you, sir. Five hundred and ten guineas.’
‘Ten,’ Hart said loud enough to reach the auctioneer.
‘Very good. Thank you, my lord. Five hundred and twenty guineas are bid.’
‘Ten,’ said the man again to Hart’s left.
This could take some time. Hart was about to raise the bidding by fifty guineas when a familiar strong voice from over to his right called out, ‘One hundred.’
Mr Tattersall nodded his acceptance before quickly glancing at Hart. ‘Thank you, my lord. Six hundred and twenty guineas are bid. Will any gentleman advance that sum?’
Julian leaned closer to him. ‘Were you aware your father would be here?’
‘Eighty,’ Hart shouted out before he could control the volume of his voice.
‘Thank you, my lord. We have seven hundred guineas bid on this horse.’
Hart turned his attention momentarily to Julian. ‘Of course I wasn’t aware he would be here. It’s not as if I’ve suddenly decided to speak with him,’ he bit out, unable to remain calm and rational where his father was concerned.
‘One hundred,’ that familiar voice called out. This time the bid was met with murmurs in the crowd. His father was never subtle.
‘Thank you, my lord. We have eight hundred guineas offered. Would any gentleman like to advance?’
Hart’s offer came out before his brain registered he had said anything. ‘One hundred.’
‘Thank you, my lord. We have—’
‘Two hundred.’
‘Two hundred fifty,’ Hart countered before Mr Tattersall could reply.
‘Three hundred.’
Dammit! His father was such a stubborn old fool! Hart leaned over to Julian’s ear. ‘I’ve lost count.’
‘Sixteen fifty. Far more than that animal is worth,’ Julian gritted out through his teeth. ‘Do not let him goad you. He has done it before. End this. You are better than he is.’
The problem was, Hart really did want that horse and he knew his father revelled in taking away anything he wanted. They had played this game before. And he was certain they would play it again. His brain told him to walk away, but he wouldn’t give in. If he let the man win, he’d hate himself.
Mr Tattersall’s voice broke his concentration. ‘For the last time, gentlemen, the price is sixteen hundred and fifty guineas.’
Men around them began to lay bets as to who would win the horse—the Marquess of Blackwood or his son. Hart stuck his hand into his pocket and rubbed his lucky guinea.
Julian leaned over. ‘Do not do it.’
‘Fifty,’ a voice that sounded very much like his own came out of Hart’s mouth. He closed his eyes and cursed his impetuous nature.
Julian let out an audible groan as voices around them grew louder. Hart was able to block out what they were saying. It was probably due to the fact he was calling his father every curse he knew in his head.
He looked at Mr Tattersall, who was trying to appear unaffected by the numbers being bid for this horse that was worth approximately half as much.
‘Thank you, my lord. Seventeen hundred guineas are offered. Will anyone advance?’ There was a pause. He looked at Hart’s father for an indication to counter.
Nausea and a sense of stupidity assailed him. He refused to look at the man whose blood he shared—a man upon whom he had wished death many a time. It was an absolute certainty he wore a smug smile. Had he finished toying with his son? Did he even realise the potential of the colt? Hart closed his eyes and filled his lungs with the smell of manure. He laughed to himself at the appropriateness of being around so much shit.
‘Seventeen hundred guineas are offered for this outstanding animal. Are there any other offers, gentlemen?’
It was the longest pause in Hart’s life. He stopped himself from squeezing his eyes shut. It was best to feign a look of quiet amusement.
The hammer fell.
What he wanted to do was let out the world’s longest breath. What he actually did was tip his hat to his father and smile. Let the man think Hart had enjoyed the game. He wasn’t about to show him how much it upset him. Families were worthless.
Within moments his father and Lord Palmer had disappeared into the crowd. If only that would be the last time he laid eyes on the man. Unfortunately, Hart knew he wasn’t that lucky. Why couldn’t his father have died instead of his mother? What further torture did that man have to inflict on him to fulfil his purpose in life? No, Katrina was wrong. Death just proved there was no sense in caring for anyone but yourself.
The gentlemen around them offered their congratulations. Did they honestly believe he was happy to spend a small fortune for that horse? The worst part was, no matter the outcome, his father would have bested him either way.
Julian pulled the collar up on his coat. ‘Now, tell me you won’t be residing under my roof in the near future—along with that horse of yours.’
‘Residing? No. Although I could use some of that fine French brandy you have. The one locked away in your study.’ He began strolling past men exchanging money over bets on the outcome of his actions.
Julian followed directly behind. ‘How do you know about that bottle?’
‘I found it a month ago when you left me alone in there.’
His friend pulled Hart to a stop. ‘You searched my study?’
‘I had no other way to occupy myself. You were gone for quite a long time.’
‘You mean when Reynolds informed me my wife had delivered our child?’
‘Yes, that was it.’
‘I was seeing Augusta for the first time. Of course I was gone a long time.’
Why did it always seem that Julian couldn’t quite grasp how absurd he was at times? Hart had seen the baby. There was nothing interesting about her, aside from the fact she was the smallest human he had even seen. He waved his hand carelessly. ‘I still have no understanding why you wanted to witness the birth in the first place.’
Julian pinched his brow. ‘I wanted to be certain my wife survived. I was not happy she had me wait in my study with you.’
Did they really need to discuss childbirth? Weren’t his father’s actions today punishment enough? ‘In any event, I could use that brandy right about now.’
‘Very well, I suppose this afternoon warrants it.’
‘This afternoon warrants the entire bottle.’
Chapter Three (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
Sitting in Katrina’s carriage and hearing how desperately she needed to get home to nurse Augusta, was making Sarah wonder if a bottle of brandy was hidden close by for cold nights. As it stood, she was learning more than she wanted to know about how one nursed a baby.
Who knew if you went for too long between feedings, your breasts would become swollen and tender? Just the thought had Sarah crossing her arms over her chest to ease the imaginary pain. When had their leisurely day of shopping taken such a miserable turn? While she was happy for her friend at becoming a mother, she missed the days when their discussions had been primarily about men, fashion and American politics—and their shopping trips had lasted for hours.
‘Are we almost there?’ Katrina winced.
Sarah peered out of the window. They had turned off Piccadilly...that much was certain. ‘I haven’t any notion of the street, however we can’t be far.’
‘If we don’t arrive home soon, they’re bound to leak.’
‘Leak?’ Sarah did not want to know how. ‘That shouldn’t be possible.’
‘Well, it is!’
‘I realise that! I am simply stating my opinion.’
‘Your opinion isn’t helping. What should I do? The footmen are bound to notice.’ Suddenly she let out a low groan.
Oh, lud! ‘It’s too late, isn’t it?’
Katrina didn’t need to answer. The dark stain spreading across her beautiful blue spencer said it all. ‘What now?’ she pleaded, her cheeks turning scarlet.
The carriage jerked to a halt. They looked at each other with wide eyes. Just as the door began to open, Sarah shoved her white cotton bag containing her new beautiful pink silk slippers against Katrina’s chest.
Sarah had eyed those lovely slippers through the shop window for weeks. She really didn’t need another pair—her dressing room contained more shoes than any woman should own—but this pair was so beautiful—so perfect. They were in the Grecian style, with square toes and open tops that laced together with delicate pink satin ribbons. Her favourite part was the wider deeper pink silk ribbons that tied around her ankle.
She had waited weeks for them. When she’d finally tried them on an hour ago, it had felt as though she was wrapping herself in the finest present in all of London. They had cost a pretty penny of her pin money, but they were absolutely undeniably worth it. Or they had been before she had sacrificed them for her friend. She looked out the window, unable to watch Katrina clutch those exquisite ruined shoes to her milk-soaked spencer a minute longer. Sarah wasn’t certain who wanted to cry more, her or Katrina.
The moment the carriage steps were lowered, Katrina sprinted inside the house in a manner not at all befitting a duchess. ‘Do come inside,’ Katrina called from over her shoulder. ‘There’s something of great importance I need to discuss with you.’
Reynolds, Katrina’s very proper butler, held the massive door to the majestic house open. It was obvious it was taking all his self-control not to stare after his mistress. He gave a respectful bow to Sarah as she entered the house. ‘Good day, Miss Forrester. Would you care to wait in the Gold Drawing Room?’
From past experience, Sarah knew Katrina would be a while. She handed her bonnet and spencer to Reynolds. ‘Might I wait for Her Grace in the library, Reynolds?’
‘Of course, miss. Shall I show you the way?’
Walking past him, she waved him off. ‘There’s no need. I know where it is.’
There was no sense sitting idly in a drawing room where she was sure to begin worrying about how she was going to get Lady Everill’s bracelet. It would be much better to be curled up with a book in the enormous library. Within minutes she was standing on the threshold, eyeing the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that covered all four walls. At the far end of the room, a massive carved fireplace and two bookshelves jutted into the room. For all its grandeur, it was still cosy and Sarah understood why it was one of Katrina’s favourite rooms in the house.
Floorboards creaked as she began to walk beside the shelves. There had to be books on interesting topics somewhere in the vast collection.
‘Is that my tea, Reynolds?’ From the far end of the room, behind a wall of books, the voice of the Duke’s grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale, rang out.
‘Forgive me, Your Grace, but it’s just me.’
A small head with grey hair visible under a fine white lace cap peaked from the edge of the bookshelf. Her diamond earrings sparkled in the sunlight. ‘Do you have my tea, Miss Forrester?’
Sarah curtsied. ‘No, Your Grace.’
‘Than why are you here?’
Sarah bit back a smile at the woman’s familiar, direct nature. ‘I am waiting for Katrina. She is attending to Augusta. I thought I’d find a good book with which to occupy myself until she is finished.’
Lyondale’s grandmother resided in Lyonsdale House during the Season and had kindly taken Katrina under her wing, becoming a grandmother to her as much as to the Duke. She was smart, direct and frequently appeared to be up to mischief. When Sarah’s hair turned grey, she wanted to be just like the Dowager.
The woman’s petite form moved from behind the shelves and she hobbled with a regal air towards Sarah. ‘Were you shopping?’
‘We were indeed.’
‘Did you have success?’
An image of the perfect pair of slippers almost made Sarah sigh. ‘A pair of slippers I ordered were finished and Katrina accompanied me to fetch them.’
‘A woman can never have too many pairs of slippers.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’
‘If you’re searching for novels, they’re at the far end of the room, my dear. Once you find one, I suggest waiting for her in the Crimson Drawing Room. The light in there is lovely this time of day.’
Sarah knew the comment was more a direction than a suggestion. As long as she had something to occupy herself with during the wait, it didn’t matter what room she was in. ‘Thank you. I know it well.’
‘Capital.’ A smile brightened the Dowager’s face and made her eyes sparkle. ‘I need to see what is taking so long with my tea. I’m beginning to wonder if I must to sail to China myself to retrieve it.’ She walked to the door and tugged on the tapestry bell pull.
It didn’t take long for Sarah to find Waverley. The novel proved so engrossing it was a wonder she didn’t walk into a wall on her way down the hall. Upon entering the drawing room, she took the nearest chair and turned the page.
The sound of a throat clearing from her left made her jump. At the far end of the room Hartwick stood before the windows, a glass in his hand. He was dressed in his usual black attire, save for his snowy white shirt and cravat.
Oh, lud! She should have never left the library.
He strolled towards her until his shiny black Hessians almost touched the tips of her white kidskin boots. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been standing in the moonlight with his chiselled features glistening with drops of rain.
They stared into each other’s eyes, challenging the other to break the silence that stretched between them. He caved first.
‘Miss Forrester.’ It came out almost as a scold, as if he was annoyed she had interrupted his solitude.
‘Hartwick.’
‘I almost did not recognise you without your trews. Should I be concerned you’re developing a habit of showing up at unexpected times?’
‘No more so than my concern that you’re taking far too much pleasure in startling me.’
‘Touché.’ He tipped his head respectfully and motioned to the chair next to her. ‘May I?’
When she nodded her consent, he sat down and picked up her wrist with his ungloved hand to read the spine of her book. Tingles ran up and down her arm.
She pulled her hand away. ‘I’m waiting for Katrina.’
‘I gathered as much.’
‘This is an odd location to find you at this time of day...alone.’
‘I, too, am waiting for my friend. He’s attending to matters with his secretary. I imagine he will be returning shortly.’
‘Returning? I always thought you and Lyonsdale met in his study.’
‘Apparently he no longer wants me in that room.’ He took a sip from the amber liquid in his glass. ‘I believe banned was the word he used.’
His nonchalant manner made her smile. ‘I can’t imagine why.’
He looked off into the distance, then focused back on her. ‘Some nonsense about brandy.’
That was not what she’d expected to hear and she glanced pointedly at his glass.
‘He accompanied me to purchase a horse today at Tattersall’s. I’m imbibing as a celebration of sorts. And you, Miss Forrester, what brings you to this stupendously decorated room today?’
‘Katrina and I were shopping. She’s attending to Augusta. I suppose she will not be long.’
He took another drink, eyeing her over the glass. ‘I assume you were on the hunt for a new pair of slippers.’
It vexed her that, from the few times they had spoken, he knew her so well. ‘Why would you assume that?’
He arched his brow and smirked. ‘Is it truly necessary to ask that question?’
She snapped the book shut. ‘We might have been shopping for bonnets or ribbons or gowns.’
‘Very true.’ He nodded sagely and took another sip of brandy. ‘What did you purchase?’
‘Slippers,’ she replied, glancing away.
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that.’
She looked directly into those aquamarine eyes that were rimmed by thick, dark lashes. It was unfair God had given a man eyes like that. ‘I said I purchased slippers.’
‘How surprising.’
‘And how surprising of you to purchase a horse. How many of them do you own now?’
He sat up straighter. ‘I don’t see how that is relevant. And where are these new slippers of yours? Do not tell me you are wearing them already.’
Her mouth dropped into a defeated frown. ‘They’re ruined. The perfect pair of pink slippers that I have wanted forever are ruined, never to grace a ballroom or garden party,’ she admitted wistfully. It was so sad.
‘Ruined? But you just purchased them. What happened?’
‘It’s a long story,’ she said with a sigh. ‘What breed of horse did you purchase?’
‘A four-year-old thoroughbred colt.’
‘That sounds promising. You must be very pleased.’
‘I suppose.’
‘You don’t sound very pleased.’
‘It’s a long story.’ He raised his glass slowly and the crystal touched his lips. For a moment he savoured the taste before his Adam’s apple slid up and down with his swallow.
Her stomach did an odd little flip. It happened now and then, whenever she witnessed him doing the most mundane things. When he was not consciously trying to charm people, he was magnificent to watch.
‘Speaking of things we’d rather forget,’ he continued, ‘reassure me you will not be traipsing about any rooftops in the near future. If I hadn’t been up there to grab you, you would have fallen to your death.’
‘If you hadn’t been up there, I wouldn’t have been startled enough to slip. You owe me an apology.’ She wished he’d forgotten about their encounter. The last thing she needed was Lord Hartwick poking into her affairs.
‘An apology?’ he replied indignantly. ‘I saved you!’
‘Which would not have been necessary if you had simply ignored me.’
‘I didn’t know it was you. If I had, I most certainly would have ignored you. Since you have yet to thank me for saving you, I’ll accept your unspoken gratitude and say it was my pleasure.’ He smirked at her and cocked his head.
There were times it was impossible not to roll her eyes at him.
‘And that is the response I’m given. I see. Well, the next time I find you in need of assistance, I will ignore you. Is that to your liking, Miss Forrester?’
‘That would suit my needs very well, my lord.’
* * *
The problem was, as much as Hart hated to admit it to himself, he enjoyed matching wits with Miss Forrester and had no desire to ignore her. Women fell into one of two camps. Either they would throw themselves at him or run the other way, afraid of his rakish reputation. Sarah Forrester was different. He had no idea how to charm her and he wasn’t completely certain she even liked him. Not that it should matter if she did. Which it did not. It absolutely did not. But he was discovering how much fun it was to provoke a reaction from her.
He should excuse himself and return to his place across the room, from where he had been contemplating how to steal Lady Everill’s bracelet. Placing that much physical distance between them was the proper thing to do, considering they were both unmarried. Instead he gave her his most charming smile, settled back into the red brocade cushions and waited.
She let out a long, exasperated sigh, which caused her breasts to rise and fall in her yellow-and-white-striped gown. He took another sip of brandy.
‘Must we continue to converse?’ she moaned.
He laughed at the audacity of that statement by an American to a peer of the realm. ‘We don’t have to. We could sit in companionable silence. I’ll enjoy my brandy and you can read your book.’
Those keen brown eyes of hers, which he knew missed very little, narrowed. ‘I cannot imagine you could remain silent for very long.’
As hard as he tried to prevent it, a small smile snuck out. ‘I find one can learn many things about a person when neither is speaking.’
‘I imagine you can. However, in this instance, the both of us are clothed.’
He almost spat his brandy back into his glass. He knew she was looking for a reaction and, dammit, he had given her one. This round went to Miss Forrester.
Katrina poked her head into the room, breaking their game. ‘Sarah, I’m terribly sorry about—Oh... Good day, Hartwick.’ She walked towards them and waved him off when he began to stand. ‘I wasn’t aware you were here today.’
‘I was instructed to wait in here,’ Miss Forrester blurted out.
Heaven forbid Katrina think she wanted to spend time with him. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. ‘I doubt Katrina assumed you were spending time with me by choice...alone...in a room.’
‘I am simply clarifying the situation.’
Just then, Julian stepped into the room and raised his brows at the sight of the women. Perhaps cowbells were in order in this house to keep track of everyone. Earlier, he had encountered the Dowager Duchess. Was she to walk in next?
‘You’re back from shopping already?’ Julian asked.
Katrina glanced at Miss Forrester in an apologetic way. ‘I fear my shopping trips will be brief for some time.’
Some silent communication passed between the couple, before Julian nodded in understanding. Was Julian suffering from financial difficulties? He wished his friend had come to him if he needed funds. Hart would be happy to help him.
The thought of money had him recalling the debacle at Tattersall’s. He took a large gulp of brandy, finishing off the glass.
Katrina turned back to them with a bright smile. ‘It’s actually a happy coincidence we have the two of you together. There is something we wanted to ask you.’
Miss Forrester placed her book on the table beside her and looked as perplexed as he felt.
‘It’s about Augusta,’ Katrina continued.
He knew absolutely nothing about children. He had been one once, of course, but he was an only child and had never even seen a baby before Augusta. What in the world could they want to ask him?
It was obvious Katrina was being polite. She must want Miss Forrester’s opinion on something and didn’t want him to feel slighted. That was just like her. He turned to the woman next to him who was looking at her friend like a startled deer. Apparently Miss Forrester was not at all comfortable with the turn of this conversation either.
‘Go on, Katrina,’ she said before licking those soft, pink, full lips of hers.
He brought his glass to his lips. Bloody hell, he needed more brandy.
Katrina looked to Julian, who stepped up to her side and slid his arm around her waist. ‘Katrina and I were wondering if you would do us the honour of serving as Augusta’s godparents.’
Hart’s brow wrinkled in confusion. ‘Exactly who are you asking?’
‘Both of you,’ Katrina replied, looking between them.
He turned to Miss Forrester, who had grown unusually mute. There were tears in her eyes—actual tears.
‘Katrina, you do not have to... I will buy another—’
‘Sarah, don’t be foolish. I’ve wanted to ask you this since the day Augusta was born. You are like a sister to me.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Of course, we both are.’ She looked to Julian, who gave Miss Forrester a reassuring smile.
The women hugged and now it appeared Katrina was tearing up, as well. Oh, hell, he hated to see women cry! He sat back with a sigh and looked across at a life-size portrait of one of Julian’s ancient relatives. From the man’s expression, it appeared he couldn’t abide crying women either. Could he leave now, without causing offence?
Eager to get away from the emotional display, Hart stood and walked to his friend. ‘I don’t exactly understand your choice,’ he said, shaking his head.
Julian leaned closer. ‘Katrina insisted on Miss Forrester. They are very close. I couldn’t say no.’
‘That wasn’t what I—’
Julian arched an amused brow, telling him he understood. ‘I think she will be good for you.’
Hart almost swallowed his tongue. ‘Miss Forrester? I assure you I have no designs—’
‘I meant Augusta. Should anything happen to me, I’ll need you to look out for her. Having that responsibility on your shoulders might do you some good.’
‘She is your child. Should anything happen to you, of course I would do everything in my power to see she is taken care of. There was no need to go to this measure.’ Augusta slept a great deal from what he could recall of seeing her after she was born. Katrina had told him the only time she really fussed was when she was hungry. They had similar interests.
‘In any event, I am honoured you have accepted.’
Miss Forrester’s voice carried to where they were standing. ‘But what about when I return home? I might never see you or Augusta again.’
A heavy feeling settled in Hart’s stomach. Was there something wrong with the brandy?
Katrina rubbed Miss Forrester’s arms. ‘We will not think about that day. And when you do, you will make certain to return for visits. We would be happy to welcome your husband and children into our home.’
Her husband? Her children? He crossed his arms, recalling their encounter on the rooftop. Was there someone in particular she planned to marry? After all, he had run into her on a rooftop in London in the middle of the night and it was hard to imagine what else she would have been doing other than fleeing an illicit liaison. Common courtesy demanded he should not bring up the subject with her—however, he was curious by nature. He was determined to find out just what Miss Sarah Forrester was about, but first he needed to fetch that damn bracelet.
Chapter Four (#uc2ee4661-aed7-58d1-b37f-1d9105148723)
The moment Lyonsdale and the Earl left the drawing room, Sarah could breathe normally. She didn’t appreciate the way being near Hartwick left her all fluttery inside. Now that she was alone with Katrina it was easier to concentrate.
‘Again, you have my apologies, Sarah, I know how much you loved those slippers. You’re a true friend to sacrifice them the way you did. I promise to buy you another pair.’
‘I had to do something. You would have run inside and I would have been left to face your perplexed footman.’ She really needed to stop thinking about those slippers. It wasn’t improving her disposition.
‘Have you given any more thought to how you will get Lady Everill’s bracelet?’
‘I have, usually at three in the morning when I’m wide awake and fretting about my parents finding out what my brother did. Searching the Everills’ house was terrifying. I’d prefer not to do that again. And if Lady Everill has been showing it off everywhere, then the only time I could retrieve it is when they’re home asleep. That idea terrifies me even more. It’s maddening to know that bracelet is only the first step in finding the diamond and yet I can’t get my hands on it long enough to study it so I can discover where the stone is hidden.’
‘I think you should practise removing my bracelet again.’ Katrina held her arm out to Sarah. The diamond-and-sapphire bracelet sparkled in the light. ‘If you become proficient, you can slip the bracelet from her wrist the next time you see her.’
‘We’ve already tried. I’m horrid at it.’ She leaned back in her seat and stared at the cherubs looking down at her from the gilt moulding around the ceiling. Why couldn’t they help her figure out what to do? ‘I can’t allow my parents to endure additional suffering because of this vile man and his blackmail. I have a fortnight before he sends word of where the exchange will be made. If I don’t find the diamond by then...’
Katrina held her hand. The warm pressure steadied Sarah’s tremors. ‘Are you certain this is worth keeping from your father? Perhaps you should just tell him.’
‘Katrina, I can’t take that chance. His heart will never survive this. It will destroy him. It will destroy them both. I’m sure of it. I don’t have a choice.’
Their conversation was interrupted when the Dowager opened the door and stepped into the room. She eyed them before scanning the surroundings.
‘Are you looking for someone?’ Katrina asked, removing her hand from Sarah’s.
‘No. No. I was...about to do some reading, but I could not find my spectacles. I might have left them somewhere in here earlier today.’ Her studied gaze swept over Sarah from her half-boots to her hair. ‘I say, Miss Forrester, are you still here?’
‘It would appear so. Would you like us to help you find them?’ Sarah asked, hoping it would distract her enough to give a brief reprieve from her troubles.
‘Find what, my dear?’
‘Your spectacles.’
The Dowager’s brows wrinkled briefly before she seemed to recall why she had entered the room in the first place. ‘Oh, yes...that’s very kind of you, but not necessary. Go about your conversation. Pay no attention to me.’ She walked away and scanned the surfaces of the small decorative tables.
Sarah glanced at Katrina, knowing their conversation was finished. She would go home, crawl into bed and stay under the blankets until she had devised a plan to retrieve that bracelet. It should only take a year—a year she did not have.
She stood and brushed out her skirt. ‘Well, I should go.’
‘I shall walk you to the door,’ Katrina replied.
‘Miss Forrester,’ the Dowager called before they reached the door, ‘I was wondering if you and your parents enjoyed science.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I was planning on having a small gathering in a few nights’ time to show off some of the wondrous things I’ve been hearing about during the lectures I’ve been attending at the Royal Institution.’
‘You were?’ Katrina eyed Julian’s grandmother with suspicion.
Sitting through an evening of dull lectures was not how Sarah wanted to spend her time, even if she did adore the Dowager. ‘I would have to enquire with my mother. It’s possible we have accepted an invitation already for that evening.’
The Dowager’s eyes narrowed. ‘I haven’t told you which evening it will be.’
Sarah looked away, trying to find something to say.
‘I have invited just a few friends,’ the Dowager continued with a graceful wave of her hand. ‘The Tates, the Everills and a few others.’
It was impossible to miss Katrina’s pointed stare.
‘It will be on Wednesday. Shall I send an invitation?’
If it took two days, Sarah was going to master removing Katrina’s bracelet without her noticing. ‘Yes, please. A Wednesday evening that I do not have to spend at Almack’s would be lovely.’
* * *
Three days later, Sarah sat in the Crimson Drawing Room of Lyonsdale House sipping tea and trying not to stare at Lady Everill’s bracelet, which was on prominent display on the woman’s wrist. It had to be the bracelet described in the letter. It was comprised of square gold links and had paintings on porcelain. Sarah was waiting for the perfect opportunity to try to slip it from Lady Everill’s wrist without getting caught and sending the woman into hysterics. It sounded so easy in theory.
‘I must admit,’ Lady Everill said, lowering her teacup to its saucer, ‘I am surprised you’re attending scientific lectures.’
‘There is no sense in wasting away at our age, Harriet,’ the Dowager said, shaking her head from beside Sarah on the crimson silk brocade sofa. ‘And after tonight, you may decide to accompany me to the next one.’
Sarah’s mother stirred her tea. ‘And what do you have planned for us tonight? Your invitation was not very specific.’
‘I would prefer to keep it a surprise.’
‘You always were one for secrets,’ Lady Everill said, adjusting her glove so the gold links of her bracelet sparkled in the candlelight, as was the intention of the movement.
The Dowager leaned in. ‘Why, Harriet, what a lovely bracelet. I don’t believe I’ve seen it yet.’
‘Yes, you have.’
‘No. No, I don’t believe so.’
There was a distinct preen to Lady Everill as she held her wrist out. It was only a few feet away and Sarah had to clench her fist to resist the urge to grab it.
‘It shows exceptional craftsmanship,’ Lady Everill pointed out. ‘Are not the paintings exquisite? I’m partial to the ancient Greek engravings myself. They have been the rage for quite some time and I do not see the design going out of fashion any time soon.’ She turned to Katrina and addressed her directly. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
Katrina’s gaze shifted momentarily to Sarah. ‘Oh, I agree. It’s very lovely.’
‘And the images bring to mind such happy memories.’
‘My eyesight is not what it once was,’ the Dowager said. ‘Harriet, do be a dear and take the bracelet off, so I can get a better look.’
Lady Everill visibly bristled at the request, which made her jonquil turban decorated with peacock feathers shift against her grey hair. ‘But...surely you can see it from here.’ She shoved her wrist closer to the Dowager.
‘There is no need to have your hand up my nose. Simply hand me the bracelet so I can have a better look at these exquisite paintings you’ve been going on about.’
‘You can see them from there.’
‘I’m afraid, my dear, I cannot. Honestly, what do you think I will do to it? Is it so poorly made you fear it will break?’
‘Lord Everill would never purchase a shoddy piece.’ Lady Everill’s chin shook as she spoke. ‘Rundell & Bridge sold him this bracelet. They have a royal warrant.’ She raised her nose a bit higher.
‘Then there is nothing to fear in giving me a closer look.’
Sarah’s heart beat wildly in her chest as Lady Everill released the gold pin from the hinge and handed the bracelet to the Dowager. The answer to her problems was inches away. It was excruciating. She just wanted time alone with that bracelet! Was that too much to ask?
The Dowager held the bracelet up to her eye and studied each engraved gold square linked together by individual hinges, as well as the two small paintings done on porcelain. She turned it over a number of times, looked at the back of the links and weighed it in her hand. ‘What say you, Miss Forrester?’
‘It’s a lovely bracelet,’ Sarah replied, wishing the Dowager had not brought attention her way.
The Dowager placed the bracelet on Lady Everill’s wrist and refastened the pin. As she did so, she resettled herself on the sofa and stepped on Sarah’s left foot—hard! Who knew such a small woman possessed such a strong foot?
‘You’re fortunate, Harriet. Lord Everill has fine taste in jewellery.’ The Dowager took a sip of tea from the cup that had been resting on the table at her elbow. She looked at the mantel clock across the room. ‘How I wish Lord Hartwick knew how to tell time.’ She sighed. ‘If he does not arrive in the next ten minutes, we will be forced to proceed without him.’
The Dowager hadn’t mentioned she was inviting Lord Hartwick when she told her about this evening. At least with Lord Hartwick present, the evening would not be that dull of an affair. Trying to best him in their verbal sparring matches was always entertaining. She simply had to make sure he did not distract her away from lifting Lady Everill’s bracelet.
* * *
Ten minutes later, the Dowager had given up on Hartwick and asked everyone to join her in the library to begin the evening’s festivities. Perhaps Lady Everill would fall asleep during the lecture and Sarah would have an easier time slipping the bracelet from her wrist. She needed to find a way to sit next to the woman.
When Lady Everill stood, the bracelet slipped from her wrist and fell to the floor. It took a moment for Sarah to believe it had really happened, but glancing at Katrina’s wide-eyed stare gave her the reassurance she wasn’t dreaming. In an instant Sarah stepped forward and covered it delicately with her foot. Bending down, she placed Lady Everill’s bracelet into her slipper while pretending to adjust the ribbon around her ankle. She prayed the bracelet wouldn’t jingle as she walked.
‘Forgive me for the hour,’ Hartwick called as he entered the drawing room. His finely cut black tailcoat accentuated his lean muscular frame. The crisp white cravat he wore was tied neatly and that lazy lock of shiny black hair was close to falling into his sharp blue eyes.
The Dowager surveyed him as if she, too, was assuming she’d find evidence of time spent in a woman’s bed. ‘We were about to begin without you. What you need, my lord, is a wife to manage you.’
‘What I need is a watch. There will be no wife for me.’
‘Do go to the back of the line, Hartwick,’ she instructed, ‘I’ll chastise you later for your tardiness.’
‘I look forward to it, Your Grace,’ he replied, passing Julian and Katrina with a smile.
His friend gave him a slight, disapproving shake of his head.
Hartwick responded with a carefree shrug before his watchful gaze landed on Sarah as she walked carefully towards the guests.
‘Do come along, Miss Forrester,’ the Dowager said. ‘I assure you Lord Hartwick does not bite.’
A devilish twinkle sparkled in his eyes as he tipped his head to her in greeting. ‘At least, not in polite company,’ he said low enough that only Sarah could hear.
‘Then I count myself lucky we are among the Dowager’s guests. But be advised, should you bite me, I will bite back.’
He placed his head closer to her ear. The warmth of his breath danced along her neck, sending a tingling sensation down her spine. ‘If that is meant as a deterrent, you’ve missed your mark. I now have the unnatural desire to pull you away and find the most delicious places on your body to sink my teeth into.’
No man had ever been that forward in their speech with her. The bold suggestion brought an odd quiver below her stomach. Thank heavens the cad would never know.
‘Shall we wait a moment for you to steady yourself, or did that hesitation stem from your desire to steal away with me?’
Did he have to be so observant? ‘Not every woman falls for your charms, Hartwick. There is a rare breed of us that finds it quite easy to see through your false flattery.’
‘I never lie. Not to you. I’ll prove it.’ He looked deep into her eyes. The intense effect made her entire body still. ‘Miss Forrester, I find your beauty incomparable, your intelligence stimulating. Your body tempts the very core of me—’
‘Oh, do hush, Hartwick. If I could push you over right now, I would.’
The teasing grin on his face made it difficult to hold back her smile.
As they resumed walking, his attention dropped to the hem of her skirt and his brow wrinkled. ‘Have you injured your foot? Has Boreham finally done permanent damage to one of his dancing partners?’
If only she could use the clumsy lord as her excuse for the way she was walking. She attempted to adjust her gait, trying not to step directly onto the bracelet lodged in her shoe. Deflection was her best option. ‘What do you know of Lord Boreham’s knack for harming his dance partners?’
‘Since we were at Cambridge, I’ve witnessed many a woman leave the dance floors of England with a limp. So what is causing yours?’
‘I do not have a limp.’
‘Forgive me, your hobble.’
‘I tied my slipper too tight.’
‘Then we should stop so you can adjust it.’
‘It will loosen as we walk.’
‘Or it will loosen faster if we don’t stop and you retie it.’ He tugged her arm, bringing them to a halt.
She could retie it twenty times and it would not make one bit of difference. ‘It is best not to keep the others waiting. I assure you, it’s no inconvenience on my part. It will loosen on its own.’
Those sharp eyes narrowed on her, making her palms sweat.
A curious smile spread across his lips. ‘You are an unusual creature, Miss Forrester.’
As they finally reached the doorway of the library, Sarah was relieved she hadn’t jingled once during their short walk. However, she could not have the bracelet remain in her slipper the entire night. Eventually her hobble would give her away.
She noted Hartwick’s attention was drawn to the far end of the room where Sarah’s mother was speaking with Lady Everill.
‘Are you acquainted with her ladyship?’ Sarah asked, taking note of his furrowed brow.
‘We’ve met once or twice.’ He looked over at Sarah. ‘We don’t generally move in the same circles.’
‘I imagine conversing with chaperons is not your preference.’
‘I avoid it at all costs, if I’m honest. I don’t want them assuming that I’ve decided to find a bride.’
The Dowager cleared her throat, bringing everyone’s attention towards where she stood on the opposite end of the room near the massive fireplace. ‘I have invited you all here tonight to share with you the wonders of electricity.’
Sarah glanced at Hartwick, who eyed her sideways. All Sarah knew of electricity was the experiment she heard Mr Franklin had conducted with a kite over thirty years ago and Signor Galvani’s experiments on the reactions of muscles to electricity.
‘I’ve purchased an electrifying machine,’ she continued, stepping to the side and revealing a small cylinder on legs that came up to the petite Dowager’s knees. ‘It is ingenious really. If we crank this handle, it will create friction, which will carry an electrical shock from the machine through this string. If someone holds the string and you touch that person, the electricity will flow through them and into you.’ She looked around eagerly at her guests. ‘If one person would like to crank the machine, the rest of us can hold hands and receive a spark. Doesn’t that sound exciting?’
It did actually. How many people could say they knew what it was like to feel electricity move through their body?
‘Is it safe?’ Sarah’s father asked sceptically.
‘They would not sell them if they were not.’
He bobbed his head from side to side. ‘I don’t believe that’s entirely true.’
‘You may be our cranker, if you like, Mr Forrester,’ she said, apparently not wanting to miss the electrical shock herself.
Sarah’s father approached her side. ‘Do not hold that string,’ he quietly warned her.
Since Alexander died, he had become very protective of her. As a child, he had encouraged her adventurous nature. He had found it amusing. But now he feared he would lose her, too, and she was all he had left of his children. Yet how could he expect her to miss all the fun? Who knew if she would ever have the opportunity to try this again? And it was safe. The Dowager had confirmed it.
So when the stately old woman asked who would like to hold the string, Sarah couldn’t stop herself from immediately stepping forward—at the exact moment Hartwick did the same. They looked at each other and surprise flickered in his eyes.
There was a distinct clearing of her father’s throat behind her.
The Dowager clucked her tongue. ‘Only Lord Hartwick and Miss Forrester are brave enough to have a go?’
Katrina eyed the machine near her foot. ‘What does it feel like?’
‘A wonderful zing moves through your body,’ the Dowager replied, looking pointedly at Lord Sissinghurst.
‘Perhaps it’s best if a man holds the string,’ Sarah’s father said, still not convinced she would not spontaneously combust if she held it. ‘His body is more sound,’ he continued. ‘It will hold the greater amount of shock.’
Hartwick bounced on his toes as if he was restraining himself from going after the string. ‘Fear not, Mr Forrester. I shall be the sacrificial lamb and spare your daughter.’
But Sarah wanted to feel the shock first! Why should men have all the excitement in life? As the daughter of a diplomat she was forced to suppress her daring nature and appear subdued—or as close to subdued as was possible for Sarah. Back home, her brother had taught her how to ride a horse sitting astride without a saddle. She had climbed trees, swam in the ocean and had allowed two different men to kiss her. She lived for new experiences—experiences like having electricity run through her body.
‘The shock will be the same regardless of the size of the person holding the string, Mr Forrester,’ the Dowager replied to his question.
‘How long will it last?’ Lord Everill enquired from where he was inspecting the device over the rim of his spectacles.
‘As long as we continue to turn the crank and generate the friction.’
Lady Everill’s eyes grew wide. ‘How long do you intend for that to be?’
The Dowager shrugged. ‘However long we want. The residual effects can be quite fun. Electricity can make the strands of your hair raise. You can pick small pieces of paper up by merely waving your hand over them. And if you kiss someone who has been electrified, you will feel a sharp spark of fire from their lips.’
‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ Katrina said, stepping away from the device and approaching her husband’s side.
‘Their lips catch fire?’ Lady Everill all but shrieked.
‘No, Harriet, but it feels that way.’ The Dowager glanced once again at Lord Sissinghurst and they shared a smile. ‘Or so I’ve been told.’
‘Oh, dear Lord,’ Lyonsdale groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Sarah looked at Hartwick, who was rubbing his lips as if to wipe a grin off them. It wasn’t working very well.
If Sarah didn’t know any better, she would think the Dowager and Lord Sissinghurst had tried the kissing experiment themselves, but the woman had to be in her seventies. Surely people had no interest in kissing at that age. Did they?
The Dowager walked back to the machine. ‘I promise you. We will start with a short spark of electricity. It will not harm you. I know you are all curious. I am not the first person in London to hold an electrical soirée. Certainly you have heard of the others. Wouldn’t you love to say you have tried it, too?’
That was all it took for Lady Everill to agree. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said much too quickly.
Then everyone seemed to be in agreement.
‘Capital,’ the Dowager said with excitement shining in her eyes. We will try a few experiments for fun. Be warned, you should remove any substantial metal from your person. That would include jewellery, snuff boxes and the like.’
Wonderful! Now what was Sarah to do? She should have volunteered to crank the contraption. How was she to remove the bracelet without anyone noticing? Where would she put it? How horrible would it be if she kept it in her shoe?
‘My bracelet!’
All heads turned to Lady Everill and Sarah’s body grew cold. She was certain everyone would know the woman’s latest prized possession was in her slipper.
The Dowager’s clear voice gave her a small bit of comfort. ‘What is wrong, Harriet?’
‘My bracelet is missing! Oh, Eleanor, someone has stolen my bracelet!’
‘Nonsense! I can assure you no one here stole it. It must have fallen off. We will all help you search for it. Katrina, why don’t you and Miss Forrester look in the drawing room? You remember where we were sitting. Harriet, you, Everill, Mr and Mrs Forrester and I will search the hallway, and, Julian, you remain here with Hartwick to look for it.’
‘What does the bracelet look like?’ Hartwick enquired, looking at the lady in question.
‘It is engraved gold links and two of those links have small paintings on porcelain.’
Hartwick nodded in understanding while Sarah’s heart felt like it would jump out of her chest. Once she made it to the Crimson Drawing Room, her heartbeat slowed.
‘I cannot believe her bracelet just fell off her wrist like that,’ Katrina said, closing the door behind her and locking it.
Neither could Sarah and now she was fairly certain the Dowager had been eavesdropping on their conversation yesterday. ‘I have the woman’s bracelet in my slipper,’ she whispered back harshly. ‘I’m amazed I did not jingle down the entire hallway.’
‘As am I. I don’t know how you did it.’ Katrina opened the drawer of the game table and withdrew a piece of paper and a pencil. As Sarah sat to remove the bracelet, Katrina handed the drawing implements to her. ‘Use these, but be quick.’
The bracelet was of substantial weight, leaving Sarah to believe the links were solid. She studied each link and hinge, and found no way to open it. She placed it on the table and began to sketch it out to size. Although the back of the bracelet was free of any etchings, she took a rubbing of each link just to be certain she was not missing anything. Then she made indications of the colours of each of the images.
She folded the drawing and shoved it inside her stays, between her breasts. She was an intelligent woman. She could do this. She would not give in to doubt.
They discovered Lady Everill sitting in the library, fanning herself and drinking wine. Lyonsdale was pacing slowly near the doorway, studying the carpet under his feet.
‘We found your bracelet, Lady Everill,’ Katrina called out as they entered the room.
Lady Everill rushed to them, grabbed the bracelet out of Sarah’s hands and clutched it to her chest. ‘Oh, thank heavens.’
A loud thud came from under a nearby table, and Sarah dropped down to find Hartwick on his hands and knees, rubbing his head.
‘What are you doing under there?’
‘Searching for that bracelet,’ he bit out. ‘What did you think I was doing under here?’
Sarah shrugged at his unusually harsh tone.
‘See, Harriet,’ the Dowager said from the doorway. ‘No one had taken your bracelet. Wherever did you find it?’
‘It was near the doorway of the drawing room. The clasp must have come loose when we were on our way to the library. You may wish to have a jeweller repair it for you,’ Katrina suggested with a sympathetic smile.
‘Oh, dear, I will at that,’ Lady Everill said, dropping it into her reticule and securing the satin braid of the bag around her wrist. ‘I’ll bring it to Rundell & Bridge myself tomorrow.’ A team of wild dogs would not be able to wrestle that bag from her firm grasp.
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