“He has never been caught with the stolen gems on his person, no matter how thoroughly house and guests are searched.”

  “Never. But mark my words, the Eye of India will be his undoing.”

  Chapter 4

  Daphne was doomed to disappointment when she reached the dining room, due to the order of precedence and the vast size of the party at dinner. The duke might as well have dined in Bocka Morrow, for all her opportunity to speak with him. He was at the head of the table, which at least meant she could observe him from her place near the other end, but she couldn’t even hear his words.

  Mr. Cushing paused beside her and granted her an engaging grin. Daphne returned his smile politely. “What good fortune is mine,” he said gallantly, sweeping into the seat beside her.

  “I could argue that it is mine,” Daphne replied in kind, though her heart was not in the words. She might have said something else, but Mr. Cushing suddenly leaned forward.

  “I say! Is that the legendary Eye of India, Tamsyn?” he fairly shouted, peering down the table at one of the brides-to-be.

  “It is, Nathaniel.” Lady Tamsyn’s hand rose to touch the brooch. “Great uncle Timothy sent it to me as a wedding gift. He said it belonged in the coffers of the Earl of Banfield and since I’m oldest, it should be mine.”

  “Is he truly our uncle?” asked Lady Morgan.

  “Technically, he’s probably a cousin,” said Lady Rose.

  “Or a great uncle,” Lady Morgan suggested.

  “I thought he was dead,” confided Lady Gwyn, raising a horrified hand to her lips.

  “We should have heard if he was,” jested Lady Marjorie. “There would have been a ruckus when his gem collection was sold or given in bequests.”

  Daphne couldn’t help but stare at the brooch. She’d never seen such a splendid piece of jewelry. In its center was an enormous sapphire of clear deep blue. The stone was surrounded by swirls of silver, each jammed with sparkling clear gems. It caught the light and glittered.

  Surely those stones couldn’t all be diamonds?

  It would be worth a fortune, then.

  “What a handsome gift,” Daphne said.

  “It is!” Lady Tamsyn said. “I was so surprised.”

  “I’m glad he sent it to you instead of me,” Lady Morgan said. “I should be terrified that it would be stolen.”

  “Oh, it won’t be,” Lady Tamsyn said lightly. “Not here at Castle Keyvnor.” She smiled at her betrothed. “And after the holidays, Gryffyn will take it to Lancarrow to be locked up for safekeeping.”

  “You won’t be wearing it daily, after all,” he replied with a teasing smile.

  “Only until the wedding. Uncle Timothy asked me to wear it for luck until then. It seemed the least I could do.”

  “Although we have no need of luck,” her beloved agreed.

  The pair beamed at each other, so happy that they evidently had forgotten every other soul in the room. Daphne knew that she herself had too many expectations of a suitor to hope for love, as well.

  She might hope for desire, perhaps.

  Respect.

  She spared a glance down the table to the duke, flushing when she realized he was watching her. His expression was serious and his eyes vehemently blue.

  Then he lifted his quizzing glance and spoke in that falsely high voice. “Upon my word, there is a gem!” Evidently not satisfied with the view, he rose from his seat and trotted down the side of the table to Lady Tamsyn’s side. He peered at it. “What a marvel! Do you know that the Prince Regent himself has a brooch similar to this, but admittedly somewhat smaller, that he often wears in his cravat?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Lady Tamsyn said. “Although I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  The duke gazed at the gem, nodding to himself. “A prize, to be sure.” He flicked a glance across the table. “Do you not agree, Miss Goodenham?”

  She colored more deeply to be so singled out. “I have never seen the like, Your Grace, although my experience of gems is limited.”

  “Marry well, my dear, and that may change,” he replied jovially, then winked at her. Daphne blushed as Mr. Cushing chuckled.

  “There is sound advice,” he murmured.

  Meanwhile, the duke took another look. “A magnificent sapphire,” he pronounced, then returned to his seat, his heels clicking as he walked.

  “But why is it called the Eye of India?” Daphne asked.

  “Oh, it has a painting beneath the sapphire, of a man’s eye,” Mr. Cushing said.

  Lady Tamsyn leaned across the table and Daphne could just barely glimpse the eye. “Great Uncle Timothy wrote that it was a gift from a gentleman to his lady love, as a token of his undying affection.”

  “But we don’t know who he was,” Lady Morgan added.

  “Or the lady, for that matter,” Lady Tamsyn agreed. “It is a lovely romantic story, but one that leaves as many questions as answers.”

  “Such as how Great Uncle Timothy came by it in the first place,” Lady Morgan agreed.

  Mr. Cushing cleared his throat. “I expect he bought it,” he said. “My uncle buys a great many gems, and not always at public auctions. There are many jewelers who know of his collection.”

  “There you are, Tamsyn,” Gryffyn said. “Lord Timothy has ensured your future, for you could always sell the brooch if need be.”

  Lady Tamsyn laughed prettily, for her future was clearly in no doubt given her betrothed’s wealth.

  Mr. Cushing cleared his throat. “I would venture to suggest that the man in question might be suspected to have been a Hambly for Uncle Timothy to believe the Eye of India belonged in your possession.”

  “How perfectly scandalous!” Lady Tamsyn said. “Who do you think it might have been?”

  They laughed lightly and began to speculate as the soup was brought in.

  After the soup had been served, Mr. Cushing leaned toward her. “I’m not surprised that the duke had a good look at the Eye of India.”

  “Indeed? Is he reputed to have a taste for gems, like your uncle?”

  “More than a taste, to be sure. There is said to be an avarice for them in his family.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly. His sister Anthea was accused of being a thief and banished from polite society as a result.”

  “Oh! How horrible.”

  “It was horrible.” Mr. Cushing shook his head. “In her debut season, as well.”

  “What a ghastly thing. Was she guilty?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you said she was accused, not discovered to be guilty. It’s not quite the same thing.”

  He smiled at her indulgently, as if she were a child. “You take the side of a stranger?”

  “If it was her debut, I can’t imagine she would be scheming to steal gems. She would be too busy thinking about dance cards and eligible beaus and dresses.”

  Mr. Cushing seemed to find this a foolish view. “Nonetheless, she was accused and fled London for Scotland. Surely no one innocent would have done as much? That she would hurry home and never leave again indicates her guilt.”

  Daphne could well imagine that the duke’s sister might have left the city out of mortification, even at being so accused, not necessarily of guilt. “And was the gem found?”

  “No, but then they didn’t look at Airdfinnan.” Mr. Cushing nodded down the table. “The duke would not let anyone through the gates to search. Perhaps he knows where it is.”

  “I think it admirable that he defended his sister against rumor and innuendo,” Daphne said primly. She rather imagined that the duke might fight dragons for his sister and admired him for that.

  “It was not admirable if she was guilty. To harbor a thief is reprehensible.” Mr. Cushing shook his head. “And one does wonder how he comes by such wealth. It is said that he doesn’t owe so much as a shilling to any man.”

  Daphne straightened, finding much to admire in fiscal responsibility and knowing that it did not necessarily mean the duke funded his purchases with theft. She chose not to share her grandmother’s comment about the family declining to gamble.

  “Is that so uncommon, then?” she asked, feigning ignorance of such matters.

  Mr. Cushing gave a bark of a laugh. “To me, it seems a miracle.”

  Yes, he might be the sort of man to live far beyond his own means. She smiled and ended the conversation, then turned to the cousin on her other side to ask about the wedding preparations.

  Daphne was not certain what awakened her.

  For once, it wasn’t her nightmare.

  It was the middle of the night, the room still dark. Eurydice snored, her breath rattling as if she too would take Jenny’s cold. That clock chimed in the distance.

  Three in the morning again, but this time, Daphne was not hungry.

  She felt rather than saw that there was another presence in the room. She couldn’t have named what alerted her to the intruder, a faint scent of cologne, perhaps, or a rustle of cloth. She kept her eyes closed, rolled over with a sigh and breathed as if she were asleep.

  She heard a footfall. Was it the duke? Even if he was the intruder, surely he was too honorable to assault a girl in her own room? Daphne was prepared to scream if a finger was laid upon her, even as she doubted her duke would act in such a way.

  She heard a click, like the closing of her trunk. She opened her eyes slightly and saw a wedge of moonlight as the door to the corridor was opened. She had the barest glimpse of a shadow passing through the door, then the door was closed and there was only the sound of Eurydice’s breathing.

  Who had been in their room?

  Why?

  Daphne waited until first light because she didn’t want to light a candle and risk awakening Eurydice. She slipped from her bed as quietly as possible and went to her trunk. It looked just as it had the night before and she wondered if she had dreamed of the intruder. She quietly opened her trunk and surveyed the contents in the dim light, then patted the folded chemises and petticoats.

  Her hand stilled over a hard shape that hadn’t been there before.

  It was an unfamiliar drawstring bag, made of deep blue velvet. Daphne’s mouth went dry. She cast a glance at Eurydice, then opened the bag, tipping its contents into her hand.

  It was the Eye of India.

  Panic rose hot in her chest as she stared at the gem.

  What should she do?

  Daphne recalled Mr. Cushing’s tale of the night before and knew that she could not let herself be named as a thief. Who would believe her if she said someone had placed it in her room? Would she be falsely accused and banished from polite society, like the duke’s sister? Daphne could not bear it.

  She could not risk it.

  Not if she was to guarantee Eurydice’s future.

  Daphne returned the brooch in its velvet bag and knotted the cord, just as it had been, then replaced it in her trunk. She went back to bed, her thoughts spinning. The others would be awakening. The loss would be discovered. What should she do? If there was a search for the gem, she didn’t want to have it with her. Neither did she want it to be found in her possessions.

  She wished she could talk to the duke and seek his advice, but it was impossible for her to get to Bocka Morrow without being observed.

  Or was it?

  No one had seen Jenny since their arrival.

  It was not even dawn.

  Did she dare? Daphne rang for her maid before she could question her impulse.

  One thing was certain: the duke would know what to do.

  It was Alexander’s custom to rise early in the morning, and travel did not change his routine. It was before dawn but he had risen and washed. He remained in his chamber in his plain breeches, boots and open shirt. The tavern was still quiet, and he knew Rupert stood guard outside the door. He sat with his tea and reviewed his recent correspondence, hoping against hope that he was right about this scheme. He seldom had doubts about his course, but in the final hours before a plan came to its conclusion, it seemed that all the other possibilities became infinitely more plausible.

  What if he was wrong about Nathaniel Cushing being the thief?

  No, he could not be.

  What if he could not prove that Nathaniel Cushing was the thief?

  There was a distinct possibility. If Cushing did not take the bait, if he did not try to steal the Eye of India, if he was not caught with it in his possession...Alexander rose to pace his humble chamber, restless with uncertainty.

  What if Cushing changed the pattern of his behavior? It would have been ideal to have been at Castle Keyvnor the night before, but Alexander dared not take a second chance when the house was full of guests.

  There would be severe repercussions if the true Eye of India was lost in the attempt. Alexander checked upon it again. He had retrieved it from the castle that first night and only Daphne Goodenham knew he had been there. It remained safely in his belongings at the tavern.

  And what of Miss Goodenham? How had she guessed that he wore a disguise? Who had she told? He should have demanded her secrecy instead of assuming it. She might tell her sister, and who could tell where that girl would place her confidence?

  Alexander gave a low growl of frustration and wished he had something stronger than tea. It was all too easy to think of his other source of frustration, that tantalizing kiss in the night, and the sweetness of Miss Goodenham’s lips. He disliked that Cushing talked to her so much. Surely she could not be Cushing’s ally? Surely she could not reveal Alexander?

  How could he be certain?

  When would he see her again?

  How would he know she was trustworthy?

  There was a commotion in the tavern below and Alexander frowned at the door. A woman raised her voice, her Scottish brogue thick and her voice high. “I must see His Grace!” she cried, which was remarkable given the early hour.

  “His Grace is not receiving guests,” Rupert said firmly.

  There was the sound of a scuffle and feet racing up the wooden stairs. Rupert swore and heavier footfalls echoed after the lighter ones. Alexander spun to seize his cloak but he was too late. He only had his hand upon it when the door to his chamber was thrown open and a woman in a hooded cloak flung herself toward him.

  “Your Grace!” Rupert exclaimed, his annoyance more than clear. “I do apologize. She is as slippery as a fish!”

  “Your Grace,” the maid cried as she fell prostate at his feet. “I beg you to aid my mistress!”

  Alexander was astonished. He might have asked a question, but the maid stretched out her hand, offering a very familiar blue velvet bag.

  It was not empty. He could see the shape of the gem through the cloth.

  Why had she brought the counterfeit Eye of India to him?

  He gestured to the door with an imperious fingertip, knowing it was too late to don his disguise. He would have to hope that the girl did not dare to look into his face. “Remain with us, Haskell, and stand witness to this business.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The door was secured and Rupert leaned back against it, his expression one of complete distrust. The maid remained on the floor before Alexander and he could see that she was out of breath.

  “Who is your mistress?” he demanded.

  “I dare not utter her name, Your Grace,” she said and something in her voice was achingly familiar. Alexander took a step closer as the maid lifted her head, letting him see her face for the first time.

  It was Miss Goodenham herself.

  Who showed considerable promise in mimicry.

  “Oh!” she whispered, her eyes lighting and a smile curving her lips as she looked upon him.

  “Oh,” he replied, then arched a brow. He was both vexed and intrigued, and uncertain which reaction to show her. He indicated the velvet sack. “Where did you get it?”

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Someone was in my room last night. Eurydice was asleep. I thought it might have been you, sir,” she confessed, blushing prettily.

  Rupert cleared his throat.

  She lifted the bag with a shaking hand. “But I found this in my trunk this morning. I don’t know what to do, but I knew you would give me good advice.”

  So, this was how the gems left the house after they were stolen. Cushing selected a guest with an excess of luggage, relied upon the gem not being discovered before that guest’s departure, then retrieved it at some later point. Perhaps he chose someone who openly admired the prize, as Miss Goodenham had.

  He recalled Anthea mentioning that they’d encountered Nathaniel Cushing at a tavern on the way home to Inverfyre after the accusations were made against her. He had reportedly been sympathetic about the accusations against her and had shared a meal with Anthea and her companion.

  Alexander could imagine that the other man had also retrieved the stolen gem from Anthea’s luggage.

  But there had been a search. How had the gem not been found in the house where Anthea had stayed? He was missing yet a piece of the puzzle.

  His decision made, he turned to Daphne. “Put it back.”

  She paled. “But it will be missed. There must be a search for such a treasure...”

  “There should be, and if there is not, I would ask you to encourage there to be one. A word to the butler should see it done.”

  Her lips parted in astonishment and she rose unsteadily to her feet. She looked very young and uncertain. “But I should be accused when it is found.”

  “I wonder if it will be found,” Alexander said. “For if it were, there would be no point to the theft.”

  She frowned and looked down at the velvet sack. “I do not understand.”

  “Tell me who is given the task of searching your chamber,” Alexander advised.

  Her eyes lit. “You think the thief will volunteer to assist, that he or she will search my chamber but fail to find the gem!” She bit her lip. “But why?

  “So you would take the gem from the castle, unwittingly.”

  “And the thief would waylay us somewhere and reclaim it.”

  “I see no other solution. Do you?”

  “It is bold and clever.” She stroked the velvet and looked so fearful that he wished to ease away every one of her concerns. “But what if you are wrong, Your Grace?” she asked quietly.

 

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