Unmasking the Thief, page 15
The pen hovered in the first sign of uncertainty Francisco had seen, then signed a name. He sanded the letter, then folded it before glancing up at Francisco. “I did. There was nothing illegal in any of it.”
“So why did you give up?”
Brown inscribed a direction on the folded paper and added it to a small pile at his elbow. He pulled another sheet of paper in front of him. “Who are you? And why do you want to know?”
“My name is Francis. I am…investigating a spate of carefully timed and coordinated meetings that have taken place all over the country. Yours included. But so far as I know, you are the only organizer to step aside. I’d like to know why you did that.”
Brown sat back, for the first time giving him his full, formidable attention. “Why? You want information, so you can be ready to kill and imprison people who only want a fair shot at life for their families?”
Something in his tone caught Francisco unaware. “That is why you stepped down. You feared for them. Why?”
The man continued to meet his gaze in silence.
Francisco leaned forward. “Brown, I don’t want these people to die. I don’t want anyone to die. If coordinated marches would win a little more justice in the world, I’d cheer you on. But it won’t, will it? You worked that out. How? What’s going on?”
Brown took a deep breath. “I don’t know. But something is wrong. I never liked being told when to hold meetings, let alone when to march. Marching together is a strong idea, but it depends so much on who is behind it and why.”
“Do you know who is behind it?” Francisco almost had to sit on his hands to prevent him from seizing Brown by the shoulders.
“I can guess.”
“How?”
Brown twirled the pen in its stand between strong, capable fingers. “At one meeting, I saw a man who was out of place. A gentleman. Not even a wealthy mill owner like the ten-a-penny rich men you get around here. A real gentleman.” Brown regarded him. “A bit like you.”
“I doubt it, though I thank you for the compliment. I think. What was this gentleman doing at your meeting? I know a few gentlemen of radical inclinations myself.”
“He wasn’t. He listened and looked pleased amidst his minders, and then he left again. There was no trouble. No one was followed, arrested, or threatened. I never saw him again, but I had this feeling it was he who was pulling the strings, all over Manchester and beyond. What I don’t know is why.”
“How do you know,” Francisco asked slowly, “that he wasn’t a radical, as devoted to your cause as you?”
“Because I recognized him from a sketch in a newspaper. He’s a reactionary to the core.”
Francisco’s heart beat harder. “And his name?”
Brown held his gaze without flinching. He looked almost—defiant. As though he fully expected not to be believed. “Thorne. Sir Anthony Thorne.”
Chapter Fifteen
“I shall be the envy of every gentleman,” Sir Anthony said, smiling when he called at Grillon’s to escort the Mather ladies to Wenning House. “Not one, but three such beautiful ladies on my arms!”
“Three might prove a trifle undignified,” Matty murmured. “I shall walk behind as befits the governess.”
“Why do you always sound as if being the governess actually makes you superior?” Marion demanded. Nerves made her short-tempered.
Sir Antony handed each of the ladies into his carriage, and Matty realized there was no turning back. She was going to the ball. Until this afternoon, she had half-hoped the gown ordered before Easter would not be ready in time, but when she had arrived at Grillon’s—Mrs. Dove having almost pushed her out the door—she had found not only the ball gown but a pretty new evening gown she had idly admired on the same shopping expedition.
“Marion,” she had said shakily, “you are killing me with kindness.” Wearing her down to accept the inevitable. When Matty had not even given up hope that her sister would never marry Thorne.
“It’s the least we can do,” Marion had said. “For years, we could not have survived without your salary, little as it was. Now, things are different.” She had glanced at the door to be sure her mother was not in hearing distance and lowered her voice. “You do not truly mind, do you, Matty, that I am marrying Anthony?”
The anxiety in her voice had been genuine, and Matty had sat on the bed, choosing her words carefully. “I am not jealous if that’s what you mean. And I shall certainly not hold it against you.”
Relief had relaxed the set of Marion’s shoulders as she sat beside Matty and took her hands.
Matty had gazed at their interlinked fingers and then looked up into Marion’s eyes. “Sir Anthony let me down, Marion. I do not want him to do the same to you.”
“He won’t,” Marion had said brightly, jumping to her feet once more. “We are all older and wiser.”
And certainly, this evening, Thorne appeared to be every inch the doting husband-to-be, solicitous and charming as he helped them down from the coach and into the splendid house, leaving them at the cloakroom to change outdoor shoes for dancing slippers, and then conducting them through throngs of other milling guests to the ballroom, where more heaving crowds of silken, perfumed, and bejeweled people awaited them.
Lord and Lady Wenning, one of the most beautiful couples Matty had ever seen, welcomed them just inside the door with gracious goodwill and bade them enjoy the evening.
Was Francisco here? Impossible to tell with so many guests thronging one of the biggest grand balls of the Season. Sir Anthony, however, seemed to know just about everyone they passed and paused to introduce them. Eventually, he managed to find a chair for Mama among the dowagers, even introduced her to the lady next to her. And then the orchestra struck up the opening waltz, and everyone swept back to leave the dance floor clear. Lady Wenning was led out onto the floor by a very handsome, fair young man.
“The Duke of Dearham,” Sir Anthony murmured to Marion. “And Wenning is dancing with the new duchess. Marion, will you honor me with the waltz?”
Marion was delighted to. Matty watched the floor fill, was happy to catch a glimpse of Catherine dancing with Mr. Holles and Hope Darblay with another young man she did not recognize. She could not see Francisco among the dancers, so began to peer about the crowd. Mrs. Dove waved to her from several yards away. Viola broke through a sea of people to greet her and be introduced to Mama.
“Viola, allow me to introduce my mother, Mrs. Mather. Mama, this is Lady Dominic Gorse.”
Viola smiled warmly and offered her hand. “Delighted to make your acquaintance at last, Mrs. Mather. Your daughter has been a wonderful friend to me.”
Mama blinked in surprise. “You are very gracious, my lady.”
Matty was pleased. She had never seen Viola in society before, but she knew she had struggled in the days before her marriage. Confidence—won primarily with the love of her husband—had made her gracious, friendly, and easy to talk to. As if she had finally let her true nature shine.
Matty was still thinking about that when the waltz ended, and Viola moved away. Marion and Sir Anthony returned, the former looking charmingly rosy from their dance.
“Matilda, may I have the pleasure?”
Matty blinked at Thorne’s hand held out to her. She was no debutante, expected and even obliged to dance. If she said no now, she could not be so rude as to accept other offers—if there were any. If Francisco was even here.
Sir Anthony smiled, almost like the boy he had once been. “Please.”
“Thank you.” She took his hand and walked with him onto the floor to join a set for the country dance.
It was so long since she had danced that she feared she would forget the steps and embarrass herself and everyone else. But in moments, it seemed dancing was as simple as walking, and the steps and figures came back to her without thought. And Thorne was a pleasant partner. He may have been a slightly stiff dancer, but he was dignified, looked as if he was enjoying himself, and made conversation.
It was all very friendly, reminding Matty of how long she had known him and how unlikely any of Francisco’s suspicions were to be true. Not that he had revealed exactly what these suspicions were, but she could not but doubt them.
When the dance had ended with his bow and her curtsey, she took his arm and said quietly, “Tell me the truth, Sir Anthony. Why are you so eager for me to leave my post and live with Marion and you?”
He looked down at her, and she could almost see him composing a gallant and respectful reply that would tell her nothing. And then his lips closed again and curved in a rueful smile. “Why, guilt, Matilda. I behaved ill toward you and would make what recompense I can.”
He could not have said anything to surprise her more. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. You were quite right that we should not have suited.”
It was his turn to betray surprise, and she suspected he was not quite pleased by her response.
“Evening, Thorne,” drawled a male voice. “Is this your beautiful betrothed that you have boasted of? You must introduce us.”
The man confronting them was tall and handsome and vaguely dissolute in appearance. The archetypal jaded aristocrat. Sir Anthony, it seemed, had a wide variety of friends, and he did not look at all displeased to be interrupted by this one.
“Alas, not my betrothed, but my betrothed’s sister. Matilda, allow me to present his lordship, the Earl of Calton. Calton, Miss Matilda Mather.”
Since Lord Calton held out his hand in clear expectation, Matty gave him hers and, when he bowed over it, found his smile unexpectedly engaging. A charmer looking for fresh prey.
“Enchanted,” he murmured, managing to look as if he actually was. “I do trust you are free to bestow the coming waltz upon my unworthy self?”
“I am free to do so,” Matty replied. “I haven’t yet decided if I should.”
The earl’s eyes danced.
Sir Anthony laughed. “Oh, he is perfectly safe, Matilda, at least in the ballroom.”
“Then I would be churlish to refuse.”
“Perhaps a glass of wine or lemonade while we wait?” Calton offered, drawing her hand through his arm.
“Thank you,” Matty murmured and was expertly escorted through the throng to be presented with a glass of sparkling champagne.
“So how come we have not before, Miss Mather? Are you new to London?”
“No, but I do not go out much in society.” She sipped her champagne. I am only a governess. What would he say if she spoke those words aloud? Laugh, she rather suspected, but he would still dance with her. He would never be so rude as to withdraw his invitation, though he might abandon her rather sharply afterward.
“Why not?” he asked, his glass already half-empty. “Ah, too late. It’s waltz time. Johnny, guard those with your life. We shall return.”
The command was issued to no less a person than His Grace of Dearham, who only acknowledged it with an amused glance and a quirk of the lips as he continued his own conversation. Matty had no time to observe more as she was led onto the dance floor and swept into the arms of the earl.
“You are a bluestocking,” he guessed. “Your heart given to scholarly pursuits, except for one ball a year. I fully expect you to abandon a glass slipper as you flee at midnight.”
“What nonsense you talk.” She was smiling as, over his shoulder, she finally beheld Francisco, and her heart skipped a beat.
He looked so handsome, so peculiarly steadfast and alone by the tall French windows, his evening dress emphasizing the raven hair and sun-bronzed skin. Her heart flooded with emotion, with sheer happiness because he was here.
Calton said softly. “It is a lucky man who inspires that expression in your eyes.”
Dragged back to her partner, she said carelessly, “I don’t know what you mean.”
He turned her in the dance, perhaps to see who had caught her attention, but as she spun, Matty saw a woman appear at Francisco’s side, claiming his attention. Emma Carntree.
Pointless, silly jealousy. She kept her gaze on Calton’s face and smiled. “I expect you have a reputation as a flirt to keep up,” she said kindly.
Calton blinked. For an instant, he looked as if he didn’t know whether to be insulted or alarmed, and then he laughed. “Miss Mather, I like you! But please don’t annihilate my reputation to anyone else.”
“Is it your means of hiding from matchmaking mamas and predatory debutantes?”
“Something like that,” he admitted. “But what of you, ma’am? Why are you not already married?”
She could no longer see Francisco or Lady Carntree. “A lack of inclination. On my part and anyone else’s.”
“I’m not sure I believe that.”
“I’m sure you would agree, my lord, that there is more to life than marriage.”
His smile appeared once more. Dispassionately, she thought it must slay many a heart, though there was an element of honesty about it that she rather liked.
“I would,” he said, “but it is an unusual opinion in a young lady. You are brought up to consider nothing else.”
“I am no longer young.”
“Shall I fetch your walking stick?”
She smiled and caught sight of Francisco, propping up one of the pillars, in amiable conversation with Archie Holles. It was a relief to see Lady Carntree nowhere nearby.
When the waltz ended, Lord Calton showed no immediate desire to abandon his eccentric and somewhat distracted partner, as she had more than half expected. Instead, he placed her hand on his arm and said, “Now, let us see if Dearham has kept his word and guarded our champagne from rampaging footman.”
“You are very sure of yourself, commanding dukes to undertake your trivial business.”
“Oh, Dearham and I are old and disrespectful friends. Are you acquainted with him?”
“I am not.”
“He is the world’s most approachable duke and probably the most amusing.” He leaned closer. “And I learned all I know about flirting from observing him.”
She cast him a look of mock disparagement. “I’m not sure I believe that.”
By then, they had returned to the table where their glasses still stood in exactly the same place. The Duke of Dearham still lounged there, although the crowd around him had changed. By his side was a lovely young lady who smiled at Calton with genuine friendliness.
“Kitty, my heart, you look ravishing,” he said, his free hand on his heart. “Allow me to present to you, Miss Matilda Mather. Ma’am, Her Grace, the Duchess of Dearham.”
The young lady smiled and offered her hand when Matty curtseyed. It was a naturally friendly gesture and yet Matty was sure she glimpsed a hint of uncertainty behind the eyes. It reminded her a little of Viola on her best behavior two years ago, before Lord Dominic.
“Are you acquainted with my husband?” the duchess asked, reaching for the duke’s arm. Rather to Matty’s surprise, the duke turned immediately to his wife, and so Matty was introduced to him, also.
Goodness, and I’m only the governess…
“Miss Mather,” said Hope Darblay’s voice beside her. “A pleasure to see you here.”
Matty smiled and moved to make space for her. “And you, of course.”
“Good evening, Hope,” the duke said cheerfully. “Allow me to present you to my wife. Miss Darblay is Rollo’s sister. Is the reprobate your escort this evening?”
“Yes, he is around somewhere, probably in the card room.”
“Your Grace promised me the next dance,” Calton reminded the duchess, who immediately turned her smile from Hope to him and took his arm.
Hope’s expression was so subtle and so swiftly gone that Matty almost missed it. The reason for her unexpected arrival on the scene strolled away with the duchess without even noticing her. Unrequited love was painful.
But Hope’s smile was back in place, and one of the young men on the fringes of the group asked Hope to dance, after which the duke, much to Matty’s amazement, offered her his hand.
As she danced, she wondered what on earth her family would make of her dancing with the dashing duke, whom she discovered to be an entertaining partner. Less flirtatious than Calton, he had open, likable manners and a sense of never taking himself too seriously. He was also witty and made her laugh, and after one such incident, she was delighted to see Francisco watching her from the card room door, although his gaze shifted almost immediately.
When will he ask me to dance?
*
Francisco, having returned to London only that morning, dog-tired, was not at his best. He had arrived late to the Wennings’ ball and saw Matty immediately.
He observed her in glimpses, glorious colorful glimpses between the other dancers, waltzing in the arms of the libertine Earl of Calton. Something in his chest tightened, for though he rather liked his lordship, Matty was not the sophisticated woman Calton no doubt imagined. He was certainly very focused on her, and she, damn her, was laughing up at him with all the force of a sunburst after rain.
Her hair had been styled in a softer, looser manner than normal, with some sparkling jewel highlighting the gorgeous auburn glints. The curve of her graceful neck and shoulder made him want to growl, while the deep blue of her shimmering gown complemented her figure, and her sheer beauty, to perfection. He had been right all along, and now he was not the only one to see it.
For an instant, her eyes widened as she caught sight of him, and then Calton had her attention once more. He had no name for the emotions pulling at him.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away,” drawled a feminine voice beside him.
“Emma,” he said indifferently. “Apparently, neither could you.”
“The whole world has come to see if our host and hostess are still on speaking terms. Disappointingly, they seem perfectly cordial.”
“No scandal to entertain you, then?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Thorne is making a perfect fool of himself, trotting after his betrothed like a devoted puppy. Where will his ambitions be when everyone is laughing at him?”
