Unmasking Deception, page 18
They enjoyed a long, comfortable gossip until it was time for Amelia to dash off to her modiste before meeting Matthew. As she saw her friend to the door, she noticed a letter waiting in the hall, addressed to her in a strange hand.
Her heart leapt at the hope it might be from Dominic, for she hadn’t really seen his handwriting, only a few sketches and doodles when he was bored in the cellar. However, after she’d waved Amelia off and picked the letter up, she suspected the hand was too feminine.
She took it to her bedchamber in any case, the better to decipher it in peace without help. Which, painstakingly, she did.
Lady Rampton requests the pleasure of Miss Dove’s company for tea this afternoon at four of the clock. It will be a private gathering, so a chaperone, while welcome, will not be necessary.
This was such an unlikely invitation that Viola went over the name several times to be sure she had it right. Lady Rampton, Dominic’s sister-in-law, the future marchioness, was the sort of acquaintance who might invite her to a ball because of her relationship to the Wennings, but they were hardly intimate. Certainly, they were not on the kind of terms for Lady Rampton to be advising her on chaperones! The invitation seemed to say Lady Rampton would tolerate Viola’s mother, but she would rather not. Mysterious? Or simply rude?
What had Dominic told her? Would he be there? Butterflies danced in her stomach at the very thought. But she understood that, apart from Richard, none of his family was in his confidence or his affections. In fact, not only had they not helped him disprove the charge against him, they had rushed through his conviction.
But then, Richard had said last night they now had evidence of Dominic’s innocence. And Dominic himself had found Crawley’s sleeve buttons sewn into Minton’s coat. Perhaps they had all made up the quarrel. Which still did not really explain why Lady Rampton had summoned her. And it really did feel like a summons.
Viola contemplated sending her regrets, but she never truly intended to. There was no point in taking offense at a formal note written, presumably, by a companion or secretary. And she would not miss even the possibility of seeing Dominic.
In the end, she showed the note to her mother since she had no desire to hide yet more from her or to appear less than a proper young lady to Dominic’s family. To her surprise, Mrs. Dove did not preen at this invitation from a marchioness.
“I am not sure about the Gorses, you know. I suppose Lord Richard may have prize money from the late war, but I understand none of the younger sons have much fortune. And then there is your ramshackle behavior in hiding young Dominic. I suppose they want to thank you. Do you want to go? A pretty note to Lady Rampton would do.”
“No, we should go,” Viola said hastily.
She dressed for the occasion with care in a simple gown of her favorite blue. It was not fussy with flounces or trimmings, but it was elegant.
Sedgemoor House was located in Hanover Square, an unassuming residence from the outside that seemed somehow to expand in size and splendor beyond the front door. A footman conducted them up a gracious staircase to a salon where one lady and several gentlemen were already gathered. None of them were Dominic.
Everyone rose at the Doves’ arrival, and Lady Rampton walked languidly forward to greet them.
“How kind of you to come, Mrs. Dove, Miss Dove. Are you acquainted with the rest of the company?” Without waiting for an answer, she performed introductions to her father-in-law the Marquess of Sedgemoor, to her husband Lord Rampton, and to Lords William, Richard, and Charles.
Viola and her mother sat together on a sofa, feeling awkward.
Lord Richard said, “I have told my family of your ordeal yesterday at Minton’s hands since it is relevant to our own endeavors. But you may be assured of their discretion.”
“Thank you,” Viola said stiffly.
“Terrible thing,” one of the brothers rumbled. “What’s the world coming to?”
“I’ll tell you what it is,” snapped the marquess, a fierce-looking old gentleman in austerely correct dress. “It’s a dashed villain masquerading as a gentleman, and we, particularly I, am responsible for making him worse. We literally let him get away with murder and with shifting the blame onto Dominic. Now he thinks he can abduct young ladies of good family in broad daylight and get away with it. Time he was brought to book.”
“Hear, hear,” Lord Richard drawled.
“Which is one reason we asked you to join us,” Lady Rampton explained to Viola and her mother. “And we will begin just as soon as tea is brought in.”
As though she had thus commanded it, the door opened, and a footman wheeled in a trolley with a large teapot taking pride of place among elegant plates of sandwiches and tartlets and scones and sweet morsels Viola had no name for.
Instead of setting everything out on the nearby table, the footman pushed the trolley right up to Lady Rampton, deposited it in front of her, and kissed the top of her head. While everyone gawped at him in disbelief, he bowed to the assembled company and threw himself into the one vacant chair.
“No cream for me, if you please,” he drawled and smiled amiably at everyone.
Richard laughed.
“Dominic, you…you…” One of the brothers hurled a cushion at the footman, who took off his wig and hurled that in return.
“Stop it!” roared the marquess. “You are not in the playground! Dominic, if you can’t behave, you can take yourself back to Newgate!”
“You know there’s a Runner watching the house?” Dominic said casually.
“Which means Dom had to arrive in this guise and come in through the kitchens,” Richard said. “Shall we call the rest natural exuberance and move on? Or shall we have a family squabble in front of our guests?”
In the midst of it all, Lady Rampton was pouring cups of tea. Dominic unwound himself from his chair and commenced ferrying the cups and saucers, beginning with Viola’s mother and then Viola herself. He gave her a smile and an almost imperceptible wink that made her want to laugh.
“The thing is,” Lord Rampton said to Viola, “we have set in motion the legal steps to have Dominic’s conviction overturned, but my father believes it will expedite matters if we can prove who is really guilty of the crime. Namely, this Minton and possibly Jarvey, too. We have evidence that proves they could have done it. The sleeve button you and Dominic found hidden in Minton’s coat would be a clincher. Only Minton could deny ownership of the coat.”
“So, we have to make him reclaim it,” Dominic said impatiently.
“And he’ll want to, to keep track of the sleeve button,” Viola agreed. “We need a witness to his ownership, someone who is above reproach and completely impartial. None of us are since we all want Lord Dominic to be innocent, and my mother and I are vindictive enough to cheer Minton’s fall.”
“Oh, we’ll all cheer that,” Dominic murmured. “What witness do you have in mind?”
Viola drew in her breath. “A Bow Street Runner. We need to persuade one to work with us and not to arrest Lord Dominic while we prove Minton’s guilt.”
“I’m not sure my father breathing fiery threats will work,” Dominic observed, while his father scowled at him. “Although he has been thinking along the same lines.”
“I think I might be able to speak quietly to the man who called on us the day after your escape. His name was Barnaby Smith.”
Now it was Dominic who frowned. “He’s the Runner who arrested me.”
“Then he probably knows something was not right.”
“They get paid for results, thief-taking not evidence collection,” Dominic pointed out.
“Then he’ll be happy to arrest another murderer,” Viola said. “If I can explain it to him properly.”
“And then we set up Minton to reclaim his coat with the Runner watching,” Dominic mused.
“We will set him up,” Lord Rampton retorted. “You will go back to your pantry and stay out of the way until this is done.”
“I wouldn’t put money on it,” Richard murmured.
Neither would Viola, but she saw no point in stirring the pot.
“So how do we entice Minton to take the bait?” the marquess demanded.
“He’ll never believe Viola now,” Dominic said thoughtfully. “We need another heiress.”
“But Miss Dove is not an heiress,” Lady Rampton pointed out.
Viola tilted her chin. “True. But I do have important kin. And I suspect he has tried his hand with all the heiresses currently in town.” A new idea had begun to blossom in her mind last night, a plan that might help Cousin Frank as well as form irresistible bait to Minton.
“We could set up an actress,” Lord Charles offered. “Spread some rumors.”
“Take too long,” Dominic said dismissively.
“I might know of someone who could help,” Viola said slowly. “She is very young and not yet out, but if we all protect her…” She caught Richard’s gaze. “It is the young lady who caused word to be sent to you of my abduction. Her name is Gavelston. She happens to be a great heiress, and her testimony would be another threat to set him off balance.”
“But he’ll recognize her and be wary, won’t he?” Dominic asked.
“Why? No one sees you in your footman’s wig and livery. But even if he does, she can sympathize with him over his poor ‘wife.’ I’m sure she will be irresistible, especially when he’s desperate and may be contemplating fleeing the country.”
Dominic nodded thoughtfully. “If you can get her back here quickly, it might work.”
“Let me speak to my cousin.”
“Well, once we’ve enticed him somewhere,” the marquess said impatiently, “how will we introduce the dashed coat?”
“Via someone known to be disreputable,” Dominic mused. “Not me, of course, but someone short of money who might well have bought a decent coat at a knock-down price. I have the very man.”
“Who?” came the inevitable demand.
“Friend of mine who troubled to visit me in prison, which, of course, is more than any of you did, except Richard. Rollo Darblay.”
Viola blinked. “You are a friend of Rollo’s? He’s another cousin of mine. Well, connected by marriage.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Lady Rampton murmured. Perhaps she didn’t mean to be heard, but Viola’s gaze flew straight to hers. The lady was merely sipping her tea.
“Where, then, should we do this?” Viola asked.
Dominic met her gaze, his eyes blazing with laughter and something else that made her stomach plunge with memory and longing. “Maida Pleasure Gardens.”
Viola flushed and hastily raised her teacup in a vain attempt to cover her confusion.
They discussed it all a bit more. Viola, who felt she had already said more than her share in such company, merely listened and nodded where appropriate. Then, although they had already outstayed the prescribed length of such a call, the marquess suggested a move onto the terrace for some fresh air.
“Are you sure we should be involved in this?” her mother murmured behind her smile as she rose to join the others.
“Yes,” Viola said stoutly.
Dominic remained in the room, where he could not be seen among the family and guests, so Viola lingered, too, in the hope of a few private words with him. She pretended to admire a porcelain bowl that sat in a place of honor on top of a mahogany cabinet. But it was not Dominic but Lady Rampton who spoke to her.
“You have an eye for fine porcelain, Miss Dove?” she asked, smiling.
“I think this is very pretty, but I’m afraid I don’t know enough to have ‘an eye.’”
“You must see the late marchioness’s collection. She acquired so many beautiful pieces that we were obliged to put most of it in a case in the drawing room. Come, I think you will like it.”
There was nothing for Viola to do but follow her ladyship out of the room. Dominic, lounging by the fireplace, cast her a rueful smile as she passed. Lady Rampton crossed the landing and entered a large, very fine drawing room. It was tastefully decorated, if a little old-fashioned in style, and it was not crowded with ornaments and treasures. Most of those seemed to have been herded into a display cabinet to be admired by connoisseurs.
Lady Rampton led her right up to this cabinet. “This was a wedding gift from the queen.” Lady Rampton indicated an elegant vase on the top shelf. “I believe it is what inspired the marchioness’s love for such pieces.”
“I can see why… The figurine below it is exquisite.”
Lady Rampton opened the cabinet door and took out the porcelain figure of a young lady in Oriental dress and passed it to Viola, who took it very cautiously, running her fingertips over the smooth, delicate features.
“The way it catches the light seems to give her an inner glow,” Viola remarked, awed.
“So I’m told, though I’m afraid I appreciate reality more than art.”
“There is certainly a place for both.” Reluctantly, Viola returned the figurine to her correct place.
“Which is why I particularly wanted to speak to you,” Lady Rampton said. “About the reality that is Dominic.”
“I believe he will be free very soon.”
“It does seem likely now, and of course, we owe much of that to you.”
Viola flushed. “I was fortunate to be in the right place to help.”
“Fortunate for Dominic,” she corrected. “Not so much for yourself.”
“Well, I have enjoyed the adventure,” she said lightly, adding with incurable honesty. “Most of it.”
Lady Rampton smiled faintly. “Dominic is adventurous by nature, too much so for his family, which is how he got into this mess, of course. I am the first to defend his high spirits—his father gave him too generous an allowance and nothing to spend it on but going, as they say, to the devil. In short, my dear, Dominic is a rake. Always was, always will be.”
Viola, with no idea how to respond to that, took out one of a set of teacups with no handles.
“I don’t suppose that is what you want to hear. Women always think they can reform a rake. They can’t. And no, I don’t speak from my own experience but from observation. I am very observant, and I have seen the way Dominic looks at you and you at him.”
Viola lifted her gaze from the tiny egg-shell cup to Lady Rampton’s face. “We have become friends.”
“Forgive me, you do not look on him as a mere friend. I love Dominic as my brother, but he does not always play fair where pretty young women are concerned. I blame him, of course, not you. He has, I imagine, raised expectations that he has no intention of fulfilling.”
Viola’s heart twisted. But pride kept her holding Lady Rampton’s gaze. “I hope you will forgive me, my lady, but that is between Lord Dominic and me.”
“Of course it is,” the older woman agreed at once. “If you see me as interfering, I am sorry for it. I consider it my duty to one who has aided our family so much in this matter, to tell you flatly that Dominic will not marry you. He must marry money.” She smiled pityingly. “I see from your face that your expectations were high. And I can see that you intrigue him, that he pursues you, even. But it is not for marriage.”
“You imply a horrific mesalliance,” Viola retorted. “And it is true my father was no wealthy nobleman. But he was a gentleman, and I am a lady, not someone to whom any…” She trailed off, floundering for the right words, and ended up saying defiantly, “Lord Dominic and I understand each other perfectly.”
“Oh, no, my dear, I don’t think you do. If he has proposed any arrangement to you, it is not marriage.”
Angry blood suffused Viola’s face.
“Think of it,” Lady Rampton said quietly, taking the cup from Viola’s numb fingers and restoring it to its proper place in the cabinet, “did he ever say the word marry?”
He didn’t. She remembered every word he had ever said to her, and marry was not one of them.
“You see?” Lady Rampton said. “He may offer you what is euphemistically called a carte blanche but take my advice and do not accept. Your family is due more than that.”
“But not marriage with a marquess’s son? How narrow one’s path becomes.” Viola had no real idea what she was saying as she turned away, desperate to get out of this woman’s unbearable company and yet keep her dignity. “Thank you for showing me the collection. It has been most instructive.”
She managed a few more lines about fetching her mother and overstaying their welcome, and she kept smiling while, in truth, she hated Lady Rampton for contaminating her happiness, for trying to soil what she had found with Dominic. What she thought she had found.
The others were just coming back inside when they returned to the salon, and Viola’s mother was talking about graciousness and leaving the family in peace. And, of course, Viola’s chance of a tete-a-tete with Dominic had vanished. Had that been Lady Rampton’s true aim? Viola’s head was spinning, aching.
Dominic, who had found his wig and was holding the salon door open for the departing guests, must have noticed her pallor, for he frowned, bending closer to her. “What is it? Are you well?”
She smiled as brightly as she was able, though it seemed her lips were aching, too. “Quite well, thank you. Goodbye.”
She probably imagined that he watched her in concern as she walked downstairs with her mother. But she could not bring herself to look back and see.
Chapter Seventeen
Viola wasted no time, but as soon as she returned home, composed a brief note to Mr. Barnaby Smith, care of the Bow Street magistrate’s office. Of course, it took far longer than it should and considerably more effort. And even when she was happy with it, she took it to Matty to make sure it made sense.
The governess, discovered in her own bedchamber preparing for dinner, read it through and cast her an odd glance.
“Are there mistakes?” Viola asked anxiously. “Is the writing too childish?”
“No, there are no mistakes, and your hand is on the way to being elegant. I am proud of you. And if I am curious as to the subject matter, well, it is none of my business.”
