Unmasking the Thief, page 6
Please also thank Marion for her offer of companionship. But I made my choice nearly ten years ago, and I will not be leaving my position with Mrs. Dove, whether or not Marion accepts Sir Anthony.
I look forward to your next letter.
Your loving daughter,
Matilda.
She read it over once, sanded it, then folded and sealed it before neatly inscribing her mother’s direction. Then, with a light heart, she went to join the family for tea.
Chapter Six
Francisco found Lady Dominic Gorse quite unexpected. Shy but quick to laugh, quiet but perfectly, affectionately comfortable in the company of her outspoken husband and the acquaintance thrust upon them.
“Thank you for allowing me to join you,” Francisco said as the carriage tooled the few streets to the Dove party.
“My mother will be delighted,” Viola replied. “If surprised.”
“Surprised?”
Her gaze was direct. “You do not appear to be a man of unsophisticated tastes.”
Lord Dominic emitted a crack of laughter.
Francisco smiled with some amusement. “I can be as unsophisticated as the next man. But I am perfectly house-trained.”
The lady flushed. “I apologize. I phrased that poorly. I used to stop myself saying exactly what was on my mind, but Dominic talked me out of it, and now I occasionally offend people.”
“I am not remotely offended. And I doubt anyone else is either. You are much too delightful.”
“Now there, he is right,” Lord Dominic said. “And here we are. Prepare to meet the children, not to mention—”
“The children are banished for the evening on pain of dire retribution,” Viola interrupted as a footman dashed from the carriage in front to let down the steps.
The house on Bernard Street, on the edges of fashionable London, was modest from the outside and unpretentious inside. Since Lord Dominic was acting as nominal host, they were among the first to arrive and were greeted by Lady Dominic’s mother and sister at the drawing room door.
Viola hugged them, sparing an encouraging grin for her younger sister. Lord Dominic kissed their hands and cheeks and introduced Francisco.
“Here is Mr. Francis, whom Viola promised you this afternoon. Francis, my mother-in-law, Mrs. Dove, and Viola’s sister, Miss Catherine Dove.”
The older lady was gracious if a trifle flustered. The younger… Now she was interesting. Although pretty enough, she had not quite got over the awkwardness of some young debutantes, and her smile was slightly reserved, unlike the one she had given to Lord Dominic. On the other hand, her eyes were clear, expressive, and probably intelligent.
More importantly, judging by her eyes and mouth, the shape of her face, and the color of her chestnut curls, she closely resembled the female half of the couple whose ring he had stolen in Maida.
“Thank you for inviting me, especially at such short notice,” he said easily. “You are very kind and welcoming to a stranger.”
Mrs. Dove seemed pleased with his civilities.
Her daughter, with a hint of humor, said, “Dominic always has such interesting friends.”
“I shall endeavor to be so,” Francisco said, allowing his eyes to twinkle, which inspired a responsive smile in the girl who, fortunately, showed no signs of recognition. No doubt, his perfectly accented English and more diffident air helped.
Since guests were coming in behind him, he followed Dominic further into the room and challenged himself to find the “male” half of the couple.
This turned out to be remarkably easy. As he made conversation with the matronly young Lady Rampton, Dominic’s sister-in-law, he watched the new arrivals. A sulky, very young man greeted his hostesses and slouched across the room, nodding curtly to an acquaintance. He sat down alone, gazing about him as though angry with both his presence and his fellow guests.
Behind him came another debutante, dramatically dark and pretty, together with a carelessly dressed young man who could only be her brother. In fact, Francisco recognized the brother—one of the wilder young rakehells to be found in London during the Season, wenching, drinking, and kicking up larks for ridiculous wagers. Darblay. Only son of Viscount Darblay.
Catherine greeted them both with the ease of old friendship and embraced the girl. Both young ladies were chattering the whole time in the time-honored tradition of close female friends. Darblay left them to it, strolling across the floor in search, presumably, of congenial company. He and Lady Rampton exchanged distant bows and murmured inanities, and then, as the lady’s attention was taken by someone else, Darblay threw himself into the chair beside Francisco’s.
“Devilish, ain’t it?” he said cheerfully, offering his hand. “We’ve met, haven’t we? Darblay.”
“Francis.” Francisco’s gaze dropped to the proffered hand. A large opal ring glared at him. His lips twitched as he gripped the hand. “Glad to see you again.”
Darblay’s sister tripped past them, arm in arm with Catherine.
One mystery solved. Now all he had to do was find the lady to whom he had returned the ring. And that was a much more exciting prospect.
*
Catherine, being a good-natured girl, dragged her friend toward young Mr. Archibald Holles, who was sitting on his own, scowling in the far corner.
At least he stood as they approached him, banishing his scowl by an apparent effort of will, although he still didn’t look exactly glad to be honored with their company.
“Mr. Holles,” Catherine said brightly. “How are you enjoying the Season?”
He made a sound very like a groan. “I’m not.”
“Oh,” Catherine said. “Well, at least you have joined us this evening.”
“Only because my father made it impossible for me not to.”
“Clearly, he made a mistake,” Hope said sweetly. “He should obviously have kept you at home and taught you some manners. Come, Catherine.”
Hope flounced away, but the young man at least had the grace to blush and actually caught Catherine’s arm to prevent her following.
“Wait. I apologize. That was unforgivably rude and entirely uncalled for. I’ll go, if you like.”
“That would probably make you much too happy,” Catherine observed. “And, therefore, does not count as punishment. But I’ll let you go quietly if you tell me why the evening is such an ordeal.”
“It isn’t, of course. I’m merely angry.”
“With your father? With me?”
His face relaxed into a smile. Surprisingly, he had a very nice smile. It was almost…charming. “Of course, not with you. With my father a little, though I know he means it for the best. Mostly, I’m just angry with the whole concept of the Season, when all we scions of the rich and powerful get together to over-indulge even more than usual, while those less fortunate die in the streets unnoticed.”
She blinked and sat down. “It’s a worthy thought. But I don’t believe not going to parties will solve the problem of the poor.”
“It would if we bent half the attention to the problem that we put into arranging extravagant balls and dinners and card parties.”
“What would you do?” she asked, not expecting an answer beyond platitudes and floundering.
“I’d give more people a say to begin with. Plough money into building decent, low-rent housing, which would also help with unemployment. In the long term…”
There were few platitudes here, only ideas—not necessarily new ones, but well-researched and thought out and delivered with a passion she had not thought him capable of. She drank his words in, fascinated and not a little impressed until he broke off with a rueful smile.
“I’m sorry. I must be boring you rigid and keeping you from your dance partner besides.”
“Dance?” The hired violinist had indeed begun to play. The older people had wandered off into the other room, and the younger were forming a country dance set. “Oh, goodness. I don’t have a partner.”
“Would you care to dance with me?” he asked with unexpected diffidence. “I promise not to prose on about politics and the poor. Of course, if you would rather not…”
“I’d love to,” she replied, surprised to discover it was the truth.
His charming smile appeared again as he stood and conducted her onto the dance floor.
*
Pup behaved well until Viola slipped into the schoolroom to see them. Even though he had seen her earlier in the day, the dog lunged at her with all the joy of a decades-awaited reunion, and it took the combined efforts of Matty, Arabella, and Susan to keep him off her delightful silk and gauze evening gown.
Viola only laughed and ruffled Pup’s ears until he calmed down.
Her little sisters bombarded her with questions. “What’s happening? Did everyone come? Is Catherine dancing? Is Mama happy?”
“Several guests brought guests of their own—including ourselves!—so it’s a bit of a squeeze. Very fashionable! Yes, Catherine is dancing, and Mama appears to be happy. But I’d better not stay away from her for long.”
“Who did you bring?” Susan asked curiously. She grinned. “Mr. Napper?”
“No, though I would like to see him stand up with Lady Carntree! We brought a friend of Dominic’s who seemed to be at a loose end and in want of company. A Mr. Francis.”
“Is he young and handsome and rich?” Arabella asked eagerly.
“Young-ish, very handsome in a piratical sort of a way, and I have no idea,” Viola replied. “But if you are thinking of him replacing Mr. Granton in Catherine’s affections, I doubt there is the need. I’d better go back down, but I’ll try and sneak you up some choice morsels from supper.”
The girls grinned at her.
“Don’t forget Pup when you do,” Susan reminded her.
“I never forget, Pup. Good luck, Matty!”
When Viola had slipped out again, Pup sniffed disconsolately under the door, whining. Although the girls tried to play with him, Viola’s visit seemed to have unsettled him, and he kept breaking away to pace and whine at the door. He even ignored the ball Matty threw for him.
Eventually, he reared up to his full, massive height, his front paws scrabbling at the door.
“Oh dear,” Matty said uneasily.
Arabella looked at her. “I think he needs to go out.”
“Well, he’ll just have to wait,” Matty said. “He never has accidents now, so I’m sure he’ll manage.”
Pup let his claws slide down the door until his front paws were back on the ground. He woofed encouragingly and nudged the door with his head.
“What if he ate something nasty in the park?” Susan said.
Matty shuddered. “Don’t. I’m sure he’ll settle down if we just ignore him. He knows there are strangers in the house, and he wants to investigate them. That’s all.”
Pup, however, did not give up. He marched up to everyone, in turn, getting their attention and then galumphing to the door and whining with increasing agitation.”
“It might have been very nasty,” Susan pointed out.
Matty groaned. “Find his leash, and we’ll take him into the garden by the back stairs. But we’ll have to hold on to him because if he trips one of the servants laden with glasses or supper, the consequences will be appalling!”
Matty arranged it like a military maneuver. Susan, on reconnaissance, led the way while Arabella held the dog on a short leash. Matty, for extra strength, kept hold of his collar as they descended the back stairs. They held him back successfully as a maid and a footman bolted up with trays from the kitchen to the first floor. They then crept on past the landing and down to the ground floor, where a short passage led between the kitchen and the servants’ hall to the back door.
Matty breathed a sigh of relief for half the task was almost complete. Only then, she blundered.
Since Susan could not quite reach, Matty let go of Pup’s collar in order to take the key from the high ledge. And Pup bolted.
Knocking Arabella against the wall, he lunged back the way he had come, yanking the already dazed girl off her feet. She spread her length on the passage floor before the leash was dragged out of her hand. Susan leapt over her, skirts flying, and rushed after the dog.
Matty paused only long enough to make sure Arabella was unhurt before yanking her to her feet and haring off in pursuit of Susan and the dog.
Fortunately, the servants were used enough to Pup to have immediately slammed the kitchen door, so the household was spared one disaster. Pup didn’t waste time on it. In fact, he appeared to be on a different mission entirely, for he galloped past the servants’ hall, too, and flew up the stone stairs.
“Oh no!” Susan cried, for it was quite clear the dog was making for the baize door that separated the servants’ area from the main part of the house.
“Pup, stay!” Matty commanded in the voice that had tamed many a wild, disobedient child.
It even penetrated Pup’s determination, for at the top of the steps, he did turn his head to spare Matty a glance. However, the door was right in front of him, and three of his favorite people were chasing him. Obedience never stood a chance.
He even seemed to grin at them before he battered his way through the baize door. The following thud, a female squeal, and the crashing of crockery felt inevitable.
“Oh, no,” Susan said, pushing open the door a lot more gently and not without dread.
The maid, sitting in the midst of messy disaster, her cap askew, merely pointed across the hall toward the main staircase.
“We’ll help as soon as we’ve caught him,” Matty gasped, leaping over the mess, both girls at her heels. Music and many-voiced chatter drifted down, but so far as she could tell, only from the drawing room and dining room, so they still had time. They flew across the hall in the dog’s wake and up the staircase almost to the half-landing, where Matty wrenched to a halt.
Both girls bumped into her, but she barely noticed. On the half landing sat Pup, wagging his great tail while he gazed adoringly up at the man on the step above. By some miracle, he was the only guest in the vicinity. But it was not gratitude that closed up Matty’s throat and held her paralyzed. It was recognition.
The thief looked even taller than she remembered him and considerably smarter in immaculate evening dress with his unruly hair brushed into submission. He frowned down at the dog, although his eyes gleamed with rather wicked appreciation.
Matty’s heart hammered.
“Oh, well done, sir,” Susan approved. “Dominic’s the only other person he will stop for in full flight!”
Hastily, Matty bowed her head and picked up the trailing leash from the floor.
“You must be Lady Dominic’s sisters,” the thief said, causing Matty to frown as she turned, tugging at the leash.
“Yes, I’m Arabella, and this is Susan. And this—”
“This is Pup,” Susan interrupted, much to Matty’s relief as she tugged harder on the leash to drag the wretched dog back downstairs before the thief could glance at her face.
“That is not a pup,” the thief stated. “That is a pony. At the very least.”
The girls laughed with evident delight, while in Matilda’s breast, bewilderment warred with rising anger. For the man spoke perfect and very gentlemanly English, without a trace of a Spanish accent.
“And this is Miss Mather, our governess,” Arabella said.
“Unmasked, madam,” the thief murmured, causing Matty to jerk a glance over her shoulder at him.
It was a mistake. He had been talking to her, and the wicked laughter in his eyes assured her that she was recognized and caught. She and Catherine and Hope Darblay could all be in trouble now.
“Perhaps, sir, if you were to walk downstairs with us?” Susan suggested. “He might be more easily distracted from all the people upstairs, and from there, we can tug and bribe him back up the servants’ stairs. What do you think, Miss Matty?”
Matty opened her mouth to veto the plan, but before she could speak, a large masculine hand brushed against hers, closing on the leash. She snatched her fingers free as though burned.
“Allow me,” the thief said mildly.
Pup, the traitor, trotted downstairs at his heels, good as gold. Arabella’s eyes widened and met Matty’s in admiration. Matty almost groaned, for the girls, inevitably, were skipping downstairs with Pup and the thief.
Reminding herself to move, Matty hurried after them, grasping for her wits.
“You have not introduced yourself, sir,” she said coldly. “Who are we to thank for preventing further disaster?”
He halted at the foot of the stairs, dragging his gaze from the servants frantically clearing up the mess by the baize door to Matty’s face.
“My name is Francis,” he said blandly. “And I am at your service.”
Chapter Seven
So, she was the governess. Francisco’s delight was out of all proportion to the importance of the discovery. It explained her connection to, and her protectiveness of, Catherine Dove and her friend. But more than that, her place of importance in this eccentric household seemed curiously right.
Of course, she was in charge of this monstrous if amiable hound, and of course, her lively human charges had adopted her to the extent of addressing her comfortably by nick-name.
And he was so pleased to have discovered her, even by accident, that he did not even care he had spoken in the wrong accent and given away something of his own masquerade. He even liked that they held each other’s secrets.
She really had extraordinary, dark eyes, and he had always been intrigued by the softness of her mouth, even though it spoke so sharply. Her clothes were awful, of course. Old, dowdy, and dull. He wanted to see her in colors, in silk and lace that emphasized rather than hid her figure and alluring femininity. Not that the dowdiness really hid her beauty. Just veiled it slightly. If one troubled to look, her features were refined and pleasing, almost…enchanting.
Even when she was glaring at him as though he had somehow crawled onto the sole of her shoe.
