Unmasking the Thief, page 7
“Are you?” she uttered, and he recalled that he had claimed to be at her service.
He smiled and was gratified to see that rattled her. A flush seeped along her delicate cheekbones, and her glare melted into something much more flustered.
“Of course,” he said. “May I take this pony to its stable—or wherever it resides?”
“He resides in the house,” Susan, the younger of the adolescent girls, informed him. “We had him trapped in the schoolroom during the party, for he can be a great nuisance, especially to ladies with fragile dresses, but he seemed to need to go out.”
“And now we don’t know if he just wanted to go after Viola,” Arabella added. “What do you think, Miss Matty? Should we take him into the garden anyway?”
Miss Matty dragged her gaze free of his own to look at the dog, who sat down and wagged his tail at her. She sighed. “I suppose we should, or he will merely try the same trick again in half an hour. But there must be two people holding him while the door is unlocked. Sorry, Neil,” she added to the footman who had been helping clear up the mess by the kitchen door and was now hurrying past them to the stairs.
The footman cast a quick, lopsided grin at her and the girls, though he gave the dog a wide berth. A sharp knock on the front door caused him to swerve, slightly harassed, to answer it.
“Is this not rudely late?” Susan asked.
“It’s probably Rollo,” Arabella said dismissively.
“Mr. Darblay?” Francisco guessed. “He is already here.” He smiled at Matty. “He escorted his sister.”
Reprehensibly, he had hoped to make her blush by the implication he had spotted Catherine’s “male” partner in crime from Maida. But a sound that was almost a snort escaped her, just as a flash of laughter glinted in her eyes. And Francisco couldn’t breathe.
Then she turned to the children. “Come, let’s get him outside. Susan, you had best scout ahead.”
Francisco said, “Allow me to—”
“Francis, isn’t it?” came an amused voice. “Are you taking up dog walking? Or is the animal a new fashion at parties?”
His whole reason for being here had finally arrived, and here he was trying to flirt with the wretched governess. He turned to face Sir Anthony Thorne.
“A mere touch of foolhardy chivalry,” he said. At his side, Miss Mather seemed to have frozen. “Besides, I’m not convinced it is a dog.”
Tension seemed to be rolling off the governess in waves, so much like fear, that he shifted his gaze to her. Even in candlelight, she was pale. “What do you think, ma’am? Since we do not have time for introductions, shall I just take the beast about his… er… duty?”
Her distraught gaze flickered to him. Already she was turning away toward the baize door.
“Oh, I don’t believe introductions are necessary,” Sir Anthony drawled. “A little changed, perhaps, but still unmistakably Miss Mather.”
Because of his position, to say nothing of his sharp-eyed interest, Francisco saw her eyes close for the merest instance. Then, with what he sensed was a huge amount of courage, she fixed a distant smile on her lips and turned to face Thorne.
She did not offer her hand. “Sir Anthony? How do you do? I didn’t realize you were acquainted with Mrs. Dove.”
“It’s a scraped acquaintance.” He did not say who had done the scraping. “I came to take you home.”
At that, her shoulders twitched, and to Francisco’s relief, the frightened governess gave way to the lady who annihilated with a mere glance.
“Then you have a very odd idea of your place in the world,” she snapped.
“Don’t be a little fool. I am here at your mother’s command, and even you must know this is hardly fitting.” He reached to catch her hand, and Francisco knew he had to step in.
The trouble was, he needed to keep Sir Anthony on friendly terms. Yet he could not let Miss Mather be harassed any further. The girls were already looking uneasy. And the dog… Of course! The dog.
Francisco gave it a quick, surreptitious flick of the lead and allowed himself to be dragged between Thorne and Miss Mather. Thorne jumped back in clear alarm. Another flick of the lead had the dog pulling toward the baize door.
“I believe matters have grown urgent,” Francisco threw over his shoulder with a tolerant grin. “Ladies, you must show me the way…”
Fortunately, Miss Mather elected to take the escape he had arranged and charged ahead to the door. “Susan, see if the way is clear.”
Susan strode past her to ease open the door. “I don’t like him.”
“No one likes him,” Miss Mather muttered.
“Pup didn’t,” Arabella said. “Did you hear? He was growling. You’re not going to leave us, are you?”
“No. Sir, you will be careful on the stairs?” Miss Mather flung at Francisco. “He can pull quite unexpectedly.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Even when he isn’t told to.”
So, even agitated, she had observed his ruse to free her from Thorne’s conversation. Interesting.
At the foot of the stairs, they led him down a passage between the busy kitchen and the empty servants’ hall to a door. Miss Mather reached onto a high shelf for the key and unlocked the door.
“We’ll take him now, sir,” Arabella said, casting him a dazzling smile. “Thank you for your help! Without you, there would have been carnage!” Taking the leash from him, she led the dog into the dark garden, Susan at her heels.
Miss Mather showed no inclination to follow them.
“Will he trouble you again?” Francisco asked.
“Oh, probably,” Miss Mather said bitterly.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, picking his words with care, “you would like to tell me your problem with him?”
She turned her head to stare at him. “When you are a friend of his? No.”
“Not a friend,” he murmured. “An acquaintance.”
Her lips twisted. “One whom it is wise not to upset. They believe he will be Prime Minister one day, God help the country.”
“You really don’t have a high opinion of him.”
“No, I don’t.”
“And yet he runs errands on behalf of your mother.”
She leaned against the door frame, as though needing its support. “That is a different matter entirely.”
“How do you know him?” Francisco asked curiously.
“He is our neighbor.” She paused, glancing at him with a frown that seemed both surprised and appalled. He had a well-cultivated gift for drawing information from those who didn’t want to give it. But with an oddly helpless shrug, as though recognizing it made no difference, she added. “In the country. Suffolk. Where my family still lives.” She drew in a breath. “He has recently become engaged to my sister. My employment no longer suits any of them.”
Francisco’s head reeled, though with what, he didn’t quite know. “Except you?” he managed.
“The Doves are kind. And I like the independence of my position.”
He regarded her. “There are not many people who believe in the independence of a governess. I suspect you have the family well-trained.”
“Except Pup,” she said with a welcome hint of humor.
“Oh, I don’t know. He growled at Thorne and was more than happy to herd you all away at my command.”
A smile flickered across those soft, tempting lips. Then she met his gaze. “What is your interest in Thorne? And while I am about it, why pretend to be Spanish?”
He raised his eyebrows. “It was a masquerade.”
“I believe we were unmasked by the time we met in Barclay Square.”
“But I wanted you to recognize me,” he said reasonably.
She allowed him that one but continued to hold his gaze. He was happy to let her. “Why in the world did you steal the ring?”
He shrugged. “I told you at the time. I was looking for something I did not find.”
“And you haven’t told me what your interest is in Sir Anthony Thorne,” she accused.
“When I find out, I might tell you.”
A spark of humorous frustration gleamed in her eyes, but before she could respond, a wet nose nudged his hand.
Susan said, “He lifted his leg, but more to please us than anything else. I don’t think he needed out at all. We could have saved everyone a lot of trouble by ignoring him.”
“But then I would not have met you,” Francisco said gallantly. “Allow me to take him back upstairs for you.”
The girls and the governess exchanged glances.
“Perhaps just past the first floor,” Miss Mather allowed. “I don’t feel strong enough for another crisis.”
The girls giggled and returned the leash to Francisco.
“How do you know Dominic?” Susan asked as they trooped back inside. Behind them, Miss Mather locked the door and returned the key to its shelf.
“We have a mutual friend,” Francisco replied. Then, realizing more was expected, he expanded. “I was glad to see him again after being abroad for some time.”
“In Spain?” Miss Mather asked sweetly.
“Mostly.” He met her gaze, smiling. “How did you guess?”
“It must have been something about the accent.”
He laughed and was sure he saw an answering glint in her eyes before she led the way up the staircase, past the baize door to the floor above.
“Must be supper time,” Arabella observed. “The servants have a rest for a few minutes.” She pointed to a wedged open door. “If you go through there, the supper room is at the other end of the hall, directly opposite the drawing room.”
With odd reluctance, Francisco handed Miss Mather the lead. The dog looked up at him and wagged its tail.
“He likes you,” Susan said.
Francisco ruffled the dog’s huge head. “How do you manage him?”
“He’s not usually this bad anymore,” Arabella said. “He’s pretty well trained now, just subject to odd bouts of mischief, especially at the worst possible times.”
Susan nodded. “It’s easier when Adrian’s home, too, because he’s quite strong now. Adrian’s our brother, and he’ll be home from school next week.”
“Thank you for your help, sir,” Miss Mather said firmly, bringing an end to these confidences.
Francisco bowed. “Thank you for the entertainment. I shall hope we meet again very soon.” He was almost surprised to realize he meant it. Particularly to Miss Mather, who allowed him the merest nod before she herded her charges on up the staircase.
Francisco sauntered through the doorway and along the passage. Supper was indeed being served, and those guests not in the supper room had spilled across the hall and back into the other rooms with their plates of dainty edibles.
Emma Carntree appeared to be sharing a plate with Rollo Darblay, who was clearly flirting with her. Sir Anthony Thorne was on the other side of the room, seated around a small table with Catherine, Miss Darblay, and the sulky young man, who was eyeing Thorne with dislike.
Finding himself beside Dominic Gorse, Francisco inquired, “Is Thorne a close friend of the family?”
“I’d be surprised. If you mean the Doves. He’s around my father a lot, talking politics. I’m too frivolous to be interesting to him.”
“You don’t like him?”
Lord Dominic shrugged. “Barely know the fellow. Rather full of himself, I’d have thought. Too full to be wasting time on debutantes.”
Watching, Francisco rather thought the politician’s attention was more on the argumentative young man. “Who’s the other fellow?”
“Holles? Just down from university. We don’t move in the same circles.” Gorse frowned. “Though now I think of it, he’s danced twice with Catherine.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not necessarily. I think he’s his father’s only heir. Oh, damnation, I sound like my sister-in-law. Game of cards, Francis? Between you and me, this isn’t my usual sort of party.”
“I don’t imagine it is. Or Darblay’s?”
Gorse cast a glance toward Darblay and Emma. “Interesting.”
“Do you think so? She seems to treat him more like an amusing puppy. I can’t imagine he would suffer that for long.”
To Francisco’s surprise, Thorne followed them into the other room. “Ah, the knight errant,” he greeted Francis with a light clap on the shoulder. “Is your quest complete?”
“If you mean the beast returned to captivity, then yes.”
“Beast?” Gorse repeated. “You’ve met Pup?”
“I encountered him on the stairs, hotly pursued by a pair of very young ladies and their governess. He appeared to have left some carnage in his wake. It was the screams that attracted my attention.”
Gorse grinned. “He is a walking—or at least galloping—catastrophe. But there isn’t a spiteful bone in his body.”
“The general opinion seems to be that he was looking for Lady Dominic.”
“Probably. And you, too, encountered the family pet?” Gorse asked Thorne.
“He was recaptured by the time I appeared on the scene,” Thorne replied. “But I had the honor of meeting your young sisters-in-law. And Miss Mather. Perhaps you would know, my lord, if she is a satisfactory governess?”
Gorse blinked.
“I have a particular reason for asking,” Thorne assured him, “which I will be happy to relate to you and Mrs. Dove.”
“I believe she is very highly thought of,” Lord Dominic said stiffly. “She is quite part of the family, and my wife considers her a friend.”
Thorne gave a small bow. “That is what I wished to know. I ask because I bear a letter to her from her mother, who has charged me with bringing her back to the family home.”
“Why on earth would she do that?” Dominic asked, not quite amused.
“Because I am a friend of the family, who has known her most of her life. And because,” Thorne added modestly, “I am betrothed to her sister. You must see that Miss Mather’s position is no longer suitable.”
“From what I saw,” Francisco observed, helping himself to a glass of wine, which he offered first to Dominic, “the position seems to suit her very well.”
The flash of irritation in Thorne’s eyes was interesting, the flat threat behind it more intriguing still. “You,” Thorne said mildly, “are not family.”
“Neither are you,” Francisco pointed out. He smiled. “Yet.”
Lord Dominic frowned with impatience. “Look, this is between the lady herself, her mother, and Mrs. Dove. It’s nothing to do with either of us. Fetch the cards, Francis. Thorne, play or go away.”
*
Sir Anthony Thorne did not leave the Dove residence with Emma Carntree, but he still entered her house at the same time, thanks to her carriage taking him up just around the corner.
“That,” Emma said with a shudder, shedding her evening cloak into the hands of her butler, “was one of the most excruciatingly insipid evenings I have ever spent. Giggling debutantes and ogling youths… Why on earth did you want to go?”
“I told you. My betrothed is connected to the family.”
Emma sailed upstairs, leaving him to follow. “And that involves me how?”
“You are my eyes and ears,” Thorne drawled. “As always.”
She did not answer until he followed her into her boudoir, where she stripped off her gloves and threw them onto a chair. “You’ll excuse me from saying the task is mind-numbingly dull at the best of times. Tonight was worse. I seem to remember you promising me excitement.”
“You went to a masked ball at Maida Gardens,” Thorne said lightly, “and received a secret message from a very dangerous young man. Was that not exciting?”
“Not when followed by weeks of tedium.” She threw herself onto the sofa with undisguised discontent.
Thorne joined her. “Not even one week. What ails you, my sweet? You know I could not pay you a great deal of attention when the Doves are connected—”
“To your betrothed, yes, I know. I never expect or insist on your public attentions, Tony, but I do expect not to be bored quite so regularly.”
“Then you had better tell me what you learned.”
“Absolutely nothing,” Emma snapped.
“Darblay would not talk politics?”
“Darblay talks of agriculture between bouts of outrageous flirtation.”
“At least the flirtation would not fatigue you.”
“It wouldn’t have if he wasn’t merely passing the time before he could leave. He was only there to escort his sister. Although he is a cousin of the Doves, I believe, if only through his sister’s marriage to the Earl of Wenning.”
“And the Holles boy?”
“Barely looked at me, but he was prosing on to anyone who would listen. Definitely a radical.”
“What of Gorse?”
“Not a political animal.”
“Pity. I would like him to disgrace his father.”
“He’s already done that, hasn’t he? Neither of them seems the worse for it.”
“And this Francis fellow?”
Emma shrugged impatiently.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Thorne asked, his attention sharpening.
“It means he barely spoke to me, which is a pity since he was one of the few adult males.”
“Unkind to the likes of Darblay and Granton, I would have thought,” Thorne said. “Tell me about Francis.”
“I don’t know anything about Francis,” she said impatiently. “He will talk politics occasionally, but only on an intellectual level. He is not involved and seems to have no strong views.”
He took her hand when she would have risen. “You would not keep things from me, would you? For the sake of past…affections?”
She stayed seated but did not look at him. “Why would I do that?”
“Perhaps because he is the one who got away, the only one who left you before you were ready to dismiss him. Perhaps you even love him.”
“It is not love,” she said flatly. She flung up her free hand with a hint of irritation, then turned her head, almost glaring at him. “But yes, there is something. If you must know, I have never met anyone so self-contained out of the bedchamber and so wildly passionate in it. But I don’t understand your interest in him.”
