Unmasking the Thief, page 8
“I didn’t have any until tonight,” Thorne said. “And my interest is merely personal. I’m almost sure he deliberately came between me and my betrothed’s sister.”
“Do you have to marry her, too?” Emma asked with annoying sweetness.
“I am concerned by what she has descended into,” he retorted. “In her youth, she was quite a beauty. I do not care for it to be generally known that my wife’s sister is a faded, dowdy governess at the beck and call of penniless people hanging onto the fringes of the ton by some distant connection to a nobleman rarely in the country.”
Emma studied him and then laughed. “Who cares about your wife’s sister? Especially when she is not yet even your wife?”
“Marion wants her sister living with us as her companion.”
Emma shrugged. “Sensible. Especially as you will be busy most of the time.”
“Exactly. But imagine Matilda stays where she is. And when we host dinners and parties, my wife invites her sister, the governess?”
“I see your problem.” Emma tapped one finger against her lips. “Well, you can’t kidnap her. Bring the mother and sister here to command her.”
Thorne sighed. It was sound advice, of course. The trouble was, he didn’t want Marion anywhere near London until after they were married. And until the coming trouble was over.
Chapter Eight
Matty thought that Catherine would sleep later the following morning, after the nervous tensions—mostly Mrs. Dove’s—involved in hosting their own party. But in fact, as they prepared to take Pup for his early morning walk, Catherine ran downstairs to join them, much brighter and more cheerful than her bleary-eyed sisters.
They set off for Hyde Park with Pup on his best behavior. Apart from sudden halts to sniff, he walked to heel all the way to the park, where he snatched up the first stick he could find and wagged his tail hopefully. Off the main path, Matty unclipped his leash and let him loose.
While the younger girls chased the dog and threw his sticks for him to bring back, Catherine chattered to Matty about last night’s party.
“Did you dance with Mr. Granton?” Matty asked.
“Once, I think,” Catherine said absently. “I liked that it was a smaller party. It is impossible to really talk to someone for longer than a moment when there are hundreds of people present. So, you only ever know people in a superficial way.”
“I suppose that is true.”
“I think I would like to take up some charitable work,” Catherine said unexpectedly. “It’s so easy to be caught up in one’s own problems, which are really nothing compared with having no food or shelter or watching one’s children actually starve.”
Matty blinked. “That is very true. What sort of work did you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure yet. Perhaps teaching people to read would be a good idea? So that they can get better work? Or any work, really.” Catherine frowned. “I have a lot to learn.”
Matty regarded her in some surprise. Until now, Catherine’s interests had been intellectual rather than practical. She didn’t notice Matty’s scrutiny, but her face cleared, and a definite hitch in her breath had Matty following the girl’s gaze to a young man who was walking toward them. He looked perfectly ordinary until he smiled.
Ah…
Catherine was blushing but wreathed in smiles.
The young man bowed very properly. “Miss Dove. What a pleasure to meet you.”
Catherine curtseyed demurely. “Good morning, Mr. Holles. Matty, this is Mr. Holles, one of our guests yesterday evening. Mr. Holles, Miss Mather, my sisters’ governess.”
While Matty and Mr. Holles exchanged grave bows and curtseys, the younger girls came bounding up with Pup at their heels. To give Mr. Holles his due, he did not flee or even cringe before the massive dog. He might have been wary, but he offered the dog a sniff of his hand, and once Pup had sniffed and flattened his ears, he even patted the great head.
Pup wagged his tail and licked Mr. Holles’s wrist.
Catherine beamed. “He likes you.”
“Pup likes most people,” Matty pointed out. “It is more remarkable that Mr. Holles appears to like Pup. Sir, these are Miss Dove’s sisters, my charges, Miss Arabella and Miss Susan Dove.”
“You can throw his stick if you like,” Susan said generously, offering the slobber-laden branch to Mr. Holles. “I expect you throw farther than we can.”
No one could have blamed him for refusing, but without the smallest grimace, he grasped the stick and hurled it into the distance. Pup shot off after it while all the girls regarded Mr. Holles with considerable respect. Which, when he noticed, made his lips twitch.
Not without a sense of humor, then. “Will you join us, Mr. Holles?” Matty invited, thus winning a dazzling smile of approval from Catherine. Matty began to feel old. For no reason, Mr. Francis entered her head, quick laughter filling his dark, otherwise secretive eyes. Worse, she almost touched her lips in remembrance of his shocking behavior at Maida. Her shocking behavior, for she hadn’t exactly thrown him off.
And somehow, without mask or Spanish accent, he was even more mysterious. Deliberately distracting herself from the inexplicable, visceral excitement he caused, she set about drawing out young Mr. Holles. He seemed vaguely surprised by the friendliness and liveliness of the younger girls but replied to them with good humor. He cheerfully threw sticks for Pup and did not seem to stand on his dignity like other gentlemen of his age.
And then, just when Matty was congratulating herself for not thinking of Mr. Francis at all for at least ten minutes, a horseman appeared at the end of the path. Although the sun was in her eyes, hiding his features, her heart gave a funny little lurch, as if it already recognized him.
Pup instantly abandoned his pursuit of the latest stick and bounded joyfully toward the horseman instead. The horse gave a skittish swerve across the path.
“Pup, sit!” Matty yelled, it a voice worthier, she suspected, of a military parade ground than a public park, and almost to her surprise, the dog skidded to a halt and sat.
“Oh, well done, Miss Matty,” Arabella said, impressed.
The horseman moved on toward Pup, who was dementedly wagging his tail but still sitting right in the middle of the path. Catherine and Mr. Holles hurried forward to drag him out of the way.
The rider swept off his hat. “Miss Dove, a pleasure to see you again. And your pony, of course.”
Of course, it really was Francis.
Catherine laughed and curtseyed before hauling the dog by the collar. Pup happily sniffed the horseman’s boot.
“Holles, sir,” their escort said with a slightly jerky bow. “We met last night.”
“So we did. How do you do?” He bent from the waist in a flourishing bow that encompassed everyone who had hurried forward to intervene.
Matty clipped Pup’s leash back on.
“Miss Mather, no wonder you bring order to your schoolroom.”
“Not noticeably,” she said tartly. “And there is no need to call attention to my unladylike roaring. It probably saved you being thrown.”
“Almost certainly,” said Mr. Francis, although his horse was perfectly still in Pup’s company. Matty had the lowering feeling that its owner had it under far too much control to allow it any ill behavior at all, though he went along with the fiction. “Believe me, my comment was not criticism but gratitude.”
“He’s a beautiful animal,” Holles remarked, petting the horse’s neck.
“I brought him from Spain. But he’s a country horse, not yet used to town traffic. May I join the party?”
“By all means,” Matty replied. “Although we are about to turn for home. It’s almost time for lessons.”
Arabella and Susan groaned, and Francis laughed, dismounting with easy grace.
As they turned in the direction of the gate, the girls ran ahead with the dog. Catherine walked more sedately on the arm of Mr. Holles while Matty found herself beside Mr. Francis and his horse.
Awareness blossomed, confusing her thoughts, paralyzing her tongue. Mr. Francis, on the other hand, appeared perfectly comfortable.
“A friendship of long-standing?” he asked casually, nodding toward the couple in front, whose heads were bent toward each other in close conversation.
“Oh, at least a few hours,” Matty managed. She caught his startled glance and added hastily, “I believe they have attended several of the same parties in the last couple of weeks, but they seem to have become friends at last evening’s event. Why do you ask?”
“Making conversation.”
“I never took you for a gossip.”
He smiled. “What did you take me for? Apart from an occasional thief, a knight errant, and master of monstrous hounds?”
“You appear to have covered the salient points of your own character.”
“Is that all you see?”
“There is more?”
Somehow, he caught and held her gaze. “You know there is. Humor me.”
Dear God, it was a mistake to look into those dark eyes. Behind their light teasing expression was a profound, quick intelligence, a promise of fun, excitement, and even wonder. But he wasn’t laughing at her. In fact, she guessed that he was, at his core, a deeply serious man. Yet even beyond that unexpected gravity were layers she could not fathom, was afraid to fathom, for the depths she sensed were uncompromising, relentless, violent, and yet cold. And she was reminded with a jolt of her realization at Maida.
“You are dangerous,” she blurted. And then was appalled and fiercely glad she had found the courage to say it.
His eyebrows flew up. Though the shutters had come down on his eyes, he did not appear angry or offended, “Astute,” he observed. “And I suppose I did ask.”
“It was not the answer you wanted?”
“No, but it will do. In the absence of friendship, I can at least offer protection.”
It was her turn to be startled. “Protection?” she repeated, staring. “From what?”
“From whatever or whoever cuts up your peace.”
Too late, she realized the other connotation of protection, that of a man keeping a mistress, and dismissed it as ridiculous. Whoever cuts up your peace. Her eyes widened. “Thorne? You think I need protection from him?”
“If you do, I doubt you are the only one,” he said obscurely. “I believe him to be rather more ruthless than he might appear. In any case, you may send for me here.”
She did not even see or feel his hand, but abruptly a card jabbed into her palm, and her fingers closed instinctively around it.
“Don’t stare at me,” he murmured. “People will talk. Especially if I take advantage and kiss you.”
Heat flared into her face, and she tore her gaze free of his at last. “I don’t believe I require that kind of protection.” She meant it to sound angry, though, in truth, it sounded more dazed, with an edge of humor—where had that come from? “What exactly would you do if I was rash enough to send for you?”
“I expect I would turn up and look—er… dangerous. It’s usually enough. And since we approach the gates, I shall bid you good morning.”
Before she could reply, he tipped his hat, bestowed a dazzling smile that did very peculiar things to her insides, and swung into the saddle. He was already trotting away by the time she managed a bemused, “Good day.”
*
Inevitably, Matty was summoned from the schoolroom that afternoon to attend Mrs. Dove in the drawing room. She knew who she would find there with her employer, so she was not surprised when Sir Anthony Thorne rose from the chair opposite Mrs. Dove.
Matty curtsied. “Ma’am. Sir.”
“Come in, Miss Mather,” Mrs. Dove said with a trace of anxiety in her voice. “And sit down. You’ll join us in a cup of tea.”
Matty knew then that the game was over. Thorne had persuaded Mrs. Dove to dismiss her. “Thank you,” she said tonelessly and took the place beside her employer on the sofa. She did not look at Thorne as she accepted her cup of tea, but she was vaguely aware of him reseating himself.
“Sir Anthony has given me a letter from your mother,” Mrs. Dove said. “She wants you to go home.”
“I know,” Matty admitted. “But I am of age, and I would rather keep my employment.”
“And you could not write to your mama and tell her so?” Thorne interjected. Matty knew why. He was pointing out her flaws so that Mrs. Dove would be glad to get rid of her.
“I did, though I admit I could have done it quicker.”
“I expect you were wrestling with your conscience and the various expectations we all have of you,” Mrs. Dove said surprisingly.
Matty blinked, a thread of warmth seeping into her cold veins. Was Mrs. Dove going to help her stay? “I was. And I found the wording difficult. But the letter should be with my mother by now. She knows my views.”
“And are hers worth nothing to you?” Thorne asked at once. “Is your sister’s happiness worth nothing to you?”
“Of course,” Matty snapped. “I hope it is worth at least as much to you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Meaning?” he asked gently.
“Meaning my sister’s happiness is not dependent on whether or not I fulfill my obligations to Mrs. Dove.”
“Your sister will be Lady Thorne, holding an important position in the political, as well as social, life of our country. It is not fitting that her only sister remain a mere governess in a stranger’s household.”
“When I could be an unpaid companion in yours?” Matty shot back.
He actually smiled, and she realized her misstep. “Oh, if you want coin for being with your family, I daresay we might agree to a little extra pin money.”
Matty flushed but stuck to her point. “It is about coin, at least partly, and I would rather earn it than be the recipient of charity.”
“My charity,” he said with a gleam of understanding that made her want to hit him.
“My sister’s charity,” she retorted and was glad to see a hint of color stain his cheeks. Oh yes, she understood him perfectly. He wanted Marion’s inheritance, and he wanted nothing to interfere with his ever-increasing importance. She turned to her employer. “Mrs. Dove, my choice is to remain with you until your family no longer needs me.”
“You are putting the lady in an impossible position, Matilda,” Thorne said. “How can she, in conscience, continue to employ you when she knows it is against the wishes of your family?”
You blackguard…!
“Oh dear, this is not easy for any of us,” Mrs. Dove said, glancing from one to the other like a trapped deer. “Least of all for my girls, being without a governess, and my son due home from school any day now…”
Was that a command in her vague, nervous eyes? Being without a governess…
“At the very least, ma’am, we owe each other a month’s notice,” Matty said, catching on.
“Or salary in lieu, surely,” Thorne said smoothly.
Matty spared him a short stare. “Paying my salary in lieu hardly provides Mrs. Dove with a new governess. And she cannot wish to pay for two of us at once. But the matter is not for you to decide, even if you were already married to my sister.” Which I hope to God you never are. She rose to her feet. “I believe we have all been kept from our duty long enough.”
Mrs. Dove rose with her, forcing Thorne to stand, too. For a moment, Matty thought he would ask for time alone with her, but to her surprise, Mrs. Dove held out her hand to Sir Anthony with a polite smile.
“Thank you for bringing Mrs. Mather’s letter to me. So kind.”
Thorne hesitated for the merest instant, but in truth, there was nothing for him to do or say with any civility, except take his leave, which he did with perfect grace.
“I’m sorry,” Matty said as the door closed behind him. “I never meant you to be caught in the middle of a family squabble. You know I will go now if you prefer it. And I will do everything I can to find you a suitable replacement.”
“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Mrs. Dove said, patting her hand distractedly. “Family quarrels have a way of sorting themselves out, and in the meantime, we have bought ourselves a month’s grace. Selfishly, I hope you will stay, for, frankly, I don’t know where we would be without you.”
Chapter Nine
Francisco had to keep reminding himself that the governess was not the main focus of his investigation. Yet, at the same time, he did not want to use her to obtain information, even though it would justify seeking her out, and he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to do that. A few amusing conversations—and a rather delicious kiss, he reminded himself—did not make her important to his life or the task in hand.
And yet he worried about her. Thorne was about to marry her sister for reasons Francisco could not quite fathom. Thorne was not the sort of man to waste a marriage alliance on a love match, but what good the Mathers were to him was still a mystery. If Matilda was a governess, then her sister was hardly likely to be the heiress he was rumored to be courting.
What concerned Francisco more, although it was none of his business, was that the marriage would give Thorne too much control over Matilda. If she wanted to stay with the Doves, she should be allowed to do so.
But is that really the best thing for her? wondered an annoying voice in his head. Is she not worth more than a dependent position in the household of a family already struggling with genteel poverty? He wanted to see her dancing and laughing, uninhibited by her own or other people’s cares…
But women really only ever chose between one form of dependence and another. Miss Mather had chosen dependence on her employer, but Francisco knew Thorne would not let that stand. He was a man who needed to move his pieces about the board, and she clearly knew that and was determined to thwart him. Francisco determined to help her, though his motives were hazy and, he assured himself, unimportant.
What was important was that he find the incomprehensible and shadowy connection between Thorne and the arranged unrest he was supposed to be thwarting.
