The torment in the lighthouse keeper’s voice invoked a surge of guilt. “Forgive me, Mr. Scollard,” Slayde said at once. “I had no right to attack you like that; nor to accuse you of keeping anything from me. I know how deeply you care for both Aurora and Courtney. ’Tis just that I feel so frustrated.”
“I understand. There’s a great deal at stake. Certainly enough to incite an emotional outburst.”
Slayde gave a humorless laugh. “Funny, I was never given to those before.”
“Which? Emotions or outbursts?”
The significance of the question struck home. “Neither,” Slayde responded, meeting Mr. Scollard’s gaze. “I felt nothing and expressed less. Evidently, both are outcomes of falling in love.”
“Indeed they are. Savor those outcomes, Slayde. But balance them with your logic. Reserve the irrational for Courtney’s loving hands; employ reason where no love exists. Now go. See the duke. Hear his words. Speak to Rayburn. Then return to Pembourne. Ruthlessness hovers at its portals. Resolution is in your hands—as is Courtney’s life.”
“Elinore, I really appreciate your visit,” Aurora said, coming to her feet. “I’m sorry it has to be so short. I hope it wasn’t me—I realize I’m not terribly good company today.”
“Nonsense.” Elinore rose from the yellow salon’s curved settee, fingering her strand of pearls and studying Aurora’s restless expression. “The reason I’m rushing off is because I’m expected at Lady Altec’s in an hour.” She rolled her eyes. “Doubtless, another boring gossip session. Still I did, in a moment of weakness, agree to go. So go I must.” A pause. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t spent the week worrying, anxiously awaiting some word from you. ’Tis the real reason I stopped by today. Remember, when last I left, Courtney and Slayde were en route to London on a most unsettling mission.”
“I know that, Elinore. And I should have contacted you; there was no excuse for my negligence. ’Tis just that when Lexley arrived…”
“Stop.” Elinore pressed her finger to Aurora’s lips. “No apology is necessary. Now that I’ve seen all that’s occurred in my absence…goodness, you’ve scarcely had time to breathe! First, Mr. Lexley’s arrival, then Courtney and Slayde’s.” An earnest sigh. “Thank heavens Mr. Lexley survived his ordeal. He seems such a fine man, and Courtney deserves something of her old life back again. ’Twas horrible for her to lose her father.” Glancing toward the doorway, Elinore lowered her voice, brow furrowed in concern. “Although, despite her obvious relief, she does look a bit peaked. True, I only saw her for a moment before she went to unpack. But she seems pale, faraway. Is she all right?”
Mentally, Aurora bit her lip, honoring her promise to say nothing to anyone—not even their dearest family friend. “I think confronting the pirates who killed her father took a great deal out of Courtney. But given a little time, she’ll be fine. Better than that, in fact.” Aurora squeezed Elinore’s arm, urging her toward the hallway as she desperately tried to curtail her own impatience. She knew precisely what Courtney’s preoccupation stemmed from: her determination to find out who penned that sketch of Pembourne, a mystery they’d planned to spend the afternoon resolving.
Inadvertently, Aurora’s gaze drifted upward. She only hoped Courtney hadn’t succeeded in devising a scheme to unmask the culprit while she’d been down here entertaining Elinore.
“Aurora? Are you more troubled than you’ve let on?”
Aurora nearly jumped out of her skin at Elinore’s astute assessment. Hell and damnation, why couldn’t she be a better actress? “Absolutely not,” she assured her friend. “Truly. Courtney is just contemplating…matters.” Lord, that sounded about as believable as if she’d admitted Courtney were entertaining an army of men in her bedchamber. “I, too, am glad Mr. Lexley is here. He’s a true balm for Courtney’s pain.”
“She said nothing more about what happened during the excursion to London?”
Elinore’s particular choice of words elicited a tremendous idea, the perfect avenue for Aurora to take. There was a way she could be honest and yet reveal something that was not only innocuous but that would, with a modicum of luck, both convince Elinore and divert her.
“Wait.” Aurora pulled Elinore aside just before they crossed the threshold into the hallway, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Courtney did share a secret with us—or rather she and Slayde did.”
“A secret?” Elinore’s brows rose.
“Yes. Thus far, they’ve told only Lexley and me, but I know they intend to share the news with you next. And, given your unnecessary worry, I’m going to divulge their announcement in order to ease your mind and to explain Courtney’s faraway look.” With an impish grin, she confided, “Courtney and Slayde are to be married.”
Genuine pleasure erupted on Elinore’s face. “Married?” she breathed. “How glorious! When?”
“Just as soon as Slayde obtains a license. Now don’t say a word until the servants have all been told.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Aurora clutched her elbows. “You’ll be at the wedding, won’t you? I know how much Courtney wants that. She’s come to care for you as much as I have.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Elinore vowed, eyes aglow with anticipation. “In fact, I think I’ll contact my jeweler at once. I have a stunning new gown that would be perfect for the occasion and I must have just the right accessories fashioned.”
“That sounds wise.” Aurora grinned, thinking how typically Elinore it was to make provisions ensuring she’d be elegantly attired for a wedding whose date had yet to be announced. “Oh, Miss Payne?” Aurora nearly collided with the housekeeper as they rounded the doorway. “Would you please bring Mr. Oridge a tray? The poor man is going to starve to death if he doesn’t eat.”
The housekeeper startled, having been checking her list of inventory as she walked. “Of course, Lady Aurora. I’ll see to it at once.” Her gaze flickered to the viscountess. “Will you require anything further, Lady Stanwyk?”
Elinore shook her head. “No, Miss Payne, thank you. I’m about to take my leave.”
“Very well, my lady.” Miss Payne headed toward the kitchen.
“Is Mr. Oridge meeting with Slayde?” Elinore asked Aurora. “Is that why he’s too busy to eat?”
“No. Actually, he’s awaiting Slayde’s return. My brother had an…errand to take care of.”
Elinore assessed Aurora’s expression. “What errand?” she asked, the worry back on her face.
A sigh. “He’s at Morland, confronting the duke. That’s one of the reasons I’ve been preoccupied. Lawrence Bencroft burst in here the other day. He was drunk and raving, demanding to see Slayde. My brother means to find out why.”
“Oh, dear.” Elinore frowned. “I was afraid of this. The duke evidently saw the article Slayde submitted to the Times. He must be livid.”
“That’s what we have to assume, based upon the timing of Morland’s visit.” Aurora had to swallow the urge to tell Elinore the whole truth: that it was she and Courtney who had submitted that article, not Slayde—and that the entire submission was a clever deception. But Mr. Oridge had stressed the fact that they weren’t to discuss a single facet of the mystery with anyone. Thus, she held her tongue.
“The letter was a stroke of genius,” Elinore was declaring. “Now everyone will have no choice but to believe the diamond is gone. And the Huntleys will, at last, be free.” Her eyes misted. “Perhaps now your parents can rest in peace.”
“I hope so,” Aurora managed to say, assuaged by an irrational surge of guilt. How could her parents rest in peace when the diamond remained hidden wherever her great-grandfather had secreted it?
“You’re worried about Morland’s reaction,” Elinore put in softly. “Especially if Slayde’s admission inhibits his ability to transport the diamond.”
“Yes. I’m terrified he’ll hurt Slayde,” Aurora confessed.
“That won’t happen, darling.” Elinore turned as they reache
d the entranceway door, her smile restored—whether as a genuine display or merely as an act of reassurance, Aurora wasn’t certain. “Slayde can handle Morland,” the viscountess continued, slipping into the wrap Siebert held out for her. “Especially if the fool is drunk. Besides,” she added with a conspiratorial wink, “your brother has more pressing matters on his mind. Right?”
“Right.”
“Good.” Elinore smoothed a stray hair back into place, gesturing toward the staircase. “Now scoot back to Courtney. And please—tell her I’m here for any assistance she requires. Any assistance at all.”
“At last.”
Sprawled in Aurora’s armchair, Courtney greeted her friend, watching as she slipped back into the bedchamber. “We have only an hour and a half before Mr. Oridge reclaims this sketch.”
“An hour and twenty minutes,” Oridge corrected from where he stood guard in the hallway.
Courtney rolled her eyes. “In any case, I was hoping you and Elinore hadn’t decided to make a day of it.”
“Hardly.” With a tolerant sigh, Aurora shut the door against Oridge’s firmly planted back. “Much as I adore Elinore, this is one time I couldn’t wait for her to go. Did you conjure up something without me?”
A faint smile touched Courtney’s lips. “Would you be devastated if I said yes?”
“Probably.”
“Then rest easy. I’ve been staring out the window, worrying about Slayde. I’ve scarcely even glanced at the note and drawing, much less divined who penned them.” She indicated the page they’d wrested away from Oridge following a ten-minute heated debate—the result of which was Oridge’s grudging agreement to permit them two hours alone with the sketch, after which he intended to reclaim it.
“Well, we’d best start glancing,” Aurora muttered. “Because the precise instant our time elapses, Mr. Oridge will be flinging open that door to snatch the sketch away. As you heard, he’s already mumbling under his breath.” She dropped onto the bed, her expression solemn. “I, too, am worried about Slayde. He’s walking into the lion’s den. Although Elinore seems to think he can manage Morland.” A pause. “At least I think she believes that.”
A pucker formed between Courtney’s brows. “What is it? What else is upsetting you?”
“Nothing. Everything. To begin with, I’m not accustomed to lying. And I’m not very good at it.”
“Nor am I,” Courtney sympathized. “Did you say something to Elinore you wish you hadn’t?”
“No. Other than the fact that I divulged your wedding plans. I’m sorry, Courtney. ’Twas the only way I could explain my odd impatience and your equally inexplicable distraction.”
At the last, Courtney sighed. “I’m as poor an actress as you are.”
“Do you mind that I blurted out your news?”
“Of course not. Elinore is like family. Slayde and I would have told her next anyway.” Courtney leaned forward. “Aurora, what happened to unnerve you?”
Pain flashed across Aurora’s face. “ ’Twas listening to Elinore extol the virtues of Slayde’s penning his letter to the Times. Courtney, I can’t explain it, but I feel as if I’ve betrayed Mama and Papa. Elinore kept saying how fortuitous all this is, that the Huntleys will finally be free of the curse and that my parents will, at last, rest in peace.” Aurora’s tormented gaze met Courtney’s. “But they can’t rest in peace, can they? Because the diamond hasn’t left my family’s possession. My great-grandfather remains the last known person to have handled the stone, stealing it for himself. ‘He with a black heart who touches the jewel will reap eternal wealth, while becoming the carrion upon whom, for all eternity, others will feed,’ ” she recited aloud. “Oh, God, Courtney. The whole idea terrifies me. And now—I feel so horribly guilty for pretending we’ve set it all right, granted my parents some semblance of peace, when in fact, we have not.”
Courtney rose and went to the bed, sitting down beside her friend and hugging her tightly. “Now you listen to me, Aurora Huntley,” she commanded fiercely. “There is no curse. ’Tis as fabricated as every other dark tale or legend that spans generations, propagated by thieves whose best interests it serves to do so. Your parents were killed by greedy, monstrous criminals, not by some imaginary curse. That diamond is worth a fortune. Those who traverse the globe in search of it crave that fortune. None of them seems to be deterred by the black legacy attached to it, do they? And wouldn’t they be, if they truly believed they’d become the carrion upon whom all others will feed eternally? I should think the answer to that—great wealth or not—would be yes.”
Drawing back, Courtney caught Aurora’s hands in hers. “Aurora,” she continued, her voice quavering as she spoke, “when I needed the strength to resolve Papa’s death, you gave it to me. You offered me friendship, support, and a tangible method to achieve my end. Let me do the same for you.” She rose, crossing over to pick up the sketch. “If you want to grant your parents peace, this is the way to do it. Let’s find and punish the scoundrels who killed them. That will avenge their deaths and ease your heart of its excruciating burden.”
Aurora’s haunted look vanished, supplanted by her characteristic—and welcome—determination. “You’re right.” Purposefully, she dashed the moisture from her eyes. “How did I ever survive before you came to Pembourne?” A hint of a smile. “More importantly, how did Slayde survive? Never mind. I know the answer to that: he didn’t. The change in him these past weeks…I still can’t believe he’s my brother. He jokes, laughs—Lord, he even winked at me. And the way he looks at you—” She stopped, studying Courtney’s face. “Is it wonderful?”
“More than wonderful,” Courtney replied softly. “More than heaven. More than anything I’ve ever imagined.” She arched a knowing brow. “You’ll see for yourself when it happens to you.”
“I?” Aurora laughed aloud. “Now that’s an unlikely notion. First of all, Slayde never lets me out of the house to meet anyone. And second—well, I just can’t imagine any man who’d be interesting enough to spend the rest of my life with. If the day ever comes that I’m allowed beyond Pembourne’s walls, I want to go everywhere, see everything. I’ve had more than enough complacency to last a lifetime. And I highly doubt there exists a man who’d tolerate—no, welcome—such a restless bride.”
“If you say so.”
“I say so.” With a definitive nod, Aurora reached for the sketch. “Let’s get back to work before Oridge comes in to reclaim this.”
For the next hour, they studied the drawing, trying to deduce who could have—would have—penned it.
“If only whoever drew this had signed the note, or at the very least, initialed it,” Courtney finally muttered. “There’s nothing in the wording that’s distinctive enough to attribute to any one person.”
“It has to be someone who can read and write proper English,” Aurora noted. “Surely that must eliminate a portion of the staff.”
“Yes, but do we know for a fact who can or cannot do that?” Courtney countered.
“Not without asking them.”
“Or testing them.” Courtney chewed her lip. “What if we were to invent a plausible reason for instructing each servant to pen his name, or some specific words, or…” She shot up like a bullet. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Aurora sat bolt upright.
“The last ransom note—not the one found in Armon’s pocket, but the one Slayde received.”
“The one that disreputable fellow Grimes copied.”
“Exactly.” Courtney’s eyes sparkled. “Not only is Grimes a contact for stolen jewels, he’s also a skilled forger. He studied the handwriting of that second note, then reproduced it. Other than confessing that—and the fact that he was Armon’s contact—to Slayde, he’s been of little use to us. But I think all that’s about to change.” Courtney rubbed her palms together. “As I recall, Mr. Grimes is amenable to business arrangements that consist of his being lavishly compensated while remaining wholly intact. We can offer him that. In
fact, we can offer him more than enough to buy his cooperation.”
“You want him to study the handwriting on this sketch?”
“Not only study it, but compare it to a host of others. We’re going to assemble the staff and ask each and every one of them to pen a few words for us. We’ll conjure up a suitable reason, then choose a fragment from the note, something innocuous enough for the culprit to have forgotten he’d written ten years past. That way no one will feign the inability to write so as not to participate. Once the task is done, we’ll take all the samples to Grimes.”
“Who will then match the culprit’s hand with that on this sketch,” Aurora jumped in, realization erupting like fireworks.
“Precisely.” Courtney’s small jaw set. “At which time, dear cohort, we’ll have our traitor.”
Chapter 17
“THAYER, TELL THE DUKE I’m here,” Slayde commanded, looming in Morland’s entranceway door like an avenging god. “And don’t bother refusing me or telling me he’s away. He’s here. And I’m going nowhere until I’ve spoken with him.”
The butler flinched at Slayde’s formidable presence, the leashed fury in his tone. “To the contrary, Lord Pembourne,” he countered, taking two backward steps, “His Grace has been expecting…rather, hoping—” Breaking off, Thayer whipped out a handkerchief, mopped at his brow. “I have instructions to advise him the moment you arrive. Please—wait here while I announce you.” He turned, nearly sprinting down the hall.
Not three minutes passed before he reappeared. “The duke will see you at once. Follow me.”
Thayer led Slayde down the same corridor he’d just traversed, pausing when he reached the open study door. “Lord Pembourne,” he trumpeted, his voice quavering a bit.
“Huntley—so you finally got my message.” Unsteadily, Morland rose from behind his desk, bitterness contorting his features, hatred darkening his red-rimmed stare. “I planned to give you one more day before I descended again on Pembourne.”
“To do what?” Slayde demanded. “Harass my staff? Tear apart the manor? Or something more ominous than either?”