Eyes ablaze, Slayde seized Courtney’s arm. “Let’s go. ’Tis time for answers.”
Pembourne was silent as a tomb.
Long after Slayde exited the ballroom, having reconvened the entire staff and shared the real purpose for their earlier writing exercise—right down to describing the document that had provoked it—the servants huddled together, whispering in horror. The fact that one of them was a conspirator to murder was unfathomable.
Miss Payne shrugged into her coat and passed by Siebert, trembling so badly she could scarcely speak. “Siebert, I need some air.”
“I understand, madam.” He himself was sheet-white.
Exiting the manor, she collected the phaeton, disappearing down the drive and through the gates in a cloud of dust.
“That’s our cue,” Slayde muttered to Courtney and Oridge, from where their carriage was concealed by the roadside. “Let’s go.”
Elinore strolled about the garden, admiring her new emerald brooch and contemplating—with a surge of anticipation—the matching earrings that would soon be arriving. It was such a lovely treat to actually wear some of her prized possessions, she mused. So many of her treasures were far too precious to risk removing from their special case, much less don. Treasures such as the countess’s magnificent collection—especially, at long last, the majestic black diamond. She didn’t dare wear that, or any of her dear, departed friend’s gems lest someone recognize them and try to wrest them away. Nonetheless, ’twas well worth the sacrifice. She could still gaze at them each day, watch them sparkle on their velvet bed as they were captured by sunlight or shimmering in moonlight. How perfect they were—unflawed, unrivaled, and—in contrast to all else—immortal.
And they were hers.
A speeding phaeton shattered Elinore’s reflections, and she started, watching it race up the drive and come to a halt before her.
Her eyes smoldered as she saw who the driver was.
“Are you insane?” she hissed as Miss Payne leapt to the ground. “What are you doing here?”
“They know,” Miss Payne panted. “Lord Pembourne and the girl. They know.”
Elinore tensed. “Just what is it they know?”
“They found the sketch. I don’t know where, or how. All I know is they have it, they realize someone at Pembourne helped with the burglary, and they’re about to learn who that someone is.”
“And how are they doing that?”
“Lord Pembourne had all the servants write some words—giving us a fabricated reason as to why. Now, he’s on his way to London, seeking a handwriting expert. He’s going to match our hands with that on the sketch. Once he does, my identity will be known.”
“I see.” Frowning, Elinore stroked her brooch, its cool emerald surface a comforting balm. “How terribly unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? Our entire lives are unraveling, and you consider that to be unfortunate?”
Elinore’s hand stilled. “Our lives?”
“Forgive me—my life,” Miss Payne hastily corrected herself. “Lady Stanwyk, you must understand. I can’t go back there. They’ll send me to Newgate. Please—you must give me that job you promised when I first approached you ten years past. I understand why, after Armon killed the earl and countess, I couldn’t leave Pembourne without arousing suspicion. But none of that matters any longer. If I go back, ’tis as good as a death sentence.” A choked sound. “Armon is no longer alive to be persuaded to vouch for my innocence. Lord Pembourne will assume I aided in the murders. I can’t take that risk.”
“No, indeed you can’t.” Elinore’s jaw set. “Nor can I.”
“Then you’ll offer me a position?”
“What good would a job do, you fool? Stanwyk isn’t a sanctuary from Newgate. Bow Street would simply come here, rather than Pembourne, to collect you. Not only you,” she added, her fingers tightening about her brooch, “but me, as well.”
“What shall we do?”
“I’m afraid that to remain in England is no longer an option. The only solution is to leave the country—now.” A delicate frown. “Armon is dead,” she mused aloud. “That leaves only you and Grimes. And Grimes is so unreliable. I did a thorough job of convincing him to keep quiet about the fact that I was forced to eliminate Armon, but he is so easily intimidated. Lord only knows what he’ll tell Lord Pembourne under pressure.”
“In that case, do we dare leave him behind?” Miss Payne asked.
“No. No one can be left behind.” Elinore’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “No one at all.” With that, she gave a firm nod. “Here’s what I want you to do. Ride to Dartmouth and alert Grimes to the situation. Both of you wait for me there. I’ll pack my things and make arrangements for safe passage to the continent. Then I’ll join you. By sunset, you’ll be gone.”
“Will Grimes cooperate—leave England on such short notice?”
A reassuring smile. “Grimes will present no problem.”
Grimes was pacing beside Miss Payne, wiping sweat from his brow, when Elinore arrived. The viscountess climbed gracefully down from her phaeton, pausing only to remove a solitary bag before gliding toward her waiting companions.
“Listen, your ladyship,” Grimes began, “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on here. I know you keep me in business. Hell, you buy ninety percent of the jewels I get my hands on—with or without Armon alive to supply them. But the only pirates and smugglers I know are here in England. I don’t have a clue who to connect with on the continent.”
“Why are you bothering to tell me all this?” Elinore inquired. She glanced down to ensure that her bag was beside her, safe, Grimes’s claim reminding her that it would be some time before she secured another fence—certainly one as accomplished and easily manipulated as he. Well, ’twas a small and temporary setback. She had an extensive collection to content herself with in the interim. Why, the black diamond alone could occupy her for weeks, simply admiring its facets, marveling at its incomparable beauty.
Grimes was regarding her oddly. “What do you mean, why am I tellin’ you this? Miss Payne says we’re leavin’ the country.”
“Is that what Miss Payne said?” Elinore raised inquisitive brows. “She was mistaken.” Swiftly, she extracted a pistol from beneath her mantle. “I’m leaving the country. You’re simply leaving.”
A shot rang out, striking the barrel of Elmore’s pistol.
With a cry of surprise, she dropped it.
Oridge stepped out of the trees, his own gun aimed carefully at Elinore. “I think you’ve killed enough people, Lady Stanwyk.”
“More than enough,” Slayde concurred, striding around to confront Elinore. “If you were a man, I’d beat you senseless,” he ground out from between clenched teeth.
“I harbor no such reservations.” Courtney stalked out from her concealed position, marching directly up to Elinore, who watched Courtney’s approach without so much as batting a lash.
“You’re a monster,” Courtney bit out. “A murderous, cold-hearted monster. Well, this is for Slayde’s parents. For Papa. And for the pain that learning of your guilt will cause Aurora.” Courtney drew back her hand and slapped Elinore across the face with all her might. “I hope you and your jewels rot in prison.”
“Rot?” Elinore scarcely flinched, looking more amused than pained. “That’s where you’re mistaken, Courtney dear—you, Slayde, Aurora, and all the other ignorant fools you just mentioned. ’Tis people who rot. Jewels, on the other hand endure.” An odd light flickered in Elinore’s eyes. “They endure forever.”
Epilogue
“COURTNEY, WAKE UP!”
One eye opened and regarded the semidark room. “Aurora, what time is it?”
“Half after five,” Aurora declared cheerfully. “Far too late to sleep on one’s birthday.” She yanked off the bedcovers, tugged at Courtney’s arms. “Come.”
“Come? Where?” Both eyes were open now, the final wisps of sleep gradually eclipsed by amusement. “Not even the birds are awake yet
.”
“Oh, yes they are.” Undaunted, Aurora hugged her friend. “Happy birthday,” she said. “Oh, Courtney, by next week at this time, you’ll be my sister.”
“I know.” Courtney returned her friend’s embrace, then eased back to study her expression, for the first time in days seeing the old Aurora. “Are you all right?”
With a prolonged sigh, Aurora nodded, her jubilant mood temporarily held at bay. “Yes. I’m sorry I’ve been so morose all week.”
“You needn’t apologize. You were in shock. ’Tis just that it hurt me so to see you in pain. And I felt helpless to appease it.”
“As you and I both know, there are some things we each must face on our own. In my case, it was more than the shock of Elinore’s guilt I was coming to terms with. It was the realization of my own stupidity. How could I not have known? How could I have trusted, befriended a deranged woman who killed just to gain possession of an unlimited supply of jewels, who murdered my parents, shattered my childhood—and Slayde’s?”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Courtney defended at once. “Elinore is insane, Aurora. She’s also very clever. She fooled everyone—right down to Miss Payne, who worked for her and knew the evil that existed beneath that elegant veneer. Think about it. Miss Payne actually believed Elinore meant to bring Grimes and her to the continent rather than leaving their bodies as food for the gulls. And why? Because—despite all she is, all she’s done—Elinore appears to be so bloody composed, in total control of herself and the situation, a lady to the core.” Courtney shook her head in amazement. “Aurora, you should have seen her. She never showed remorse, never flinched or looked away, not even when I slapped her. Nor did she look the slightest bit perturbed when Mr. Oridge announced they were going to Bow Street. All she did was open her bag, ensure that all her gems were accounted for, before smoothing her hair, readjusting her brooch, and announcing she was ready to go. If you’d seen the regal way she walked off…as if Oridge were leading her to a ballroom rather than to a jail cell.” Courtney drew a harsh breath. “A woman like that could deceive anyone.”
“I realize that now.” Aurora squeezed Courtney’s hands. “And I promise you, I’m fine. ’Tis time to bid the past good-bye. There’s a grand and glorious future awaiting us.” So saying, she shook off the momentary melancholy, leaping to her feet and glancing at the clock on the mantel. “Speaking of the future, I’m to deliver you, dressed and ready, to the lighthouse, by eight o’clock. That’s when your birthday celebration commences.”
“At eight a.m.?” Courtney began to laugh. “Does poor Mr. Scollard realize he’ll be expected to eat cake just after dawn?”
“Oh, I think so.” A mysterious smile. “I think Mr. Scollard is well prepared. Now, I’ll go fetch Matilda. She wanted to select a special gown for you in honor of the occasion.”
Watching Aurora dash off, Courtney smiled, feeling more blessed than she’d ever dreamed possible. Even the past week’s painful events—Elinore’s arrest, the announcement to the staff of Miss Payne’s betrayal, and Aurora’s understandable distress—couldn’t obliterate the joy of knowing she was about to become Slayde’s wife.
Although, between the emotional aftermath of Elinore’s guilt, Slayde’s unexpected business trip to Cornwall, and a wondrous array of wedding plans, they’d scarcely seen each other all week—other than during the darkest hours of night when Slayde would come to her, make love to her until neither of them could breathe, whisper over and over how much he loved her.
For Aurora’s sake, he always left before dawn.
But soon, that discretion would no longer be necessary.
Because, in five short days, Courtney would be Mrs. Slayde Huntley.
At that joyous thought, Courtney climbed out of bed, thinking that this was indeed the most wonderful of birthdays—far different than what she’d anticipated one short month ago when her life had seemed over, her heart empty.
Pausing, she slid open her nightstand drawer, lifting out her father’s timepiece. “Papa,” she whispered, snapping open the case. “I only wish you could share—” She broke off, her breath expelling all at once.
The watch was moving.
As she stared, the lighthouse beam shed its light across the waters, and the ship sailed forth, seeking its path. The scene unfolded like a shimmering ballet, not once, not twice, but repeatedly, making no move to slow down or stop.
Courtney stared, transfixed, wondering if this was heaven’s way of smiling down on her, blessing her future with Slayde as the time drew near for their lives to merge, to become one.
Emotion constricted her throat as she watched the scene unfold again. The beam. The ship. The journey. Each time, the sequence was the same.
And each time, the ship found its way home.
“Are you sure Mr. Scollard is expecting us?” Courtney asked anxiously as they approached the lighthouse door. “It seems utterly still.”
“Let’s go in and see.” Aurora turned the handle, guiding Courtney inside.
They’d scarcely crossed the threshold when a small flash of gold tore across the sitting room.
Yipping excitedly, it crashed into Courtney’s legs and collapsed in a tangle of squirming fur and impatient limbs.
“What on earth…?” Courtney stooped, picking up the wriggling pup, who immediately began lavishing her cheek with enthusiastic licks. Courtney was laughing so hard she could scarcely speak. “When did Mr. Scollard get a dog?”
“He didn’t,” Aurora replied. “This little lad is a visitor. He won’t be staying.”
“He’s precious,” Courtney said, inspecting the pup, who, momentarily nestled in the crook of her arm, then broke free, leaping to the ground and racing after his tail. “He’s a babe, scarcely a few months old.” She glanced at Aurora. “How did he get here?”
“He’s ten weeks,” Aurora supplied. “As for his background, his mother belongs to a family in the village. Unfortunately, their cottage isn’t large enough to accommodate a litter of pups. They managed to find homes for all of them—except this fellow. Evidently, he was too spirited for his own good. His wild racing about discouraged those families who came to look at him. ’Tis a pity. When he came to the lighthouse, he was quite homeless.”
“Homeless?” Courtney stared at the dog, who, unaware he was being discussed, continued to rush in circles in avid pursuit of his tail. “Oh, Aurora, he can’t be homeless. He’s too young to survive on his own. And he’s not too spirited—Lord knows, if people were condemned for that trait, you and I would have been put away long ago.”
“True.” Aurora nodded, her expression oddly solemn. “In any case, I said he was homeless. He no longer is. In fact, I think he’s quite eager to go to his new home—and his new mistress.” With that, she squatted, capturing the pup in midspin and placing him in Courtney’s arms. “A puppy, you said. More specifically, one who needed you.” Aurora’s turquoise eyes glistened with tears. “Well, he does. And so do I. Happy birthday, Courtney.”
Courtney’s gaze widened. “He’s for me?”
“For you. From me.” A watery smile. “I don’t know if you’ll always thank me for this gift, but I know for sure the pup will.”
“Oh, Aurora.” Courtney stroked the tiny golden head, melting beneath velvet brown eyes filled with equal measures of warmth and mischief. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me what you plan to name him.”
With another burst of energy, the pup leapt from Courtney’s arms and tore off, this time upsetting papers off a small end table before dashing partway up the stairs, then back down.
Both women began to laugh. “How about Tyrant?” Courtney suggested, gathering up the pages that had fallen. “I think the name’s fitting, don’t you?” She glanced at the papers she held, her brows arching in surprise. “I didn’t realize Mr. Scollard was building himself a cottage.”
“He isn’t.”
“But look: these are sketches, not far from the water’s edge, it appears.
He’s obviously planning to build this cottage.”
“He is.”
“But you just said—”
“I meant he wasn’t building it for himself.”
“Then who is he building it for?”
“I’ll let Mr. Scollard tell you. Oh, here he is.
Good morning, Mr. Scollard.”
“Good morning, ladies.” With a warm smile, the lighthouse keeper approached them from the kitchen, placing a tray of tea and cakes upon the table. “Happy birthday, Courtney. Ah, I see you’ve found your gift.”
Courtney blinked. “Oh—you mean Tyrant.” She glanced over to where the pup was now contentedly chewing on a biscuit that had definitely not been there before. Then, again, in Mr. Scollard’s lighthouse, one expected magic.
“No, I didn’t mean your new friend—although he is a charming devil. I meant the drawings.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mr. Scollard pointed. “The cottage. Do you like it?”
“It looks lovely. But why would…?”
“A place to call home when on land. ’Tis most important, wouldn’t you agree?”
Courtney felt a slash of pain as she remembered having used those words to describe what she’d wanted for herself and her father. “Of course I agree. And I don’t mean to appear ungrateful. I’m just puzzled.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be residing at Pembourne with Slayde and Aurora.”
“Of course you will,” Mr. Scollard said patiently. “I don’t expect you to live in the cottage, only to accept it as a gift.”
“But then, who…?”