Mrs. Trewick’s roast lamb was another sort of triumph. The company set to with excellent appetite, and in keeping with their now-established custom, the talk was all of other things—all the absorbing issues of their busy lives.
At the end of the meal, Violet led the company back to the drawing room.
Montague had been given a particularly fine—not to say exquisite—bottle of French cognac by a grateful client, and they all accepted glasses of the golden liquor; even the three ladies were curious enough to attempt a small taste.
Violet sipped, surprised at the smoothness followed by the sharp burn that faded into a taste reminiscent of honey. Griselda had settled on the sofa beside her, while Montague had claimed his usual armchair on the other side of the hearth. To Montague’s right, Penelope and Barnaby had settled on Violet’s recently acquired love seat—of which she was secretly and inordinately proud—leaving the last armchair for Stokes, but at present, their inspector had taken up station before the hearth.
Violet caught his eye and, a smile on her lips, graciously inclined her head. “The floor is yours, sir.”
Stokes flashed her a grin that lit his harsh-featured face. “Where should I start?”
“Why not at the beginning?” Griselda asked. “Just the facts, of course, but Violet, Montague, and I haven’t been rushing about as you three have—give us enough to put more recent events in context, then you can explain those more recent events in detail.”
All approved of that tack, and Stokes commenced, skipping lightly over the earlier events they’d previously shared, before settling into a blow-by-blow, statement-by-statement, clue-by-clue recitation of the events of the day. Barnaby assisted, and Penelope weighed in with her usual unique observations.
Between them, the three drew the strands together and outlined their conclusions and the case Stokes and Barnaby had subsequently laid before the commissioner and directors.
“All agreed,” Stokes reported, “that in this instance, no further action was warranted.” He finally walked to the armchair facing the hearth and sat.
“Of course,” Barnaby said, “given Lady Carisbrook made the disappearance of her emeralds such a public affair, the commissioner will be releasing a statement by way of dampening expectations.”
“Meaning expectations of a scandal,” Penelope clarified.
Stokes grunted. “More like pouring cold water over the newshounds.” He raised his glass. “Here’s to the commissioner’s success.”
All murmured agreement and sipped; no one wanted to see any whiff of scandal unnecessarily damage the lives of those involved.
“And to cap it all off,” Penelope reported, “Hugo finally girded his loins, took the plunge, and proposed to Cara, and the dear girl accepted.” Penelope positively glowed. “I am now in very good standing with Barnaby’s aunt and her family.”
Smiling, Barnaby raised his glass and called for a toast to Hugo and Cara, and everyone hurrahed and drank.
A comfortable silence descended as they sat, sipped, and digested all they’d learned and, in their minds, made sense of the case.
Eventually, Montague said, “When you consider it, this case has been odd.” He looked around at the others’ faces. “For once, no large sums of money were involved.”
Violet nodded. “And there was no question of inheritance, either. We often stumble on that within the ton.”
“What strikes me most,” Stokes offered, “was that this was that rare case when there was no true victim and no true villain.”
“Agreed,” Barnaby said. “And yet it seems to me that, on all fronts, justice has been served. It was just a different sort of justice to what we normally see.”
“Indeed. Cara was the first almost-victim,” Griselda pointed out, “but that prompted Hugo to leap into action and rescue her, and now Cara has gained her heart’s desire courtesy of her aunt’s false accusations. If that’s not justice, I don’t know what is.”
Penelope chuckled. “And Hugo was prodded into action. If Cara hadn’t been threatened, who knows how long it would have been before he drummed up the courage to act?”
“Speaking of having the courage to act,” Violet said, “Franklin did—acted, I mean—and made himself an almost-victim, too, but now that Lord Carisbrook has had his eyes opened, Franklin and his Miss Ives also seem sure to find happiness.”
Barnaby inclined his head. “Another appropriate outcome.”
“Lord Carisbrook himself seems destined to find a happier relationship with his younger children,” Stokes mused.
“Even Lady Carisbrook,” Penelope said, “who is a victim of long ago, so to speak, and more recently of her own making, will not be seriously harmed, and the happiness she derives through her affair with Lord Frederick will continue.”
Montague added, “Lord Frederick, his wife, Lord Carisbrook, and his, once the uncertainties settle, all will go on much as before. It sounds like a comfortable arrangement all around, one from which everyone gains.”
Stokes nodded. “The only one who lost anything was Simpkins,” he said, “and she most definitely brought that on herself.”
Companionable silence settled again, their shared thoughts and observations leading their minds down this track and that.
Eventually, Barnaby stirred and looked around the circle of faces. Feeling his gaze, the others looked at him inquiringly. He smiled. “Montague’s correct—this has been a strange case. How often is it that, at this point, we’re feeling so thoroughly pleased and content with the outcome?”
“I was just thinking,” Penelope said, “that when you delve to the heart of it, this case has been driven and shaped by what men will do for love.”
The others all looked at her, inviting her to expound. She spread her hands. “Franklin started the case by taking the emeralds, believing that selling them was his only route to securing Miss Ives’s hand. And Lord Frederick with his longstanding affair with the love of his life—a gentleman like him willing to slip through the shadows night after night, all for love. That put him into position to be wrongly accused by Simpkins and, subsequently, being there when she fell and died. And last but by no means least, we have Hugo rushing to his Cara’s defense—his reaction revealed his love, not just to him but to his family and, most importantly, to Cara.”
“Hmm.” Barnaby set down his empty glass on the small table beside the love seat. “As is often the case, family was the other element involved—the Carisbrooks and the relationships between Lady Carisbrook, Lord Carisbrook, and their children.” Smiling, Barnaby caught Penelope’s eye. “But to turn to one of the new families taking shape out of this case, what’s the status with Hugo and Cara?”
Penelope was delighted to report, “At this point, they are unofficially betrothed. Hugo will need to speak with Lord Carisbrook and gain his approval before the betrothal can be formally announced, but no one is expecting any obstacles to rear their head. And after that”—she grinned—“his mother is hoping for a wedding within a few months.”
Barnaby added, “From what I gather via the family grapevine, fatted calves will be slain in abundance.”
Penelope smiled. “The only person likely to feel aggrieved by that result is Lady Carisbrook, but I expect wiser counsel— from both Lord Carisbrook and Lord Frederick—will prevail, and her ladyship will accept the outcome with, if not joy, then passable grace.”
“It seems,” Violet said, “that even the Carisbrooks have gained from this incident, and as a family, their situation has improved.”
Their glasses had been drained, and with the story fully told and, more, fully explored, their comments turned to other things, to their lives, their work, their families.
Not long after, Stokes rose and drew Griselda to her feet. “We must go—some of us have a desk to turn up to in the morning.”
Penelope groaned and rose, too. “Don’t remind me.” She glanced at Violet. “Yes, I know—I really need to get on with that Greek text.”
Coming to her feet, Violet mock-frowned and wagged a finger at her friend and part-time employer. “The museum will shortly be hounding you.” With that and a grin, Violet bustled off to summon the nursemaids and help with the sleeping children.
All of whom proved to be wide awake.
Giggling and laughing, Oliver and Megan came toddling out, chased by Hattie and Gloria, both apparently having been caught off guard.
The children’s shrieks had woken Martin, but he, good boy, lay in Hilda’s arms, smiling and sleepily batting at whatever came close enough to touch.
Barnaby stood beside Penelope and watched Oliver evade a lunge from Hattie and, laughing with joy, his face alight, come toddling at speed toward them. Oliver barreled straight into Penelope’s legs. He gripped her skirts in his chubby fists, spared a grinning glance for his papa, then demanded, “Mummy! Up!”
Penelope laughed, scooped him up, and settled him on her hip, then, with Barnaby, she looked at the others—at Stokes, who’d grabbed Megan, swung her through the air, then settled her in his arms so Griselda could put the little girl’s coat on. And at Violet and Montague, who had their heads together, cooing at their son.
Barnaby met Penelope’s eyes. “Family and friends—the most critical elements in any life.”
“Indeed.” Penelope regarded Oliver, her Madonna smile glowing. Then she looked up and met Barnaby’s gaze. “Family is what you make it”—her eyes grew brighter—“and we’re going to make ours strong.”
The Season was at its height, and in a bow to the expectations of her social mentors, Penelope, along with Barnaby, attended Lady Rutledge’s ball.
It had been over a week since the matter of the Carisbrook emeralds had been laid to rest, and as frequently happened, especially during the Season, with no evolving scandal to hold their interest, the ton had moved on to other things; the incident had already been consigned to history.
For Penelope, that wasn’t quite the case. She’d finished her translation for the museum and had other projects on her plate, yet the confounding case of the Carisbrook emeralds had piqued the innermost private part of her busy brain; with her and Barnaby’s renewed focus on family, she’d found herself wondering about the Carisbrooks and how they were faring. Consequently, when, through the crowd in the ballroom, she spotted Lord Carisbrook, she didn’t even attempt to talk herself out of making her way to his side.
With his hands folded over the head of his cane, his lordship was standing by the wall. He saw her approaching and smiled in welcome. As she reached him, he half bowed. “Mrs. Adair—you look ravishing as always, my dear.”
Penelope dipped in a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. I have to confess I’m somewhat surprised to find you here.”
“Truth to tell, I’m somewhat surprised myself. But”—with his head, he indicated the couples occupying the dance floor—“I felt that perhaps my presence might be helpful, at least for the next little while.”
Penelope surveyed the dancers; the set his lordship had been watching contained Cara and Hugo, and also Julia Carisbrook and Mr. Leyton, one of the quieter, although entirely eligible, younger gentlemen of the ton. In the next set along, Franklin Carisbrook was gazing besottedly at Miss Ives, who smiled radiantly as she twirled under his raised arm.
The morning after the matter of the emeralds had been resolved, Franklin had called at Albemarle Street and, with Hugo looking on, had apologized profusely to Cara and flung himself on her mercy; he had taken the jewels on impulse, never imagining Cara might be accused of the theft, and once she had been, he’d panicked.
Secure in Hugo’s love, Cara had readily forgiven Franklin, pointing out to an unconvinced Hugo that if it hadn’t been for Franklin’s action and its unexpected result, she and Hugo might never have grown close, certainly not as quickly.
Hugo had had sense enough to accept Cara’s decree and had extended his hand to Franklin, so the three cousins were now at peace.
Subsequently, by way of advancing Hugo and Cara’s cause, Penelope had hosted a dinner at Albemarle Street for the Carisbrooks and the Adairs. Although the conversation was initially stilted on the Carisbrooks’ part, the Adairs had blithely carried all before them, and Lord Carisbrook—who had already given his agreement to the match—relaxed enough to address the question of where Cara should live until the wedding.
Consequently, by general agreement, Cara had returned to live under her uncle’s roof until she and Hugo tied the knot in early June.
Now, taking in the soft smile on Julia Carisbrook’s face as she and Mr. Leyton conversed, Penelope murmured, “I take it there have been changes in John Street.”
Lord Carisbrook, his gaze also on his daughter, softly humphed. “To some extent. But that change has been primarily on my part—I find I am no longer content to hide in my study and allow Livia free rein.” He paused, then added, “Not with Franklin and Julia, at any rate. The older ones could and did hold their own, but courtesy of our recent contretemps, I’ve realized the younger ones are of a different caliber. Their strengths are not the same as their older siblings, and they deserve their moment to explore what might be—I’ve accepted that my attention and presence are the shield that will allow them that.” He harrumphed and lowered his voice. “To my regret, neither Franklin nor Julia knew to appeal to me for support—they saw me as uncaring and ineffectual when, from my point of view, I was merely keeping my distance as per longstanding habit.” His lordship straightened and nodded toward where his younger children danced. “That, I’m pleased to say, has now changed.”
Penelope couldn’t hold back a satisfied “Excellent.”
His lordship glanced at her sidelong, amused. “Indeed.” After a moment, he went on, “As you, in particular, have been a critical agent in bringing about our necessary change, I will admit that once my eyes were opened courtesy of the inspector’s and your and your husband’s investigation, I had a long-overdue talk with Livia. You might not credit it, but it came as a shock to her that she was, in effect, attempting to visit the same wrongs on her younger children as had been visited on her—that in her deepest heart, she knew had been visited on her and that she still, to this day, deeply resents.” Lord Carisbrook coughed and, in an undertone, added, “I believe Lord Frederick told her much the same thing.”
Lord Carisbrook raised his head and went on, “To be perfectly frank, my dear, I suggested to Livia that she strive to become the lady Freddie loves.”
Penelope was momentarily surprised, yet the revelation explained what she’d heard from her wider ton sources regarding Lady Carisbrook’s recent and unexpected reformation. Patience Cynster had overheard several of her ladyship’s cronies exclaiming over Livia Carisbrook’s “new leaf”—her attempts to be kinder and much less belligerently arrogant, and apparently, she had been overheard apologizing several times.
Yet curiosity was Penelope’s strength as well as her weakness. She couldn’t resist murmuring, “Lord Frederick mentioned you and he were acquainted.”
As she’d hoped, Lord Carisbrook was in the right mood to nod and respond, “Indeed, we have been from the start. I knew when I offered for Livia’s hand that Freddie—he’s somewhat younger than I—was in love with her, but in those days, love had no place in the calculations pertaining to marriage. And, truth to tell, I believe neither Livia nor I can claim we didn’t receive the benefits our arrangement promised. She gave me five healthy children, and in return, I gave her title, social standing, and as far as was possible, the wherewithal to make the splash in society that she craved. For all that he loved her and she him, Freddie couldn’t have given her those last two things—not then and not even now. Achieving social prominence has never been one of Freddie’s interests. But after Julia’s birth, Livia and I reached an accommodation.” Lord Carisbrook paused, then said, “I have never been a man to stand in the way of others finding what happiness they might. I knew and expected and, in fact, accepted that Freddie and Livia would begin an affair, for theirs was a
love that had never died.”
He fell silent, then in a softer tone said, “It was time—their time—to claim it, and the arrangement suited and served us all, Anne, Freddie’s wife, included.”
A second passed, and Lord Carisbrook turned to regard Penelope in, she judged, a benevolently patronizing way. His lips were certainly curved when, glancing at the dance floor, he observed, “I expect it’s old-fashioned to point this out, but even without love, we can have understanding and affection, fondness and caring—elements that can underpin an effective relationship within our sphere. A life without love may not be perfect, but it doesn’t have to be a disaster, either.”
Penelope felt forced to acknowledge that; she inclined her head. “I accept that’s true.”
The dance ended, and they watched the couples halt and, happy and relaxed, converse. Through the shifting throng, Penelope glimpsed Lady Carisbrook standing with several other ladies on the opposite side of the room. “I notice your wife is no longer wearing the emeralds.”
Lord Carisbrook sighed. “No. Can’t say I blame her, and in fact, after the initial shock wore off, she accepted the necessity and has said no more about it.” His lordship glanced at Penelope. “Actually, my dear, I would value your opinion. I’m thinking of asking Bridge to remove the crystals, melt down the gold, and fashion some piece more appropriate for Livia to wear now.”
Penelope arched her brows. “That would be a nice touch—especially if you asked Bridge to fashion something unique.”
Lord Carisbrook nodded. “Indeed, indeed! An excellent idea.”
Penelope hesitated; there remained one issue that, in her mind, she still hadn’t resolved. Not to her own satisfaction. After weighing her words, she ventured, “My esoteric interests have led me to become something of a student of human nature, so I hope you will excuse my asking whether Lady Carisbrook had some deeper reason for her apparently irrational yet clearly powerful antipathy toward Cara?”