A Midsummer Bride (27 page)

Harriet plastered a smile on her face as she entered the ballroom. The faces that stared back were not nearly as friendly. She had a job to do though, and she would do it. Someone in the candlelit ballroom was a traitor. But who?

The ballroom itself had been transformed into the likeness of a faerie glen. In honor of the solstice, the chandeliers above them remained unlit, but were decorated with branches and flowers instead. The only light came from along the walls, with numerous lit lanterns.

Thornton walked up to her in a royal-blue coat of glistening superfine. He said not a word, and nothing could be discerned from his taciturn demeanor. He was the same Lord Thornton she had met only a few weeks before. Solemn. Strong. Handsome.

“It is time,” he whispered.

She nodded in response. She knew what to do. She nervously stood by one of the lanterns, waiting for the signal while trying to appear casual. When the musicians began the first notes for the third set, she blew out the lantern, as did Penelope to hers, and the servants to theirs, casting the ballroom into sudden darkness.

A woman screamed. Men shouted. But Harriet was scanning the room for the familiar glow. She saw it for a moment, a flash then gone, then back again. It was moving.

“Over here!” she cried and ran toward the light. She knocked into someone, throwing them to the floor but kept going, keeping her eyes on the glow.

“Where?” shouted Marchford.

“Here!” said Harriet, and without a thought, tackled the person attached to that glow. She landed hard on top of him and was rewarded with a foul curse. “I have him!” She was struck hard and fell back with a cry.

“I got him!” Thornton roared. “Dinna move or I shall rip yer arm clean off.”

“Lights!” called Marchford.

The servants ran in with candles and Harriet turned to face the thief.

“Mr. Neville!”

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Neville. “Unhand me at once!”

Thornton dragged him to his feet, holding his arm twisted painfully behind his back.

“Mr. Neville.” Marchford’s face was stormy. “You took the book. Explain yourself. Now!”

“I did no such thing. I only wanted to protect the book,” defended Neville.

“Now I know where the leak was coming from in the Foreign Office. It was you!” accused Marchford.

“I say, that is quite an accusation,” said Sir Antony. “Can you prove it?”

“Certainly,” said Marchford. “Mr. Neville fell prey to a trap. I put a particular book out as bait, suggesting that it was a book used by spies, and Mr. Neville took it. The evidence of this is in his glowing clothes. Miss Redgrave, perhaps you can best explain the history of this.”

“Yes, of course,” said Harriet, slightly flustered by being put in the center of attention. “The study of the luminescent properties of phosphorus started with Hennig Brand, who, in his attempt to create the philosopher’s stone, used putrefied urine to create—”

“Not that much history,” whispered Penelope.

“I beg your pardon,” amended Harriet. “I did experiments with stuff that glows in the dark. I left some of the substance on the table and the book, so that anyone who tried to take it would glow in the dark too.”

“If you would please douse the lights,” said Marchford.

The lights were removed as requested and the entire gathering did a collective gasp as Mr. Neville’s gloves began to glow. With a very ungentlemanly curse, Neville bolted, followed by Marchford, Thornton, and several footmen. He might possibly have gotten away had Harriet not been in the way to trip him, sending him sprawling to the floor. Finally, years of finding ways to stand her ground against her older brothers paid off.

“You can take me, but you’ll never get us all! England will fall. Napoleon will rule, not your madman king!” shouted Neville as he was dragged out of the room by two large footmen.

The lights were brought back into the ballroom and people began to talk in the most animated manner about what had just occurred.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Marchford. “I am pleased to announce that you need not fear anymore, for the traitor has been apprehended,” said Marchford. “Neville set the fire to create a diversion so he could steal what he believed to be a sensitive document.”

“And now that the culprit has been apprehended,” added Thornton, “we can share wi’ ye all the verra great service Miss Redgrave has done for us. It was only through her expertise in alchemy that this dangerous spy was apprehended. I am sure ye will all wish to thank her for her invaluable service as I do now.”

Emotion swelled in Harriet and brought tears to her eyes. She stared at Thornton though her vision swam. In a few sentences he had turned her from social pariah to national hero. She blinked again with a wide smile.

A slow smile graced his face in return.

“We will now search Mr. Neville’s room for the list of people who have been providing him aid,” said Penelope. “If he has deceived you in his capacity as an agent for the Foreign Office, please see us now or you will be considered as much a traitor as he.”

Priscilla Crawley let out a terrified squeak.

Harriet exchanged a glance with Penelope. Clearly, Penelope thought there were more people involved and now they both suspected who.

“Please do continue to dance,” entreated Thornton and signaled the musicians to play. Marchford, Thornton, Harriet, and Penelope, retreated to the library.

“Mr. Neville a spy. I would not have guessed.” Penelope shook her head.

“Nor would I,” said Thornton. “I have seen him kill his own kind in the line of duty. Why would he do that?”

“To prevent any spy from being captured alive. They know too much,” said Marchford. “I appreciate everyone’s help catching this traitor, but we have more business to attend to.”

With a knock, the Crawley family was escorted into the room by the same burly footmen who had dealt with Neville. They were invited, forcefully, into the library to discuss the situation.

Harriet knew it was wrong to triumph at anyone’s expense, but she could still hear all of the cruel comments Priscilla had made and could not help but feel a bit pleased at her current difficulty. Miss Crawley, however, would not be defeated so easily and sat defiant next to her mother on the settee.

“Tell us about your involvement with Mr. Neville,” demanded Marchford.

“She had nothing to do with it,” defended General Crawley.

“Mr. Neville was a sly one. He almost convinced me into conspiring with him,” said Penelope in an understanding voice. “Naturally, since he was a government agent, you would have believed him.”

“He said I was doing it for England!” cried Priscilla. “He said I was doing it for you!” She pointed at Thornton.

“For me? In what way?” asked Thornton.

“I gave the papers to you,” said Priscilla.

Everyone turned to Thornton. “What papers?”

“The papers you wanted. The notes Papa took at the meetings. I took them and put them under your mattress.”

“General Crawley.” Marchford’s tone was deadly. “Perhaps you would like to explain why you were taking notes regarding our meetings after it was expressly forbidden.”

General Crawley turned ashen. “Mr. Neville requested it. Said it was my duty to King and country. I never intended anyone to see those notes.”

“Miss Crawley,” said Thornton. “Let me understand this. Mr. Neville asked ye to take yer father’s notes and put them under my mattress?”

“He said it was the right thing to do!” she defended.

“And then d’Argon was paid to take the notes and send them to spies in London,” said Marchford, his voice cold.

“I did not know that.” Priscilla was pale.

“Now, Miss Crawley,” said Thornton. “Tell me about yer involvement in the fire.”

Priscilla’s eyes grew large but she shook her head. “I was not involved in the fire.”

“I remember ye told the guests that Harriet’s laboratory was to blame,” said Thornton.

“I thought it was!”

“But the fact that Harriet was working on experiments in the castle ruins was not publicly known. Who told ye?”

Priscilla jumped up. “I do not know why you are questioning me. Everyone knows Miss Redgrave is to blame.”

“The fire was set from the outside,” said Harriet. She stood to face her accuser. “It was you. Admit it.”

“I certainly did not. You have no proof of any of this. You are speaking a dreadful slander against me.”

Harriet kept her emotions in check and considered the problem logically. “I would imagine it would be difficult to pour lamp oil down the wall without leaving any trace. I warrant if I analyze the bottom of your skirt from the dress you wore that night, we would find traces of lamp oil where your skirts brushed against the wall.”

Marchford gave a short nod. “Impressive deduction, Miss Redgrave. Let us send for the gown.”

“No!” Priscilla burst into tears. “Neville said I needed to help him because the stuff she had was dangerous. I only meant to burn down her building, not the entire castle. I am so sorry.” She buried her head into her mother’s shoulder. Both women were crying.

“I would guess Neville had already doused the area with lamp oil so as to make sure the keep did catch fire,” said Marchford. “He needed someone else to set the blaze so he could steal the book. It does not change the significant material damage to both Miss Redgrave and Lord Thornton that you have caused.”

“She did not mean any harm,” said General Crawley in a voice much quieter than normal.

“There is also the matter of aiding and abetting the enemy,” added Marchford.

Priscilla began to cry louder.

Marchford looked to Thornton, and Thornton looked to Harriet. They wanted to know what she wanted to do. It was a perfect moment for revenge. Priscilla had destroyed all her equipment, all her work, and had been horrid to her. To see her handed over to the magistrate would be sweet justice.

“Miss Crawley,” Harriet asked, “I would like to know why you took such an instant dislike to me.”

“Because you were different,” she snuffed. It was all the explanation Harriet was going to get. She was different from the other ladies.

She turned to Thornton to tell him to send for the magistrate. Surely there was room in the pit for another prisoner. Instead, Thornton’s words of acceptance floated back to her. Everyone, even people one did not like, were part of the same body. God made people different but loved them all. Perhaps Priscilla was a painful rear end, but she was still part of the body. If Harriet could belong, then so could Priscilla.

“I do not believe we should be judged by our worst days, but by our best,” said Harriet, turning back to Priscilla with a small smile.

Priscilla stopped crying a moment and looked up at her, hiccupping.

“You were tricked regarding the true nature of Mr. Neville, as were we all,” continued Harriet.

“Why are you being nice to me?” whispered Priscilla.

Harriet shrugged. “You made a mistake. I make mistakes all the time, so I know what it’s like.”

“I was beastly to you,” said Priscilla softly. “I am sorry.”

“I forgive you.” The weight of anger and bitterness fell from Harriet’s shoulders and she breathed deep and free.

“There are few people who could show such grace,” praised Penelope. “Forgive me for ever wanting to change you, Harriet. You have employed your time in developing qualities that are much more important than anything I was attempting to teach.”

“Aye,” said Thornton, stepping forward. “But there is still the matter of the cost of the damage done.” He leveled General Crawley a piercing glare. “I believe the amount of the damage should roughly equal the amount of the debt owed.”

“Yes, yes quite,” said Crawley in a shaky voice. “I shall contact my attorney.”

“Nay, my solicitor shall draw up the papers,” said Thornton with a small smile.

Marchford gave some more directions and the Crawley family sought their rooms for the night. Tomorrow they would leave.

The music was still playing and the guests were continuing to dance at the ball. “I believe I shall ask you to dance, Miss Rose,” said Marchford.

Penelope smiled. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

They all walked out of the library, and Thornton offered his arm to Harriet. “Thank ye. Well done.”

“You as well,” praised Harriet. “I hope this helps to relieve some of the financial burden.”

Thornton gave her a smile, bright and true. “Aye, it does, lassie. Thanks to ye. Now all that is left is to claim a dance.”

Harriet accepted and she walked into the ballroom on the arm of Lord Thornton. Her knight. Her Duncan. This time when she passed, people gave her small smiles and a friendly gaze. It was better. Much better.

Duncan bowed as the music began to play and held out his hand. They would dance. She smiled, for although she was clumsy with many things, she was a good dancer. And so was he. They danced together and all the troubles of the past week faded away. All the malicious glares, all the snide comments, all the awkward moments slid into nothingness, and all that was left was him and her and the dance.

Harriet flowed with the music, glided and twirled. Duncan never spoke a word, but his touch was gentle, at times a caress. She could not say how he danced differently than any other man, but the emotion was expressed in his touch.

The dance ended too soon and reality slipped back into her consciousness. They were in the middle of the dance floor, but Duncan did not walk her back to the side. She looked up at him, expectant, but he said nothing, his eyes glittering in the candlelight.

He took her hands in his. “Good evening, Miss Harriet.”

“Good evening.” She glanced around the ballroom; people were staring. Even the musicians had paused before beginning the next set, waiting to see what they would do.

“Tonight is a night of revelations,” said Duncan, and he reached out to hold her hands in his. “We spoke before of how the Lord makes each one of us different for a purpose. Ye have certainly showed how important yer gifts were in helping us apprehend a dangerous traitor. Perhaps our respective gifts could complement each other, to help each other, love, and support each other. I am a better man wi’ ye than wi’out. I had no idea what I was missing in my life until I met ye. I know ye plan to return to America, and I would never wish to separate ye from yer family, but I must ask ye.” He gently squeezed her hands and dropped to one knee. “Harriet Redgrave, would ye consent to be my wife?”