Damsel in Disguise (46 page)

“Thank God,” Rastmoor heard his mother breathe in amazement from the corner where she hovered over a still inquisitive Penelope. “It wasn’t loaded!”

“No, but this one is,” a new voice said from the doorway.

Well, damn it to hell.
Lindley.
And he had a gun, which most likely really was loaded.

He also had a goose-egg-sized lump on the side of his head and a surly demeanor. This did not bode well.

Julia sat up, glad for Rastmoor’s nearness. Her eyes found Papa’s across the crowded storeroom, but she couldn’t quite read his feelings. That meant he wasn’t exactly sure what Lindley was up to. Drat. She was getting rather fatigued of all the worrisome excitement.

“I suppose you can kill him if you want to,” Lindley said to D’Archaud in a tone far more commanding than his usual. “But I’d really much rather turn him over to some people I know who have excellent ways to extract information. I’m sure Mr. Fitzgelder still holds a few secrets my friends would be very interested in hearing.”

Oh, dear. She knew what that meant. Fitzgelder would be tortured into revealing all he knew about Papa . . . and the previous Lord Rastmoor.

“No!” she said, scrambling up to her feet. “Please, let him go. Make him leave the country or whatever you wish, but please don’t turn him over to your, er, friends!”

Lindley raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, Miss St. Clement. I can appreciate your compassionate soul, but this is taking mercy just a bit too far, don’t you think? This man just tried to kill you.”

Rastmoor, for some reason, agreed. “Julia, I think in this case, we should let Lindley do his duty and take Fitzgelder to the proper authorities,” he said in his kindest tone.

She practically snarled at him. Didn’t he realize what this might do to him, to his family’s honor? She flashed her eyes emphatically, hoping he would understand. She decided to use the voice she’d use on a small—and very thickheaded—child. “But Anthony, dearest, think about it. They might be cruel toward your poor cousin. They will want him to tell them the things—
all the things
—he knows about this business with the spies.”

Ah, now he got it. “Yes, I see what you’re saying,” Rastmoor agreed and turned to Lindley. “Indeed, Lindley, this man is my cousin. You don’t think for my sake you could make an exception this time? The war’s over, after all. I doubt Fitzgelder can be much of a threat to the Crown at this point.”

But Lindley’s grim expression didn’t change. “Oh, he’s still a threat, unfortunately. But don’t think you need to worry, Miss St. Clement. My friends know all about your family. Rest assured, they are not our targets.”

“But what about Rastmoor’s . . .” she caught herself, but not in time.

“Rastmoor’s
what
, Miss St. Clement?”

Rastmoor sighed, and she realized he was going to tell. Drat, but she’d left him little choice, had she? She tried to stop him.

“I meant Rastmoor’s poor cousin, of course,” she said quickly. “He’s had a difficult life already, and we wouldn’t want—”

“No, Julia,” Rastmoor interrupted her, laying his hand on her arm. “No more lies. We’ve had too many already.”

She was going to speak again, try to make him see reason, but he boldly went on.

“Fitzgelder claims he has proof that my father was involved in funding the French efforts against our king,” Rastmoor said.

He looked so secure, so sure of himself as he spoke those damning words. She hated to hear him say it, but Julia had to admit it was most attractive. Imagine, a man of wealth and position who was willing to risk his social standing just for the sake of honesty and truth. My, but how appealing. In fact, she found she rather wished they were alone together here in this storeroom just now. Although of course the irony was that if they were alone here, the very trigger for her sudden craving would not exist.

Then again, as long as Rastmoor was present, she was fairly certain that would be trigger enough.

Lindley, however, didn’t seem nearly as smitten with Rastmoor for his confession. He frowned at Rastmoor then turned back to Fitzgelder. “What the hell are you talking about? Damn it, Fitzgelder, is there no end to your lies?”

“It’s no lie,” Fitzgelder said, his words muffled and slightly slurred by the way his face was pressed into the floor as D’Archaud sat on him, knife still in hand. “The proof is there—it’s in the locket.”

“Which locket?”

“The one that got switched, you lobcock,” Fitzgelder said. D’Archaud eased up on him just enough to make speech easier. “And you know where it is, don’t you?”

“As if you even deserve an answer to that.”

“You do know! Ah, I see. You already found the locket and are determined to protect dear old Rastmoor. That’s how it works for you damn gentlemen, isn’t it? Justice only when it suits you.”

“You’d better hope justice isn’t what I give you, Fitzgelder! By God, you need to be praying we
do
find that missing locket,” Lindley said.

“Is this
really
all about that silly locket?” Penelope suddenly chirped from her corner. “The one Fitzy asked me to give him?”

“Yes, Penelope,” Rastmoor replied. “That’s the one. You caused quite a lot of trouble, you know. That locket was fairly important, and now someone switched it.”

Julia almost felt sorry for the girl; she seemed so calm amid this disaster. Once she finally figured out exactly what it was she’d done, she was going to feel terribly low. Rastmoor was not likely to go easy on her about it, either.

“Yes, I know,” she said, obviously still clueless.

“No, you don’t, Penelope. There was something in that locket.”

“Yes, I know,” she repeated.

“And someone switched it, so we don’t know where it is!” Rastmoor explained, becoming exasperated.

“Yes, I know.”

“No, you don’t, Penelope!” he nearly shouted at her. “You don’t seem to know what you’ve done!”

“Yes, Anthony, I do,” she replied, sounding a bit snippy. “I know exactly what I’ve done. I switched the locket; therefore, I know where it is.”

“You
what
?” several disbelieving voices chimed together. Julia’s was not one of them. She was struck speechless.

“I switched the lockets,” Penelope explained carefully and slowly. “You don’t really think I was fool enough to be taken in by Fitzgelder’s ridiculous sweet talk, do you? I assumed that if he wanted that locket so badly, there must be something to it. So, I took the locket out of Mamma’s things—sorry, Mamma—and investigated.”

“And you found something inside it?” Lindley asked.

Penelope nodded. “I did. There is a note inside it. And more! If you turn the ring on the top just right, the back opens into the most unusual shape. Well, I knew better than to let Fitzgelder get his smutty hands on something like that. I simply gave him another. He’d never seen it, so he wouldn’t know.”

Rastmoor was shaking his head in disbelief. “Amazing. And you still have this locket?”

“Of course not,” Penelope said, to the great sighing and consternation of others. “It’s packed safely upstairs with Mamma’s things. I put the locket right back in her jewel case after I looked at it, and she brought that case with her.”

“It’s here? At Hartwood?” Rastmoor asked.

“Dashford can open the box!” Julia exclaimed.

“After I take a look at what’s inside that bloody locket,” Rastmoor amended.

Julia glanced at Papa. He was, understandably, smiling. “Well, D’Archaud,” he said to his friend with the knife. “It seems our lockets will be reunited at last.”

“Wait, did you just say, D’Archaud?” Penelope asked. “Is that man’s name D’Archaud?”

“Yes . . .” St. Clement replied, hesitant.

“Well, that’s the name on the note inside the locket. It says—” she said.

Julia cringed, and Rastmoor tried to interrupt her, but she rattled on anyway.

“—for Sophie D’Archaud with deepest love,” she recited. “And it’s signed, simply, Papa. I never knew what that meant.”

D’Archaud smiled through misty eyes. “I left that there for Sophie, in case something happened to me. I was in a bad way back then, fallen in with a bad crowd and down on my luck. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I met your father, Rastmoor, when I tried to rob him on the street.”

“You vomited on his boots, if the stories I’ve heard are true,” St. Clement said with a wry chuckle.

“Then fell in it,” D’Archaud replied, wincing. “Still, your father chose to help me. He got me sober and helped me escape the men I’d been forced to work for. To be safe, I left the locket with him. He promised he’d look after Sophie for me . . . in case of the worst.”

“Oh, that’s so very sweet,” Penelope said.

“Wait.” Lady Rastmoor disrupted their warm moment. She glanced from her daughter to her son and then on to D’Archaud. “You mean,
you
are the father of Sophie D’Archaud?”

“I am, and quite proud of the woman she grew into, I might add, despite the fact that she never seems to stay in one place very long.”

But this seemed to confuse Rastmoor’s mother. Slowly her hand rose to her lips, and her confusion turned into something resembling a smile. “Then he was not . . . he did not . . . Oh, but this is wonderful!”

“Mother?” Rastmoor asked. “Do you know this Sophie D’Archaud?”

“No,” she replied, nearly breaking into giggles. “I never even heard of her until I found that note in that locket after your father died. I was going through some of your father’s things and . . . Oh, but this is too wonderful!”

“Mother!” Penelope said, scandalized. “You did not think that note was from our father, did you? But then that would mean he had, er, that Sophie D’Archaud was . . . but Mamma, that wasn’t even Papa’s handwriting.”

“Well, what was I to believe? I found that note right there in his things, hidden in this strange locket I’d never seen. Your father was gone; I couldn’t very well ask him, could I? Then, when your stupid cousin there started bragging that he had information to damage our family, I just assumed it had something to do with that note.”

“Well, I suppose you were partially right about that,” Penelope allowed.

“Happily, I was mostly wrong,” Lady Rastmoor replied.

“Damn it, get off me!” Fitzgelder complained from his place on the floor. “You’re breaking my back.”

“Why don’t you let him up, D’Archaud,” Lindley said. “I think it’s time we find our host and catch him up on what’s transpired. If you’d be so kind as to allow us the use of your locket, Lady Rastmoor, I think we’d all be interested in seeing some treasure today.”

“Treasure?” Lady Rastmoor questioned.

“Ooo, that sounds exciting!” Penelope was practically bouncing.

“It’s quite an amazing story,” Lindley said. “You and Miss Rastmoor will be fascinated. D’Archaud, bring Fitzgelder along. This dreadful dampness down here is ruining my lines.”

And with that, the group began to file out of the little basement storeroom. Julia turned to follow her father, but Rastmoor grabbed her arm to hold her behind. She looked up to meet his eyes, smoldering with the same desire she felt inside for him.

“Come along, you two,” Papa said from the doorway.

“Sir, I’d like to request that I have a few moments alone with your daughter,” Rastmoor said. “There’s something I wish to discuss with her.”

Papa knew good and well Rastmoor’s intentions had little to do with discussion. Still, he smiled and gave Rastmoor a nod. “Very well, but two minutes and no more. She’s a lady, you know, son.”

“Indeed she is,” Rastmoor replied.

Oh, the male posturing was nauseating. “I’ll be fine, Papa,” she insisted. “Go on with the others. We’ll be along.”

Papa grunted. “Two minutes.”

At last he left them and followed the group. They were alone once again. So why on earth was she suddenly anxious? Honestly, these last few days had played havoc with her nerves.

“You’re trembling,” he said, moving closer to her. “Are you certain you’re not injured?” He touched the place at her neck where Fitzgelder’s knife nicked her.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, placing her hand over his. “I’m just happy it’s all over. Fitzgelder is apprehended, and that terrible family secret turned out to be nothing at all.”

“A happy ending for everyone, it would appear.”

“And for your mother, as well. How dreadful she must have felt all this time, thinking that your father, er . . .”

Rastmoor shook his head. “But she shouldn’t have worried. The man was devoted to her; he worshipped her. He was faithful to her until the day he died.”

She couldn’t help but smile. The sentiment was beautiful.

But then Rastmoor continued. “Just the way I’m going to be with my wife.”

She felt her smile vanish. Those words cut her worse than Fitzgelder ever could. So this was how it ended, with a polite discussion of the way things had to be. She knew he was doing the right thing, but a sudden panic took over her as she faced the reality of a future without him.