Dreamspinner (33 page)

“His Grace has a big to do planned tonight,” confided Mrs. Fleetwood. “He’s ordered everyone to dinner.”

“Everyone?”

“Even Miss Chantal and little Rose.” Clutching the hairbrush, she leaned forward. “Not that he hasn’t asked ‘em before, but that Miss Chantal is usually too snooty to come out o’ her tower.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t feel welcome.”

“Humph. Lordin’ it over the rest of the family, when she’s only a—” Catching Juliet’s frown in the mirror, Mrs. Fleetwood hastily patted the coiffure. “There now. You’ll do the duke proud, you will.”

She was carefully dusting a bit of face powder over the scrape on Juliet’s cheek when the door opened and
Kent strode inside the dressing room. Mrs. Fleetwood bobbed a curtsy and scurried out.

Juliet rose. Tall and breathtakingly handsome in black evening garb and white cravat, her husband walked toward her. He was smiling, though the aura of concentration still hovered about him. She wondered if he could tell how fast he made her heart beat.

Taking her hands, he kissed her. “You’ve a sparkle in your eyes again. And you look ravishing.”

From beneath her lashes, she cast a cunning glance at him. “Then perhaps later you’ll ravish me.

Chuckling, he swiveled her toward the mirror. Reflected in the rippled glass, their images complemented each other, he so tall and dark, she so slender and radiant.

“I’ve brought a trinket to brighten your gown,” he said.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw him draw something from his pocket, something that shimmered like a living entity in the candlelight. Reaching in front of her, he placed a necklace around her, the gems cold against her skin.

As he fastened the clasp, the surprise of his gift and the magnificence of the jewels dazzled Juliet into silence. A thick rope of emeralds hung from her neck. Above her breasts lay a splendid peacock worked in more emeralds, its tail fan winking with rubies and diamonds and sapphires. From its ruby beak dangled an emerald the size of a dove’s egg.

Now she knew why he’d asked her to wear the simple white gown—to set off this superb piece of jewelry. But where could he have gotten the money to purchase it? Was it a peace offering?

She met his eyes in the mirror. “It’s stunning,” she breathed, touching the glossy emeralds.

“Alas, it doesn’t shine as brightly as your eyes,” Kent said, running his fingertips along her cheek. “Nevertheless it’s in honor of the heir to Radcliffe.”

Her throat tightened. Turning her head, she pressed a kiss into his callused palm. “And what if the baby’s a girl?”

He smiled. “An heiress will do nicely.”

“Is the piece an heirloom?”

“It’s become one. My father acquired it in India. In Hindustani, it’s called
Khwabon ke raja.”

The exotic words entranced her. “What does that mean?”

A breeze made the candle flame dip and gutter; shadows danced across his face. In the mirror his eyes appeared demon dark, as hard and glittering as the gemstones circling her neck.

“Dreamspinner.”

Chapter 16

“Dreamspinner!” Juliet whirled to face Kent. “But... that’s what my father used to call me when I was a little girl.”

Kent cocked a black eyebrow. “So you’ve said.”

“He was referring to this necklace? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was another legacy of the feud. He and my father once had a dispute over which man had the right to own Dreamspinner.”

The jewels suddenly hung heavy and cold from her neck. Stroking the smooth emerald drop, she sank onto the dressing table stool. “A dispute. Did they come to blows?”

He stood unmoving, watching her. “Yes.”

“William won,” she guessed.

A certain controlled emotion guarded Kent. “And Emmett never forgave him for the humiliation.”

“Papa must have had a reason for thinking the jewels belonged to him.”

“Shortly before the family fortune trickled away, my father purchased Dreamspinner from a maharaja, a
prince of Kashmir. Emmett Carleton claimed the neck ice had been promised to him. My father denied all knowledge of that fact.”

“I see.” So the necklace was tangible evidence of their animosity. Juliet wondered which man had told the truth, William or her father. Her throat closed around a lump of sadness. She would likely never have the chance to ask Papa for his version of the story. “Kent, why did you keep the necklace all these years?
It must be worth a small fortune. Couldn’t you have sold it and used the money for Radcliffe?”

“My father made me promise never to let Dreamspinner leave the family. And I do keep my vows.” He hauled her against his lean length. “Including my vow to make my wife happy. I’m sorry I left for Windsor in such a rage.”

“I’m sorry I kept such a secret from you.”

She sensed a sudden tension in him. His hands skimmed her bare arms; his lips brushed hers. The display of affection weakened her knees, yet Juliet was uneasy. He had something on his mind, something that put distance between them.

He must be shaken by the accident, she told herself. He claimed to be pleased about the child. Perhaps he feared to admit outright how much he cared for his wife...

From far off drifted the boom of the dinner gong. “Shall we?” Kent said, offering his arm.

Juliet took his smooth sleeve. Strolling beside him, she said, “I understand Chantal and Rose will be joining us.”

Through the gloom of the corridor, he glanced at her, his lashes half lowered. “I thought it high time the family supped together.”

The odd edge to his voice discouraged further inquiry. Later, when they were alone, she’d dig below the surface of his reserve and unearth whatever he was hiding.

In silence they made their way to the drawing room. Everyone was gathered near the massive marble chimney piece. A silver candelabra on a rosewood table augmented the failing light of dusk.

Augusta perched stiffly next to Gordon on the settee. Punjab lolled at her brown hem. Directly opposite, Rose sipped a glass of sherry. Chantal wore a flowing fuchsia gown as regal as the Queen Anne chair she occupied. From beside an indolent Henry, Maud appeared to be directing the conversation with the grand gestures of an orchestra conductor.

She squinted toward the doorway. “Hullo!” she said, waving gaily. “Juliet, I was just telling everyone about the time we sneaked a bottle of champagne into school to celebrate your seventeenth birthday.”

As she and Kent walked closer, Juliet smiled. “Please, Maud. You’ll ruin my dignified image.”

Maud giggled. “Oh, fiddle. Don’t play the stuffy duchess with me.”

Suddenly Juliet noticed the others staring at her. The amusement withered inside her, bewilderment blooming in its stead. Augusta looked furious, Gordon startled, Rose awestruck, Henry worried.

Chantal sprang up, a tall purple iris in the elegant gown. “Dreamspinner,” she said, the word hissing like an oath. She made a dramatic sweep of her hand, her sleeve swaying. “Kent, how could you let her wear that... that
thing?”

His forearm tightened beneath Juliet’s fingers. “I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice cool as steel. “I see no reason why my duchess shouldn’t wear the Radcliffe jewels.”

Augusta snorted. “They’re too extravagant for a simple family dinner.”

“I’ve apprised you before,” Gordon said, blinking fretfully at Kent. “Uncle William wouldn’t have abided a Carleton donning Dreamspinner.”

“Yes,” said Rose, her brown eyes brimming with resentment as she set aside her glass. “Father meant for Dreamspinner to be worn only by a
true
Deverell.”

The blaze of passion shocked Juliet; Rose had more of a fixation on her heritage than Juliet had thought.

Kent spread his warm palm against her back. “My wife
is
a true Deverell. Now, I want all of you to forget the feud. Is that clear?”

Juliet detected a faint tension in his fingers. She glanced up to find him studying the dinner party. His keen scrutiny disturbed her more than the ill feelings weighting the air.

He had
expected
controversy to erupt over Dreamspinner. Dismay dashed her hopes. Now she knew the cause of his preoccupied mood. Yet why did he deliberately wish to arouse hostility?

Rose looked stricken; her eyes were liquid with unshed tears as she twisted the lace fichu draped around her shoulders. “I only meant we shouldn’t forget to honor Father’s wishes... Just because he’s gone...” She clapped a hand over her mouth to contain a choking sob.

‘I understand how you feel, Rose,” Kent said, his voice gentle. “Yet the queen ordered an end to the quarrel. We mustn’t cling to Father’s hatreds, especially now, with a baby on the way.”

“Hear, hear,” said Henry, elevating his sherry glass. “May I propose a toast to the imminent heir?”

Only he and Maud, Juliet noted in distress, sipped their wine.

Maud jumped up to peer myopically at Juliet. “My goodness. It’s truly a remarkable piece.”

“It’s indecent,” Augusta sniffed. “An English lady wearing a peacock designed for a heathen princess! It’s no wonder William squandered a fortune, if he’d waste the last of the Deverell money on such barbaric nonsense.”

“Never mind the money,” snapped Chantal. Her fine features all fiery emotion, she swooped toward Kent. “It’s the curse that alarms me. Have you forgotten so quickly that Dreamspinner caused Emily’s death?”

Juliet swayed. Only the bracing strength of Kent’s hand held her upright. She touched the necklace, the gemstones feeling warm, uncannily alive.

“Dinner,” intoned Heetwood from the doorway, “is served.”

Kent pressed insistently against her back. “Shall we?”

She planted her feet firm. “First you’ll tell me what this is all about. Emily’s death? A curse? Surely you don’t expect me to eat while my head is spinning from all these secrets.”

“We can discuss it at the dinner table.”

Despite his curt words, his pitch black eyes held a haunted quality, the watchfulness of a cornered wild animal. Defiance fled from her. With sudden searing instinct Juliet sensed that he somehow needed her support.

Taking his stiff arm, she walked with him into the vast dining room. The others followed, Punjab trotting behind, his claws clicking on the stone floor. Twin candelabra cast shadows over the faded tapestries on the walls. Kent seated her at one end of the long, linen draped table as the others filed into their chairs, Maud and Henry and Chantal on one side, Gordon and Augusta and Rose on the other. It was the first time, Juliet noted dimly, that the entire family had eaten together.

She rued the social convention that dictated her husband sit at the opposite end of the dinner table. She wanted him beside her, wanted to ferret out the hidden emotions seething inside him.

Fleetwood began to serve an asparagus soup. Clad in robe and turban, Ravi moved around the table, pouring white wine into crystal glasses.

Juliet shifted uneasily. “The necklace, Kent. You said we’d speak of the necklace.”

“What Chantal is referring to,” he said in a conversational tone, “is the tale of a curse on whoever possesses the necklace.”

Juliet’s fingers froze around her silver spoon. Was it only her fancy or did a feral gleam touch his eyes?

Maud gasped. “Egad! A real curse?”

Henry’s hand covered hers on the table. “Come now,” he scoffed to Kent. “Surely you aren’t going to dredge up
that
old fable.”

“It’s no fable.” Chantal leaned forward, the candle flames striking her cheekbones with gold. “Dreamspinner is bad luck. First William died of influenza, then Emily fell from the parapet.”

“Father’s death had nothing to do with the necklace,” Rose objected.

“Can you be so sure, young miss?” Chantal said. “The necklace can only bring more disaster to this family.”

“Poppycock,” snapped Augusta. “Although I
would
argue for selling the piece and putting the money to better use.”

“An unparalleled notion,” said Gordon, a soupspoon grasped awkwardly in his clawlike hand. “Yet the dowry is imminent.”

“I will not break my vow to Father,” Kent stated. “Understand this, all of you: Dreamspinner remains in the family. And Juliet’s money is her own.”

Shaken by the savage edge to his voice, Juliet forced down a swallow of creamy soup. “I should like to hear more about this curse,” she said. “How did such a story come about?”

“Ravi can tell you,” Rose offered. “He acted as Father’s agent in purchasing Dreamspinner.”

Everyone turned to look at Ravi, who stood silently in the shadows by a sideboard. At Kent’s slight nod, the servant stepped into the circle of candlelight.

“It is true,” he said.
“Khwabon ke raja
belonged to the maharani of Kashmir, favored wife to the maharaja Ranbir Singh. One day the maharani sat in a grove of oranges, in the gardens of the palace. A man crept past the guards, a man crazed from smoking the hookah. Wanting her jewels, he choked her to death with the necklace.”

A collective gasp swept the table. Juliet’s throat tightened under the weight of the emeralds. Prodded by a sense of unreality, she touched the peacock and tried to imagine the maharani’s breathless terror.

The servant held everyone spellbound, she noticed. Everyone but Kent, who pondered each person in turn. Again she wondered why he was so absorbed by their reactions.

“The thief was flayed alive,” Ravi went on in his musically foreign tone. “And the maharaja was so heartbroken over his beloved wife that he cursed the necklace. Whoever possessed it, he swore, would suffer the same sorrow.”

“William should never have purchased Dreamspinner,” Chantal said bitterly. “I warned him not to. Just look at the calamity it wreaked on our lives.”

Maud shivered. “How utterly frightening.”

“How utterly barbaric,” mocked Henry, twirling his wineglass.

“The Hindus are indeed a barbarian people in many ways.” Gordon reached up a knobby finger to adjust his spectacles. “The goddess Kali, for instance, is often depicted dancing with a necklace of human skulls, her tongue dripping blood—”

“For pity’s sake, Gordon! Do spare us another of your lectures.” Frowning, Augusta bent to feed Punjab a tidbit. “I, for one, don’t believe such superstitious blather as curses.”