If Wishes Were Earls (31 page)

Mereworth whirled around. “Miss Hathaway! How did you—”

Again, the polite smile. “Truly? You have to ask, my lord?” Harriet shook her head. “Apparently you were under the impression that Chaunce was the only Hathaway capable of picking a lock.” She took up a position in a corner opposite Roxley’s. “Who do you think taught him?”

“What are you doing?” Roxley demanded.

“Saving you,” she replied.

“Ah, there you are, my dear Tiberius!” Lady Eleanor came down the steps and into the foyer, taking up a post in another corner. “Shall I ring Shingleton for tea?”

Before anyone could say anything, Lady Oriel made her entrance. “No bother, I’ve already done so.” She spared a glance at Mereworth. “You, sir, are an imposter!” She continued to walk across the foyer, taking the sole remaining corner. “Tiberius, this man is no artist. Why, he blushed when I posed for him. One might think he’d never seen the female form before.” She went to slip off her dressing gown, but suddenly all the players were in accordance.

“No!” came the cry in unison.

Lady Oriel shrugged. “No one appreciates art these days.”

Mereworth, now surrounded, circled like a tiger, watching all of them and ready to lash out at the least provocation. “What is this?”

“
Miss Darby’s Daring Dilemma
,” Harriet replied. When the baron made no reply, she smiled. “No? Haven’t read it? How unfortunate. For then you would see that you are defeated and that it would be best for you to put down that pistol.”

“I have come for the diamonds,” he told her, pistol extended toward her. “And I will have them.”

“Dear me,” Lady Oriel protested. Mereworth moved to face her. “But I don’t recall that there were diamonds in that book. I think you have this confused with
Miss Darby and the Curse of the Pharaoh’s Diamond
.”

Harriet edged forward, as did Lady Eleanor.

Mereworth’s eyes narrowed and Roxley didn’t think he’d ever seen a man look so desperate. As if he were willing to do anything.

And what that might be, Roxley didn’t want to know. So he stepped forward as well into whatever mad plan Harriet had up her sleeve.

As if in answer, two of the footmen appeared at stairs, another from the old wing and a third at the new wing. Then, despite their promises to stay well out of this business, Batty and Moss came through the front door.

Harriet smiled in triumph. “Terrible dilemma, Lord Mereworth. Surrounded on all sides.” She stepped forward.

“Yes, my dear, so it seems,” he said. “But I have the advantage. I have the pistol.”

Roxley didn’t like this, not in the least. He could see it all unfolding before his eyes. There was one shot in Mereworth’s pistol, and after that, he was outnumbered.

But it was the devil’s own choice—if he shot, who would he choose?

“You are still ruined, Roxley. Ruined beyond repair.” Mereworth chuckled. “But give me what I want, and I will see what I can do.”

Taking a furtive glance at Miss Murray’s example, Roxley had no desire to see anyone else die over a bag full of diamonds. He took another step forward. “Then take these and leave,” he told the man, holding them out.

“But dear Tiberius, what are you thinking?” Lady Oriel protested. “You cannot mean to—” A sharp glance from all the rest of the parties stopped her words. Especially when Lord Mereworth pointed the gun at her.

“You have something to say, Lady Oriel?” he demanded.

The lady looked at the pistol and shook her head slightly. “Just what I said earlier: Beauty would never be painted wearing diamonds,” she told him. “So very gauche.” She sniffed and tucked her dainty nose in the air.

“Give them to me,” Mereworth said, moving the pistol to point at Harriet. “Give them to me now or I shall shoot her.”

Harriet looked at him, and Roxley could hear her as clearly as if she had spoken.
Trust me, Roxley. Trust me.

And she was right. Mereworth had only one way out, and that was with a loaded pistol. The moment he fired, he’d be overtaken. Even as mad as the fellow was, Roxley had no doubt that like a rat off a sinking frigate, Mereworth knew his escape depended on his having a loaded pistol.

Roxley smiled and then overturned the bag. As the last bit of sun peeked through the second story windows above, the light hit the diamonds as they tumbled free, illuminating their brilliance before they scattered across the floor.

Mereworth’s face turned to rage as he scrambled to gather up his long-sought treasure. “Stay back,” he threatened. “Stay back.”

Then came a chilling voice at the top of the stairs. “Bah! You are such a fool. Can you not hear them?”

Madame Sybille stood framed in the door, disheveled and angry. Her scornful gaze swept over the glittering array and she scoffed. “Paste,” she repeated. “They have tricked you with worthless bits of glass. They rattle like trash.”

Mereworth looked at the handful he held and then back up at Roxley. “Paste?”

“Afraid so, my good man,” Roxley told him, and he gave a nod to the footmen and they began to rush forward.

Mereworth roared as he rose, his arm lashing out, the pistol aimed at Harriet. Roxley had only a second to react, so he threw himself in front of her.

But where there should have been a retort and anguished cries, there was naught but a click of the hammer as it struck the plate.

The plate missing its flint.

“I knew it!” Harriet cried out triumphantly, even as Roxley looked down at his chest, still half expecting to find a hole in his waistcoat.

But not even Miss Darby could have foretold what happened next.

“
Batârd!
” Sybille cried. “Lying, ruinous fiend. You took everything from me.” She wrenched one of the pikes off the wall and came rushing forward with it.

And didn’t stop until it was buried in Mereworth’s chest.

Chapter 14

But a life of love and happiness? That is worth all manner of struggles and effort to discover. Of this, I am certain.

Prince Sanjit to Miss Darby

from Miss Darby’s Terrible Temptation

The next day

A
s twilight drew upon the surrounding countryside, Harriet wandered across the wide lawn of Marshom Court toward the lake that could be seen from what the Marshoms referred to as the “new wing.”

New
being a relative term in the long history of Marshom Court.

The past twenty-four hours had been almost too much to bear. After Madame Sybille had vented her revenge on Lord Mereworth, she’d been subdued and locked away. The magistrate had arrived with reinforcements, brought by the maid who’d been sent for help.

A messenger had been sent to Lord Howers, and Harriet knew that Mr. Hotchkin and Chaunce were due in the morning. All that was missing were Lady Essex and Miss Manx, and Harriet wouldn’t put it past the intrepid spinster to arrive, if only so she didn’t have to hear all the reports from Lord Poggs via his gossipy
maman
.

But it was Roxley who concerned Harriet the most. The murder of Miss Murray and the death of Lord Mereworth had left him shaken. While he’d handled all the particulars, his haunted expression tore at Harriet’s heart. Especially when Miss Murray’s body was taken away.

“I wouldn’t have wished that on her,” he’d said to no one in particular as the coroner carried the still form out amid her sister’s mad cries of grief as the magistrate escorted her to her own fate.

Harriet agreed. She had wished a thousand things heaped down on Miss Murray, but killed in spite? No, never that.

Lady Eleanor had taken over shortly after, seeing to it that everyone was given rooms and that suppers were sent up.

Even today, it hadn’t been until tea that nearly everyone had gathered. The conversations had been strained and carefully polite.

Worst of all, Roxley had been missing.

Awash in her own anguish and tired of sitting in her room, Harriet had fled the house, the calm waters of the lake offering a solace in contrast to the unanswered questions that plagued her.

Did Roxley still love her?

As she got down to the water’s edge, she tossed a stone out as far as she could throw it, and watched the ripples spread out in wide circles.

“On occasion, our lake does grant wishes,” came a soft whisper.

Harriet whirled around. “Lady Oriel, I didn’t see you there.”

The woman sitting on the bench nearby shook her head. “No, no, dear, I’m Lady Ophelia. Have we been introduced?”

“Um. Well. Yes. I’m Harriet Hathaway.”

“Are you related to Sir George?” But before Harriet could reply, the lady smiled. “But of course you are. You have the look of a Hathaway. Such a lovely family. So very lively.”

Harriet nodded in agreement. She was quite certain this Lady Ophelia was wearing the exact same gown Lady Oriel had been wearing at tea not two hours earlier—right down to the earbobs and scuffed-up slippers. “I thought Lady Ophelia was away,” she said, glancing up at the house to see if there was a carriage or perhaps luggage waiting to be carried inside.

The lady smiled wanly. “I was in a sense. They tell people that I’m away to spare my feelings.” The woman smoothed her skirts and sighed. “I know I am not quite right, and that Tiberius and Essex and Eleanor have kept me here for my own good, but oh, how I long to travel. Oriel has her arts, but when it is my turn, I imagine myself in London again. Mayhap even Paris.” She looked up at the house as well. “Thank goodness my dear Batty comes to call often. His stories do renew me.”

Harriet nodded at this, finally understanding what Lady Eleanor and Sir Bartholomew had been avoiding at tea when she’d asked about Lady Ophelia. And why Lady Essex always spoke of her younger sister in such guarded tones.

She’d just assumed Ophelia and Oriel were twins like Lady Essex and Eleanor, but now she saw the truth. They were one and the same. She glanced again at the lady and smiled.

“Ah, so you do understand,” Lady Ophelia said warmly. “And you don’t mind?”

Harriet shook her head. Who was she to judge? The Hathaways were often looked upon a bit askance for their own eccentricities. Good heavens, her parents’ infamous courtship should have put them beyond the bounds of proper society for several generations.

Had, in some circles.

“Tell me of London, my dear,” Lady Ophelia asked, inviting her to sit down on the bench beside her. “You were there for the Season, weren’t you?”

Harriet nodded, and proceeded to tell the lady all about Tabitha and Daphne’s romances, of the various bits of gossip that she thought Lady Ophelia might enjoy, and of the sights that she loved most—the marbles at the British Museum, the Tower—as well as the house party at Owle Park.

“Every house party should have a decent scandal,” the lady observed as Harriet related the tale of Daphne’s runaway marriage.

“Indeed,” Harriet agreed, avoiding any mention of her own improprieties. Truly, was it a scandal if no one knew about it? She stole a glance at the house, where the sun was setting behind it, illuminating the butter-colored stone in cozy light.

Yet, someone else did know about that night. And he was ever so close, and yet, he seemed so very far away.

She couldn’t help feeling in her heart of hearts that something was still wrong. Was it her mistake with Fieldgate? Would the scandal of that night be too much for Roxley to overcome? Not to mention the melee of gossip that would come out of not one, but two murders . . .

“Whatever is it, child?” Lady Ophelia asked, reaching over and laying her hand atop Harriet’s. “What troubles you?”

“I . . . that is . . .”

“Ah, Tiberius,” she said with a knowing smile. “Troublesome scamp.”

Troublesome rake would be more like it
, Harriet mused, stealing another glance at the house.

“Miss Hathaway—” Lady Ophelia began.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Whatever did that awful man mean when he said that Tiberius is ruined?”

“You heard that?”

“Yes, I fear so.” She glanced up at Harriet. “I know Oriel is most distressed.”

Harriet pursed her lips. Whatever was she to say? It hardly seemed her place.

“Oh, come now, you can tell me, since he was threatening us all.”

“Roxley is all but ruined—apparently at Lord Mereworth’s hand.”

The lady’s eyes narrowed. “Ruined?” She shook her head. “Why that is ridiculous. A Marshom is never ruined. Oh, a bit extended, perhaps, but ruined? No.”

Harriet hesitated, in the face of the lady’s conviction, but she was too practical to lie to her. “I fear it is true—there were some investments gone wrong, then Mr. Ludwick, Roxley’s man of business, stole a large sum of the earl’s money and has disappeared.”

She left off the part about the debts and vowels Mr. Murray held. Perhaps they were as fictional as his daughter.

At least Harriet hoped so.

“You must help him, my dear,” Lady Ophelia said, getting up.

Harriet rose as well. “I’m not sure I can,” she admitted. “I haven’t any—”

The lady stopped her with an imperious wave of her hand. “You love him—I can see that—and that will suffice.” She leaned over and picked up two stones, handing one to Harriet, nodding at her to follow suit as she tossed hers into the lake. “You have everything you need to save Roxley,” she assured Harriet as they watched the ripples spread and collide. “Go to him.”

“Your sisters have said much the same thing,” Harriet replied. “But I can’t see how it is true. I’m no heiress—”

Lady Ophelia perked up at the word, but then having taken in all that Harriet had said, the lady’s hopes flagged a bit. “Pity that,” she remarked, then she straightened. “When you arrived, you had Pug, did you not?”

“Pug?” Harriet could hardly see how a battered ceramic dog could save the day.

“Yes. I swear you had his traveling box. The one with Davinia’s shrine. You were carrying it when you came into the house. I remember that distinctly, for it is always wonderful to have Pug home. Where he belongs, mind you, but don’t tell Essex I said that.”

“No, my lady,” Harriet told her. “And yes, we did bring Pug and his box. Lady Eleanor insisted.”

The lady looped her arm with Harriet’s. “Excellent. It is time Tiberius gained his true inheritance. And all you must do is to keep Pug close. He’ll guide the way.”

“K
eep Pug close,” Harriet muttered to herself as she made her way down a long corridor. What utter nonsense, she mused as she looked down at the box with its battered figurine and some old bits and bobs and a pair of beloved miniatures.

Beloved
.

Harriet paused. The word lodged in her heart.
Beloved
. That, she understood. All too well. As impractical and foolish as it was to cling to, she supposed it was all she had.

Her love for Roxley.

She looked up and realized she was at the turn Lady Ophelia had described:
Take a left at the gallery and continue to the end of the hall. You’ll find Roxley in the large chamber on the left.

Yet all the rooms she passed appeared to be bedchambers.

Lady Ophelia hadn’t sent her up to Roxley’s . . .

Harriet came to an abrupt halt before an open door and looked in.

Why, yes, she had.

“Harry!” Roxley called out, bounding up from a chair near a fireplace. “What are you doing—” He caught her by the arm and tugged her into the room.

His room
. His bedchamber, to be exact. The large, ornately carved bed gave it away rather quickly.

That wicked old girl had sent Harriet to the earl’s bedchamber!

Harriet didn’t know whether to chide Lady Ophelia like Lady Essex might, or hug her.

For here she was finally and truly alone with Roxley.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he closed the door. “My aunts would be horrified if they found you . . . us . . .”

“It was your aunt who sent me,” Harriet confessed, standing in the middle of the room and doing her best not to look at the bed. “Your Aunt Ophelia.”

“Ophelia?” Roxley took a step back. “Ah, so you’ve met Ophelia.”

“I did indeed,” she chided. “Good heavens, Roxley, you could have told me about them. Oriel and Ophelia.”

“I thought you’d ride for Scotland once you realized—”

“Just how mad your family is?” She laughed. “You obviously haven’t met my Cousin Verbena. Besides, after all the time you’ve spent at the Pottage, you think a little thing like your aunt’s . . . aunt’s . . .”

“Eccentricities?” he suggested.

“Good heavens, Roxley,” Harriet exclaimed, moving farther into the room and setting Pug’s box down on the chair. “So, she’s a bit mad.”

“A bit?”

She turned around and laughed. “So she’s wrong in the upper story, but you’ve met my family.”

“I rather like your family.” His quietly said words tugged at her.

“And I adore yours,” she said, feeling a bit stubborn for no reason whatsoever. “Your Aunt Essex is a dear. Lady Eleanor, a surprising delight. And your Aunt Oriel or Ophelia, or whoever she desires to be, is a treasure.”

Roxley barked a laugh. “Truly, you adore Aunt Essex?”

Harriet nodded. “Ever since the day she informed me that proper ladies do not play with suits of armor.”

“Her scolding endured her to you?” His stance was one of disbelief.

Harriet’s eyes misted a bit. “Yes,” she said ever so passionately. “She was the first person I ever met who thought I might be a proper lady.”

And there it was. Being a Hathaway had always meant being able to run the fastest, shoot the straightest, ride over the hedges like the devil was nipping at your heels.

But no one had ever thought of Harriet as proper. Or possibly proper.

Until Lady Essex.

And then, ever so many years later, there was Roxley. He’d looked at her one day with a glance that said,
I know
, and he’d stolen her heart.

But right now, the way he was looking at her, as if she was tearing him in half, didn’t bode well. “Roxley, what is it?”

“Harry, I’m all rolled up.”

She shrugged. “Yes, I know that.”

“But it’s over—there is nothing I can do. With Mereworth dead, there is nothing left to be done. Whatever he’s managed can’t be undone, not now.” Roxley shook his head.
“You must see what that means.”

“But certainly Mr. Murray can be made to understand—”

“Murray is dead as well, Harry.”

Dead?
Her face must have shown the shock of the news. “How?”

“Murdered.”

A terrible thought came into her head. “They don’t think you—”

“No, no, nothing like that. Besides, we were in Bath—”

“Mereworth?”

He nodded. “Likely. He had something over Murray. Something terrible. But now there will be no way of proving it. Not that it matters. His estate will demand the debts be paid immediately.” He walked over to a small table beside his chair and picked up his drink, taking a swallow.

She went over and took the glass from his hands and set it down. “Roxley, I can help.”