Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (5 page)

Poor Valentine, trying so hard to elude the ensnaring net of his lies. “Yes, certainly. Such deep intrigue confuses me. Poor Simon has simply taken one look at me and succumbed. Much like Jeremy, except he can still speak. Being older, he probably knows Step Three, as well, don’t you think? Or should I say, shouldn’t you have thought of that before starting this? I mean, as it would appear your hoyden of a sister is irresistible when playing the lady.” Then she grinned at him.

Val sighed theatrically. “I never should have mentioned Jeremy. I think we need Trixie here, but she refuses to leave London, saying you’ve more than enough guardians here without dragging her away from her fun.”

“Fun? Jessica told me she was off to the countryside to attend a funeral.”

“Two funerals, actually. As I said, our grandmother didn’t want to be dragged away from her fun. And, no, I’m not going to explain that. It’s enough you were there to see—”

Kate held up one hand. “Ah-ah, I thought we weren’t going to talk about that. Although it was all rather jolly, except, of course, for that poor old fellow. You should have seen Gideon’s face, he was that appalled. I laughed so hard I ended up with a bout of the hiccups.”

“Dead men in our grandmother’s bed amuse you. Wonderful. May I now critique your first attempt at behaving like a lady?”

“No, I don’t think so. Was Simon in the army?”

“Now why the devil would you ask that?”

Kate shrugged, and sank a little lower on her spine. “I don’t know. Trixie trained us all to be observant. He eats like a man used to consuming his meals in a rush, and he walks with some command to his step. It seemed a logical conclusion.”

“Logical, but not completely correct. He served in the Royal Navy. Had his own command as a matter of fact. But his brother...died last year, so now he’s the marquis.”

Kate sat up a bit straighter. Aha, now she’d stumbled onto something. “You hesitated before you said
died.
Why?”

“Once in a while, I wish you wouldn’t be so awake on all suits. The man hanged himself. Nobody speaks of it, just as nobody speaks of that right cross of yours or the Redgrave family scandals, but everyone knows of it. Holbrook Ravenbill wasn’t in debt, a victim of some new heartbreak—any of the usual reasons for putting a period to one’s own existence, not as far as anyone knows. If he left behind any sort of explanation, Simon’s the only one who knows it, and no, I didn’t ask him. And neither will you.”

“Your confidence in me is sadly lacking, brother mine. I would never be so rude as to ask a grieving brother such a thing.”
But he’ll tell me, eventually.
“Now I suppose you’ll want me to change my clothes yet again before dinner, which is a sad waste of time.”

“Nobody said being a lady is easy,” Valentine quipped as she got to her feet.

“Nobody said it was logical, either. Just be grateful I have all those gowns upstairs that never got to see the light of day in London. But for now, I’m off to the west wing. Liam told me his grandfather told him old houses were sometimes built with hidden staircases that could lead all the way from the attics to secret rooms in the cellars, but with no other openings along the way. Odd, isn’t it? Since
our
grandfather ordered the construction of the west wing, I’ve been thinking perhaps Liam’s grandfather might know something about that construction, that it isn’t just a tale he told to entertain Liam.”

“You think our grandfather and father had everyone climb up to the attics just to descend four floors into the cellars? In a parade of masks and cloaks, I’d suppose, dragging a braying goat behind them?”

Kate pulled a face. “I didn’t say I was positive. And I would think only the journals could be hidden in such a place. I doubt they performed their silly rites in a cellar. But now that I don’t have to ask you and your friend Simon to move every heavy bed and couch pressed up against a wall, I thought I’d give it try.”

“There’s dedicated, Kate, and then there’s— Bloody hell, I don’t know what to call it.”

She put a finger to her chin. “You know, just because couches and beds and chests are where they are now doesn’t mean they were there all those years ago. A secret panel could still be hidden behind one of them, somewhere. Seventy rooms. Quite a task. But perhaps we should—”

Valentine held up both his hands. “No. No, no, no. I think you and Liam’s grandfather might have stumbled onto something here. Go. Crawl around the attics of the west wing, tapping your little hammer. Really. Enjoy yourself.”

“And what are you going to do, that you can’t join me?”

“I, um, I haven’t yet looked at today’s post. I may have letters to answer.”

“What a hum. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse?” Kate rolled her eyes. “You know, Val, it’s just as Trixie says, a real conundrum that women don’t rule the world. And, also according to Trixie, that’s only because we don’t have—”

But Val was already stalking out of the room, his ears looking faintly red.

“Power!” she called after him. “Only because women don’t have power.” And then she ended quietly, “Or some other word beginning with
P...
”

CHAPTER THREE

S
IMON
BELIEVED
THE
Earl of Saltwood could comfortably fit any three rooms at Singleton Place inside his dining room and still seat a dozen diners. Not that Ravenbill was small; it was a fine estate. But everything about Redgrave Manor was immense. Most families suffered setbacks over the years, the centuries. The Redgraves seemed to have never taken a backward step.

That meant either unbelievable good luck, or a long line of crafty, intelligent men and women who always chose the right side, the correct moment; when to act, and when to retreat. So how, if what he believed was true, did at least the last two earls reconcile all this bounty with plotting to overthrow the monarchy? It made no sense.

Unless...

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said conversationally as the servants passed around yet another course, “but I spent a bit of time earlier with your obliging butler, familiarizing myself with your beautiful home. Quite an interesting and certainly extensive lineup of portraits in your gallery. From the change in dress, I’d have to think the Redgrave line goes back a considerable distance.”

“Ages, yes,” Kate said from her seat across the wide table. The four of them were gathered at one end of the immense table, with Valentine at the foot and young Adam Collier sitting beside Kate, alternately stuffing his face and attempting discreet peeks at her bosom, fetchingly outlined by her lightly golden silk gown. The puppy. And did he actually believe that pale paste he’d rubbed onto his face really succeeded in covering his spots? Simon sent up silent thanks he was no longer eighteen.

Valentine took up his fork. “True, Kate. Ages. All the way back to the Stuarts, the first time they held the throne, even before the first earl wrangled himself the title. We carry a few drops of Stuart blood, actually, although you’d have to apply to Gideon for the particulars, as the study of our family tree became lost on me by the time our tutor had got to the fifth branch.”

“Descended from kings. And you’re not interested?”

“Good Lord, Simon, who’s even to say what side of the blanket our supposed Stuart was born on in the first place?” Valentine looked to Kate. “And
you
did not hear me say that.”

“Oh, no, definitely not. But there is that small portrait of the first King Charles in the long gallery, remember? The one who had his head lopped off?”

Valentine widened his eyes in what seemed to be real shock. “I really should have paid more attention, shouldn’t I?”

“I would have. No choice, really,” Adam said, speaking for the first time in long minutes, an interlude he’d clearly felt had been better spent in seeing how many peas he could line up on his knife and then slide into his mouth without dropping any. “My father had me study the monarchies of every last country in creation. Boring stuff mostly, but I haven’t been able to boost it out of my head now it’s there. Charles the first was followed by that Cromwell fellow, and then his son, before the Stuarts came roaring back for a second go at things with Charles the second, but when Queen Anne died, everything went to our first George of the House of Hanover, thanks to a few drops of Stuart blood in him somewhere. You know, Valentine, like you Redgraves.”

“Yes, of course. My brother should be sitting on the throne right now. Idiot.”

“I think the Redgraves are smarter than that, Adam,” Lady Katherine said, patting the boy’s arm. “As I said, kings can be beheaded. Kingship was a messy business back then.”

“They do sillier things than that! Did you know when the Stuarts got back on the throne they dug up Cromwell the first and chopped off his head because the first Charles had his chopped off? I mean, Cromwell had already been dead for dog’s years, but it was a show of power, m’father said. Very important in kingships, showing off your power. Chopping off heads, poisonings, perhaps even drowning royal dukes in barrels of Malmsey wine, whatever that is. Then there were those poor boys in the Tower. Nobody knows who did that, not for certain. You have to be careful most times in not letting what you did get followed back to you, you see, or at least not be the only one who might be blamed. Now, consider Julius Caesar, for one. He was Roman, you know, and—”

“Eat your peas, Adam,” Valentine instructed wearily, and turned back to Simon. “You’d never think our new relative has been tossed out of every school his late father managed to get him into, would you?”

“Only five, my lord, not all of them. One burned down—but it wasn’t me who did it, I swear. Mine was only a small fire, nothing quite so spectacular. I still got the boot, though. Picky things, deans,” Adam grumbled, plucking an errant pea out of his lacy neck cloth. “The only reason I’m not in school now, your lordship, is I’m in mourning. Both my dear parents died in a coach accident, you know. The oil from the outside lanterns caught fire when the coach overturned, and they were both burned up. I’m devastated.”

“Yes,” Simon said blandly as Kate hid her smile behind her serviette. “Yes, I can see that. Allow me to offer my condolences, Mr. Collier.”

“Well, it was nearly two months ago, and Gideon tells me I’m rich as Croesus now, save for the fact he’s my guardian for another three years, and now that he’s married my sister, I’m family, as well. I’d rather be in London, but it’s as his lordship says, one can’t always have everything one wants, at least not while he’s in charge of me, and he lives only for the day I reach my majority. But he likes me. I’m certain of it. Everybody likes me.”

This was all said with such artlessness, such nonchalance—and probably a dearth of brainpower backing his words—Simon felt himself unable to reply.

Kate, however, wasn’t so reticent.

“That’s because you’re such a lovable looby,” she said, nudging Adam with her elbow.

The boy carefully patted at his hair, dark and stiff with pomade, so that it probably wouldn’t have moved by a single strand in a gale. “Thank you, Kate.”

Lady Katherine rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome—looby.”

“Yes, well, Kate, shall we have our dessert in the main drawing room?” Valentine broke in. “We’ll join you and Adam there in an hour.”

Kate agreed, and the men all rose as she departed the room, smiling over her shoulder at Simon, who nodded his acknowledgment of her favor. He fought the urge to follow her.

“You’re going to have brandy and cigars now, aren’t you? I’d rather stay here with you and the marquis. My father and his friends used to step outside after dinner and piss off the balcony into the garden. I think they held contests. Do you do that, too?”

“We most assuredly do not,” Valentine said coldly. “Or, as my grandmother the dowager countess would say, were you raised by wolves? Now go harass Kate while the grown-ups among us talk.”

Simon watched the boy mince off in his red-heeled evening shoes and sat down once more. “That’s Turner Collier’s son? Was the man sure? I’d worry my wife had played me false if I ended up with a popinjay like Adam.”

“Jessica says he’s his mother’s child, down to his ridiculous shoe tops. Jess, um, she left home when he was only twelve, leaving behind, she vows, a sweet, bashful child who sang songs with her. Gideon ended up with the guardianship of him a few months ago, thanks to Collier’s ridiculous will that named the Earl of Saltwood, but didn’t happen to mention which one. You know Collier was involved with the Society in my father’s time, correct? From what we’ve been learning, he was also his closest friend and associate. Wait. Don’t answer yet.”

The baize door opened and Dearborn himself carried in a tray holding a crystal decanter and two snifters. He then employed the small key he’d carried with him to unlock a drawer in the immense sideboard. He extracted a rosewood humidor, smartly snapping back the lid and offering the selection inside first to his lordship’s guest, and then to Valentine, who took two, pocketing one for later, probably.

The butler then deftly managed the ceremony of assisting in the tip-cutting and lighting of the cigars for each man by way of a short candle also on the tray, bowed and retired from the dining room.

“He loves doing that,” Valentine commented as he puffed on the cigar and then smiled in satisfaction. “Ah, wonderful. Count on Gideon to have nothing but the best. I’m more of a cheroot man myself, but cigars take longer, leaving us more time to talk before we’ll be expected to rejoin the children.”

“Children? Your sister made her come-out last season. She’s hardly a child.”

“True,” Valentine said, putting a finger to his lips before quietly pushing back his chair. “Follow me. Quietly.”

Simon did as he was told, casting only one regretful look at the decanter of brandy as they headed for one of the many sets of French doors leading onto some sort of balcony. If the Earl of Saltwood’s good taste in cigars was matched by his selection of spirits, he knew he was missing a treat.

“What’s all this about?” he asked as Valentine gently closed the door behind him.

“Notice we’re on a balcony, Simon. It runs the length of the dining hall, with the only entrances leading from that room. If Adam’s right, I finally realize why the balcony may have been constructed this way, but I chose it because we’re a good twenty-five feet above the gardens and Kate won’t be able to hear us.”

“She’d eavesdrop? Why would she do that?”

Valentine leaned against the stone balustrade. “Because I’m an idiot, but she’s not. Within a minute of your going off with Dearborn, she asked me if you’d been a soldier. Because, if you can believe this, you eat quickly and efficiently, and walk with command in your step, or some such nonsense. It has been less than a full day and I already have the headache, watching her pretend—badly, I might add—watching you pretend. If I didn’t know you’re acting on orders, I’d actually believe you saw her and were instantly struck. But it isn’t going to work. Sooner or later, Kate is going to see through the thing from both sides. Hang Gideon and Perceval for sorry plotters and me for thinking I could boost Kate through some hoops of my own as long as we were putting on this charade. We have to call it off.”

“I thought I was doing fairly well,” Simon said, damned if he’d call it off, not if Valentine was going to use the failure to send him on his way. He was here to find those journals and anything else he could find. Besides, pretending an interest in Lady Katherine wasn’t the hardship he’d imagined. Not by a long chalk.

“Simon, if you did any better I’d have to pop you in
your
nose. But that’s probably because you haven’t met Kate yet. Not really.”

Simon smiled. “She’s a bit of her own person, isn’t she? She’s beautiful, entrancing, really, and quite unexpected.”

Valentine looked at the glowing tip of his cigar. “Go easy, my friend.”

“I’m doing my best, but even a brother should be able to recognize her unique beauty. That said, don’t think I was unaware that she was—how should I say this? Putting me on? Yes, that’s it. Crude, but correct. And all while somehow already knowing I was doing the same thing. Hell, Val, I’d compliment her, and her eyes would fill with laughter, all through dinner. So how do we fix this?”

“I’d say by you taking yourself back to London, but I doubt you’d go without a fight.”

Simon’s jaw tightened, and he wondered if the reaction was all because of his hunt for the journals, and had nothing to do with learning to know the intriguing Kate better. “And you’d be correct.”

“Which leaves us with telling her the truth, although Gideon won’t ever see it that way. Against all common sense, he still harbors the hope we can keep Kate away from the worst of this. Are we agreed?”

“Agreed,” Simon said, reluctantly pitching the cigar over the balustrade.

“Oh, too bad. Dearborn doles out Gideon’s prize cigars very carefully to younger sons,” Valentine said, peering down into the gardens. “I was going to ask Kate to join us in the dining room. She quite likes the smell of a good cigar.” Then he laughed and reached into his pocket. “Here—take this one, and I’ll go find her, bring her back here.”

“Don’t you think you should first tell me what she knows. I don’t want to say anything to shock her.”

“Redgraves don’t shock easily. Besides, what she hasn’t yet been told she’s probably conveniently overheard.”

“And Adam? What does he know?”

“I’d have to say he doesn’t even know how to find his own backside with both hands, but the truth is he was a font of information for us, even though he has no idea what his father was preparing him for, which was membership in that damned Society. That business about learning all the monarchs? Mostly, what his father was attempting to teach him was about assassinations, governments being overthrown, the
how
of the thing. What worked in the past, what failed. That, and giving him an education that went well beyond the usual visit to the local tavern on your sixteenth birthday and the trip upstairs with one of the barmaids as the entire taproom cheered you on your way. Can you imagine? Lessons in debauchery.”

“I noticed him ogling your sister overtop his peas,” Simon said, suddenly not finding the boy’s antics so amusing.

“Yes, we’d thought about having all the younger housemaids fitted with chastity belts. Either that, or arming them with pikes, so they could fend him off. But we’ve found he’s more boasting and wishful thinking than anything else. Collier had him keep a yearly journal of his conquests. Gideon said it read mostly as very bad fiction, which isn’t to say he hasn’t had his successes, willing ladies who like the feel of heavy coins in their palms.”

Simon rubbed a hand across his mouth. “And that’s how you—”

“Adam mentioned the lessons, the journal, to Jessica, and we quickly learned the boy also had a copy of his father’s journal for last year, given to him to use as a reference or some such thing. Dates, the participants, the, um, the
actions taken.
As I said, Adam’s entries were mostly that of an overactive imagination, but Collier’s journal was something else entirely.”

“So I’ve heard. The members’ names all listed somewhere in it, although in some sort of code. It’s how you discovered Sir Charles and the late Mr. Urban, correct? Again, I’d like to see one.”
One in particular...