Кейси Майклс - What a Lady Needs

“Well, that at least sounds like you. Always quick to lend assistance. And, as I always remind you, one day you’re going to drop yourself into trouble, being so helpful.”

“I just think it would be a good thing for you to get in a little...practice before you descend on London next spring. Because you are going back, Kate, and at twenty-one some will already say you’re getting a bit too long in the tooth for a debutante. Gideon’s already working on securing another voucher for Almacks, although I doubt even he can manage that miracle.”

“Right up there with the loaves and fishes, I gather? Bunch of high-in-the-instep matrons who think they’re more important than they are. But tough nuts to crack, hmm? Maybe Gideon ought to petition the heavens for help.”

Val pointed a finger at her. “See? That’s what you do. Young ladies don’t say things like that. What you need is practice, and me for a mentor, God help me, because I’m the only one available except for Trixie, and we can all see how that turned out the first time. So practice on the marquis while he’s here, and I’ll guide you.”

“That depends, Val. Can he join in our treasure hunt? We can call it that, at least. Gideon said there may also be a treasure of sorts in the cave when we find it, remember? A golden rose with a diamond in it as big as a pigeon’s egg, perhaps?”

Valentine’s eyes went wide. “Who in bloody blazes told you about the rose?”

Really, men were so simple. “Nobody. I just happened to hear something about it somehow. You’ve only just confirmed it for me, thank you. And gentlemen don’t say bloody in front of ladies, even sisters. I’m not the only one in need of a mentor, it seems.”

“Never mind that. Eavesdropping, were you?”

She jammed her fists onto her hips. “How else am I supposed to learn anything? Of course I eavesdrop. The members of the Society all wore a golden rose in their cravats, to show they’d brought a virgin into bloom, correct? And, somewhere on the estate, there’s possibly a very large golden rose, with a diamond in it as big as a pigeon’s egg. Maybe. Perhaps. Or at least Gideon was thinking that way early on, when he suspected someone was poking about the grounds last winter. You know, lights moving through the trees, that cave-in in one of the greenhouses that exposed some bit of collapsed cave or tunnel?”

“Do...do you have any idea what you’re saying? About the rose?”

Kate lowered her head, this time truly close to tears. “Yes, I think our father was an exceedingly bad man who did exceedingly bad things, much if not all of it done here, at Redgrave Manor. I can’t ask Trixie, because that might hurt her. That her son was evil. Our father was evil. I’ve stared and stared at his portrait in the long gallery since I returned from London. He was very handsome, like some sort of blond god. I don’t see evil, except perhaps in his eyes. They’re cold, aren’t they, and mocking. He’s got one of the golden roses stuck in his cravat. That couldn’t have made our mother happy, could it? No wonder she shot him.”

Valentine pinched at the bridge of his nose. “God, I’m done. I came here to protect you, and you already know more than you should.”

“I know you’re all after a murderer, who probably killed Jessica’s father and some of the other older members of the Society who possibly didn’t agree with the new leader. Trixie said that right in front of me in London. She was half in her cups, poor thing, but she couldn’t help it. After all, her lover had just—”

“I know what happened that night,” her brother said, looking pained.

“I’m sorry. I’m simply trying to help, that’s all. I should be allowed to help. Tell me about the murderer. Who all did he murder? What other bad things has the Society done?”

Valentine shook himself back to attention. “Now we’re more than done. You learned about the journals, and Gideon decided you could search for them, certain you wouldn’t find them, that Trixie had found them years ago and burned them all. And then he had second thoughts. Concentrate on the journals, Kate. Finding them would be an immense help.”

“So you won’t tell me about the murderer. Why? It’s all of a piece, isn’t it? The Society, the journals, the murderer?”

“We believe the murderer, as you call him, is the new leader of the Society. Murder is not their true purpose but only, as I said, a weeding out of the members from our father’s time who might not agree with what’s happening now. Tell you what, Kate. Find the journals, and I’ll tell you the rest. All you have to do is promise me you won’t open them, and that in the meantime you won’t badger me incessantly to know what nobody wants to tell you. That’s a fair bargain, isn’t it?”

“Is there a lot I don’t know?”

“God, I sincerely hope so.”

Kate considered this for a moment. Either way, she’d learn the whole of it, eventually. But if it made Valentine happy? “All right. We’ll shake on it.”

“We bloody well will not. Women don’t shake hands to seal a bargain. If they do anything, they offer their hand and allow us gentlemen to bow over it.”

“So stuffy, Val. All right, pretend I just did that, assuming you agree to the rest. We’ll let this marquis of yours join in the treasure hunt, unaware of what we’re really looking for. If we don’t, and you insist on being with me as I search in case I find something—which I’m determined to do—he’ll have nothing to do all the day long otherwise but twiddle his thumbs. That and have his ears banged on by Adam, which isn’t always as jolly as it sounds.”

“And,” Valentine said, apparently feeling he had the advantage now, “you’ll behave like a lady in the man’s presence. Seriously, Kate, much as we all adore you, you need the practice.”

She could give in, but never completely. It wasn’t in her nature. “I’ll try, that’s the best I can say. However, if he should be so impressed with my ladylike behavior that he attempts whatever step three is, be aware, Val, I’ll kick him hard in the fork. I really will, and then I’ll blame you.”

“I need a drink. Go get dressed.”

Kate held out one side of her dressing gown and sank into a deep curtsy. “La, sir, you’re so very masterful. I shall of course rush off now, begging your leave, to do your bidding.”

“Two. Make that two drinks...”

CHAPTER TWO

SIMON RAVENBILL, LATE of his majesty’s navy and now marquis of Singleton, both thanks to the unexpected death of his older brother the previous year, reined in his curricle at the crest of a hill overlooking Redgrave Manor.

This is where it all began, he thought, looking down at the enormous fieldstone country mansion that had probably stood there for well over a century, with each new earl adding his own touches by way of wings that seemed to jut out willy-nilly on three sides. Spread around the main grounds were at least a dozen more stone buildings of varying sizes, as if the main house had pupped and the hodgepodge of structures was the result of several strong litters.

There were sheep milling about, their purpose to keep the acres of grass neatly gnawed, but the animals were kept away from the buildings and gardens by means of a ha-ha, a gracefully meandering but rather formidable sunken fieldstone wall. Simon eyed the height of the wall from the distance, took in the several high stone pillars fitted with heavy iron gates that kept the ha-ha from completely circling the grounds. The road leading to the gates took the same deep dip and rise of the ha-ha trench, rather like a moat.

He decided sheep weren’t the only unwanted visitors that could be kept at arm’s length.

The ha-ha’s wide top was encrusted with bits of colorful broken glass and sat level with the scythed lawns nearest the buildings. The wall must be a dozen feet high, seemingly grown up out of the twenty-foot-wide ditch that then gently sloped back up to the level of the rest of the property. A sheep could amble in and out of the grassy ditch easily enough, but only on the same side on which it had entered. The same could be said for any man hoping for entry anyplace other than one of the gates, unless he brought his own ladder with him, and a stout pair of leather gloves.