A Pressing Engagement (A Lady Darby Mystery) Read online

  I rarely saw Gage at a loss for words, but in this case, he seemed momentarily flummoxed. Even though he’d put on a gallant face, I’d known from the moment I climbed into the carriage with him to travel here that his meeting with his father had not gone well. I’d held my tongue, waiting for him to raise the subject, and when he didn’t, I decided it was better left unmentioned until he was ready to discuss it.

  I had not seen Lord Gage in nearly a fortnight, allowing Gage to deal with him as he thought best. But watching him struggle now to hide his embarrassment and disappointment, my fury on his behalf flared to life and my resolve not to interfere began to crumble.

  Fortunately, Lady Stratford was aware of some of our difficulties with Gage’s father, and leapt to his aid. “Auntie, stop interrogating our guest,” she chastised gently. “I’m quite certain Mr. Gage did not come here to be quizzed.” The look in her soft gray eyes turned shrewd. “In fact, if I’m not mistaken, they actually came here to question you.”

  I didn’t ask how she knew that, supposing our behavior spoke for itself. Why else would an inquiry agent and his notorious bride be paying them a call the day before their wedding? But I did smile, grateful to her for distracting her aunt.

  “Truly?” Lady Bearsden’s eyes lit with interest.

  “If you don’t mind.” One corner of Gage’s lip curled upward, telling me much of his normal calm self-assurance had returned.

  She sank back into her chair, clasping her hands together in her lap like a queen awaiting her subjects. “What would you like to know?”

  Gage’s eyes flicked toward mine. “We wondered if you were familiar with a Miss Collingwood. We’re not certain if she ever married. She lived here in Edinburgh at one time, but passed more than a decade ago.”

  Lady Bearsden pressed a finger along the side of her cheek in thought. “There was a Miss Lavinia Collingwood. She never wed. I think because no one could abide her brother.” She scoffed. “Such an odious creature. And I hear his son is no better.”

  Gage and I shared a look.

  “That would be her,” I replied.

  “Well, then, I’m not sure how much help I can be. Miss Collingwood mainly kept to herself. She wasn’t one for society. Lived in a large home near Holyrood, but as far as I know she rarely had visitors. Only that horrid brother.”

  Lady Bearsden prattled on, but I knew better than to interrupt. I’d learned that sometimes her most random comments relayed the most useful information.

  “As I recall she did do a great deal of charity work though. Widows and orphans. Fallen women. Any number of causes. In fact, I believe her companion was a woman plucked from one of those charities.”

  Gage sat a bit straighter. “The companion? Was she employed by Miss Collingwood for long?”

  “Oh, yes. For as long as I can recall,” Lady Bearsden assured us.

  “Do you by chance remember her name?”

  “I doubt it.” She shook her head. “My memory may be good, but not for such trivial details. That girl mainly hovered in the background, ready to assist. Though, I do believe Miss Collingwood was quite fond of her. She went with Miss Collingwood everywhere, even though she was quite the dowdy thing.” Lady Bearsden tipped her head back. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. Dowdy Dottie, that’s how I used to think of her. Dowdy Dottie McKay.” She brightened. “Well, there you have it. I did remember.”

  “I never doubted you for a minute,” Gage told her, pouring on the charm as he thanked her for her assistance. I grinned, knowing she had all but forgotten me.

  “I fear she must have been an incorrigible flirt when she made her debut,” Lady Stratford declared, shaking her head fondly at her aunt.

  I had to agree. “You are coming tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked, turning more fully toward her. Lady Stratford was still dressed in the half-mourning color of lavender, which complimented her rosy complexion and pale blond beauty. Proper decorum dictated she not attend, but as she’d already broken society’s rigid rules for me once, I hoped she would do so again.

  She offered me a warm smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  ***

  3:00 P.M.

  Though it seemed a bit foolish to place all of our hopes on Miss Collingwood’s companion, she was the only connection we had to finding out why the torc had not been donated to the Society of Antiquaries as Miss Collingwood had told her family, and what had happened to it upon her death. So Gage struck out to see if he could locate this Miss Dottie McKay, if she was even still alive, while I paid my visit to Marlowe House, as planned.

  Caroline’s eyes gleamed with mischief as her butler showed me up to the music room, where she sat alone on a fainting couch positioned before the window. She set her book aside to greet me, watching over my shoulder as the servant departed.

  “I told Locke to bring you here when you arrived,” she told me in a voice hushed with excitement. “Knowing mother and her rules, I figured it was best if she not know you were here.”

  I nodded, scarcely able to believe my luck. “Yes. Good thinking.”

  Holding my hand, Caroline crept toward the door in her satin slippers and peered around the frame. “We’ll use the servants’ stairs,” she turned to tell me, practically giddy with anticipation. I couldn’t help but wonder what life had been like growing up with such a strict mother and only two older brothers for playmates. I’d had Alana; our brother, Trevor; any number of cousins; and even the Dalmays for a time, to rollick across the countryside with and sneak about on secret missions.

  I’d known it before, but now I was certain. Michael Dalmay would be good for Caroline, and she for him. His playfulness would keep her cheerful and unaffected, and her gentleness would help him heal from his recent losses.

  Suddenly, Caroline’s eyes widened. “Oh, did you wish to have tea? I forgot to ask.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her sincerity. “No. I’m well. Thank you.”

  She grinned back and turned to peek through the doorway. Then with a tug of my hand, we dashed across the hall and through a door disguised by the wood paneling. The servants’ staircase was dim, quiet, and close, much like the back stairs at Cromarty House and probably every other town house in Edinburgh. Caroline released my hand, and I followed her up two flights of the steep stairs to the door leading to the hall outside their bedchambers.

  She gazed through the door and then swiftly stepped back. Her anxious movements made my heart jump.

  “Damien,” she whispered, pressing her back against the wall.

  I inched closer, trying to peer through the crack of the open door. Damien stood in the middle of the hall, staring down at an open book in his hands. He appeared to have been walking somewhere when whatever he was reading had arrested his attention. There was no way of knowing how long he might stand that way. I only hoped he didn’t decide to settle into the window seat a few steps away.

  After several tense moments, Damien’s feet suddenly began to move forward again, slowly carrying him across the hall and down the stairs, out of sight.

  Caroline exhaled in relief. “That was close.”

  I felt the almost uncontrollable urge to giggle at how absurd all of this was. Sneaking about Marlowe House, simply so that I could view her wedding present without being seen by her mother. As it was, I was forced to bite my lip while Caroline looked around the door one more time. I didn’t wish to ruin her fun.

  “Come on,” she murmured, gesturing me forward.

  I followed her example, tiptoeing across the hall, only to dash into her room as a door farther down the hall opened revealing a maid shuffling backward under the weight of a pile of rumpled linen.

  Caroline sank back against her closed door, breathing fast. “No wonder you enjoy helping Mr. Gage with his inquiries.” Her eyes sparkled. “This is quite fun.”

  “Yes, well, it’s not always so h
armless,” I replied, not wanting her to get the wrong idea, or involve herself in something dangerous simply for a lark.

  The light in her eyes dimmed as she clearly recalled the same thing I did. One of those inquiries had resulted in the death of Michael’s brother. I suddenly wished I’d said something different, something to keep that joy twinkling in her eyes, but it was too late to take back the words.

  She stepped away from the door, brushing her hands down over her pristine white skirts. “Here it is.”

  My gaze followed her outstretched hand toward the window where a lady’s writing desk held pride of place. I moved closer to examine the finely wrought brass ormolu mounts and pulls, and the sabots on the legs. Unable to resist, I ran my fingers over the parquetry of the smooth wood, feeling the subtle changes in texture.

  “It’s exquisite,” I told Caroline, for truly it was. And of French origin, if I was not mistaken. Which raised even more questions. Who was Bonnie Brock’s mother that she had owned such a beautiful piece of furniture? How had it come into her possession? And why had it been taken from her and her children?

  Upon seeing the desk, I was quite honestly surprised Bonnie Brock hadn’t planned to steal the entire piece of furniture. It would have fetched a handsome price had he not wished to keep it for himself. What made the journal that was supposed to be stored inside so much more valuable? Had he been honest when he told us it was the sentimental importance of that book that mattered, or was there something else contained inside? Something far more costly.

  Either way, I knew Gage was right. We could not hand it over without examining its contents.

  But first, I had to find it. And that meant contriving a way to be alone with the desk.

  I’d considered simply telling Caroline the truth, but that might require a lengthy explanation. After which, I couldn’t be guaranteed she would agree with me, or that she wouldn’t insist on consulting Michael or her mother before allowing me to take the journal. All of that would take far more time than I could afford to spare. So secrecy seemed the best course of action, no matter how it stung my conscience.

  While Caroline was distracted, I reached up to unclasp the chain of my necklace, allowing it to drop into the cleavage created by the stays under my gown, praying it wouldn’t tumble all the way through my dress to the floor. “Do you know where Michael found it?” I turned back to ask. “My mother owned something similar. I believe it’s still stored somewhere at Blakelaw House,” I added, naming my childhood home.

  As I spoke I reached up to touch my mother’s amethyst pendant, as I often did when I was nervous, or sad, or simply thinking about her. But, of course, it wasn’t there.

  “Oh, no,” I gasped, lifting both hands to feel around my neck.

  Caroline looked up in alarm. “What is it?”

  “My mother’s necklace.” I glanced down my dress, seeing the pendant nestled inside my corset, and then back at Caroline. “It’s gone.” Lifting my skirts, I began to pivot around, gazing at the floor all around me. “I must have lost it. Oh, no! Oh, no!”

  Caroline joined me in my search of the rug. “This is terrible. Do you remember the last time you saw it.”

  “I . . .” I paused, pretending to think. “I remember it getting caught on a loose strand of my hair after I climbed out of the carriage, and I was still adjusting it as Locke led me toward the music room. So it must be here,” I exclaimed, resuming my search.

  “Maybe it fell off in the hall or the servants’ stairwell.”

  “Yes,” I agreed, looking up at her. “But . . . I’m not supposed to be here.”

  She touched my arm gently. “I shall go look. You stay here.”

  “Thank you,” I replied.

  “Do not worry,” she assured me. “We shall find it.”

  I offered her a weak smile, while my stomach tightened at my duplicity.

  I counted to five after the door closed behind her, worried something would send her dashing back inside like a timid mouse. Then I hurried over to the desk, kneeling next to the right side. Bonnie Brock was correct. There was nothing to indicate there was a hidden compartment—no odd lines or grooves. I ran my fingers carefully down the decorative ormolu at the front corner, feeling for the channel he had told me would be there. It was almost too narrow to slide my fingers into. Inside, near the top, I felt the smooth nub he’d described and pushed it.

  With a soft click, a slim strip of wood separated from the lower half of the side along the parquetry lines in the wood. I flicked a glance toward the door, to be certain I was still alone, and then rose to my feet. Gripping the small sliver of wood projecting from the desk on each side, I carefully pulled. It took a bit of wiggling, but eventually the shallow drawer slid outward.

  Inside, I could see the cover of a book bound in merlot leather. It was thinner than I expected, and would easily fit in my reticule. Not wasting any more time, I extracted the book and concealed it before pushing the hidden compartment back into place. With another click, it fell flush with the rest of the desk.

  After retrieving the pendant from my bodice, I clasped it about my neck and then perched on the edge of the chair before the desk to await Caroline. I exhaled in relief, pressing a hand to my chest over my racing heart as it began to slow. When several minutes ticked by and she still had not returned, I decided to risk following her back to the music room. If nothing else, it would help me resist the temptation to flip through the journal before I’d been able to safely remove it from the house.

  I found Caroline in the servants’ stairwell, leaning over to search the floor. “Caroline,” I whispered, rapidly descending to her. “I’m so sorry. I found it.” I lifted the amethyst pendant to show her. “Under your curio cabinet. I don’t know how it tumbled there.”

  “Thank goodness,” she gasped. “I was beginning to worry one of the servants had already picked it up.” A door somewhere above us opened, and she reached out to take my hand, pulling me downward.

  Moments later, we tumbled through the door of the music room. Caroline dissolved into giggles. “Now that was an adventure.”

  I smiled and couldn’t help but agree.

  Chapter 5

  4:15 P.M.

  When bearding a lion in his den, it seemed wise not to approach without the proper ammunition. Fortunately, I had found it. It had taken me far longer than it probably should have to realize I already possessed it, but in my defense, I was not accustomed to administering threats or blackmail. However, for Gage, I suspected I would do much worse.

  His father received me in the study of the town home he had rented, seated behind a large oak desk. He peered down his nose at me over the hands he’d clasped in front of his chest like a magistrate considering a prisoner’s sentence. I had expected nothing less, though gentlemanly conduct stipulated he should have risen to greet me. But if he sought to make me uncomfortable or intimidate me, then he had sorely underestimated me.

  “So he’s sent you to plead for him, has he?” he sneered. “I should have expected as much.”

  “Actually, he doesn’t know I’m here,” I replied breezily, glancing about the room. “I’ve come of my own accord.”

  I turned away, strolling toward the glass cabinets filled with model ships. This home must belong to one of his friends from his time spent in the Royal Navy. I leaned forward, pretending to examine the models’ masts and rigging.

  “Gage tells us you won’t be attending the dinner the Earl and Countess of Cromarty are hosting in our honor tonight, or our wedding ceremony tomorrow morning.” I flicked a glance at him under my lashes. “Such a shame.”

  Lord Gage’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  Folding my hands behind my back, I wandered farther down the line of cabinets before breathing a resigned sigh. It was a struggle to keep my voice steady and measured when I spoke, ignoring my pulse as it pounded in my ears. “I suppose
that means you also won’t be attending our child’s birth or christening.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see I had his attention arrested.

  “In fact, I believe that means you won’t be able to see him at all.” I swiveled to face him, staring him down determinedly. I knew it was a gamble to think Lord Gage would care about the lives of his future grandchildren, but seeing how Gage was his only child, I suspected it was a good one.

  “What are you implying?” he barked, leaning forward in his chair. “Are you . . .” His eyes dipped to my abdomen.

  “I’m implying nothing,” I interrupted in a steely voice, refraining to correct his misconception. “I’m stating outright that if you choose to slight your son in this manner, if you choose not to attend tonight’s dinner and our wedding, then you will never see your first born grandchild, or any of your grandchildren. Ever.”

  Lord Gage rose to his feet. “Sebastian wouldn’t dare defy me. Not in this.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “Oh, wouldn’t he?”

  I could tell the moment he began to worry I might be right. His jaw tightened and the creases at the corner of his eyes deepened. After all, Gage had refused to return home to London, even after his father’s repeated summons. And he’d rejected the bride Lord Gage had chosen for him, instead choosing to marry me—a scandalous, troublesome widow with little fortune and no advantageous political connections. But Lord Gage still did not relent, glaring at me in silent fury.

  I couldn’t let him know that I was lying. That the rumors currently circulating were not true. That even if they were, I would never have the heart to deny my child the chance to know their grandfather, so long as Gage approved. I couldn’t let him read that truth in my eyes. For Gage’s sake. I knew Lord Gage only respected strength. So I stood my ground, and let him think whatever awful things he already believed about me were true, no matter how much it smarted to do so.

  Several moments ticked by, broken only by the marking of the grandfather clock next to where I stood by the cabinets, and yet Lord Gage showed no signs of relenting. I realized then that the man would never admit defeat so overtly. Perhaps it was his military training or simply his stubborn personality. Either way, the longer I stood there, the angrier he would grow at my refusal to bend to his will. And the more difficult it would be for him to yield later.