The Necklace Read online

  When she didn’t reply immediately, Helen continued in a rapid burst, “I also bought a length of the most delightful sprigged muslin and a ribbon or two—but no more than three. There may have been a few other very small items, but that’s all. And a box of chocolates for you. I knew you liked them so well—and you have been so wonderful—and it’s such a tragedy about your engagement being broken and all your hopes dashed. But that’s all. Truly.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, we’ll think of something,” She pressed her hand to her temple. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. What were they going to do?

  “Perhaps a card game? If we were to engage Mr. Dacy in a game of chance and if he were to lose—”

  “I don’t know. Really, you know we aren’t supposed to do anything of the sort,” she replied repressively.

  She would never admit it to Helen, but she liked the notion too much to agree. Far too much.

  “Uncle John could win, even if he played fairly. I’m sure he could. Then we wouldn’t have to pay Mr. Dacy back at all.”

  Helen exhibited a touching faith in their uncle’s abilities. Oriana had long ago abandoned hers. She glanced up at the ceiling again, as if she could see Mr. Dacy through the floorboards of his room.

  “Let me think on it. Why don’t you go change while I ask Cook about tea?”

  “We’ll think of something won’t we?” Helen shivered. Her blue eyes shimmered with worry and tears. “I don’t think Mr. Dacy is, well, very k-kind, Oriana. I am not sure I like him. That horrible scar—we will find the money, won’t we? Please say it’ll be all right.” Helen’s worries reflected Oriana’s own thoughts on the dangerous Mr. Dacy.

  Except Oriana somehow managed to find him exceedingly attractive—in a dangerous, volatile sort of way.

  She choked trying to smile. “Do not fret. We shall think of an answer.”

  Helen nodded and began chewing on her fingernail one more time.

  With a hopeless sigh, Oriana turned away. She trudged back to the stairway, her feet dragging.

  They would have to acquire some alum to dip Helen’s fingers in if she continued to chew her nails. Otherwise, she would never be ready to catch the desired earl or marquess in London.

  She had hoped her younger sister would be less impetuous now that she was old enough to come out. However, Helen continued to act upon impulse when she was nervous. And she had every reason to be anxious after seeing Oriana’s disastrous engagement.

  Oriana lifted a foot and placed it on the bottom step. It seemed as heavy as one of cook’s cast iron pots. She felt vaguely surprised that it didn’t clang when she took another step.

  If only she hadn’t walked into her bedroom in London to find her betrothed, Lord Willowby, with his breeches down around his ankles, fondling her maid. Even then, she might have been able to overlook it if her mother and Aunt Victoria hadn’t followed directly upon her heels into the room. The entire situation had been mortifying.

  Between that and Uncle John's all-too-frequent misbehavior, she didn’t think she would ever entirely trust a man again.

  And certainly not one who said he loved her because she was beautiful, as Lord Willowby so fatuously claimed.

  She wearily climbed another step.

  At least Mr. Dacy didn’t look the least bit like the chinless, morally weak man she had nearly married. Her feet moved more lightly, treading softly on the next stair. Mr. Dacy might do a great many dreadful things that would lead to scars and such, but he wouldn’t lie about it.

  At least he didn’t look like he would. He didn’t appear to worry enough about what others thought to lie.

  Of course, it was difficult to be sure since he’d been unconscious most of the time she had spent with him.

  Abruptly she wished she didn’t want to go back into Mr. Dacy’s room again, just to make sure he was still breathing and unconscious.

  Without realizing it, she reached the top of the stairs.

  “Oriana!” Uncle John came out of his bedroom and joined her in the hallway. “Did I hear Helen?”

  “Yes, Uncle. She just returned.”

  He rubbed his hands. “Good, good. Tea almost ready, then?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  His eyes alighted on the leather pouch clutched in her hands. He plucked it out of her grasp. “Mr. Dacy will be pleased to get his wallet back.”

  “Perhaps it would be better if I returned it?” She held out her hand.

  “Nonsense.” Uncle John strode away toward the blue sitting room, humming.

  She watched him go, hands on her hips. Why hadn’t she hidden the purse when she saw him? Although she loved her uncle dearly, he was a rogue. Uncle John might be kind, but he was unsteady and an inveterate gambler. She couldn’t help pitying Aunt Victoria.

  And she congratulated herself that she wasn’t attracted to men like her uncle and Mr. Dacy who let their baser instincts rules their lives. She had no wish to spend the rest of her life trying to keep her husband out of difficulties like her aunt.

  Then her hand, which had rested so briefly on Mr. Dacy’s chest, itched. She scratched it, remembering an old wives’ tale about liars having itchy palms.

  Fortunately, there was another tale that said an itchy palm meant she would soon receive money.

  She rubbed her hands over her skirts and fervently hoped the old wives who believed the latter version were correct.

  Chapter Four

  A Little Side-Action

  The next morning, Joshua Brown returned to the house after taking care of the Archers’ pack of dogs. His position as footman and lad-of-all-work left him frustrated and impatient. He was ambitious and well aware that with his father holding fast to the butler’s position at The Orchards, room for advancement was limited.

  So when he walked past the breakfast room and heard Mr. Archer talking about the need for a valet, Joshua volunteered.

  “I’ll do it, sir!” He edged around the table.

  “Do what?” Mr. Archer replied.

  “Valet. I’ll be your valet.”

  Mr. Archer frowned. “I don’t need a valet.”

  “But you just said—” Joshua stared at him, nonplused. “You was talking about a valet when I came in.”

  “Oh, that.” Mr. Archer laughed. “A valet for Mr. Dacy. He came away from London without one. Perhaps he can interview you when he awakens—oh, never mind.” He slapped his thigh. “Of course you can be his valet. Why not? You’ve got the job if you want it, my lad.”

  The signs were indeed propitious. Mr. Dacy was in no condition to protest since he remained unconscious upstairs, and Joshua was spared the agony of an interview.

  There was only one small problem. Mr. Dacy didn’t appear to have any personal effects that required care. After a bit of consideration, Joshua decided if he was going to be a valet, he needed some material to work with.

  “Mr. Archer, sir, begging your pardon but if I’m to be Mr. Dacy’s valet and take care of his clothes and such, doesn’t he actually need some clothes?”

  Mr. Archer stared at him for a moment before fumbling in one of his pockets. He drew out a leather purse and handed it to Joshua. “So he does. Run to the village and see what you can find. A gentleman must have clothes, as well as a valet.”

  “Yes, sir.” Joshua shoved the purse into a pocket. His prospects were certainly brightening.

  As soon as breakfast was cleared away, Joshua wandered into the village, whistling merrily and thinking of Alice at the Pig’s Toes. He hadn’t seen her in over a week, but he knew she would have some of her father’s brown ale and a meat pie ready. And her meat pies were a real treat—as flaky and tender as a dream.

  However, as he approached the edge of the village, his feet slowed as his thoughts deepened into doubt. He had never been a valet before and therefore felt a little unsure about the particulars, despite his determination to make a go of this unexpected opportunity.

  To his relief, when he arrived at The Pig’s Toes a
nd questioned Alice, she reassured him. Her experiences with the peerage gave her much needed and very specific information that she was more than happy to share with him. After listening carefully, Joshua convinced Alice to slip away from the tavern with him and assist with his purchases.

  The pair escaped next door to a local merchant and pounded on his door, interrupting that good man’s tea.

  “You can just open up, Hawkins. My new master, Lord Dacy, lost his trunk. Not that he can get the quality he’s used to at your establishment,” Joshua said as he shoved his way inside. He hustled the thin shopkeeper toward his shelves of raiment and then stood back to eye the contents.

  “Lord Dacy?” Mr. Hawkins asked. “Never heard of him. What lord’d hire you as a valet, I’d like to know?”

  “One as is just back from France, that’s who. And one who was decorated for his valor, besides. Why, he’s a scar across his face as was given him by the sword of Napoleon himself!” Joshua embellished his tale freely and felt gratified when Hawkins’ mouth gaped open in surprise.

  Alice sighed and leaned against him, her eyes lashes fluttering against his cheek. Momentarily distracted by her soft curves, a wave of heat washed over him. Her warm breath whispered past his ear in an unspoken promise.

  This was indeed the opportunity he had been waiting for, he thought, resting a hand on Alice’s hip.

  Catching her smile, Joshua winked. Then turning, he schooled his face into a more serious expression and focused on the shopkeeper. He slapped Mr. Dacy’s purse on the counter between them.

  Hawkins’ watery blue eyes widened as his gaze grew transfixed by the bulging wallet. “Lost his trunk, you say? He’ll need all manner of things, then.” He reached up to his shelves and transferred a stack of starched, white stocks to the counter, followed by several shirts and assorted linens. “You’ll not get the best fit, but my wife’s needle can fix anything amiss. Are you sure you don’t want a few lengths made up, personal-like? Fine breeches and a jacket or two? Most lords won’t wear such as this, what with London tailors and all.”

  He shrugged, unconcerned. “He’s having a rest cure up at The Orchards seeing as how he’s recovering from his war wounds. I expect he’ll want his swell togs made up when he gets back to Town. These’ll do for now.”

  After digging around the rest of his shelves, Hawkins found several pairs of breeches and jackets. Joshua examined them and sniffed with mild contempt before pronouncing them acceptable—barely.

  “And what about them boots?” he asked, pointing at a pair of Hessian boots, complete with gold tassels.

  Hawkins sighed, rolling his eyes. “The old Squire ordered them.”

  “And promptly forgot ‘em—give them here.” He knew only too well the Squire’s habit of requesting things and then neglecting to retrieve them.

  “Aye, at least someone will have the good of them. I’ve no mind to remind his nibs he ordered them, only to be called a lying cheat for trying to sell him things he doesn’t want.”

  He nodded and picked up the boots, shaking them and searching for signs of cracked leather or mouse nests in the toes.

  “Lor’ what a fine lot of togs, Joshua.” Alice folded a deep blue superfine jacket and placed it gently on a pair of buckskin breeches. “Are ye sure the gent’ll be satisfied? Iffin’ he gave you the whole purse, perhaps he means for ye to acquire a few more odds-n-ends as would befit a lord and a military hero, besides?”

  “Five more stocks, perhaps?” Hawkins suggested. “You’ve not been a valet long, my lad. You’ll ruin a good dozen afore you get even one tied.”

  Alice and Hawkins laughed while Joshua flushed. Then he scowled and shook his head. “If I need more than the dozen you’ve got there, I’ll hang myself with the discards.”

  When he refused any other additions, Hawkins presented him with the total of the purchases. It was a higher figure than Joshua expected. The blood drained slowly from his face as he prayed he hadn't miscalculated. But he picked up the purse and counted out the coins, grateful that it hardly seemed to reduce the number inside.

  Catching Alice’s warm gaze, he summoned up the bravura to add a large tip. “For taking you away from your supper, Hawkins.”

  “Much obliged.” Hawkins swept away the money before Joshua could change his mind.

  Then, before they left, he flipped Hawkins an extra guinea and snagged a rose-colored scarf from the counter. With a flourish, he presented it to Alice.

  There were so many coins inside the purse that the small purchase would never be noticed, Joshua thought, watching as she tied the scarf around her neck. When she smiled and took his arm, he felt like a lord, himself.

  With a wide grin, Alice allowed him to escort her and their tottering pile of packages back to the Pig’s Toes.

  “Lor’ you make me laugh, you do!” Alice said as they entered the tavern’s kitchens. “Though, I hope your gentleman won’t mind.” She fingered the scarf.

  Joshua shook his head while he pressed another coin into the warm, moist palm of Alice’s hand. Mr. Dacy had to be the richest man in the world with such a fat wallet. And Joshua was his valet, now. The position was nearly as important as his father’s.

  And one day, Joshua would be Mr. Dacy’s butler. Then he’d rule the household with a fist of iron. A fair fist, though. Everyone would love him for being generous and fair to a fault.

  Alice rewarded him with a quick kiss and cuddle, leaning against him until he felt faint-headed. He could feel the flutter of her lashes against his ear as she kept watch over his shoulder for her father.

  “Nay, lass,” he said when his lips were free and he’d caught his breath once more. “He trusts me, he does. Gave me the whole purse as he knew I’d only buy the necessaries. He’s a right fine lord, he is, my master.”

  “Will you be a-going to London, then, when he’s feeling hisself?”

  “Who’s to say?”

  “Take me with you!” she begged suddenly, clutching his waistcoat.

  “Now, my pretty girl, what would you a-wanting with London?”

  She turned her face away and frowned. “It’s not London I’ll be wanting. And if you don’t know that, then I’m sure I don’t!”

  Chuckling, he kissed her again before grabbing up his packages. No one was going to go to London if he didn’t get back soon.

  “I’ll be back, Alice, don’t worry.”

  “I’ll not be the one worrying, Mr. Brown.”

  Remembering Mr. Archer’s advice on the subject of scowling women, Joshua backed Alice into a corner. He gave her another, much more thorough kiss before he released her. Before she could protest, he darted out, his fingers laced through the strings of all the packages.

  With luck, he would get back before his new master woke up and realized he had a valet. Joshua intended to make sure Mr. Dacy had no opportunity to regret the decision Mr. Archer had made for him.

  Especially since he wasn’t too sure Mr. Archer had been entirely honest about his power to appoint a valet for Mr. Dacy in the first place. While Joshua knew Mr. Archer was a good man, his dealings with the truth tended to be infrequent and brief. Joshua often had cause to felt sincerely sorry for Miss Oriana due to her uncle's machinations.

  He just hoped he wasn't about to have cause to feel sorry for himself.

  Chapter Five

  Down by a Pound

  “Joshua,” Oriana said when she noticed the young man coming through the back door. “Where have you been?”

  “To the village, Miss. To get some togs for Mr. Dacy.”

  Her stomach tightened. Another debt they couldn’t pay. “How did you—”

  “Mr. Archer gave me his wallet.”

  “His wallet?”

  “Well, Mr. Dacy’s wallet.” He rubbed the back of his neck and refused to meet her eyes. “I’m to be his valet. And he had to get something to wear.”

  “I see.” Although she really didn’t understand. How could Joshua be hired when, to the best of her knowledge,
Mr. Dacy was still unconscious?

  However, she couldn’t argue with the fact that Mr. Dacy had brought no luggage. And he couldn’t go striding around The Orchards wrapped only in a sheet like the Roman emperors. It might give him ideas about lions and Christians. And she had enough animals to feed already.

  “Then, please take Mr. Dacy’s clothing up to his room.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  She held out her hand. “And hand me his wallet, if you please.”

  “Yes, Miss.”

  When he placed the leather purse on her palm, it felt shockingly light. Her heart quivered and fell like a bird shot out of the sky. Joshua must have spent a small fortune on new clothes. She eyed the packages dangling from the servant's fingers as he climbed the stairs, and she hoped Mr. Dacy wouldn’t awaken too soon. Or that he would be in a charitable mood when he did arise, and that he would understand they had only made a few essential purchases on his behalf.

  Thankfully, Mr. Dacy stayed peacefully asleep until the following morning. When he did awaken, however, he was in a foul mood. His temper bore a striking resemblance to Nero’s after he’d been told his favorite lion had just perished from indigestion. Nothing satisfied him, particularly not the thin broth she brought for him to drink.

  “I am not drinking that dishwater,” Mr. Dacy said, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

  She glanced away, trying not to appear embarrassed or overwhelmed. The door was open, and she was mistress of The Orchards, at least for now. “You will drink it. You will get nothing else until you do.”

  “Then I shall rise and make my own dinner.”

  “You shall do no such thing! If you do not cooperate, I shall have both our butler and stable boy ensure that you do.”

  “I—” After glancing at her set face, he gave up and leaned against the pillows, obediently balancing the tray on his knees. “I hope I can expect something more substantial for supper.”

  She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling before she replied in her sweetest voice, “I am sure you have the right to expect anything you wish.”