Chapter Eighteen

S affron perched at the edge of her chair in the dining room, tapping her foot on the floor. Somehow, Leo had intercepted her plans and reorganized the seating, so she was near Leo at the head of the table. Angelica was beside her, and Rosemary across the table, to Leo's other side. They should have been spread out along the table to inspire conversation, as they had been each previous time they had sat at the table. She repositioned the cutlery in front of her until everything was perfectly aligned.

It was not the propriety she cared about, but the change in plans.

She told Leo as much, and he merely shrugged. "I'm eccentric. Plus, the three of you are far more entertaining. Indulge me." She maintained her anger throughout the first course, a decadent asparagus soup, and the second, candied carrots, but by the time they'd finished the salmon, she vibrated with excitement.

The new staff Mrs. Banting had hired had done a marvelous job.

"You've done wonders with the cook," Leo said, after servants removed the first dessert dish, milk pudding, from their plates. "I did not know she could make something without burning it."

"She had the experience and skill necessary," Saffron said. "She just needed help to get past the initial problems."

She looked around at the guests clearly enjoying the meal and felt a surge of pride akin to how she felt when Angelica was complimented on her hair. She had brought about the happiness they felt, had coaxed the seed of the event into something marvelous.

Angelica, however, stared down at her shallow bowl as if it contained a dead rat, and not a beautifully prepared trifle. A slight vibration in the floor told her Angelica was bouncing her knee. Then Angelica winced, and the vibration stopped.

Saffron glanced across the table to Rosemary, who wore a tight smile.

She waited for Rosemary to be distracted by the servants taking away the plates, then leaned closer to her sister and whispered, "What's the matter?"

Angelica shook her head minutely, then darted her eyes to the side.

Saffron straightened and, through the corner of her eye, confirmed that both the Duke of Canterbury and Simon Mayweather were watching them.

"I say, Briarwood, when will you let us see the pieces up for auction?" Mr. Morgan asked, thumping his glass on the table and splattering wine onto the tablecloth. Mrs. Morgan's cheeks pinked as she covered the stain with a napkin.

"Indeed, I should like to see them," Mr. Hawthorne said.

The rest of the guests muttered to themselves but did not speak up. Saffron cursed Leo's decision to move her. If he had placed her, as intended, near the middle of the table, she would have had the perfect vantage to overhear any conversation.

Leo finished a bite of trifle, then set down his spoon. "You will have to be patient. I have arranged for the event tomorrow to be a candle auction."

Both men wore identical expressions of disappointment but did not argue.

They will gossip instead , Saffron thought, remembering her first Season. She had not understood that smiling faces masked wicked tongues. Every mistake she'd made had been filed away, to be brought out and laughed at over tea.

"How lovely," Lady Allen said, putting her fork down. "Such a thrilling event. I simply cannot wait."

Mr. Morgan swayed in his seat. "I would rather prefer to see the works now. You could give us a small preview. Where are you stashing the artwork, anyway?"

Saffron glued her eyes to the older man. If he was Ravenmore, would he ask where the paintings were stored? Would he get drunk at dinner and demand to see them? Maybe, instead, Mr. Morgan was the thief Leo sought or had hired someone to steal the paintings.

"Let us retire," Mrs. Morgan said loudly, rising from her seat so fast, the dishes on the table clinked together. "My daughters are eager to demonstrate their musical talents."

Saffron exchanged a glance with Leo before following the rest of the women as they moved to the drawing room, leaving the men to their own affairs. The drawing room was enormous, heated by three separate fireplaces on each of the exterior walls. Tall windows stretched up to the ceiling, the curtains drawn back to reveal a stunning view of the setting sun. There were chairs set up near one end of the room, facing a set of musical instruments, which the Morgan girls picked up without prompting. Miss Morgan selected the harp and Miss Beatrice the pianoforte.

Saffron sat as far back as she could politely manage, expecting the sound to grate against her senses, but to her surprise, both girls were talented musicians. The elder Miss Morgan plucked a soft rhythm for several bars before Miss Beatrice joined her, and then both girls started to sing. Their voices formed a harmonious melody, perfectly in sync. The spell they cast lasted for three songs before Miss Morgan put down her harp. Then a beaming Mrs. Morgan loudly proclaimed, "I fancy a game of whist, if any of you ladies would like to join me."

"I would not wager a pound against that woman," Lady Allen said, taking Saffron's arm and leading her toward one of the tables the servants were setting up.

"Why not?" Saffron asked. She had been so busy rushing around solving problems that she had not yet joined the other guests for cards or other activities the previous night. This was an ideal opportunity to interrogate Mrs. Morgan when she was not bullying her husband or preening over her daughters. Mr. Morgan had expressed far too much interest in the Ravenmore for her liking.

Lady Allen sat on a chair and withdrew a pair of knitting needles and a ball of yarn from a wicker basket near the hearth. She took them up, sliding into the activity with a grace born of long practice. "The Morgans enjoy their displays of wealth, but that is all it is. I would not be surprised if the dowries on their girls were less substantial than rumors suggest."

Saffron cast a quick glance at Mrs. Morgan, already wagering with three other wealthy ladies. While the other players chatted and laughed, Mrs. Morgan dealt the cards with a purposeful, almost hungry look on her face.

"I see what you mean," Saffron said.

"Besides," Lady Allen said, finishing a row of what looked to be a blanket or scarf, "I believe you have more pressing matters to attend to."

"Such as?" She accepted a cup of tea from a servant and raised it to her lips.

Lady Allen hummed a tune in harmony with the clicking of her knitting needles, her eyes downcast, a small smile on her lips. "Have you noticed who is missing?"

Fear dripped down Saffron's back. She placed her teacup on the table.

"I believe I am the first to notice," Lady Allen said. "Carry on, now. I look forward to hearing all about it."

As gracefully as she could manage, Saffron performed a rotation of the room, but it only confirmed her fears.

Angelica was missing.

*

When Saffron found her aunt, Rosemary was listening to an older woman drone on about the dessert, and so she sat beside her aunt and waited for a polite opening, all the while trying not to dance with agitation.

"Mrs. Hampshire, allow me to introduce my niece, Saffron Summersby," Rosemary said, after some time.

The woman adjusted the spectacles perched above her snub nose. "Lovely to meet you."

"We were discussing the inferior quality of the sponge cake," Rosemary said.

Mrs. Hampshire straightened her shoulders. "The strawberries were not even in season. Everyone knows it is best to pick spring fruit when it is in season and preserve it in jams or jellies."

"I quite agree," Rosemary said, her eyes sparkling.

Saffron smiled, despite her anxiety and the slight upon her menu choices. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen her aunt so happy. She took one more glance around the room before sitting beside Mrs. Hampshire. "I quite enjoyed the soup myself."

At that, Mrs. Hampshire hmphed and began a lecture on the proper way to harvest and preserve asparagus. While the woman spoke, Saffron cast sidelong glances at her aunt, bouncing her knee up and down beneath the small table, a nervous habit of Angelica's.

Finally, Rosemary caught on. She set her cup down on the table, then touched her head with her hands. "Saffron, my dear, I fear I have a megrim coming on. Mrs. Hampshire, it was lovely talking to you, but I think my niece should accompany me to my room for a rest."

"Oh, of course," Mrs. Hampshire said. "I will ask a maid to send you up some tea. Nothing like tea for a megrim."

*

After sending her fretting aunt to Angelica's room to see if Angelica would return there, Saffron gathered Mrs. Banting as a chaperone and then checked the retiring room, the stables, and the ballroom.

With each minute, the tension in Saffron's shoulders increased, until Mrs. Banting touched her arm. "The maids will search her out. None of my girls will tell a soul about what they see, my lady."

The unspoken warning that Angelica might be found in a less-than-respectable state made Saffron grind her teeth in frustration.

She had told Mr. Mayweather that she would speak to her sister. Had he taken that as permission to abscond with Angelica?

I should have been watching her.

What if Mr. Mayweather ruined Angelica, then refused to marry her? Saffron knew how easy it was to give in to passion.

The floor beneath her tipped and swayed as if she were standing on the deck of a boat.

"Dear me!" Mrs. Banting grasped her arms and pushed her back to fall into a chair.

I must find Leo. He'll know what to do.

He was the only man present whom she trusted not to laugh at her fears or spread rumors about Angelica behaving inappropriately. The problem was that the men had not yet joined the women in the drawing room and as a woman, she was all but forbidden to enter the male domain, the smoking room. The last thing she needed was to earn more black marks against her family.

So as Mrs. Banting arranged for a maid to bring a drink for her, Saffron summoned a nearby footman and whispered a word. When her lemonade arrived, she accepted it with thanks, then begged off with assurances that she would wait in her room for news. Then she set off for Leo's office, taking the servants' halls to avoid being seen.

She slipped inside the room, shivering at the chill. Unfortunately, she could not light a fire without risking someone finding out what she was doing. She would have to hope the footman would deliver the message she had imparted.

To take her mind off the cold, she walked a square route around the bulky furniture until her shins ached.

"Saffron!"

The doors thumped open, and Leo rushed inside, his hair mussed. He charged forward, grabbed her in his arms, and crushed her against his chest.

In those few seconds before she could reassemble her scrambled wits enough to react, she was overwhelmed by the hard planes of his chest beneath his waistcoat, the tang of cigar smoke that clung to his hair, the even thud of his heart beneath her cheek. Then he pushed her away.

"For God's sake, don't scare me like that!"

She staggered back, one hand falling on the desk, the other hovering at her breast. "How have I scared you?"

Leo ran a hand through his golden hair. "The footman told me a woman was in trouble. I thought it was you."

"Oh," she said, still shaken by the ferocity of his embrace. "He must have misunderstood. I told him I needed to talk to you, that is all. My sister has gone missing."

"You checked the retiring room?" Leo asked.

"Of course." She paced the room. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Mayweather? Was he in the room before you left?"

"No. He wasn't. And before you ask, yes. He would be capable of what you are thinking." He scowled. "If he has ruined her, I will convince him to do the honorable thing."

Saffron resisted the urge to retort that Leo had done his own share of ruining quite recently and had so far shown no intention of doing the "honorable thing."

A soft knock at the door made them both jump.

"Hide!" Leo hissed as the doorknob turned.

She ducked beneath the desk. A whispered exchange occurred, too quiet for her to follow. She carefully peeked around the side of the desk to see a footman slipping back out the door.

She scrambled to her feet. "Well?"

Leo's look of relief salved her panicked heart before he even responded. "There are no carriages or horses missing. Wherever your sister is, she must still be on the grounds."

Saffron slumped forward and splayed her hands on the desk. "I feel like a governess with a wayward charge. Perhaps I should check the nursery next."

"Or the gardens," he said, tugging at his cravat, which was significantly longer on one side than the other.

Stepping up to him, she pushed his hands away from his throat. "Stop that. You're only making it worse." She unwound the soft fabric and then looped it around his neck. "We need to think about this logically. If you were the duke, where would you take Angelica?"

He crossed his arms. "Bed."

She jabbed him in the throat with a pinky. "Do not even joke." She shuddered at the possibility. The only thing keeping her from a complete loss of control was the fact that Mr. Mayweather had expressed a fondness for Angelica. She had to believe that meant he would not do anything that would risk her reputation.

She stepped back to examine her work. The folds in the neckcloth were not even. She undid her work, then formed a knot with the ends of the cravat, tucking the extra fabric beneath his vest. "You know this property. Where would he take her?"

Leo touched his fingers to his neck, pulling the fabric to the side. "Have you tried the library?"

She sighed. "Of course I checked the library. Mr. Mayweather is smarter than that. He would have taken her somewhere they would not be interrupted." She returned to her pacing. "Discussion is pointless. Return to the ballroom and tell everyone who asks that Angelica accompanied my aunt to her room. I will find a maid and begin searching the servants' quarters."

Leo took her hand and kissed her fingers before she pulled them away. "I will do as you ask, fair maiden."

*

Saffron's heart thundered in her ears like a stampeding racehorse as she flitted from one cold, dark room to the next, hissing her sister's name.

Where the devil could she be?

The Briarwood estate was vast, but she was certain she had searched at least half of it in the hour since leaving Leo's side. Her thighs ached, and there was a burning in her heel that was the precursor of a blister.

Finally, she struck some luck when she overheard a trio of servants gossiping in a stairwell.

"The poor dear was prostrate," a maid whispered. "I was doing dishes in the kitchen and heard her crying."

A boy wearing the livery of a stablehand shook his head. "A right shame."

Saffron grabbed the maid by the arm, causing the girl to shriek.

"Where did you see the girl?" Saffron demanded.

"N-Near the kitchen," the maid stammered.

Saffron raced for the room, shoving past a shocked Mr. Sinclair. Nothing mattered in that moment but ensuring her sister was safe.

At last, she found the door the maid had mentioned and threw it open, fully expecting to see Angelica sprawled on the floor, or wrapped in Mr. Mayweather's embrace, but she was confronted with nothingness. A dark, empty room.

No. Not empty.

Although the sounds of the kitchen filtered in through the wall, soft murmuring and pots and pans clattering together, there was a faint sniffing. She searched the dark corners and found her sister sitting on a cloth-covered couch in the corner, her head in her hands. Saffron rushed across the room and grabbed her sister in a tight embrace.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Angelica whispered. "If I hadn't, I never would have… Oh, Saffron. I've ruined everything. How do I fix this?"

A fierce protectiveness welled up in her chest, and she vowed to knock some sense into Mr. Mayweather the next time she saw him.

"I forgive you," she said, hugging her sister closer. "It doesn't matter what you've done. I will always forgive you."

Angelica sighed. "It's all my fault. I just wanted to be like you."

Each word sliced at her heart. "What do you mean?"

Her sister grasped at her gown. "You and Lord Briarwood. I've seen the looks he gives you. I wanted what you have." She shook her head. "I should have known it would not work. Simon is not like the viscount."

She clutched her sister closer.

"I'll explain everything to Aunt Rosemary. Mr. Mayweather won't get away with this. I'm sure Lord Briarwood will help us."

Angelica gave a hiccupping laugh. "What? No, sister. That's not why…" She sniffed. "Well, I suppose this is Simon's fault. He asked for my hand. I refused."

Saffron stared at her sister, not understanding. "Why?" Mr. Mayweather wasn't a duke, but neither did he seem to have the cruel streak that Canterbury possessed. "I thought you liked him."

Angelica closed her eyes. "I did. I do. But he has spent each night since he arrived gambling, to earn enough of a fortune to support us. He nearly came to blows with Mr. Morgan over his winnings last night. I can't let him continue risking everything for me." She huffed, then opened her eyes. "I will marry His Grace, and I will make the best of it."

"But if Basil is still alive, you might not need to marry."

"Sister, there is no proof . You must end this obsession." She turned a glare on Saffron. "Do not try to stop me, sister. I've made up my mind."

Saffron's throat was too choked with tears to respond. She settled for nodding, although she had no intention of allowing Angelica to sacrifice herself. If she could find proof that Basil lived, Angelica would realize that she did not need to marry for money. BOOM.

The door flew open, and a scowling Leo rushed inside, dragging his cousin by the arm. Mr. Mayweather's hair was tousled and there were bags beneath his eyes. It was as if the man had tumbled out of bed moments ago.

"Mr. Mayweather is prepared to marry your sister," Leo said loudly. He released his cousin and shoved him forward. "I found him in the garden with a bottle of my best brandy."

Mr. Mayweather met Saffron's gaze and winced. "I-I tried to tell him, Miss Summersby, but he would not listen. Angelica—"

"I will be marrying the Duke of Canterbury," Angelica said. She shot to her feet. "Please excuse me. I must tell Aunt Rosemary the good news."