reasons I've come to you are twofold. First, the losses at Somersham were already public knowledge before Devil and Honoria heard of them, so they haven't been able to keep things within the family, as they would have preferred.'
Lucifer held up his hand to stop Amelia when she would have asked why. 'The bald facts of the scattered thefts are that, if you chalk the losses at the Place up to the same account, then there appears to be only one common factor, only one group who attended all the affected events.'
Silence gripped the room. For long moments, no one broke it. Lucifer looked steadily at Luc, who returned his regard.
'The Ashfords,' Luc finally said, his voice even, uninflected.
Lucifer grimaced. 'On the face of it, yes. Devil and Honoria have returned to London — they'll do what they can to dampen speculation there. Luckily, with the Season virtually at an end, if we can deal with it — whatever it is — swiftly, there won't be much damage.'
To Amelia, Luc seemed preternaturally still.
'We can't afford another scandal — not after Edward.'
Lucifer inclined his head. 'We knew you'd feel that way, which is why I drove up here and Devil headed back to town. We need to identify the culprit, so we can deal with the situation as we'd prefer. And, if necessary, minimize any damage.'
His gaze distant, Luc nodded; he raised his glass and sipped.
Phyllida, until then silent, stirred. 'You haven't told them the rest.'
Lucifer glanced at her, then grimaced; he looked at Amelia and Luc. 'When we were discussing all this — Devil, Honoria, Phyllida, and I — we'd forgotten there was someone else in the room. Great-aunt Clara. As usual, she confounded us all by telling us she rather thought her nurse-cum-companion might have seen something helpful. Luckily, Althorpe, the nurse, isn't anywhere near as vague as Clara — when we spoke to her, Althorpe remembered the incident clearly.
'It was the night of your wedding, and she'd been up late settling Clara. When she got back to her room, she saw a young lady rushing back to the house. It was after midnight. Althorpe is adamant the young lady was older than a schoolgirl, but not by much, and was distraught. Very much upset.'
'Could she describe this young lady?' Amelia asked.
'She was looking down on her — she didn't see her face. What she did see was thick brown hair, possibly shoulder-length — the lady was wearing a cloak, but the hood had fallen back.'
'Brown hair,' Luc murmured. He took another sip of brandy.
'Definitely. Althorpe was quite clear on that — not black, not blond. Brown.'
Luc had made the comment, drawn the inevitable conclusion. Amelia knew how much it had cost him to do so.
Neither Lucifer nor Phyllida had said anything more; they'd all retired, sober and absorbed.
Now, lying in their bed, she watched Luc walk slowly toward her. His face was shuttered; he was further from her — and withdrawn to a greater distance — than at any time since they'd first spoken of marriage.
Her heart ached for him. After saving his family from the disaster of his father's depredations, steering them through the grim scandal of Edward's making, after working so hard and finally succeeding in getting all back on an even keel… only to have all his efforts swamped by this.
The implicit threat was all too real. If it came to pass… for him, it would be a serious blow.
She waited until he joined her beneath the covers, then took her courage in her hands, and baldly asked, 'Who do you think it is? Emily or Anne?'
That stillness that sometimes came over him swept him. He said nothing, just lay stiffly beside her. She bit her lip against the nearly overwhelming urge to speak, to reach for him. To dismiss and push her question away.
Then he exhaled. 'I think…' He paused, then his tone changed, 'I wondered if it could be Mama.'
It was he who reached for her, his hand finding hers, covering it, then gripping, holding tight. 'I wondered if… well, you know how many families face a problem like that, one they hide and never speak of.'
That was a possibility she hadn't considered. 'You mean' — she turned to him, easing closer, seeking to comfort simply by touch—'if she'd developed a habit of picking up things that caught her eye and not even really knowing?'
He nodded. 'The girl the nurse saw could have been something quite different — nothing to do with the thefts.'
Amelia thought of his mother, intelligent, calm, and wise. 'No. I can't see it.' She made her tone as definite as she felt.
'Those other older ladies who start taking things — from all I've heard, they're quite vague, not just about what they've taken but generally. Your mother's not like that, not at all.'
He hesitated, then said, softly, 'She's been through a lot over the years…'
Amelia considered Minerva's quiet strength. She pressed closer; under the covers, she lifted a hand to his chest. 'Luc — it isn't your mother.'
Some of his tension left him, but not all. He released her fingers, lifted his arm over her, letting her snuggle against him, draping his arm so he could hold her there.
Accepting her comfort, her help, not shutting her out.
Amelia closed her eyes in mute thanks, then she felt his lips press the curls at her crown, felt the weight of his head as he rested it against hers.
After a long moment, he spoke. 'If not Mama, then it must be Anne.'
Chapter 19
They didn't put it into words, but come the morning they had a tacit agreement that together they would face whatever developed in this latest threat to the Ashfords, and overcome it.
Both Emily and Anne had been at all the gatherings from which items had disappeared. Impossible to believe Emily, so caught up in her romance with Kirkpatrick, had spent any time filching small objects of value. Anne, on the other hand, so quiet and retiring…
In the depths of the night, Luc had asked, 'Do you have any idea why she might do such a thing?'
She'd shaken her head, then stopped. Eventually murmured, 'The only reason I can think of is that she believes she needs money for something, something she can't approach you, or me, or your mother about.'
Luc hadn't argued. But before they'd finally fallen asleep wrapped in each other's arms, he'd murmured, 'One thing — we can't broach the matter to her without real proof. You know what she's like.'
He hadn't elaborated, but she'd understood. Anne's quietness wasn't like Penelope's. Penelope often remained silent simply because she saw no reason to waste her words. With Anne, being retiring was a form of self-effacement, a means of hiding in plain sight. Anne was inherently nervous; it had always been clear it would take time and steady encouragement to make her comfortable in society.
An unfounded accusation would destroy Anne's fragile confidence. If she learned that they — her family, her brother and guardian — suspected her of stealing… regardless of the right or wrong of the matter, the outcome would be disastrous.
The morning's gathering about the breakfast table maintained its customary tone — bright, breezy, lots of feminine chatter. Today, there was a rumbling masculine counterpoint; Luc and Lucifer sat at one end, discussing something — Amelia couldn't hear what. Phyllida and Minerva were swapping household tales. Miss Pink was keeping an eagle eye on Portia and Penelope, biding her time before herding those two damsels upstairs for their lessons.
Amelia turned to Emily, on her right; Anne sat on her left. 'I was thinking it might be a good idea to check over your wardrobes.' With a glance, she extended the comment to Anne. 'You may well need more gowns to see you through the summer, and we should be looking ahead to when we return to town in autumn.'
It took Emily a moment to draw her mind from its now habitual preoccupation; Lord Kirkpatrick and his family
