It was absurd, of course, to compare the two situations, for they bore no relation to each other. On what was originally meant to be her wedding day, she’d allowed herself to be swayed from a hasty marriage by nascent familial affection and Kesgrave’s evenhanded response to delay. Today, neither of those conditions prevailed. To be certain, she was fond of her family—particularly Flora, whose florid estimation of her own heroics possessed an unexpectedly endearing quality—but the affection she felt for them was but a tepid cup of tea compared with her consuming regard for Kesgrave. The duke’s tractability, as well, had undergone a dramatic alteration that could be attributed only to the well-aimed double-barreled flintlock that had bedeviled their morning.
Even if Prinny himself arrived at Clarges Street to halt the proceedings, Kesgrave would briskly sweep him to the side like a flea-ridden mongrel.
Truly, she had no reason to be concerned, and as her heart resumed its normal pace, she smiled at the dandy, who was as exquisite as ever in his satin breeches and elegant cravat.
“I could not be any more delighted for you, Miss Hyde-Clare,” he said warmly as he bowed over her hand. “I have never envied another man’s situation, for I have always found my own to be quite complete, but I would be bending the truth if I denied feeling a tinge of jealousy at Kesgrave’s good fortune. You are an original, my dear.”
Naturally, Bea could not accept such a lavish compliment without demurral, and she immediately called his lordship’s sincerity into question by hinting at an ulterior motive. “Still currying my favor in hopes of discovering what happened at Lakeview Hall, I see,” she said with gleeful cynicism.
His interest in the matter was hardly surprising, for he had also been a guest of Lord and Lady Skeffington when Mr. Otley was murdered, and he could not figure out how a plain spinster with no consequence or conversation had managed to identify the killer. Intrigued, he had made several attempts in the months since to learn the whole story, but Bea had resisted revealing all—first because she did not trust him with information potentially damaging to her reputation and then later because she enjoyed the game. In her six and twenty years, she’d had few games with anyone, let alone handsome dandies, and she was reluctant to see this one end, even now, on the verge of her wedding to Kesgrave.
Striving for an archly satirical note, she complimented Nuneaton on his relentless determination, assuring him that all young ladies simply adored being pestered. “We consider it a very appealing trait in a gentleman.”
Although the viscount was famous for his languorous affect, barely bestirring himself to wince at the ton’s many ill-considered sartorial choices, he laughed with full-throated appreciation and promised Bea that she would soon find him irresistible. “For I do not mean to relent until I know everything about your many investigations.”
Bea opened her mouth to insist that five investigations did not exactly rise to the level of many—a remark that would have been unintentionally revealing, for even if the viscount suspected there was more to the Taunton affair than a simple accident with a torch, he could know nothing of her involvement in Fazeley’s brutal stabbing—but Kesgrave interrupted their conversation with a pointed cough. “As much as I enjoy watching my betrothed flirt with another man, you have a more vital reason for being here, Nuneaton. I trust you secured the item?”
His grace spoke calmly, even languidly, and yet Bea could not help but detect a hint of annoyance in his tone, which baffled her. He’d objected previously to the viscount’s interest in her, yes, but she’d assumed he had only been teasing, a supposition bolstered by the almost comical way he commanded their attention now. Surely, a man who possessed every advantage of wealth, privilege and breeding was immune to the coarser emotions like jealousy.
’Twas beneath him in every way.
If Nuneaton noticed anything amiss in his friend’s conduct, he gave no indication as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small silk purse. “I did, yes. It was not without its challenges, for the jeweler had yet to finish repairing the clasp and had to be induced to work more quickly. If left to himself, I suspect it would have taken several more days.”
Curiously, Bea wondered what could be so important to Kesgrave that he required its delivery to his grandmother’s drawing room only minutes—at least she hoped it was only minutes—before his nuptials, and then she saw the glint of gold followed by a flash of blue.
Astonished, she stared at the beloved sapphire bracelet her mother had worn every day of her marriage until a murderer tore it from her wrist after snuffing out her life with a pillow. The last time she had seen the heirloom was barely more than a week ago, in Lord Wem’s study, its delicate links tethering his lordship’s watch to his waistcoat. She had paid it little heed as it shimmered in the sunlight, for she had naturally assumed it was a lovely adornment, a pretty chain with a practical purpose. But later, when she spoke to him amid the jubilant hubbub of Lord Stirling’s ball, she recalled it again, the flicker of sapphire, and perceived at once its significance.
In the days since the ghastly encounter with Wem, she hadn’t thought of the bracelet a single time. So many things had provided distraction: first her wedding, then the postponement of her wedding, then Mrs. Norton’s missing diamond, then the murdered corpse of an unfortunate actor who had
