Chapter Six #3
don’t typically, on a whim, tear up another man’s vowels if they’ve won fifteen thousand pounds at the gaming table.”
Every single time she heard that figure Ginny’s head went tight with disbelief. One of these times she would keel over into
a swoon. Perhaps expire. Perhaps that would be all for the best.
“Ah. Is that what Miss Woodville asked you to do?” Marchand managed to sound only mildly curious.
The earl nodded sorrowfully and indulgently.
“Why, I’m afraid asking someone to return money they rightfully won would be considered outrageous, Miss Woodville,” Marchand said gently.
The expression in his eyes was not gentle.
“Outrageous!” the earl repeated, as if relieved to hear just the word he’d been looking for all night. As if he’d been given
permission to use it. “But forgivable, in light of the circumstances of her naivete.”
He smiled fondly at Ginny.
Her lips spasmed into a grimace.
“One thing still puzzles me, however, Miss Woodville,” the earl said. “How did you know that your brother lost to me, in particular, if he didn’t tell you that he did?”
An alarming stillness came over Marchand. He fixed his eyes on her with an intensity she realized was a warning.
And that’s when she realized she had him by the proverbial short hairs.
Because if she wished, she could merrily lie: Oh, Mr. Marchand and I had a long, cozy chat aaaalll about you, Lord Sydenham, all about your habits and foibles and your mistress, make that mistresses, he told me everything,
and he told me to go ahead and ask you to give the money back, as you’d be happy to do it.
The power to foment chaos briefly inebriated her.
She and Mr. Marchand held a few seconds’ worth of eloquent conversation using their eyes only. His were surely scarier than
hers.
She could feel impulse and reason warring within her.
Reason was winning. Simply because she couldn’t predict what would happen if she did say all of that, or anything approximating it. It would be satisfying to watch Marchand scramble to undo the damage, but her own reputation and her family’s would be dented in the scuffle, too.
Then there was the little matter of the fact that they currently lived under the same roof at a boardinghouse by the docks,
and Mr. Marchand would doubtless volunteer the information to Sydenham. Perhaps he’d invent a few choice things about her
of his own. She had no doubt that he would fight like a trapped wild animal.
“I pressed and pressed Hogarth for the answer,” she faltered. “Which was difficult for him. Because of, ah, honor. All he
finally told me was that he lost to someone he greatly esteemed. And that the chance to play with this person was the reason he wagered at all. Since he is not gregarious by nature,
and I knew Lucifer’s Fall’s members are generally members of the peerage, I thought of you at once, Lord Sydenham. I fondly
remembered your kindness to our family and your warm relationship with my father. And I know how much my parents admired you.
Hogarth does, too. It was a lucky guess, I suppose.”
A silence terrifying in its length greeted this masterpiece of invention.
“That was very clever of you, dear,” the countess assured her, finally.
The corners of Marchand’s mouth betrayed that he was suppressing a smile. He shook his head slightly.
But the earl’s expression had gone softer. She exulted, but she could not yet exhale. She did not yet know how to convert
the softened expression into the return of fifteen thousand pounds.
“Do you know, I had a thought, Miss Woodville.” The earl’s voice was drifty and musing, as if he’d spent that silence poring over memories. “I know how we can make your brother’s little wager more fun.”
“Debts are so much better when they’re fun,” Ginny replied weakly.
“The late Earl of Highgrove—the one whose title Hogarth inherited—once bought out from under me at auction a Chinese vase
from the Ming dynasty. An exquisite thing. Unassuming on first glance. Deceptively simple but beautifully wrought. Like my wife.”
“Oh!” his wife said, sounding confused.
“It’s worth several hundred pounds. Its small, flawlessly round shape spoke deeply to me for reasons I cannot fully explain.”
The earl cupped his hand and made a hefting motion. “It’s white, with a pattern of blue lovebirds frolicking among entwined
lotuses. I was distraught when I learned the antiquities dealer who had acquired it specifically for me had sold it out from under me. I was willing to pay a hundred pounds more than it was worth. I can only assume the earl,
your cousin, offered him a considerably better deal. Unscrupulous, if you ask me. Your family does like to steal things from
me. Ha! I jest. I jest, of course. I have never been able to forget that vase.”
Just like he’d never been able to forget her mother.
“The vase sounds lovely.” He was only making her uneasy in a new way. Chinoiserie was very popular; much, much cheaper stoneware
imitations of Ming vases abounded. Only the wealthiest of people could afford an actual Ming vase. They were exceedingly rare and obviously coveted. She’d never even seen one up close.
“Find that vase and bring it to me within a fortnight, Miss Woodville, and I’ll tear up your brother’s vowels.”
She stopped breathing.
The air shimmered oddly, as if she were dreaming, or about to ascend to heaven. She was experiencing a violently sudden change
of internal atmosphere.
Marchand was frowning slightly.
Her breath came shallowly and goose bumps rose on her arms as she was once again flooded with that prodigal feeling known
as hope.
She hadn’t the faintest bloody idea where that vase was. The late earl might have sold it yet again; he might have been buried
with it, for all she knew. A housekeeper might have accidentally turned it into smithereens while dusting. Perhaps the solicitor
knew.
“Done,” she told him.
“Shall we shake on it?” The earl extended his hand, and she took it, unable to resist flicking a glance at Marchand, whom
she had refused to touch only yesterday.
“So witnessed,” Mr. Marchand said shortly. The deal was official.
But for some reason Marchand looked faintly troubled.
Deal thusly sealed, Ginny didn’t want to be in that room with any of these people for one moment longer.
“Thank you, Lord Sydenham, Lady Sydenham. Your offer is gracious beyond words. I’m certain you’ll want to spend some time
chatting with Mr. Marchand, so I’ll bid you good night.
It was so very lovely to see you. And it was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marchand.
No, don’t stand, please! I can see myself out.
I remember the way. Thank you so much for your kindness and hospitality.
And I’ll see you again when I bring your vase to you in a fortnight! ”
She leaped to her feet, bobbed the world’s swiftest curtsy, trailed a gaily waving hand, and bolted.
She was already in the hall before anyone could reply.
She could hear her own shoes echoing absurdly on the marble, as though she were being chased. Click click click click.
She might even have fluttered Farnham’s coattails with the breeze she created as she passed him when she dashed out the door.