Chapter Eight
“Riddle?” Peverill asked.
“Yes… apparently anyone who can solve it will be led to a trove of jewels belonging to the Rothesay dukedom,” Justin said, holding out the piece of paper so Peverill could examine it himself. “He makes it clear that the fortune goes to the first person who uncovers them.”
Portia snatched it out of his hand. He heard Peverill sigh. “Bloody hell,” she said, in that strange way of hers. “Father must have written this before he died.”
“Is it in his hand?” Cordelia added, going to stand beside her sister. They held it up to the light, examining the elegant scrawl with a practiced eye.
“And here I was thinking my trip back to England would be restful and dull,” Peverill said.
“Here I thought I inherited something worthwhile,” Justin commiserated.
He grabbed the crystal tumbler and refilled his glass.
The brandy was smooth with a delicate taste and must have cost more than a year of his wages.
“I should have known better than to call you to my aid; you’re always bringing trouble with you,” he added.
Peverill smiled. “And leave you to have all the pretty downtrodden maids for yourself?”
Justin raised an eyebrow but did not have the chance to counter him.
“It is truly his hand,” Cordelia said, walking over to where they stood.
“And so, my work here is finished,” Mr. Ingram declared.
He pointed to a series of papers that were balancing precariously on an upholstered chair.
“I would suggest you read those documents carefully, Your Grace. My offices are in Hatfield. I beg you to call on me should you need any further legal advice.”
“I’m not certain a scavenger hunt for the family heirlooms is totally legal,” Justin said, taking his calling card.
The solicitor spluttered, his cheeks reddening. “Your Grace, let me assure you that I tried to persuade the late duke to—”
“Yes, yes, I understand,” Justin said. He clapped the solicitor on the back, causing the man to cough. “Thank you for your help, Ingram.”
A footman ushered the little gray man from the room. When the door closed, it seemed like everyone slumped into the nearest chair.
“Well, what does it say anyway?” Peverill asked.
Cordelia cleared her throat and began to read:
“Eyes right, my jolly field boys,
Who British bayonets bear,
To teach your foes to yield boys,
When British steel they dare!
Now fill the glass, for the toast of toasts
Shall be drunk with the cheer of cheers,
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
For the British bayoneteers”
“It appears to be some sort of song,” Portia said, “though I’ve never heard it in my life.”
“I have,” Justin and Peverill replied at the same time.
Cordelia cocked her head and drew her eyebrows together.
“We were both soldiers, after Eton,” Justin answered. “It is an old song they teach the young cadets.”
“Well, that makes perfect sense!” Portia exclaimed, clapping her hands together. She promptly fled the room.
“Should we…” Justin started, but Lady Cordelia was already up and following her younger sister.
Justin deposited the crystal glass on a nearby table and signaled for Peverill to join.
Together they followed the black skirts into the main hallway and through a corridor until they reached the former duke’s office.
Justin had been working here for the past week and a half.
The great oak desk was still a mess, covered in papers and ledger books.
A huge portrait of the duke was hung up behind the desk, dressed in a full, high-ranking officer’s uniform.
Justin hadn’t really given much thought to the painting.
He assumed the man held a position similar to the other toffs that made it into the military with their father’s money, purely ceremonial.
“When are you going to be sitting for your portrait?” Peverill asked. “Or does Kitty Jarvis still have that miniature of you in uniform? Maybe you can put that up instead.”
“Still jealous that she never asked you for one?” Justin replied, under his breath.
Peverill smiled. “She asked different things of me.”
“Look here!” Portia exclaimed, moving the leather chair so it was under the portrait. “I think I see something underneath it.”
“Let one of the gentlemen do it, my dear,” Cordelia said. Justin sensed an edge in her voice, but Portia ignored her. Hiking up her skirts, the young woman clambered up the wingback chair until she was straddling it.
“Dear God,” Peverill said. “If you weren’t effectively her guardian, I’d have some very choice things to say about her right now.”
“Go ahead. Then you’d be able to take her off my hands,” he replied.
“Then again… the other one is also quite nice. Pretty shape. Knows how to hold her tongue a little better,” Peverill countered.
Justin felt his hand twitch, having the sudden urge to knock Peverill to the ground.
Though Peverill and Justin were quite similar in term of values, their tastes diverged dramatically when it came to women.
Peverill typically preferred aristocratic and extravagant mistresses that he could spoil with his obscene amount of wealth and in turn, enraged the men of the ton.
Justin had not taken many lovers in his life, but when he had they were practical arrangements with independent women. Certainly not a simpering, swooning girl who was better suited to a Botticelli painting than a drawing room.
“Unless… you’ve formed some sort of attachment?” Peverill tried.
“Of course not!” Justin said, perhaps a little too quickly, because Peverill raised a suspecting eyebrow.
“Here!” Portia said, another letter clutched in her hand. She sneezed loudly as she climbed down off the leather chair, fanning a cloud of dust away from her face. She handed it to Cordelia as the company drew together again.
Cordelia’s hands were shaking as she broke the red wax seal. Taking a deep breath, she read:
“You will find me among friends hiding in plain sight/ a glorious future I portend but found only in the night/ seek me where think last to look or elude you I will continue/ to reveal my treasure you must touch my spine and pry open my sinew.”
There was a long silence that followed.
“That seems to be a great deal more difficult,” Portia said, rubbing her temples. “I can’t rightly think of what that might be.”
“Might I suggest we take a respite?” Justin offered.
Cordelia looked up at him through her long lashes. Her brown eyes were grateful. She held out the piece of paper for him to take. “Yes, Your Grace. I think that would be best for everyone. I did promise our younger sisters that we would provide them with an update as soon as possible.”
Portia opened her mouth to protest, but Justin cut her off. “Excellent plan. We can discuss the riddle later.”
Cordelia curtsied prettily and then looped her arm through her sister’s, dragging her out of the office.
“See? They’re becoming more biddable as we speak,” Justin said, when they were a safe distance away.
Peverill was hunting the room, no doubt looking for more brandy. “Whatever you say, Wright. I’m not as inclined to think so.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that, as stipulated in their father’s will, whoever solves the riddle and finds the treasure first gets to keep it. I’d rather think they’re plotting your demise as we speak.”
*
“I have a plan!” Portia announced as soon as they were out of sight of the men. She steered them into a nearby room, which had all of its furniture covered in white draperies.
“What is it now, Portia?” Cordelia asked. The brandy had made her light-headed and hungry. She was desperate to go down to the kitchens for a sandwich.
“We can outsmart them; I know we can!” Portia said, her blue eyes wide with excitement.
She rubbed her hands together and began pacing the room as she spoke.
“We can be one step ahead of them at all times but pretend to be aloof. When we find the jewels, we will stash them away for ourselves, or maybe use them to buy back Hollyhead.”
“But how? Portia, everything in this house and on the grounds belongs to the duke,” Cordelia replied, feeling rather despairing. “The best we can hope for is that he uses some of the jewels to help with our dowries.”
“Nonsense!” she said. “Not if they can’t find them! We get to the jewels first, have someone make off with them, cash them in when we get to London, and everyone is none the wiser. We have a bargaining chip and Mr. Whoever-he-is goes back to where he came from.”
It was a bad plan. It was the only plan. Cordelia leaned on a window, looking out at a yew tree swaying in the wind. She could picture herself there as a child, learning to read while Portia played in the gardens. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and brushed it away impatiently.
“But we will need to find a way to stall them from selling Hollyhead…” Portia said, chewing on the end of her thumbnail.
“Tell him we should host a ball,” Cordelia replied, surprising herself.
A voice in her head was telling her to let it go, but there was another part of her, a stronger, more indignant part, rising up.
“We will hold a ball in a month’s time. We’ll need to get Hollyhead up to snuff.
We’ll tell him it will be a good chance to showcase the house and gardens to potential buyers.
And of course, we’ll have potential suitors invited as well. ”
“Yes! Gosh, you’re a genius, Lia!” But then, Portia’s face fell. “But… what about Lady Billings? Actually, what about Hertfordshire? Do you think people will be scandalized by us holding a ball when we should still be in mourning?”
“To be sure. But who doesn’t love a good scandal? Hopefully by that time we’ll have found the jewels and have bought ourselves some more time,” Cordelia replied.
She coughed as Portia gathered her up into her arms. “Lia… what would I do without you?”
“Oh, knowing you, you’d be getting on just fine,” she said, laughing.
“Maybe this will finally convince Rhys to get over here and propose formally,” Portia replied.
A deep, resounding no reverberated in Cordelia’s head.
The Earl of Halton was currently somewhere in the south of France feeding strawberries to his beautiful mistress.
Though she and Rhys had grown up together and were friendly, he was the last person she would be content marrying, as much as Lady Billings would have liked for it to happen.
However, Cordelia wasn’t sure she would have any choice in the matter.
This was why she needed to at least try to give herself a chance. Even if she was unconvinced Portia’s scheme would work.
“We’ll see,” Cordelia said. “Let’s go and tell Bea and Hermione. I’m sure they’re anxious for some good news.”