37. Champagne & Triumph
Champagne someone as joyless and impartial as the law.”
“I dare say you’re right,” Miles agreed. “However, now that Lady Bitter’s ledger will be consigned to the flames, I reckon he’ll raise a cheer, perhaps the first bonfire he ever enjoyed.”
Wilberforce looked surprised. “You don’t mean to say he was—”
“Yes,” Miles said, grinning. “Our cheerless barrister was himself in the Bitter Grip, racking up a list of debts with the rest of us—now, poof! Gone in a puff of smoke. The case is won, the ledgers burned, and the whole disgraceful business conveniently beyond recall. I should think he has never felt so light in his life. Creswell need never speak of it again.”
Wilberforce let out a low whistle. “Well, well. That does explain his sudden disinclination for our society. Shall we drink to the man’s absence, then?”
Arabella’s eyes darkened. “I for one shall not repine at his absence. To snub my dearest Lucinda, when it was she who won his case for him.”
William again looked to Miles for clarification.
“Oh, Mr. Fusspot was in fine form earlier,” Miles explained. “Gave Lucinda the cut direct in the courthouse—didn’t so much as glance her way. He’s a complete widgeon!”
“I can’t say I’m surprised. The man has the warmth of a stone monument.”
“A monument to what, precisely?” Miles asked, amused. “The death of good humor?”
Arabella dissolved into titters, while Miles and William clinked their glasses. The evening, it seemed, would be unmarred by the shadow of Creswell’s disapproval, and all were better for it.
Some time later, Lucinda discovered Alex, Johan, and Miles in close conference near the bay window overlooking the street.
As she approached, three pairs of eyes turned toward her with varying degrees of curiosity—Miles with his habitual ease, Alex with his steady intensity, and Johan with an unmistakable glint of mischief.
She inclined her head. “I wished to thank each of you.”
Johan instantly took her hand, brushing an extravagant kiss over her knuckles. “Ah, gratitude! A most becoming quality in a lady. And yet, I find myself tormented by curiosity. What, pray, have I done to merit such appreciation?”
Alex’s brow lifted in amusement. “On the contrary, Miss Harrington, I rather think it is we who are in your debt. Your testimony all but sealed the case.”
Johan pressed a hand dramatically to Alex’s shoulder. “Ah, but wait, my friend. Have we not overlooked something? Perhaps Miss Harrington remembers—” He turned to Lucinda, his eyes dancing.
She smiled. “My memory has returned in full, Count van der Meer. And I am exceedingly grateful to you all for coming to my aid that night at Sixes & Sevens. For finding me, and for extricating me.”
Miles, for once, looked serious. “You ought never to have been in such danger in the first place. I’m sorry for it, Lucinda.”
She softened. “You did not force my hand, Miles. I have no regrets.”
Johan tilted his head. “Then you recall setting Peri loose in the Hazard Room?”
Lucinda’s eyes danced with the memory. “I do.”
Johan exhaled in mock relief. “Thank heavens! For a moment, I feared I’d imagined the spectacle. But tell me, Miss Harrington, how and when did you learn to pick a lock?”
Lucinda shrugged. “A simple trick I learned from Alex and Miles when we were stuck in a medicine closet many years ago.”
Miles chuckled. “How very like you, Lucinda to have remembered that childhood prank.”
“A prank?” asked Johan, even more intrigued. “Tell me more.”
“Was it difficult to push the key out?” asked Miles.
“Yes, it took some doing. Luckily I had a hairpin to help.”
Johan chuckled. “Bravo, Miss Harrington. Bravo. You are a true heroine of our time. I must admit, I am impressed. Not many would have thought to pick a lock, let alone pocket the key afterward.”
“Ah, yes, the key,” said Lucinda, twinkling, “it was a pragmatic thought that made me keep hold of it.”
Johan leaned forward. “Pragmatic, Miss Harrington? Or perhaps a display of your singular ingenuity?”
“One does what one must, Count van der Meer,” said Lucinda. “Especially when the stakes are high.”
“I believe there is more to this story than you are letting on, Miss Harrington.”
Alex silently observed her. His quiet demeanor reflected his pride and admiration for the woman before him.
Lucinda raised an eyebrow at Alex, her expression playful. “And what, pray tell, makes you think that, sir?”
“Experience,” Johan replied, his grin widening. “And the look on Alexander’s face. Come, now. Tell us the rest.”
Out of gentlemanly instinct—and perhaps a whiff of self-preservation—Alex neatly diverted the conversation. “I would rather hear about the constable’s testimony. What pearls of wisdom did he drop after I left the courtroom?”
Johan, always pleased to deliver an accounting, folded his arms with a satisfied nod.
“He confirmed Miss Harrington’s ingenious map.
The storage room—where she and the heroic hound were imprisoned—was precisely where her map indicated.
Just off a disused gaming salon on the upper floor.
Delightfully sinister, really.” His eyebrows jumped with triumph.
“And the key she supplied? Turned the lock as though it had been born to it.”
“But that’s not all, Lu,” added Miles, practically glowing. “The rope that was used on you both—it was still there. Lying on the floor like some ghastly souvenir. Likely untouched since you locked it up and escaped with the key.”
Alex’s brows rose in appreciation. “Damning evidence, indeed.”
Lucinda let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
Alex caught her eye, his smile gentle. “It’s all done, Lucinda. We can move forward at last.”
Lucinda looked up at him with a sense of defeat. “Creswell’s snub is just the first of many, I’m afraid. More will follow.”
At that, Johan leaned in over Alex’s shoulder to capture her attention.
“Then abandon the whole ridiculous city! Come to Brussels—where society has not yet forgotten how to enjoy itself. I should be delighted to introduce such a formidable lady to my sisters. Alexander will tell you himself—Brussels is infinitely preferable to London’s stuffy drawing rooms.”