Chapter 11
Evelyn knew she didn’t need to keep hold of Asher as they walked through the gallery, but it was so empty in here, the gallery quiet, almost reverent, that she felt as though she needed an anchor to hold onto as they followed the attendant who had greeted them upon entrance.
There were a fair number of guards standing at regular intervals through the gallery, which stood in the center of the Marquess of Eastclere’s significant estate just outside of London, their gazes wary, watchful.
Evelyn tilted her head up to speak so that only Asher could hear her.
“Do you think they are always here, or are they just for us?”
“I’m sure the marquess is warier than usual after losing the diamond,” he murmured back.
Evelyn ignored the uneasy roll of her stomach in this somewhat familiar place, considering how many events Lord Eastclere had held through the years.
When they were through the hall, past priceless statues and paintings the marquess had collected over the years, the attendant gestured through the ballroom to the gallery, where the Paragon Diamond had been displayed.
“Here we are,” the attendant, Mr. Bloomington, said. “This is the case where the diamond was displayed.”
The empty case loomed larger than Evelyn remembered as she stepped forward, sensing the guards around them keeping a close eye on them, on alert.
Far more alert than she remembered them being on the night of the theft. She could hardly remember their presence that night, although there had been a great many other things happening at the time.
She gazed at the display case in the muted light filtering through the high windows, remembering how dark it had been in here the night of the spring soiree, right before the chandeliers were lit.
She noted the faint smell of oil from the mechanisms wafting off it, the three of them around it so silent that she could hear the echo of footsteps on stone in the distance.
She sensed Asher naturally moving slightly behind and to the side of her. His presence reassured her, and while it felt protective, she wondered how much of it was him trying to angle himself to better see what she was looking at.
Evelyn shook off her questions about her husband. She’d have time for that later. Right now, she had to make the most of her brief time to analyze the display case and find any clues.
Her gaze zeroed in on the empty velvet cushion at the center of the Marquess's prize display. The space where the Paragon Diamond should have rested gaped like an open wound.
She circled the case slowly, examining it from every angle while the attendant fidgeted nearby. The mechanism that controlled the automatic locking system was cleverly concealed, but Evelyn knew what to look for. She crouched down, peering intently at the hidden gears and levers through the glass.
"Who last adjusted the mechanism in this case?" she asked, not taking her eyes from the complex device.
"It would have been our maintenance man, Mr. Finch," Mr. Bloomington replied. "He oils all the cases routinely."
"And how often is that done?"
"Once per month, your grace.”
Evelyn frowned slightly. Based on the uneven pattern of wear she observed on the tiny gears, the oiling did not appear as regular as claimed. She stood up and faced the attendant directly. "Was any work done on this case after the night the diamond disappeared? Any repairs or alterations?"
Mr. Bloomington shifted his weight. "No, your grace. Mr. Finch inspected it, but he didn't find anything amiss."
Evelyn nodded. She was in her element now – focused, analytical, energized by the thrill of unraveling a tangle of clues. The suffocating weight of her new title, duties, and husband lifted as her mind set to work on the problem.
Evelyn moved on to the next component, and the next, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then she stilled.
"The counterweight," she breathed. "It's misaligned. Just slightly." Her finger hovered over the piece, not quite touching. "And this catch. The screws have been loosened intentionally. It's subtle, but..."
She whirled toward Asher.
"This catch was altered deliberately, in advance," she said quietly, almost to herself. "The case would have appeared secure...until our thief visited."
Evelyn straightened up and met the duke's gaze. Asher's blue eyes were hard and intent, all hints of humor vanished. He gave her a slow nod, his jaw tight.
Then he turned to Mr. Bloomington, and together, they began throwing questions at him.
Who had access to the display? Who was responsible for its maintenance? Had any unusual work been authorized recently? The man's answers were vague and halting, but they revealed small, damning inconsistencies.
"Who would have the knowledge to alter the mechanism this way?" Asher asked quietly. "And the opportunity to ensure it was done before the spring soiree?"
Evelyn looked at Asher once again, her expression grim. "It had to be someone familiar with the case's design. Someone trusted by the household." She hesitated. "Someone close to Lord Eastclere himself, I fear."
Asher nodded slowly. The list of suspects was narrowing, but the web of implication was tightening around them as well. They needed to tread carefully.
As the attendant excused himself to consult with the house steward — or, more likely, escape their inquisition — Asher found himself staring at his wife, this woman he had scarcely known a week ago. Who had apparently been in his company on multiple occasions, yet he had missed her.
How?
She was extraordinary. Brilliant, determined, unflappable. In this moment, he trusted her judgment more than he had any other.
"Your eye for detail is... quite remarkable," he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral, trying not to show her just how much admiration was surging through him.
He knew most women were sharper than they let on, not wanting to scare away their suitors. His sister was a fine example of a young lady whose brilliance often shone, though few were aware of it.
But Evelyn… she was not only intelligent, but she was proud of it. As she should be.
“Where were you standing when the chandeliers were lit?” he asked, trying to determine how they could prove their innocence.
“Over here,” she said, walking across the room to the small doorway that connected the gallery with the larger ballroom. “Close to the gallery entrance but not within it.”
“And I believe I was just a few steps away,” he said, walking a few feet over, pointing.
“Could we have been close enough to have time to slip away and steal the necklace before anyone noticed?” she asked.
He grimaced. “I suppose if we were very quick and surreptitious. If whoever we were conversing with was sufficiently distracted.”
“Such as by the lighting of the chandeliers?”
“Such as that.”
A guard approached them, and instinctively, Asher and Evelyn stepped closer to one another. Asher started slightly when their shoulders brushed, that feeling rushing through him that this was where he was supposed to be — not in the Marquess of Eastclere’s gallery, but with her.
Which he could not afford to be thinking about.
He cleared his throat and stepped away first, reminding himself of what they were here to do and how they planned to achieve their aim.
“So we have determined that someone who could have accessed the gallery without suspicion tampered with the case before the actual theft, and that we were likely not far enough away from the diamond to avoid suspicion.”
“Agreed,” she said with a sigh. “Not exactly what we were hoping for.”
“It’s a start,” he said, although he couldn’t help but wonder just what else she was capable of solving when she put her mind to it.
Mr. Bloomington returned, and they told him they had all they needed. He seemed relieved as he led them through the gallery and back out into the daylight.
Asher looked over at Evelyn, who was still contemplative. He wanted to express all he was feeling — praise, gratitude, admiration — but he knew if he did so, he might only draw her closer, and he couldn’t risk that.
Not now.
He cleared his throat, but instead of saying what he truly wanted to, all he said was, “We should document what you observed. Quietly.”
Evelyn nodded, and Asher had to continue to fight the urge to pull her closer, to enjoy the benefits that should come with having a wife.
But he was too concerned about what that could mean — for both of them.
“Mr. Pine sent a note. He congratulated us on our marriage to start, and also told us that he couldn’t track anything further from the note itself. He also found the messenger but the boy had found the note and money on the front step.”
“That’s frustrating.”
“It is, but there’s not much more he can do. He’s already gone beyond his usual services.”
“Do you have plans for this evening?” Evelyn asked once they were within the carriage, the doors shutting them into its opulence, seated across from one another as they began to move through the still-quiet London streets.
“I have nowhere to be,” he said quietly, leaving it at that.
A strange tension was humming between them, one he had never before experienced and couldn’t quite explain. Silence stretched, and anytime Asher glanced toward Evelyn, he found that she would quickly dart her gaze away, as though she didn’t want him to catch her.
But he wouldn’t have minded. She was his wife. She could look all she wanted, and he was having a hard time keeping himself from staring into those beautiful hazel eyes, wanting to learn more about what lay behind them.
Through the small carriage window, the city rolled past, but he didn’t have much interest in seeing what was outside — it was what was within that meant the most to him.
The carriage jolted slightly, and Evelyn rocked forward but caught herself on the seat, preventing herself from falling into Asher’s outstretched arms. Before his disappointment could set in, however, there was a much more abrupt jerk, and she shot forward, out of her seat and nearly onto his lap.
Instinctively, Asher’s arms wrapped around her as he kept her from falling, even as he nearly lost his own seat.
“What was that?” Evelyn gasped, her head leaning back to look up at him.
“I don’t know,” Asher murmured as the carriage slowed unexpectedly before the wheels ground unevenly, and eventually they came to a stop. “But I’ll find out.”
He set her back in the seat, then eased the door open and called up to the driver.
“Jacobs? What was that?”
“A loose wheel is my guess,” the driver, who had dismounted, said as he walked around the carriage, inspecting each of the wheels in turn.
Asher turned to look back in the carriage. “I’ll be right back,” he told Evelyn, wanting to direct her to stay put but knowing that she likely wouldn’t take kindly to being told what to do.
“A broken trace,” the driver called out from the other side as Asher looked up, catching Evelyn’s inquisitive stare through the window. “Your grace?” He called, concern in his voice.
Asher rounded the carriage, finding the driver staring at him nervously.
“What is it, Jacobs?” he asked, feeling there was more to this than than just a broken wheel.
Jacobs shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, his eyes moving nervously from side to side.
“I think… I think this was done deliberately.”
“While we were at Eastclere’s?” Asher demanded. “Were you not with the carriage?”
“No, I wasn’t,” Jacobs said, scratching at his head. “I, ah, went in for a tipple with some of Lord Eastclere’s staff.”
“And now my wife is in danger,” Asher bit out in frustration, although the truth was, he was just as mad at himself as he was at Jacobs.
He should have made Evelyn stay at home.
He caught movement down the street, out of the corner of his eye, though it wasn’t unusual as they were nearing a working district.
“I’ll go find help,” Jacobs said.
“From where?”
“There has to be someone nearby, or I’ll walk back to Eastclere’s.”
“That will take some time.”
“It will,” Jacobs agreed.
Asher sighed, lifting his cap and running a hand through his hair, but there was nothing else he could do.
“Very well. Thank you, Jacobs.”
Jacobs nodded and then set off down the street. Before returning to Evelyn, Asher walked around the carriage, inspecting the rest of it to make sure nothing else was amiss.
He saw their shadows before he heard the footsteps.
He turned at the last minute, whirling around to find the men bearing down on him.
“Need some help, your grace?” one asked, eyeing the carriage, and Asher’s instincts were instantly on alert. How would they know his title?
“No, we’re just fine,” he said, standing with confidence. “Thank you for your concern.”
“You coming from Eastclere Manor?” said the other.
Asher looked down the road. They were a fair enough distance from the manor that it wouldn’t make sense for these men to have known.
“What does it matter?” he asked.
“Ach, nothing, just a fancy carriage like this usually comes from that direction,” the man said with ease. Too much ease. “Who were you visiting?”
“I will keep my private business just that — private,” he said, wishing he could jump in the carriage and take off, but of course, that was no longer an option.
This all seemed far too opportunistic.
He looked back at the carriage again, wishing he could see within, to know if Evelyn was watching or listening. He prayed she would stay inside, not give these men any further ideas.
He sensed motion in front of him just in time to step out of the way before the iron bar came crashing down.
He wasn’t injured.
But he had a feeling they wouldn't back down.
And all he could think about was keeping Evelyn safe.