Chapter 17
Pierre straightened Anthony’s cravat with a nod of satisfaction. “C’est magnifique.”
Anthony rotated his head to one side and the other, bumping up against the stiff points of his collar and causing Pierre to emit sounds of distress. “I am wound up like a spring, Pierre. I do not wish to smile and talk and laugh and serve young ladies punch from the refreshment table.”
“What do you want to do, then? There was a time when you would have given anything for such to be the entirety of your tasks.”
What do I want to do? He knew very well the answer to that question. He also knew he couldn’t do it. A knock on the door saved him from a perfunctory response and Pierre’s all-knowing, all-seeing eye. “Likely Himmat, informing us that the carriages are ready.”
Pierre shot him a glance that suggested he recognized Anthony’s prevarication for what it was, but answered the door. “Major Stuart?”
Anthony turned to see Dylan at the door, his face like a thundercloud. “What is it?”
Dylan entered and thrust a piece of paper at him.
Leave the boy alone.
Anthony looked up. “When did you receive this?”
“I did not receive it. Sophia did. With this.” In his other hand, Dylan held a box containing a small wooden horse that had been severed in two.
An angry heat started deep in Anthony’s gut and rose until he felt he would choke on it. “When?”
Dylan paced back to the door. “Just now. It was packaged and in her room waiting for her. She told Rachael, who found me.” He paused.
“Anthony, I do not like her or Rachael remaining in the dark any longer. Forewarned is forearmed, and they may need to defend themselves. They must be vigilant. I do not mean to force your hand, but that”—he pointed at the broken toy and letter—“is a thinly veiled threat. Sophia is beside herself over how Charlie will react to the destruction of his favorite toy, but you and I both know that this will be the least of her problems if she continues to interfere. Not to mention the fact that there is much more to this mess than one missing sea captain. Whoever is behind this has much to lose.”
Anthony exhaled. “What Sophia knows, I would not ask her to keep from Rachael. I hope you’re prepared for questions.”
“Questions are fine.” Dylan opened the door. “Wondering how they’ll respond when I tell them I think they should go back to England immediately has me worried.”
The door closed behind Dylan, and Anthony’s heart sank at the thought of Sophia leaving India.
The present danger to her would likely dissipate if she left, would it not?
The person who wanted her to stop seeking answers from Charlie was presumably the same person who killed Miller and stole the Janus Document.
If Sophia were no longer in India, the person who threatened her would have no further reason to continue.
It was a sound plan, and he resigned himself to the notion that she needed to go home, and likely Rachael, as well.
Dylan’s concern was justified; Rachael was embroiled in the drama as much as Sophia was.
And hovering at the back of his mind was the suspicion he’d been harboring that someone at the War Department had been behind the theft in the first place—that person wasn’t Harold Miller.
Which meant that if Anthony couldn’t get his hands on the document, everyone was still in danger, even at home.
Perhaps it was time to enlist Dylan in a more direct capacity and search each room in the mansion.
He had frustratingly few other leads or options.
Pierre shot Anthony a look of uncharacteristic sympathy as Anthony exited the room and made his way through the mansion toward the front door.
He forced himself to relax, unclenching his jaw before it could show signs of stress.
Several of the guests, the Pilkingtons included, gathered in the atrium and for a fleeting moment, he imagined taking Lord Pilkington by the cravat and shoving him up against the nearest wall until he told him whatever he knew about Miller’s disappearance.
There must have been something the man had missed, something he knew.
Who would have been in a position to discover the combination to the lock on his safe?
Who had Miller been seen talking to in the days before his death?
Dylan was already among the gathered guests, and he subtly inched closer to the Pilkingtons until he was upon them and they couldn’t scuttle away. Anthony smiled in spite of his foul mood. Dylan was clever.
Lady Pilkington spied Anthony, and her face lit up.
He swallowed a groan when she motioned to him.
She was overcompensating for the fact that her nerves were raw and the household was strangely off-kilter.
Events surrounding them were beyond her control, and she was twice as ardent in every emotion as before.
Stuart was keeping Lord Pilkington occupied with conversation that had the man looking slightly ill, but he wasn’t able to keep the wife corralled, so Anthony followed the summons dutifully.
“Lord Wilshire, three of my closest friends arrived from their yearlong tour of Europe and Asia earlier this week and they are going to the Club with us! I think you may know them!” She reached behind herself and pulled on an arm that was attached to a woman Anthony did indeed recognize.
She was Maria Vale, Lady Seadon, and the younger sister of a friend of his late mother’s.
And of course, he mused as Lady Seadon motioned across the room, she had brought her daughter and niece.
He felt cold all over and tightened his lips at the conundrum his life had become.
Alissandra Vale—Lissa—had pursued him more after his immediate return from the war than he would have imagined any one person could.
She’d tried on multiple occasions to be accidently “caught” alone with him, which would have forced his hand and landed her the role of Countess Wilshire.
He had never encouraged her, had never even offered a whisper of a suggestion he was interested either in an association with her or in finding a wife in general.
His cover “reputation” as a rake, however, had preceded him home, and since his father had been on his deathbed and Anthony’s ascension to the title imminent, tongues wagged that he must soon find a mother for his future heirs.
And now here she was—and wonderful!—here Sophia was, entering the atrium with Rachael and the Denney sisters.
“Anthony.” Lissa smiled, and the sight brought to Anthony’s mind the image of a cunning feline.
She had black hair and enormous blue eyes.
Perfect in face and form, she was well aware of her assets and used them to full advantage.
He felt not a stirring of interest for her, but rather a sense of worry that Sophia might witness something she would misunderstand.
“Lord Wilshire,” he corrected quietly and bowed over her gloved hand, intentionally withholding a perfunctory kiss.
Her brows drew together in a tiny frown that she quickly smoothed over. “Of course you remember my cousin, Miss Adeline Vale?”
Cousin Adeline was a nice girl, but cast forever in the shadow of her intense relative. Adeline was “obliged to live on the family’s charity,” Lissa had informed him once with a sad but kindly smile.
Adeline smiled, self-consciously tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear.
She really was lovely, with curls any girl would envy and vivid green eyes, and Anthony felt a stab of pity that her circumstances placed her in such an unpleasant and vulnerable position.
Lissa’s tongue was vicious, and she ruthlessly flayed anything she viewed as competition.
He imagined Adeline had been firmly shoved into place from the moment she found herself living on her family’s charity.
He smiled at Adeline and bowed over her hand as well, deliberately placing a light kiss on her gloved fingers.
Lady Pilkington gestured to Sophia and the other women, and when they approached, Anthony smiled at Sophia and moved closer to her until his sleeve brushed hers.
Lissa glanced at them, and he caught the fractional narrowing of her eyes.
His fingers itched to grasp Sophia’s shoulders and pull her from the room.
Lissa would most definitely see the beautiful Sophia as her fiercest competition yet.
He realized too late he’d have done Sophia a favor had he stayed away from her.
“Miss Sophia Elliot, sister to the current Earl Stansworth.” Lady Pilkington introduced Sophia grandly with evident pride.
Lissa smiled and curtseyed, as did Sophia, and Anthony felt a sinking sensation in his gut when Lissa eyed Sophia with one arched brow.
“Of course! We were never properly introduced in London. Lady Pilkington, I vow, is it not beyond imagining to look at Miss Elliot now and realize she was once a maid?”
The air around them stiffened, and Anthony wanted to throttle the girl. Before anyone could form a response, she opened her blue eyes wide and feigned innocence. “Oh, I certainly mean no disrespect! Dear me, I do tend to say the wrong thing at times.”
“It might be well worth your consideration, then, to give some thought to your words before you open your mouth.” Sophia’s lips twitched at the corners, offering the barest of smiles that was little more than an insult.
“Oh, indeed! You are privy to advice on all things polite and proper. I forget, your sister-in-law is the famed Mistress Manners. What a delightful and refreshing vocation. That she worked for a publication and was paid to do it—why she quite nearly set the ton on its ear when her identity became known.”
Anthony took a deep breath and braced himself as Sophia straightened slightly.