Chapter Fourteen
The blasted emerald pendant was missing.
Helen and Kate had searched every one of Cerise’s gowns, every square inch of the thick rug, underneath the bed and each slipper or half-boot the brat owned. Helen even felt along the drawers of the vanity, hoping the pendant had slipped into a space between the drawers.
Nothing.
Kate kept blotting her eyes during the search while letting out tiny, mournful sounds, neither of which helped matters.
As Cerise’s maid, the girl would be considered the most likely suspect, if Cerise remembered the pendant long enough to accuse her.
Galway’s daughter, in addition to being vain, arrogant and a snob, had the attention span of a squirrel.
By time Lady Hester departed, she’d forgotten all about the emerald pendant, only commanding Kate to copy Lady Hester’s hairstyle.
Which gave Helen some time to fix matters, if she could.
She went down to the kitchens for a cup of tea and a biscuit, because she thought better with both beside her. Cook chattered away about Galway’s neighbor, Lady Emerson, who had a strange habit of making wax masques of people, terrifying her staff.
“Cerise probably dropped the pendant in the carriage. Or at the ball,” Helen muttered into her tea.
“Which means I’ll need to search both, though if Lady Stout found the pendant, she would have already sent word.
” Cook, bless her, was too busy spouting theories on why Lady Emerson would have such an odd hobby as making wax masks of people’s faces.
What sort of countess does such a thing?
She wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to Helen’s muttering.
Chewing her bottom lip, Helen pondered the situation.
Obviously, Kate hadn’t taken the necklace, nor any other member of the staff, especially after what Galway did to Tam. The poor lad had been dismissed and nearly given over to the constables.
The last time Helen could clearly recall seeing the pendant had been the night of the Stout ball.
She closed her eyes and traced Cerise’s steps at Lady Stout’s seeing the pendant when Lord Galway and Lady Cerise were announced.
The emerald had dangled from her throat when Cerise twirled about the ballroom with four different partners, Helen recalled how the pendant had caught the light of the chandeliers.
The emerald sparkled when Cerise arched her back, fingers trailing over Roxboro in the alcove.
Helen picked up a biscuit, chewing thoughtfully.
After the incident with Roxboro, Helen’s return to the ballroom and Galway’s subsequent interrogation, Cerise had danced only once more before Galway insisted they return home.
She’d been annoyed with her father at leaving early and the two had argued on the carriage ride home while Helen stayed still and silent to avoid being drawn into their discussion.
The interior of the carriage had been dark.
The pendant must have been around Cerise’s neck but…
Helen couldn’t remember if it had been….
No.
Helen thought back to seeing Roxboro for the first time, ignored the flutter across her chest at thinking of him and concentrated on his actions at the Stout ball.
The duke had leaned over Cerise at one point, deliberately blocking her from Helen’s view.
At the time, she’d thought Roxboro was attempting to steal a kiss, but the duke had claimed to Helen, several times, he took no liberties with Galway’s daughter.
He could be lying, of course, but there wasn’t any reason for him to.
Her heart thudded dully in her chest. She could recall seeing the pendant before Roxboro, but not after.
Surely not.
The very idea was absurd. What reason would there be for a duke, especially the Duke of Roxboro, to steal a necklace off a young lady’s neck?
Roxboro was notable not only for his decadent lifestyle and questionable behavior, but also his enormous wealth.
He’d have no reason to take the pendant from Cerise, unless he did so only because he could.
Roxboro was jaded. Cynical. Spoiled. Bored noblemen often made outlandish wagers to amuse themselves, not caring who was harmed in the process. It was entirely possible Roxboro had entered into such a wager for his own amusement and taken the pendant.
Inconceivable.
Roxboro was many things, but he was a duke.
Yes, but not a good one.
He was dishonorable to the core as his behavior demonstrated.
He’d kissed Helen. Twice. Almost tupped her against a tree.
All while betrothed. Then appearing without warning outside the modiste shop when he shouldn’t even be in London at all but in the countryside with his bride.
Not to mention Roxboro was a sot, gambled excessively, and was one of the worst libertines in London.
What was the theft of a pendant amidst such behavior?
Cad.
Difficult to recall the disgust for his character when she felt—well likely the same as every other woman who was subjected to his charm—aroused and left wanting. But stealing? Kate’s life might be ruined.
Helen’s fingers tugged at her skirts.
Roxboro had taken the pendant, simply because he could.
His discussion with Helen at the Stout ball was purely to distract her from the crime. And the interlude in Hyde Park? Fishing for information about the pendant.
“Probably congratulated himself on how clever he’d been in pulling the wool over my eyes.” She bit viciously into another biscuit. “Laughing that he’d committed a crime that no one would dare accuse him of.”
“Who’d pull the wool over your eyes, Miss Cosgrove?” Cook gave her a look while she stirred the batter for a cake. “I find that unlikely.”
“No one of any import.” Because Roxboro couldn’t be important to her. Toying with her affections. Using her to conceal his crime.
The biscuit turned to bitter dust in her mouth.
How dare he.