Chapter Six
THAT EVENING, EVERYONE gathered in Ashington’s second study. If Mickey detected a tad more deference from Hawkins as he handed him his coat and hat, it disappeared in a flash.
Watched over by the handsome twelfth duchess, Tommy delivered the bad news regarding Talybridge’s probable involvement in her demise, compounding it with Mickey’s notions regarding Beauregard’s nefarious intent.
As Tommy predicted, the duke refused to contemplate confronting Talybridge. Despite being a man who never backed down from a fight, Fitzsimmons was in reluctant support of his brother. Which meant they’d have to find another way of securing the jewels.
“That’s assuming they definitely are your jewels,” Tommy added at the end of the story. Once again, all eyes drifted towards the majestic portrait.
“They are,” Willoughby confirmed with a heavy sigh.
Accompanied by his nosy twin, he’d paid Miss Amelia Chesterton an afternoon call. “The parure was a betrothal gift from Talybridge. He presented it to her in Florence.”
Ashington matched him with a sigh of his own, laden with the weight of unspoken thoughts.
“On a more positive note,” interjected Rollo, “You will be delighted to hear that, unmasked, Miss Amelia Chesterton has no visible warts, no signs of the pox, and two brown eyes which happily work in tandem with each other.”
“Two very pretty brown eyes,” corrected Willoughby. “And perfect brows to match. Rolly’s underselling them. They are the colour of autumn’s first fallen leaf. And she also boasts a remarkable retroussé nose.”
“How marvellous.” The earl permitted himself a small smile. “Heaven forbid the future countess of Rossingley have eyes of a dull mud-brown and her nose be unremarkably retroussé.” He raised one of his own perfectly sculpted eyebrows. “I take it Miss Amelia is still your future countess?”
“She’s my everything, Papa,” Willoughby breathed, eliciting a snort from his twin. “Shush, Rolly.” He clasped his hands to his heart. “And we are a love match. She has confessed to being hopelessly in love with me too.”
“Of course she is, my darling,” said Rossingley. “You are the sweetest young gentleman a girl could ever wish to have.” He threw his other, smirking son a frown. “Unlike your twin, who requires a much firmer hand.”
“Amen to that,” agreed Fitzsimmons. He wiggled his fingers. “Fortunately, I’m in possession of two very large ones.”
Rollo beamed. “And we all know what very large hands signify.”
“Retain some focus, Rolly! Miss Amelia is distraught.” Willoughby’s eyes, two pools of liquid cerulean, filled with tears.
“We must prevent her marrying the marquess. She hardly knows the man, nor cares for him. It’s her father who’s besotted by Talybridge; the fool can’t see beyond bragging to all his friends back home that his daughter is to become a marchioness! ”
The earl’s features slid from benign amusement to a shrewd alertness. “Is the parure still in her possession?”
“She was so agitated regarding her impending nuptials that I felt it was too brazen a question to pose.”
“So, I did it for him.” Rollo beamed again. “And trust me, one treads a fine line complimenting a young woman on her choice of neckwear without implying one has been ogling her bosom all evening.” He looked smug. “I believe I carried it off.”
“So, is it?” his father prompted.
“No. It’s locked away in Talybridge’s safe. One of those betrothal gifts that isn’t truly a gift until her wedding night.”
“More of a lure,” said Rossingley thoughtfully. “Which makes things trickier, but not impossible.”
He narrowed his gaze, shooting a quick glance at Kit as if continuing a silent conversation with his crafty lover.
Mickey had seen this expression before—and Kit’s, come to that.
In his experience, it generally heralded something alarming.
The others must have spotted it too; the air in the room thickened whilst they waited for the earl to speak.
“Now we have all the pertinent information, our course of action is quite clear.” Rossingley’s eyes glittered.
Another pregnant pause followed.
“It is?” queried Ashington after half a minute. “I’m…uh…befogged.”
Mickey felt for him as his anxious gaze darted around the room. Always maintaining a very modest opinion of his own intellect, the duke clearly assumed everyone but him understood.
“Not to me,” said Tommy, coming to his rescue.
“Nor me,” added Fitzsimmons. “You’ll have to spell it out to us duffers, I’m afraid.”
With an innate sense of the theatrical, Rossingley rose to his feet, taking his elegant, sweet time.
“Very simply,” he declared, his crystal-clear tones ringing out, “I propose we steal the Ashington parure ourselves. Thereby beating Beauregard to it.”
“Steal—” Ashington’s jaw dropped open. “I’m a bloody duke, not a highwayman, Rossingley! Nor am I a safe cracker! Or a common thief! And…and nor are you!”
“I am, though,” offered Kit. “A little out of practice, but I expect it’s a bit like riding a horse. One doesn’t forget how to do these things.”
“Yes, but…” the duke spluttered. “You’re…we’re…I’m…no!”
“I’m not against a bit of thieving to help a good cause, my love,” murmured Tommy.
Mickey didn’t bother adding his voice. Everyone knew they’d both been blackguards at various moments, if only to ensure food in their bellies.
“No again!” Ashington exclaimed. “Hello! Is no one listening to me?”
“I’ve thieved, too,” added Fitzsimmons, somewhat sheepishly. “Before, you know…during darker times.”
“You certainly thieved my heart,” said Rollo. “Does that count?”
Willoughby made retching noises. “I once stole a meat pie from cook’s baking sheet, cooling on the kitchen sill,” he offered. “Does that count?”
“You bugger!” Rollo rounded on him. “I took a wooden spoon to the arse for that!”
“Good lord, I’m surrounded by scoundrels.” Ashington tugged madly at his thick hair. “You’ve all lost your minds.”
Mickey cleared his throat, recalling Beauregard’s words. “Is it stealing, though, if one takes from another thief?”
“Excellent point, Mickey,” Rossingley praised. “And arguably not.”
“Especially as the parure belongs to you to begin with, Benedict,” Tommy coaxed. “You’d simply be reclaiming that which is rightfully yours.”
“But how?” The duke paced towards the window, where he took up position, hands on hips, staring out and shaking his head. “How the blazes can we? What if—”
“That part I haven’t quite worked out yet,” Rossingley confessed. “But we’re a group of bright chaps. Surely, we can put our heads together and come up with something sensible?”
“Sensible?” Ashington tugged on his hair again; he’d be bald by dinner if he kept that up. “I’m the only one in this room with any sense!”
Behind his back, the others eyed one another.
Mickey wondered who’d make the next move.
When Tommy offered him a questioning eyebrow, Mickey returned it with a nod, excitement mounting.
Across the room, Fitzsimmons mouthed something to Rossingley, who also nodded, then flicked his blue gaze up at the duke’s broad back.
“Who’s in then?” said the earl brightly.
“Me,” declared Fitzsimmons. “The parure is Ashington property. I want the damned thing back and, in doing so, shall avenge my grandmother.”
“Then I’m in too,” said Rollo. “You’re not placing yourself in the path of danger without me by your side, Fitz.”
“Super,” answered Fitzsimmons drily. “Everybody needs a small blond chatterbox full of bad ideas when they’re imperilled.”
“It sounds jolly exciting, Papa,” Rollo continued, unabashed. “And of course, we’ll need Willoughby, seeing as he’s so close to Miss Amelia. So, he’s in too.”
“Charming,” muttered Willoughby. “She’ll never break things off with Talybridge when she discovers I’m a common crook.”
“She won’t,” Rollo insisted. “Because Papa and Kit will come up with a foolproof plan. Kit? You’re joining us, too, aren’t you?”
“Wherever your papa leads, my sweet, I shall follow,” replied Kit placidly. “And, as we’ve already established, November is such a dreary month.”
“I’m in too,” said Mickey. “I have already made the…um…acquaintance of Beauregard. If it enhances our cause, then I’m happy to pursue it further.”
“I bet you are,” teased Tommy. “Obviously, I’m game.” He raised his voice. “So that simply leaves you, my love?”
Ashington turned from the window to be greeted by Tommy’s rare, slow smile. Mickey believed it to be his most persuasive weapon. Indeed, the duke’s expression softened to one of resignation as Tommy walked over and took his lover’s hand, lacing his fingers through his own.
“Et tu, Brute?”
“’Fraid so.” Tommy brushed his lips across Ashington’s knuckles, employing another excellent weapon in his armamentarium.
“It may not be how you prefer to do things, but how bad can it be? By all accounts, your grandfather was a decent man. You’ve told me so yourself.
The only criminal here is the person who murdered your grandmother and stole your family heirloom.
And, working together, we’re going to avenge her poor soul and see it back in its rightful place. ”
The duke groaned, a single mournful expulsion. “I’m feeling horribly outnumbered.”
“You are. But you know we’re right.” Tommy’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“Honestly, the parure will be snug in your safe back at Ashington before anyone has even noticed that I’ve lured Talybridge to Hampstead Heath in the dead of night, tied him to an oak, then slit his throat with a rusty blade. ”
“You wouldn’t—” The duke groaned again before the corners of his mouth pulled into a wry smile, not quite amused, more like a gentle acknowledgment of life’s absurdities. “Tommy Squire. You bloody man. How I love you.”
Ashington swung his arms wide, embracing the room. “How I love all of you, dammit.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Yes. Agreed. We might have to make it Richmond Park, but, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I’m in. When do we start?”