A Woman of True Honor: True Gentlemen Book Eight Read online

  His hand was on the door latch when Casriel picked up a thick epistle. “I do believe this is it.”

  “Guard that document with your life, Casriel, and prepare to stand up with me before sunset tomorrow, or get me mortally drunk in the alternative.”

  Casriel saluted with the license. “Your servant, Valerian, as ever.”

  Valerian didn’t bother bowing. He made for the stables at a dead run.

  * * *

  To determine what was needed in a situation meant studying that situation, not merely spouting platitudes and bowing to a proper depth. As Valerian galloped back to Pepper Ridge, he sorted through what facts he had and what answers he needed. Rather than take the turn that would lead Clovis down the bridle path connecting to the Pepper Ridge property, Valerian instead sent his horse onto the road that led to the village—and to Adam Pepper’s last known whereabouts.

  Thirty yards later, Valerian encountered Mr. Prentiss Ogilvy and a trio of his disreputable minions. One of the fellows held the reins of a dog cart, his compatriot beside him on the bench, while Ogilvy and the fourth man were mounted on skinny hacks. The four of them were lounging in the shade around a bend in the road half a mile outside the village.

  “What a coincidence,” Valerian mused, drawing Clovis to a halt.

  “Mr. Dorning.” Ogilvy tugged at his hat brim. “Fine day to take the air, isn’t it?”

  “Fine day to loiter on the road,” Valerian countered, “when last I heard, you were to be looking for honest work in Portsmouth.”

  The fellow in the cart who wasn’t holding the reins casually propped his fist on his hip, which had the effect of pushing back the flap of his jacket. Valerian would have bet his favorite cravat pin that a knife was tucked into the man’s waistband, just out of sight.

  “Nevertheless, Mr. Dorning,” Ogilvy replied, “we’re here now and free to remain here for as long as we please. A prudent man would leave us in peace.” Ogilvy smiled, though his eyes held a whipped dog’s resentment and a rat’s cunning.

  Would Osgood Pepper arrange for his own son to fall into Ogilvy’s hands?

  Yes, he would. More likely Pepper sought to forcibly banish his son from England rather than have him turned over to the magistrate. But was Osgood Pepper foolish enough to trust this lot yet again?

  Valerian didn’t think so. “In point of fact, Mr. Ogilvy, you are in error regarding your rights. You, sir,”—Valerian gestured to the fellow on the cart—“turn out your pockets, please.”

  The man shot a questioning gaze at Ogilvy, who sat up straighter in the saddle. “He’ll do no such thing. Smithy there is minding his own business, while you are intruding into matters you’d best leave alone.”

  “There you are mistaken,” Valerian said. “As magistrate, I am duty-bound to inquire of all strangers regarding their means and intentions. Vagrants are still subject to arrest, you know, and some backward-thinking souls yet believe itinerant unfortunates should be whipped at the cart’s tail and forcibly returned to their home shires.”

  “I don’t fancy no whippin’,” the man muttered. “You never said nothin’ about the king’s man stickin’ his beak into this job, Ogilvy.”

  “Hush,” Ogilvy snapped.

  “Well, you dint,” the fellow on horseback said. “Had me enough of the lash when I was at sea.”

  “As a courtesy,” Valerian said to Ogilvy, “I will provide you some advice. Clovis here looks like a sleepy beast, but he’s quite fit, more than a match for the nags you’ve hired. I can outride you should you attempt to elude my as I go about a lawful inquiry. I’d enjoy the exercise, to be honest, and enjoy even more the legal puzzle of what to charge you with. Assaulting or otherwise bothering a magistrate on his appointed rounds is a serious error in judgment, fleeing and eluding are equally ill-informed. Some might regard those bad choices lethal errors.”

  The fellow on horseback edged his mount away from Ogilvy’s.

  “We are as free to take the air as any other Englishmen,” Ogilvy retorted. “That’s the law.”

  “But you aren’t taking the air, are you?” Valerian replied as the fellow on the cart whispered something to his friend holding the reins. “You’re up to no good, and I’ve caught you at it. Again. Whatever you’ve been paid”—he sent a meaningful look at the minions—“or promised, you are already known in this area as untrustworthy and unemployed. Three of you have come back here with empty pockets and no employment. That makes for three easy arrests, and I will have pointed conversations with all three of my suspects before deciding how to charge the fourth.”

  “No more arrests,” the man holding the reins said. “I’m done with that, Ogilvy. My missus will beat me to flinders if I’m sent up again.” He backed the cart awkwardly onto the verge, while the man on horseback directed his mount into the road.

  “I’m for Portsmouth,” he said. “Shoulda known better than to take up with you again, Ogilvy. You don’t pay, and yonder swell is right. You’re crooked. Worse than that, you’re lazy, takin’ all the blunt and leaving the lot of us to fend for ourselves.”

  The cart creaked off in an easterly direction, the horseman plodding at its side.

  “The smart thing to do is to go with them,” Valerian said, “or I could arrest you for fraud upon Osgood Pepper. You never did transport his used books to Portsmouth, and yet, you charged him for haulage.”

  That was pure speculation on Valerian’s part, but a simple enough conclusion.

  “Damn your meddling,” Ogilvy retorted. “Damn all you high-and-mighty prigs and your—”

  Valerian crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle and surveyed the pretty summer sky.

  “—self-important, nosy, arrogant poking about. You think the world exists for you, but you’ve never had to work for your living. You’ve never known what it is to have no place in life, nowhere you’re fussed over and made welcome. You and your fancy—”

  A pair of horsemen trotted around the bend, substantial bundles rolled behind each man’s saddle.

  Caleb Booth and Tobias Granger drew rein, and Ogilvy’s features underwent a progression of emotions. An obsequious smile died aborning, a flash of consternation followed, a sneer came after that, then a shrug.

  “To hell with the lot of you,” Ogilvy said, driving his heels into his horse’s sides. He jostled off in the same direction the cart had taken.

  “Gentlemen,” Valerian said, “good day. Are you also intent on enjoying the fine Dorset air, or are felony arrests in order? Perhaps we ought to share an ale at the coaching inn while we discuss that question?”

  Valerian had no idea which of them was responsible for hiring Ogilvy—very likely the pair had conspired, or maybe they’d done Osgood Pepper’s bidding—but it was Caleb Booth who first turned his horse back toward the village.

  “A good summer ale is not to be missed,” he said. “Come along, Tobias.”

  “You go without me,” Tobias said. “I haven’t spent nearly enough time appreciating the beauty of rural Dorset.”

  Caleb appeared to consider that, while yet another horseman rounded the bend, a bundle of worldly goods also affixed to the back of his saddle.

  “Mr. Addison Topsail,” Valerian said. “A pleasant day to you. Granger, Booth, and I were off to the coaching inn for a friendly chat. I suggest you join us, there being ruffians loose on the road hereabouts, and I further suggest we make our destination Pepper Ridge rather than the inn.”

  Mr. Topsail studied the road. “Ruffians?”

  “At least four of them,” Valerian said, “and I suspect they are armed. They drove a somewhat disreputable though sizable dog cart, and the compartment under the seat would easily, though not comfortably, hold an unconscious grown man. One would not wish such a fate on an otherwise blameless wayfarer.”

  Valerian could make Adam Pepper no promises, but he owed it to Emily and to his conscience to determine who was blameless and who was not.

  Tobias Granger shifted his horse to t
he edge of the road, and Adam Pepper swung his mount around to block the path.

  “To Pepper Ridge,” he said, “and if you are tempted to bolt, Tobias, please know that for me to be the pursuer rather than the pursued would be a sweet relief, and my hunter can outrun anything in the shire without breaking a sweat.”

  “Anything,” Valerian said, kneeing Clovis forward, “except the king’s justice. To Pepper Ridge, gentlemen.”

  The three of them trotted along behind him as he led them to the bridle path winding past the Pepper Ridge garden. They reached the stable yard in silence and handed the horses over to grooms who scurried into the stables without offering so much as a greeting.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Valerian had spent a precious quarter hour with Emily in the master suite’s sitting room, patting her hand and assuring her all would be well. Then he’d trotted away to Dorning Hall, claiming he needed to consult with the earl.

  Emily had not liked the sound of that, but then, how many magistrates were faced with the challenge of arresting prospective family members? Nonetheless, Valerian had asked for her trust, and what was marriage, but an exercise in mutual trust?

  She made another circuit of the music room, which had a good view of both the front drive and the side garden, though no matter how hard she stared at the white shell lane circling the fountain, no handsome horseman on a big bay gelding appeared.

  “If you are determined to marry your current preoccupation,” Briggs said, “you would be well advised to learn to cope with his absences. Men have better things to do than while away their days dancing attendance on spoiled young ladies.”

  Adam’s life was in peril. Papa’s life had recently been in peril. A special license was on the way from London, and Papa was withholding the marriage settlements for reasons Emily could not fathom—and Briggs thought the issue was schoolgirl impatience over a doting swain’s absence?

  “For the past five years,” Emily said, swishing past the great harp, “I have coped. Even before that, even while I was at school, I coped. I coped with my mother’s death. I coped with betrayal from my first love. I coped with my brother being sent to the ends of the earth for a crime he did not commit. I coped with a Society where I did not fit in. I coped with waltzing partners who loathed me. I coped with my father excluding me from his business even as he expected me to serve as his hostess.”

  Briggs remained on the piano bench, calmly sorting music. “A second coachman is nobody’s first love, and a lady never pace—”

  “Briggs, I am to marry the son of an earl, which suggests I’m ladylike enough for those whose opinions matter.”

  Briggs set a Mozart sonata on the music stand, happy, confectionary music that Emily wanted to tear into a thousand pieces. Smashing glass, kicking over a bucket of nails, and weeping all over Valerian had unleashed some dragon inside her, and though the dragon was angry, it was also a confident, determined beast.

  “Had you attended more closely to my lectures,” Briggs retorted, “you might not have to settle for an impecunious younger son. Your father is disappointed in this match, Emily. It’s taking a toll on his health, if you ask me.”

  Which I did not. “Papa’s guilty conscience is likely taking a toll on his health, and heaven knows it’s taking a toll on my spirits too. What plans have you made for your future, Briggs?”

  Emily wanted Briggs gone, which was unsettling. Briggs was a link to the past, to the time before Adam’s supposed crime had rent the family asunder, to the years before Papa had grown so ill. To send her packing now was ungracious, unladylike.

  And yet, some instinct warned Emily that Briggs needed a nudge out the door if not a heave out the window.

  “Until you have taken up housekeeping with Mr. Dorning, I will make no plans for my future. To do so would display an optimism regarding your nuptial choice that I do not feel. He is pockets to let, has little presence in Town, and few prospects other than some farm or other. When you come home to your Papa, hat in hand, I will still be here to ensure you have proper companionship, though I vow your present prowling about will prostrate me with a megrim before this day is through.”

  I’ll show you a megrim. Emily trailed her fingers over the harp strings, the result a discordant arpeggio. “Have you done the one thing I asked you to do, Briggs?”

  Briggs pretended a frown of puzzlement. Emily knew that expression, knew precisely how long Briggs would hold it before the frown became a vaguely bewildered, questioning gaze.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I asked you to locate the terms of my mother’s marriage settlements, and you said you’d do it.”

  Briggs put her hands in her lap and bowed her head. “I will, I most assuredly will, but lately, the household has been at such sixes and sevens that your request slipped my mind.”

  Emily closed the lid over the piano keys lest Briggs think to afflict her with some dirge or lament. “Nothing slips your mind. You have Debrett’s nearly memorized. You know every person who has been granted vouchers at Almack’s for the past decade. If I must write to the family solicitors and forge Papa’s signature, I will do it to learn the terms of those settlements.”

  All pretensions to martyrdom disappeared. “You mustn’t. No forging of signatures, Emily. Your father would learn of it and be appalled. Your word to me on this.”

  Emily stalked away, taking the place in the center of the music room lest she be tempted to smash the violins, violas, and guitars hanging on the walls.

  “Does everybody think me a felon? Either you tell me the terms of Mama’s marriage settlements, or I won’t need to forge Papa’s signature. I will have my prospective husband-the-magistrate confront my father-the-liar and force Papa to disclose the sums I am entitled to under the terms of Mama’s settlements.”

  Briggs rose, hands fisted against her skirts. “How could you contemplate turning the law on your own father? To compel Osgood to adhere to those old agreements would be unseemly.”

  Where was a bucket of nails and a stout hammer when a woman needed to make a point? “For Papa to sign marriage agreements decades ago, then break his word to his only daughter now, when he neither needs the money nor has reason to object to my choice of spouse, is beyond unseemly. My mother’s family would have made provision for her unborn children at the time of her marriage, particularly her daughters. Mama was an heiress, and half the purpose of marriage settlements is to ensure family money is used for the well-being of family members.”

  No girl from a family of any means was ignorant of the workings of marriage settlements. Mama had doubtless inherited money or property from her own antecedents. If her arrangements were typical, that wealth had been put in trust for her children upon her death, and Emily would do the same for her own offspring.

  “This is not the right time,” Briggs said, re-tidying the music that was already neatly stacked. “When your father is less upset, when your own situation is resolved, then perhaps the topic of settlements can be revisited. Timing matters, Emily. How often have I had to remind you of that?”

  “Timing matters exceedingly, which is why you will go straight up to your room, locate the terms of Mama’s settlements, and deliver them to me today, or I will see you and your effects put on the next stage for wherever in Britain you choose to go. Don’t think Papa will stop me from doing it either. I am beyond vexed with him, and he knows it.”

  Briggs left off fussing with the music. “You are beyond vexed? You are beyond vexed? For years, I’ve put up with your moods and mis-steps, your ingratitude and unwillingness to heed my guidance. I’ve tried to protect you from the repercussions of your upbringing, guided you to the best of my ability, and now you are vexed? Emily Pepper, I am ashamed of you.”

  A few weeks ago, even a few days ago, that most cutting of judgments would have destroyed Emily’s resolve. Now, she had Valerian’s example to fortify her. Noise, bluster, and uncomfortable emotions were inevitable if a confrontation was to be productive.
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  Emily ran a finger down the mantel and rubbed the dust away with her thumb. “Very dramatic, Briggs, and not at all to the point. You are evading direct questions, breaking your word to me, and trying to sabotage my marriage before I’ve spoken my vows. Consult your diaries, or start packing. In fact, I can send Jasper and Tom to assist you, if you like. They are hard workers and entirely to be trusted with whatever task they’re given.”

  The consternation in Briggs’s gaze was real this time and more than a little satisfying.

  “I am tempted to wash my hands of you,” Briggs said, starting for the door. “I truly am.”

  “Then jot down the settlement terms before you go and tell me where I’m to send your final wages.”

  That occasioned a sniff and a slammed door.

  “A lady never slams doors,” Emily mused aloud to the empty room. “Perhaps Valerian should put that in one of his lovely books.”

  Emily would not miss Briggs, a realization that occasioned neither sadness nor guilt. Briggs had been more finishing governess than companion, and she had grossly overstayed the need for her particular talents.

  “Will I miss Papa?” Emily murmured. Her next confrontation would be with Osgood, and for that, Valerian’s steadying presence would be appreciated. Somebody had to unravel the crime that had been committed five years ago—the crime committed against Adam, not by him.

  * * *

  Valerian knew two things as he herded Tobias, Caleb, and Adam up the steps to the Pepper Ridge front door. First, the mystery regarding Adam’s guilt had to be solved. Second, Emily was owed the opportunity to hear those answers in person.

  The lady herself stood at the foot of the main staircase, her expression wary. “I thought Tobias and Caleb left for London.”

  “On horseback,” Valerian observed, “when a comfortable coach-and-four was available to them. I asked myself why that should be. Good day, Miss Pepper. I believe you know this fellow.” He gestured to Adam, who was peering around at the foyer’s appointments over Caleb’s and Tobias’s shoulders.