Amelia held up the first item. It was a carved wooden horse, no bigger than her fist, with a silk mane and a delicately painted face. The object was worn from much handling, and there were teeth marks along the horse's body. "The Westcliffs have a daughter, still quite small," she murmured. "This must belong to her."
"I took a toy from a baby," Beatrix moaned. "It's the lowest thing I've ever done. I should be in prison."
Amelia picked up another object, a card with two similar images printed side by side. She guessed it was meant to be inserted into a stereoscope, a device that would merge the two images into a dimensional picture.
The next stolen item was a household key, and the last... oh, dear. It was a sterling silver seal, with an engraved family crest on one end. One would use it to stamp a blob of melted wax and close an envelope. The object was heavy and quite costly, the kind of thing that was passed down from generation to generation.
"From Lord Westcliffs private study," Beatrix muttered. "It was on his desk. He probably uses it for his official correspondence. I'll go hang myself now."
"We must return this immediately," Amelia said, passing a hand over her dampening brow. "When they realize it's missing, a servant may be blamed."
The three women were silent with horror at the thought.
"We'll pay a morning call to Lady Westcliff," Poppy said, sounding a bit breathless from anxiety. "Is tomorrow one of her receiving days?"
"It doesn't matter," Amelia said, striving to sound calm. "There's no time to wait. You and I are calling tomorrow, whether or not it's a proper day."
"Shall I go too?" Beatrix asked.
"No," Amelia and Poppy answered simultaneously. They were both thinking the same thing—that Beatrix might not be able to control herself during another visit.
"Thank you." Beatrix seemed relieved. "Although I'm sorry you have to undo my wrongs. I should be punished somehow. Perhaps I should confess and apologize?
"We'll resort to that if we're caught," Amelia said. "First let's try covering it up."
"Do we have to tell Leo or Win or Merripen?" Beatrix asked sheepishly.
"No," Amelia murmured, gathering her close and pressing her lips to her sister's unruly dark curls. "We'll keep this between the three of us. Poppy and I will take care of everything, dear."
"All right. Thank you." Beatrix relaxed and nestled against her with a sigh. "I only hope you can do it without getting caught."
"Of course we can," Poppy said brightly. "Don't you worry for one moment."
"Problem solved," Amelia added.
And above Beatrix's head, Amelia and Poppy looked at each other in shared panic.
Chapter Ten
"I don't know why Beatrix does these things," Poppy said the next morning, as Amelia held the ribbons of the barouche. They were on their way to Stony Cross Manor, with the stolen objects secreted in the pockets of their best day gowns.
"I'm certain she doesn't mean to," Amelia replied, her forehead furrowed with worry. "If it was intentional, Beatrix would steal things she truly wanted, like hair ribbons or gloves or candy, and she wouldn't confess afterward." She sighed. "It seems to happen when there's been a significant change in her life. When Mother and Father died, and when Leo and Win fell ill... and now, when we've uprooted ourselves and moved to Hampshire. We'll just smooth this over as best we can, and try to ensure that Beatrix is in a calm and serene atmosphere."
"There is no such thing as 'calm and serene' in our household," Poppy said glumly. "Oh, Amelia, why must our family be so odd?"
"We're not odd."
Poppy batted her hands in a dismissive gesture. "Odd people never think they're odd."
"I'm perfectly ordinary," Amelia protested.
"Ha."
Amelia glanced at her in surprise. "Why in heaven's name would you say 'ha' to that?"
"You try to manage everything and everyone. And you don't trust anyone outside the family. You're like a porcupine. No one can get past the quills."
"Well, I like that," Amelia said indignantly. "Being compared to a large prickly rodent, when I've decided to spend the rest of my entire life looking after the family?
"No one's asked that of you."
"Someone has to do it. And I'm the oldest Hathaway."
"Leo's the oldest."
"I'm the oldest sober Hathaway."
"That still doesn't mean you have to martyr yourself."
"I'm not a martyr, I'm merely being responsible. And you're ungrateful!"
"Would you prefer gratitude or a husband? Personally, I'd take the husband."
"I don't want a husband."
They bickered all the way to Stony Cross Manor. By the time they arrived, they were both cross and surly. However, as a footman came to assist them out, they pasted false smiles on their faces and linked tense arms as they walked to the front door.
They waited in the entrance hall as the butler went to announce their arrival. To Amelia's vast relief, he showed them to the parlor and informed them that Lady Westcliff would be with them directly.
Venturing farther into the airy parlor, with its vases of fresh flowers, and satinwood furniture and light blue silk upholstery, and the cheerful blaze in the white marble fireplace, Poppy exclaimed, "Oh, it's so pretty in here, and it smells so lovely, and look how the windows sparkle!"
Amelia was silent, but she couldn't help agreeing. Seeing this immaculate parlor, so far removed from the dust and squalor of Ramsay House, made her feel guilty and sullen.
"Don't take off your bonnet," she said as Poppy untied her ribbons. "You're supposed to leave it on during a formal call."
"Only in town," Poppy argued. "In the country, etiquette is more relaxed. And I hardly think Lady Westcliff would mind."
A woman's voice came from the doorway. "Mind what?" It was Lady Westcliff, her slender form clad in a pink gown, her dark hair gathered at the back of her head in shining curls. Her smile was wrought of mischief and easy charm. She held hands with a dark-haired toddler in a blue dress, a miniature version of herself with big round eyes the color of gingerbread.
"My lady ..." Amelia and Poppy both bowed. Deciding to be frank, Amelia said, "Lady Westcliff, we were just debating whether or not we should remove our bonnets."
"Good God, don't bother with formality," Lady Westcliff exclaimed, coming in with the child. "Off with the bonnets, by all means. And do call me Lillian. This is my daughter, Merritt. She and I are having a bit of playtime before her morning nap."
"I hope we're not interrupting? Poppy began apologetically.
"Not at all. If you can tolerate our romping during your visit, we're more than happy to have you, I've sent for tea." Before long they were all chatting easily. Merritt quickly lost all vestige of shyness and showed them her favorite doll named Annie, and a collection of pebbles and leaves from her pocket. Lady Westcliff—Lillian—was an openly affectionate and playful mother, showing no compunction about kneeling on the floor to look for fallen pebbles beneath the table.
Lillian's interactions with the child were quite unusual for an aristocratic household. Children were hardly ever brought out to see visitors unless it was a brief presentation, accompanied by a pat on the head and a quick departure. Most women of the countess's exalted position wouldn't see their own offspring more than once or twice a day, leaving the majority of child-rearing to the nanny and nursery maids.
"I can't help wanting to see her," Lillian explained candidly. "So the nursery servants have learned to tolerate my interference."
When the tea tray arrived, Annie the doll was propped up on the settee between Poppy and Merritt. The little girl pressed the edge of her teacup against the doll's painted mouth. "Annie wants more sugar, Mama," Merritt said.
Lillian grinned, knowing who was going to drink the highly sweetened tea. "Tell Annie we never have more than two lumps in a cup, darling. It will make her ill."
"But she has a sweet tooth," the child protested. She added ominously, "A sweet tooth and a temper."
Lillian shook her head with a tsk-tsk. "Such a headstrong doll. Be firm with her, Merritt."
Poppy, who had been watching the exchange with a grin, adopted a perplexed look and wriggled slightly on the settee. "Dear me, I do believe I'm sitting on something..." She reached behind her and produced the little wooden horse, pretending she had found it lodged between the settee cushions.
"That's my horsie," Merritt exclaimed, her small fingers closing around the object. "I thought he'd run away!"
"Thank goodness," Lillian said. "Horsie is one of Merritt's favorite toys. The entire household has been searching for it."
Amelia's smile wavered as she met Poppy's gaze, both of them wondering if it had been discovered that other things were missing. The stolen objects, especially the silver seal, must be returned as soon as possible. She cleared her throat. "My lady?that is, Lillian?if you wouldn't mind... I should like to know where the convenience is?
"Oh, certainly. Shall I have a housemaid show you the way, or?
"No, thank you," Amelia said hastily.
After receiving Lillian's matter-of-fact instructions. Amelia excused herself from the parlor, leaving the three of them to continue their tea.
The first room she had to find was the library, where the stereoscope card and the key belonged. Recalling Beatrix's description of the main floor plan, Amelia hurried along the quiet hallway. She slowed her pace as she saw a maid sweeping the carpet, and tried to look as if she knew where she was going. The maid stopped sweeping and stood aside respectfully as she passed.
Rounding a corner, Amelia found an open door revealing a large library with upper and lower galleries. Better yet, it was empty. She rushed inside and saw a stereoscope on the massive library table. There was a wooden box nearby, stuffed with cards just like the one in her pocket. Tucking the card in with the others, she hurried out of the library, pausing only to insert the key into the empty lock case of the door.
Only one task left—she had to find Lord Westcliff's private study and return the silver seal. The weight of it bounced uncomfortably against her leg as she walked. Please don't let Lord Westcliff be there, she thought desperately. Please let it be empty. Please don't let me be caught.
Beatrix had said the study was close to the library, but the first door Amelia tried turned out to be the music room. Spying another door across the hallway, she discovered a supplies closet filled with pails, brooms, rags, and pots of wax and polish.
"Blast, blast, blast," she muttered, rushing to another open doorway.
It was a billiards room. And it was occupied by a half-dozen gentlemen involved in a game. Worse, one of them was Christopher Frost. His handsome face was devoid of expression as his gaze met hers.
Amelia stopped, color flaring in her face. "Do excuse me," she murmured, and fled.
To her dismay, Christopher Frost moved as if to follow her. She was so intent on making her escape that she didn't see someone cut in front of Frost, neatly blocking him.
"Miss Hathaway."
At the sound of a man's voice, Amelia whirled around. She expected to see Christopher Frost, but was startled to find that Cam Rohan had followed her. "Sir."
Cam Rohan was in his shirtsleeves, and his collar was a bit loose, as if he'd been tugging on it. His jet-black hair was casually disordered, as if he'd recently dragged his fingers through the shining layers. Her heart quickened. She waited stiffly as he approached her in fluid strides.
Lingering in the doorway, Christopher Frost gave them a last frowning glance before retreating into the room.
Rohan reached Amelia and stopped with a nod of greeting. "Is there something I can help you with?" he asked politely. "Have you lost your way?"
Abandoning caution in favor of expediency, Amelia seized a fold of his rolled-up sleeve. "Mr. Rohan, do you know where Lord Westcliff 's study is?"
"Yes, of course."
"Show me."
Rohan looked at her with a quizzical smile. "Why?"
"There's no time to explain. Just take me there now. Please, let's hurry!"
Obligingly he led her across the hallway, two doors down, into a small rosewood-paneled room. A gentleman's study. The only ornamentation was a row of rectangular stained-glass windows along one wall. Here was where Marcus, Lord Westcliff, conducted most of his estate business.
Rohan closed the door behind them.
Fumbling in her pocket, Amelia retrieved the heavy silver seal. "Where does this go?"
"On the right side of his desk, near the inkwell," Rohan said. "How did you come by it?"
"I'll explain later. I beg you, don't tell anyone." She went to place the silver seal on the desk. "I only hope he didn't notice it was missing."
"Why would you want it in the first place?" Rohan asked idly. "Resorting to forgery, are we?"
"Forgery!" Amelia turned pale. A letter in Westcliff's name, sealed with his family emblem, would be a powerful instrument, indeed. What other interpretation could be drawn from the borrowing of the sterling seal? "Oh, no, I wouldn't have—that is, I didn't want?
She was interrupted by the heart-stopping sound of the doorknob turning. In that one instant she was pierced with simultaneous anguish and resignation. It was over. She had been so close, and now she'd been caught, and God knew what the repercussions would be. There was no way to explain her presence in Westcliff's office other than to divulge Beatrix's problem, which would bring shame on the family and ruin the girl's future in polite society. A pet lizard was one thing, but thievery was another matter entirely.
All these thoughts flashed through Amelia's mind in one searing mass. But as she stiffened and waited for the ax to fall, Rohan came to her in two long strides. And before Amelia could move, or think, or even breathe, he had jerked her full length against him, and pulled her head to his.
Rohan kissed her with an indecent frankness that sent her reeling. His arms were firm around her, keeping her steady while his mouth caught hers at just the right angle. Her hands moved in tentative objection, her palms encountering the tough muscles of his chest, the catch of his shirt buttons. He was the only solid thing in a kaleidoscopic world. She stopped pushing as her body absorbed the arousing details of him, the hard masculine contours, the fresh outdoors scent, the sensuous probing of his mouth. She had relived his kiss a thousand times in her dreams. She just hadn't realized it until now.