He gathered up the box and sat down at the writing desk in his room. It was not hard to remember the owners of the things. In many cases, the names were engraved on the items. But the loss of each was firmly engrained on his memory. Here were the diamond studs of a duke, who had sworn he would shoot himself over the loss. And the ruby necklace of the marchioness. She had thought to bargain her favours for another hand, and had stamped her feet and pouted when he'd demanded the necklace instead.
And now, she could have it back. They could all take the bloody things back. He cared little whether it might be blessing or curse to receive them, so long as he need never see any of it again. His heart felt lighter after each package. And when the box was empty, there was but one thing left.
He looked up at the butler and grinned. 'Benton. Go to the safe in my study. Bring me the deed to this house.'
The butler looked rather alarmed at the prospect, but did as he was told. When he had returned with the paper, Nate signed it over, with a flourish--to Miss Diana Price. Then he folded it carefully, sealed it, addressed it to the Carlow house, and put it in the stack with the rest, ready for the morning post.
Chapter Seventeen
The few hours of sleep that Diana managed to steal had done nothing to refresh her. The girls must have been out almost as late as she, for when she rose at nine she did not hear them stirring. It was a comfort, for it gave her some small time to prepare for the day, to wipe any traces of the night's activity from her mind. She looked into the mirror, smoothing her expression and her clothing, jabbing the pins into her hair until it was tight and smooth, with not a strand out of place. When she was through, she was sure that there was not a hint of awareness to give her away to the girls as anything less than the same proper, controlled woman who had watched over them for years.
As she pushed the last pin in place, there was a sharp rap upon her door. It was Peters the footman, coming to tell her that Lord Stanegate wished her presence in the study, immediately.
Marcus, here? Had he arrived while she slept, or had he come in the night, before she had crept into the house? She should have recognized that returning to the house without incident was almost too fortunate. Her luck could not hold forever. It now appeared that she would face an interview with her employer's son, on this of all days, when she needed just a few more hours to understand the changes in her life.
When she came down to the ground floor, the house was abustle with the sudden arrival, as though the staff feared that their exemplary housekeeping was somehow at fault. They were behaving as if to placate a man in a temper.
She'd have understood it in another house. But here it was most unusual. And that the person who had frightened them into the boughs was Marc Carlow made the situation even more unusual. She hurried to the study to see the reason for it.
She walked through the open door and felt the change in him almost immediately. He was no longer the happy newlywed who had left London such a short time ago. Instead, he glared at her and snapped, 'Shut the door, Miss Price. We must speak in private.'
She did as she was told and went quickly to the desk where he sat. 'Is something wrong, Marc? There is nothing the matter with Nell, I trust.'
'I left her in Northumberland. This matter concerns you, Miss Price, and your behaviour in my absence.'
'I cannot think...' Which was a lie. She could think of several things she had done in the last few weeks that would upset him greatly.
But then he reached into his desk, and removed the journal that she had taken from Stanegate Court. 'Do you know what this is?'
'Y-yes.' And she was sure that the stammer was enough to give away the truth.
'And can you explain to me why it is not sitting with its mates on the shelf in the study off the library?'
Now that she knew him as a Wardale, Nathan's obsession with the thing made more sense. But it was horrible to think that he had taken the book and rushed back to confront Lord Narborough on his sickbed. 'Where did you get it?'
'That is no answer to my question, Miss Price.' And there was her surname again, used against her as though she was a stranger and not a trusted friend. 'I received this from a family friend who works in the Home Office. I suspect he received it from a man who is a sworn enemy of my family. The same man who caused my poor Nell so much grief. How did this book leave the house, Miss Price?'
But how had the Gypsy come by the book? Was Nathan a friend to him? Had he worked without knowing, to harm his own sister? Why had she not spoken when she'd had the chance? For it was too cruel...
'Miss Price, I await your answer.'
There was little point in dissembling. He knew she was the thief. He'd either guessed, or he could read it in her eyes. 'When I took it from the shelf, I had no idea...'
Marc shook his head. 'That statement says it all. I could forgive you the theft, Diana. And the damage to the book--'
'But it was already--'