Charlotte was right. Diana wanted to respect Aaron’s wishes about speaking with her brother-in-law first, but that didn’t mean she had to keep up this farce regarding Lord Drewe.
“Mama, I am not going to marry Lord Drewe. He hasn’t asked. He isn’t likely to ask. And even if he did ask, I would refuse him.”
Charlotte pumped her fists in a silent cheer.
Her mother pressed a hand to her heart. She blinked rapidly. Diana began to wonder if she should have saved this speech until after they’d located the missing vinaigrette.
When at last Mama spoke, it was quietly. “I am so proud of you, Diana.”
“You . . . you are?”
“Yes. I am proud of you, my dear. And I have felt the same in my own heart, but been reluctant to say it. As long as you’ve waited to marry, there should be no compromise.”
Diana was stunned speechless. If she’d known it would be this easy, she would have initiated this discussion years ago.
“You are right,” Mama went on. “You cannot marry the Marquess of Drewe. We must hold out for a duke.”
Oh, Lord.
Across from her, Charlotte made the throat-slicing slash and collapsed on the divan.
Since the sky’s war on Spindle Cove seemed to be in a temporary cease-fire, Aaron found himself inordinately busy at the forge. Farmers were making use of the break in the rain to shoe their horses and get their hoes, harrows, and plowshares in working order.
Of course, this flurry of business would happen on precisely the few days Aaron wished to have the smithy to himself. He was finding it difficult to steal daylight to work on Diana’s ring. Instead, he worked at the mold by night, lighting unprecedented numbers of candles at his kitchen table.
At last he was finished, and he managed to scrape up an hour to cast the thing. He heated the gold in a crucible and poured it into the mold. When it cooled, he held it up for inspection.
Not bad. But not good enough. He’d tweak the mold and melt it down again.
As he lowered the ring, he caught a flash of golden-blond hair headed straight up his lane. At any other time, he would have been thrilled to see her, but now?
Devil. Blast. Shite.
Hastily, he shoved the unfinished ring and all accompanying evidence aside, tossing a rag over the lot of it just as she entered the forge.
And after all that effort—the golden-blond hair didn’t belong to Diana at all.
“Miss Charlotte,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This is a surprise. What can I do for you?”
She made herself at home, settling on a stool. “We’ve had a mysterious rash of thefts at the Queen’s Ruby. Diana’s thimble. Mrs. Nichols’s ink bottle. Mama’s lorgnette, my vinaigrette, and sundry loose coins.”
“That wouldn’t seem to add up to much.”
“It adds up to a pattern,” she said. “A mystery. I’ve appointed myself investigator, and I’m making interviews. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all.”
She took out a notebook and pencil. “Now, then. Mr. Dawes, do you have any idea who might have taken the missing objects?”
“I can’t say that I do, Miss Charlotte.”
“Has anyone brought any suspicious items to the forge?”
“No.”
“Very good. Just one last question.” She lowered her notebook. “Do you mean to marry my sister?”
Aaron looked up at her, startled. “What does that have to do with missing trinkets?”
“Nothing.” Miss Charlotte shrugged. “I’m just proving my powers of deduction, that’s all. I may not know who’s been filching things around the rooming house—yet—but I know there’s something between you and Diana.”
“Did she tell you?”
“No.”
“Then when . . . ?” God. He hoped she hadn’t witnessed them on the way home from Hastings.
“I’ve known for more than a year! After I missed the signs when Minerva eloped, I made a commitment to observation. I’ve long known she fancied you.” Her head tilted. “If you do mean to propose, you will have to confront my mother.”
“I . . .” Aaron didn’t know how to refute the idea. So he didn’t. “I know I will.”
“Do you have a plan of attack?”
“Attack?”
Charlotte’s bow-shaped mouth quirked. “This is my mother you’re dealing with. She’s a dragon. Arm yourself. Gird your loins. Gather your courage and your best steel. And yes, formulate a plan of attack.”
Aaron just shook his head. He knew the matron would be surprised and displeased, to say the least, but he didn’t want to see Mrs. Highwood as an enemy. He was usually good with mothers and sisters.
Miss Charlotte brought out a fan from her reticule, snapped it open, and began to work it vigorously. “Here. Let’s play a scene.”
“I know you ladies enjoy your theatricals, but I don’t count acting among my talents.”