“Before you leave,” his mother called out, her voice still too smug for his liking, “you should know that when I sent the invitations—marked with your seal, of course—I made sure to include the Earls of Northumb and Manchester. Oh, and Viscount Holbrooke, I believe, as well as Lord Goddard. They were thrilled to accept.”
For the second time in as many minutes, Geoffrey halted with one foot out the door. She sent invitations using my name, my seal. By God. Were she anyone else, he’d have her thrown in Newgate. Hell, the idea sounded rather appealing at the moment. How she’d gotten her hands upon the seal when it was kept under lock and key in his study, he didn’t know. He’d have to see it moved. But now he had a more pressing problem. She’d invited powerful political allies he couldn’t afford to offend. Had she known he was actively courting the support of these particular men?
She must have.
He closed his eyes—embarrassed, really, at having been so outmaneuvered. His mother had managed to arrange this entire farce without even a whisper reaching him. Had he underestimated the French this badly, he’d never have survived twelve long years of war.
As he faced her once again, Geoffrey eyed his mother with grudging respect. Her smile held, but her knuckles whitened as she gripped her list. At least she wasn’t completely sure of his capitulation. Geoffrey took some small satisfaction in that.
Still, she’d left him no immediate choice. He knew when to admit defeat.
“It seems, Mother, that you have won the day,” he conceded with as much grace as he could muster. He gave his relatives a curt nod and, on his third attempt, quit the room.
Geoffrey slapped his leather gloves against his aching thigh as he climbed the grand staircase to his rooms, one thought reverberating through his mind in time with his echoing footfalls.
But I am going to win the war.
* * *
Miss Liliana Claremont fixed what she hoped was an appreciative smile on her face as she viewed Somerton Park for the first time. She found the Earl of Stratford’s country home rather attractive, for a lion’s den. But then, so was the Colosseum, she imagined.
As her aunt and cousin bustled out of the carriage, Liliana studied the imposing redbrick home. A columned templelike portico dominated the front, forceful and proud. Like the rest of the house, it annunciated the wealth and power of the Wentworth family.
Liliana swallowed. Had she really considered what she was up against?
“Do hurry, girls!” Her aunt Eliza’s anxious voice interrupted Liliana’s contemplations. “That infernal carriage wheel has made us terribly late. We’ll be fortunate if we have time to make you presentable before dinner.” She eyed Liliana and her own daughter, Penelope, shrewdly. “The competition for Stratford shall be fierce. It’s not often young ladies have a chance to engage him in a social setting, and you can bet those other chits have spent all afternoon turning themselves out just so.” She clucked her tongue, reminding Liliana even more than usual of a fretful hen. “We are so far behind already. First impressions, my dears, can be the difference between becoming a Lady or settling for just plain Mrs.”
Penelope turned and gave Liliana a conspiratorial smile. Liliana tried not to squirm. Contrary to what she’d led her aunt to believe, she had only one objective in mind here at Somerton Park, and it wasn’t to lure the Earl of Stratford into marriage.
No. She wanted to uncover the truth about her father’s murder.
Liliana reached into the pocket of her pelisse, fingering the red wax seal of the letter that had led her here. An unfamiliar chill slithered down her spine, causing her to scan the many windows of the facade. She had the oddest feeling, as if the house itself knew why she had come and was keeping its eye on her. She gave her head a quick shake at the ridiculous thought.
Liliana hardly noticed the elegant front hall with its Roman pillars and prominent dentil moldings, or the grand staircase, as she rushed to follow her aunt and cousin. Their excited chatter rang off the gleaming marble, but she barely heard. Instead, she struggled for breath as the band around her chest tightened with every step she took into the lair of her enemy.
Still, a surge of excited determination shot through her. This was where she would finally unlock the mystery of her father’s death. It hadn’t taken her long to realize that those letters she’d found had been in code, but none of them had been in her father’s handwriting. She could only assume his side of the conversation was hidden somewhere else.
An unexpected jolt of anguish stole her breath. For a moment she missed her father fiercely, pain slicing through her heart as if he’d been taken from her only yesterday. She remembered his gentle smile, his infinite patience as she’d asked him hundreds of questions about his work, about the world…about her mother. How she’d loved to listen to him talk.
Find them at summer. His last confusing words had often plagued her thoughts. But when she’d learned the seal belonged to the house of Stratford, she’d understood what her father had been trying to tell her. Find them at summer. He hadn’t said summer, as she’d thought, but Somer. Yes, the letters she needed to crack his code were here at Somerton Park, and she had just less than two short weeks in the Wentworth house to find them.
Maids fluttered about the airy guest room she’d share with Penelope, unpacking dresses and accoutrements to be aired and pressed. Penelope got right to work on her main contribution to the scheme. Sifting through various evening gowns of muted silk, satin and sheer muslin, she began making selections.
Useless in matters of fashion, Liliana instead unpacked the sketch pad and pencils she planned to use to map out the house. Hers would be an organized search, one she would begin as soon as she could feasibly slip away.
“It wasn’t easy creating the perfect ensemble for you on such short notice. Thank goodness Madame Trompeur values our business.” Pen let out an exaggerated sigh. “Mother was so excited at the prospect of your being willing to consider marriage, she didn’t bat an eye at the added cost for such quick work. It really is a shame to get her hopes up so.” She contradicted her words of censure with a grin.
Liliana winced as her eyes traveled over the array of lustrous fabrics and winking jewels. “She really should have known better, given how vehemently I’ve eschewed every suitor she’s presented over the years. I do feel guilty about the expense, however. I intend to pay it back.” Somehow. The inheritance from her father was enough to allow her to live independently, but only if she scrimped.
Penelope, whose back had been turned while digging through a trunk for matching slippers and gloves, straightened and looked over her shoulder. “Bah, we’re rich enough. The entertainment value Mother will get from trying to tempt you to marry will be ample repayment, I’m sure. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the rapturous look on her face when you begged her to secure you an invitation to Somerton Park. She views this as her last chance to see you properly settled. You know it galls her that your father’s will didn’t stipulate you finding a husband. I don’t think you comprehend what you’ve let yourself in for.”