yourself pitied. You have one more question. You might want to make it a good one. Darby?”
“Give me a moment, friend, if you please. The woman isn’t important. The signet ring is not only unimportant but imaginary, as well. Yet the threat, the danger to our good friend here, obviously remains real. So where does that leave us? Ah—and forgive me this lengthy question, but the answer will still ultimately be yes or no.”
“Go on,” Coop said, wishing he hadn’t offered to answer any questions.
“I fully intend to, yes. The woman unimportant, the signet ring no clue at all—which probably leaves out the small estate, the female guest, the servant—and we’ll consign all the derring-do since Quatre Bras to the dustbin of fantasy, as well. And yet—and yet—the blackmailer has threatened exposing something so dangerous that you’ve called on us to help you, even gone so far as to betroth yourself to a woman you just admitted you don’t known from Adam.”
“Is this going to take much longer? I’ve had a long day.”
“I’m getting there, friend. So what are we left with? We’re left with this business of the highest reaches of the Crown, that’s what. We’re left with Prinny showering our hero with land, a title and even money—the latter something Prinny has precious little of, I should add. Are you paying attention, Rigby?”
“He could have just said he finds Miss Foster attractive. That might have appeased Clarice somewhat,” Rigby mumbled into the neck of his wine bottle.
“We’ll continue without you, then,” Darby said. “Unless my question—yes, I’ve finally arrived at the sticking point—brings you back to attention. Cooper, requiring an honest answer of either yes or no—if we cannot find and stop the blackmailer, for the sake of all the others in similar predicaments but most especially in aid of you, dear friend, and if the blackmailer goes through with his threat to publish some truth in Volume Three—is it more than just conjecture that your life very likely will be forfeit?”
Finally. “Yes.”
Darby retook his seat. “I see. Well, then, what do we do next?”
“Next being tomorrow morning, I’m forgoing my appointment with my supposed new tailor and taking Miss Foster to Bond Street to buy her a betrothal gift. You, Rigby—yes, the answer was yes, so are you going to close your mouth anytime soon?—will please me by escorting your beloved to Mrs. Yothers’s dressmaking shop, armed with a bit of gossip.”
“Gossip? Clarice lives for gossip. Oh, thank you, Coop. You may have just saved me. What is she supposed to say?”
“That, my friends, might take another bottle. Because I don’t know which of you two will first selflessly fling yourself forward as volunteer.”
“I’m game,” Darby said without hesitation. “I take it you have reason to believe this Mrs. Yothers is in the employ of our blackmailer?”
“I can’t be sure, no, but Dany—Miss Foster—seems to think it’s possible. If she’s correct, and if our blackmailer isn’t just tidying up all his victims before setting sail for parts unknown, another note demanding payment for silence could arrive on your doorstep within a few days.”
The viscount nodded his understanding. “You have considered the possibility that Mrs. Yothers is simply a gossip, and could tell several of her customers, any of whom could be in the man’s employ?”
“I did. But we have to start somewhere, damn it all.”
“I agree. Just be sure to make this gossip something suitably salacious. I do have my reputation to uphold, you understand.”
DANY WATCHED IN amusement and some admiration as her sister, so lately seen hanging her head over the chamber pot, entered the drawing room with the graceful glide and the upturned chin that were the result of long years of practicing to be perfect. Or snooty, Dany often thought.
Mari, with her uncanny way of spotting imperfection, took herself immediately to the large vase of flowers Dany had rearranged the previous afternoon, clearly in an imperfect way. Mari frowned in distaste, measured the bouquet with both eyes and hands and then removed four blooms. Four, exactly the number Dany had grabbed in her attempt to impress Lord Townsend. One, two, three—four, and the bouquet was perfect once more.
“A lesser person could hate you,” she told her sister as Mari then sat herself down on one of the couches, arranging her yellow morning gown into precise folds. She entwined her fingers in her lap.
“A clever person might attempt to emulate me,” Mari responded in her sweet voice. “As Mama has encouraged you to do. After all, look at me. Just another country miss from a respected yet fairly ordinary family, and now a countess. I worked hard to accomplish that, you know. Years of practicing with books balanced on my head as I walked, long days of being strapped to the backboard. Lessons in deportment, in music, voice, watercolors, embroidery. Years, Dany.”
Her smile faded. “And all you do is carelessly break a heel, and less than twelve hours later you’re the affianced bride of the hero of Quatre Bras, the most eligible, sought-after bachelor in all of England. If anyone should be considering hating someone, Daniella, I think that anyone should be me.”
Dany’s smile hurt, totally forced. “And he’s going to retrieve your letters and Oliver will never be any the wiser. You believe that, don’t you?”
“I have to believe that, yes. If not, my life is completely and utterly over.”
Thank you, Mari. That added another row to the pile of bricks on my shoulders.
“Have you heard from the earl?”
Mari shook her head. “No, nothing since his last missive, telling me that he’d be home within a fortnight. And that was three days ago. That’s enough time, isn’t it? You must tell me that’s enough time.”
Dany crossed her fingers in her lap. “I told you. The blackmailer’s note was quite specific. He will contact you another way rather than the knothole. He will arrange to return your letters on trust, and then your chosen emissary will hand over his letters at a designated place and time because he fully understands you have no more funds available, as you explained so eloquently in your note, and has accepted the garnets as payment in full.”
So I can be assured the letters will be tossed in the fire, and not saved as some sort of romantical keepsake, only to be found someday and stir up a mess all over again. Because yes, sister mine, much as I love you, there are times you can be thick as a plank.
“He’s being very nice, isn’t he, in the circumstances?”
Like now.
Dany’s eyes crossed, but she quickly agreed. “Your blackmailer is best of good fellows, definitely. Very nearly a gentleman.”
Mari’s chin went up. “Now you’re being facetious. I know he’s an odiously bad man, but he could have been worse, couldn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, he could have written a chapbook about you.”
Mari shivered. “A chapbook? Now why would you say anything so silly as that?”
Because I also can be a fool, with a very large mouth. “Oh, no reason. I think I heard one of the footmen open the door. Yes, I’m certain I did.” She gathered up her reticule and gloves and headed for the landing leading down to the foyer. “Ta-ta, Mari. I’m off to Bond Street, to bankrupt the baron.”
Coop had just stepped into the foyer when she came charging toward him. “I talk too much,” she said, brushing past him. “Let’s go.”
He replaced the curly brimmed beaver he’d barely had time to tip in her direction, and followed her. “Am I allowed to agree, or would I be safer with