coat. “Receipts.” He held them out to her. “For the pieces I managed to recover.”
She snatched the receipts from him and scanned prices in lira and francs. Each bill of purchase was attached to a detailed description and drawing.
“Who made these?” She tapped on the pictures.
“They were in the vault where the jewels should have been.”
“I never saw them there.”
“So you did go into the vault?”
She slapped the papers onto the sofa beside her. “Of course I did. I was mistress of the house. We kept coin there for paying workmen and wages on quarter days. Bisterne was rarely at home, so that duty fell to me. I never even saw most of the jewelry. Other than a parure of emeralds, I never wore any of it. It wasn’t to my taste.”
“And the combs?”
“Those were a wedding gift.” To her horror, tears filled her eyes. She blinked, but to no avail. “And you know they are artificial. Perhaps they all are.”
Tristram shifted on his chair. Finally, he produced a white linen handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “None of them, according to the jewelers, are artificial. And in thirteen months, you had plenty of time to have copies made.”
“I wouldn’t wear paste gemstones.” She dashed the handkerchief across her eyes, then crushed it between her fingers. “I think you need to leave, my lord. You have been here long enough, and my intentions are to make amends with Georgette Selkirk, not make matters worse between our families.” She rose to force him to do so.
He was too well-bred not to, but he gave her an uncompromising stare. “No one else had access to the jewels except for you and Edwin. But Edwin was already gone, so that leaves you. I will find a way to prove you have, or know where to find, the rest.”
“You may try, my lord, but you are forgetting one important detail.”
“Indeed?”
“Why would I do such a thing? My quarterly allowance from my trust fund holds more money than all the Bisterne jewels put together.”
For a heartbeat, his eyes flickered with uncertainty. Then he smiled and bowed. “Touché, my lady. I will find my motivation.”
“You are welcome to try, Mr. Holmes.”
He laughed at her reference to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective. “I will find a reason, my lady. I likely have more of a stake in winning this game than do you.” He executed the most fluid and graceful bow she had witnessed since her husband’s death, then clasped her hand in his and raised her fingers to his lips.
A jolt of electricity shot through her, and she snatched her hand away. “How dare you?” The whispered words lacked the hauteur she wished for.
“With very little trouble.” He smiled, turned so smartly on his heels she expected him to salute the portrait of her grandfather hanging at the top of the steps, then strode from the room.
Once he descended the steps, Catherine sank onto the sofa. She started to cover her face with her hands until she regained her composure—and spotted the rings still lying on the table.
So he was not as confident as he pretended. He wouldn’t have forgotten the rings if he were.
“He can do without them.”
Yet it was legitimately within his milieu to take them from her on behalf of the new Lord Bisterne. They never should have left England on her finger. She could have purchased a plain gold band to let the world know she was not in the market for a second spouse.
She would catch him up and give him the rings. He would not find in her more reasons to accuse her of being a jewel thief.
She snatched up the band and betrothal diamond and raced down the steps to the entryway. It stood stark and empty, cold stone lighted by long windows on either side of the front door.
She flung open that door and gazed down the path leading through the trees to the road. Swirling snow stuck to the grass and flagstones, descending now in sheets instead of dancing through the air. If Lord Tristram were out there, she could not see
She snatched the receipts from him and scanned prices in lira and francs. Each bill of purchase was attached to a detailed description and drawing.
“Who made these?” She tapped on the pictures.
“They were in the vault where the jewels should have been.”
“I never saw them there.”
“So you did go into the vault?”
She slapped the papers onto the sofa beside her. “Of course I did. I was mistress of the house. We kept coin there for paying workmen and wages on quarter days. Bisterne was rarely at home, so that duty fell to me. I never even saw most of the jewelry. Other than a parure of emeralds, I never wore any of it. It wasn’t to my taste.”
“And the combs?”
“Those were a wedding gift.” To her horror, tears filled her eyes. She blinked, but to no avail. “And you know they are artificial. Perhaps they all are.”
Tristram shifted on his chair. Finally, he produced a white linen handkerchief and pressed it into her hand. “None of them, according to the jewelers, are artificial. And in thirteen months, you had plenty of time to have copies made.”
“I wouldn’t wear paste gemstones.” She dashed the handkerchief across her eyes, then crushed it between her fingers. “I think you need to leave, my lord. You have been here long enough, and my intentions are to make amends with Georgette Selkirk, not make matters worse between our families.” She rose to force him to do so.
He was too well-bred not to, but he gave her an uncompromising stare. “No one else had access to the jewels except for you and Edwin. But Edwin was already gone, so that leaves you. I will find a way to prove you have, or know where to find, the rest.”
“You may try, my lord, but you are forgetting one important detail.”
“Indeed?”
“Why would I do such a thing? My quarterly allowance from my trust fund holds more money than all the Bisterne jewels put together.”
For a heartbeat, his eyes flickered with uncertainty. Then he smiled and bowed. “Touché, my lady. I will find my motivation.”
“You are welcome to try, Mr. Holmes.”
He laughed at her reference to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s famous detective. “I will find a reason, my lady. I likely have more of a stake in winning this game than do you.” He executed the most fluid and graceful bow she had witnessed since her husband’s death, then clasped her hand in his and raised her fingers to his lips.
A jolt of electricity shot through her, and she snatched her hand away. “How dare you?” The whispered words lacked the hauteur she wished for.
“With very little trouble.” He smiled, turned so smartly on his heels she expected him to salute the portrait of her grandfather hanging at the top of the steps, then strode from the room.
Once he descended the steps, Catherine sank onto the sofa. She started to cover her face with her hands until she regained her composure—and spotted the rings still lying on the table.
So he was not as confident as he pretended. He wouldn’t have forgotten the rings if he were.
“He can do without them.”
Yet it was legitimately within his milieu to take them from her on behalf of the new Lord Bisterne. They never should have left England on her finger. She could have purchased a plain gold band to let the world know she was not in the market for a second spouse.
She would catch him up and give him the rings. He would not find in her more reasons to accuse her of being a jewel thief.
She snatched up the band and betrothal diamond and raced down the steps to the entryway. It stood stark and empty, cold stone lighted by long windows on either side of the front door.
She flung open that door and gazed down the path leading through the trees to the road. Swirling snow stuck to the grass and flagstones, descending now in sheets instead of dancing through the air. If Lord Tristram were out there, she could not see
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