my greatest mistake.”
“Thank you for saying so, my lady.” Tristram tucked the rings into his pocket and pinned her with a stare so intense she nearly had to look away. “And for giving me a missing piece in this puzzle.”
Chapter 5
When Mrs. Gilding returns he says, “Mr. Blank telephoned he would not be able to come for dinner as he was called to Washington. Mr. Bachelor will be happy to come in his place.”
Emily Price Post
M otivation. She had given him a motivation for stealing the Bisterne jewels—revenge. Catherine read it in the satisfaction on his face.
A dozen protests of her innocence rose to her lips, but she suppressed them all. When she was an adolescent roaming a little too freely around the newly developed Tuxedo Park, and denied getting up to mischief with her friends, Papa reminded her that one could not prove a negative unless she possessed a good alibi.
In this event, she possessed no alibi. Nor could she prove the negative, that she had not taken the jewels. She had to find a way to prove her innocence.
Or the guilt of someone else.
“Believe what you like, my lord. I will prove you wrong.” She returned his direct, challenging glare.
Sparks crackled between them and she felt a jolt of power as though she were an incandescent light.
He stepped back as though he felt it, too. “I should be going. The Selkirks are expecting me for luncheon.” A huskiness roughened the clarity of his oh-so-English voice.
“Do stay, my lord, all of you.” Estelle rose from the piano stool. “I will tell the cook to expect three more.”
“Thank you, no.” Tristram headed for the door.
“I will send for the carriage.” Catherine hastened to beat Estelle to the bell. “The auto will never be able to drive in this snow.”
“Neither is necessary, Lady Bisterne.” Tristram yanked open the door, stepped over the threshold and was gone, not awaiting the butler to show him out.
“He must have forgotten his manners in Cape Town.” Florian touched his bow to the cello strings. “Do we have time to play a bit more before luncheon?”
Ambrose set aside his violin and picked up Estelle’s banjo. “Will you show us how this works, Miss VanDorn?”
“The banjo? It’s a lady’s instrument, at least it is here. I believe in the South, the men play it. But if you like...” Estelle swept across the room, skirt flaring with the speed of her movement, and took possession of the banjo.
Catherine left them to it. Finding a maid replenishing the fire in the dining room, she asked her to first tell the cook two gentlemen would be joining them for luncheon, and then to sit as chaperone in the music room. Then Catherine climbed the steps to her mother’s boudoir.
She found her parent seated at her desk with a pile of invitations she was addressing and a frown furrowing her brow. “What do you think of this new fashion of ringing people up to invite them to dinner?”
“I think it lacks elegance.” Catherine breathed in the familiar and comforting scent of lavender and roses.
Mama began to address one more envelope. “But this is so tedious. If I used our telephone, I could have Sims do all the calling.”
Catherine smiled at the notion of their aging butler calling each prospective guest as though bestowing a great favor upon them.
Mama consulted her list. “This is a smallish dinner party, rather informal. More an excuse for us ladies to gather discreetly and discuss the annual Christmas tea, while the men talk politics.”
“That’s a lovely idea.” Catherine settled herself on a lavender-and-cream-striped sofa. “May I assist you?”
“I would like nothing better, but surely you have friends to call on or shopping excursions in the city to arrange?”
Catherine looked down at her hands folded in her lap, covering her denuded left hand with her right. “I did more than enough shopping in France and Italy to last another year or two. And as for friends...” Her throat closed.
“Thank you for saying so, my lady.” Tristram tucked the rings into his pocket and pinned her with a stare so intense she nearly had to look away. “And for giving me a missing piece in this puzzle.”
Chapter 5
When Mrs. Gilding returns he says, “Mr. Blank telephoned he would not be able to come for dinner as he was called to Washington. Mr. Bachelor will be happy to come in his place.”
Emily Price Post
M otivation. She had given him a motivation for stealing the Bisterne jewels—revenge. Catherine read it in the satisfaction on his face.
A dozen protests of her innocence rose to her lips, but she suppressed them all. When she was an adolescent roaming a little too freely around the newly developed Tuxedo Park, and denied getting up to mischief with her friends, Papa reminded her that one could not prove a negative unless she possessed a good alibi.
In this event, she possessed no alibi. Nor could she prove the negative, that she had not taken the jewels. She had to find a way to prove her innocence.
Or the guilt of someone else.
“Believe what you like, my lord. I will prove you wrong.” She returned his direct, challenging glare.
Sparks crackled between them and she felt a jolt of power as though she were an incandescent light.
He stepped back as though he felt it, too. “I should be going. The Selkirks are expecting me for luncheon.” A huskiness roughened the clarity of his oh-so-English voice.
“Do stay, my lord, all of you.” Estelle rose from the piano stool. “I will tell the cook to expect three more.”
“Thank you, no.” Tristram headed for the door.
“I will send for the carriage.” Catherine hastened to beat Estelle to the bell. “The auto will never be able to drive in this snow.”
“Neither is necessary, Lady Bisterne.” Tristram yanked open the door, stepped over the threshold and was gone, not awaiting the butler to show him out.
“He must have forgotten his manners in Cape Town.” Florian touched his bow to the cello strings. “Do we have time to play a bit more before luncheon?”
Ambrose set aside his violin and picked up Estelle’s banjo. “Will you show us how this works, Miss VanDorn?”
“The banjo? It’s a lady’s instrument, at least it is here. I believe in the South, the men play it. But if you like...” Estelle swept across the room, skirt flaring with the speed of her movement, and took possession of the banjo.
Catherine left them to it. Finding a maid replenishing the fire in the dining room, she asked her to first tell the cook two gentlemen would be joining them for luncheon, and then to sit as chaperone in the music room. Then Catherine climbed the steps to her mother’s boudoir.
She found her parent seated at her desk with a pile of invitations she was addressing and a frown furrowing her brow. “What do you think of this new fashion of ringing people up to invite them to dinner?”
“I think it lacks elegance.” Catherine breathed in the familiar and comforting scent of lavender and roses.
Mama began to address one more envelope. “But this is so tedious. If I used our telephone, I could have Sims do all the calling.”
Catherine smiled at the notion of their aging butler calling each prospective guest as though bestowing a great favor upon them.
Mama consulted her list. “This is a smallish dinner party, rather informal. More an excuse for us ladies to gather discreetly and discuss the annual Christmas tea, while the men talk politics.”
“That’s a lovely idea.” Catherine settled herself on a lavender-and-cream-striped sofa. “May I assist you?”
“I would like nothing better, but surely you have friends to call on or shopping excursions in the city to arrange?”
Catherine looked down at her hands folded in her lap, covering her denuded left hand with her right. “I did more than enough shopping in France and Italy to last another year or two. And as for friends...” Her throat closed.
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