Page 14 of The Stolen Sparkler
“Good luck,” I said with a grin.
“Bonne chance,” he replied tight lipped.
In the next instant, I made my way out of the study. Making sure I was not seen, I headed upstairs to the second floor where Felicity’s and Lavinia’s chambers were located. Every creak of the floorboards beneath my feet heightened my sense of urgency.
The first door I came to was Lavinia’s. I hesitated for only a moment before opening it, stepping quietly inside, and closing the door behind me. Her chamber was elegant, a reflection of Eleanor’s refined taste. There was nothing overtly out of place, but I knew better than to be deceived by the outward appearance of order. My eyes scanned the room swiftly, noting the small writing desk in the corner, the neat vanity table, and the sumptuous bed draped with an embroidered coverlet.
Since I knew Lavinia was a frequent correspondent, I went to the writing desk first. Her letters from her London friends were numerous and filled with carefully penned lines about fashion, balls, eligible gentlemen, and town rumors. I leafed through the stack quickly, my fingers moving with practiced efficiency. There were invitations to parties, receipts from dressmakers, and a half-finished letter to a close friend detailing the latest gossip about Eleanor and Lord Cumberforth. I could almost feel Lavinia’s jealousy oozing from the words.
But I found nothing that suggested theft or blackmail. Closing the desk drawer with a soft sigh, I moved on to the wardrobe. Inside, I found rows of beautifully tailored gowns, shawls, and fur-lined cloaks, but nothing out of the ordinary. My frustration was beginning to mount. Given Lavinia’s penchant for gossip, I’d hoped to find something more concrete.
The fear that I was wasting precious time weighed heavily on me. I was about to leave when my gaze fell upon a small jewelrybox on the bedside table. My heart leapt. I hadn’t noticed it before, tucked away as it was behind a pile of novels.
My pulse quickening, I opened it carefully. Inside were delicate pearls, a sapphire ring, and a small diamond brooch—family pieces, no doubt, but no sign of Eleanor’s missing necklace. I closed the lid and stood back, feeling the familiar stirrings of disappointment. Lavinia’s room, as far as I could tell, held no clues.
With a renewed sense of urgency, I left her chamber and made my way down the hall to Felicity’s. The contrast between the two women’s rooms was striking. Felicity’s was less meticulous, with papers and books strewn about her desk and the faint scent of lavender in the air. I began my search with the desk, picking through correspondence that ranged from mundane to outright vicious.
One letter in particular caught my eye. It was addressed to a confidante in London. Felicity had written with undisguised glee about her disdain for Lord Cumberforth. She described him as “arrogant, dull-witted, and utterly undeserving of any woman’s affection.”
The sentiment surprised me. Cumberforth was neither arrogant nor dull-witted. And the claim he was undeserving of a woman’s affection was utterly nonsensical. One only had to witness his interactions with Eleanor to understand he was everything a young gentleman in love should be.
But then that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? Cumberforth had totally ignored Felicity, something she bitterly resented. Could that disdain have driven her to sabotage Eleanor’s engagement by stealing the necklace? It certainly made for a good theory. But without proof, it was just that. I needed to find something to prove she was the culprit.
Turning to the wardrobe, I rummaged through shawls, coats, and half-forgotten hats. Then I noticed something—one of thehatboxes was unusually heavy. With trembling fingers, I opened it, half-expecting to see the necklace glinting at me from within. But it was empty save for an old velvet pouch containing an assortment of tarnished silver hairpins. Frustrated, I set it aside and continued my search.
It was then that I spotted a crumpled piece of paper wedged between the wardrobe and the wall. It looked as if it had been stuffed there in haste, barely visible behind the folds of a dark green cloak. I pulled it out, my heart beating faster as I smoothed the paper on my knee.
It was a torn letter, the edges ragged, and the ink smeared. The handwriting was unfamiliar, the script jagged as if written in a great rush. The words, however, were unmistakable:
“You have done a great wrong. You must put things right, or I will reveal all. I have no wish to cause a scandal, but you leave me no choice. Do not think that I will hesitate to act.”
There was no signature. My mind reeled as I reread the letter, my thoughts racing with possibilities. Was Felicity being blackmailed over a perceived wrongful action? She was the likely recipient as the note was found in her wardrobe. But who had written it? And had it really been addressed to her? Felicity’s room offered no further answers, but the letter was evidence.
I slipped the letter into a hidden pocket in my gown, my pulse racing with a new sense of purpose. The necklace might not have been found, but this clue was more valuable than gold. With renewed determination, I hurried back to the library, eager to compare my findings with the duke.
He was already there when I entered, pacing before the fireplace with a stormy expression. No wonder. I was twenty minutes past our agreed-upon time. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. The search took longer than I expected. But I did want to be thorough.”
He brushed a hand across his brow. “No need to apologize. I feared you’d been caught.”
I spread my arms wide. “As you see, I wasn’t. And even if I had, I would have offered a simple explanation for my being in the lady’s room. A pair of gloves left behind, a perfume I wished to borrow. No servant would have questioned me.”
“The maid might have reported your intrusion to her mistress.”
“Eleanor’s cousins never bring their own servants. They depend on Eleanor’s staff to handle their needs. So any report would have been given to Eleanor. She would have thanked the maid and told her there was nothing to worry about.”
His brow wrinkled. “You’re very well informed.”
“Eleanor is my best friend. We’ve been visiting each other’s homes for more than a dozen years. I’m very familiar with how Needham Hall is run. But enough of that.” Flashing a triumphant grin, I asked, “Would you like to hear what I found?”
“The necklace?”
I shook my head. “Sadly, no. But something almost as good. I found a letter. It speaks of a wrong committed and a threat to reveal all, whatever that might be.”
After I handed the note to him, his brow furrowed deeper with every line he read. “Do you think it was addressed to Felicity?” he asked.
“Could be. But the letter isn’t signed, and I have no idea who wrote it—or to whom it was written. She could have been planning to send it.”
“Or she could be its recipient,” the duke said in a somber tone.
