Page 15 of The Stolen Sparkler
“The great wrong must be the theft of the necklace, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Maybe. Or maybe something else we have yet to determine. In either case, someone in this house is being blackmailed,” hesaid finally, looking up at me with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Whoever it is may have been desperate enough to steal the necklace.”
“For what reason?” I asked, as a chill ran down my spine.
“That we must find out,” he said, his voice resolute. He tucked the letter inside his coat as his determined gaze met mine. “We’ll need to keep this to ourselves for now, until we know more. If the parties involved discover we’ve found a clue, they may take more drastic steps.”
I nodded as a thrill of excitement mingled with my apprehension. “We will find out who is behind this,” I said, my voice firm with conviction.
The duke’s lips twitched in a hint of a smile. Why, that totally transformed his whole face. He no longer seemed aloof, arrogant. Although miles away from affable, he seemed more . . . approachable.
“I have no doubt we will,” he said. “But we must tread carefully from here on. The closer we get, the more dangerous this investigation will become.”
He was right, of course. We were walking a narrow path. One wrong step could spell disaster. But first things first. “We’ll need to determine whose hand wrote that blackmail note.”
He nodded. “I have an idea.”
CHAPTER 7
CHRISTMAS WISHES
THE EVENING BUZZED with the pleasant hum of conversation as the guests of Needham Hall gathered in the grand drawing room after supper. The skating party had left everyone rosy-cheeked and in high spirits. Not only that but new guests had arrived, including Lord Hungerford, a friend of Alistair from his Oxford days. With the addition of the new guests, the room crackled with anticipation as I prepared to unveil this evening’s diversion.
But first, Lady Eleanor had to explain what was about to happen. She clapped to get everyone’s attention. As the room quieted down, she said with a smile. “The Duke of Steele has been gracious enough to plan a game for us. I hope you will all participate.” Turning to me, she said, “If you will, Your Grace.”
Standing near the hearth, I cast a glance over the assembled crowd. Lady Eleanor glowed with happiness, laughing softly as she settled next to Cumberforth. Rosalynd observed the gathering with her usual air of composed curiosity. Her sharpgaze, I knew by now, missed very little—a quality I had come to value in our recent efforts.
Drawing myself up, I cut through the hum of chatter. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I announced, “I have devised a little game for us this evening—a game of wit, creativity, and perhaps, a touch of mischief.”
The guests murmured in interest, leaning forward in their chairs.
“Each of you,” I continued, gesturing toward the crystal bowl on the side table, “will write a Christmas wish. Not an ordinary wish, mind you, but something outrageous, imaginative—perhaps even scandalous. You’ll sign your name, fold the card, and place it in the bowl. I shall read each wish aloud, and we’ll try to guess the author. The one who guesses correctly most often will win.”
“And what will this grand prize be, Your Grace?” Lady Eleanor asked, her cheeks flushed with the warmth of the fire and good cheer.
I allowed a smile to spread across my face. “Eternal glory, naturally. And this splendid box of chocolate truffles, direct from Belgium.” I held up the gift I’d intended to present to Lady Eleanor as a thank you for being included in her Christmas Ball festivities. Before supper, I’d revealed the game and asked for her permission to use it as a prize.
The room erupted in laughter and applause.
Moving toward the stack of cards and pens, I distributed the materials, pausing briefly beside Rosalynd. “What shall your outrageous wish be, Lady Rosalynd?” I asked quietly, my voice low enough for her ears alone.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. “That, Your Grace, would spoil the game.”
I watched in silence as she selected a card with deliberate grace. Her composure was unshakable, but I could sense thesharpness of her mind at work. Tonight’s game was a charming distraction for the guests, but for Rosalynd and me, it was a means to an end. Somewhere in this room, the person who had written the blackmail note was watching, unaware they were under suspicion.
Once all the wishes were written and placed in the bowl, I took center stage. Drawing the first card with theatrical flair, I read aloud:I wish to own a castle in every country, each staffed with a fleet of butlers who speak only in limericks.
The room exploded with laughter.
“Who among you harbors such whimsical ambitions?” I demanded, my tone mock-serious as I surveyed the room.
“Lady Eleanor!” Cumberforth exclaimed, nodding toward his fiancée, whose complexion turned a charming shade of pink. “She is a dab hand at managing Needham Hall.”
“Not guilty!” she protested.
With a rueful grin, Lavinia raised her hand. “The butlers were my idea. I confess.”
The game continued, each wish drawing peals of laughter or playful accusations. I played my part well, keeping the mood light. But my mind never strayed far from my true purpose. I kept an eye on each guest’s reactions, noting who seemed overly amused, too guarded, or suspiciously disengaged.
