Page 72 of Miss Flibbertigibbet and the Barbarian
Phillip shook his head. “She’s as flummoxed as I am. The whole household is sure there has been no break-in, and as you might suppose, she’s been living very quietly since Styles’s death. She didn’t even go up to London for the Season this year, so the house was never left empty.”
Looking thoroughly lost, Phillip shook his head again. “We simply don’t know how he got the letters, and we’ve no idea who he is.”
“It occurs to me,” Nicholas said, “that there’s nothing to say the man who met you isn’t a go-between, and whoever got the letters and is wanting to trade them for the horse is someone quite different.” When Addie glanced up at him, he met her eyes. “Using agents is common in the horse trade, especially if there’s anything less than perfectly legal about the sale.”
Slowly, Phillip nodded. “You’re right. Looking back on our discussion… Well, the man didn’t seem to have any personal interest in the exchange.” He looked at Nicholas. “His attitude was more that of a man acting as an agent.”
A short silence fell, then Dickie, his gaze fixed on Phillip, said, “You mentioned you were waiting for instructions regarding what to do with the horse.”
Phillip nodded; Addie had noticed that the longer they spoke, her half brother’s interaction with her and Dickie was becoming less stiff, more normal. “The man told me to bring The Barbarian here—to Styles Place—and once the horse was safely in the stable, to run the flag up the flagpole at the top of the house.” Phillip glanced at Nicholas. “You can see that pole from miles away, all the way across the fens.”
Looking at Dickie, Phillip went on, “So I did all that, and we waited. And waited. Then yesterday morning, Shaw, Viola’s butler, found a note pushed under the front door. It was addressed to me in the same hand and, once again, was signed from ‘A Well-wisher.’ The letter said that tomorrow evening, I should take The Barbarian to The Drove—it’s a lane just north of here—and hand him over to the man who will be waiting there and receive the bundle of letters in return.”
Nicholas was frowning. “That—all of that—strongly suggests that your well-wisher is someone who knows the area. He certainly knows the house.”
Phillip inclined his head. “I agree.” He paused, his gaze shifting to Dickie then to Addie before he looked back at Nicholas. “I’m worried there’ll be some twist in this, but I have no choice. I have to get those letters back. If they’re ever made public…” He let out a shaky breath, but didn’t shift his gaze from Nicholas’s face. “It’ll be a miracle if I’m not accused of Styles’s murder. Even if the charges don’t stick and I’m not hanged for the crime, I’ll be ruined, although, of course, being the son of an earl and his heir, ruination won’t be the end of my life. However, regardless of what happens to me, Viola’s life will be over. She’ll be ostracized. Even if I marry her, which I’m determined to do, she will never be able to join society again.” Phillip’s gaze fell to Addie. His expression was utterly bleak. “You, of all people, know what our world is like.”
Addie stared at Phillip, at all he was allowing her to see in his face and in his eyes. This was the first time in her life that her half brother had allowed any degree of humanity—of humanness—to show, much less admitted, out aloud, to any vulnerability. And when he spoke of his Viola, of marrying her, his tone left Addie in no doubt whatsoever as to the depth and unwavering nature of his feelings.
Until the last minutes, she wouldn’t have credited Phillip with any finer feelings, any softer emotions.
Slowly, still holding his gaze, she nodded. “I do understand.” Examining her own feelings, she discovered a great deal of sympathy for him, along with a building sense of outrage over the threat made against him and his Viola.
How dare someone blackmail them!
She might have labeled her half brother an unconscionable prig, but she would never have believed he would stoop to thievery. That he’d been driven to it…
Her temper surged. That she already thought of the widow as “his Viola” was doubtless a sign of her instinctive conclusions. “So, you have The Barbarian in the stable at Styles Place, and tomorrow evening, you’re supposed to hand him over to the man who contacted you.” She caught Dickie’s gaze and was unsurprised when he nodded infinitesimally, encouraging her to follow the road he knew she would go down. She flashed a glance at Nicholas and saw the same expectation in his eyes.
She looked back at Phillip and, her jaw firming, continued, “So the question now is how are we going to get your letters back, capture the villain, and keep The Barbarian?”
Phillip blinked at her, then blinked again. After a moment, he croaked, “We?”
Dickie sat back in his chair. “No one is going to blackmail a Sommerville and not have the family strike back.”
Phillip looked from Dickie to Addie. “You’ll help?” His astonishment made it crystal clear he hadn’t expected that. That all he’d expected was their condemnation.
Addie frowned at him. “We might have had our differences, but Dickie’s correct. If one of us is threatened, the Sommervilles stand together.” She glanced up at Nicholas. “Of course we’ll help.”
He met her gaze and nodded, then looked at Phillip. “In doing whatever we do to scupper the villain’s plans, we’ll need to ensure that nothing implicates Mrs. Styles.”
Addie pounced. “In fact, I think the first thing we need to do is for you to introduce the three of us to your Viola.” When Phillip looked wary, she blithely added, “If she’s to be the next Countess of Aisby, she needs to meet her future family, and she’ll also need our help.”
That was undeniable. She watched the truth sink in, then Phillip met her gaze and, with transparent gratitude, inclined his head. “Thank you.”
You shouldn’t thank me yet.
Addie didn’t say the words, but she was well aware of her ulterior motive. Phillip had changed—softened to an amazing degree and become immensely more human and relatable and approachable—and she strongly suspected the transformation could be laid at Viola’s door. This new Phillip, combined with the influence of Viola’s existence, gave Addie hope of effecting a reconciliation between their father and his estranged heir. She didn’t know how much longer her father had—if he would even be compos mentis a year from today—but she knew he yearned to reforge his relationship with his oldest son.
It would mean a lot to him—and to her, her mother, and her siblings—if such a reconciliation could be brought about before their father completely lost touch with the world around him.
But that would have to wait. First, they needed to free Phillip from the blackmailer’s clutches, and only once she was convinced beyond question that Phillip had truly changed would she allow him to know their father’s true state. She would have to trust him—completely and absolutely—first.
Nicholas straightened from the mantelpiece. “So the issue we need to address now is how we manage the handover along The Drove.” He walked to the table, picked up one of the wooden chairs, carried it back, set it between Adriana and Dickie, and sat. From that position, he could still see all three Sommervilles’ faces. “We need to remember that The Barbarian is worth a great deal to the Sommervilles and, ultimately, even more to the Cynsters.”
Puzzled, Phillip glanced from Nicholas to Adriana, then looked at Dickie before returning his gaze to Nicholas. “I’m sorry. I don’t follow. How is The Barbarian connected with the Cynsters?”
Between them, Nicholas and Adriana explained.
