Page 72 of Private Arrangements
She shrugged, trying to be nonchalant about it. “I don't know.”
Camden had let her go with such ease and graciousness; he must have already come to the conclusion that he no longer wanted her, that the offer of reconciliation had been an aberration brought on by an emotional surge that could little withstand the force of reason.
He would have gone on with his life already, taken a new lover or two, perhaps even begun to pay some mind to those beauteous young American misses being paraded before him, with their perfect American teeth and perfect American noses. Would he really want her to show up and spoil all his brand-new plans?
“Come.” She placed her hand on Freddie's elbow. “We'll walk back. It's time for lunch. My groom can get the horse later. Tell me what is it you will do, now that you have declined to be the next great, world-renowned artist?”
Gigi saw Freddie to the train station on Monday morning. She managed to have an agreeable time, conversing more frankly, affectionately, and easily with him than she'd been able to do in a long time. She even enjoyed her guests once she took the plunge and informed them that, though she esteemed Freddie more than ever, she had deemed it prudent to release him from his commitment.
When she arrived home, Goodman informed her that she had a caller waiting. “A Mr. Addleshaw from Addleshaw, Pearce and Company is here to see you, milady. I have him in the library.”
Addleshaw, Pearce & Co. were Camden's solicitors. What was a senior partner doing paying her a visit far from the city?
Addleshaw was in his early fifties, shortish and natty in his tweed suit. He smiled as Gigi entered the library— not the tight, cautious smile she'd have expected from a lawyer but the delighted grin of a long-lost friend.
“My lady Tremaine.” He acknowledged her with a neat bow.
“Mr. Addleshaw. What brought you all the way to Bedfordshire?”
“Business, I fear. Though I confess, your ladyship, I've wanted to meet you in person ever since Mr. Berwald first contacted us with regard to the late Duke of Fairford.”
Of course. How could she have forgotten? She had relentlessly driven Mr. Berwald, her head solicitor, against this very same Mr. Addleshaw, who had defended his client's interests with the ferocity of a mother lion.
She smiled. “Am I quite as fearsome in person?”
He didn't answer her question directly. “When Lord Tremaine informed me that he would marry you by special license, I'd half-expected it. Unlike his late cousin, however, he was all but counting the days. I can see the reason now.”
Ah, the sweet yesteryear. Her heart ached anew. She indicated a chair. “Please, have a seat.”
Addleshaw produced a rectangular box from his briefcase and pushed it across the desk. The scent of rosewood, sweet and heady, wafted to her nostrils. “This came to our office last week, by special courier. I ask that you please open it and verify that the contents have not been disturbed during the transit and my safe-keeping.”
What could Camden possibly want to give her? She drew a complete blank. Inside the wooden box lay a velvet jewelry case. She lifted its lid and lost her breath.
Against a bed of cream satin sparkled a magnificent necklace, the chain of it done entirely in diamonds, one teardrop loop nestled against the next. Seven rubies, each surrounded by diamonds, dangled from the necklace, the smallest two the size of her thumbnails, the largest one at the center bigger than a quail's egg. There were also two matching earbobs, each with a ruby as big as the pad of her index finger.
She'd seen plenty of parure in her life. She owned a few gorgeous pieces herself. But even she rarely came across a set with such nerve and audacity. It would take a superbly self-assured woman to subsume its glitter in her own radiance, to not become a mere accessory to the necklace's splendor and costliness.
There was a note, undated and unsigned, in Camden's slanted hand.The piano arrived in one piece, as out of tune as ever. Civility demands a return gift. I'd bought the necklace in Copenhagen. You might as well have it.
In Copenhagen. He'd bought it forher.
“Looks like everything is here,” she mumbled.
“Very good, ma'am,” said Addleshaw. “I am also to inform you that you may, at your pleasure, repetition for divorce. Lord Tremaine has instructed us to stand aside and do nothing to impede its progress. The divorce should be a fairly straightforward legal matter at this point, as you have no children and no entanglement of properties that isn't already clearly spelled out in your wedding contract.”
For a moment, her heart stopped beating. “He has withdrawn all objections?”
“Yes, ma'am, Lord Tremaine stated his assent in a letter addressed to myself. I have brought the letter, if your ladyship would like to read it.”
“No,” she said quickly. Much too quickly. “That will not be necessary. Your word is good enough.”
She rose. The lawyer got to his feet also. “Thank you, ma'am. There is, however, one last small matter.”
Gigi glanced at him, surprised. She thought their interview concluded already. “Yes, Mr. Addleshaw?”
“Lord Tremaine requests that you return to him one small item, a ring with filigree gold work and an insignificant sapphire.”
She froze. Addleshaw had described her engagement ring.
