Page 53 of Peril in Piccadilly
“Until he got engaged, I assumed it was the young popinjay?—”
“Crispin and I are not involved,” I said automatically.
Wolfgang nodded. “Of course not. If that had been the case, I presume he wouldn’t have proposed to someone else.”
Yes, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?
“I thought it was possible that you still harbored feelings for him,” Wolfgang continued, and I endeavored not to gag.
“I assure you, I don’t.” Or no romantic feelings, anyway. Feelings of wanting to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze, certainly.
“Is it the young policeman, then?” Wolfgang inquired. “Detective Sergeant Gardiner? Or perhaps your cousin?”
“My…” There were so many things wrong with both of those questions that they quite took my breath away. There was, however, no question about where to start.
“Christopher? You think I’m in love withChristopher?”
My voice had risen into a range only discernable by bats and dogs. Wolfgang sat back in shock, but I think it was simply the level of noise coming out of my mouth that affected him, and not what I was saying. He looked nonplussed at my reaction, as if he couldn’t fathom why such an idea would be off-putting.
“Christopher,” I said, doing my level best to sound calm, “is my best friend. He’s the next thing to my brother. We grew up together. His parents consider me the daughter they never had. While other people may suspect that we live in sin,” the Earl and Countess Marsden came to mind, which was funny, actually, since at least Laetitia’s mother also suspected that I had been trying to deprive her daughter of her rightful claim to Crispin before the engagement, “I can assure you that I do not feel that way about Christopher, nor does he feel that way about me.”
Or about any girl, but there was no need to share that, not even to prove to him how appallingly far off the target his suggestion had been.
I took a breath and began again. “As for Tom?—”
“Who?”
“Detective Sergeant Gardiner. I assume he is who you’re talking about, and not, for instance, his colleague, Detective Sergeant Finchley?”
Wolfgang nodded, looking reluctantly fascinated in spite of himself, and I continued, “Just as you suspect that my emotions are engaged elsewhere, I’m fairly certain Tom’s fond of someone. Someone who isn’t me, although that hardly needs saying.”
He looked intrigued, and I added, “I’m not going to go into details about that. I don’t know whether he has even admitted it to himself. And I could be wrong about those feelings, anyway.”
Tom might simply be fond of Christopher because the latter was Robbie’s little brother and Cousin Robbie had been Tom’s best friend. Tom’s feelings for Christopher might not be romantic at all. But however it all played out, it was no one else’s business but theirs, and certainly none of Wolfgang’s.
“All you need to know,” I told him, “is that there’s nothing going on between me and anyone else. I abhor Crispin. Christopher is my brother. And Tom is a friend. And that’s all.”
Wolfgang nodded, although his lips twitched. “I don’t suppose there are any news about the burglary?”
“I haven’t spoken to Tom since that night,” I said, as the waiter stopped by to place our drinks on the table. When he had withdrawn, I added, “He didn’t know much then, although I suppose he might have discovered something in the couple of days since.”
“But you haven’t heard about it if he has done?”
I shook my head. “Is there a particular reason you’re interested?”
“Not aside from the fact that it concerns someone you care about,” Wolfgang said smoothly.
I wanted to tell him that I didn’t care about Lady Laetitia (nor about Lady Violet, nor for that matter about the aged Lady Latimer), but I suppose it also concerned Crispin, and I suppose I did care (marginally) about the Sutherland diamonds. They were ugly, of course, but they were still Sutherland property, and no one had the right to steal them. So instead of protesting, I merely made a sort of acquiescent noise and said, “No, I haven’t heard anything new. It’s a shame about the Sutherland ring and earrings, of course. They’re ostentatious and gaudy, and I wouldn’t have them as a gift?—”
“There’s no chance of that now, surely.”
“None at all,” I agreed. Nor had there ever been, but there was less of one now, when they were in someone else’s hands and not Crispin’s. “But it’s a shame that the parure is no longer complete. There’s a great, big, monstrous tiara in addition to the ring and earrings, and a necklace and a couple of bracelets, I think. I’m not certain I’ve ever seen the whole thing in use. My late aunt was a dainty woman, and the stones dwarfed her. She didn’t wear them much.”
Wolfgang made a humming noise.
“Such wouldn’t be the case with Laetitia,” I said, “of course, but if I remember correctly, the betrothed gets the ring upon the acceptance of the proposal, and it looks like Crispin threw in the earrings, too, but she won’t get the rest of the parure until after the wedding. In case she needs incentive to go through with it, I suppose…”
I would have needed incentive to get through a wedding to Crispin, although the parure wouldn’t have done it for me. Laetitia probably didn’t need any incentive, since she wanted to marry him.
