Dangerous Masquerade (Regency Masquerade)

Tentatively, unsure if they were still talking about shooting lessons, she replied, “Yes, it could.” And then she added, “I guess a question to ask is how long I want it to continue.”

She should stop the lessons. She really should. Though perhaps another day wouldn’t hurt. Or a week, she thought wistfully. “I need to become expert, which could take time.”

Aunt Charity nodded, “Yes, indeed.” She placed a few more delicate stitches into her embroidery and then asked Ria, “Did I ever tell you about Michael Lynmore?”

Confused by this second apparent change in topic, but suspecting there was a connection, Ria patiently replied, “No, but please do.”

“He was the love of my life. I was madly, passionately in love with him. He wanted to have an affaire as

we couldn’t marry. It doesn’t matter why. What does matter is I deeply regret not saying yes.”

Speechless, Ria could only watch as Aunt Charity folded her embroidery into her tapestry bag. Once finished, she looked at Ria and made one last comment before leaving. “I think I’ll embroider another piece, one showing the progression of their relationship. What do you think it should be, my dear? Should the next one show them as polite acquaintances or as lovers?”

As she stared at her, Aunt Charity smiled slightly and left the room without waiting for an answer.

Ria collapsed on the sofa, gazing into space. Unless she was sadly mistaken, elderly Aunt Charity had just given her carte blanche to have an affaire.

But then, Aunt Charity didn’t know just what was at stake.

12

Later in the day, still undecided, Ria walked into the estate office. She didn’t have to make up her mind right now, and in the meantime there was work to do, and Blackwell was waiting for her.

She was half listening to her estate agent, thinking more about Aunt Charity’s surprising behavior, when one particular comment Blackwell made caught her full attention. She would never forget the list of so-called estate improvements Geoffrey had dropped on the floor of the drawing room. Now here was her agent making some of the same suggestions. Not only that but using the exact same words.

She tried to quash the tiny seed of suspicion. But with his next comment, which also echoed what was written, the planted seed resisted her efforts and began to germinate.

She watched him carefully, the pen she had just been about to write with forgotten, suspended in midair, and asked him directly, “Have you discussed any of these issues with Mr. Danielson?”

At her unexpected question, Blackwell looked taken aback. “Of course not, Mrs. St. James. Why would you think such a thing?”

Ria carefully put the pen down as she considered his words. She was almost convinced until she noticed a small flicker in his eyes and detected a slight blanching of his complexion. “Because they are points Mr. Danielson also raised, and I find it surprising you should mention them using identical words.” Continuing to watch his eyes, she challenged him, “I believe you have discussed this with him.”

Blackwell averted his gaze from hers. Staring at the bookcase behind her desk, he stammered, “Well… I might have on occasion in the past, when he was heir. Not recently, of course.” Presumably trying to explain away his earlier denial, he added in a rush, “Which is why I said I hadn’t talked to him.”

He sounded plausible, but as she looked at him he shifted in his chair, still refusing to meet her gaze. Suspicion began to grow.

Apparently concerned with her silence, he filled the void by adding, “This is nothing I have not said before. You are too lenient with the tenants. The Fords, for example, are behind in their rent, but do you evict them?” he asked, his voice growing louder and more forceful. “No, you fix their roof!”

“Would you have them cast out?” she asked softly.

“Yes, as an example to others.” It seemed as though her questions had unleashed a torrent of disdain Blackwell could no longer contain. He continued, seemingly unable to stop, with a long litany of all the errors of judgment she, and earlier Mr. St. James, had made in the management of the estate. The essence of which was that they should be harder on the tenants.

Her suspicion bore fruit, and Ria gave voice to it, interrupting the estate agent’s flow. “You told Mr. Danielson this. You also plotted with him to contest the will.”

The estate agent gaped at her, momentarily at a loss. His silence and pallor answered her question. Unfortunately, his speechlessness did not last long. Obviously deciding further denials were pointless, he confirmed her suspicions.

“Yes. I did.” Straightening his shoulders, he finally looked directly at her, proud and defiant. “It would be the best thing for the estate. You are not capable of running it.”

She could scarcely believe what she was hearing. In response to her shocked look, Blackwell added in a reasonable tone, “Please don’t take it personally, madam. I don’t believe any woman should have anything to do with estate business. You aren’t capable of it. Your minds do not have the necessary intellectual rigor.”

Shocked, she stared at him as he continued more strongly, “And I have been proved right. Some of your ideas—letting them get behind in their rent! Then there is your latest idea, putting the estate in trust for indigent ladies. Whatever were you thinking, madam?”

Ria abruptly stood and rang the bell to summon Flowerday. “I was thinking, Mr. Blackwell, that it was the right thing to do. I was thinking my husband would have approved. I am also thinking you have exactly one hour to remove your person from this estate.”

Her words and the sound of the bell, like a death knell, seemed to bring him to his senses and make him realize the enormity of what he had confessed. In the brief moment of time before Flowerday arrived, John Blackwell stood, mouth open, gaping at her like a fish.

When her butler entered the office, she gave him crisp instructions. “Flowerday, please help Mr. Blackwell pack, pay him his wages for the past quarter, and then escort him from the premises.”