Blackmail and the Bride (The Six Pearls of Baron Ridlington Book 5) Read online

  He understood her need to find out everything she could about the Hatfields. For her, it was personal. If the reports were to be believed, she was half-Hatfield herself.

  It was important to her, but less important to him. Because in Richard’s mind, she was a Ridlington and that was all there was to it.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Neither wanted to indulge in lunch or tea or any of the civilized trappings of a morning at home in the country. And if the maids stared wide-eyed at master and mistress rushing upstairs hand in hand, looking a bit windblown but in a big hurry…well the grins that were exchanged were quite understandable. Newlyweds were prone to such activities.

  They tip-toed down the back stairs, leaving the floor empty but for Mr. and Mrs. Ridlington.

  Who were unaware of their staff’s conclusions, but focussed on only one thing. Richard’s cravat drawer.

  “There.” Cressida pointed the ornate carvings. “See? It is the same design, I’m sure of it.”

  Richard peered at it, rubbing his fingertip over the indentations. “Yes, I see it. And yes, I agree…the two are identical. However…” He moved away and spent more than a few moments examining all the other carvings—and there were quite a few.

  Cressida wanted to scream at him as he got down on his knees to touch, fiddle and otherwise explore the trim along the floor. “Anything?” She refrained from yelling the word at his backside, but it was a close thing.

  “No,” he acknowledged, rising and brushing his breeches. “There isn’t another carving like that on this entire piece.”

  “Good…” Cressida reached for the drawer.

  “Wait a minute…”

  “For what?”

  Richard grinned. “It’s not going anywhere, sweetheart. Just breathe for a moment. I’d like to see if there’s any way to know when this bit was carved. Is it recent? Something someone added? Or is it a part of the original?”

  “How can you tell?” She stared at him.

  “I haven’t a clue. I’m just enjoying watching you trying not to burst at the seams with excitement.”

  “Richard, you…you…beast…” she exclaimed, laughing and thumping his chest with her fists. “Get out of the way.”

  Obediently, he moved aside, and she gently grasped the two iron pulls, easing the drawer all the way out. It contained Richard’s cravats.

  “I need some more, I think,” he mused. “Or I will before long.”

  Cressida rolled her eyes. “Would you take these out, please? I’ve already had all the drawers out of this dresser during the time we cleaned up here, but I noticed nothing untoward about it.”

  “You weren’t looking for anything at that time,” he commented, stacking his cravats on the bed.

  “True.” She put the empty drawer down, next to them. “Now let’s see what secrets you hold…”

  Knowing that the most likely feature would be a false panel, she began to tap, press, and run her fingers over the inside of the drawer. The wood had darkened with age and use, and felt smooth to the touch.

  Nothing.

  After five minutes of futile exploratory touching, she was feeling both frustrated and disappointed. “I had hoped,” she said sadly. “I really had hoped there was something tucked away.”

  Richard gave her a quick hug. “I know, love.” He looked at the drawer again. “May I have a look?”

  “Of course.” She pushed the cravats aside and sat on the bed, watching as he picked up the drawer.

  He just looked at it for a moment or two, then his hand reached out to the carving and he pressed it. Again, nothing happened. He bent over and stared closely at the carving, turning it to catch the light at different angles.

  Then he lifted the entire drawer and examined the bottom.

  “Aha.”

  She sat up. “What does that mean?”

  “Watch,” he said.

  Balancing the back of the drawer on the side of the bed next to Cressida, Richard kept one hand underneath, while with the other he gripped the tiny carving as best he could—and turned it.

  The entire bottom of the drawer lifted like a lid.

  “Richard,” breathed Cressida. “You are brilliant.”

  “I know,” he grinned. “But you would have found it eventually. The key is twofold…” he gestured to the underside of the drawer. “There’s a slight depression here, barely a dip, but just the right size for a fingertip. If you press upward on it, it releases the tiny carving so it can turn…and you see the result. It’s an inter-connected mechanism, quite ingenious, and to answer one of your questions, it’s been there since this whole piece of furniture was built, I think.”

  “Well then.” She leaned over. “Let’s see what we have.”

  Cautiously lifting the panel, they both gasped at what lay within.

  A folded piece of paper lay next to a thin silk bag, pulled shut with a drawstring. The space was quite small, so the hidden objects were not of any great size, but Cressida removed them with reverence and care.

  She gently opened the bag and tipped out a small cascade of glitter and sparkles.

  “Oh my…” She touched the stones with her fingertip. “Emeralds, do you think?”

  “Might well be,” said Richard, also gazing at the little treasure. “And diamonds too, most likely.” He picked it up and it hung from his finger, an unusual necklace of small gems intertwined within a delicate golden chain. “Beautiful. Just stunning.” He handed it to Cressida. “Keep that safe.”

  She returned it to the bag. “I certainly will.”

  Richard’s attention turned to the paper and he picked it up, unfolded it and looked at the signature. Then he looked at Cressida and passed it to her. “You should read this, my dear.” His voice was gentle. “I believe it’s from your father. Your real father…”

  *~~*~~*

  He saw a film of tears glaze the green depths of her eyes as she accepted the sheet from him and looked at the carefully written words.

  “Would it be all right for you to read it aloud? I confess to a strong desire to hear what he says…”

  She nodded. “Of course.” She swallowed, her neck moving slightly as she readied herself.

  “My dearest Elizabeth…” Cressida looked at him. “This was written to my Mama…and oh, it’s dated. That’s helpful. January 1808.” She pursed her lips in thought. “I would have been going on fourteen. We were in London, at the Forest Hill house. She died almost two years after this.”

  “All right. That helps us fix a time when Gerrard and your mother were still in contact with each other.”

  “It goes on…” she continued.

  “I miss you more than words can say; Branscombe Magna holds no appeal for me since you and our little one are no longer here. I am writing this in the hope that I can slip it into our private spot, and that when you next visit Devon you will remember the fun we had setting up our secret symbol. There’s also a little something for our precious when she becomes the beautiful young woman she is destined to be. Anything created by love is, by nature, blessed with the beauty of that love. So will our jewel be polished into something extraordinary.”

  Richard heard the emotion in Cressida’s voice as she read these words, and moved to her, sitting down next to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. She brushed away a tear and cleared her throat.

  “When you read this, I shall be on my way to my ship and headed out for a mission in the North Sea. Not a pleasant voyage at this time of year, but one to challenge a sailor’s skills without a doubt. Perhaps when I return I will be able to relate my adventures to you both. I believe you might find them entertaining. I confess, in private to you alone, that I have deep concerns about the ability of the Captain, Winslow Hordle. His reputation is one of brutality to his crew, regardless of rank. Such a man does not engender loyalty, and the men who will sail with me under his command are not known to be accepting or forgiving of actions they perceive as beyond the authority of their captain. I
am preparing myself to do the unthinkable, should it become necessary. I hope it does not come to pass, but I will not allow any fellow seaman to suffer or die needlessly.”

  Cressida paused to catch her breath. “You know, it almost sounds as if he was about to set sail prepared for mutiny.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? Of course if this Captain Hordle was as bad as his reputation, then I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “There are a couple more paragraphs.” She bent to the paper again.

  “I wish you had not insisted we keep our marriage secret, my darling Elizabeth.”

  Cressida’s voice tapered off for a moment after reading this stunning sentence. But then she took a shaky breath and continued. “I wish I had the freedom to hold you and our daughter close the night before I leave. But I understand your reluctance, and I hope that upon my return matters can be finally settled to everyone’s satisfaction. Perhaps together we can confront my family and show them how real our happiness is. I have never stopped loving you, and I never will. Right up to my last breath, my dearest. As we always said to each other, ’I shall love you until the minute after I die’. When I return from this voyage, I shall presume to ask you once again to let me acknowledge you as my wife, and perhaps by then you’ll be ready to publicly accept a weathered old sailor as your life’s companion.”

  Richard found himself with nothing to say. Hearing another man’s words of devotion to the woman he loved, the mother of his child…well, it was overwhelming.

  “They married,” whispered Cressida. “He wanted us. He wanted us both. He loved us…” She made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “I don’t believe this news makes me legitimate, but it helps to know that my mother and father were actually wed at some point, even if it was after my birth.” She took a breath. “I would guess there was little liking in the Hatfield family for the Branscombes. Old memories linger on, I’m sure. But it never stopped Gerrard…my father…from loving my mother.”

  “I wonder if there are any records of their wedding,” mused Richard. “But even if there aren’t, he writes like a good and warm-hearted man, Cressy.”

  “I wonder why I never met him? Why, even though he clearly knew who I was…he speaks as if he’d seen me…I cannot remember ever meeting anyone named Hatfield.” She turned to Richard. “Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

  Her husband thought about it. “Yes, now you come to mention it, yes it does. But…” He turned it over in his mind. “You were born outside of wedlock, Cressy; your mama married to someone other than your father. That secret was kept until a few months ago. Twenty years of silence. Your mother must have had her reasons for not letting you two meet.”

  “I was a bit of a chatterbox,” she looked rueful. “I would talk to anyone. She reprimanded me for it more than a few times. Perhaps they were worried I might speak out of turn and mention him…”

  “That’s possible, yes. Especially given the fact that your mother married him, but kept that secret as well.”

  “She carried so many secrets to her grave,” said Cressida sadly.

  “Well, I’m sure she did not intend to contract the ague, sweetheart. She probably would have revealed all this, all the reasons for the secrecy, in time.”

  “Time she never had.”

  “None of us can foretell the future. I sense there was still some animosity in the families, though, from some of the things Gerrard said in his letter. Understandable, given that there were probably plenty of people still alive who would remember Joanna and her untimely death. And also who was responsible.”

  “Ann Branscombe.” She nodded. “There must have been a lot of animosity there.”

  “Exactly. Perhaps they both cared too much about you to subject you to that sort of thing at a young age.”

  “I’d like to think so,” she sighed. “Thank you for that, Richard. It does make sense.”

  “I say again, Cressy. From everything we’ve discovered, I do believe he was a good man.”

  “And yet he was accused of treason upon his return,” she answered. “And that’s when he must have learned of my mama’s death.”

  “We cannot know what happened on board that ship…” Richard’s voice tapered off as his thoughts raced ahead of his mouth. “But I think I know someone who can help us with this.”

  “You do?”

  He nodded. “Yes. My brother Edmund. His naval career ended with our father’s death, but prior to that he was Captain Edmund Wynstanley, and he held his own command. He has to know people in the Admiralty.” He reached for her hand. “We’ll find out the truth, love. I promise. We need to go and visit my family anyway, so this just moves the trip ahead a little in our schedule.”

  She looked down at the paper. “There is a little more.”

  “I must end now, since dawn is approaching and I must away. I carry the light of your smile in my dreams and the warmth of your kisses in my heart, my love. Take good care of our precious girl and should I not be there when she comes of an age, bestow upon her the necklace and tell her of the man who loved her beyond reason. The way he loves her mother. Until next we meet, ever yours, Gerrard.”

  She could barely finish the words, and Richard held her close, feeling her control break and the tears flow.

  He couldn’t begin to understand what she was feeling, listening to the words of love and affection written by a father she’d never known.

  All he could do was hold her close and do his best to offer what comfort he could.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The rest of that day passed in a bit of a haze for Cressida as she attempted to understand the new shape of her world. Her real parents had loved each other very much and it would seem that the father she’d never known loved her very much as well. Did such knowledge make a difference?

  Yes, in some ways it did. She felt warmed by it, comforted in a way, accepting now that she had been born of the deep and abiding love between her mother and a man who reflected that same passion. Her Papa Branscombe had been kind to her, but had made no secret of the fact that he’d hoped for a son. Their interactions were obligatory, rather than desired. It wasn’t at all unusual for the men of the family to leave the care and raising of children to their mother, so when he passed away not long after her fourth birthday, his absence didn’t really interrupt her life very much, although her Mama was quite sad for a while and wore black dresses, which she disliked.

  She prepared for bed with a little sigh, her mind turning over the mysteries of the past in an effort to decipher the present. Slipping her nightgown over her head and fastening the ribbons, she remembered Richard’s promise and her endorsement. “Tonight” they’d said, after kissing each other silly.

  She wondered if he’d recall the moment, or if the revelations of the afternoon might have diverted his attention away from the matter at hand…him making her his wife in all ways. To be honest, her attention had drifted as well. To learn so much about her own history was somewhat overwhelming, even though on the surface it made little difference to the current scandal of her birth.

  “Cressy…”

  She heard her husband’s voice, and turned to the door, looking through the sitting room to see him standing there. “Yes?”

  “You’d better get in here, Mrs. Ridlington. I’ve had an idea.”

  Looking at him in his robe, so handsome and masculine, Cressida found she had a few ideas of her own. “Very well,” she replied meekly, enjoying his snort of laughter.

  He turned away and she quickly ran a brush through her hair. No lace nightcap for her tonight. Hurrying to his room, she found him already in bed with the covers turned back next to him.

  He patted the space. “Come here, wife. ’Tis our time to talk.”

  Her spirits fell. He wanted to talk, while she wanted to be diverted from everything else in the world but the two of them and their affections.

  But she obeyed his command, slipping into bed beside him and letting him pull t
he covers over them both as he tucked her into his body. His heat was—as always—comforting, and she began to relax as his scent wreathed her nostrils. It was musky male, salty and unique, and she found it much to her liking.

  With a sigh, she cuddled into his warmth. “You have an idea?”

  His fingers were stroking her shoulder. “What?”

  “You said you had an idea.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, I have.” He turned a little, enclosing her even more in his arms. “I think we should gather everything we’ve found here, the ring, the note, the diaries…all of it, and then take a trip to Ridlington.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” His knee slid over her leg, a deliciously heavy weight that brought a tingling awareness to her lower limbs. “We need Edmund’s expertise and advice with the matter of Gerrard and that voyage to the North Sea. We could certainly use Hecate’s talents when it comes to those diaries of Ann Siddons-Branscombe…and while we’re away, we’ll have some of the more serious renovations put into action.” He paused. “Like the roof, and the windows.”

  “Hmm.” She thought about it.

  “We really would be better off not being here while the roof is repaired.” He chuckled. “Trust me on this. I remember when Edmund had to face that task at Ridlington. Several weeks of men with hammers on the roof and it took us at least a se’nnight to stop shouting at each other once they’d gone.”

  She laughed. “I do see your point. And I agree about a trip to Ridlington. We need to visit them, mysteries and ghosts notwithstanding. But before we jump into the carriage, I would like to make sure we’ve scoured all our local resources. The parish register, for one.” She thought for a moment. “And you know, there is always somebody…like Thumbcock…who remembers everything that ever happened. I doubt he would know much about my mother and Gerrard, but I’ll wager someone in the local area does.”