Season For Desire Read online

  “Not all twins are identical.” Miss Corning smiled. Then she took up her own parallelepiped and, with a neat flex and slide of fingers, began to move the invisible joints apart. Bit by bit, the panels worked open: one side, then another, then back to the first in a dizzyingly swift and intricate set of movements.

  “She makes it look so easy,” said Lady Irving in an extremely loud whisper. “How long have you been fussing with that golden box, young Rutherford?”

  “Long enough,” said Giles Rutherford, “to grant a brava where one is due.”

  Miss Corning gave a distracted smile. “Oh, I’ve had quite a lot of time to work this out. I inherited it about three months ago.”

  And then with one last press, it was done. In one slow, buttery glide, the smooth lid slid free and revealed the interior of the box. Empty.

  “It’s empty?” Richard Rutherford sounded surprised. “Is there not even a message?”

  “There is indeed a message.” Miss Corning grinned, a warm expression lit by the lamplight. And flipping over the lid of the puzzle box, she revealed its secret.

  For a moment, Sophy’s eyes crossed at yet another pattern. Letters marched in a crowded gaggle over the inside of the lid, incised as though by a nail or blade.

  “May I?” The elder Rutherford reached out for the lid.

  “Please.” Miss Corning handed it over.

  Squinting at the tiny letters, Rutherford held the lid at arm’s length to catch the best light. It was not much larger than his hand. “‘Two of three. Sophia Angela Maria. Salvation from our enemies, and from the hand of all that hate us: To perform mercy to our fathers.’” As he read out the inscription, his voice caught and halted. “It’s—like hearing Beatrix’s voice again.”

  “Rubbish. Those aren’t your wife’s words,” said Lady Irving. When silence followed, she snapped, “Are you all heathens? It’s from the Benedictus.”

  “The Benedictus. From—the Bible?” Rutherford’s brow furrowed. “I never knew it to have special significance to Beatrix.”

  “It’s a song of gratitude,” Sophy remembered. She had fallen out of the habit of regular churchgoing years ago, after her marriage to Jack, but the rusty memories of a devout youth squeaked free. “From the Gospel of Luke. Gratitude and prophecy and—and redemption.” When seven faces turned toward hers, she could not help but stammer.

  “All right, set that aside for now,” said Giles Rutherford. “What could the rest of the message mean? Miss Corning, have you divined any meaning from it?”

  With the lid set in the brightest circle of lamplight, they all looked down at it. Following the brief verse were several rows of gibberish.

  ZWKIPXDDDILZDDPUHVDRLRGPHDZKXH WHQJQRWQRDWUGYDRHVDOHRORLWVF WQFUNZXYQYWHUUKWVDKRDLRRDWXG QURWUDKHZ

  “A code of some sort, but a simple alphabet substitution didn’t work,” said that elegant lady after the others studied the string of letters. “And so it occurred to me that I needed to find the other two puzzle boxes if I was to solve the riddle.” Graceful beringed hands splayed on the glossy wood of the secretary desk. “I came into a fortune recently, upon the death of a cousin. This box was among her effects, and when I got it open—not without a great deal of effort, I assure you, Mr. Rutherford—I was intrigued by the message inside.” She paused. “You see, my cousin was called Angela. And in her childhood, she was given this box by Lady Beatrix Newcombe, just before that lady left England in hurried secrecy.”

  Sophy could not help admiring Miss Corning’s gift for the dramatic: that low, throbbing voice waltzing over the words until they all danced through the story with her. “My cousin Angela spoke of her sometimes,” added the storyteller, “when I took this box down from her shelf of keepsakes. She remembered Lady Beatrix as a delightful woman, a friend of her older sister. When the lady gave Angela this box, she said she was doing so because she knew children had not yet forgotten what was important, and that she knew Angela would keep it safe.”

  “Yes.” The syllable drifted from Sophy’s lips like a sigh. “Yes, exactly.”

  Miss Corning’s deep eyes searched Sophy’s face. “I thought it a lovely story. But when I opened the box and saw my cousin’s name along with two others, I realized it was far more than an old tale of kindness. It was a mystery.”

  “An adventure,” interjected Richard Rutherford.

  “Quite so.” Miss Corning’s puckish grin returned. “And so, being a woman of independent means and few personal ties, I decided to turn my hand to hunting Sophias and Marias. By searching through ancient family correspondence, I found reference to some of my cousin’s friends. And to their families.”

  “And you found—me?” Sophy’s brows knit. Was it always this hot in the library? Or cold; maybe she was cold. Her fingers felt clumsy, her feet ungainly.

  “I found three Sophias, and then I hunted up their married names and present locations. I wrote to all of them, but the other two politely assured me they had never received a gift from Lady Beatrix Newcombe. I believe they also doubted my sanity, but c’est la vie.” Her hands gave a careless flutter. “I was on the scent, so to speak, and if anyone knows how dedicated a hound is once it finds a clue, it should be this household.”

  Lady Dudley beamed.

  “But I never received a letter from you.” Sophy tucked her hands—bare of jewelry, even her old wedding band—beneath her folded arms.

  “So I have learned.” Miss Corning traced a few circles on the surface of the desk. “It was terribly precipitate of me to travel without hearing a reply. But I was eager to set out at once.”

  “From where do you hail?” Richard Rutherford, calm and kind as ever.

  “Some ways east of here, at the northern tip of Lincolnshire. A hamlet called Barrow Haven that no one much has heard of, unless you are fond of brick-making. I lived with my brother’s family, but once I came into some money, they thought I ought to hand it over to them. And when I disagreed, they thought I ought not to live there anymore.” Spoken calmly, and yet there was something flat and terrible in the tone.

  “So you—came here?” Sophy hated the hitch in her voice. Even less than her reeling mind did her throat seem to know what to do with so much new information.

  “Well, yes. You see, it had to be you. You were the only other Sophia, and so you had to have a puzzle box.”

  “And if I had not?”

  “Then . . .” Miss Corning paused. “Then I would have had to figure out what else to do.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about that.” Lord Dudley eased himself into Sophy’s chair, his raspy voice full of delight. “Our Soph’s got the puzzle box, you see, and you’re welcome to stay as long as y’like. Good to have a bit of company about the place.”

  “More than a bit,” grumped Lady Dudley. “Where will she stay? She shan’t take the dogs’ room.”

  “Of course not, dear,” the viscount soothed. “The dogs sleep in the stable, don’t you recall? You said yourself we’d plenty of room in the house.”

  “You’ve put me in a beautiful guest chamber,” Miss Corning said. “I cannot thank you enough. Though I didn’t mean to be, I’m a foundling on your doorstep until the weather clears. My coachman cursed me heartily for traveling in this weather, and on a Sunday, but you see—” She pressed her lips together.

  “You had nowhere else to go.” Lady Audrina spoke up. The earl’s daughter was a bit of a mystery to Sophy: proud and prickly, but with a curious mind—and sometimes, like now, flashes of soft sorrow.

  “Nonsense, nonsense.” Lord Dudley positively glowed, his white hair like a halo about his beaming face. “You may stop and bide here as long as you like.”

  Sophy could not recall seeing him so transported since Jack’s death, and probably not since quite some time before. A long illness such as Jack’s ground away at a family, so death came in tiny stages over endless attenuated time.

  “How gratifying,” barked Lady Irving. “But we’ve still got another puzzle box to open.
You, Corning girl, do you think you can do that same trick with the golden one? No one here seems to know what to do with it at all.”

  Giles Rutherford made an incoherent sound.

  “Shh,” said Lady Audrina. Did she slip a hand within the crook of his arm? No, only a trick of the shadows; darkness split them apart even as Sophy squinted.

  “I can but try,” said Miss Corning. “If Mrs. Parr will permit?”

  “Sophy,” she corrected through numb lips. “Please, feel free.” A deeper admonition than she intended. A deeper hope for herself.

  Miss Corning followed the same set of movements she had used to open her rosewood box; this time Sophy counted forty-five slips and catches of the panels. Panels she had never realized her parallelepiped possessed until a few days ago, and now they were loosening under this stranger’s touch as though her very fingertips were keys.

  “That’s done it, by God.” Richard Rutherford touched the golden lid as Miss Corning began to slide it free. “Sophy, will you open it?”

  With fingers cold and heart a thunderstorm, Sophy freed the lid from the puzzle box. A neat little compartment was hidden inside, empty as they expected. Pulling in a deep breath, Sophy turned over the lid.

  Again, dizzying letters were scratched in neat rows. Every head leaned inward, blocking the lamplight until they jostled into a better arrangement.

  “I’ll be damned,” muttered Lady Irving. “‘One of three. Sophia Angela Maria.’”

  “‘His mercy is from generation unto generations,’” Sophy read. “More of the Benedictus?”

  “How should I know? I was fortunate to remember the first bit, you pack of heretics,” Lady Irving replied. “Surely there is a Bible in here somewhere. We are in a library.”

  “I’ll get one.” Relieved to step away from the tight circle of faces, Sophy slipped to one of the familiar shelves. In brown, she would be as invisible as shadow itself. She had fallen into the habit with Jack in the dark days of his illness. What he did not see, he could not speak to. Could not touch.

  The library held several Bibles; the first one Sophy laid hands on was an antique quarto in crumbling black leather. She carried it back near the desk, standing in the penumbra outside the lamplight. For a book of moderate size, it was heavy, the paper old and thick.

  She handed it to Lady Irving, who rolled her eyes before accepting the book. “Must I be the voice of God? Well, if you insist.” The countess flipped open the cover. “A Douay-Rheims Bible. My, my. Harboring Papist tendencies?”

  “Harboring old books,” said Sophy. “If you will, my lady?”

  Lady Irving sniffed, then flipped pages. “Ah,” she said after a few minutes of skimming. “The Magnificat. Richard, your Lady Beatrix had a fondness for the Nativity story.”

  Sophy could not imagine why Richard Rutherford looked sheepish. “Ah—so it seems, yes. How interesting.” He cleared his throat. “And more of those coded letters?”

  More indeed. Seeing a second set made the code seem even more impenetrable:

  LLWVUKEGGBPBPKHSBLKBZOHBNHHWR UDYLQDFHNZHRHQRHKKDKHYBDIJHLHS RLDLRRRDGQUDRWQHUJIZGRIZGRDHXW HHHFKRU

  “Well, that’s that,” said Giles. “We shall have to find Maria’s puzzle box or there will be no peace until the end of time.”

  “I believe, son,” said Rutherford, “that I am being remarkably peaceful. Although, Miss Corning, I would very much like to know what you learned regarding my late wife’s acquaintances named Maria.”

  “Of course,” began Miss Corning, “I should be glad to—”

  “Did she know Jack?” Lady Dudley’s voice cracked with hope. “Did you ever find a letter with some reference to Jack? What do you know about Jack?”

  Sophy shut her eyes.

  There was a pause before Miss Corning spoke. “My coachman goes by Jack, and I know that he was annoyed at having to drive out today. But surely that is not whom you meant?”

  Sophy hauled her eyes open.

  “Lady D, we must be getting you to your room for a rest.” The viscount spoke up. He shot Sophy an apprehensive look.

  “Her ladyship refers to her son, John. My late husband. We called him Jack.” For once this afternoon, her voice was clear.

  “Ah.” Miss Corning’s oddly elegant features went soft. “You all have my condolences. It is difficult to lose a loved one.”

  “It was a long time ago,” Sophy said. Not that that was so much a reply as an explanation. An excuse.

  But why, or for what, she could not let herself think.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wherein Giles Does Not Throw His Fork

  The subject of the puzzle boxes, the codes, and the identity of the unknown Maria occupied the party at dinner that afternoon until Giles felt he could have thrown his fork at the wall. Just two things prevented him from doing so: First, that there was every chance he would miss the wall and hit one of the enormous glass windows instead.

  And second, the roasted widgeon was delicious. Besides the widgeon, there was a beef tongue in redcurrant sauce, potted shrimps, and a variety of vegetables. Broccoli, artichokes, and tender little lettuce leaves. Best not to throw the fork until the cloth was removed.

  “Yes,” Miss Corning answered Lady Dudley for perhaps the seventy-fifth time. “I wrote to all the Marias I identified through my cousin’s correspondence, too. Only two remain from whom I haven’t received a reply.”

  In dressing for dinner, the new arrival had exchanged the small feathers in her headdress for larger plumes. Enjoying having money and being a peacock for the first time; well, Giles couldn’t blame her for that. If he found that someone had given his sister Rachel a fortune—and that someone else was trying to take it from her—he’d urge her to spend every penny of it however she wished.

  Miss Corning had paused after her explanation; now she looked abashed. “I hope you do not mind, my lord—my lady—but I gave the direction of Castle Parr should either of the Marias wish to reply. I did not mean to presume by doing so, only I knew I should not be returning to my brother’s household.”

  “Quite all right.” Lord Dudley smiled. “We send a servant to the village for mail almost every day. Lady D, I haven’t seen any odd letters arrive for a few days, have you?”

  “Thank you, my lord. You are very good.” Miss Corning’s voice wavered a bit.

  She must have traveled with everything she owned. No wonder she was so relieved the Dudleys were willing to take her in. But that seemed to be their way. It was a wonder they were so rarely visited; maybe their hospitality wasn’t known. Giles had met a number of worthless hangers-on in London who would shoulder their way into any aristocratic household with which they had the slimmest of family connections.

  “And you, young Rutherford.” Lady Irving’s blacksmith hammer of a voice clanged at Giles’s ears. “What are you going to do with yourself now?”

  Giles stared at her. His stomach gave an uncomfortable twist.

  Lady Irving waved her knife. “Now that Miss Corning has opened the puzzle box, of course. You’ve got nothing more to work on while you bill and coo.”

  “Oh, that.” His stomach untwisted. “You’re right, I need some new occupation. Maybe I could decorate a few of the statue heads in the antique passage.” He snapped his fingers. “Wait a moment; I can’t. Because you did that already while you billed and cooed.”

  “Son, really,” said Richard mildly. “No need for such rough talk. You must feel free to decorate those statue heads all you like. The effect is pleasingly festive.”

  “Indeed!” Lord Dudley wheezed. “Exactly the sort of thing m’lady and I like.”

  It did not pass Giles’s notice that his father had not protested the bit about billing and cooing. With a shudder, he drained his glass of wine.

  No puzzle box. No jewels. Nothing but another mystery, and home seemed farther away than ever.

  Much as he hated to admit it, Lady Irving asked a fair question. What was he going to do with himself now?


  After dinner, the cloth was removed for syllabub and candied oranges and ginger. When the rest of the party seemed inclined to head into the drawing room for more tinkering with the puzzle boxes, Giles caught his father’s arm and held him back.

  “Father. Wait. I need to ask you something.”

  Richard looked delighted. “Of course!” Over Giles’s shoulder, he waved on the others. “Go ahead, Estella. I shall meet you in a few minutes. Mind you don’t start gambling without me.” He chuckled. “Funny woman. She pretends to be so irritable, but you know, I think she’s not nearly so bad as she wants everyone to believe.”

  “I wouldn’t want to contradict a lady.” Giles pulled out chairs for himself and Richard, waving off the servants who had come in to clear the table. “If she wants me to think she’s terrible, I’m happy to do so.”

  “Oh, son.” Richard chuckled again. Picking up a bit of candied ginger from its porcelain dish, he pointed it at Giles. “What’s on your mind?”

  Giles picked up a piece of ginger, too, rolling the sugar crystals between his fingertips. “It’s our time in England.”

  “Yes?” Richard popped the ginger into his mouth. “My, that’s tasty. Warms you right up, doesn’t it?”

  Ignoring this aside, Giles said, “We’ve got two puzzle boxes and no real information. What if we never find anything else? Without the lost diamonds, how will you set up a new shop in London?” He took a deep breath. “How will you care for the family? They need you, Father. They need you more than you need this . . . adventure.” The word was so sour in his mouth that he crunched at the ginger root, sweet and fiery and sharp enough to make him squint.

  Richard made a tidy stack of the candied orange peel, crossing one slice over another. “Are you certain of that? They’re grown, Giles. You might be the eldest living, but you should not still think of them as children. Now, don’t protest—you do think so.”

  “I do not.” Giles bit his bottom lip, hard. He knew they were no longer children; they were scattering off to begin their own lives. Even his bosom companion, Rachel, had left the family home to live with an aunt. “That doesn’t mean they don’t still need a father’s guidance.”