“Interesting,” Justin said. So, he had been correct. The chitswereout to find the family treasure first. He would need to change battle tactics. “First things first, let’s fix your kite and make sure it works. Secondly, we will inform Mrs. Norris that you have scheduled kite flying at nine o’clock in the morning over the next week. She can supervise you and help keep it from the tops of trees.”
“Yessir!” Bea said excitedly, saluting him.
Chapter Eleven
From the society of papers of one Lady Prudence DeLessops. 24 April 1825
Dearest reader, I have it on good authority that the utterly scandalous Mr. P (whose exploits have been detailed in this very brochure many times over) has arrived at Hollyhead to aid his dear friend, the Blacksmith Duke. Now this is an exciting turn of events! Does the duke need help managing the peculiar Nichols girls? Have the ladies, led by a Lady C.N. outsmarted him already?
There is word that the late duke himself left most unusual instructions as to what has been left behind for the taking. No one expected the Rothesay coffers to be full, but did its former steward provide something else? I am in the process of trying to confirm what this mystery may be. In the meantime, we wish the Blacksmith Duke and the salacious Mr. P luck wrangling the four sisters.
This author would like to warn the men to take care! For while they may think they are beating the Nichols girls at their own game, they may find themselves the ones deceived…
“Remind me again why we are waiting in a rose garden,” Peverill said, unscrewing the top of a flask.
The two men were leaning up against one of the low walls of Hollyhead’s extensive gardens that proved to be a maze as they attempted to find an adequate hiding place. Finally, they had ducked behind a marble balustrade, waiting patiently for the young Ladies Nichols to arrive. The moon was obstructed by clouds this evening, and everything was gray and blurred under its snuffed light. Yet, their instructions were clear. They needed to be near the statue of Venus.
“Because the youngest daughter has decided to act as my informant,” he said. “And she expressly told me that the two elder ones are planning on searching the sculpture garden later this evening in an attempt to beat us to the Rothesay treasure.”
“You know,” Peverill said in that laid-back way of his, “if you would have told me ten years ago that you would inherit a broke dukedom and four wards, two of whom were trying to cause you ruin, I would have found that very strange. But for some reason I have an unusual sense of calm about everything.”
“What’s your point?” Justin asked, growing impatient. He kept his eyes trained on the statue.
The spicy smell of rum filled his nostrils as Peverill took a sip of the liquor. He offered some to Justin, who waved it away.
“My point is,” Peverill began, “that life has a funny way of giving us exactly what we need at the time, even if we can’t see it immediately.”
“You’ve always said that,” Justin replied, “and yet I failed to see it come to fruition on many occasions. The last thing I needed was for this whole ordeal to happen.”
Peverill shrugged. “Well, I could have said the same thing about my time in India. But it gave me this friendship… though I may be regretting it heartily at the moment.”
Justin was in no mood for sentimentality. Luckily, footsteps made them go quiet.
“What makes you think it’s this one?” Justin immediately recognized Cordelia’s soft lilt.
“Surrounded by friends,” Portia replied, her voice thick as she recounted the words of the riddle. “Here she is, Apollo on one side and Mars on the other.”
“And how do you expect her to reveal the secret exactly?” Cordelia countered. Justin could picture her placing her delicate hands on the expanse of her hips.
“Why d’you think I’ve brought this?” Portia asked.
Peverill raised an eyebrow and Justin shrugged his shoulders.
“Portia!” Cordelia exclaimed and then their voices became frantic whispers.
“We should confront them now,” Peverill said, readying himself to stand.
Justin grabbed the jacket of his coat to pull him back to the ground, but it was too late. Peverill was up and adjusting his lapels. Ignoring Justin’s signals, he stepped over his friend’s boots and directly into the ladies’ path.
“Good evening,” he said, his deep voice carrying across the still night air.
Cursing, Justin followed him.
*
Cordelia’s face blanchedas she saw the men approaching. The mallet that she had ripped from Portia’s hands was too heavy to toss. Instead, she held it behind her, hoping that they would not be able to see in the dark.
“What have you got there?” Peverill asked, nodding to the instrument.
