Page 86 of The Countess Caper

Her father’s lullaby played in her head. I’ll gather you roses by the back door, as gold as your hair. One for you, and one for me, and one for little lark.

This was her mother’s house. Lark House.

She faltered on the front step. She’d been so little the last time she was here that she had forgotten the birdcages, the smell of lemon polish. She only remembered it because of the lullaby, and the stories her father told her. He’d stopped coming here after her mother died. She only remembered it because it came flooding back to her, like a river rushing its banks.

This might have been her only moment to shout for help. Carriages trundled loudly behind them; visitors and neighbors strolled the famous street, nodding to each other. Bath bustled with life, and the Crescent was the epicenter of fine Society, when they were not out taking the famous waters. Half a dozen people could look up to see her right now, but George had thrown a cloak over her shoulders, and it fell over her bound hands. By the time she shook herself free of the shock of recognizing her mother’s house, of the lullaby in her head, it was too late.

The footman had already hauled her inside, slamming the door shut.

Wake up, Tessa, she scolded herself. The laudanum was starting to fade from her system. She needed to figure out what George was doing and how to stop him. How to get out of here.

She opened her mouth to scream. The footman’s sweaty hand clamped over her mouth and nose, strangling her.

“Don’t bother,” George said. “The servants are all gone on a week’s holiday and won’t hear you. But I don’t care for the caterwauling.”

She’d give him caterwauling.

She’d been tricked by George Kilkenny. The man who could not tie his own cravat without assistance. Who had never rinsed a plate or dusted a cobweb.

It was both infuriating and embarrassing.

“I still don’t know what you want from me,” she said. The floor was pink marble under her boots, as predicted. She nearly smiled. Might have, if the footman hadn’t been pushing into her personal space with the kind of leer that bullies seemed to learn from birth.

“You’re going to show me where the family strongbox is,” George replied.

She stared at him. “And you needed my father’s watch for this?” Tessa tilted her head, all false concern. She probably shouldn’t antagonize him, but she couldn’t help it. He wouldn’t get an ounce of her fear. He would get drunk on it. “Are you feeling quite well, George?”

He took the watch from his pocket and slammed it down on the nearest table. The glass cracked.

Tessa couldn’t help a sound of distress. “Don’t.”

“Where is it?” he screamed, spittle flying from his mouth.

She took a step back and bumped into the grinning footman. “I don’t know,” she said, as calmly as she could. “How could I? I haven’t been here since I was in leading strings.”

“He must have told you.”

She frowned. “My father? Why would he? What’s inside the strongbox?” She shook her head. “Is this about jewels? I doubt he had any that you haven’t already claimed.”

If this was about jewels, she was going to be so angry.

Angrier than she already was.

“Find. It.” He was losing what little control he had on his temper. The footman started to look sickeningly eager.

“All right, George,” she said, clenching her hands so they wouldn’t see her fingers shake.

She circled the study first, peering behind books, feeling under the desk. She lifted the edge of the carpet.

“Don’t you think we’ve tried all that?” George snapped.

She bit back a retort involving the capacity of his mind and the general state of his bollocks. Probably not helpful. She moved to the largest drawing room next. The large sash windows were curtained with blue velvet. She peeked behind them. Nothing. The moldings dripped with details, leaves and fat flowers and tiny larks in flight. It was a grand house, clearly well situated. It would cost a fortune to keep. To buy.

She paused.

George’s greed was well documented. But she still could not understand what this might have to do with her or her father’s watch. Unless the house was not entailed? Surely someone would have said something before now, even accidentally.

The footman hulked behind her, his breath excited. She swallowed a wave of nausea and stepped aside. “If you want to solve this little mystery, you’ll have to call off your dog. He smells like boiled celery that’s gone off. It’s distracting.”