“Not always,” she said. “But I like that you noticed.”
“I like that I heard it,” he said. “I find I would like to hear it again.”
She did not answer at once. Finally, softly, she said, “You must give me a reason.”
He considered that, and the corner of his mouth tipped, not in a smile, but more in an admission. “I will try.”
They went on together, and the town seemed to draw back a little, as if giving them space.
Chapter Eighteen
They left thetearoom and walked with the tide at their backs. The air was clear and bright, the kind of afternoon that made the town look freshly polished, set out for display. Their steps fell into an easy rhythm. Neither pressed the other for talk.
“Will you take a turn by the green,” Gabriel asked, “or the longer way?”
“The longer way,” Leticia said. “I’m in no hurry to be indoors.”
They passed a baker’s yard where warm air drifted out, sweet with sugar and spice. Somewhere nearby, a piano ran through scales without apology. They didn’t speak about the man with the newspaper or Felix’s careful nod. They’d said enough for one afternoon, and the quiet was chosen, not empty.
At the corner by St. Peter’s, a small curricle pulled up, driven with neat hands by Mrs. Aurora Penstone. The ribbons on her bonnet were an unrepentant crimson. She smiled down with the air of a woman who never missed an opportunity and never had to repeat herself to be heard.
“My lord. Lady Salisbury.” She inclined her head. “I owe you congratulations on your engagement. I should have said so that evening, but I was… distracted.”
Gabriel stepped forward. “We understand. I had hoped to speak with you about the theft at the masquerade. At your convenience.”
“Now,” she said with a decisive nod. “Best to have it over and done.”
Mrs. Penstone’s townhouse stood two streets off the green, bright-windowed and orderly. They were shown to a morning room where the light spilled through pale curtains. On a covered stand near the hearth sat an empty velvet tray, a small relic of something already lost.
“I prefer the morning room,” Mrs. Penstone said, following their glance. “I don’t care for shadows after unpleasantness. Tea would have been offered, but I won’t pretend calm. Sit, or not, as you like.”
“Thank you,” Leticia said. “We won’t keep you long.”
“It’s no trouble,” Mrs. Penstone said, folding her hands with a firmness that told its own story. “You’ll want it from the beginning.”
“If you please,” Gabriel said.
“The necklace was borrowed,” she said. “From a cousin with more patience than taste. Diamonds, rather severe, with a small charm at the clasp. I wore it to the dance and didn’t remove it until I stepped into the retiring room for a rest. I didn’t sleep, though I might have, given the hour and the violinist’s lack of restraint. When I returned to the ballroom, the clasp was gone and the necklace with it. My maid swears she saw nothing, she’s a treasure, and I believe her. I don’t believe the quiet woman who managed to stand behind my screen while I adjusted my mask.”
Leticia leaned forward. “Quiet woman?”
“Brown hair, fair skin, nothing remarkable. That was her strength. I’d pass her on High Street and think of gloves, not danger.”
“What did she wear?” Leticia asked.
“A brown gown. Plain. Forgettable, unless you saw the wig pulled from her head.” Mrs. Penstone tipped her head. “I know how ridiculous that sounds.”
“It sounds like good memory,” Gabriel said. “You mentioned a charm. A figure, or a letter?”
“A small diamond set inside a larger one,” Mrs. Penstone said. “Not large enough to draw notice. If one looked closely, and I did when it arrived, there was the outline of a raven etched on the back ofthe stone. Barely there. I told myself it was the mark of a proud maker. Now I think I told myself anything that would let me wear it without feeling vain.”
Gabriel’s attention sharpened so suddenly, it startled Leticia.
“A raven,” he said.
“Yes.” Mrs. Penstone’s mouth thinned. “I didn’t mention it to anyone else. I don’t enjoy being laughed at.”
“Was it engraved on the metal,” Leticia asked, “or cut into the stone?”
