Page 11 of The Duchess Games

“Wrestling turtles?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, the duke did not look displeased with you, from my quick glimpse of him. Well, not any more displeased than usual, anyway. He does have a fearsome countenance. Only he’s rather handsome and I’m not sure anyone notices. Or I suppose they must, it’s only that it makes no matter to them. Not with his other attributes.”

Viola had been barely eleven when Cat found herself thoroughly infatuated by Callum. And then forgotten. Her mother had called her a fool. Dukes were dukes. Girls from fishing villages remained girls from fishing villages.

“The duchess on the other hand…” Viola made a face. “I think God Himself would only receive a disdainful sniff.”

“Yes.” Cat grinned. “And I wish you the best of luck with your future mother-in-law.”

“Beast.” Viola adjusted her long gloves and passed a pair to Cat. They were a bright peony-pink, stunning as a sunset. “Here.”

“Those are your favorite.”

“And they will look stunning with your dress.” Cat wore a dove-gray gown, cobbled together from her one mourning gown, now three years out of date. “I know we can only afford half a wardrobe as it is,” Viola added. “But it’s no reason for you to be stuck in plain colors.”

“I don’t mind.” They generally hid dog fur better anyway. And yellow dresses were rather noticeable in the caves at midnight.

“Well, I do. You are every bit as pretty as anyone down there, and I mean to make sure every gentleman downstairs notices it.”

Cat laughed. “Then I really will be murdered before dessert. We should hurry, we’re already late as it is.” The dinner bell had rung fifteen minutes ago.

“And everyone else will be early,” Viola said smugly. “I mean to stand out.”

Cat hugged her briefly. “I am quite sure I’ve exalted the Sparrow name quite enough for one day, but I bow to your wisdom.”

The clock struck eight.

“What is it?” Viola asked over her shoulder when Cat did not follow her to the door of their shared sitting room.

“My stocking ribbon has come loose,” she fibbed. “I’ll be down presently.”

“I can wait for you.”

“No, no,” Cat hoped her smile was more natural than it felt. “Go make your entrance.”

Cat waited until her sister was gone. Her stockings, not made of the finest silk, were perfectly secure.

Her heart thumped in her chest as she pushed inside to her bedroom. Her book was where she had left it on the window seat. The green chair embroidered with little birds was still angled by the fireplace next to the table with lion paws for legs. The wardrobe was undisturbed. Her wet chemise from this afternoon hung over the screen in the corner.

But on her pillow lay a single iron key.

Her pulse doubled, thrumming in her ears. She had paid a small fortune to one of the housemaids for this key.

It was, quite literally, the key to her future.

Chapter Five

No one paid Cat much mind when she slipped into the drawing room. Heads turned in her direction and turned away again, uninterested. No titles or wealth to be had from her and therefore not enough to tempt anyone away from waiting for a duke. She was grateful for it as it gave her another moment to gather her composure. If Viola thought something was afoot, she would hound her day and night. And if she couldn’t fool her sister, how could she fool the revenue men?

If this had been a usual day she would have risen at dawn, wandered down to the rocky beach with a sweet roll and an apple and her dogs: King Arthur, Merlin, Percival and Guinevere. She would have fed the ducks who gathered behind the inn, greeted Arthur stoking the forge’s fire. Several cats, birds and stray dogs would have followed her through the streets, waiting for treats, which she always provided. Granny Goodwin would have been sitting out on her stoop with her corncob pipe, feeding her crows. She would have a piece of advice or gossip, a saucy wink if the baker’s eldest son walked up from the beach without his shirt.

Cat would have returned home to make breakfast for Viola and Matthew, followed by the feeding of rabbits, hedgehogs, more cats and dogs, and Mordred, the one-eyed fox who liked to sleep behind her cabbages. There’d be the garden to care for, bread to be baked. During the summer months Viola sometimes acted as a lady’s companion to those traveling to the seaside for a rest.

She’d have gone by the caves, checked the stone where notes were left by Captain Davignon coming in from the Channel Islands and France with contraband. After her father had died, Cat’s mother had met the captain while she was visiting St. Ives and he was offloading brandy. Their affair was sporadic at best, but it lasted many years. He had often sent scraps of lace to Cat and Viola, and had sent Matthew’s first jug of brandy, which he drank in one sitting and cursed for the rest of the year.

Cat would need a gang to move the cargo once it dropped, batmen to protect them, several places to hide the lace and the brandy, someone to transport it, someone to sell it discretely. Captain Davignon could provide her with goods, but not men.