The Theft Before Christmas (The Regent Mysteries) Read online

  The Regent Mysteries Continue...

  When the theft of the Regent's Michelangelo has the potential to set off an international incident, he believes his best chance of recovering it before the donor's Christmas Eve visit is to bring in his favorite investigators: Captain Dryden and his wife Lady Daphne.

  eBooks available from award-winning author Cheryl Bolen

  Regency Historical Romance:

  The Brides of Bath Series

  The Bride Wore Blue*

  With His Ring*

  The Bride’s Secret (previously titled A Fallen Woman*

  To Take This Lord (previously titled An Improper Proposal)*

  The Regent Mysteries Series

  With His Lady's Assistance

  A Most Discreet Inquiry

  A Lady by Chance*

  The Earl's Bargain

  My Lord Wicked

  His Lordship's Vow

  Lady Sophia's Rescue

  Christmas Brides (Three Regency Novellas)

  Marriage of Inconvenience*

  A Duke Deceived*

  One Golden Ring*

  Romantic Suspense:

  Texas Heroines in Peril Series

  Protecting Britannia

  Murder at Veranda House

  A Cry In The Night

  Capitol Offense

  Falling For Frederick

  World War II Romance:

  It Had to Be You (Previously titled Nisei)

  American Historical Romance:

  A Summer To Remember (3 American Romances)

  The Four-Leaf Clover

  * Previously published in paperback

  The Theft Before Christmas

  Cheryl Bolen

  Copyright © 2013 by Cheryl Bolen

  The Theft Before Christmas is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 1

  The crimson velvet box was much heavier than Lady Daphne had at first thought when Papa had placed it in her palm. She eased open the lid, and there lay perhaps the loveliest necklace she had ever beheld (that wasn’t upon a royal neck). It consisted of three scalloped tiers of glittering sapphire stones set in glistening gold and sprinkled with diamonds.

  “They gave you the wrong necklace, Papa! These are not emeralds.”

  His bushy brows lowered. “Does it not match your dear mother’s eyes?”

  Her mother’s eyes were blue. “Indeed it does.”

  He held out his hands. “Well, there you have it. Got the right necklace.”

  “But, Papa, you distinctly told me you got an emerald necklace.”

  His gaze flicked to the gift he had entrusted into his daughter’s care. “Are those not emeralds?”

  Daphne rolled her eyes. “Emeralds are green.”

  “I always get my blues and greens and emeralds and sapphires mixed up. But I do know the color of my wife’s eyes.”

  And Daphne suspected her father had been very naughty. Whenever he had one of his dalliances with opera dancers, Mama received the loveliest pieces of jewelry. The thick diamond bracelet came after Dolly Farraday. The ruby necklace after the actress Mrs. Davidson, and the cessation of his affair with Maggie Lorne netted Mama a stunning emerald ring.

  All of this made Daphne appreciate the value of her own non-aristocratic husband and his puritanical ideas about marriage and fidelity.

  “Mama will adore it. I do wish I could show you what I got my darling husband for Christmas, but I sent it on to Addersley with the servants’ coach.”

  “Christmas morning will be here soon enough,” he said.

  "Miss Huntington," Lady Daphne called, "you must come see the sapphire necklace Papa has bought Mama for Christmas."

  Her Papa had come to his eldest daughter’s house directly from Rundell & Bridge. “Whatever you do, don’t forget to bring it to Addersley Priory when you and that fellow come for Christmas,” he said.

  “Papa, you are not to call my dear husband that fellow. He has a name.” From the corner of her eye, Daphne observed Miss Huntington’s blond head as she swept into the drawing room.

  “I have the devil of a time remembering his name. I always want to call him Mr. Rich.”

  Daphne knew it was her own fault her father had difficulty with dear Jack’s name. She felt beastly guilty for the way she had initially tricked her father with Jack’s feigned identity. No one abhorred lying as much as she—except perhaps for her honorable husband—but she had learned that when undertaking a secret commission for the Prince Regent she sometimes had to resort to the fabrication of the truth.

  “Oh, my lord,” Miss Huntington said, “it is the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen. Lady Sidworth will be the happiest woman in the kingdom on Christmas morning.”

  “Papa, did you know Jack and I shall be bringing Miss Huntington to Addersley Priory for Christmas?”

  Lord Sidworth faced the girl, who was a half dozen years younger than Daphne. “How delightful, Miss Huntington. I am especially happy since I told your parents when your father was posted to St. Petersburg that I’d look out for you.” He clasped her hands. “How are your parents?”

  “Cold,” she said with a giggle. “The frigid winters are a great excuse for Mama to procure an assortment of very fine furs.”

  He chuckled. “I remember when Lord Malmsey came back from serving as ambassador at St. Petersburg, he had quite a wardrobe of fur hats.”

  “Which he never wore in England,” Daphne added.

  The door to the drawing room opened, and Jack strode into the chamber. Even after all these months, Daphne was still profoundly affected every time she gazed upon the physical perfection of the man she had married. It wasn’t just his uniform—which she must own, he wore better than any officer in His Majesty’s Hussars. For, she thought with a galloping heartbeat, he was even more magnificent without it. Color rose into her cheeks.

  He removed his hat, revealing stylishly cut dark brown hair that framed his manly face with its square plains and strong chin and perfect aquiline nose. He immediately sketched a bow to Lord Sidworth. “Your servant, sir.” Then he eyed the other guest. “Good day, Miss Huntington.”

  Daphne breezily walked up and smacked a big, loud kiss upon his cheek. “Hello, my darling.”

  Her open displays of affection always embarrassed poor Jack. But he more than made up for that one particular shyness when he hungrily made love to her each night. She blushed again at the memory of what a masterful teacher he was in their bedchamber.

  She gazed up into his face, smiling. “We’re all packed for Addersley. The servants’ coach left almost an hour ago.”

  He cleared his throat. “I wonder if there’s room in our coach for one more?” Then his gaze shifted to his father-in-law. “I thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind one more, my lord, since Addersley's so vast in size.”

  Lord Sidworth quickly shook his head. “No, of course not. After all, it’s Christmas. I like to share my largess most especially this time of year.”

  Daphne's brows lowered as she faced her husband. “Who did you have in mind?”

  �
�Colonel Bond.”

  She immediately understood. Jack didn’t like the thought of his friend being alone at Christmas. The colonel—who was still a bachelor even though he was forty—had no family. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of inviting him myself.”

  “Good, I’ll dispatch a quick note to him. It could delay our start.”

  “It won’t hurt us to wait.” Daphne turned back to her father. “You, though, are late. I know Mama awaits you. She had hoped to leave this morning.”

  She walked her father to the door, and when they reached it, they beheld a curious sight. One of a pair of royal couriers was just about to knock.

  Her father spun to her. “It looks as if the Prince Regent will be needing your husband’s assistance again.”

  “And if he does, that is no concern of yours. You know we are governed by the strictest secrecy.” She shrugged. “But I daresay his majesty merely wishes to send us Christmas blessings.”

  Her father descended the steps to his waiting coach as one of the liveried couriers, who held a letter bearing the royal seal, spoke to her. “His Royal Highness has charged us with delivering this to Captain Dryden and Lady Daphne Dryden, and we are to await an answer.”

  She invited them inside. Now it was imperative to have Miss Huntington leave the drawing room. Whatever the Regent wanted was likely a private matter not to be shared with anyone. “If you’ll just wait in the morning room, I shall get the captain.”

  She returned to the drawing room. “Miss Huntington, can I beg a massive favor of you?”

  The sweet girl, who was sadly rather plain and hadn’t taken during the past two seasons, faced her. “Anything, my lady.”

  “Could you deliver Jack’s letter to the colonel? His home is no more than a ten minute walk from here.”

  The young lady looked a bit puzzled.

  Daphne shrugged. “All our servants have gone on to Addersley Priority.” Except for Andy—who Jack and Daphne might need, if they had to go to Carlton House to meet with their monarch.

  Jack, too, looked puzzled as he folded the letter, addressed it, and crossed the chamber to hand it to Miss Huntington.

  That lady read the address. “Oh, so he’s on Vauxhall Bridge Road.”

  “I told you it wasn’t far.”

  “Should you like me to await a response?” the lady asked.

  That might be a good idea—in case the Prince Regent was summoning them. That would keep Miss Huntington away longer. “How sweet of you to offer. That would be ever so kind.”

  Once that lady donned her hat and heavy woolen cloak and departed, Daphne led her husband to the morning room. “The Regent’s sent his couriers.”

  Jack grimaced. "Let us hope it's nothing that will prevent our journey to Addersley."

  She hadn't thought of that. She had never missed a Christmas with her family at Addersley Priory in her five and twenty years.

  When Jack entered the morning room, both men rose and saluted,

  She loved to watch him when he appeared commanderly. His face serious, he slightly inclined his head, strode to the Hussar holding the letter, took it, and opened it. After he scanned it, he said, “It’s to both of us, love.”

  She sidled up beside him and glimpsed. The prince's signature –at least an abbreviated version of it—appeared at the bottom, and an embossed royal crest was upon the top.

  My Dear Lady Daphne and Captain Dryden,

  I beg that you call on me at Carlton House as soon as possible. An urgent matter has arisen that requires your particular set of skills. I don’t need to tell you that your complete discretion is once again required.”

  * * *

  Miss Charlotte Huntington rapped at the shiny black door of the small but stately looking house where Colonel Bond resided. A moment later, the door was opened by a man servant.

  “Captain Dryden has requested that I deliver this letter to your master—and await his response." She knew her cultured voice would alert the servant that she was no doxy but a lady of good birth.

  “Please, madam, come into the morning room while I give your letter to the colonel.”

  In that morning room, she sat upon a cozy chair that was upholstered in scarlet velvet, and she began to peer about the chamber. It became immediately apparent that Mrs. Bond did not concern herself with pretty décor. The chamber’s draperies had likely once been red but had faded to a dusty rose. The furnishings mixed different periods—but not in a good way. There was a delicate gilt table, heavily French, which clashed with the dark, chunky Tudor desk that angled into the rear corner of the room.

  On the table beside her, an open book was placed spine up. She examined it. It was titled The Battle of Blenheim. Obviously the colonel’s.

  The door opened, and she looked up to see a man in full military dress that looked rather like Captain Dryden’s, but this unfortunate man could never measure up to his friend's personal appearance. Not that anyone could. Everyone acknowledged that Captain Dryden was the most handsome man in the kingdom.

  In spite of his extraordinary good looks, Miss Huntington had never had designs upon Captain Dryden—when he'd been a bachelor—which he was until a few months previously. He had always been besotted over Lady Daphne, who was perhaps the kindest, most interesting person Charlotte had ever met—even if she was a bit unconventional.

  Curiously, this officer's footsteps halted, and he froze in the doorway. His eyes widened, and he had a quizzing look on his face. He made no further move to come into the room. “Pray, I haven’t had the honor of being introduced to you. I am Colonel Hugh Bond.” He still didn’t budge.

  Obviously the colonel had thought to find either Captain Dryden or Lady Daphne, instead of a nineteen-year-old miss. It was also obvious that he had no desire to be alone in a chamber with her. Which was utter silliness. Why, this man was old enough to be her father. Granted, his hair wasn’t gray like her father’s, and his stomach was considerably flatter than Papa’s.

  It wasn’t as if she was likely to carry on an improper assignation with an old man like him. (Not that she had ever had the opportunity to carry on an improper assignation with any man. Young. Old. Handsome. Ugly. Low born. High born. More’s the pity. No man had ever desired an assignation with her—proper or improper.)

  She got to her feet and came forward. “I am Miss Charlotte Huntington. My parents are close friends with Lady Daphne’s family. She requested that I deliver you this letter from the captain."

  He took the letter, unfolded it, and quickly read its contents, then looked up at her, nodding. "Please convey to Captain Dryden my pleasure at being invited to Addersley Priority. I shall be honored to spend Christmas with Lord Sidworth’s family. When do they leave?”

  “We’re going to leave as soon as you’re ready.”

  His brows elevated. “You’re to be one of the group?”

  “Yes, my parents are in Russia this Christmas.”

  His eyes rounded. “Do not tell me your father is Sir Richard Huntington, the ambassador!”

  It always pleased her when someone recognized who her father was. She smiled brightly. “Indeed, he is. Do you know him?”

  “I was posted at the Hague when he was on a diplomatic mission there.” He glanced toward the front door. “My man tells me you did not come in a coach?”

  “Your man’s correct.”

  “Then you must allow me to convey you back to the Dryden’s house in mine. If you’ll just wait a moment for my man to pack a bag.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” She was not as comfortable walking in Chelsea as she’d been in her parents' much nicer Mayfair neighborhood. She wondered if it ever bothered Lady Daphne that not only her social station went down when she married the handsome captain, but so did her address.

  "Very good," he said. "I shall go set things in motion."

  It only then occurred to her that there was no Mrs. Bond. The colonel must be a bachelor. Which meant. . . oh, no! She could feel the color drain from her face. Mama would
surely have apoplexy if she knew Charlotte had stepped inside an unmarried man's house without benefit of a chaperone.

  * * *

  Jack had been to Carlton House many times since that first day he'd come there straight from the Peninsula, a fish out of water convinced some sort of mistake had resulted in his mysterious summons. Now he'd not only been a frequent visitor to this London residence of the Prince Regent but also to his exotic pavilion in Brighton. Now Jack was recognized by many of the Life Guards who protected the monarch's homes. And now the Regent and he had developed a curious partnership.

  A year ago, Jack would never have believed that he, a mere captain in the Dragoons—as he was then—and the second son of a gentleman farmer, would be a confidant of the Regent. Not only a confidant, but someone the Regent needed.

  Though Jack was prepared to show the Regent's letter to the sentries who guarded the gates to Carlton House, they saluted Jack and waved him and Daphne in. The classical house was a great deal larger than houses Jack was used to. He and his wife trod over green granite floors that had been polished to look as if they were covered by glass and approached one of a pair of symmetrical Roman balustraded, curving stairs that would take them to the Regent's chambers.

  Before they reached the staircase, another of the Life Guards addressed them. "His Royal Highness has asked that Cap'n and Mrs. Dryden come to his private saloon. I'll show ye the way."

  Like the other soldiers specifically selected to serve at the Capital's most prestigious address, this fellow was tall and good looking. Not that Jack gave particular attention to how men looked, but the Regent—while being distinctly heterosexual—was a noted aesthete. Everything that surrounded him must be of the finest quality and the best visual appeal possible. His wild spending had always been a source of consternation in Parliament, which had to dedicate funds to him via the Civil List.