Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  “Enjoy your evening as well.” Mr. Miller winked again. “Although allow me to bestow a word of caution—be careful wandering around the hotel. Many of the guests are from New York, and the ladies of New York are well aware you’re not Mr. Smith. Being ladies, I’m sure they’d be all aflutter with the idea you’re here under an assumed name, and . . . they may not understand your need for discretion the way I understand it.”

  Feeling as if he’d just made a complete muddle out of everything, especially after Mr. Miller sent him a third wink, Gilbert thanked the barber, who was watching him curiously, then strode from the barbershop. He barely glanced at the barbershop floor he’d been told to notice from a member of the hotel staff—a floor that Palmer Potter had embellished with genuine silver dollars cemented into the stone.

  After he reached the lobby, he glanced over the crowd. When he didn’t recognize a single face, he strode for the front desk, knowing that after his encounter with Mr. Miller he needed to get Temperance out of Chicago with all due haste.

  Abandoning his role as Mr. Smith since he’d never been a gentleman comfortable with subterfuge and wasn’t willing to continue with a farce not of his making, Gilbert introduced himself to a young man working the front desk and laid out exactly what he needed. Ten minutes later, and impressed by the young man who’d known exactly how to go about scheduling a private Pullman car if one had the funds to schedule such a luxury, Gilbert was feeling more at ease, knowing he and Temperance would be on their way back to New York later that night.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Cavendish?” the young man asked.

  “If that’s Mr. Gilbert Cavendish,” another man behind the front desk said, “we have a telegram waiting for him.”

  Gilbert nodded to the man who’d mentioned the telegram. “I am Gilbert Cavendish.”

  Nodding in return, the man moved to a large wall filled with cubbyholes, plucked out a telegram, then walked back to Gilbert, handing him the missive. “Was there anything else you needed, Mr. Cavendish?”

  Gilbert leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. “While I know this may sound slightly peculiar, you wouldn’t happen to have a telegram waiting for a Mr. Randolph Smith to collect, would you?”

  Not so much as blinking, the man returned to the cubbyholes, looked them over, then shook his head. “Nothing for Mr. Randolph Smith, although . . .” He plucked out an envelope, then another, and another. Turning, he caught Gilbert’s eye. “We do have messages for a Mr. Herbert Smith, Mr. Charles Smith, and Mr. Thomas Smith.”

  Swallowing a laugh over the fact Mr. Miller had been quite right about Mr. Smith not being a wise choice to use when a person was intent on discretion, he thanked the man for his assistance, thanked the other man for arranging to have a Pullman car attached to one of the trains returning to New York later that night, then tucked his telegram into his jacket pocket. Walking across the lobby, he kept his head down, breathing a sigh of relief when he reached the elevator without drawing anyone’s notice.

  After telling the elevator operator he needed to go to the third floor, he stepped to the back, dropping his head again when he was suddenly joined by a group of ladies. Pressing himself against the wall, he soon found himself privy to their conversation, one that centered around a literary lecture they’d recently attended.

  “I must say I’ve never looked at Charlotte Brontë’s novel in quite that way,” a lady said. “It now seems to me as if Miss Brontë was a troubled woman, possessed of a questionable . . .” The lady stopped speaking, then cleared her throat, that clearing apparently responsible for having all the feet in the elevator turning his way. Gilbert then felt what he imagined was every eye in the elevator settle on him as he tried to press himself even further against the wall, keeping his head lowered.

  A second later, whispers began circling around the elevator, and he swore he heard a whispered “Mr. Cavendish.”

  It was the longest elevator ride up three floors he’d ever taken, especially since he was not a gentleman prone to neglecting his manners. However, in this particular instance, he could not acknowledge all the ladies, nor could he admit he was Mr. Cavendish because that would certainly stir up the hornet’s nest, and he’d had quite enough drama for the day.

  Finally, and with a loud ding, the elevator shuddered to a halt, the operator called out “Third floor,” and keeping his head bent, Gilbert made his excuses as he stepped around the ladies, forcing himself to walk ever so slowly down the hallway instead of breaking into a run.

  He knew full well, what with all the giggles and whispers that followed him, that the ladies were now leaning out of the elevator watching him walk away. Reaching the suite that had been reserved for Mr. Randolph Smith and wife, he shoved the key into the lock, twisted the knob, and practically fell into the room, shutting the door swiftly behind him when another bout of giggles met his ears. Turning, he took a step into the room then stopped when he noticed Temperance.

  “Ah, Gilbert, there you are. I was becoming worried.”

  For the briefest of seconds, Gilbert simply considered Temperance, who was stretched out on her back on the rug in the middle of the sitting room, hands folded behind her head. His gaze darted to the ceiling and his lips began to curve. Tiny prisms of light were dancing over the ceiling, the dancing a direct result of the intricate chandelier hanging in the middle of the room swaying slightly due to the breeze that was wafting in through an open window.

  Temperance had always been a lady prone to fresh air, hated to be inside for any length of time, and the notion she’d been captivated by the sight of the light display, a display most people, including himself, wouldn’t have noticed, left him grinning. That grin, however, began fading when he returned his attention to where she was still lying on the floor, the sight of her leaving him feeling curiously disconcerted.

  The skirt of the yellow gown she was convinced had been left for Clementine was spread artfully around her, the hem of that skirt not quite long enough to cover feet that were encased in white stockings and crossed at ankles that were surprisingly well-turned out. Two elbow length gloves were spread out beside her, as if waiting for her to remember to slide them up her arms, and when she suddenly propped herself up on her elbows, he noticed she’d arranged her hair in a most delightful manner. Her dark tresses were swept to the top of her head, and she’d somehow managed to get curls to cascade from that knot, some of which were caressing cheeks that were slightly pink, probably the results of the bath she’d told him she was determined to take.

  Shaking all thoughts of baths firmly aside because that train of thought was leaving him feeling more than unsettled, Gilbert realized that while he’d been gawking, Temperance was rising to her feet and looking at him with a great deal of concern in her eyes.

  “Please do not tell me I truly had a reason to be worried and that another disaster has happened,” she said, gliding across the room to stand directly beside him.

  Unfortunately, when she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, a shock of something unexpected traveled through him, and because he was so taken aback by that shock, he found himself incapable of forming so much as a single coherent word.

  He’d never, not once in his twenty-seven years on this earth, felt a shock when a lady touched him, and that it came at the hand of one of his very oldest friends, well . . . it was cause for concern.

  “Perhaps you should sit down,” Temperance said. “You look as if you’re about to get sick.”

  Because he still seemed incapable of speech, and because Temperance was now watching him rather warily, as if she truly did expect him to toss up his accounts right there in the middle of the sitting room, Gilbert walked over on somewhat unsteady legs, he was sad to say, to the nearest chair and took a seat.

  Temperance, instead of sitting down in the chair placed next to his, plopped straight back down on the floor directly beside his unsteady legs, the fabric of her skirt billowing out around her.

  T
he sight of her sitting on the floor, a place she’d always favored over chairs and a sight he found comfortingly familiar, had breath returning to his lungs and words, thankfully, coming out of his mouth.

  “I see some habits never die,” he said.

  She ran a hand over the rug. “I always feel more settled when I’m on the ground for some unknown reason, something you should probably try at some point in your life, such as now, since, clearly, you’re unsettled about something.”

  When she set him an expectant look, and knowing exactly what she meant without her having to say a single thing, Gilbert pushed out of the chair and slid to the ground, stretching his long legs out in front of him as Temperance beamed a smile of approval.

  “There, isn’t that better?”

  “Will you become annoyed with me if I say no?” he countered.

  “If you say no, I’ll conclude that you’re simply being ornery because you’ve never enjoyed admitting I’m right. Nevertheless, that has nothing to do with why you look as if you’ve just escaped from an encounter with unsavory sorts.”

  “I didn’t encounter unsavory sorts, merely ladies of the far-too-inquisitive type in the elevator.” Gilbert shook his head. “I’m afraid those ladies are gathered at the hotel for a literary weekend, many of whom traveled here from New York, at least according to a gentleman I spoke with while I was getting a shave.”

  To Gilbert’s concern, Temperance’s eyes began sparkling. “There’s a literary gathering here this weekend?”

  “Yes, but no, you can’t attend it.”

  Her eyes went from sparkling to stormy in a split second. “That’s unfortunate because I do enjoy gathering with literary sorts, but . . .” She brightened. “I suppose you’re right, so I’ll have to settle for you telling me all the particulars of this gathering—is it a frequent event, or is it one of those gatherings that only happens every year or so, and are there specific genres that are discussed, or is it more on the lines of everyone discussing the most popular works of the day?”

  “You do recall that I’ve never been a gentleman prone to being overly inquisitive when it comes to idle chitchat, don’t you?”

  Her face fell. “You didn’t find out all the pertinent details of this literary event even though you must recall that I’m a lady possessed of a most curious mind?”

  “I’m afraid I was much too busy fending off the curious questions that were flung my way by Mr. Frank Miller, a member of New York society who, unfortunately, recognized me. Add in the pesky notion that he made certain to tell me that the hotel is filled to the brim with New York society members, and I’m afraid I never once considered that you’d become put out with me for not discovering more about a literary gathering. I was much more occupied with thoughts of what would happen if any of those society members became aware of the fact you and I are alone together in this hotel, which will send tongues to wagging for certain.”

  Temperance lifted her chin. “There is absolutely nothing for those tongues to wag about. It’s not as if we planned to meet up here together or planned to share space in this suite of rooms.”

  “True, but we’re here, and alone together, and . . . that man who recognized me as I was getting a shave, Mr. Miller, heard the barber address me as Mr. Smith, which then caused Mr. Miller to, well, forgive me, come to the troubling conclusion I might be using an alias because I’m here with a . . .” Gilbert stopped talking, trying to decide how to continue without offending a dear friend who was also, unquestionably, a lady.

  To his surprise, Temperance leaned forward, placing a hand on his arm as her eyes crinkled at the corners. “Oh dear, you have had a time of it, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t believe you’re grasping the gravity of this situation. Mr. Miller has concluded I’m here with a, well . . . no need to get into that. But if you’re recognized and seen with me, your reputation will be destroyed forever.”

  “We’ll simply have to make certain we’re not seen together. And, as there’s no reason for you to continue as Mr. Smith, you shouldn’t be put into such an uncomfortable situation again while we’re in Chicago.”

  “Would you be surprised to learn I already abandoned the alias of Mr. Smith when I had a man at the front desk make arrangements to secure us a Pullman car? I told him to reserve the car for Mr. Cavendish. I have to imagine that might have been a bit perplexing if someone behind the desk thought I was Mr. Smith.”

  Temperance sent him a commiserating smile. “You were never good with chaos, Gilbert, or abandoning a well-kept schedule, two circumstances you’ve been forced to deal with today. It’s little wonder you’re agitated.”

  “I’m not agitated.”

  “Of course you are, but getting back to this Pullman car, when do we leave?”

  “In a few hours, although I will need to check back with the man at the front desk to make certain everything went as planned. I’m afraid I became somewhat distracted with finalizing our travel plans because I learned a telegram had been delivered for me—the real me, as in Mr. Cavendish, not Mr. Smith.”

  “Who sent you a telegram?”

  Realizing he’d completely forgotten the telegram up until now because of the unusual shock he’d experienced earlier, but unwilling to admit that to the source of the shock, Gilbert stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out the telegram. It took him all of twenty seconds to scan, and then another twenty seconds to ascertain he’d read it correctly. Lifting his head, he frowned.

  “It’s from Fanny Flowerdew, advising me that Clementine has been recovered.”

  Temperance grinned. “Has she now?”

  “Indeed, although why you find that amusing is beyond me.”

  “Because I can’t help but wonder how long Clementine was forced to stroll along a sidewalk, waiting to be abducted. What did she do after she realized their plans had gone awry?”

  “I’m sure I have no idea. I can’t even begin to wonder why they came up with such an outlandish plan in the first place.” Gilbert tilted his head. “Are you so very certain your cousins were responsible for setting up this abduction scenario? Could there be the slightest chance Clementine really was supposed to be abducted by some dastardly criminal, but you were simply taken by mistake?”

  Temperance pushed herself up from the floor, moved across the room, picked up something from the seat of a chair, then returned to join him again. Holding up what appeared to be strips of yellow velvet, she rolled her eyes.

  “I found these tucked into the wardrobe, and if I’m not mistaken, dear Clementine was supposed to be tied to a chair, where you would then discover her. You’d then be unable to help yourself from appreciating the charming picture she presented, what with her being in a yellow dress with matching bindings no less. That appreciation, I’m sure my relatives were hoping, would then have you declaring your undying devotion to Clementine.”

  “Surely not.”

  “I’m afraid that’s probably exactly what they were hoping would happen.” Temperance pressed her lips together for the briefest of seconds. “Unfortunately, they hired the ineptest criminals I’ve ever encountered. Because of that mistake, the two of us have now become embroiled in a very tangled web of nonsense, the most nonsensical of that being the idea I’m apparently being cast in this farce as some type of—” she leaned toward him and lowered her voice even though it was only the two of them in the room—“fancy piece.”

  “Now there’s a term I never thought to hear slip past your lips. Should I claim shock that you’re familiar enough with the term to understand its meaning?”

  She waved that away even as she moved to plop down beside him on the floor again. “I’m very well traveled, Gilbert, and I’m almost twenty-five.” She caught his eye. “Although I have to admit I never thought I’d be placed in a situation where someone might mistake me for a man’s mistress.”

  “Which is exactly why we have to leave Chicago as discreetly as possible to avoid any situations where our reputations might be put
into jeopardy.”

  Temperance abandoned her spot on the floor again, holding out her hand after she’d shaken out the folds of her skirt. “You’ll hear no arguments from me about that.”

  Taking her hand, Gilbert rose to his feet. “We should leave this suite separately.”

  “A prudent choice,” she said. “And since I do know we’ll be on a train for hours on end, I’ll leave you to your privacy so you can set yourself to rights, or whatever it is you need to do to prepare for another long journey.”

  “You’ll stay out of trouble?”

  “I’ll be on my best behavior, even though I would so love to take a little stroll past Marshall Field & Company. I’ve been told it’s quite a delightful shop, almost as lovely as our very own Rutherford & Company.”

  “Dare I hope you’ll refrain from wandering over to Marshall Field & Company while you wait for me, something I know might pose a problem for you since you’ve never been one to resist the temptation of a delightful shop?”

  She gestured to the yellow gown she was wearing and smiled. “I’m hardly dressed for a shopping expedition because this is clearly a dinner gown, not a walking dress, so yes, I’ll resist the urge to see the store. You’ll also be relieved to learn I have every intention of returning to my favorite fern and lurking behind it until you come fetch me.”

  Sending him a smile that had his heart, curiously enough, kicking up a beat, Temperance turned on a stockinged foot, slipped on her shoes instead of the yellow satin slippers that had been in the wardrobe with the yellow gown, then sailed from the room, leaving Gilbert behind.

  Because he well remembered that Temperance’s good intentions could be forgotten the second something captured her fancy, such as a pretty picture, an unusual piece of furniture, or once, a fly that whizzed by her face that she decided she needed to catch, he made short shrift of collecting his belongings and setting himself to rights. Striding through the suite and down the hallway, he checked his pocket watch, hoping the scant amount of time they had remaining in Chicago before their train departed would not see them involved in any further shenanigans.