Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  Gilbert inclined his head. “That’s kind of you, but tell me this—Clementine is an attractive lady and can also be quite charming when she sets her mind to it. Why do you believe she resorted to such subterfuge to secure herself a groom? She must have more than enough suitors paying her court to find one actually willing to marry her.”

  “Clementine is not accustomed to disappointment, Gilbert. I’m afraid that after she lost any chance she had of winning Mr. Harrison Sinclair’s affection, what with him falling in love with Gertrude Cadwalader, she was determined to avoid another bout of disappointment again, this time in regard to you.”

  “Clementine fancied Harrison before she took a fancy to me?”

  Smiling, Temperance reached out and smoothed her hand down his arm. “I’m afraid she did. In fact, she even went so far as to steal a painting from Harrison’s yacht, intending to frame Gertrude for the theft.” She sat back as her mouth then made an O of surprise.

  “What is it?” Gilbert asked.

  “That’s it, that’s why they resorted to such drastic measures. They must have discovered that painting is no longer in their attic because I found it not long after it was stolen and returned it. Why, I imagine that finding the painting gone and having you show up at the Flowerdew residence, wanting to speak with me, not Clementine, and then reiterating to Wayne that you were not in the market for a wife, exactly explains why they came up with an abduction scheme.”

  “I’m not certain that explains anything, at least not in a way I can understand.”

  Temperance tapped a finger against her chin. “Clementine must have been worried she would soon find herself carted off to jail, so she needed you to marry her, which would then afford her protection against being arrested because you’re friends with Harrison Sinclair, the owner of the painting she arranged to have stolen.”

  Gilbert poured wine into a glass, took a sip, then shook his head. “How is it possible I forgot what an interesting place your mind is?”

  Temperance held out her glass, waited until he poured her some wine, then saluted him with the glass. “Outlandish as everything I just said sounds, I’m right. I know I am.”

  “Even if you are right, and even though it does appear we were the victims of a ruse gone horribly, horribly, wrong, we’ll still have to be married. We’ve broken practically every rule of expected behavior. And even though we didn’t set out to break those rules, we will have to accept our new lot in life, and try to manage the best we can as husband and wife.”

  Temperance took a sip of her wine. “You should mind that glib tongue of yours, Gilbert. If you keep plying me with such romantic turns of phrase, such as ‘manage the best we can,’ I’m sure to dissolve into a swooning heap right in the midst of our picnic and agree to marry you.”

  Gilbert choked on the wine he was sipping. Sputtering for a good moment, he set the glass aside, then narrowed his eyes on her.

  “Should I assume from the level of sarcasm in your tone that you believe I’ve gone about this marriage proposal business all wrong?”

  “I don’t think anyone in their right mind would consider what you’ve gone about as being even remotely close to a marriage proposal.”

  Nodding as he seemed to consider that, Gilbert cleared his throat, rose to his feet, shuffled about for a second, then knelt on one knee directly beside her.

  “Right then, I should try a different approach.”

  Not having the least little idea how to respond to that while resisting the impulse to laugh, since Gilbert sounded exactly as if he was about to launch into a very dry and boring speech, Temperance soon found her hand taken in his. Gilbert then raised that hand, pried the knife she’d been holding away, then cleared his throat again. “You were clearly expecting some sort of romance, even though you and I have been friends forever, and here I’ve simply stated that we’ll get married without reciting a single snippet of poetry, or . . .” He brought her hand to his lips and placed a surprisingly lingering kiss on her fingers. Lifting his head, he smiled. “Is this more on the lines of what you expected?”

  “I can’t say it is.”

  He released what sounded exactly like a grunt, kissed her fingers again, this time lingering over each and every one, then caught her eye. “I’m not much for flowery words, as you very well know, but I would be quite pleased if you, Miss Temperance Flowerdew, would do me the very great honor of agreeing to be my wife.”

  Even though she was oddly charmed by his woeful attempt to provide her with a romantic gesture, and even though tiny little prickles of something peculiar were now traveling up her arm from the fingers he’d just kissed, Temperance pulled her hand out of his and gave his face a bit of a pat, one that was slightly harder than was strictly necessary.

  “While I do thank you for that, I must point out that a romantic gesture, which is apparently calculated on your part to convince me to agree to a plan that I’m not keen to agree to, is not very romantic, so . . . no, I won’t marry you, and I’ll thank you to not ask me again.”

  Chapter

  Seven

  Gilbert wasn’t exactly surprised that Temperance had turned down his offer of marriage. He was, nevertheless, even hours after he’d gotten down on one knee and been rejected, surprised by how disgruntled he felt over her refusal.

  While he understood and agreed that he and Temperance were opposites in every sense of the word, being told he was essentially too stodgy and lacking in the romance area for Temperance’s taste rankled.

  Granted, he was slightly stodgy and not what one would consider proficient in the art of romance, but he’d been told by numerous people he was considered quite the catch, and he’d been pursued by the lady set for years.

  Using a fine pen to scrawl exactly that on the list he’d begun to make under the heading Reasons Why a Lady Would Want to Marry Gilbert Cavendish, he lifted his head when less-than-ladylike snores began rumbling around the Pullman car . . . again.

  Swiveling around in the chair, he smiled at Temperance, who was sound asleep on the fainting couch, a blanket pulled up to her chin while snores that seemed impossible for such a slender woman to make erupted out of her mouth.

  There was something delightful about watching Temperance sleep. She was not a peaceful sleeper, something he’d forgotten, and had spent the last several hours mumbling in her sleep, tossing the blanket off her every other hour, then mumbling more and flailing about as she went about recovering that blanket when she’d apparently taken a chill.

  “Do not tell me you’ve been making it a habit to watch me as I sleep.”

  Unwilling to admit exactly that, and annoyed with himself for forgetting that Temperance was a person who could be snoring one minute and completely coherent the next, he oh-so-casually began pushing his uncompleted list underneath the satchel he’d placed on the table.

  “Is that one of your lists?” she asked, and before he could finish hiding the evidence, she was standing directly behind him, peering over his shoulder.

  “I don’t believe bringing attention to the idea you’re considered quite a catch is the best way to convince me to marry you.”

  Picking up the satchel and placing it directly over the list, Gilbert made the split decision that a distraction was desperately needed. He nodded to where a covered tray sat on an abandoned chair. “I took the liberty of traveling to the dining car while you were sleeping. There’s a meal still warm under that dome waiting for you.”

  Temperance stopped peering over his shoulder. “You are a dear man, and I may have to forgive you for asking me to marry you after all.”

  “And reconsider your refusal?”

  Walking to the tray, she lifted the lid, sighed in delight over the feast laid out there, then shot him a grin. “Providing me with a meal is hardly incentive enough to marry you, so don’t go putting Provides a Lady with Food When She’s Hungry on your list.”

  His hand stilled in the process of retrieving his list. “I wouldn’t dream of adding that
to my list. Although I do believe putting something to the effect of anticipating your need to consume vast quantities of food, and often at that, would be appropriate. It would also be appropriate to add that since I still seem to know you so well, if we married, we’d avoid experiencing any nasty surprises about each other, such as the fact that you still snore like a lumberjack.”

  She popped a piece of buttered bread into her mouth, pulled up a chair next to the table the tray was on, took a seat, and frowned after she swallowed. “It’s rather indelicate of you to mention my snoring, or to compare me to a lumberjack.” She nodded to where his list was hidden. “If anything, you should add, and only for future reference as you go about finding a wife who isn’t me, that any mention of snoring is best kept unmentioned.”

  “I didn’t say I found your snoring annoying.”

  Buttering another piece of bread, her brows drew together. “How comforting. Exactly how long were you watching me snore, or better yet, how long was I sleeping?”

  “About ten hours, and before you get your back up, I wasn’t watching you the entire time because I slept numerous hours as well, until the snoring finally got so loud I couldn’t sleep any longer.” He smiled. “That’s when I decided I needed to find something to occupy my time, and what better way to do that occupying than to—”

  “Make one of your lists,” she finished for him before she dove into her meal, not speaking until every morsel on her plate was gone.

  “That was delicious,” she exclaimed, looking somewhat longingly at the empty plate before she put the lid back over it and patted her stomach. “I’m feeling much better. And now, with my thoughts becoming clearer by the second, allow me to return to the point you made about us not discovering nasty surprises about each other because we know each other so well.” She caught his eye. “I’m sure there’s much about you I don’t know because we have been apart for years. I’m also certain there’s much about me you don’t know as well.”

  Gilbert leaned back in his chair. “We still have a few hours before we reach New York. Divulge away. What nasty surprise might I not know about you?”

  “Why do I have to go first?”

  “Because you brought it up.”

  “That hardly seems fair.”

  Gilbert smiled. “You can’t think of any nasty surprises I wouldn’t know about you, can you?”

  Blowing out a breath, Temperance looked out the train window, seemed to consider his question for a long moment, then turned back to him. “I gave up playing musical instruments publicly because I didn’t appreciate the pressure of being expected to perform on demand, nor did I appreciate the expectation of playing only the most complicated of pieces from masters such as Beethoven, Bach, or Mozart.”

  Of anything Gilbert had been expecting Temperance to disclose, that hadn’t crossed his mind. “What would you have preferred to play?”

  “I tried to play a few original pieces here and there, but the audiences assembled to hear me play were so critical of my efforts, and I was still relatively young at the time, that I lost all pleasure in performing. I turned to painting and sculpting instead, a pursuit that still brings me criticism at times, but not on the scale my music did.”

  “I thought you told me you teach music lessons at Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind.”

  “That’s different. Those women have never been exposed to music, and are much more open to experiencing music in all its forms. They have no preconceived ideas about what good music is and what isn’t. That means I have more freedom in choosing what to expose them to, taking great pleasure in watching them embrace a song simply because it’s beautiful over embracing it because they’ve been told it’s beautiful and they’re expected to enjoy it.”

  Gilbert frowned. “Do you ever think you’re doing the world a disservice by not sharing the musical talent God gave you with the masses?”

  Temperance returned the frown. “I’ve recently come to believe that God may have given me my talent to share with my students, giving them a glimpse of a world they never knew existed before, and thus improving their world in the process.”

  “An interesting belief, although I’m not certain I agree with it.” He leaned forward. “If you would have returned to music after your parents died, you would have had no need to move in with your Flowerdew relations. If you’ve forgotten, you were once in demand.”

  Temperance shrugged. “Only because I was a novelty and audiences enjoyed exclaiming over a child capable of playing multiple instruments and playing those instruments somewhat well.” She settled back in the chair. “I’m no longer a child. And even though I did think about returning to music for a very brief moment after I found myself destitute, I realized that I didn’t have the luxury of time to bring rusty musical skills back to snuff.”

  “I’m sure your abilities were never that rusty.”

  “Which is kind of you to say. But even if that were true, after my parents died, the music that always filtered through my mind simply . . . stopped.” She shook her head. “It would have been difficult indeed to turn to music as a profession when I no longer had the gift of song that I always took for granted.”

  Gilbert rose to his feet, then crouched down beside the chair she was sitting in. Taking her hand, he brought her fingers to his lips. “Forgive me. I should have known that losing your parents would change you, even if I never thought there’d come a day when music left your life.”

  She smiled. “Apology accepted, although I should tell you that ever since I moved out of my cousins’ house, music has begun swirling through my mind again, which is why I offered to teach it at Miss Snook’s school.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Indeed, but now it’s your turn.” She leaned forward, her eyes alight with curiosity. “What’s something surprising I might not know about you?”

  Gilbert took a second to consider the question, finding he really had nothing much of interest to disclose, which was somewhat disappointing but went far in proving that he was a man who believed in sticking to his well-thought-out schedule. “Astonishing as I’m sure you’ll find this, nothing springs to mind that you’d find out of the ordinary, or anything that remotely constitutes a nasty surprise.”

  “Why am I not astonished to hear that?”

  “Because you know me so well, which . . .”

  She held up a hand, stopping him midsentence. “Do not even travel down the this is further proof of why we should marry road again.”

  “Perhaps I was about to surprise you and say something completely different.”

  “You weren’t, and before you argue with that, allow me to suggest we change the subject to something we won’t argue about.”

  “And I know just the subject to distract you.” He gestured to a chess set he’d set up on a small table underneath a window while she’d been sleeping. “Care to join me in a bit of a friendly match?”

  “Does friendly mean you’re going to let me win?”

  “If I let you win, will you have a change of heart about marrying me?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then prepare yourself for a less-than-friendly game.”

  “My favorite kind.” With that, Temperance stood up, cracked her knuckles, sent him a saucy smile, and moved to the chess set.

  The next few hours were spent battling over the pieces with Gilbert winning every game, and knowing better than to apologize for every win.

  Curiously enough, there was something intimate about being enclosed in a Pullman car with Temperance, and while it was true they’d often spent time alone in their youth, there was something different about that circumstance now . . . something intriguing.

  He couldn’t seem to get enough of simply watching her, fascinated by the way she bit her lip when she was considering a move on the chessboard, or how she’d take to sulking for all of a few seconds after he’d taken control of the game time and time again.

  Throwing up her hands in
defeat when he captured her queen, Temperance reached for a piece of the apple he’d cut up for her, stilling when she glanced out the window. “I think we’re almost to Grand Central Depot,” she said, getting to her feet to move closer to the window.

  He joined her at the window. “Indeed we are, which means we’ll soon be able to hire a hansom cab and get you back to that school of yours—Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind, a mouthful if I’ve ever heard one.”

  “I think it has a nice ring to it, but I don’t believe there’ll be any need to hire a cab. Knowing Miss Henrietta, she’ll have a carriage waiting for us.” She smiled. “She probably began making plans to come fetch me from the train depot the second the telegram I sent her got delivered.”

  “Did you tell her you were with me?”

  “I did. I thought that would alleviate some of her worry since she believes you’re a gentleman of good moral fiber.”

  “I wasn’t aware Miss Henrietta Huxley was familiar enough with me to hold that type of opinion.”

  “Miss Henrietta, as well as her sister, Miss Mabel, are incredibly well informed about everything that goes on in the city.” Temperance returned her attention to the scene outside the window. “She and her sister spent years as recluses, but during that time, they became incredibly proficient in the art of observation, making them privy to the most interesting aspects of society and all that transpires within it.”

  “But I don’t travel in society.”

  “Yet,” Temperance countered. “Society has you in their greedy sights, Gilbert. And because you intend to continually increase your business holdings, you and I know that to do that successfully, you’ll have no choice but to enter the hallowed circle of the New York Four Hundred.”

  Gilbert frowned. “Is that another reason why you rejected my offer of marriage? Because I might begin mingling in high society?”

  “No, although that would be a valid reason. I simply hadn’t thought of it quite yet.” She turned and gave his arm a poke. “I am curious, though, about how your mother will react to you moving in society. I well remember her disdain for what she considered inexcusable snobbery.”