Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  Sending him a smile, one he missed because he was now looking out into the hallway, Temperance looked to Wayne, finding him staring up at her. “Are you feeling any better?” she asked, earning a scowl in response.

  “I don’t know how I could feel better, Temperance,” he returned. “I’ve been shot, admitted I’m facing financial ruin, have been evicted from this home because I’ve neglected to pay the rent for the past few months, and Fanny’s Aunt Minnie is more than likely going to be opposed to us moving in with her since we didn’t meet her deadline of securing Clementine a groom. That means we’ve nowhere to live, so no, I’m not feeling better.”

  “Don’t forget there could be future attempts on our lives,” Fanny said as she continued dabbing his forehead with the handkerchief.

  “Indeed.” He sighed. “I must say I cannot fathom who would want to shoot me. I’m a likeable sort, aren’t I?”

  Temperance was spared a response to that tricky question when Eugene suddenly stiffened as he looked out into the hallway, but then relaxed a moment before Agent McParland strode into the room.

  “We didn’t catch anyone,” Agent McParland said, letting out a grunt of disgust as he came to a stop beside Gilbert.

  “But only because someone let our horses go and it took precious time to run them to ground,” Harrison added as he walked into the room and shook his head. “Rupert was five houses down, and Samuel’s horse was found on the next block.”

  “Who is Samuel?” Clementine asked.

  Harrison gestured to Agent McParland. “He’s Samuel.”

  Clementine’s brow puckered. “Isn’t it rather odd to call a Pinkerton agent by his given name?”

  “Since he’s evidently considering asking my sister, Edwina, to marry him at some point in the future, something he only just mentioned as we walked back to the house,” Harrison began, “I decided it was slightly ridiculous for me not to use his name since he’s apparently going to be my brother-in-law someday.”

  Temperance smiled at Agent McParland. “I adore Edwina, and while it comes as no surprise the two of you are going to get married since she expressed that hope to me a few months ago, allow me to extend to you my best wishes for a wonderful life together.”

  Agent McParland returned Temperance’s smile before he winced. “I haven’t actually asked Edwina to marry me, so you might want to keep that quiet. We still have a few issues to resolve that are standing in our way, so . . . mum’s the word for the time being.”

  “Why is it that every eligible gentleman I encounter of late seems to become less than eligible shortly after I make his acquaintance?” Clementine asked to the room at large as she immediately set about the task of looking disgruntled.

  Agent McParland quirked a brow at Clementine. “I wasn’t aware you were turning a romantic eye in my direction, Miss Flowerdew.”

  “I wasn’t. I was simply making a point.”

  Agent McParland’s eyes began to twinkle. “Yes, well, my marital intentions aside, I’m afraid it’s become obvious someone wants to put an end to anyone closely associated with the Flowerdew name. That means all of you will need to be extremely careful from this point forward, as well as hire on a few guards to keep watch over you.”

  “We don’t have the funds to hire on any guards,” Fanny said rather weakly. “And my aunt has yet to return from Chicago, so . . . we’ll be dead before the sun rises tomorrow.”

  Even though Temperance had been at odds with her cousins for a very long time, and even though they’d been less than hospitable to her over the past few years, they were blood. Because of that, and because she knew Fanny might just have the right measure of things and someone might try to murder them before the sun rose the next day, she opened her mouth, not allowing herself another second to reconsider what she was about to offer.

  “You’ll have to come back with me and stay at Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind until other arrangements can be made.”

  For a long moment no one said a single word, but then Clementine took one step toward her. “You’re asking us”—she gestured to herself, her mother, then father—“to come stay with you at the Huxley sisters’ old home?”

  “I am.”

  “But you don’t care for us.”

  “True, and you don’t care for me either, but that’s not really a viable reason to neglect to offer you shelter.” She lifted her chin. “And since that settles the question as to where you’ll be staying for the foreseeable future, what say we get Wayne off the floor and seen to by a physician?”

  “I don’t have the funds to seek out the services of a physician,” Wayne admitted.

  “I’ll cover the cost,” Gilbert said, stepping forward and bending down to take hold of Wayne’s good arm. After getting him to his feet, he kept a steadying arm on him as he led him out of the drawing room.

  Accepting the arm Eugene offered her, Temperance went with him down the hallway, pausing inside the main door while Agent McParland and Harrison checked to make certain the coast was clear.

  Harrison arrived back at the door a few minutes later. “It looks safe enough.” Moving over to where Gilbert was keeping a firm hand on Wayne, who was swaying on his feet, Harrison helped Gilbert get him through the door, followed by Clementine and Fanny. Walking after them, and with Eugene drawing himself up to his full height while brandishing his knife, Temperance waited for her cousins to get settled in the carriage, then released her hold on Eugene when Gilbert offered her his hand. After helping her into the carriage, he stuck his head in and surprised her when he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

  “I’m going to drive, so there’s no need to fear the ride back will cause Wayne additional harm, and we’re going to have Eugene take up position on the back of the carriage.” He reached behind him, pulled out a spare pistol and handed it to Eugene, who looked as if Christmas had come early.

  “You do know how to use that, don’t you?” Gilbert asked.

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  With those less-than-reassuring words, and after sending her a bit of a wince, Gilbert shut the door to the carriage, leaving her alone with her cousins.

  “I do not want you to get the wrong idea after I tell you something,” Clementine suddenly said. “Such as come to the conclusion you think I might want to become your friend.”

  “After everything you and I have gone through, Clementine, it would be difficult to come to that conclusion at this particular point in time,” Temperance returned.

  Clementine inclined her head. “Indeed, but you have shown my parents and me an unexpected kindness, and because of that, I’m going to tell you something that is not easy for me to say.” She caught Temperance’s eye. “You should marry Gilbert Cavendish.”

  Temperance’s mouth grew slack. “What?”

  The corners of Clementine’s lips twitched. “You should marry him, Temperance.

  “He’s obviously a bit deranged, because he seems to hold you in great affection. But he’s also obviously a bit of a romantic, and if I’d been in your shoes and had him whisk me straight from the jaws of death, I would have become a puddle of mush at his feet and told him I’d marry him just as soon as we could reach the nearest church.”

  “While I do believe you’ve just rendered me the greatest surprise of this unusual day,” Temperance began, “I can’t marry Gilbert. We’d kill each other if we got married because we’re simply too different.”

  Clementine’s lips lifted into a genuine smile. “You may be different, but in my humble opinion, Mr. Cavendish doesn’t look at you as if he wants to kill you. He looks at you as if he’d like to kiss you.”

  Having no idea how to respond to that bit of nonsense, or how to deal with a Clementine who wasn’t being horrid to her, Temperance turned her attention to the scene outside the window, wondering how it had happened that her entire world suddenly seemed to have turned topsy-turvy.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

&n
bsp; ONE WEEK LATER

  Gilbert was regrettably coming to the conclusion that Temperance had, for some unknown reason, begun to adopt a most peculiar attitude toward him, which was becoming more and more apparent with every visit he paid her at Miss Snook’s school.

  She’d always been a touch peculiar, especially if she happened to be in what she’d always called her muse frame of mind. But during the week since they’d experienced mayhem at the Flowerdew residence, she’d not proclaimed herself following any particular muse, which meant the peculiarity she was embracing had something to do with him.

  She was overly polite whenever they were in the same room, and . . . she’d taken to watching him whenever he came to call.

  It wasn’t a warm and affectionate type of watching, but more on the lines of apprehensive, although why Temperance was apprehensive around him, he certainly had no idea.

  Running a hand through hair he only then realized was standing on end, a concerning circumstance given his rescheduled appointment with Mr. Ashwell from England that was to take place soon, Gilbert pushed back from his desk. Rising to his feet, he began walking toward the small retiring room located on the other side of his office, pausing when a quiet knock sounded on the door. The door opened a second later, revealing his secretary, Mrs. Martin.

  “Forgive me for disturbing you, Mr. Cavendish,” she began.

  “You’re not disturbing me at all, Mrs. Martin. Although, if you’re here to tell me Mr. Ashwell has arrived early for our two o’clock appointment, I will need you to delay our meeting for a few minutes. I have yet to pull out the files pertaining to his interest in exporting furniture from England, so perhaps you could offer the man a cup of coffee or tea until I’m better prepared.”

  Mrs. Martin slid her spectacles down her nose, peering at him in concern over the rim. “It’s almost three, Mr. Cavendish, and I assumed that since Mr. Ashwell is nearly an hour late, he canceled his meeting with you today.”

  “Is it really almost three?” Gilbert asked, pulling out his pocket watch and glancing at the time before he returned the watch and frowned. “How curious.”

  “As is the idea you neglected to inform me that Mr. Ashwell was late and hadn’t canceled his meeting.”

  Gilbert fought a sigh. Ever since he’d gone off to Chicago on his erstwhile rescue mission, his ability to stick to his trusty schedule had gone horribly awry. He’d not been concerned about his lack of a strict schedule while he’d been in Chicago, or over the day or two after he’d returned, since there’d been much to see settled. However, during the week since the attack at the Flowerdew house, he’d been trying to return to his former way of life, but he simply could not adhere to his diligently penned-out scheduling system—one he’d used for years, and one that had never failed him until now.

  Realizing that Mrs. Martin was waiting for some type of reply, he summoned up a smile. “It would seem as if Mr. Ashwell is no longer keen to export his furniture from England, but do make a reminder of this, Mrs. Martin, and refuse to extend him another appointment with me if he happens to send a note around.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Cavendish.” She looked at him expectantly.

  Gilbert’s smile faded. “Was there something else?”

  Mrs. Martin pushed her spectacles back up her nose. “You do recall that I normally only disturb you if a matter of importance has arisen, don’t you?”

  He refused another urge to sigh. Given his lack of attention to his schedule, and lack of keeping Mrs. Martin’s schedule synchronized with his, it was little wonder the woman was continuing to watch him rather warily.

  “Quite right,” he finally said when Mrs. Martin tipped her glasses down her nose again, revealing narrowed eyes in the process. “A matter of importance . . . and . . . dare I hope that this matter of importance isn’t one of, shall we say, a disturbing nature?”

  “That depends on whether you gave approval for five young women to descend on this office, all of whom are supposed to immerse themselves in typing out real letters of business.”

  Gilbert’s brows drew together. “I don’t recall giving approval for five young women to descend on us, and surely I would have told you to write such an unusual occurrence in our schedule book if I had.” He tilted his head. “Did they say why they were supposed to type out real letters of business?”

  “They told me a woman by the name of Miss Snook believes that getting business experience will help them secure proper typing positions once they graduate from that somewhat scandalous school located on Broadway . . . a school for the education of the feminine mind, if I’m remembering correctly.”

  Gilbert raked a hand through his hair. “I do recall Miss Henrietta Huxley broaching something about typing. But I didn’t realize when I muttered a response that might have implied I thought real experience was a good idea that she’d take that as my agreement to take on a few of her students.”

  “Would you like me to send them away?”

  Gilbert’s eyes widened. “Perish that thought. Miss Henrietta is a most frightening sort, and not one I care to offend. We’ll need to find something for these young women to type. Although, do we have that many spare typewriters?”

  “The women arrived with their own typewriters, Mr. Cavendish.”

  Gilbert frowned. “Aren’t typewriters somewhat heavy?”

  “They are, but these women brought their typewriters in a wagon.”

  “Miss Henrietta does seem to think of everything.”

  “I’ll take your word for that, having never met a Miss Henrietta. However, we’re getting woefully off subject.”

  Nodding, Gilbert opened his mouth but found he had no words at his disposal since he’d completely forgotten what the original subject was that he was apparently supposed to be addressing.

  Mrs. Martin released the tiniest of sighs. “May I suggest we put the women to work typing up the handwritten invoices we’ve been meaning to send out?”

  Pretending not to notice the increased level of concern lurking in Mrs. Martin’s eyes, Gilbert smiled. “A most excellent suggestion, Mrs. Martin. Remind me to compensate you well after we sit down for your yearly review because I truly do not know what I would do without you.”

  “You missed my yearly review. It was supposed to be yesterday.”

  “Surely not?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I must have neglected to write that in my appointment ledger,” he said, walking back to his desk where he flipped through his ledger, stopping on the appointment page for the day before. Running his finger down the page, he stopped on the appointment that clearly proved he’d not forgotten to write down his meeting with Mrs. Martin, but had somehow managed to overlook it.

  “And this is exactly what happens when a gentleman strays from his normal routine,” Gilbert said under his breath as he scanned the rest of the page, noticing he’d also missed an appointment with his tailor.

  Lifting his head, he caught Mrs. Martin’s eye. “I do apologize, Mrs. Martin. I have no excuse for missing our meeting, but allow me to reschedule your review right this very second. Do know I will not miss it again.” He regarded his ledger again, flipping the pages forward, his frown deepening. “How odd. I seem to have all of tomorrow afternoon free.”

  “Because it’s Mr. Harrison Sinclair’s engagement celebration, and you wanted to have a proper amount of time to get ready, as well as extra time to arrive at the celebration in case Miss Flowerdew needed your assistance.”

  “The engagement celebration is tomorrow?”

  Mrs. Martin removed her spectacles, wiped them on a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve, then shook her head as she returned her attention to him. “Perhaps I should cancel all of your morning appointments tomorrow as well so you’ll have time to visit your physician.”

  “I don’t need to visit my physician. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  A single quirk of her brow was her only response to that before she slipped her spectacles back up h
er nose, turned on a sensible heel, and walked for the door, turning once she reached it. “Did you want me to organize the women from the school, or would you care to come welcome them and help me decide where we should put them?”

  “I forgot all about the women.”

  “Which, again, is why you should seek out the counsel of your physician.” With that, Mrs. Martin walked through the door, and knowing there was nothing left to do but go after her since he’d never actually answered her question, he followed, stopping once he reached the outer office. He smiled when he saw five women, all whom were sitting stiff as pokers on the comfortable chairs he kept for visitors. That they were clearly not comfortable in their surroundings, there was little doubt, which had him moving to greet them, hoping to put them at ease.

  “Ladies,” he began, drawing their attention. “I must say I’m delighted to see all of you here today, especially when your typing services are so desperately needed.”

  “That’s too bad,” one of the women exclaimed as she rose to her feet. “We ain’t what anyone would call good at this typing yet, but we’ll try to not disappoint you too much, Mr. Cavendish.”

  Gilbert considered the young woman looking at him expectantly, then grinned. “Mercy, I didn’t recognize you at first without your whiskers.”

  Mercy grinned right before she dipped into a slightly clumsy curtsy. “Miss Henrietta and Miss Snook sure have taken me in hand, Mr. Cavendish.” She shook her head somewhat sadly. “But I ain’t supposed to answer to Mercy no more. I’m Miss Miner, and . . . I ain’t supposed to say ain’t either, but I can’t remember what to say in place of that.”

  “I’m not would be a good suggestion,” Mrs. Martin said briskly, stepping forward. “But since Mr. Cavendish is a very busy gentleman, we mustn’t keep him. If all of you will follow me, I’ll take you to . . .” She turned to Gilbert. “Shall I have them set up their typewriters in the spare storage room?”

  “I don’t believe Miss Henrietta would approve of that,” Gilbert said. “The conference room might be a better choice.”