by Jen Turano
Mercy beamed a smile at him. “A conference room sounds much better than a storage room, Mr. Cavendish. And I bet after I tell Temperance how considerate you’re being with us, she’ll give you a firm date for that wedding of yours once and for all.”
Gilbert swallowed a groan when Mrs. Martin’s eyes began flashing and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking more than a little put out with him.
Knowing he had absolutely no excuse for not mentioning to her that she might hear something about engagement plans regarding him and Temperance, even though he knew it was not a real engagement, he cleared his throat but couldn’t seem to come up with a single explanation, no matter how hard he tried.
Lifting her chin, Mrs. Martin sent him an unexpected sniff before she turned to the students from Miss Snook’s school. “Ladies, if you’ll follow me, I’ll get you right to work.” Marching her way toward a back hallway, she turned and pinned him beneath a stern gaze. “You have no other appointments today, so perhaps you should take the rest of the day off, enjoy some fresh air, and hope your ability to maintain an organized life returns to you.”
With that, Mrs. Martin strode from the room, Mercy and the other students following her.
Not particularly wanting to suffer what would surely be a lecture if he didn’t take Mrs. Martin’s suggestion, Gilbert headed for the front door, finding Tobias, his recently hired valet, standing guard on the front stoop.
“You do realize that there are Pinkerton detectives discreetly watching out for me, don’t you—detectives I was forced to hire after Miss Henrietta said she’d do it for me if I refused?” he asked as Tobias fell into step beside him and then matched him stride for stride after they reached the sidewalk and began walking down Wall Street.
“That Miss Henrietta certainly seems to be an assertive sort, Lord Cavendish. But even with those detectives out there, I’ll not be shirking my duty to you. Those detectives can’t travel directly beside you without drawing attention, something I can do since everyone knows a man of business is often accompanied by his valet.”
Gilbert arched a brow. “It’s simply Mr. Cavendish, Tobias, not lord, and I don’t know any American gentleman who travels around with his valet by his side.”
“You’re not fully an American, Mr. Cavendish, on account of your father being an aristocrat,” Tobias pointed out. “As for the valet business, I imagine it’ll soon be all the trend for gentlemen to travel with their valets once talk begins swirling around that you’ve embraced what is evidently a new and fashionable trend.”
“You’re not going to leave my side until the culprits who attacked me, Temperance, and the rest of the Flowerdew family are captured, are you?”
“I’m afraid not, sir. It would be an insufficient way to show you my appreciation for taking me on after your sister-in-law, or rather half-sister-in-law, released me from service, spread the rumor I was lacking in any type of skill, and made it next to impossible for me to obtain employment anywhere in London.”
“Alice does seem to be a rather difficult sort.”
Tobias’s pace slowed. “Difficult does not do justice in describing Lady Strafford. I do believe your half brother, Lord Strafford, has come to the conclusion her youth and, forgive me because these are his words, not mine, impressive childbearing hips were not worth the price he’s now paying in order to secure the earldom a much-desired heir.”
“She’s very beautiful” was all Gilbert could think to add to what was nothing less than the truth about Alice.
“Quite, although because she’s well aware of that beauty, it diminishes it somewhat, and then there’s her brother.”
Gilbert frowned. “I thought Andrew was off on a grand tour of the Orient?”
“He returned to London only a week before Lady Strafford released me from service.” Tobias shook his head. “He’s a good deal more unlikable than his sister, and I do believe Lord Strafford is about at his wits’ end with Lady Strafford and her petulant brother.”
“All the more reason for me to limit my visits to London, as well as to that monstrosity of a castle that’s home to the Strafford seat.” Gilbert raised a hand and gestured to a hansom cab. “But tell me this, Tobias, do you miss England, or are you beginning to acclimate yourself to America?”
“It’s different here, but I don’t dislike it,” Tobias began before he smiled. “Oddly enough, I keep thinking I’m seeing people I used to know back in London, but I suppose that’s common when a person picks up and abandons everything they’ve ever known. One believes a stranger’s face is familiar, when it’s really nothing of the sort. But, on a different note, is there a reason we’re taking a hansom cab instead of one of your carriages or simply taking horses from the livery?”
“I didn’t have time to send a note to the livery to have a carriage readied,” Gilbert said as the hansom cab drew to a stop beside them. “And, since Blaze has yet to recover from our adventure in Central Park last week, shaking like a leaf every time I show my face in his stall, I want to spare him the additional trauma he’d suffer if he saw me riding past him on another horse, which would certainly hurt his tender horse feelings.”
“You’re a complicated gentleman, Mr. Cavendish,” Tobias said as Gilbert gave the hansom driver directions to Broadway, or more specifically, Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind.
Ignoring the telling look Tobias sent him after hearing their destination, Gilbert climbed into the cab, Tobias right behind him. To provide a distraction from the questions he knew Tobias longed to broach about Miss Snook’s school and why Gilbert wanted to travel there again, Gilbert turned the conversation to England. Tobias, thankfully, was only too willing to speak about the land of his birth.
Before he knew it, the cab was slowing to a stop, and after paying the driver, Gilbert, with Tobias by his side, made his way past the wrought-iron fence that kept Miss Snook’s school separated from the crowds traveling down the sidewalk. He was not surprised to discover two burly men, who were obviously Pinkerton agents, standing guard on either side of the front door, with other Pinkerton agents, if he wasn’t much mistaken, strolling casually up and down the sidewalk beside the school.
What he was surprised to find was the door being opened by a man who was not Mr. Barclay, but who quickly reassured Gilbert nothing was amiss. That man was simply standing in for Mr. Barclay because he was currently participating in a lesson being held in the back courtyard.
Inquiring as to what type of lesson was specifically going on in the back courtyard, he was surprised when the man merely shook his head before gesturing Gilbert and Tobias into the house.
Tobias waited until the door was firmly closed before he nodded to the man who’d taken up his position again right beside the door. “You’re supposed to ask us who we are and whom we’re here to see.”
“I’m only one of the pastry cooks,” the man explained. “And because I was pressed into service at the last moment, I’ve been assured by Miss Snook that as long as I answer the door and don’t allow any members of the questionable sort in, I’m doing a fine job.” He frowned. “You’re not members of the questionable sort, are you?”
“It’s a touch late to ask that now,” Tobias said, and without another word, he turned and headed down the hallway, Gilbert smiling at his side.
“And here I was coming to the belief you weren’t actually missing your position as an underbutler,” Gilbert said, right as an older woman rounded the corner in front of him, her arms filled with what looked to be numerous pieces of brightly colored cloth.
“Mrs. Davenport,” he said, striding to intercept her. “Allow me to help you.”
Mrs. Davenport, a society matron who, until recently, had been Gertrude Cadwalader’s employer, and a woman with a curious history of being fond of helping herself to items that did not belong to her, which thankfully had been resolved once she’d come to terms with her troubling past, stopped walking and smiled at him.
“Ah, Gilber
t, my dear boy,” she began before she frowned. “But . . . you don’t mind if I call you Gilbert, do you, even though we’ve yet to become well acquainted?”
Gilbert took the hand she suddenly thrust his way, even though a good portion of the arm attached to that hand was covered with fabric. Bringing it to his lips, he placed a kiss on her knuckles, and smiled. “I would be honored for you to address me as Gilbert. But what are you doing back in the city? I was led to believe you were off on holiday with your daughter and her family who’ve come to the states for an extended visit.”
“My daughter has recently returned to England, and even though she invited me to return to England with her, I couldn’t very well miss the engagement celebration of my darling Gertrude.” Mrs. Davenport began piling what turned out to be gowns into his arms. “If you could nip upstairs with these and leave them in the pink dressing room on the second floor, I’d much appreciate it. But do promise not to tell anyone you’ve seen these.”
“Because . . . ?” Gilbert pressed when Mrs. Davenport didn’t bother to explain, instead turning her attention to Tobias, who was standing straight as a pin behind him, adopting what Gilbert always thought of as his British butler attitude, not moving so much as a single muscle when Mrs. Davenport began inspecting the cut of his jacket.
“What a fine hand someone used on this seam,” Mrs. Davenport said, lifting up Tobias’s arm and moving close to give it a gander. “Was it made here in the city?”
“I brought it with me from England,” Tobias said.
“Ah, you’re British, how delightful.”
“Tobias is certainly delightful, Mrs. Davenport, but getting back to why I’m not supposed to mention I’ve seen these gowns?” Gilbert asked.
Mrs. Davenport released Tobias’s arm. “Forgive me. I can’t seem to resist inspecting a properly sewn garment these days. As for those gowns, Gertrude wanted the ladies attending her celebration to wear bright colors instead of the expected pastels and ivories. Being unable to deny her such a small request, especially after the trouble I caused her over the many years she worked for me, I, along with some of the other students of design here at the school, created gowns for almost every lady to wear. But it’s a surprise for dear Harrison, as are the decorations Temperance has been creating in the ballroom this past week.”
“I won’t breathe a word of the gowns to anyone,” Gilbert said. “But speaking of Temperance, would you happen to know where she is?”
“She’s in the back courtyard with Mr. Barclay and Eugene.” Mrs. Davenport leaned closer to him. “Don’t tell Temperance I said this, since everyone does seem to believe I’m a most progressive sort and it might damage that reputation, but I’m not completely certain it’s wise for a lady to learn how to wield a knife. Knives seem to be such crude weapons and not suited to the delicate hands of a lady. I also imagine they require a person to possess a strong stomach because, well, slashing an attacker with a knife would cause a great deal of blood to be spilled, which is not something I would care to witness.”
Gilbert turned and dumped all the gowns Mrs. Davenport had recently unloaded on him into Tobias’s already outstretched arms. Turning on his heel, he headed toward the back courtyard, wondering for what felt like the hundredth time that week how his always predictable life had turned into anything but predictable.
Walking through the back door, he faltered for the briefest of seconds when he saw Temperance staggering around, telling stains of red marking her white blouse. Horror coursed through him when she suddenly collapsed to the ground, that horror prompting him to rush forward, drawing the pistol he was never without these days as he ran.
Chapter
Seventeen
Grinning as the unexpected thought struck that taking to the stage might be her next great adventure, given the enjoyment she was experiencing over the dramatic scene she’d just enacted, Temperance pushed up from the ground. Her grin slipped right off her face, though, when she saw Gilbert charging across the courtyard with his ever-handy pistol held at the ready. Unfortunately, that pistol was aimed directly at Eugene, who was frozen in place, holding one of the paperboard knives she’d created that was, regrettably, dripping with what looked exactly like blood.
“Don’t shoot him, Gilbert,” she yelled, jumping to her feet and holding up a hand to stop Miss Edwina Sinclair, Pinkerton detective-in-the-making, who’d abandoned the painting she’d been working on and was aiming her pistol at Gilbert’s back. “Don’t shoot him, Edwina,” she yelled. “It’s Gilbert.”
Time seemed to slow as Edwina lowered her weapon. Gilbert stopped running, lowered his pistol, then turned around, his gaze immediately settling on her, or rather, the red-stained shirt she was wearing over her gown.
“Explain” was all he said as he shoved his pistol out of sight.
She summoned up a smile. “I think the scene speaks for itself.”
“I’m afraid it doesn’t, so try again.”
She kept her smile firmly in place. “While I realize you’re not one to embrace an active imagination, Gilbert, surely you must see that I’m simply in the middle of a lesson regarding how best to fend off an attacker wielding a knife. I’m also attempting to learn how to use a knife as well.”
“You have Pinkerton agents guarding you who will be more than happy to fend off any attackers who might come at you with knives.”
“And speaking of those Pinkerton agents,” Edwina said, stepping forward as she tucked her pistol discreetly back into the pocket of an apron she was wearing. “I can hardly be expected to keep my true reason for accompanying Temperance everywhere a secret if you spring on us unexpectedly with your gun drawn. You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you, Gilbert, which would have put a rapid end to my desire to become a full-fledged Pinkerton agent, a situation that would have left me cross with you forever.”
Gilbert shook himself ever so slightly, quite as if he’d forgotten there was someone else in the courtyard, then smiled at Edwina. Walking over to where she was standing, he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, even though Edwina seemed to be trying to pull her hand away from him.
“You’re not supposed to kiss the hand of a detective, Gilbert,” she all but hissed.
“But since, if I’m surmising correctly, you’re supposed to be undercover, it would look peculiar if I didn’t kiss your hand since you’re the sister of my very good friend Harrison,” Gilbert countered, holding Edwina’s hand, if Temperance wasn’t mistaken, longer than necessary, probably because he knew it was annoying Edwina.
Temperance’s lips began to curve, until she remembered that she really couldn’t afford to allow herself to be charmed by him, although why Gilbert annoying Edwina was charming in the first place, she had no idea, other than to think it was because he’d always done things to annoy her back in the days of their childhood when . . .
“You’re still pursuing the mad idea of becoming a Pinkerton detective then?” Gilbert asked, which earned him a swat on the arm from Edwina’s other hand before she tugged the hand he was still holding away from him.
Edwina’s eyes narrowed and her beautiful face suddenly looked somewhat dangerous. “That almost seems to suggest you thought I’d abandon my quest to become an agent, as if it were a whim that I would soon tire of.”
Gilbert didn’t even wince over having so much animosity directed his way. “You did abandon your desire to enter society rather suddenly.”
“That was different.”
“I think not,” Gilbert argued. “And far be it from me to point out the obvious, but participating in society events, even with the intrigues I’ve learned swirl through those events like water, would be far less dangerous for you to negotiate through than pursuing a position as a Pinkerton man, er . . . lady.”
Edwina’s nose shot straight up into the air. “My brother believes I’ll make a fine Pinkerton.”
Gilbert inclined his head. “Yes, well, Harrison has always been a bit of an odd sort. And I’m sure that eve
n though he’s voicing his support with your choice, he’s hoping you’ll simply end up marrying Agent Samuel McParland, have ten children with him, and forget all about your interest in tracking down criminals.”
“Samuel believes I’ll make an exceptional detective.”
“That’s because he’s fallen head over heels in love with you and believes encouraging you with this peculiar pursuit will win you over in the end.”
Edwina waved that straight away. “He won me over before I even decided I wanted to become a detective.” She turned to Temperance. “I’ve forgotten how Gilbert tends to adopt a rather stodgy nature upon occasion, which does have me wondering how the two of you ever became such fast friends.”
“We balance each other, Edwina,” Gilbert said before Temperance had a chance to answer. “Temperance has always enjoyed leading an adventurous life, while I prefer stability. But when we’re together, I make certain she doesn’t land into too much mischief while she makes certain I don’t turn stodgy more often than occasionally.”
For the briefest of seconds, Temperance found herself unable to breathe.
She’d been trying to convince herself ever since Gilbert had informed her they’d have to wed that they would not suit on account of them being direct opposites. But that’s exactly why they would suit.
She was often far too carefree, and he was often too much of a stickler for the rules, but when they were together it was exactly as Gilbert stated—they balanced each other.
Why had she never realized that? And what in the world was she to do with that epiphany now that she’d realized she was growing overly fond of him, yet knew he would never return her affection in the way she desired?
“Ah, Mr. Cavendish, here to join in on the fun, are you?”
Temperance blinked out of her thoughts as Mr. Barclay walked across the courtyard, holding pristine white shirts in his hand.
“Do not say you actually believe it’s a good idea to teach Temperance how to handle herself in a knife fight,” Gilbert said as Mr. Barclay smiled and shook his head, handing him one of the shirts.