Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  Mrs. Boggart Hobbes drew herself up. “Your grandparents bought your mother her title along with her first husband, believing having a countess in the family would turn them respectable. But instead, she ruined any chance her family may have had at entering society when she abandoned England after your father died, turning her nose up at the honor she’d been given of joining the aristocracy. She then went and married a man in trade, one who would never be accepted into society, given his coarse and merchant ways. Because of that, you were brought up in a common environment instead of in the elite world of British nobility.” She nodded. “That, Mr. Cavendish, is exactly why I blame your mother for your faults—faults that have now convinced me my darling Clementine is far too refined for the likes of you.”

  Gilbert opened his mouth, but then closed it again, deciding against pointing out that he’d never wanted to pursue a relationship with Clementine in the first place. Sending Mrs. Boggart Hobbes an inclination of his head, he turned to Temperance, whose eyes were flashing in a manner he knew was not going to bode well for Mrs. Boggart Hobbes. Before he could suggest they repair into the house to stave off an argument that was certain to be of epic proportions, Temperance stepped forward.

  “Gilbert’s mother, Florence, or rather Mrs. William Beckwith, since you seem so keen to maintain an attitude of formality at this most unusual moment,” Temperance began in a voice that had turned icy, “is a remarkable woman. The courage it must have taken for her to leave England after the death of her husband is commendable, especially since she did so to protect Gilbert from a life of snobbery she’d discovered she couldn’t abide.”

  Mrs. Boggart Hobbes drew herself up. “She removed her son from a life of privilege and status, depriving him of his true position in the world.”

  Temperance arched a paint-encrusted brow. “Gilbert has created his own position in life, and he’s hardly suffered a life of depravation.”

  “He was born to live amongst the aristocracy, and Florence’s disdain for mingling with members of that aristocracy removed him from his position of superiority over common folk.”

  Gilbert braced himself as Temperance seemed to swell on the spot.

  “This notion everyone in high society seems to hold that they have superiority over those of a lesser status or wealth is ridiculous,” Temperance all but spat. “In all honesty, I’m beginning to believe that my time spent as a poor relation to Wayne and Fanny was God’s way of allowing me to see that none of us are superior to one another. I’ve been given the opportunity to know ladies who’ve been relegated to the wallflower section because of lack of funds, pedigree, or many other nonsensical reasons, but those ladies have proven time and time again that they’re no less worthy than anyone else. Quite frankly, they possess more moral fiber than most of society’s esteemed members.”

  Mrs. Boggart Hobbes’s second jowl began to quiver. “My family has never behaved in a manner that is anything less than moral.”

  “Your darling Fanny, along with Clementine and Wayne, concocted a less-than-moral plan to have Clementine abducted—a plan that was ill-conceived from the beginning, but a plan that was put into play in the hopes of trapping Gilbert into marriage.”

  With her nose flaring ever so slightly, Mrs. Boggart Hobbes shook a finger Temperance’s way. “That’s preposterous, and I will not allow you to slander the good names of my Fanny and Clementine.”

  Temperance didn’t pay the least little mind to the finger shaking. “Clementine also arranged to have a painting stolen from Mr. Harrison Sinclair’s yacht, and if it’s escaped your notice, that’s known as theft—hardly a moral act.”

  “I have to imagine you stole that painting, Temperance,” Mrs. Boggart Hobbes returned. “With the intention of framing Clementine because you’ve always been jealous of her.”

  “I returned the painting after I discovered it lurking up by my attic room, and I certainly wouldn’t have done that if I’d been responsible for the theft in the first place.”

  “You lived in the attic?” Gilbert asked as Mrs. Boggart Hobbes began turning red in the face.

  “I did,” Temperance said, not taking her eyes from Mrs. Boggart Hobbes. “It wasn’t pleasant, but . . . speaking of that room.” She drew in a breath, released it, and then, oddly enough, she smiled, a sight that was less than reassuring since the paint had begun drying on her face and the smile set it to cracking.

  “Since we’re on the subject of moral character—were you aware that Wayne used what should have been my inheritance to move his family to this city? And,” she continued before Mrs. Boggart Hobbes could respond, “when he learned there was no more money coming from my father’s estate, he forced me to assume a role of servitude, never disclosing it was my money that allowed him to move to the brownstone on Park Avenue in the first place. Again, in most circles, that would be considered theft, so I’ll thank you very much to discontinue your argument about the superiority of your family.”

  “Wayne is your blood, not mine. And that proves that you, girl, came from inferior stock, especially since that father of yours didn’t end up providing for you after he died.”

  “While I won’t dignify your comments about my father or family with a response because it’s beneath me to roll about in the mud with you, do know that Fanny, your darling niece, had to be aware of the idea Wayne had gone through most of her dowry. That suggests she also knew he’d gotten the money to move them to New York by unsavory means since he’s evidently never held a position of steady employment.”

  For the briefest of moments, silence settled around the courtyard as Mrs. Boggart Hobbes considered Fanny, Wayne, and Clementine. She then sent Temperance the briefest of nods. “I will send funds around to repay you whatever it was Wayne took, although I will deduct what I feel is a fair amount for your room and board over the years you lived with them.”

  Temperance crossed her arms over her chest. “I worked for that room and board, and again, I was only given the attic. It didn’t even have a fireplace in it, which made for some rather chilly mornings.”

  “Very well, I’ll take that into consideration.” Mrs. Boggart Hobbes swiveled on her heel and gestured to Clementine and her parents. “Come along. It’s time we repaired to my house.”

  “You want us to come live with you?” Clementine asked, having been unusually quiet throughout the entire argument between her Aunt Minnie and Temperance.

  “Why do you think I called today at this ridiculous school?”

  Clementine frowned. “I assumed you wanted to check on our welfare after receiving the note my mother sent to you explaining how’d we’d been forced to abandon Park Avenue because someone tried to murder us.”

  “A circumstance I’m certain can be blamed on your association with Temperance and Mr. Cavendish,” Mrs. Boggart Hobbes said with a dismissive wave of hand in Temperance and Gilbert’s direction.

  “I’m not certain how you’ve come to that conclusion,” Temperance said. “My life was only put in danger after I was snatched from the streets and taken to Chicago, a circumstance, if you’ve forgotten, that was not of my making.”

  Mrs. Boggart Hobbes ignored Temperance as she moved to entwine her arm with Clementine’s. “I’ll hire guards to keep you safe, darling, but do know that from this point forward, I will be managing your future. I will choose a suitable gentleman for you, as well as settle a nice dowry on you to ascertain we attract numerous gentlemen for me to consider. I have to imagine that we’ll have you married off in no time.”

  “You’re going to settle a dowry on Clementine?” Wayne asked.

  “I am, as well as put you on a very strict allowance, but one that will let you maintain the image I expect our family to uphold from this point forward.”

  Mrs. Boggart Hobbes directed her attention to Gilbert. “As for you, Mr. Cavendish, I’m going to make a personal appeal to Mrs. Astor, imploring her to ban you from society forever, no matter that you possess that honorary title.” She smiled ever so slig
htly at Temperance. “I do hope you won’t be too distressed, dear, after you marry the man, which we know you’ll end up doing, and discover all of society’s doors are—”

  “Good heavens, am I to understand you and Temperance have finally fulfilled my lifelong desire to see the two of you wed—and to each other?”

  As the voice that had just spoken those words washed over Gilbert, he found himself momentarily confused—until Temperance bolted into motion, dashing across the courtyard toward his mother, who was holding her arms wide-open, evidently unconcerned that Temperance was covered in paint.

  An unexpected ache settled in Gilbert’s heart as he watched Temperance being drawn into his mother’s embrace, an act he’d witnessed far too many times to count, but an act that finally brought home the truth regarding exactly how much Temperance had suffered from the moment her parents died.

  She’d never been one to cry, but now, reunited with a woman she’d always enjoyed a close relationship with, she was certainly crying, the sight of her tears leaving him with an unusually strong urge to protect her. He wanted to shelter Temperance from all the troubles of life, especially the ones that had tried to stomp her spirit straight out of her, and yet he had not been successful in the end.

  Her spirit, something he’d always appreciated, was alive and almost well again, and he vowed to make certain it would never be injured again, not even if . . .

  “Shall I offer you my congratulations now, or save them until I can offer them to you and Temperance together?”

  Gilbert tore his gaze from Temperance, finding his stepfather, William Beckwith, approaching him.

  “Father,” he said, stepping forward with his hand extended, although he drew it back after he saw it was covered in paint.

  “We’ve been parted for months, son. I think a hug is more in order than a handshake,” William said, and before Gilbert could protest, he found himself being giving an exuberant hug, one that left his stepfather smeared with red paint.

  Stepping back, William smiled. “Nice to see you and Temperance haven’t abandoned your habit of pursuing unusual pastimes.”

  “She wanted to learn how to wield a knife.”

  William’s smile widened as he shook a head full of hair that was once black but was now streaked with gray. “Who would have ever known that learning to use a knife, although I can’t imagine why Temperance would get it into her head to learn such a curious skill, came with a great deal of . . . is that paint?”

  “She decided it would add a sense of authenticity to the lesson if we dipped the knives in paint so we could tell when a strike met its mark.”

  “Did she then decide it would make it even more authentic if the two of you dipped yourselves into that paint?”

  “We might have gotten a little distracted from the original plan.”

  “I do hope you’re not trying to convince your stepfather that Temperance is fully to blame for the condition we’ve found the two of you in.”

  Holding open her arms as she came to a stop beside her husband, Gilbert’s mother, Florence, beamed a smile at him, evidently unconcerned that the traveling dress she was wearing, one that looked to be expensive, was almost completely ruined.

  Knowing he couldn’t very well deprive a mother he hadn’t seen for months a hug, even though doing so would ruin her gown for good, Gilbert pulled her close. He held on to her for a long moment as he heard Temperance greet his stepfather, but when he heard Temperance release a ragged breath, he kissed his mother on the forehead and stepped back.

  His heart gave another lurch as his stepfather enfolded Temperance into a strong hug and didn’t let her go, smoothing a hand over her paint-drenched hair as he murmured quiet words to her.

  “I still do not understand why Temperance’s parents changed their minds about your stepfather and me becoming Temperance’s guardians in case of their deaths,” his mother said quietly by his side.

  Gilbert frowned. “You were originally supposed to be Temperance’s guardians?”

  Florence nodded. “We were, and Grace and Anthony Flowerdew were to look after you if anything happened to us.”

  “I’m sure my half brother, Charles, was relieved to learn I wasn’t to be foisted off on him if you made an untimely departure from this earth.” His smile faded. “Why do you think Temperance’s parents changed their minds?”

  “I suppose they decided, what with your stepfather and I choosing to spend our time traveling throughout India and the Far East, that they wanted someone more readily available if the unthinkable happened, which it did.”

  “But I barely knew Wayne,” Temperance suddenly said, stepping out of William’s embrace even though she immediately took hold of his hand, as if she needed to stay connected to him.

  Florence raised a hand to her throat. “Perhaps Grace knew that you’d become distressed seeing me, her very best friend, every day in the event she died.”

  Temperance wrinkled her nose, causing dried paint to flake off her face. “My mother knew how much I adored you, knew I was comfortable coming to you whenever I needed a voice of reason, since she freely admitted that was not her forte.”

  Stepping forward, Florence pulled Temperance away from William and took both of Temperance’s hands into her own. “But you never answered any of my letters.”

  “You wrote me letters?”

  Florence exchanged a quick glance with her husband before returning her attention to Temperance. “I did. Dozens of them.”

  “I’ll be right back” was all Temperance said before she withdrew from his mother’s hold, turned on her heel, and stalked over to where Wayne, Fanny, Clementine, and Mrs. Boggart Hobbes were watching the reunion with blatant curiosity. However, as soon as Wayne seemed to realize Temperance was singling him out, he immediately headed for the door of the school.

  “Stop right there, Wayne,” Temperance practically bellowed. “You’ve got a bit of explaining to do.”

  “It’s unbecoming for a young lady to shout in such a common way,” Mrs. Boggart Hobbes said in a voice that some might consider a shout as well.

  Temperance didn’t break her stride, nor did she address Mrs. Boggart Hobbes’s remark. Catching up with Wayne before he could disappear into the house, she took hold of his arm, and marched him back across the courtyard. Stopping once she reached Gilbert’s side, she kept a firm grip of Wayne’s arm even as she nodded to him, then to Florence.

  “Would you care to tell Gilbert’s mother why you neglected to give me any of the letters she wrote me?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving an introduction to Gilbert’s mother,” Wayne said in a clear effort to buy himself some time. “And do have a care with your grip, Temperance. I was only recently shot in that arm, and it’s still rather tender.”

  Temperance disregarded his request, keeping her hand wrapped around the arm in question. “We mustn’t neglect the pleasantries at such an unusual time, so allow me to introduce you to Gilbert’s parents.” She tugged him forward, stopping directly in front of Florence and William. “Wayne, this is Mr. William Beckwith and his wife, Florence Beckwith. William and Florence, this is my cousin, twice removed, Mr. Wayne Flowerdew.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Wayne said.

  “That remains to be seen,” Florence said, pursing her lips. “Why is it, do you suppose, that you and I have never had the pleasure of an introduction before, especially since Grace and Anthony were my closest friends, and Anthony was your cousin?”

  “Anthony and I didn’t share what anyone would consider a close relationship. We only saw each other at the occasional family gatherings.”

  “And yet he left you the care of his only daughter,” Florence pointed out.

  “I was surprised as anyone to discover that.”

  “Hmm” was all Florence said to that. “May I assume you didn’t bother to pass along the letters I wrote to Temperance because you didn’t want to take the chance of anyone meddling in what must ha
ve turned out to be a lucrative arrangement for you?”

  Wayne reached up and pulled on his neckcloth. “Now wait just a minute, Mrs. Beckwith, I didn’t do any such nonsense. I’ve already admitted that I helped myself to a few thousand dollars I was given when I was asked to fetch Temperance back from Paris and deliver the news about her parents. But I didn’t know that was the only money she had left in the world, and by the time I found that out, well, the money had already been spent. As for any letters you may have sent, I assure you, I never received them. I find it distressing that you would make the claim you mailed them to me and I never passed them along.”

  “I didn’t mail them to you. I mailed them to one of Anthony’s attorneys, a man by the name of Mr. Howland. He’s the man who tracked me down in India to deliver the news about Temperance’s parents.” Florence’s brows drew together. “I assumed he’d pass the letters on to you, and then you’d get them to Temperance.” She paused. “He never mentioned a word about Temperance not being left any money, though, and he led me to believe that while you’d been named her guardian, she was taking an extended tour of the continents to honor the memory of her parents by following in their footsteps and living a life of adventure.”

  “What?” Temperance breathed as she let go of Wayne’s arm and swayed a little on her feet.

  Moving up next to her, Gilbert put a steadying arm around her, waited until she found her balance, then kept his arm around her for support as his mother exchanged another look with William, who was looking furious.

  “May we assume, Temperance, that you did not take an extended tour through the continents?” William asked.

  “There was no money to take a tour. Father lost his fortune due to a bad investment decision.”

  William shot a look to Wayne. “And you have proof of that?”

  Wayne turned pale. “I was given a ledger filled with figures Mr. Howland said showed all the debts owed, but to tell you the truth, figures were never my strong point, so I didn’t delve into the ledger very thoroughly.”