by Jen Turano
Edwina was on her feet and across the library in a flash. “Why did you laugh when I told you I wasn’t meant to become an agent if you’d already been told my change of plans?”
Agent McParland smiled. “I thought Asher might have been pulling a jest on me, so to hear the words come out of your mouth evidently brought on laughter of the relieved kind.”
“Because . . . ?” Edwina prompted.
“I don’t have to worry about other agents thinking I’m showing you favoritism or be concerned that . . . well, can’t say more just yet, not until I speak with your father and make it all nice and proper.”
A second later, Edwina was pulling Agent McParland toward the door, clearly eager for the man to get on with matters and seek out her father as soon as possible. Her efforts, however, came to a halt when Miss Henrietta cleared her throat in a telling fashion.
“While I, for one, am certainly delighted by this latest lovely event, that being a resolution to a budding romance all of us have been watching with bated breath, I must insist that before you go, Agent McParland, you at least take a short moment to fill us in on what happened today.”
Even though Edwina heaved a sigh that could have been heard in the house across the street, she did turn with Agent McParland and walk with him to a fainting couch. Sitting beside him, Temperance swore she heard Edwina say something about hurrying up with the explanation. After sending her a smile, Agent McParland launched rather rapidly into an account of everything that had transpired throughout the afternoon.
“So after we determined that the man was suffering from some form of mental anguish,” Agent McParland concluded ten minutes later, “we had him transported to The New York Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell Island. His condition will be assessed by the good doctors there, and if it’s ever deemed he’s truly competent again, he’ll be transferred to jail, where he’ll spend the rest of his days behind bars.”
“Because he admitted to hiring on someone to murder Temperance and Gilbert?” Miss Henrietta asked.
Agent McParland frowned. “He readily admitted to hiring someone to kill Temperance, her parents, and her cousins, but he’s holding fast to his claim that he never wanted Gilbert dead.”
“Why would he do that?” Florence pressed, sending her son a look filled with concern.
Shrugging, Agent McParland accepted a plate of cakes that Mercy handed to him. “I would love to think his mental anguish has caused him to forget some of his misdeeds, but . . . there is always the chance someone else out there wishes to see Gilbert come to a nasty end.”
Florence’s brows drew together. “Gilbert has always been a more-than-pleasant sort. I don’t know of anyone who’d want to see him harmed.”
“Perhaps it’s not Gilbert someone wants to see harmed,” Edwina said, leaning forward, “but the Earl of Strafford, a notion I do believe was broached at some point in time when we didn’t know who was behind any of the threats.”
Silence settled over the library until Agent McParland got to his feet. “I regretfully must admit I’d forgotten about that idea, although because you remembered, my dear Edwina, you should take comfort that, no matter your fondness for shopping and proclivity to miss the most eventful aspects of cases, you would have eventually made a fine Pinkerton.” He smiled when she stuck her tongue out at him. “I do hope no one will mind if I don’t immediately set off to pursue that idea since I clearly have matters of a more personal and pressing nature to attend to today.”
No one voiced an argument to that, especially when Edwina took to glaring around the room, her glaring more than enough reason to encourage Agent McParland to get on his way. As the man made his way for the door, another man entered the library, one Temperance was delighted to see, Reverend Benjamin Perry.
As Reverend Perry beamed a smile all around, he was joined by a very pleased-looking Mr. Barclay.
For the briefest of moments, Temperance wondered if Mr. Barclay may have overstepped his role in helping her secure Gilbert’s affections and brought Reverend Perry around to convince Gilbert some vows needed to be spoken, until Reverend Perry took a seat and launched into the true reason behind his visit.
“I understand from Mr. Barclay, Temperance, who was sent to call on me at Gilbert’s request, that you’re interested in holding a memorial for your parents.”
Warmth flowed through her. Turning to Gilbert, she smiled. “You remembered I wanted to hold a memorial for my parents?”
Gilbert returned the smile. “Of course I remembered.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Although I’ve yet to understand why Mr. Barclay was so enthusiastic about informing Reverend Perry of your decision, or why he patted me on the arm and said my understanding you so well was a step of progress in the right direction. I’ve found myself wondering whether the man has decided to join all the matchmakers we seem to have roaming around us these days.” He gave a quick gesture of a hand to the room at large.
Not caring to disclose that she knew for fact Mr. Barclay had turned an eye toward matchmaking, Temperance settled for a smile and a shrug before she returned her attention to Reverend Perry. “It was very kind of you, Reverend Perry, to travel here to discuss the memorial for my parents. I believe a simple affair would be fine, attended by my closest friends.”
Reverend Perry nodded. “That’s what Mr. Barclay thought you’d want, which is why I decided to call on you now. There’s an opening on the schedule at the church tomorrow, and while I understand that is short notice, it’s the only time available for the foreseeable future, unless you’d like to wait for a month or more.”
“Tomorrow would be fine.”
“Wonderful,” Reverend Perry returned. “I’ll simply need to know a bit about your parents and what you’d like me to say, and then I’ll get right to work on an appropriate memorial.”
“I’d be more than willing to lend some insight into Grace and Anthony Flowerdew,” Gilbert’s mother said with a smile. “They were two of my closest friends.”
Gilbert, to Temperance’s surprise, rose to his feet. “Since the next hour or so will be spent planning the memorial, I’m going to excuse myself for a bit. There’s every chance that Mr. Howland was lying about not hiring on someone to try to kill me, but if he wasn’t, there might be something to the notion that someone wants the Earl of Strafford dead. I think it may be wise to have my attorney send off another transatlantic telegram to the Strafford solicitor, asking his opinion on the matter.”
“What do you mean, another transatlantic telegram?” Temperance asked slowly.
“Did I say another?”
“You did.”
To her frustration, he didn’t bother to explain. Instead, he turned on his heel and headed for the door, pausing once he reached it. “I won’t be long since telegrams can’t be too lengthy, although I’m sure the Strafford solicitor will be rather shocked to receive a telegram inquiring whether he knows if someone wants me dead, or . . .” Gilbert’s brows drew together. “I should probably inquire whether anyone thought to investigate the death of my brother, which may actually turn out to have been under suspicious circumstances.”
Sending her a last nod, he quit the room.
“I do hope he’s successful in finding some answers,” Miss Henrietta said, sitting forward. “It would be lovely if we could put all these nasty murder attempts behind us once and for all.”
“Which will leave us all sorts of time to plan a few weddings,” Mrs. Davenport added, sending Temperance a wink.
Settling back against the settee, Temperance wrinkled her nose. “If it has escaped the notice of everyone in this room, Gilbert has not broached the subject of marriage with me lately.”
Miss Henrietta waved that straight aside. “He’s been a bit preoccupied with trying to keep you alive. But you mark my words, once he’s certain no one is still out there wishing you harm, he’ll begin pursuing the topic of marriage again, and if I’m not mistaken, pursuing it with a vengeance.”
“Ho
w do you know that?”
Miss Henrietta nodded to Reverend Perry. “As I’m sure the good Reverend Perry will agree, sometimes, my dear Temperance, a person simply needs to have faith.”
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
THE NEXT DAY
“And Gilbert never mentioned anything about you traveling to England with him and assuming the role of Lady Strafford, even after your life was placed in such peril yesterday?” Permilia asked, leaning across Gertrude to settle her gaze on Temperance as their carriage trundled down the road.
“Not a peep,” Temperance admitted. “Although he did take my hand often yesterday as we went about one adventure after another, which I have to imagine is a promising sign.”
Permilia nodded her head, which was covered by an enormous black hat, complete with a veil that she’d pushed out of the way. “It’s more than promising. I’ve never taken Gilbert as the sort to want to hold a lady’s hand, so that he did so—and often—yes, that’s promising indeed.”
“And,” Gertrude added, shoving aside the netting on her black hat, which wasn’t nearly as large as Permilia’s, “what you need to remember is this—gentlemen do not think as ladies think. Why, look at the misunderstandings Permilia and I both suffered before we finally realized Asher and Harrison loved us. They simply didn’t know how to disclose their feelings in ways we could understand.”
Permilia grinned. “Asher was of the belief he needed to turn into a more roguish sort to win my love, even going so far as to ask Harrison to teach him how to look dangerous.”
“Harrison, loveable charmer that he is, did his very best to convince everyone he did not have time for a lady in his life. But then, when he decided he might enjoy having me around for the rest of his days, went to ridiculous lengths to woo me, although in a way I came to believe proved he’d lost his wits.”
“But Gilbert hasn’t done any of that, although he did broach a most curious topic regarding puppies and fey creatures, but I don’t believe that counts.”
Permilia rolled her eyes. “Of course it does, as does the fact that he’s rescued you from the jaws of death more times than I care to remember.”
“He’s also abandoned his strict rule of sticking to his schedule,” Gertrude added. “As well as missing appointments, numerous ones from what Harrison told me. That right there tells me the man is in love.” She grinned. “Men can’t seem to help making cakes of themselves when they finally realize they’re in love. I believe it’s because they’ve convinced themselves it’s not manly to embrace that emotion, which leads to all sorts of shenanigans until they realize love is exactly what God wants all of us to embrace, and not merely the feminine set.”
Before Temperance could badger her friends with additional questions concerning why they felt Gilbert’s rescuing her or abandoning his schedule implied he was a man in the throes of what almost sounded like a romantic frame of mind, the carriage slowed to a stop in front of Grace Church. A moment later, Eugene opened the door. He’d insisted on driving her because he said he wasn’t going to chance having some unknown madmen appear on the scene, even though Temperance was quite convinced attempts on her life were a thing of the past with Mr. Howland locked away.
Permilia looked at Temperance, a frown on her beautiful face. “Are you certain you’re not overwhelmed by how quickly this memorial service has been pulled together?”
“It’s past time I honored my parents by giving them a proper ceremony. And now that I’m no longer angry with them, I’m finally able to accept that they’re no longer here, nor will I see them again until it’s my time to move on from this world.” Temperance sent her a small smile, then turned and took the hand Eugene was extending her way.
“You’ll feel much better, Miss Temperance,” he began, “after you’ve finally said your good-byes to your parents.”
“I’m sure I will,” she returned. “But before we go inside, I must thank you for providing us with such a smooth ride to the church. You didn’t run over so much as a single hole in the road.”
“Miss Henrietta gave me strict instructions to go easy on you.” He leaned closer to her. “She’s worried about you today, as is everyone.”
“I’ll be fine, although it is lovely to be surrounded by so many people who evidently care about me.”
“Of course everyone cares about you,” Eugene said roughly, helping her out of the carriage. “You’re a good sort, even if you do seem to court trouble more than any lady I’ve ever known.”
Exchanging a grin with him, she waited as Eugene went back and helped Permilia and Gertrude from the carriage. Linking arms, they walked into the church and down the long aisle, greeted as soon as they reached the front pews by Harrison, Asher, and Gilbert.
Taking the arm Gilbert held out for her, she walked with him to the very center of the first row of pews, nodding to the rest of her friends who’d already gathered in the church.
Miss Henrietta was looking regal in her black widow’s weeds, and Miss Mabel, wearing an almost identical outfit, looked just as regal as she sat next to her sister. Next to Miss Mabel was Mrs. Davenport, sporting a black fitted gown she’d made herself, and sitting next to Mrs. Davenport was . . . Clementine. Her cousin nodded at Temperance, mouthed My parents aren’t here, and smiled ever so slightly.
“Who would have ever thought my cousin would try her hand at being civil?” she whispered to Gilbert as he helped her into her chosen spot, then took the seat right next to her.
They were then joined by Asher, Permilia, Harrison, and Gertrude, and a second later, Edwina and Agent McParland took seats right behind them. Harrison’s parents and his two other sisters, Adelaide and Margaret, settled into seats behind them as well.
“Ah, there’s my mother and stepfather,” Gilbert said, rising to his feet. “Would you like my mother to sit beside you?”
Tears stung her eyes. “As she was my mother’s dearest friend, that would be lovely. Thank you.”
Florence was soon sitting on one side of her with Gilbert on the other, and Temperance felt as if she’d finally found the sense of family she’d been missing for so long. She bowed her head and said a simple prayer of thanks.
It had been far too long since she’d felt any sense of true peace while she’d been in a church, but today, surrounded by friends who’d become so much more to her, peace came easily.
Looking up, she turned her attention to the front of the chapel, enjoying the hymn the choir had begun to sing.
After the hymn, Reverend Perry stepped forward and began the service with a prayer, one that spoke of hope, faith, and love. He then began his eulogy, including stories of Anthony and Grace Flowerdew that could have only come from Florence.
Glancing to Gilbert’s mother, she found Florence wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, and Temperance finally understood that she’d not been the only one to suffer from the loss of her parents. They’d had friends, good friends, who obviously missed them and mourned for them. Now she was finally mourning the loss of her parents as well, the way she should have three years before.
As Reverend Perry finished, he gave her a nod, and Temperance rose to her feet and moved to the front of the chapel, not saying a word as she accepted the violin Reverend Perry handed her.
Turning to face her friends, she drew in a breath. “My mother loved to listen to me play the violin, even though it was not an instrument society thought was appropriate for girls or women to play. Today, though, is all about my parents, so I thought it would be nice to dedicate a special song to them, played on my mother’s favorite instrument. This is a piece from Beethoven—Violin Sonata No. 9, also known as Kreutzer Sonata. I won’t play the piece in its entirety because it’s quite long, so I’ve chosen the third movement because my mother found it inspiring.”
Positioning the violin under her chin, she closed her eyes, then waited for the music to begin to form in her mind. Opening her eyes, she lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “This is for you, Mama.”
Pulling the bow across the strings, she lost herself in the music, playing every note as if her mother could hear her, telling her mother and father with song exactly how sorry she was that she’d been angry with them for so long.
That anger had stolen the wonderful times she’d shared with her parents, the memories of those times only now beginning to flood back into her thoughts.
Her mother had been the one to encourage her to always abandon her shoes when she was in the sand—and not because it was practical but because sand felt marvelous on a girl’s feet.
Her father had been the one to hand her a paintbrush for the very first time and had taken her to the ocean to paint her first ocean scene, proclaiming himself unsurprised when she’d painted an ocean that looked like an ocean, complete with the sun’s reflection on the water and clouds that looked like they were drifting through the sky.
They’d been so proud of her, and . . . they’d wanted her to share her gifts with the world because she’d been given such special gifts.
She’d never realized they’d only wanted the world to experience the music she was capable of producing, but instead she’d resented them for pushing her in front of audiences.
She could only hope that her parents were watching her and that they knew this was her way of saying she was sorry.
As she played the last note, and with her cheeks wet with tears, she lowered the violin right before Gilbert reached her side and pulled her into his arms.
“Your parents would have loved that,” he said, easing her just a bit away from him to look into her eyes. “And they would be so proud of the lady you’ve become.”