No one was ever allowed in.
The little inn where they’d stopped just outside of London wasn’t one of the better establishments, but it suited her purposes. In the common room, shabbily dressed animal herders shared stories and ale. Not a single one of them would have even thought to care about who was taking the upstairs rooms.
At least half of those rooms were empty, but Jess and Derek had only taken one of them, so as not to draw suspicion. Sharing a room still made Derek look a bit queasy, though, and after delivering her small trunk, he’d gone down to help Jeffreys with the horses.
Jess rummaged through the trunk, her frown growing. She’d put together a plan for tonight, but it appeared she hadn’t packed the necessary disguise. She was going to have to get it from Ryland’s.
The thought of her good friend made pain throb at the base of her skull. She hated to admit it, but he had been right. Jess needed help.
Despite her claims to Derek that she could do it all herself, with the potential pressure of Lord Bradford and the quickly encroaching deadline, it just wasn’t possible. It was time to see who was really willing to bestow those favors they’d assured her were hers for the asking over the years.
She remembered the codes she needed to write the messages, but she wasn’t sure exactly what she was asking for or how to send them. If she gave them to Ryland to deliver, he would consider himself fully involved and try to take over everything. She didn’t want that. Nor did she want someone helping her out of fear of the duke or the reputation he’d gained as a spy.
The table in the room was rickety, and the single chair was less than comfortable, but it was functional and, honestly, more than she’d expected to find at such a simple inn. She prepared a quill, smoothed out a piece of paper, and waited for the right words to come.
A knock sounded at the door, and Jess gave it a quick glance before picking up the quill, determined to write something. “Enter.”
The latch lifted and the door swung open to reveal Derek, wearing a dark frown. “Doesn’t it make sense to lock a door when one is expecting imminent danger?”
She shrugged, not about to tell him she’d left it unlocked in case he ran into trouble downstairs and needed to make a hasty retreat. “Danger doesn’t often bother to knock.”
“No, I don’t suppose it does.” He eased the door closed until a very proper three-inch gap remained.
Jess grinned. “Danger does, however, like to eavesdrop.”
His frown hardened, but he closed the door and reset the latch. The way he fidgeted and shifted his weight from foot to foot made it obvious he didn’t quite know what to do when closed in a room with her and not sleeping.
“Relax,” Jess murmured before blowing on the note she’d written. She’d settled for a basic request and a meeting time. That gave her a day or so to determine the details of what she needed to ask. “Imagine it’s a really large carriage.”
He glanced about the room. “I suppose one could fathom the idea of a bedchamber on wheels. I rather wonder that no one has thought of it. Not this large, of course, but doable.” He paused. “I suppose that’s really what the Romani wagons are, aren’t they?”
Jess shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling as he paced the room, rambling about the possible contents of a tiny home on wheels.
“I’ve seen the exterior in paintings, of course, but never the interior. Very private people.” He frowned. “I wonder if they allow unmarried men and women to ride in them alone.”
“Derek,” Jess interrupted, trying not to laugh. “We’ve taken the room as a married couple. No one is going to think anything.”
He stumbled about the room as if looking for somewhere to sit. His options were limited to the bed and the floor, but she’d let him make that choice on his own.
The reminder of their pretend marriage had sent her thoughts skittering back to Derek’s question of what she intended to do after she was restored to her brother.
Would he expect her to marry? To live alongside him and create a new idea of normal? Marriage was something she’d never planned to experience, but what if it became a possibility? What would her future husband think of all the men she’d pretended to be married to for the sake of safety and disguise?
She snorted at herself as she laid out a second sheet of paper. Pretend marriages would probably be the easiest part of her past to explain.
Derek finally elected to perch himself on the edge of the bed, sitting with his back straight and feet flat on the floor. She opened her mouth to ask his opinion on what a man would think of her past but snapped it shut just as quickly.
The lines of communication were more open between them, but there was no need to bleed her thoughts all over him. Particularly when she wasn’t sure what to even call them. She was feeling emotions she hadn’t experienced in years—if ever. Derek had been more of an asset than she’d anticipated. He didn’t deserve her pulling him into another awkward moment that was unessential for survival or the success of their goal.
“What are you doing?” Derek asked, saving her from the mawkish road her mind had been crawling down.
Jess held up a folded message. “Calling in a few favors. It’s time to admit that I—we—need a bit of help.” She took a deep breath. “What sort of assistance would be most useful?” she asked Derek, surprising him into gaping a bit.
He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “I suppose that depends on what abilities your friends have.”
Friends probably wasn’t the right term for some of the people she was contacting, but she didn’t correct him. He offered logical and useful thoughts that would never have occurred to her. If those ideas were delivered with a few extraneous words and a miniature history lesson, well, that was what came from talking to Derek.
Finally, she threw her quill down and stretched her cramped hand as she finished her final words.
“Three requests,” she said, holding up the missives. “Now I just have to hope no one sees me traipsing about London to deliver them.”
Derek shoved his hair off his forehead. “Why don’t you use the Penny Post? Even if someone sees you drop a letter there, they won’t know where it goes. The letters will be delivered by evening.”
Jess started to protest and then stopped. What could possibly be more reasonable and hidden than using a system already in place to do exactly what she needed? Even if someone had followed her to London, they would have no time to finagle a way to intercept the post.
“That’s . . . a good idea,” she said slowly.
Derek grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Truly?”
“Yes,” she said with an answering grin. His enthusiasm was infectious, and she grabbed onto the rare moment of giddy discovery.
They ate a light meal, and then Jess took the letters to the Penny Post before strolling around aimlessly enough to make sure no one was following her.
Then she had Jeffreys drive her to Ryland’s house to retrieve what she needed for that night’s plan. Even though she’d slipped away and left Derek back at the inn, he stayed in her mind the entire time.
She could protect him, could go about her evening plans without returning to the inn to collect him. He would be angry, but he would also be safe. Was she willing to hurt him with yet another betrayal to save his life?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Derek was well accustomed to being the most awkward person in the room. He wore his jackets unconventionally large, was often socially inept, and could never quite seem to remember to get his hair cut. It didn’t matter much to him, though, if he was the worst-dressed man at an event, since he was probably going to stare at the walls the entire time.
Being the best-dressed man in the room—even if he was the only man in the room—sent him beyond awkwardness into a form of maladroitness. In his normal clothes he at least knew who he was, but in a complete set of finely tailored, elegant evening wear? He hadn’t a clue.
The clothing had arrived
an hour ago, and ever since he’d put it on, he’d been pacing the small room, checking his reflection in the mottled glass above the derelict table that acted as a sort of washstand, rereading the note that had accompanied the clothing, and sitting to adjust the unfamiliar silk stockings.
He stepped to the window to peek across the innyard at the clock by the stable. Fifteen more minutes.
The circuit began again.
If you want to come, wear this. Down back stairs at 7. Be quiet.
Derek didn’t need to go by the table and read Jess’s note again. It was rather easy to memorize. Though irritated that she’d slipped out and left him to stare at the unadorned walls all afternoon, he was pleased that she’d brought him in on whatever she was doing tonight to get into the ambassador’s house.
What he wanted to know, though, was where she’d gotten the clothes and how she’d known his size, even though the possible answers left him slightly terrified.
Was there a dandy lying trussed up in a ditch somewhere? Had she measured Derek in his sleep and pressured a local tailor into altering someone else’s order for him?
Derek moved back into view of the small mirror and checked his cravat once more. It was a bit crooked, but he couldn’t risk redoing it and having it grow limp or show too many creases. Tilted was better than disheveled.
At least he assumed it was. Unless he was going to pretend to be a man who’d imbibed a bit too much and was looking all the worse for it. Seven was rather early in the evening for that, but since his experience with society was limited mostly to academic parlor gatherings, he’d bow to Jess’s judgment.
The first chime of the hour sent him nearly running for the door. Once there he took a deep breath and then eased the door open before stepping through.
If anyone was behind him as he made his way to the back stairs, he didn’t know it. Jess had once said that half the art of being ignored was looking like you knew what you were doing, so Derek didn’t glance around. At the stairs, he kept close to the wall—another of Jess’s tips. Apparently steps were less likely to creak from there.
A few weeks ago, he couldn’t have imagined needing to know such a detail.
The door he assumed was the exit was at the bottom of the stairs. All he had to do was cross the corridor leading to the kitchens. Praying that the corridor stayed clear, Derek braced himself for the putrid smells of waste and animals and slipped outside. The smell hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold, but its impact was nothing compared to the view of a resplendent carriage sitting alongside the filth of the back of the property.
Jeffreys was perched atop it, wearing clothing almost as fine as Derek’s. The door to the carriage stood open, allowing him to see the velvet covering the inside of the door and the fringe that topped the window.
“Get in,” a low voice said from inside the carriage.
Derek, still more than a little shocked, stumbled his way into the carriage, pulling the door closed behind him. Though the carriage they’d borrowed to travel in hadn’t been shabby, it didn’t have seats as plush as these. In the dark, shadowy confines, he ran his hands along the bench and wall. There was enough velvet and draped brocade to have made Marie Antoinette a happy woman.
Despite the dimness of the interior, his companion on the seat across from him sparkled, the glinting jewels proving she was as elegantly dressed as he was.
“Where are we going?” Derek asked.
“To see the painting. The ambassador bought The Inspired Change of Desire.”
“Yes, and the entry is rather vague.” Derek shifted in his seat. “If it weren’t for the part that says ‘all desires point to the true king on his throne,’ I’d think it was one of the false leads.”
Jess shifted as the carriage turned a corner. One bright shaft of moonlight fell across her face. “He’s been living here for nearly thirty years, only rarely going to his home country. Hopefully the painting has stayed in the building.”
“We know he owns it, or owned it at one time, but we don’t know if he ever hung it,” Derek said thoughtfully. “It could be wrapped in storage. How do you expect us to get in and find out?”
Jess turned from the window and blinked at him. He could almost swear that a hint of a smile tugged at one side of her mouth, but he couldn’t be sure with this lack of lighting.
“We’re going to a party.”
Derek swallowed. “At the ambassador’s house? Won’t that many people make sneaking about difficult?”
“Parties are actually ideal for looking through places, but the ambassador doesn’t hold parties. He’s not very interested in entertaining of any variety.” She picked up a small square of parchment from the seat beside her. “His neighbor, however, is a different story.”
The carriage slowed to the creeping pace that indicated it had entered a sea of traffic. More light filtered through the heavily curtained windows, flickering and jerking as the carriages and their lanterns moved along.
Finally, the carriage came to a stop, and the door was opened.
“Stay quiet and follow my lead,” Jess said quietly.
As if he would do anything else.
Jess ducked her head and extended an arm for the footman to assist her from the carriage. As she stepped into the light, he saw she wore a dark grey cloak over a dress of yellow silk, scattered with tiny jewels. Her hood draped down her back, revealing pale blond curls wrapped in pearls and yellow silk ribbons.
Derek tried not to gape at the transformation as he exited the vehicle with as much grace as he owned. With his feet on the ground, he did a momentary check of his clothing, ensuring that the unaccustomed outfit was as it should be.
Then he glanced at Jess’s face to gather an indication of his next steps.
Or rather, he glanced at where her face normally was.
Instead of the angles of her pointed chin and sharp cheekbones, he saw the delicate curve of her bejeweled bodice, a bodice that he was fairly certain was a bit more well-endowed than it should have been.
Not that he’d ever looked. Or noticed. Beyond pure academic observation, anyway.
His gaze drifted upward until it found her face, her eyes at least six inches above where they normally resided.
The slight smirk beneath the amber eyes was the only thing that assured him he was, indeed, standing next to Jess and not some sort of adult changeling. Even if the mystical beings were real, they wouldn’t be able to copy the arrogance of that expression.
She glided forward in tiny, elegant steps that were entirely different from the way she normally moved. Derek fell in beside her, offering his arm as if he were leading, even though his best guess was to follow the stream of people up the steps. From there, he had no idea where they were going.
He was learning she didn’t necessarily know either. Her idea of a plan was often little more than a starting point. Everything else she made up as she went along.
The house they entered was brightly lit, candles and lanterns everywhere. In contrast, the ambassador’s house to the left was dark, looking almost abandoned. There was no doubt about the proper location for the night’s frivolity.
Jess presented the card to a footman and moved them into the receiving line.
Curiosity faded as Derek’s panic built. Where was he? Whom was he about to see? Who did they think he was? What should he say if someone talked to him? As glad as he was that Jess had voluntarily included him tonight, he didn’t know how to make anything up. He was equipped to dole out facts and history, not fluff and nonsense.
They eased forward, Jess slow, graceful, and incomprehensibly tall at his side, until a woman dressed in a blue gown was looking at them, her smile fading as she gazed from Jess to Derek and back again.
“Mia cara, Charlotte,” Jess chirped in a lilting Italian accent as far removed from her normal voice as Derek was from a penguin. “I was so pleased to get your invitation. It has been too long! You must find me later and tell me everything. I must know how your George
is doing at Harrow. You were so concerned about him last year.”
Derek watched in awe as the hostess’s concerned frown became a confused smile. He gave the woman a half bow and trailed behind Jess as she worked her way boisterously down the line, gripping hands and declaring her joy like a long-lost friend finally returning home after years abroad.
Despite marveling at yet one more strange incarnation of Jess, Derek was tense until they’d left the receiving line and melded into a growing crowd of people at the edge of the ballroom. Later he’d convince her to tell him how she’d known about George and everything else she’d said, but right now he was simply glad to be away from the conversations.
They drifted among the other couples until they found themselves at the other side of the ballroom, where Jess led them out the side door and into an unlit portion of the garden. Flattening against the wall of the house, Jess’s fake, simpering smile fell away, and she worked her jaw back and forth, one hand lifting to massage her cheeks as if the force of her wide smile had hurt them.
Derek tried not to laugh. For the most part, he was successful.
She frowned at him and reached behind her to tug at something on the back of her dress. Though he gave a great effort not to look down at the bodice of her dress again, it became impossible as the entire thing shifted and drooped forward, the upper portion retaining its shape, proving it had indeed been padded. A shrug and a few more tugs and the entire glittering gown fell away, revealing a grey dress that would have been much better suited for a maid, except for the daringly low neckline.
The yellow gown pooled into an impossibly small ring, aside from the narrow shaped bodice. Jess stepped from the circle, revealing the secret to her additional inches.
Giant fabric-covered platforms were tied onto her feet. Derek dropped into a squat to inspect them.
“Untie those while you’re down there, would you?” Jess asked.
His fingers were already moving toward the shoes in curiosity, so it was easy enough to snag the bow at her heel and give it a tug. She’d worn her normal boot but shoved it into the fabric wraps of an old chopine. With one of the platforms freed from her foot and safely in his hands, Derek stood to inspect it.
A Pursuit of Home Page 22