William thought understanding the real reason her father acted that way would somehow make her feel better, but he was wrong. Knowing that the old Duke was not her true sire somehow justified his aversion. Arianne was disgusting to him. Living proof of the Duchess’s perfidy. Just as the old Duke’s violence toward her mother justified Arianne’s need to keep Sanctuary for her own.
This is your sanctuary, Rafferty had said, but he didn’t understand.
She knew one day he would turn to her with disgust. She should be surprised he’d waited this long. She’d committed the unforgivable. She’d given her virtue to someone who didn’t deserve it. Then she’d given her heart to another who expected more.
DOWN IN HIS OFFICE, RAFFERTY SUNK HIS HEAD IN HIS hands, devastated. He’d never thought he’d ever ask a woman to marry him, and certainly when he did, he hadn’t thought it would be an insult. But apparently to Lady Upper Crust it was. Damn it, he loved her. Why couldn’t she see that? He hadn’t meant to hurt her. Heaven knew he wasn’t averse to bedding a willing lass a time or two, but Arianne was no laced mutton looking for a quick ride. She was the elegant, passionate, vulnerable Lady Arianne, who right now was deep in tears because he refused to take advantage of her.
“What did you do to my sister?”
He didn’t need to look up to know who had entered his office. “Leave it alone, Bedford.”
“I saw her run up the stairs in tears. She only cares about one person enough to let him hurt her like that.” The Duke dropped into a chair in front of his desk. “Go apologize to her.”
Rafferty pulled his head out of the nest of his hands just enough to see Bedford. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you probably think you’re right about whatever you’re arguing about, but take it from me—a happily married man—the woman is always right. Give her what she wants. It’ll make the both of you happy.”
This was bloody ridiculous. He’d asked Arianne to marry him. She’d refused, and now her brother was telling him to just go have his jolly way with his sister without the benefit of marriage! How was he supposed to respond to that . . . diplomatically?
“Don’t you have a wife and new baby in England?” Rafferty asked, sitting back in his seat. “Isn’t it time to go see them?”
“My mother-in-law is there with Franny and the baby.” William shook his head. “Deerfield Abbey is large enough for two hundred monks but not nearly sufficient for my mother-in-law and I to exist under the same roof.”
Rafferty knew the feeling. “Tell me, Bedford, do you ever fight, engage in a little fisticuffs strictly for sport, of course?”
“Me? No, I’m more of a horseman.”
“Pity that,” Rafferty said, feeling the need to hit something.
“Go and talk to her,” William continued. “You said yourself, she needs you. There’s no pending confrontation between Queen Victoria and President Garfield that requires your immediate intervention . . . Go on and tend to your wife.”
“I think you’d be wise to counsel her to concede to my wishes,” Rafferty said, then rose from behind the desk. “Let me consider your advice, then I’ll see what can be done.”
But rather than follow his wife’s path up the steps, Rafferty chose to put some distance between himself and the legation, between himself and Arianne and her brother, between himself and the entitled aristocracy. Arianne had sent Rosalie Murray home in the legation carriage, so Rafferty thought he’d flag down a hansom. The cabbie might know a thing or two about a drinking establishment where a man didn’t have to think about diplomacy, compromise, or negotiation. Of course, he had to admit, when it came to Arianne, it was hard to think of anything but negotiation.
He stormed out the front door and saw Evans standing a short way down the street, talking to a stranger in a top hat. The man glanced at him, then commented something to Evans, who also turned in his direction. Another word or two was shared, then the two parted ways, Evans returning to the legation.
“Are you going out, sir? Should I call for the carriage?”
Rafferty stared at the departing man. Something about him seemed out of place; he just couldn’t identify what that something was.
Evans followed the direction of Rafferty’s gaze. “He was asking for directions, sir. Easy to get lost in this end of the city.”
Unfortunately, Bedford wasn’t having that difficulty, Rafferty thought. He managed to find his way back to the legation every bloody day.
“Would you like me to call the carriage, sir?” Evans asked again.
“No. I thought I’d walk a bit. Need to stretch my legs.” With that he set off down to the first cross street and followed that till he saw some idle cabs.
FINNEGANS. IT WAS LOCATED IN THE SORT OF AREA that most reasonable men with coin in their pockets would avoid, which meant Rafferty felt right at home. The smell of rot and refuse mingled with the thick, humid air. The front windows to the establishment had been backed with a dark paper, thus allowing the patrons to drink without knowledge of the time or people passing. Paint peeled off the wooden exterior like bark from a tree. Rafferty smiled. With luck he would satisfy not only his curiosity but also his desire to feel his knuckles connect with flesh. He paid the driver, then went in.
The interior met the promise of the exterior. Enough young lassies worked the crowd that he imagined he might fill another need here as well. His determination to not take what Arianne offered was taking a toll. He ordered a whiskey at the bar and leaned his back upon it to study the patrons. Which one of these men would have come to Eva’s assistance in her betrayal of Rafferty?
“You must be lost, love.” A buxom brunette with a neckline low enough to distract sidled up to his side. He felt her quick check for his billfold and knew she came up empty. She was good, but not good enough.
He looked at her askance. “What makes you say that?” The woman laughed in response.
“Look at you.” She spread her arm toward the jumbled occupied tables. “Look at them.” She turned back toward him. “Either you’re lost or you’re looking for something, or someone. Which is it?” Her eyelids lowered in an attempt at seduction. “I can be a help, I can, with the proper incentive.”
He didn’t fit in? He glanced down at the tailored clothes Arianne had insisted he procure. Good Lord, he was wearing gloves—so fine and light, he’d forgotten about them. His hair dangled only occasionally in his eyes these days. He supposed he must look the part of a rich dandy to the inside patrons—especially to the man in the corner who was watching him intently. “Who is that man?” Rafferty asked the woman. “The one in the corner.”
His otherwise talkative companion suddenly turned mute. Rafferty reached into his inside jacket and withdrew his purse. Careful to conceal the contents, he withdrew some coins and handed them to her. Her greedy eyes watched as he replaced it in his jacket. “His name is Charles Guiteau. He’s not a regular, but he comes in every so often. He has a soft spot for Sarah.” She nodded with her chin to another woman working the tables. She turned toward him, placing one hand on his chest, while the other fingered his cheekbone. “My name is Constance. Do you have a soft spot for me?”
He captured the hand that was inching toward his billfold. He may no longer appear to be the ruffian he was once assumed to be, but that didn’t mean he’d lost his wits. He imagined he could easily strike a price with Constance, and she would do the sort of things that Arianne couldn’t even imagine, but he discovered he wasn’t interested. She wasn’t the woman he longed to sink into. This one wouldn’t satisfy his body, much less his mind. “I think you’re correct, Constance. I think I made a wrong turn when I came in here today.” Holding her hand in place, he finished his drink in one long burning swallow. “So if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll be on my way.”
It would do no good to make inquiries; not when he looked like a bloody government official. He’d have to leave the interrogation of Finnegans’ patrons to Phineas. He hadn�
�t really believed that Arianne could transform his sow’s ear into a silk purse, yet he was faced with the proof. Rafferty pulled the woman’s hand off his chest, then headed for the door. Before he could leave, a big brute—larger than the size of the door—blocked his path.
“There’s a toll for leaving Finnegans,” the bruiser said. Rafferty heard the scraping of chairs on either side of him. A smile crept to his face. At least he’d have the opportunity to accomplish one of his goals.
“And what might that toll be?” he asked.
“Whatever you have in that billfold will satisfy it,” the brute said. “Hand it over.”
Rafferty pretended to comply. He stepped to the side as if trying to hide the location of the billfold while he set his feet. Just as the clod was anticipating a fat purse, Rafferty threw a quick punch with his left that knocked the wind out of the brute’s chest. As he tried to suck air, Rafe delivered a brutal punch with his right to the clod’s jaw. Blood splattered, and he went down like a felled tree to the hushed audience in the bar. Rafe turned and checked behind him, but no one attempted to take the bruiser’s place. Pity that. He stepped over him to leave the establishment. To his surprise, the hansom that had delivered him still waited outside.
“I didn’t think you’d stay long,” the driver said with a cackle, “but I’m surprised to see you walk out.”
Rafferty directed the driver to the legation and climbed into the relative safety of the cab. He couldn’t deny it. He’d changed from the man he was in London, and he could name the pert, elegant lady responsible. Now the question presented itself—was it for the better or for the worse?
Twenty-Three
WELCOME BACK, SIR.”
Evans didn’t comment on the bloodstains on Rafferty’s gloves or the unwashed scent of Finnegans that seemed to saturate his clothes even in the brief time he was there, though Rafferty suspected he’d noticed. “Your wife and brother are currently dining in the breakfast room.”
He hadn’t time to change, and frankly, he didn’t care to. He still mourned the loss of the person he used to be and wasn’t ready to wash it away just yet.
“Rafferty!” Arianne rushed toward him the moment he appeared in the doorway. She was a vision, so elegant, so clean, and so very different from the women of his former existence. His groin tightened. He anticipated her revulsion when she got close enough to smell the remnants of Finnegans. Perhaps then she’d change her mind about “negotiating.”
“I was worried when—” She picked up his hand. “What is this?” Wide eyes searched his. “Is this blood?”
“Relax, darlin’. It’s nothing to worry about.” He pulled off the gloves, tossed them on the sideboard, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. In case she hadn’t gotten a good enough whiff, he walked her back to the table. “There was a small altercation at the establishment I visited.” He grinned as he sat. “They were so enthralled with my diplomatic skills they were hesitant to let me go.”
“Bloody hell, Rafferty,” William said. “You were serious about fighting. I’m glad I didn’t take you up on it.”
Ben set a plate before him and winked, while another server poured the wine. Rafferty supposed it was Ben’s way of congratulating him on the fight while conforming to Arianne’s instructions on proper server etiquette. Smart boy to learn the art of compromise at such an early age.
Arianne signaled to Ben, then motioned him to bend low enough that she could whisper in his ear. Once that was accomplished, Ben left the room.
“We were just discussing Arianne’s skill on the piano,” Bedford said.
Rafferty gazed at her. “I didn’t realize you could play.” He sipped his wine. “What a lovely surprise.”
“I’m not very good. I’ve been so busy getting the gardens ready, I’ve been too preoccupied to practice.”
“You should play for us after dinner,” William said. “I’m sure Rafferty would enjoy that.”
“No,” she said, emphatically. “I believe Rafferty has other plans.”
“I do?”
“Yes, but we’ll discuss it later . . . privately.”
Her tone suggested there would be no further discussion about those plans at the dinner table, which suited him just fine. They hadn’t resolved their disagreement from this afternoon, and he certainly didn’t want any more of Bedford’s advice on the matter. This was something he and Arianne would have to resolve in private.
“Did you see Phineas at this establishment?” Arianne asked.
“Not that I noticed, but Phineas has a way of being unseen,” Rafe replied, spearing a piece of meat. “I do expect he’ll be here tomorrow. I thought I’d have him investigate that funeral trust that Rosalie mentioned.”
“You know, Rafferty.” William’s voice took a serious tone. “I’d be happy to assist you in this investigation in some capacity. Just because I have a title doesn’t preclude me from having a brain.”
Rafe glanced at his supposed brother-in-law. Had he underestimated the man’s usefulness because of his title? He had to admit he’d been prejudiced against Arianne when they first met because of hers. She’d proven that his assumptions about her were unfounded. Hadn’t she found Rosalie in the midst of all her legation duties? She’d taken in Ben and the boys without complaint and worked with them so they might find useful employment. She’d handled many of the diplomatic responsibilities so he’d have time to do his investigations. Quite frankly she’d surprised him, and maybe her brother would do the same.
“I think I might have something you could do,” Rafferty said. Bedford set his fork down and leaned forward. “My talented wife made an observation today.” He smiled over at Arianne, who looked wary. “She asked Rosalie about references. Don’t you see? Everyone who works at the legation must have had references. Arianne and I have reason to believe that there is a spy in our midst. I would like you to secure the letters of reference for the staff and look at them for some sort of discrepancy. You and Arianne would have a much better appreciation of what it takes to obtain such positions. Arianne has her hands full with other responsibilities at the moment, so I’m going to leave it to you, Bedford, to ferret out the spy. Whoever it is, they won’t see it coming from you.”
William nodded. “I can do this. I will do this. I won’t let you down.”
“I’m counting on you,” Rafferty said. “I can vouch for Benjamin. If you need someone to work from the inside, Ben is your man.”
William settled back, looking quite pleased with himself. “It’s good to have a challenge. Something to occupy one’s mind beyond reading the morning papers. Franny will be impressed with all I know now about American politics. Did you know that the major political parties have divisions within them? They have some colorful names. There’s a group called the Half-Breeds. I thought it was a reference to some mingling with American Indians, but it’s not. It’s about reform to stop giving political jobs to political supporters. I suppose politics are the same the world over. We have the similar arguments in England.”
“You met one of the Half-Breeds, William,” Arianne said. “Do you recall Mr. Blaine? I understand he originally planned to run in the Republican Party for the position of presidency against a supporter of another faction called the Stalwarts. It was all explained to us on the ship coming over. Neither of the two men could earn enough support to represent the Republican Party, so Mr. Garfield was brought into the fray as a compromise.”
“Compromise,” Bedford said. “It’s the backbone of politics. So was this Garfield a man of the Half-Breeds or Stalwarts?”
“Neither, but he did put Mr. Blaine, a Half-Breed, in his cabinet, and selected a Stalwart, Mr. Arthur, as his vice president. We met Mr. Arthur at the Executive Mansion. He seemed a nice enough gentleman,” Arianne said.
“He’s Irish,” Rafferty added. “Or rather his father is.” There was something else mentioned in that discussion on the ship about Arthur that intrigued him at the time. What was it?
“Well,
gentlemen.” Arianne stood, causing Rafferty and William to rise as well. “The evening grows late. If you will excuse me.” She crossed to Rafferty and accepted his kiss on her cheek.
Rafferty watched her skirts sway as she exited the room. He wondered at her serenity, given their earlier argument. Perhaps she’d seen his point.
“Even though I was initially frustrated that Arianne’s actions were forcing me to leave my wife and son for an interval,” Bedford said, “I must admit I’m glad to have spent the time getting to know her better, and you, of course. You surprised me, Rafferty. You’re not at all the man I thought you would be.”
Rafferty’s expression must have warned he was on thin ice. William hastened to continue. “I was afraid Arianne would follow her inclination toward weak men. You see, she witnessed the old Duke’s brutality toward our mother more than the rest of us. I believe to avoid placing herself in our mother’s position, she chose unworthy candidates for her affection.”
Having seen the Baron, Rafferty could attest to Bedford’s observation.
“When she saw the blood on your hands just now,” Bedford said, “I was afraid she would remember some of the violence she’d witnessed as a child. She handled it well, I thought.” He startled, as if wakened from a reverie, and smiled. “So you see, you were a complete surprise to me. She chose well. Perhaps better than I could have for her.” Bedford stood. “I believe I’ll forgo the cigars tonight. Good night, Rafferty.”
Rafferty sat back in his chair, listening to the world settle around him. Could Arianne have refused his proposal because she was afraid of his temper? He’d never hit a woman; the thought was repugnant to him. But it did explain her choice of that milksop baron.
Accusing her of licentious behavior was most likely not the best way to handle the situation. Bedford had been correct inasmuch as he should have gone to her to explain his concerns in a less accusatory fashion. He needed to show her that he was not volatile, that he could control his temper and, hopefully, his lust as well. For that, he might as well start tonight.
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