Cloaked in Danger

by Jeannie Ruesch

  And wasn’t that a stupid response. She was a grown woman.

  Adam whirled around. “Who is Mr. Calebowe?”

  She wiped at tears and angled her head up. “Franklin was someone I knew long ago, before I met your father. We grew up together. I suppose one could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

  Adam stood stiffly. “He said you were engaged.”

  “Yes, well...We...” Her gaze took on a faraway look. “Our mothers were the greatest of friends. Mama—your grandmamma—was the lady of the manor. Franklin’s mother was our seamstress. Franklin’s father worked on the property as a manager. Franklin and I were raised together. We were inseparable.”

  “You’ve never once mentioned him.”

  A hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes. “And why would I tell my children? Your father heard the stories. And by the time you were old enough to understand, Franklin had long since been gone from my life.” She looked down at the letter. “Something I had not understood until now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he simply disappeared one day. We were teenagers, and we had dreamed of sharing our lives together. I loved him, Adam, and I never cared about the discrepancy between our places in life. But Franklin was proud. He would not stand for anyone to call him a fortune hunter. He believed it would be a stigma he would never live down if we’d married.”

  “Grandpapa wouldn’t have allowed it.”

  She smiled fondly. “He had given his permission. Your grandfather had his heir and his line was secure. It was bold of him, but he knew Franklin and I loved each other, and he knew Franklin was a good, honorable man.”

  “How did Papa come into this?” He had visions of an entanglement that, with his mother at the center, made him damn uncomfortable to even consider.

  “He says in this letter that he thought he needed to make his fortune before we married. However, he never told anyone that. He left me a simple note that said, ‘Don’t wait for me.’ It was his supremely stupid way of ensuring that if he didn’t succeed, I would not pine away for him.”

  “So Papa was second choice. You married Papa because Calebowe had abandoned you.”

  She chuckled. “Adam, parents have lives before they marry. Before they have children. And I loved before your father. I was devastated when Franklin left, and I did wait. For two years, I waited for a single word. He never sent one. I had no choice but to move on with my life. I was nearing the age of twenty and your grandparents had all but lost hope that I’d regain interest in finding a husband.” A slow smile spread over her face. “Then I met Robert Willoughby.”

  Adam felt her smile in his heart; it was the same look he’d seen her give his father over the years, the same one—albeit with a touch more sadness—that she’d had ever since his death.

  “Your father was handsome, enigmatic. He made me laugh more than I’d laughed in years. He tugged at my heart, and I was more than willing to give it to him.” She stood, walked to Adam, and squeezed his arm lightly. “Franklin will always be my first love, but I believe I loved your father more for it. I do not regret how my life turned out. Robert was the love of my life and he gave me my children.”

  “And now? What will do you that Calebowe is back? What does he want?”

  She lifted the letter in a shrug. “He seems to want me. But I don’t know how I feel about that.”

  “Did he ever make his fortune?” Adam wondered, though it was a needless question. He’d already dispatched an investigator to research the man thoroughly. Soon, he would know everything there was to know about Franklin Calebowe.

  His mother glanced down at the letter. “I do not know—he never mentions that in here.”

  Perhaps the old chap had learned that she had married well. Perhaps he was here to play on her emotions, all for financial gain.

  “Mama, I don’t want you to see him until I can find out more about him.”

  “Oh, poppycosh, young man. I will do as I please. You are my son, not my keeper.”

  “You don’t know anything about him or what he wants.”

  “Which is why I need to see him.” She patted his arm. “But that is my worry. You have plenty of your own worries with Miss Whitney.”

  “Miss Whitney?” The echo came from the doorway and turned both their heads. Cordelia pushed the door farther open. “So you’ve heard already? And here I thought I had the market on the latest gossip.”

  “What gossip, Cordelia?” Adam asked.

  “Mr. Melrose left.” Cordelia stood in the doorway. “He told me that Mr. Whitney, the famous treasure hunter, has been killed.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Aria headed down the stairs. She was exhausted and the thought of pretending to be merry and cheerful for a crowd was about as appealing as the plague.

  Her worries, her fears had crept to the surface and refused to be shoved back down, and now doubt had set in. Doubt that what she was doing was right, that her father would want her to do anything at all.

  Should she keep searching? Should she stop? She had only her belief, in her gut, that he was alive. Her father was a survivor. That wasn’t exactly proof, and she knew it wasn’t logical. But he’d always been invincible to her, and she couldn’t let go of that. But now, she had more questions than answers. And her relationship with Adam only added to that.

  She had pressed him into an untenable position by demanding blind allegiance to her pursuit. She knew it was unreasonable and unfair.

  But she also knew he would honor his word.

  That meant she could count on him. That meant he would be there for her, be strong for her, even when she lost her way. And Aria hated to admit it, but the right way wasn’t nearly as clear as it had once been.

  “There you are.” Emily appeared in the doorway to the parlor.

  In all black.

  “Why are you dressed like that?”

  Emily’s lips thinned, nearly disappearing in her drawn, grief-filled face. “We’ve been waiting for you. Will you please come in here?” Instead of waiting for a reply, she went back into the room.

  Aria had no choice but to follow.

  She entered the doorway and glanced about. “John! You must be feeling better.” She hurried to him. “I knew everything would be...” She trailed off as his appearance sank in—a face too pale, lips dry and cracked, and what frightened her the most: the resigned, dull look in his eyes.

  “Aria, this is Benjamin Corey.”

  Only then did she realize someone else was in the room.

  “Miss Whitney, my gravest condolences on the loss of your father.”

  She frowned. “My father isn’t gone, Mr. Corey.”

  His brow furrowed, Mr. Corey looked from John to Emily and back to Aria. “Mr. Whitney is not dead?”

  “We don’t know what happened to him yet,” Aria replied, her alarm deepening. “What is this about?”

  “Mr. Corey, will my testimony, as well as my own injuries, provide sufficient evidence for the courts to decide upon this matter?” John sounded so tired.

  Mr. Corey looked down at the papers in his hand. “Yes, it provides a very clear picture.” He looked over at Emily. “In the meantime, your husband provided for circumstances such as this. Unless you object, his monies will continue in their current investments, managers in place, and we will continue to provide you and Miss Whitney with your allowances each month and meet your bills. You will not want for anything, either of you.”

  “Why are you talking about money?” Aria demanded, looking at each of them. “What is going on here?”

  “Gideon would want to know that you, Emily and the babe are settled.” John’s voice was strained. “My accounting of that night has to be on record, so you may petition the courts for a legal declaring of death.”

  “
Why would we petition for a declaring of death?” Aria stood. “We don’t know that he’s dead, we don’t know what—”

  “Aria, the courts could be tangled for years without this. And—” he paused, his face in spasms as coughs erupted, “—I don’t have years. I need to put things in order.”

  Suddenly a racket from the front door caught her attention, and in seconds, Mr. Wade strode through the parlor doors. He shed his overcoat and immediately went to her side.

  “I heard.” He stopped in front of her, reached out to take her hand. Lines of worry etched the corners of his mouth and his brow. “I am so sorry.”

  She stared at him, her mind drawing blank. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your father,” Wade replied, his gaze darting from her to John and back. “His...death. Miss Whit—Aria, I know this must be difficult. I’m here to help you through this, whatever you need.”

  He reached out as if to pull her in his arms and she held a hand up. “I don’t know what you heard or how you heard it.” She scowled at Mr. Corey. “Who have you been talking to?”

  “Aria, it’s all right. You don’t need to deal with this.” His chest puffed out slightly, Patrick turned his back on her, and with a sideways, dismissive glance at John, faced Mr. Corey. “Whatever you need, please address those concerns to me.”

  “No, you will not.” Aria came around until she was facing him. “Mr. Wade, what are you doing here? I didn’t ask for you to come.”

  He patted her on the arm. “Darling, you don’t have to ask. The minute I heard, I knew you would need me. Why don’t you go rest? I’m sure this has been a difficult day for you. You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

  “I don’t need sleep! What I need is for everyone to stop discussing this as if it was a foregone conclusion.”

  Emily pushed herself up from a chair with the awkwardness of a woman months into pregnancy. “Perhaps you can help, Mr. Wade. We’ve been unable to convince Aria to accept the truth about her father, and ’tis past time she let go.”

  “The truth is that you seem all too eager to be pronounced the wealthy widow.” The words fell out before she could snap them back, and Aria winced. “Emily, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

  Emily sucked in a breath, her face stricken. “I have never cared about Gideon’s wealth. I married him because I loved him.”

  “I know that.” Guilt warmed Aria’s skin. She would bite her tongue before lashing out again. “Please. I spoke in anger. I didn’t mean it.”

  “But I did encourage John to do this. I sent for Mr. Corey.” Emily curved her arms around her stomach, put her chin up. “I am doing what I believe Gideon would want, for both of his children. And I’ll continue to do exactly that.”

  “You cannot declare my father dead without a body.”

  “Your father’s partner has provided sufficient evidence of an event, in my opinion, that the courts will be able to rule in this matter.” Mr. Corey shuffled his papers. “I can file the appropriate papers and set this in motion.”

  Aria stepped over to slap a hand down on Mr. Corey’s papers. The stinging in her hand was almost a relief. “You will not leave this house with these, Mr. Corey. And you will keep your counsel and close your mouth about this or so help me, I shall tear you apart limb from limb myself.”

  “Aria, stop speaking that way.” Patrick scowled at her as though she were an errant puppy. “It is unseemly.”

  She ignored him and turned to John, “Don’t you see? If people believe Papa is dead, I will be forced into mourning. I will not be allowed to go to the parties or gatherings.”

  “Parties?” Patrick demanded. “This is about those wretched parties you’ve been attending? I’ve been hearing some unsettling things, Aria and—”

  “John, we have been searching for information, for people involved in Papa’s disappearance. His investors. I’ve had help, and we’ve narrowed the list to the last few. I just need a little more time—”

  “We?” John interrupted.

  “Who are you talking about?” Patrick’s tone grew sharp.

  She continued on. “If you petition for an official ruling of death, it will be too late.”

  “Sugarbits.”

  One of John’s made-up nicknames.

  Her chest swelled, ached. Her throat clogged with painful tears.

  “No,” she managed, closing the gap until she crouched in front of John, grabbed his hands. “You don’t give up, Uncle John.”

  “Aria, who are you talking about?” Patrick’s voice was an annoyance, like a buzzing in her ear.

  She kept her attention on John, praying that her will, her hope to continue on, to believe would pass through to him. “I need you to keep believing. We have help now. I just need a little more time. Please.”

  “Aria!” Patrick barked at her.

  She whipped her head around. Anger pulsed through her, looking for a target to seek and destroy. “I don’t need you here!” And then a thought struck her. “How did you find out about this?”

  “Mr. Corey’s partner is my solicitor.” A tick in his cheek pulsed. “He thought I would wish to be with you in your time of need. He told me your father had been killed. Since it obviously didn’t occur to you to confide in me.”

  His wounded countenance stopped her seconds before she demanded he leave.

  This wasn’t his fault. And neither was the fact that she didn’t love him. He was only trying to be kind, if in his own autocratic way. But his presence was setting her nerves on edge.

  At her pause, he added, “I can help you through this, Aria.” Encouraged, he continued. “Marry me. Let me handle this for you.”

  “Marry you?” Her utter shock brought the tone of her words about three pitches higher.

  “Yes,” he urged. “I have asked you already, and given your circumstances, I can be here.” He looked at John. “It would be the best thing for her.”

  “Do not speak about me as if I am not in the room.” The shock had worn off, and she stood. “I am not going to marry you. And I don’t need your help.”

  John looked at her in surprise. “He doesn’t know?”

  “What don’t I know? Someone else is helping you?” His upper lip curled enough to make his displeasure clear. “Who?”

  “I am.”

  At the deep voice, Aria fought warring instincts to sigh in relief and groan in frustration at the same time. But her body had different ideas. She turned, and at the sight of Adam in the doorway, moved toward him without thinking.

  As she stopped at his side, his head tilted toward hers and his hand came up to rest on her upper arm with a gentle warmth that began to melt the tension. “Are you well?”

  She nodded. Somehow, in that moment, she was.

  “I know you,” Patrick said, pointing at Adam. “You were at the Gardens.”

  “Yes,” Adam replied briskly, then looked back at Aria. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened? How did you find out?”

  “Heard what?” She stilled.

  “About your father.”

  She flipped around to Mr. Corey. “How many people have you told?”

  Mr. Corey’s mouth dropped. “I...”

  “If your father is dead, what does it matter who knows?” Patrick asked.

  “You need to leave now.” She turned toward John, feeling hemmed in on all sides. Aria pressed a hand to her temple to push against the fierce throbbing that had begun She turned to face John. “John, I am asking for a little more time.”

  The exchange had exhausted John, who sat leaning slightly to the side, his head lolling as if heavy on his shoulders. He gave a sigh. “Mr. Corey, you have the paperwork you need?”

  Corey nodded, giving Aria a wary glance.

  “Hang on to it,” John told him.<
br />
  “Thank you,” Aria said gratefully.

  “I can’t give ye long, girlie. You have a week. And not fer my health, but fer yours. You have to accept what’s happened. We both know if your father could come back to us, he would. And he’s too stubborn to do anything else.”

  “Aria, perhaps we can talk now?”

  Patrick was still there? The room shrunk until his presence, John’s weary sadness, the solicitor’s antsy desire to get out of there and even Adam’s calming influence pressed in against her.

  “I’m going for a walk,” she said, needing the breeze on her face.

  “Perfect. I shall come with you,” Patrick replied.

  “I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Adam’s tone was mild, but with a backbone of steel underlying it.

  Patrick flung an arm in Adam’s direction. “He stays, and I must leave? I am expected to simply walk away from the woman I love, the woman I planned to marry?”

  “Patrick.” She tried to soften her irritation. “I don’t love you.”

  He offered her an oddly compassionate look. “You think that now.”

  “I know that isn’t going to change. I am going to marry Lord Merewood.”

  “That is a mistake. He would make you miserable.”

  “I do not see it that way.”

  The tick in Patrick’s cheek pulsed rapidly as he glanced at Adam. “I will be waiting when he does, Aria.” With those last words, he strode out of the room with hard, measured steps.

  With him, half the tension in the room left. Aria’s body sagged, suddenly exhausted. Without questioning it, she leaned against Adam for a moment.

  And at that point, John said firmly, “Lord Merewood, I wasn’t able to speak with you when you called before, but I can now. A moment, please, to speak with you.”

  Adam nodded. “Of course.” He smiled at Aria. “Go on. I will join you in a bit, if that’s acceptable.”

  She nodded. She needed to be outside. The fisted tension in her gut wouldn’t go away while she remained locked indoors. She needed the wind and the air, sometimes the pouring rain, to find her balance.