by Jen Turano
The woman glared at Edwina, then pressed her lips together, refusing to say so much as another word, seeming to realize she’d allowed too much to slip as it was.
Pulling her up to her feet, Agent McParland nodded to Harrison. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to see this woman properly arrested and processed.” He turned to Edwina. “May I say how impressed I am with how you were able to puzzle this out. Why, I truly did not expect this mystery to be solved in the near future, but you, after being at the Manhattan Beach Hotel for mere hours, puzzled out a mystery that has stumped our most senior agents, myself included. You then chased the culprit down and helped me secure her in the end.”
“I believe Harrison is actually the person responsible for securing her,” Edwina said.
“It was a group effort,” Harrison said, exchanging a smile with his sister.
“Perhaps both of you should consider a career as a Pinkerton,” Agent McParland said before he smiled at Edwina. “Would you care to accompany me to see how we go about processing a person accused of theft?”
“I would be delighted.”
With the suspect between them, Edwina and Agent McParland walked away, leaving Gertrude alone on the beach with Harrison.
“Why do I have the distinct impression my family is someday going to have a Pinkerton in the family—or perhaps two, if one is by marriage?” Harrison asked.
“Because you’re astute that way,” Gertrude returned.
Smiling, he took her hand and kept it in his as he pulled her forward, leading her back toward the Manhattan Beach Hotel.
“Now that the mystery has been solved,” Gertrude began as they walked, “will our holiday be cut short here?”
Harrison gave her hand a squeeze. “About that . . . would you be disappointed to learn there was never any intention to actually . . .”
Whatever else he’d been about to say got lost when they crested a dune and laid out before them was the most amazing sight Gertrude had ever seen.
Torches were lit around a most elaborate picnic setting, complete with numerous picnic blankets and cushions for the many guests who were gathered there.
Those guests, she was stunned to discover, were Asher, Permilia, Temperance, Mrs. Davenport, Miss Henrietta, Miss Mabel, Mr. Barclay, Mrs. Sinclair, Margaret, Adelaide, and an older gentleman Gertrude had never met before, but given his resemblance to Harrison, she assumed he was Harrison’s father.
“Surprise!” Mrs. Davenport called.
With tears now clouding her vision and a sense of anticipation running through her, Gertrude held tightly to Harrison’s hand as he pulled her into the midst of everyone. After introducing her to his father, greeting his sisters with a kiss to each of their cheeks, and then kissing his mother, Harrison led Gertrude into the very center of the picnic setting, took her hand in his, and then . . . dropped to one knee before her.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
The sight of Harrison on his knee in front of her caused Gertrude to lose the ability to breathe, an unfortunate circumstance if there ever was one, because the lack of breath made her light-headed, and then . . . the wheezing began.
Unable to catch her breath, Gertrude couldn’t say she was surprised when Harrison was back on his feet a second later, giving her a resounding pounding on the back, a pounding that soon had her breathing almost back to normal.
Giving one last wheeze, while raising a hand to stop additional pounding, Gertrude raised now watering eyes to Harrison. “I do beg your pardon, Harrison, for ruining what would have been a lovely moment. Do feel free to continue since I’m now no longer struggling for air.”
“Don’t forget number seven on the list,” Asher called.
Harrison blinked, stuck his hand into the pocket of his trousers, ones she’d just noticed were meant for swimming and were paired with a striped shirt, the stripes a bright shade of purple. Before she could fully appreciate the look, though, Harrison pulled out a piece of paper, glanced at it, frowned, then lifted his head and looked to Asher.
“Are you certain about this?”
Asher nodded. “Remember when our friend Gilbert claimed that ladies enjoy special gestures to commemorate special occasions? Well, rest assured, I daresay Gertrude will never forget the gesture of you reciting Lord Byron’s ‘She Walks in Beauty,’ especially if you do it properly.”
Harrison drew in a breath, looked at the paper again, then returned his attention to Gertrude. He took her hand in his again, frowned, and then leaned closer. “Would you be offended if I paraphrased? I must admit I did not memorize it properly, and . . . well, I’m afraid I’m about to make a muddle of matters since all I can recall is a line pertaining to a woman walking in beauty and something about mellowed skies, or mellowed nights, or . . .”
Gertrude placed a finger over his lips. “Forgive me, but why are you and Asher so convinced that you need to recite poetry to me, and what exactly is that list the two of you keep consulting?”
Harrison handed her the list, but before she could glimpse more than the title—something about romantic gestures—he was releasing a breath and looking slightly nervous.
Taking her hand in his, he squeezed it. “I know I’ve blundered badly with you, Gertie, and I need to make that up to you. Asher and I thought compiling a list of the best romantic gestures we’d found in romance novels might be exactly what was needed for you to see how sorry I am for not declaring my very great affection for you that day in Grace Church. The only way I can explain why I denied my affection was because you were looking so horrified after Mrs. Davenport suggested we were progressing nicely together.”
Gertrude frowned. “Of course I was looking horrified. No lady wants the gentleman she holds in great esteem to be pressured into declaring himself. That leaves all manner of doubt about why he would declare himself at all, but tell me, why did you think I was looking horrified?”
“I thought you wanted an opportunity to be taken in hand by ladies who truly care about you. You’d just admitted to me you did not share a warm relationship with your mother, that she was less than maternal with you when you were a child. When Miss Henrietta declared she wanted to take you in hand, with her sister agreeing, I decided it would not be fair of me to deny you their motherly attention. With that said, I then made the very grave error of allowing you to believe I wanted to maintain a friendship with you, when that was not even remotely close to the truth.”
The sweetness of that gesture warmed Gertrude all the way to her toes. “And the horse incident and subsequent almost drowning in a puddle—were those supposed to be romantic gestures?”
“They were, but didn’t turn out quite so romantic, nor did the pretend mystery holiday work out well either since we certainly didn’t intend to really solve a mystery.”
“We’d just noticed so many instances of mysteries in romance novels, you see,” Asher added. “We thought it would be a great way to set the stage for . . .” He gestured to the scene around them.
“I knew it,” Edwina said, striding into the light to join them. “Did I miss anything?”
“Harrison was about to recite a poem by Lord Byron, although I believe he mentioned something about paraphrasing it since he neglected to memorize it,” Miss Henrietta said.
“How delightful,” Edwina said. “Although I do think Samuel would enjoy hearing this recitation, but . . . he won’t be back for some time, so . . . you might as well get on with it.”
“Who is Samuel?” Harrison’s father suddenly asked, earning a whispered reply from Cornelia and an innocent batting of Edwina’s lashes before Harrison cleared his throat.
“Getting back to my poem,” he began, but before he could get more than that out of his mouth, Gertrude stepped closer to him.
“I don’t know why you feel the need to enact romantic gestures, Harrison. You’re romantic without even trying, and do know that I’ve noticed and adored the little romantic gestures you extend me all the time without apparently even reali
zing it.”
“What gestures?” Harrison asked slowly.
“You swept me up into your arms to get me off your ship, but it wasn’t the sweeping that was the most romantic part of that gesture—it was that you’d done so because you’d noticed me wheezing. You then sat down to dinner with Clementine, a nasty woman if there ever was one, simply because I asked it of you, and . . . you call me Gertie.”
Harrison blinked. “You find that romantic?”
She smiled. “I always wanted to have a pet name, and I find it absolutely delightful that you’re the gentleman to finally give me one.”
Harrison returned the smile. “Are you certain you don’t want me to have a go at reciting the poem?”
“I’d rather you just use your own words.”
As everyone around them went completely silent, Harrison took the list she was still holding from her, stuffed it back into his pocket, shoved a strand of hair that was now blowing in front of his eyes aside, then smiled. Taking hold of her hand, he dropped to his knee again.
“I knew from the moment I met you that you were an unusual woman,” he began. “Probably because you were dyed an unusual shade of orange, and you didn’t seem all that concerned about it. As I got to spend more and more time with you, though, I realized you are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever known. You’re beautiful, certainly, but more importantly, you have a most generous heart and a thirst for adventure I believe you’re only just now beginning to understand. If you would agree to share the rest of your life with me as my wife, I promise I’ll do everything within my power to feed that thirst of adventure and love you as no man has ever loved a woman for the rest of my days.”
Gertrude blinked to clear the tears that were clouding her vision as all the ladies surrounding them immediately began dabbing at their eyes and sniffling ever so quietly, although Miss Henrietta and Mrs. Davenport took to practically howling as they cried into handkerchiefs Asher provided to them.
“I would be honored to share a life of adventure with you, Harrison. You’ve captured my heart quite like I imagine a pirate would capture a ship, and because of that, I’ll not be content to live my life without you. I’ll love you for the rest of my days, days I know will no longer be merely ordinary, but extraordinary.”
The moment she finished talking, Harrison was on his feet, pulling her close as he cupped her cheek in his hand, leaned toward her, and then . . . he kissed her.
Everything in her world settled to rights as she slipped her hands around Harrison’s neck and relished the feel of his lips on hers.
When he pulled away from her, though sooner than she would have liked, he then surprised her by scooping her up into his arms and striding with her directly toward the sea.
Before she could grasp what he was up to, he tossed her into the air, and shrieking with laughter, she hit the water, unsurprised to feel his arms lift her up against him a moment later. Exchanging grins, they dove into the waves, Gertrude knowing this was only the first of what would certainly be more adventures. Looking up to the sky, she grinned and lifted up a prayer, thanking God for blessing her with the love of an extraordinary gentleman.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
Taking a step back from the dress form, Mrs. Davenport regarded the latest dress design she’d been working on, nodding in satisfaction at the draping she’d managed to create.
“How lovely, Hester,” Miss Henrietta said as she walked across the completed design studio at Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind. “In all honesty, I’ve come to believe you’re almost ready to teach a class on your own.”
Mrs. Davenport shook her head. “While that’s very kind of you to say, I don’t believe I’ve learned quite enough to start teaching just yet. Although . . .” She smiled. “I have been enjoying my new position as house mother, and thank you again for offering me such a position.”
“You’re very good with the young women,” Miss Henrietta said, stopping beside Mrs. Davenport before she ever so casually fanned her face with a fancy piece of ivory vellum. “And speaking of one of our young ladies . . .” She held out the vellum. “Look what was just delivered from our social secretary.”
Drawing in a sharp breath, Mrs. Davenport held out a hand that was trembling ever so slightly and took the piece of vellum, blinking a few times to clear the tears that were now clouding her vision. Bending her head, she began to read.
The pleasure of your company is requested at
47 Broadway
To celebrate the engagement of
Miss Gertrude Cadwalader
to
Mr. Harrison Sinclair
Monday, October the Eighth
at Ten o’clock.
Responses delivered to
47 Broadway
Miss Snook’s School for the Education of the Feminine Mind
Mrs. R. Davenport, Miss Henrietta Huxley, Miss Mabel Huxley
“I am still all aflutter Gertrude agreed to allow us to host her engagement celebration here,” Miss Henrietta said after Mrs. Davenport raised her head. “Mabel and I are simply tickled our old home has had such new life breathed into it. Mr. Barclay has declared he’s going to personally see to the renovations of the third-floor ballroom to ensure Gertrude will not be disappointed on her special day.”
“He is a dear man and so willing to take on extra responsibilities when he’s not needed as the butler,” Mrs. Davenport said. “He’s very attentive to the students here as well, even stepping in when we need a gentleman to partner them in the dance classes we’ve just begun teaching.”
“Unless Permilia happens to be visiting,” Miss Henrietta said with a shake of her head. “I do not believe that young lady will ever be proficient with all the steps, but one must give her credit for enthusiasm. But speaking of visiting and visitors, I’ve actually come to tell you there’s someone here to see you.”
Mrs. Davenport frowned. “I thought you came to show me the invitation.”
“Well, that too, but then I was supposed to tell you that you have a visitor waiting for you in the library.”
“Is it Gertrude? Have she and Permilia returned early from Paris, and if so, has she told you anything about a wedding gown she might have found over there?”
“It’s not Gertrude or Permilia.”
Mrs. Davenport tilted her head. “It must be Edwina then. She sent me a note earlier asking if she could sit with me, a woman with proficiency in petty larceny, and ask me questions that may help her understand the criminal mind.”
Miss Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “That’s somewhat disturbing, but no, it’s not Edwina.”
“Temperance then?”
“Since Temperance lives here, she’d hardly be a visitor. Besides, she’s taken a group of young women down to the docks to paint. But no need to look so concerned, she’s taken Mr. Barclay with them, and he, I’m happy to report, is armed with more than one pistol and has gotten very skilled with using them, thanks to the efforts of our darling Harrison.”
“I’m beginning to run out of people who might be here to visit me.”
“It’s Reverend Perry.”
“Oh, of course, he must be here with the final plans for the new stained-glass window I purchased for the church—one that’s in honor of all the people who’ve entered my life, yourself included of course, who’ve become my family.”
“What a lovely gesture,” Miss Henrietta said before she offered Mrs. Davenport her arm, and together, the two ladies left the studio and made their way to the library.
To Mrs. Davenport’s surprise, once they reached the library door, Miss Henrietta excused herself, leaving Mrs. Davenport all alone.
Walking into the library, she found Reverend Perry waiting for her, and after accepting his kiss on her hand, she took a seat on a fainting couch where he joined her a second later.
A trace of unease settled over her when he didn’t bring out plans for the new window, but took hold of her h
and instead.
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not exactly, but there’s a story I’ve been asked to tell you, one that concerns your past, and one you might find a little distressful.”
“May I inquire as to who might have asked you to relate this story to me?”
“Miss Henrietta and Miss Mabel.”
“Which does explain why Miss Henrietta made herself scarce after she told me you were here.”
“It does, but do know that the sisters have your very best interests at heart, which is exactly why they hired the Pinkerton Agency to investigate the mystery of your past—or more specifically, to investigate what happened to your husband and daughter.”
Mrs. Davenport raised a hand to her throat. “But I hired investigators years ago. They were never able to uncover a single clue as to where my husband had taken Jane.”
“I’m not certain the resources of those investigators were the same as what the Pinkerton Agency has at its disposal these days.”
“But why would Miss Henrietta and Miss Mabel go to such bother on my account?”
Reverend Perry smiled. “Because you’re their friend, and they obviously cherish that friendship and want to do what they can to make your life more fulfilled.”
Mrs. Davenport pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “I am fortunate indeed to have been blessed with such wonderful friends, a gift I’m sure you’ll agree was given to me after I made my peace with God.”
“You always possessed the ability to form fast friendships, Mrs. Davenport. You simply didn’t believe you deserved them, but it’s wonderful to see you adopting a more accepting attitude. But now, before I continue, you must decide whether you want to know what the detectives found, or if you’d prefer for your past to remain in the past.”
Mrs. Davenport lifted her chin. “I need to know.”
Patting her hand, Reverend Perry nodded. “I thought you’d say exactly that.” He drew in a breath and slowly released it. “The detectives learned that Roy Davenport left the country after he disappeared with your daughter, Jane, and he settled on a country estate in England.”