by Jen Turano
Drusilla’s grin widened. “Since I’m fairly certain duels are considered illegal, no. But I thank you for the offer, even though I’m perfectly capable of seeing after myself. Besides, the man is no longer here. He said something about a story and left rather abruptly, right about the time I mentioned my stellar ability with a pistol.”
“We’ll have to set someone on him to watch his every move,” Francis said.
Agatha nodded. “Agreed, and I have to admit I feel somewhat foolish not realizing my threat could have originated from the paper, but it’ll be easy enough to find out if Mr. Jenkins is behind everything.”
“Don’t let your guard down,” Drusilla cautioned. “Mr. Jenkins is a nasty piece of work, but we shouldn’t assume he’s behind your threats until we find real proof. You need to remain vigilant.” She took Agatha’s arm. “But enough about that for the moment. How did Mr. Chambers react to your idea about writing under your own name?”
“He didn’t balk at all, but that might have been because he was hardly listening to me, was more concerned about trying to puzzle out what had happened with Mr. Jenkins.”
“He’ll figure that out soon enough,” Francis said. “He seems to be an intelligent gentleman, if somewhat harried. Although, since he didn’t balk at you writing under your actual name, that might be cause for concern. I suppose I’ll need to snoop around his background as well, because no one can be considered innocent at this point.”
“I doubt Mr. Chambers wants to do me in considering I provide him with stories readers like to read.”
“I’m still going to investigate him. Let’s go.”
They’d almost reached the door when Agatha noticed Mr. Pitkin standing in the hallway, his back pressed up against the wall, his eyes bulging. Sending him a nod, which he didn’t return, she hurried Matilda out of the building, having to exert extra pressure on the leash when Matilda caught sight of Mr. Pitkin and began to grunt. Pulling her pig down the steps, she brushed a gloved hand against her forehead but froze mid-brush when a carriage pulled to a stop directly in front of her.
Francis was blocking her with his body before she could take so much as a single breath, but his body relaxed a second later, and a glance around him explained why.
Getting out of the carriage was none other than her mother, an expression of relief on her face as she set her sights on Agatha.
“Thank goodness you’re actually where you told me you’d be today,” Cora said before she gestured to the carriage. “I told Zayne you were traveling to the New-York Tribune this afternoon, but he didn’t believe me.” Cora stepped closer and lowered her voice. “He seems to possess a remarkably suspicious nature when it comes to you and keeps going on about brothels for some peculiar reason.”
Agatha looked around her mother, and sure enough, Zayne was peering right back at her through the open door of the carriage.
Irritation, mixed with something she didn’t want to contemplate, stole through her.
She’d been trying her best to push the man out of her thoughts, but that was slightly difficult to do, especially when he showed up with no warning. Narrowing her eyes, she edged closer to him. “What are you doing here, Zayne, and why are you with my mother?”
“Ah, well . . .”
“He’s with me,” Cora interrupted when Zayne continued sputtering, “because I certainly couldn’t allow him to go searching for you in that dangerous contraption Charlotte made for him. Especially since he’d come up with the crazy idea of attaching the thing to a pony, and, hmm . . . it was a very frightening sight for me to see, him careening down our street, yelling for assistance.”
“You attached the cart to a pony?” Agatha demanded, moving even closer. “Why in the world would you have done that? Surely you must have realized it wouldn’t be safe.”
Zayne’s eyes turned stormy. “If memory serves me correctly, Agatha, you’re the one who suggested the whole pony idea during one of our many discussions about Charlotte’s invention, but I have to say, it was not advisable in the least. The rear wheels fell off due to the speed, I think, and I was then pulled down the street with the back end dragging, and . . . I’m really going to have to add some cushioning to the cart, because my backside will never be the same. I swear I could feel every little rock we ran over.”
“He was pathetic,” Cora added, “and I couldn’t very well allow him to pop the wheels back on and continue looking for you. So I offered him the use of the carriage and decided to come with him.”
Reluctant amusement replaced her irritation until she remembered her mother mentioning something about brothels. Handing Matilda’s leash to Francis, who’d remained unusually silent, she marched right up to stand directly in front of Zayne. “Why would you think I was off to a brothel?”
Zayne had the audacity to look smug. “Willie told me.”
“And that prompted you to attach a pony to Charlotte’s invention and come looking for me? Why didn’t you simply take your own carriage?”
“Because Gloria and Piper made off with my crutches, leaving me with only Charlotte’s cart as a way out of the house, and after I made it outside, I thought I might as well just use the cart, so I had a groom attach a pony to it.”
“And why, pray tell, did Gloria and Piper take your crutches?”
“They didn’t think I should come after you.”
“Which was excellent advice, advice you should have heeded.”
“I couldn’t very well sit at home, knowing you might be off to a brothel.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Zayne, and you need to remember that.” Blood began pounding through her veins. “It’s not your job to save me from my silly little self, and besides, what exactly would you have done if you’d found me in a brothel? Extended me another one of your charming proposals?”
Zayne’s lips thinned. He opened his mouth, closed it, and suddenly shook his head before he blew out a breath. “I don’t want to fight with you, Agatha. And no, I wasn’t intending on extending you another proposal.”
“What were you planning on extending me?” Agatha asked slowly.
His smile turned into a grin, one that did strange things to her heart. “I’d have probably given you a lecture about the poor choice you’d made by going to a brothel in the first place, but then, well, I would have offered my assistance, just like old times.”
“I don’t think we can go back to those old times.”
“True,” Zayne agreed, “but we can go forward, and in order to do that, I need to tell you something.”
She drew in a deep breath and tried to steady nerves humming with something troubling . . . but something delicious at the same time. “What is it?”
“I need to apologize to you.”
Agatha blinked and lifted her head as Zayne leaned out of the carriage door, his eyes holding a trace of something warm yet disturbing.
“Apologize?”
“Indeed, and you deserve a good one from me, especially since I’ve come to understand I did you a grave injustice with my botched marriage proposal and then subsequently rescinding that proposal. I never meant to hurt you.”
Right there and then, her heart stopped beating, if only for a second or two.
She’d tried to convince herself she could put Zayne behind her, convince herself she didn’t really love him. But now, faced with the notion that he seemed to be getting ready to give her everything she’d ever wanted, everything she’d ever dreamed about, which was really just him, she couldn’t deny her feelings anymore, especially to herself.
She wanted him.
Wanted to live her life right beside him for the rest of their days.
Wanted to share children with him and enjoy the sunsets with him and . . .
“It is my dearest hope that you and I will be able to resume our friendship.”
Her heart started beating again, too fast for comfort as pain washed through her.
“You want to be my friend?” she managed to get out.
“I’ve always thought of you as one of my dearest friends, and I’ve missed your companionship ever since we had our falling out.”
She would not cry, at least not in front of him.
She drew in a breath, forced it from her body, and summoned up what she could only hope was a convincing smile. “I would love nothing more than to be your dear friend.” Blinking rapidly as she felt her eyes fill with tears, she turned, and began inching away from the carriage, unwilling to allow him to see her distress.
“Agatha, is something the matter?”
Only everything.
She swallowed a sob, kept her head averted, and let out a laugh, wincing when she heard the shrillness of it.
“There’s nothing the matter, Zayne. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my editor’s demanding a new article from me, and with a deadline looming and no clear idea as of yet what I’m going to write, I must get right to work.”
Taking a moment to nudge Matilda awake, she took the leash from Francis even as she ignored his look of concern. Squaring her shoulders, she marched down the sidewalk, waiting until she was certain Zayne wasn’t trying to follow her before she allowed her tears to fall.
16
I hate to bring this up, Uncle Zayne, especially since you seem to be in a grouchy mood, but you really should have taken my advice and not followed Miss Agatha yesterday. You’ve made a complete mess of things now.”
Pulling his attention away from the passing scenery, even though there wasn’t much to see since it was dark outside, he settled it on Piper. She was sitting on the opposite side of the carriage from him, looking adorable in her blue velvet coat, even though her expression was decidedly annoyed. “I believe you might be right.”
Her mouth went slack. “You agree with me?”
“Especially about the part regarding my making a mess of things.”
Piper grinned. “That’s why I love you so much, Uncle Zayne. You’re almost always willing to admit when you’ve been a, well, you know . . . ”
“I think the word you’re hesitating to say is idiot,” Zayne finished for her. “And thank you for saying you still love me. It’s comforting to know someone does.”
“Grandmother loves you, as does Aunt Arabella and my mama, but I have to admit, they’re very disappointed with you right now. Aunt Arabella even went so far as to say she thinks you’ve lost Miss Agatha for good this time.”
“She told you that?”
“Not exactly. I was listening outside the door at the time, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t make mention of that. I’m not actually supposed to be lurking, er, waiting outside doors when people don’t realize I’m there.”
“I’ll keep it to myself.”
“That would be great, Uncle Zayne.” Piper blew out a breath. “I also overheard, unintentionally again, that the ladies believe Miss Agatha might not love you anymore.”
“Agatha was never in love with me.”
“There you go again, being an idiot. Of course she was in love with you. That’s why she got so upset when you told her you wanted to resume your friendship with her.”
Something that felt like a smidgen of hope slid over him. “Do you really think so?”
“Of course, but again, you might have messed that up.”
Leaning back against the seat, Zayne had a feeling Piper had the right of it. He’d seen the sheen of tears in Agatha’s eyes the day before, hadn’t really known why she’d been close to tears, but had known he’d once again done something to cause her pain. The question was, how was he to proceed forward and right the wrong he’d delivered her?
“I’ve come up with a plan that might help you get her back, but I’m only going to tell you my plan if you can admit you want more than friendship with Miss Agatha.”
“Is that why you insisted on traveling to the Watson dinner party with me instead of your parents?”
Piper grinned. “Well, that’s one of the reasons. The other reason was because you’ve been looking pathetic all day and I thought you might need cheering up.”
He’d been feeling pathetic all day, but . . . if Piper had a plan to set that disturbing situation to rights, it would be churlish of him to refuse her assistance.
“What’s your plan?” he finally asked.
“What are your true feelings for Miss Agatha?” she countered.
“They’re complicated.”
“My plan’s ‘complicated’ as well, and since it won’t take us that long to get to the Watsons’ house, you might want to figure out your feelings quickly if you want to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m more than fond of her,” he admitted.
“Good, that’s a start. How much more than fond of her are you?”
“I’m not certain.”
Muttering under her breath, Piper reached in the pocket of her coat and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper that she smoothed out on her lap. “I wrote down some notes that might help you.” She bent her head over the paper. “Let me see. . . . Ah, here we go. Do you find Miss Agatha beautiful?”
“Certainly. She’s exquisite, in fact.”
“That’s a good word, and if she does allow you to speak with her tonight, you should tell her that.”
“How am I supposed to bring that up in the conversation?”
“I’m eight, Uncle Zayne, I don’t have all the answers.” Piper returned to her list. “Next question. . . . Hmm, I think I’ll just lump these all together. Do you find Miss Agatha amusing, intelligent, irritating, annoying, and just plain good fun?”
“I don’t think asking me if I find Agatha irritating is the best way to decipher the extent of the romantic feelings I might hold for her.”
“Of course it is. Daddy gets irritated with Mama on a daily basis, but that doesn’t stop him from loving her and kissing her all the time. I once overheard him—again, quite by accident—tell her that he finds her absolutely adorable when she’s being her most irritating. Why, he told her just the other day, after she got involved in that B. Altman’s disaster, that he was annoyed with her for getting into mischief again, but then he pulled her right down on his lap and hugged her.”
“Hamilton has always been rather strange.”
Piper waved that comment away with a delicate flick of her wrist as she scanned her notes again. “Here it is—the most important question you have to answer.” She looked up. “You’re going to have to close your eyes for this one.”
“What?”
“Why is it gentlemen always seem to ask questions when they really should just do what we ladies tell them to do?”
“You just admitted you’re only eight. I don’t think that quite puts you in the lady category yet, Piper.”
“Close your eyes.”
“Fine,” Zayne said before he closed his eyes and stifled the urge to laugh. “I’m waiting.”
“This would be much more effective if we had a piano playing in the background.”
“What?”
“I read about this experiment in one of Aunt Arabella’s romance novels. In the scene, there was a piano playing in the background. I wonder if it would have the same effect if I hummed a little tune?”
“Piper . . .”
“Oh, very well, but close your eyes tighter. I can see you peering out through those slits from clear over here.”
“They’re closed. I can’t see a thing, but as you pointed out, we’re rapidly getting closer to the Watsons’, and you’re wasting time.”
“Don’t you think it was so nice of Mrs. Watson to invite me to come over tonight? I mean, not everyone would be that considerate, and even though I won’t be able to sit down to dinner with the adults, I’ll get to see Lily and Grace, and I just adore Agatha’s sisters.”
“Was that what you wanted me to picture, Agatha’s sisters?”
“Of course not, but it shouldn’t escape your notice that Mrs. Watson is a very nice lady and she’d make a wonderful mother-in-law. From what I overheard Grandmother say
, Mrs. Watson is holding this dinner party at the unheard hour of seven because she’s worried about you getting tired.”
“I’m going to open my eyes in five seconds if you don’t get on with this.”
“You might want to work on that surliness problem you’re currently experiencing, Uncle Zayne. Miss Agatha will never come around if you continue being so grouchy.”
“One . . .”
Zayne heard Piper rustle her paper. “Are your eyes still closed?”
“They are.”
“Good. Then picture this. You’re old, rocking on a front porch somewhere out in the country. Can you see that?”
“I can.”
“Who is sitting by your side?”
All the breath left him in a split second as an image of Agatha, glorious with white hair, immediately sprang to mind.
She was rocking at a rapid pace—not really surprising given that she approached everything that way, but she was holding his wrinkled hand and laughing.
Everything clicked into place.
Of course he was more than fond of the lady. She was everything he needed and more precious to him than he’d ever realized.
His eyes flashed open, and he found Piper peering back at him with clear expectation on her face.
“So?”
“I saw Agatha.”
“I knew it!” Piper exclaimed. “I knew you’d see Miss Agatha, which means . . .”
“I might be in love with her.”
Piper narrowed her eyes. “No. Try again.”
Drawing in a breath and slowly releasing it, he nodded. “I love her.”
“Excellent.” Piper beamed back at him before she suddenly folded her hands together, dropped her head, closed her eyes, and went silent, until she muttered an “Amen” and raised her head. She grinned. “I had to tell God thank you.”
“Because . . . ?”
“When I got this idea, even though I wasn’t sure you’d go along with me, I asked God if He could make sure to let you see the right lady. Since you saw Agatha, I thought it only fair to give Him the credit for that and for showing you exactly who I wanted you to see.”