Ring of Secrets

by Roseanna M. White

  She turned and then paused. “Mr. Knight, I’m sorry for the opinion I know you thought I held of you. It was never my own, but I regret it nonetheless.”

  “Think nothing of it. I never let it bother me.” He waved a hand and picked up the would-be weapon from the table.

  Winter exchanged a smile with Freeman. “Bennet said you call me ‘Lady of Oh’ because of the word I dismissed you with when we first met.”

  “He told you that?” Mr. Knight snapped his head up again, though then his face creased in a smile. “All right. Perhaps it bothered me a little. But no more. So long as you make Ben happy, my lady, we have no quarrel remaining.”

  She wanted to ask what he thought Bennet might do if he discovered her secrets, wanted to ask if he thought his loyalty to the Crown might weaken, or at least if he might grow more accepting of those of them with opposite views. She wanted some assurance that the last remaining barriers between her and Bennet wouldn’t crush them when they fell.

  But Mr. Knight wouldn’t be able to give her that. So she murmured a farewell and followed Freeman out the back entrance, down the dank alley, and into the blustery October day. It took them only a few minutes to walk to the carriage they had left a few streets over, twenty more for him to drive her home.

  Eyes shut, she let the motion of the carriage lull her, the bump of wheels wake her, and her mind drift to that place halfway between thought and dream. The place where both the greatest fears and greatest hopes seemed equally possible.

  Blessed God, support me by the strength of heaven, that I may never turn back.

  The carriage rolled to a halt, and Freeman jumped down to help her out. The moment her slippers touched the ground, she spotted the familiar horse in the stable before her. Colonel Fairchild must be here.

  Freeman followed her gaze and frowned. “Haven’t seen much of the colonel lately. I began to think he must have resigned himself to losing you to Mr. Lane.”

  “I suppose he has been too busy to call, and with me gone so much at the Lanes’…”

  “Mmm.” He patted his waist, where he must have secured the flintlock. “I shall find some ammunition for this after I check on Percy. Say a prayer for the boy, Winnie. Infection has set in.”

  Poor Percy. “I will. And thank you.” Having no idea how long Fairchild had already been waiting, she hurried through the house’s kitchen entrance and handed her cloak to a servant. “Am I needed?”

  The man offered a tight smile. “In the drawing room, Miss Reeves. The colonel only arrived a few minutes ago, however, so you needn’t rush overmuch.”

  She saw no reason to dawdle though, so headed toward the receiving rooms. Because the door stood open, she could see Grandmother and the colonel within. Her arrival drew the attention of both, and Fairchild surged to his feet.

  “There you are, Winnie dear.” Grandmother indicated Winter’s usual seat. “Now you can entertain the colonel for a few moments while I attend a pressing matter. I will return shortly.”

  Winter dipped her knees a bit. “Certainly, Grandmother. And good day, Colonel.”

  “Good day.” Fairchild motioned to the place beside him on the couch as Grandmother left the room. “Will you sit with me, my dear?”

  “Of course.” She settled on the cushion and smoothed out her skirt. She noted that handsome Isaac Fairchild seemed to have aged a decade since she had seen him last. “Have you been unwell, Colonel? You look peaked.”

  His smile came off sad. “Nay, my dear, ’tis only…everything. Here. I brought these for you.” He pulled a pot of daffodils off the table and handed it to her.

  She blinked at the cheerful yellow heads and wanted to cry. Fairchild’s flower gifts always reflected their meaning. These stood for unrequited love as well as bright respect. “Some of my favorites. However did you find them this time of year?”

  His smile went lopsided. “A hothouse. I probably should have chosen cyclamen, but these never fail to remind me of you.”

  “Cyclamen?” She lowered the pot and frowned. “Why would you be saying goodbye, Colonel? Are you going somewhere?”

  His gaze fell to his clasped hands and stayed there as he drew in a long breath. “Nay. But I expect you soon will be, with Ben.”

  Ben. How strange it sounded to hear them call each other by their given names, to realize it was a testament to their unlikely friendship. It would all be so much simpler without admiration and respect. If Fairchild weren’t such a genuinely good man.

  He ought to have given her clematis—the flower to accuse her of artifice.

  “Colonel, I…” But she knew not what to say.

  He shook his head. “You needn’t try to make me feel better. I at least have the comfort of knowing you will marry a good man, one who loves you with all his heart. I only wish…I only wish I had spoken earlier, before you ever met him. I cannot think why I dragged my heels, except that I was so enjoying the courtship itself.”

  Twice now she had heard that sentiment, first from Robbie and now Fairchild. And how could she possibly respond? Perhaps, had it happened that way, she never would have known the love she would have missed with Bennet, but as it stood now, she could not share in their regrets. And yet she could not help but regret their pain.

  “I have always enjoyed your company, Colonel.” It seemed a paltry offering, but what more could she give?

  His smile went a degree brighter. “And I yours. I cannot tell you how precious it has been to have someone that would listen, who could offer sunshine and smiles in a world otherwise gray. But there is no reason we cannot all still be amiable.”

  She pasted pleasant confusion on her face. “Oh, you know I am terrible with anything requiring good aim. You surely remember that time Dosia recommended an archery competition.” It had taken all her skill to hit the hat another officer had left on a table while seeming to aim at the target. “But at any rate, we can remain friendly.”

  “Indeed.” As always, his smile was indulgent. “I am blessed to have such friends. But I had better not tarry long now. I left rather pressing business. A few of the whaleboaters sympathetic to the Crown have kidnapped…well, I had better not say who, but Washington will feel the loss quite acutely.”

  She stood when he did, though she made sure to pay more attention to the daffodils she set upon the table than the words pounding through her mind. “Grandmother says those whaleboaters are scoundrels, the lot of them.”

  “Usually, yes, though in this case we owe them a debt of gratitude.” Fairchild picked up his hat and held it at the ready to put on. “They managed to capture a particular friend of Washington’s who is known to be on an assignment that would keep him away from the general’s camps for months, though certainly he didn’t intend to pass the time at Fort St. George. We plan to send false information of our movements using his name, with none the wiser.”

  Winter turned from the flowers to smile at Fairchild. “How clever you are.” And how she prayed that information would be enough for Washington to discern who it was they had captured. Perhaps an operation would be mounted to rescue the poor man from the Long Island fort, and at the least they would know to look suspiciously on any correspondence.

  “Well.” He slid his fingers along the rim of his hat. “I will let you get on with your day. And I do expect an invitation to the wedding when the time comes.”

  Again, tears threatened to well. “Of course. And I thank you, Isaac, for the faithful friend you have always been.”

  He only nodded, put his hat upon his head, and strode out.

  What a dreadful situation. She headed out too, toward the stable and her room beneath it. But, oh, how she hated to send this information, even as she knew she must. Roe would be in the city again tomorrow, and though she couldn’t pass along the particulars she never learned, she must share this.

  Still, it felt as though a giant hand squeezed her chest. Perhaps because she knew Bennet would propose soon and they would head to Connecticut, which would mean th
is may be her last missive as a Culper agent. Or perhaps it was because she couldn’t stand knowing how she had hurt Fairchild, all because of this.

  She pushed the sensation aside as she gained the stable, checked to be sure no one watched, and descended into the darkness. Duty must be done. And if she could perhaps save a life, save a cause in the process…

  Nerves jangled against nerves when she got out the stain. Would she have enough? She would just have to be concise. Because the message must be sent, and it could not possibly be done with any other ink. Not given how tight security was these days, and missives already gone missing. If she dared write anything with a heat-developed…

  The idea bloomed full and brought a measure of peace. She put the stain upon the table for the message to Tallmadge. And she got out her lemon water for a second one.

  Twenty-Five

  Never in his life had Ben dreaded a meeting with a lawyer as he did this one. He glanced from the bespectacled man to the clock in the corner of what had been Father’s study and willed the man to get started. He had a meeting in Holy Ground to eavesdrop on in just a few hours.

  Mr. Carroll cleared his throat as he studied the document before him. A moment later he looked up at Bennet, then Mother, and finally Archie. “Thank you for your patience with me. I do regret I was out of town when you received this dreadful news. I am especially sorry to hear of it because I had a communication from Mr. Lane not two weeks ago addressing the issue of his will, and the fact that he wanted to wait to change it until he was in possession of Clefton after his uncle’s expected demise.”

  Ben winced—first at the casual mention of death and then at the implications—and darted a glance at Archie. He sat stone still, his jaw clenched.

  The lawyer sighed. “I understand there had been some discussion in recent months about leaving all the family holdings in New York to Archibald, since all the English property would go to Bennet. Unfortunately, as I said, this change was never made, as Mr. Lane was never the official possessor of Clefton.”

  Another glance showed Ben the whitening of Archie’s knuckles.

  Mr. Carroll held up a hand. “Do allow me to stress, Archibald, that your father was fully in favor of this proposed change. He had every intention of leaving the American property to you. And as I understand it was your brother’s suggestion to begin with, if he wishes I can assist in the transference of deeds from Bennet to you—though again, wisdom dictates we wait until Bennet is the master of Clefton.”

  Archie jerked his head in what he probably meant to be a nod.

  Ben pressed his lips together. “I certainly intend to rectify this, yes.”

  “I imagined you would.” The lawyer smiled and focused on Mother. “You, of course, receive your widow’s portion, Mrs. Lane. And as stated in the will as it was written before Clefton was ever at issue, Archibald receives the house and property you brought with you to the marriage, as well as a sum of money I will specify in a few moments, and the investments in several businesses. Everything else—the house here in New York, the one he occupies in New Haven, his family’s businesses, and the greatest portion of sterling—goes to Bennet.”

  Ben drew in a long breath. If one didn’t consider Clefton, then Father had made every attempt to divide the property fairly. Mother would be cared for, and both he and Archie received enough money and interests in businesses to ensure their continued well-being.

  But Clefton still must be considered, and ’twas obviously on Archie’s mind. Perhaps they had received nearly equal portions in the will now, but when one added the expansive holdings in England into the mix…well, a volatile reaction was inevitable.

  Ben paid careful attention to the details Father had laid out, especially as concerned his portion and Mother’s, because providing for her would largely fall to him. Assuming she would allow it after his plan was carried out.

  When Mr. Carroll finally left, Ben stopped his brother with a hand upon his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “I will make this right. You know that, don’t you?”

  Archie turned his head toward the door and shrugged Ben’s hand off. “Of course you will. Perfect Benny always does what he must.”

  Nay. All he could do now was sigh as his brother stormed out saying something about the work awaiting him at the barracks.

  Mother stepped to his side. “He will come around, Bennet.”

  “I know.” But not in time. Not before the truth came out. Though they barely tolerated one another in person, he hated to think that a wedge would come permanently between them. Friends or not, they were brothers. Perhaps Clefton would be enough to secure peace. “Will you excuse me, Mother? I need to write to Uncle Lane.”

  “Of course, dear. And then will you go see Winnie? If so, ask the Hamptons to dinner tomorrow night.” She took a step away but then paused, brows arched. “For that matter, when are you going to ask her to join us as your wife? Have you need of an engagement gift? I have been pondering it, and I think the emerald ring your father gave me would be perfect.”

  Those thoughts were far sweeter than the others clamoring around his mind. “I intend to ask soon, yes. Actually, I had planned to speak with you about jewelry the day we received the letter from my uncle. Now…well, as soon as the time is right.”

  “The time is right whenever you make it so, Bennet. Given the way she has stood beside us through all this, I daresay no one will be surprised if an engagement follows quickly on the heels of this loss, especially given your need to hurry to England.”

  That again. “You have an emerald, you say?”

  “Come.”

  He followed her up the stairs, into her room, and waited while she sorted through a mix of shining, sparkling pieces. She straightened a minute later and held out a large, rectangular emerald clasped in a circle of gold.

  “The fit should be good. Her hands seem much the size mine were when I could still wear it.”

  Ben studied its green depths a moment more and then slid it into his waistcoat’s inner pocket. “I thank you, Mother.”

  Her grin was indulgent, and the brightest he had seen from her in weeks. “The only thanks I need is a daughter and then a few grandchildren to dote on.”

  He managed a smile around the heaviness in his chest. “I am glad you finally see in her what I do.”

  Her laughter shed light on the whole house, it seemed. “As am I, Bennet. I had begun to think you quite daft.”

  She may think him so again shortly. Murmuring another thanks and a farewell, he left her room and headed to his own. At his desk he uncapped his inkwell and then chose a quill and the best paper he had. He heaved a long breath and began.

  Dear Uncle Lane,

  News of my father’s unexpected death has hit us all as a severe blow. I know it must have been painful for you as well, and we all send our love and respect. And while I appreciate your need for an heir to teach in his stead, I urge you to consider my brother as that heir rather than me.

  I am not who you think me.

  It took him several minutes to pen his reasons, to expose his heart for the first time since he left Yale. To immortalize what would make him an exile to those who shared his blood.

  He squeezed his eyes shut after he signed his name. If he sent this, if he held to it, he could lose it all. Everything that mattered. Mother, Archie…Winter. What if she refused him when she discovered the truth?

  Nay, she would forgive it. He knew in the depths of his heart she would. But with his family he hadn’t the same certainty. So though he may have the woman he loved, he could very well be asking her to join a family fractured, one who had thrust him away. He would be able to provide for her needs, even her comforts, but he knew what she most wanted was love and understanding.

  Well. He would confess before he proposed. And if she accepted him, then they would build the family her heart so needed.

  He scattered sand over the ink to dry it, poured it off again, and folded the paper. Then he slid it into an envelope.
A dab of wax provided a seal, and he penned the direction. A moment later he left his room, caught the servant headed out with the day’s post, and sent his fate on its way.

  Then he grabbed his cloak and whipped it around his shoulders. He would go see Winter. If he were going to lose her too, he would just as soon know it before he followed Benedict Arnold to Holy Ground.

  Winter tilted her face up to receive the kiss of warm sunshine and smiled into the cool whisper of air. Soon enough she would be trapped inside while snow and ice overtook her world, but today was a beautiful promise of what awaited her in spring.

  A few more weeks and they would reach the anniversary of when Bennet first stumbled into her life. Thinking of it now, she could scarcely remember the panic his penetrating gaze had inspired, the determination to stay away from him at all costs.

  How far they had come—and how twisted a road they had traveled to get here.

  Perhaps they could marry on that date. A late November wedding, before winter gripped them too wholly. Then they would still have ample time to settle into his home in Connecticut before classes resumed after Christmas. She could hardly wait to see him in that paradise he had told her about so many times, the laboratory with all his favorite equipment.

  Footfalls interrupted her reverie, but she didn’t mind it when she saw Bennet turn the corner and step into the garden. What she did mind was the concern that saturated his eyes. She stood from her bench and held out her hands. “Did the reading of the will not go well?”

  Rather than clasp her fingers, he walked into her embrace and gathered her close. She probably ought to pull away for the sake of propriety, but instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and enjoyed it as he buried his face in her shoulder.

  “It went as expected.”

  “I’m sorry.” She stroked a hand over the unpowdered hair gathered below his hat and shivered in delight when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

  An “ahem” alerted them to Freeman’s presence nearby, but Bennet didn’t pull away. “I love you.” He kissed his way up her neck and over her jaw.