The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

  Emily straightened in her chair. “Oh. Well, that’s a relief,” she murmured, heartened by his response. She returned her attention to her soup, but finding it cold, she set down her spoon.

  “Your chain is broken,” James said as he lifted the end of the jewelry to find a link had pulled open right next to the clasp. “Should I have it repaired for you?”

  Allowing a wan grin, Emily replied, “I will never wear it again.”

  James nodded, understanding just then that she had worn the ring for a far different reason than sentimentality. “Then I shall buy you a new one. One that will not make you feel as if you are wearing an anchor about your neck.”

  The light returned to her eyes. “You needn’t do that. You shouldn’t do that.”

  “But if I did?” he prompted.

  Emily considered the ramifications. “I would wear it.”

  “And if someone asked you where you got it?”

  A brilliant smile appeared. “I would tell them I received it as a gift from a man who wished to know the shape of my bum.”

  James’ eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Emily giggled in delight. “Wouldn’t I?”

  Something deep inside James took a tumble, and he sobered slightly. “I suppose you would,” he whispered.

  He was just about to lean over and kiss her, but the footman reappeared with the next course, and James was left to imagine far more than the shape of her bottom.

  Chapter 22

  A Move is Made

  Back at Trenton House

  As Gabe and Frances shed their coats in the vestibule of Trenton House—an exercise that required Gabe hold onto David for a few moments while Frances not only removed her redingote but also surreptitiously buttoned up the front of her bodice—he apprised Barclay of the situation. “Please see to it a guest bedchamber is made ready for Mrs. Longworth,” he instructed. “I fear her living situation has been put into peril this evening.”

  As was usual for the staid butler, Barclay managed to hide his alarm. “The Peach Room on the second floor has been made ready, sir.”

  Gabe blinked, wondering how Barclay had known they would be in need of it this evening. “Your efficiency is to be commended,” he said dryly.

  The butler looked as if he wished to say more, but instead he reminded them that they hadn’t finished their dinners. “Cook insisted that the footmen leave the place settings, but he has returned the dishes to a warm oven should you wish to continue your dinner. There is still the dessert, as well.”

  Frances’ eyes widened in surprise. When Gabe looked to her for her opinion, she whispered, “I feel awful. He has gone to all this trouble for us?”

  Gabe shrugged. “He is a good cook,” he remarked. “And you needn’t feel awful about it. You are my guest.”

  Appearing uncertain, Frances turned her gaze onto the bundle she held. “Let me see to my son first,” she pleaded.

  Giving the sleepy babe a chuck beneath his chin, Gabe said, “Of course. I’ll take you up to the nursery straight away.”

  He escorted Frances up the three flights to the nursery. As Gabe expected, Mrs. Watkins welcomed David as if he were one of her own, despite his soaked gown and nappies.

  “Why, he’s an adorable babe,” the older servant said in her thick Scottish brogue. “Six months, is he?”

  Frances knew then the woman had children of her own. “I really need to bathe him,” she replied. “I’m afraid the woman who looks after him whilst I am at the museum was not amenable to doing so this evening.”

  Mrs. Watkins furrowed a brow. “If you’re in search of a new nanny, I would certainly be willing to see to him,” she offered. “Mine are older now, and they no longer require me hold ’em much. Me husband says I’ve spoiled ’em rotten, seein’ as how I don’t like it when they cry. I like to hold ’em when they’re upset. Figure they will grow up to have more compassion,” she explained. “Which is why I like working here, because the—”

  “Mrs. Watkins was my sister’s nurse,” Gabe interrupted.

  “And your younger brother’s,” Mrs. Watkins reminded him. She turned her attention back to Frances. “That was before I had my own.” She lowered her gaze onto David. “I’ll just take him into the bathing chamber and see to it he has a bath before I put him into a fresh gown and nappies.”

  “You will bathe him?”

  Mrs. Watkins blinked. “Well, of course. And I’ll put him down for the night. There’s a bassinet there in the corner,” she said as she pointed to a white wicker basket suspended from a framework that allowed it to rock. Above it was a canopy of white ruched tulle.

  “It’s beautiful,” Frances breathed as she moved to inspect the basket. “Far too fine for my son,” she added in a whisper.

  Mrs. Watkins joined her. “Nonsense. Babies deserve the best,” she said quietly. “Seeing as how they don’t always get it the rest of their lives.”

  Frances boggled at hearing the older woman’s words. “Bless you,” she murmured.

  Mrs. Watkins blushed. “Now I’m sure you have better things to be talkin’ about than babes. Why, the entire household is all in a twitter about hosting an artist this evening. I do hope you can stay. The house has been so quiet since his—”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Watkins,” Gabe interrupted. “We still have to finish our dinners this evening before Mrs. Longworth can retire to the Peach Room.”

  Mrs. Watkins’ eyes widened. “The Peach Room? Why, that’s the best guest bedchamber in—”

  “Exactly,” Gabe interrupted again. “We’ll leave you to bathing David now,” he added. “And I’m sure Mrs. Longworth will come back to check on her son before she retires for the evening.”

  “Oh, I will,” Frances agreed.

  “Good night, Mrs. Watkins,” Gabe said as he offered his arm to Frances.

  Frances took one last look at her son before she allowed Gabe to lead her from the nursery. “She seems very competent,” she murmured.

  “She is,” Gabe agreed as they made their way down the stairs. “Would you like to refresh yourself before we resume dinner? I know, I would.”

  “Could I?” she replied, just as they paused before a door on the second floor.

  “Indeed. Mrs. Longworth, may I present the Peach Room?” Gabe teased as he opened the bedchamber door.

  The room, lit with two gas lamps, was decorated in soft greens, from the Aubusson carpet to the velvet drapes that covered the two windows on either side of the dressing table. A deep green velvet counterpane covered the bed, and a green canopy draped like a cone from the ceiling overhead. Green silk moire covered the walls. At the head of the bed was a painting that gave the room its name, a still life of a bowl of peaches.

  Frances let out a nervous giggle in her attempt to take it all in, and Gabe struggled to keep a straight face. “Do you think you can be comfortable here this evening?” he asked.

  She turned and gave him a brilliant smile. “I do believe I can,” she whispered.

  “Good. But should you need anything, please know that I am just...” he pointed to his right. “In the bedchamber next door.” As he half-expected, Frances arched a brow in suspicion. “The two rooms are not directly connected,” he quickly added.

  Wondering at the sense of disappointment she felt just then, Frances did her best to appear shocked that he would even say such a thing. She did another quick glance around the room, searching for a pitcher of water. “Where is the nearest bathing chamber?” she asked. “I should like to wash my hands.”

  Gabe led her further into the room, and he pointed to a door near the corner. “Right through there. There are two pumps for water. You’ll find the hot water—”

  “Hot water?” Frances repeated, her eyes wide.

  Angling his head back and forth, Gabe said, “It’s a bit of an experiment really. Once we had gas brought into the house, Father saw to having a line brought in here so water in the bathtub could be heated directly. From there, the water
can be diverted to the washing bowl, but you have to remember to put a plug into the drain hole, or it just...” He stopped when he noted how she stared at him. “I can show you, if you’d like.”

  Frances blinked. “Is there water in the bathtub... all the time?”

  It was Gabe’s turn to blink. “Oh, no,” he said, understanding her query. “But the valve for the gas has to be turned, and then the flame for the gas has to be lit for the water in the tub to heat. A maid probably saw to it already.”

  “Perhaps you should show me,” she murmured, peeking around the edge of the door to discover a rather large room lined in glazed tiles. A bathtub sat along one wall where a series of pipes snaked along the floor where it met the wall.

  One pump fed water into the tub, and from there, into the pipe that went off to a pair of pumps mounted on the edge of a large bowl that was sitting atop a wooden stand. The stand also supported an oval mirror.

  She could see tiny flames coming from beneath the raised tub and wondered how the entire floor wasn’t on fire.

  She was about to put voice to her query when Gabe said, “The gas burns at a lower temperature than wood, and there is a layer of concrete beneath the tub to keep the flames away from the floor.”

  “But it’s not lit all the time?” Frances half-asked.

  He shook his head. “No. Once you no longer need hot water, you simple turn this valve...” he moved to the end of the tub... “to the left, and then the gas is turned off,” he continued as he showed her a contraption that was mounted at one end of the tub. “A maid will see to it it’s turned on in the morning.” He moved to the bowl and motioned to the pumps. “You might have to pump two or three times for the hot water to start coming through,” he explained. Then he motioned to the hole in the bottom of the bowl and a round disc attached to a small handle. “Use this plug to stop the water from draining away.”

  Frances regarded the plug and then the drain hole. “But... where does the water go when the plug is pulled?”

  Gabe furrowed a brow. “To the Thames, I believe. At least, eventually.” When he noted her look of chagrin, he realized she was asking where the water went inside the house. “It goes into a pipe...” He pointed to the floor and then to the wall “...that hooks into another larger pipe that has several other pipes hooked into it, and that pipe drains into an underground pipe that leads to the Thames.”

  Frances seemed impressed but then asked, “Was the house built with all those... pipes?”

  Grinning, Gabe sighed. “My mother would have preferred it, but no. The house is far older than modern plumbing, I’m afraid,” he said with a shake of his head. “We weren’t even living here when Father arranged to have the pipes installed. Then new interior walls had to be built to hide the pipes. They run in the outside walls of the house, so every room with pipes was made a few inches smaller once the renovation was complete.”

  Frances quickly surveyed the network of piping. “Is it like this for all the bathing chambers? How many are there?”

  Gabe nodded. “There are eight that I know of, plus the pipes that were added for the kitchens at the back of the house.”

  “So... the servants don’t have these in their chambers.” She hadn’t meant the comment to sound like an accusation, but she immediately dipped her head and appeared about to apologize.

  “Actually, there are two up on the third floor. One for the men and one for the women,” Gabe said, gratified when her eyes widened in wonder. “Father didn’t think it would be very efficient to force the servants to haul water up there, and once the system was installed, it meant the chamber off the kitchens could be used exclusively by the stable boy and the groom. Gave them a place to sleep as well as to bathe. Which meant there was more room in the stables for hay. ”

  “How civilized,” Frances said as she studied the pumps that stood over the large porcelain bowl.

  “Go on. Give it a go,” Gabe encouraged.

  Frances looked uncertain. “Do I plug the hole now? Or wait until the hot water comes?”

  “I like to plug it first. Sometimes the hot water is hotter than I like, so the mix of tepid water with the hot is perfect.”

  Popping the plug into place, Frances lifted the hot water pump handle and pulled it down. Once she had done it twice, water began to fill the bowl. On the next pump, she could see steam coming from the water. “Oh!” she said in amazement. “It’s working.”

  She lifted and lowered the pump handle one more time and stepped back to watch as water half-filled the bowl. A smile lit her face. “I shall be terribly spoiled after this night,” she said with a giggle, helping herself to a ball of soap. She dunked her hands into the warm water and allowed a sigh.

  Gabe watched her, a smile appearing at seeing her delight and hearing her giggle. At some point, he had thought her far older than him—perhaps thirty. But now, with her face lit by the flames of a candle lamp and her tears long gone, he thought she might be his age. He was about to ask, but she was drying her hands on a linen while marveling at the feel of the soft fabric.

  “Would you like to use the water?” she asked. “It seems a shame to drain it when I’ve hardly...”

  She wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Gabe had closed the distance between them in a single step and covered her lips with his. One hand moved to cup her cheek and the other held onto her shoulder, as if he needed her for support.

  Despite her initial surprise, Frances returned the kiss in equal measure. How long had she wanted him to repeat what he had done that day in the workroom? How many times had she relived that all-consuming kiss? Imagined it just before she fell asleep at night and woke up to having dreamed about it the night before?

  When Gabe finally pulled away, he left his forehead resting against hers. “I have wanted to do that all night,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

  “I cannot imagine why,” Frances whispered, her eyes wide open. “I’ve done nothing but cause you trouble—”

  “My lady, saving your son from that poor excuse of a nanny was no trouble. I was glad to do it,” he murmured. His eyes opened slowly, and then he blinked. “I do hope you... you don’t live in her house.”

  Frances allowed a sigh. “It is a boarding house, and yes, I have a room there,” she admitted, deciding he would eventually discover where she lived.

  Gabe pulled her into his arms. “You cannot go back there—”

  “My things are there. Clothes, and—”

  “I’ll send a footman and a maid—”

  “You’ll do no such thing!”

  “I will not let you live there with that—”

  “Where would I go? I cannot afford anything more than a room—”

  “Here. You can live here.” Even as he said the words, he knew it would be unseemly for her to do so. He was a bachelor. At some point, his parents would return from the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies and expect life to go on as it had before his sister, Anne, had married. “Or we can find something better for you,” he suggested on a sigh.

  “Perhaps,” she replied, although her manner suggested she wouldn’t be doing such a thing. “We should go down to dinner. I shouldn’t want your servants to have to work so late because of me.”

  “Of course.” He stepped over to the bowl and helped himself to the ball of soap, rinsing his hands beneath a stream of water from the pump. With a murmured, “Thank you,” he took the linen from Frances and dried his hands.

  As they descended the stairs to the ground floor, he thought of what it would be like to do this every night. To walk down the stairs with Frances at his side, to eat dinner with her, to spend their evenings speaking of their day at the museum and of David. To spend their nights making love and then sleeping in one another’s arms. To wake up …

  He gave a start, realizing Frances was staring at him. “What is it?”

  “I was about to ask you the same question,” she replied. “You looked as if you were far away.”

  Gabe allowed an imp
ish grin. “Apologies. I suppose I was.”

  Frances stared at him a moment and then dipped her head. “I am keeping you from your club.”

  Frowning, Gabe said, “You are not, actually. I hadn’t planned to go on this night.” He led her into the dining room. “I will go tomorrow night, but only because my cousin has requested I meet him there.” He pulled out her chair.

  Returning to her place at the table, Frances sat down and watched as Gabe took his. “But, don’t you have to meet Mr. Grandby tomorrow evening?” she asked, remembering the letter he had read to her earlier that evening. She regarded the meal set before her, marveling at the selections as she lifted her fork.

  “Mr. Grandby is my cousin,” he said. “Second cousin, actually.”

  Her eyes widened. “So that is how you have a position at the museum,” she said, as if the circumstances of his hiring had been puzzling her.

  “What? Oh, no,” he replied as he shook his head. “Tom had no idea I wanted to work in a museum until after I had already secured the position under Mr. Harris,” he explained. “And I rather doubt he would have used any influence he might possess on my behalf. Until recently, we didn’t really know one another very well.”

  Frances relaxed and resumed eating.

  “He had some say regarding your hiring, though,” Gabe added after a moment.

  “Mine?” Once again, Frances was on alert, her face paling.

  Gabe chuckled. “He read your character and approved your hiring is all,” he assured her.

  “Thinking I was a man, no doubt.”

  Gabe bobbed his head back and forth. “Probably. But what does it matter? You’re obviously a better artist than the last potter they employed, and the curator of the Roman and Greek antiquities knows it.”

  Once again, Frances looked surprised. “He does?”

  Reaching over to cover her left hand with his right, Gabe gave her a brilliant smile. “He does.”

  Warmth flooded her belly at feeling his encouragement as his hand encased hers and gave it a shake.