The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

  “Gone to the capital,” one of them told him. “Pro’bly to get away from the likes of you,” another said.

  Although the words had been said in jest, Edward bristled and threatened to fire the man.

  He had the power. He was in charge of production at one of the studios.

  The thought that Frances Longworth could simply leave Stoke without a backward glance—and barely a note of warning to her studio—had barely registered with Edward.

  At first.

  There were other women he could compel to his bed with threats. None were as comely as Miss Longworth, but it hardly mattered if he didn’t have to look at them as he had his way with them.

  But then Frank Longworth’s absence—or at least his artistic talent—had been noted by others farther up in the company. After a few more months and an angry exchange with one of his superiors, Edward was warned he had to find a suitable replacement. Someone who could churn out the highly valued pieces commissioned by the wealthy. Someone who could paint them with the same deft hand.

  Edward already knew Frank Longworth had suffered apoplexy—discovering Frances had essentially taken his place gave him his leverage over the woman—until she suddenly resigned and took her leave of Stoke.

  Well, he had to get her back.

  He was prepared to offer her higher pay than she had received the year before. How much could she be making working at a museum?

  “Pardon, sir, but might you know where I can find Miss Longworth?”

  The museum guard shook his head. “Couldn’t tell you.”

  Edward furrowed his brows. “Couldn’t? Or won’t?” he challenged, dipping a hand into a waistcoat pocket in search of a shilling. Surely bribery would work to gain the information he needed.

  The expression on the guard’s face suggested he wasn’t the least bit impressed by Edward’s tactic. “Can’t,” he replied. “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Sighing, Edward said, “The potter?”

  A glimmer of recognition seemed to pass over the guard’s face then. “Oh, the lady who fixes exhibits?”

  Not exactly sure what Frances did for the museum—Frank had merely said she worked here—Edward said, “That would be her.”

  The guard shook his head. “That area is off limits to patrons, sir.”

  “Then who do I need to speak with?”

  His gaze slowly traversing the hall and then the stairs leading to the floor above, the guard said, “Mr. Harris, but I don’t see him out here.”

  Edward stepped away from the guard. Armed with a name, he made his way through the crowd until he reached the opposite wall. He noticed a well-dressed young man coming from the direction of a stairwell.

  He pulled a card from his waistcoat pocket and held it out. “Might you direct me to where I can find Miss Longworth?”

  Angus Peabody took the card and gave it an assessing glance. Noticing the reference to pottery below Edward’s name, he said, “We already have a source for her supplies.”

  “Of course. I’m an old friend. Just in the city for the day and thought I would pay her a call.”

  Screwing his face in annoyance, Angus said, “Don’t be long. A whole shipload of crates just arrived, and she’s probably buried in work.”

  “I’ll be but a moment,” Edward promised.

  “Downstairs. Third... or fourth door on the right, I think,” Angus said, hurrying on with his own errand.

  Edward watched the man take his leave before he made his way to the stairs. As he descended, he passed a blond gentleman making his way up. Edward was about say something to him, but merely nodded in his direction when he noticed that the man seemed distracted.

  But then the blond man stopped on the stairs and said, “Pardon me, sir. You cannot go down there.”

  “Oh, but I’ve an appointment. With Miss Longworth,” Edward said as he waved his calling card.

  Gabe Wellingham furrowed his brows. He had just come from the workroom, a brief stop to remind Frances he was headed to Doctors’ Commons. She hadn’t said anything about an appointment, but then her worktable held three kraters and a rhyton from that morning’s delivery.

  “Well, then, good day.” Gabe continued on his way toward the front doors, his mind on finding a hackney. The guard near the front door caught his eye, though, and he made his way to the large man.

  “What is it, Mr. Thompson?”

  “My sister tells me she’s become a lady’s maid for a new guest at your townhouse.”

  Gabe did his best to maintain an impassive expression. “Ah, yes. Mrs. Longworth was in need of a new situation, so it only seemed prudent to offer her a room. It’s not my townhouse, though. I just have rooms there.”

  The guard gave him a knowing glance. “You’re secret is safe with me, sir.”

  “Secret?”

  “That you live in an earl’s home. According to my sister, it’s quite a lovely place.”

  Gabe inhaled. “Yes, yes, I’m very fortunate to live there.”

  “Some bloke just waved his card saying he was looking for Mrs. Longworth.”

  Gabe nodded, wanting to be on his way. “I passed him as he was about to go down the stairs.”

  “Didn’t like the looks of him,” Thompson stated. “Besides, what’s a man from Stoke doing here looking for her?”

  Inhaling sharply, Gabe faced the guard. “Stoke?” he repeated. “What was his name?”

  “Edward Cooper. Something having to do with pottery.”

  But Gabe was no longer listening. He was already making his way though the crowds and to the stairwell.

  Chapter 37

  A Necessary Confrontation

  Meanwhile, downstairs in the pottery workroom

  When yet another knock sounded at the workroom door, Frances didn’t bother looking up. Three deliveries had already been made that morning, the treasures from the Sea Breeze arriving on a series of dray carts from Wapping.

  Her attention on a small crack in the Apollo amphora, she called out, “Come,” as she used a tool to determine how deep the crevice extended into the clay.

  “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

  Frances straightened so quickly, she nearly sent the pot toppling over the edge of the worktable. “Mr. Cooper?”

  “In the flesh, as they say,” he replied, his brows waggling.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Edward’s attention went to the shelves of pottery and then to the antiquities that nearly filled the worktable. “Looking for you, of course. You left and didn’t even say good-bye.”

  She allowed a shrug. “The coach schedule didn’t allow for the niceties that day.”

  A hand going to his chest, Edward affected an expression of hurt. “You didn’t really think you could just leave and not expect me to look for you?”

  Frances pinched her lips together, tempted to say something entirely unladylike. Instead she managed to say, “I didn’t give a thought to you at all, actually.”

  Edward’s face darkened. “Really, Frances—”

  “Mrs. Longworth,” she corrected.

  “Oh, is that how they know you here?” he asked as he waved a hand.

  “It is. Now, if you would be so kind as to leave, I have work to do.”

  “Work?” he repeated, his voice mocking. He waved at the pots on the worktable. “A bit beneath your skills, are they not?” He took a step in her direction and paused, pretending to study the krater.

  “Not usually,” she replied, turning her attention back to the cracked pot.

  “Not a very welcoming place to ply your craft,” he went on. “Surely you miss the studio?”

  “I do not.”

  “Miss the pay?”

  She gave him a quelling glance. “As I recall, I was paid half of what you paid the men who worked on the regular line.”

  “Well, that’s why I am here. To offer you your old position at double the pay.”

  “And which position would that b
e?” she responded tartly. “The one at the studio? Or the one I had to assume when you were blackmailing me?”

  Edward’s eyes widened, a hint of anger appearing. “Now, see here—”

  “Leave, Mr. Cooper, or I shall have you escorted out,” she demanded.

  “If you think I’ll allow you to insult me like this, think again, Mrs. Longworth,” he countered, taking another few steps in her direction.

  Her eyes darting to a nearby pot, Frances wondered if she might have the strength to lift it and then hurl it at the cur who was essentially blocking the only way in or out of the workroom. “Insult?” she repeated in the most pleasant voice she could manage. “Why, I’m surprised you would even know what that is, Mr. Cooper.”

  About to advance on the potter, Edward gave a start when the door flew open.

  Breathing heavily from having run from the bottom of the stairs, Gabe stared at Frances and then turned his gaze on the caller. “You said you had an appointment,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

  “I did,” Edward replied. “I was offering Mrs. Longworth a position. Her old position. At twice the pay,” he claimed.

  “Does that include an appointment for continued blackmail as well?” Gabe asked.

  Edward turned a steely gaze on Frances. “What lies have you been telling these people?”

  “Nothing but the truth,” Frances stated.

  “She’s lying,” Edward said to Gabe. “I employed this woman as a potter in Stoke.”

  “And threatened to expose her as Frank Longworth if she didn’t warm your bed,” Gabe countered.

  His eyes blazing, Edward seemed about to deny the claim and then changed his mind. “Beds were rarely involved,” he hissed.

  “Ah, so you admit it.” Despite his immediate urge to smash a krater over the man’s head, Gabe turned to the door. “Thompson!” he called out.

  The burly guard appeared at the door and peeked into the workroom. “Yes, Mr. Wellingham?”

  “Hold this man until either a Runner or a Peeler gets here. I wish to press charges—”

  “Charges?” Edward repeated. “But I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Gabe’s attention went to Frances. “Where shall we start?”

  Frances inhaled slowly and realized this was her chance to get even with Edward Cooper. “Embezzling from his employer will garner the most interest, I should think,” she said as she crossed her arms. “I’m sure they will be interested in hearing the stories I was told by Mr. Cooper before I left their employ.”

  Struggling to hide his reaction at hearing this new accusation, Gabe said, “And then the blackmail?”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “By now, I expect there are other women who have been forced to keep their silence by his threats.”

  “And then there’s trespassing,” Thompson said from where he still stood filling the doorway.

  Edward stared at each one of them in turn. Knowing his exit was blocked, he lifted a pot from the shelf and held it out in front of his body. “If you don’t let me go this instant, I’ll drop this,” he warned.

  Gabe hissed as the guard paused in his advance. Frances merely arched a brow. “Really, Mr. Cooper. Have you no regard for ancient antiquities?”

  “None.”

  Frances allowed a shrug. “Then I guess you’ll have to drop it,” she said.

  Trapped and now incensed, Edward let go of the pot as Gabe yelled, “No!”

  The guard quickly moved to grab Edward, pulling his arms behind his back as the amphora smashed into what seemed like a thousand pieces on the concrete floor. The shards scattered about, finally coming to a halt a few seconds later.

  His hands on either side of his head, Gabe stared at Frances and wondered at her expression.

  With her arms crossed and her arched brow, she looked as prickly as he had ever seen her. “Frances?” he whispered.

  She turned her gaze on him and gave him a brilliant smile. “It was one of mine,” she said with a shrug. “Now I have the potsherds to fill in the missing pieces,” she said as she indicated an identical amphora on the shelf. “This has to be my favorite puzzle of all,” she added as her gaze scanned the floor. After a moment, she dipped down and then straightened, holding a triangular-shaped potsherd. “Here’s one of them,” she said as she held it up.

  Gabe’s gaze went from the amphora with several voids to the floor, where the rest of her matching pieces were indeed among the rest of the shattered amphora. “You minx!” he murmured, a grin slowly appearing.

  “I’ll see to this cretin,” Thompson said as he pushed Edward out the door.

  Careful not to step on the shards that littered the floor, Gabe rushed over and pulled Frances into his arms. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, really,” she whispered. “But thank you for coming when you did.”

  Gabe nodded. “When Thompson said a man from Stoke was here to see you, I...” He paused. “I don’t know what came over me, but I just knew I had to come. You’re under my protection now.”

  Frances lifted her head from his shoulder. “We’re not even married yet.”

  His eyes widened. “The license! I was on my way to Doctors’ Commons when I ran into Thompson,” he said, stepping out of her hold. Then he gave her a quick kiss and made his way out of the workroom, gingerly stepping around the potsherds as he took his leave. “I’ll be back.”

  Chapter 38

  Reasons to Marry

  An hour later, in Doctors’ Commons

  “Fancy meeting you here,” James said as he joined Gabe on the pavement outside the archbishop’s office and offered his hand. “I was beginning to think you might have developed a case of cold feet.”

  Gabe shook his hand. “Apologies for the delay. We had an incident at the museum—”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “It will be. A Peeler was being summoned when I was finally able to leave,” Gabe replied, remembering how Thompson was still man-handling Edward Cooper while another guard was sent to fetch a constable.

  “Did someone try to steal something?” James asked as they made their way into the building.

  Gabe was about to reply in the negative, but he allowed a grimace and said, “Someone, as a matter of fact. The cur was there for Frances. Her blackmailer,” he added in a quieter voice. Before James could respond, Gabe held up a hand. “He thought to bribe her to return to Stoke. Offered her the same position she had at twice the pay.”

  “She didn’t take it.”

  “Of course not,” Gabe replied. “I’d been warned by one of the guards that a man had asked about her, and I raced off and managed to get down to her workroom...” He stopped speaking, his breathing labored from just having relayed the incident.

  “In the nick of time, it would seem,” James murmured. “Look, we don’t have to do this today,” he said, about to turn around and lead them back out the door.

  “Oh, yes we do. I do,” Gabe argued. “I cannot tell you how... frightened I was for her. I’m her protector now.”

  James narrowed his eyes. “It would seem you were frightened for yourself as well.”

  Gabe jerked as he regarded his new friend. “What are you saying? I was not in any danger.”

  Angling his head in an attempt to be sure they weren’t being overheard, James whispered. “Maybe not you, but your heart?” At Gabe’s sound of disbelief, he added, “What if she had taken the offer?”

  “She wouldn’t have!” Gabe replied, trying hard to keep his voice down. “If she was frightened of him, she surely did not display it. At least, not after I got there.”

  “Standing up to him, was she?” James suggested.

  Gabe blinked. “He brought forth her prickly side,” he affirmed. “If he hadn’t dropped a pot, she no doubt would have dropped one on his head. Probably kicked him in the balls, too.”

  James winced. “So, she was never in any real danger?”

  “I don’t know that,” Gabe replied. “She sur
ely was in the past. He violated her. He got a child on her.”

  “You met the man who was responsible for your betrothed’s move to London,” James stated. “It’s a wonder you didn’t kill him.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Face it, Wellingham. You never would have met Frances Longworth if she hadn’t been forced to leave her situation in Stoke,” James said quietly. “Perhaps meeting her nemesis was a good thing for you.”

  “Good?” Gabe’s anger once again surfaced. “What are saying?”

  “Now you know,” James replied. “You’ll never have to imagine what he’s like. Never wonder if he was jilted or deserved to be left behind. You’ll always know he was a dishonorable man. You’ll always know Frances was telling the truth about him.”

  “I already knew that,” Gabe murmured.

  “So... you still wish to marry her.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I do. Today, if I can.”

  James held up a staying hand. “Perhaps we can make arrangements to marry at the same time. Prevail upon Grandby to act as one of our witnesses,” he suggested. “I can make arrangements to take a day from the bank, and you two can take a day from your positions at the museum.”

  “That sounds reasonable,” Gabe replied. He glanced towards the clerk’s desk and was about to head in that direction but then paused. “I know we spoke briefly of this at White’s, but are you marrying Emily out of a sense of honor? Because she was betrothed to your late brother?”

  “Of course not,” James replied. “I knew I wanted her to be my wife before I even learned about the two of them,” he claimed. “What’s this about?”

  Gabe rolled his eyes. “I have known her almost my entire life. She is friends with my sister. I just... I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  Anger lit James’ eyes. “I assure you, I have no intention of hurting her,” he ground out. “How can you even—?”

  “I only feared you were trying to do right by your brother, in which case you would eventually feel ensnared by a trap of your own making,” Gabe explained.

  “I am not, I assure you.” The mere reminder of a trap—hadn’t Emily voiced the same concern?—had him on the defensive.