by Carie, Jamie
"Ah, how could I not, my lady, when it is apparent that your beauty is only one of your many admirable talents."
"A glib tongue will only get you so far," Alex teased.
Baylor coughed and drew Lord Lemon's attention to him. "Good sir, welcome to my home. Would you like refreshments? I have one of the best cooks in Dublin, smuggled him over from France with me after the war."
"We haven't eaten since early this morning and I heard Lady Alex's stomach rumbling at the post office," Baylor informed, as Alex turned a shade pink and shot him an I can't believe you just said that look.
Lord Lemon only laughed and bade them to follow him into the drawing room. He spent a few minutes ordering the meal and drinks to be brought to them, then seated himself across from Alex and crossed one leg over his knee in a picture of a gentleman at ease.
"You must be wondering at my surprise to see my uncle. Ireland isn't Montague's favorite place, you know. His wife, my mother's sister, was from Ireland and she was never treated very well in England after she married him."
Alex shot a look Montague's way. Her own people on Holy Island could be a distrustful sort and had their share of prejudices. She knew the type well. "I'm sorry to hear that. Was she terribly unhappy in England?"
"She kept to herself but a better wife never lived," Montague said with heat.
"He's right. I met her once, as a boy. I still remember how kind she was."
The maid came in and poured tea and passed around a plate of little cakes. "Cook says he'll do his best to get an early dinner on, but this should tide you over in the meantime."
After she left, Lord Lemon asked for the story. Alex told it, about her parents and her search for them, the journey from Holy Island and how Montague had rescued her, and then about meeting Baylor and going to Killyleagh. The only part she left out was the part about her guardian, the duke. No need to alarm a fellow peer of the realm. When she was finished with the tale, she said, "When we arrived in Dublin, Montague mentioned that you might have room for us to stay for a few days. I need to make contact with members of the Royal Irish Academy. I need to find the next clue as to where my parents went."
"Of course, you must stay!" Lord Lemon agreed. "What a fascinating story. I should be glad to lend my assistance in any way possible, Lady Featherstone."
"Please, my friends call me Alex."
A delighted look flashed across his face. "And mine call me John." His voice had lowered a notch and for some reason it made her stomach feel warm.
Montague looked from one to the other of them and let out a sigh. Baylor boomed with laughter.
Montague chuckled. "Just beware, Nephew, her guardian is the Duke of St. Easton and he is taking his post most seriously."
John's dark blond brows rose. "You don't say," he mused, looking at Alex again with a curious mix of interest and intent.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Gabriel stood on the shore of Strangford Lough in Killyleagh, looked out across the choppy water at the green-hued islands in the distance, and tried to catch his breath.
What was he going to do with her? Of all the scheming, manipulative, outrageous acts—to be lied to so—to be tricked . . . He took another deep breath and imagined giving her a well-deserved spanking. He would have to shackle her to himself once he found her to keep her from running off! And that made him all the angrier. Little minx. What was he going to do with her?
First, he would have to go back to the inn and console Meade and question the woman running the place. She had to know something. Maybe Meade should question her. In the temper he was in, feeling much like the prowling panther they often compared him to, he would likely frighten her and do more harm than good. Yes, Meade would question the innkeeper and he would pay a call on the castle. Alexandria must have gone to the castle.
He made his way back to the inn and found Meade mopping at his brow with a handkerchief.
Gabriel clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry Meade, I don't know what came over me. I should have expected it of her, but that last letter . . . well, I'll not be fooled again."
Meade brought out the speaking book and wrote a lengthy reply. "Mistress Tinsdale said that Lady Featherstone, Admiral Montague, and a giant Irishman named Baylor were indeed here and that they left three days ago. She didn't know where they were going, but she thought they hired a coach and gave me the address of the coaching house. Shall I go there next and see what I can find out?"
"Yes, do that." Gabriel narrowed his eyes. "Meade, do you believe Mistress Tinsdale told you the truth? Did she seem as taken with Alexandria as everyone else we've run into that has met her?"
Meade nodded slowly and wrote, "Her eyes did light up in that particular fashion when talking about your ward. She thought the threesome 'delightful' she said several times. I do believe her, though. She didn't seem to be lying or covering anything up."
"Hmmm." Gabriel reached for the speaking book. "I believe I will pay a call at the castle and see what I can discover while you look into their next direction."
"Very good, Your Grace." Meade bowed, slapped his hat down on his head, and turned to go.
Gabriel put his gloves back on and followed him to the street, turning toward the castle. If he remembered the history correctly, the Hamilton Rowans held the Killyleagh seat now and the current owner would be Archibald Hamilton Rowan, who from all accounts was a fiery character indeed. He was one of the founders of the Society of United Irishmen, a revolutionary group that wanted to end British rule over Ireland. He was a well-traveled man who had even spent some time in prison due to his political views. It was said that he escaped by climbing out a window with a bedsheet rope. Gabriel had to admit, he was looking forward to meeting the man.
In less than an hour he was seated across from him, laughing at the old stories through curls of cigar smoke. He finally turned the conversation to his ward. "So you say she was here? Looking for clues as to the whereabouts of her parents?"
Sir Archibald nodded, a small smile on his lips and wrote his reply. I must say she convinced me that they might still be alive. Very determined, Lady Featherstone.
"You don't know the half of it." Gabriel returned the speaking book. "I've been told that her parents were looking for a missing piece of the Sloane collection, so it makes sense that they came here, but no one seems to know what they found or where they went next. Did Lady Featherstone mention any leads?"
No, you know more than she did, I think. I told her about Sloane and raised the questions about what could be missing from his collection. I do know one thing her parents found because I loaned it to them. It was an old journal of Sloane's that had somehow ended up in the castle's library. The Featherstones were keen to have it and I saw little reason not to loan it to them. I told Alexandria this. Another book about the history of Killyleagh was stolen by two Spaniards. I don't know what has happened to them.
"It sounds like she found very little help here."
"I'm afraid so." Sir Archibald shrugged. "I don't think that will deter her, however. She's the stubborn sort."
Gabriel could only agree. He rose to leave and stretched out his hand toward Sir Archibald. "I thank you, sir. It was a pleasure meeting one of Ireland's heroes."
Sir Archibald laughed and shook Gabriel's hand. "Would that I were young again and still at such work."
Gabriel was just turning to leave when Sir Archibald stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Reaching for the speaking book, he quickly wrote, Wait! I've just remembered something. Before leaving, the Featherstones asked if Killyleagh had a dressmaker, something about needing warmer clothes. I gave them the name of Peggy O'Callaghan. My wife has had some clothing made up by her and was quite pleased with the work. She has a shop on Frederick Street.
"Thank you, sir. I will visit her right away."
True to his word, Gabr
iel ducked under the low door frame of O'Callaghan Tailoring and Fine Dress within a few minutes of leaving the castle. It was an interesting place, with stacks of cloth, articles of clothing in varying degrees of completion, and a hodgepodge of items relating to sewing strewn about the room. An older woman rushed from the back room as the door closed behind him.
She took a long, considering look at Gabriel's costume and must have sensed he was a man of means as she smiled broadly and bade him to sit down and warm himself by the fire. Before Gabriel could state his business, he had a steaming cup of tea in his hand and a plate of sweets at his elbow on the table beside the chair. She seated herself and started to talk in such a fast manner that Gabriel groaned. Taking out the speaking book he explained its need, an embarrassed flush filling his cheeks, and then asked about the Featherstones.
Oh, my yes! Such an elegant couple, they were! Goodness, and the clothes they ordered! It took everything I had and then some begging to nearby towns to get all the fabric I needed. Furs, they wanted too. Everything warm, quality materials but practical. And they wanted them all to be in browns and grays and black, though I tried to talk Lady Featherstone into some color to complement that stunning complexion of hers.
"Did they mention why they needed such warm clothing? Did they mention where they were going next?" Gabriel held his breath as she nodded and then wrote in the speaking book.
She turned the book around. One word was written on it.
Iceland.
THE SUN WAS SETTING WITH fiery lights making horizontal slashes across the sky as Gabriel walked back toward the inn. Iceland? What could Iceland possibly have to do with this puzzle?
He thought back to his studies of Iceland. He'd gone through a stage of studying several countries per month, usually around five. It had taken him two and a half years to learn the cultures and history of the known world. He'd visited many of the places, but never Iceland. It was still recovering from Móðuharðindin—"the Mist Hardships"—when Mount Laki erupted. And then there was that business of the Sermon of Fire. A tale of prayer stopping the lava flow. The devastation of the gases from the eruption destroyed grazing lands and livestock. Famine ensued and they were just now recovering, hearing of America's freedom like all the world, and pulling against their Danish harness.
How any of that tied in with Hans Sloane and his collection and a missing manuscript, such that kings were fighting over it, he had no idea. And neither did Alexandria. She had not spoken to the dressmaker, he had ascertained that. She did not know of the connection with Iceland yet. Or did she? He must never underestimate her again.
He thought of Meade and his task to find information on where she might have gone next and he stopped and looked at the cold, hard facts. He couldn't trust his ward to tell the truth. She was headstrong and determined to find her parents at whatever cost, even angering the prince regent. She might have a care for him, and he refused to believe otherwise, but she would stop at nothing to convince the people around her to help her, and she was very good at getting that help. And, more telling, she wasn't sure of him, not his allegiance to her or her cause and so she cut him off, subconsciously he was sure. She was just trying to do the impossible from a desperate heart. But nonetheless, it was true that she was a ruthless opponent when it came to matters of such great importance to her.
Gabriel stopped and laughed, a real laugh that lasted a long time. God bless her, but he loved her for it. He admired the tenacity and he understood the will behind a need like this. It wasn't as if she wanted money or fame or power or position. No, his dearest ward, his Alexandria, wanted love. And he was going to see that she got it.
Taking a deep breath he continued up the long hill, passing several shops that had closed for the night. A little farther down, the street turned busy in front of a place with glowing windows and people, mostly men, milling in and out. Gabriel slowed to look in, seeing a pub. The tables were crowded with citizens all staring toward the front of the room where a small stage took up one corner. A group of four musicians were playing. Without thinking what he was doing, Gabriel entered the pub.
He found an empty table in a corner and sat down. Strange how lively the scene looked and how, without sound, dead it felt. It was hard to sit there. Almost as if he were alone and invisible in the crowded room. A part of him wanted to run away from the feeling, but something told him that was the coward's way out and he had never been a coward.
Gabriel closed his eyes, stretching his hands out on the rough wood of the table, reaching for the music. A slow calm crept over him as he became aware of all the vibrations. His feet felt them hum from the floor up his legs and into his chest where if he concentrated hard enough they became a beat, a pulse. His hands, too, felt beyond rough wood planks and into the very air it seemed, catching the lighter vibrations of the pennywhistle. He swallowed and heard it, becoming so in tune with his body that each breath and muscle stretched with the music.
A sudden shot of color burst from behind his closed eyes, the colors too deep and rich for anything he'd seen on this earth. The vibrations, he noticed in the back of his mind, that part that was detached from the fear and awe and could construct a reality distinct from what seemed normal, seemed to control their movement. The colors leapt and swayed . . . he didn't shy away from them like before . . . he stayed calm and just concentrated on the vibrations going up and down his legs and arms and through his chest. A tear ran down his cheek and he realized he was crying. So deep was his concentration that he had split in two and the other half of him, the emotional half, had seen something the visceral half had not.
He could see the music.
A shuddering breath ran through him and he opened his eyes.
Blues and purples, yellows and greens undulated around the musicians. The violin was purple and blue, the pennywhistle yellow with streaks of red, the flute green, the dulcimer green and yellow. Together the colors moved, then apart, then together again. Gabriel studied the players, when they were most often playing, and the bursts of color around them that matched their movements.
Dear God, if I concentrate enough, I can almost hear the song.
A feeling of immense gratitude overwhelmed him. Of everything this new existence had taken and brought him—this was a gift.
And he must not tell anyone about it.
They would think him mad.
Chapter Twenty-Six
One of Dublin's finest dressmakers pursed her lips and nodded to her assistant. "That color, yes, it must be. You look glorious in red, Lady Featherstone, just glorious. Wouldn't you say, Lord Lemon?"
"I would say," John murmured from the fireplace where he was standing, admiration lighting his eyes.
Alex tried to squelch the blush rising to her cheeks. She wasn't used to so much direct admiration, and from such a handsome and agreeable man. Turning away from him, she looked into the mirror they'd brought into the drawing room for her. It had taken two days to have three dresses made up—one day dress of soft yellow muslin and two evening gowns, as John insisted she would need both while in Dublin. They were all high waisted with cap sleeves and a fitted bodice. There were white gloves that went to her elbows, matching slippers with ribbons that tied around her ankles, and jeweled and beribboned headbands to hold back the cascade of curls John's maid had somehow, magically, transformed in her hair. When she looked at the creature staring back at her in the mirror, she didn't see Alex, the girl, she saw Lady Alexandria Featherstone, the woman. It both thrilled and terrified her.
"John, which dress should I wear to the bank?" He had become indispensible in all things to do with society and propriety. He'd already introduced her to a small group of his circle of friends, and tonight they were to attend a musical event at the Rotunda where the famous Angelica Catalani would be singing. It was an event, Alex had been told by her new acquaintances, that could not be missed, and she had to admit she was ex
cited about it.
"Wear the red tonight at the musical, save the other evening gown for a ball I've yet to tell you about," he winked. "A surprise for later. And for this afternoon at the bank, the yellow day dress is fine," John returned. "With that pink parasol and the darker pink slippers, you'll look as fresh and sweet as country air. And then you'll borrow my mother's diamond necklace, just to remind them who you are."
Alex laughed. He always had her laughing. "I couldn't."
"You can and you will. If my mother were still alive, she would insist upon it, you have my word. She always did like a good plot, and squeezing a small fortune from the duke without his knowledge would have been the fait accompli of the year."
"Oh, when you put it that way, it really is too daring. What is the worst thing that could come of it? Could they jail me as an imposter?"
"But you're not an imposter, and you have the letters with the duke's seal on them to prove it. The worst thing I can think of is that they will laugh in our faces and turn us away."
He said us. "You'll go with me?"
"Of course. We'll take Baylor along for effect, as you mentioned before, and I will play the role of friend and advisor." He shrugged with a lazy smile. "They may know of me and it might help—a little."
Alex took a long breath. It was a sound plan, a very good plan, and it had to work. "When shall we leave?"
"As soon as you're ready, love." He pushed away from the fireplace, took some coins from his pocket, and handed them to the modiste who had maintained a professional silence during their discussion. Alex started to protest, but John stopped her with a little warning look. She would have to tell him later that she planned to pay him back. With money. Not that he would ask for other kinds of favors; she was just being silly and letting her imagination get the better of her.