An Inconvenient Wife

by Caroline Kimberly

  Kyra considered the question. “I think it had better come from you,” she said, surprised to find there was no trace of anger in that statement. “Thomas and Grif are more likely to take you seriously. Besides, if I gave it to them, they’d never believe that I hadn’t been involved in obtaining it.”

  Conroy actually looked sympathetic. “They worry about you. You might have more brash and brains than most men I know, but you are a mere slip of a thing. ‘’’Course, you don’t seem to know that.”

  “Well, it still rankles, Mr. Conroy,” she admitted. After a long moment, she said, “Do you know, I do think it’s best if you take care of this. I have other arrangements I need to make.” At his telling silence, she finally explained, “This whole ordeal has been somewhat tedious. I’m considering an extended visit on the Continent with a cousin.”

  Conroy nodded. “I can understand that. Have you told Grif?”

  Kyra shook her head. “I was going to leave word with his solicitor once I had everything in place. He has enough to worry about right now.”

  “I ain’t goin’ to lie to him for you, girlie,” Conroy stated emphatically.

  “I would never dream of asking such a thing,” Kyra said, her tone grave. “I’m just asking that you don’t share the news with him. If he asks...that’s another thing.”

  Conroy narrowed his eyes at her. “Why are you telling me?”

  Kyra studied him for a long time before answering. “Because there is no one else I can tell, I suppose. I’ll have to tell Lady Eleanor and Grif’s sisters eventually, but I’m not prepared to upset them right now. And Thomas will rat me out once he hears. I’m telling you because...I just...I wanted someone to know.”

  “Aye,” the big man said kindly. “You’ve had a rather rough couple of months. I imagine friends must seem few.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Conroy,” Kyra agreed, surprised at how much she liked the idea of this hulking, surly man as her friend. “Few indeed.”

  * * *

  Sitting in Thomas’s study, Grif shook his head in disbelief. “That snake,” he said softly. “Of all the underhanded...” He looked up at Thomas. Grif was pretty sure his friend’s look of contempt mirrored his own. “Thomas, we’ve been outmaneuvered at every single turn.”

  Thomas nodded grimly, looking back down at Edmund’s ledger. “That rat,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “We’re out there risking life and limb and he still has the nerve to cheat us like this.”

  Both men looked up at the giant Conroy, who shrugged. “So you understand what this chicken scratch all means?” he asked. “‘Cos I have no idea.”

  “We should. We’ve been keeping the same records.” Grif cleared his throat and tossed the ledger across the table for Conroy to view. “K2.8., Gr, 15BL/60B, 400£ means simply ‘Kent, August second, fifteen rolls of Brussels lace, sixty barrels of brandy. Payment of six hundred pounds.’ I assume the GR means ‘Grif,’ since I received the shipment.” He looked up at Thomas with a scowl. “Of course, our ledger says payment of four hundred pounds.”

  Conroy looked a little blank. “Why the difference?”

  “Because Edmund is a little rat!” Thomas barked, paging through the ledger to its beginning. “He’s bilked us from the start, Grif. Each job, he’s underpaid us by up to fifty percent.”

  Grif sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “As you know, Mr. Conroy, our deal with my uncle was that we were to bring the goods ashore and make sure they got into the proper hands, while Edmund’s man took care of payment. Not a good situation, but as he had me in his pocket, so to speak, it was never open to negotiation. I knew he was underpaying us, mind you, but I had no idea it was by this much.”

  Grif studied the ledger again. “It also looks as though Edmund has been operating a second ring out of Sussex, which looks to have started almost a year after we got our operation off the ground.”

  Grif thumbed through the ledger casually, mentally calculating. “It looks to be doing well.” He stopped and gave a low whistle. “In the last several months it received much bigger shipments than we ever dared. Look there.” He pointed to a few entries.

  “Higher risk, higher payment,” Thomas said, looking over Conroy’s shoulder. He looked up at Grif and shook his head. “Foolish risk by the look of these numbers. So who is AD?” Thomas asked. “With the Waterguard bolstering their patrols, he’s either incredibly daring or incredibly stupid.”

  Grif snorted. “Oh, I think stupid is the better word for Dreyfus, don’t you?”

  Thomas groaned in disgust. “You think Andrew Dreyfus? I doubt he’s capable of running a ladies’ luncheon, much less a ring of bootleggers.”

  “Grif’s right,” Conroy said sheepishly. “I did a side job in Sussex ’bout four months ago. I thought I spied Dreyfus there, but I figured it was just nerves.”

  “Think about it,” Grif said. “We set up a rather efficient little organization. Clean, profitable. It wouldn’t have been impossible for Edmund to use our example to set up another ring. Once it was in place, he could throw Dreyfus in to run it.”

  Conroy shook his head. “They ain’t nearly as professional as you. We almost got caught twice, once emptying the boats and once after we was all done. The gang had to kill two of the Waterguard, and they lost a man in the process. Messy business, it was. After that, I decided to never work with the lot again.”

  “And to think we had to spend a month with that backstabbing little weasel in Scotland.” Thomas snorted in disgust. “I’m surprised he didn’t stab us in our beds.” He and Conroy got into a very heated discussion of what they would like to do to Dreyfus the next time they stumbled upon him.

  Grif suddenly went cold. Dreyfus’s involvement in Kyra’s pursuit couldn’t be coincidence. Edmund never did anything without a reason. In fact, it made little sense for his uncle to send his two smuggling overlords into the highlands together after his errant ward. So why?

  “Do you know,” Grif said slowly, “I think we have spent so much time focusing on one or two details that we’ve failed to see the entire picture.” Thomas and Conroy stopped talking and looked at him. “What if chasing after Kay was a small part of a larger scheme?”

  Thomas narrowed his eyes. “A diversion?”

  “Precisely,” Grif agreed. “Edmund has never cared one bit about anyone besides himself. Why would he go through so much work to protect Kay’s reputation at the funeral? Or hide her escape to Scotland, for that matter? Brumley wouldn’t have given a damn if the girl was socially ruined.”

  “Edmund knew Kay would never willingly marry Brumley,” Thomas said, picking up on Grif’s line of thought. “He expected her to do something, maybe not fly so efficiently to the ends of the earth, but that was merely an inconvenience.” He looked up at Grif, understanding in his blue eyes. “He was going to call you in to clean up whatever mess Kay made, because he knew you would.”

  Grif rubbed his forehead. “He dangled the right carrot and like a stubborn ass, I went straight for it. How could I have been so transparent?”

  “He knew Kay would provide enough of a distraction for you, especially after you married her, that he could do...” Thomas gestured to the open air. “Whatever it is he’s doing. But why send Dreyfus with us to find her?”

  Grif looked Thomas straight in the eye. “Why would you send an English dandy out into the wilds of Scotland for an extended stay with a Bow Street Runner and two war-hardened mercenaries, who also happen to be his biggest business competitors?”

  Thomas snorted and shook his head. “He never expected Dreyfus to return. He assumed we’d tire of Dreyfus and make him disappear. When that didn’t work, he sent Brumley after Kay in hopes that you’d either end up dead or incarcerated.”

  “Look at Dreyfus’s last few transactions,” Grif said thoughtfully. “They’re ridiculously large. It’s almost like
he’s making one final run. I think that with the Waterguard boosting their numbers Edmund is planning to quit the smuggling business.”

  “And once he’s out,” Thomas said, “he’ll want to eliminate his hired help. Tie up his loose ends so nothing can be traced back to him.”

  They all three chewed on the thought for a while. Conroy finally shook his head. “I hate bein’ manipulated,” he sputtered vehemently.

  “Speaking of, old chap,” Grif said amiably, “how did you get your hands on this ledger again?”

  The big man shrugged. “As I said, a lad in the household helped me.”

  Grif stared quietly at the man for long minutes, drumming his fingertips on the desk. “Yes, but how exactly did the lad get the ledger?”

  “We both know ye don’t want to hear it,” Conroy muttered. At the earl’s mulish look, the big man sighed. “Ye just ain’t gonna leave it, are you?”

  “How involved was my wife in obtaining this book?” Grif asked quietly.

  “Involved,” Conroy said sharply.

  “How involved?” Grif pressed.

  “Very involved,” Conroy said, looking to Thomas for help. Thomas shook his head and sat on the corner of his desk to watch.

  “Why don’t you tell me all about it,” the earl of Griffin said, gesturing for the larger man to sit. “That way, we can ascertain which of you I throttle first.”

  Conroy sighed and sat down, then proceeded to quickly sketch out the vague particulars of Kyra stealing the book. When that didn’t satisfy the earl, he went through every detail, slowly and succinctly, until he thought the man across from him was going to burst a vein.

  “Let me get this straight, Conroy,” Grif said, scrunching his eyes tightly shut. “You are telling me that Lady Kyra Ashford, Countess Griffin, my wife, strolled into Edmund’s house with a key you lifted from his valet—whom you poisoned—and opened up his private safe. She then stole this book and sauntered back out. Do I have that right?”

  “Well, I didn’t poison the valet,” Conroy said in his defense. “The second valet did that. And I made sure Ashford was distracted while she took the book. But the rest of it is pretty much correct.”

  Grif rose calmly and slowly walked the length of the study, appearing to examine the room. He stopped and straightened a book that was jutting out from the shelf. His voice, however, belied his calm demeanor. “And you allowed her to go into Edmund’s home because...” he said softly, dangerously.

  It took a moment for the big man to answer, as though carefully weighing his options. Finally, he blew out an exasperated breath and said in frustration, “‘Cos I knew I couldn’t stop her! That little harridan you call a wife is stubborn as an ox when she sets her mind to something, and I didn’t want to waste my time fighting with her knowing I’d just wind up doing exactly what she wanted me to do anyhow.”

  Thomas snorted in agreement. Grif spun around and glared at him. “He has a point, Grif. You’ve said near the same yourself.”

  “I know,” Grif muttered miserably, his anger at Conroy dissipating. “The damned woman is going to be the death of me yet.” He looked Conroy straight in the eye. “So why are you giving us the ledger? Kay would never give up something this important unless she had something bigger planned.”

  Conroy shrugged and shifted in his seat. “We didn’t know what it was. She figured it was best to pass it to you.” At Grif’s steely glare, the big man shrugged again. “‘Struth. She said she had other things to worry about.”

  Grif raised his brow, sensing he had come to the crux of the issue. “Oh ho. So what ‘other things’ is my wife worried about?”

  Conroy looked questioningly at Thomas, who shook his head. The exchange was not lost on Grif, of course, and he felt his blood boiling. “What?” he snapped.

  Thomas answered. “Grif, it’s not our place to say.” At his friend’s protest, he raised his hand and said firmly, “There are certain things a man should hear directly from his wife.”

  “Well, what the hell could Kay tell me that you couldn’t?” Grif argued. “I mean, there are few things a wife need tell her husband that—”

  He stopped, and his eyes grew wide in sudden understanding. He sank into his chair, shocked to his core. “Oh.”

  Thomas grinned. “Congratulations.”

  Grif felt his head swimming with questions. “Are you sure? How long?”

  Thomas looked at him pointedly. “Talk to your wife, Grif.”

  “Why didn’t she tell me?” Grif wondered aloud, beyond hurt at the thought that Kay would have withheld something so enormous, so life changing, from him. He understood why she was angry with him, considering the argument they’d had before he’d left, but not telling him about his own child was cruel. “I know things have been rocky but—”

  A sudden memory of that argument made him curse. She’d tried to tell him, he realized, and he’d pushed her away because of his stupid, wounded pride. Grif cursed again, remembering another detail of that afternoon. The letter! The letter he’d never read.

  Grif’s heart turned wooden as understanding washed over him. Kay thought he’d read that letter. He had told her he’d read it. She had even asked him about the letter the other night, and he’d quite simply brushed her off. No wonder she was aloof with him—she thought he didn’t care about her. Worse, she thought he didn’t care about their child. Of course she was furious.

  He’d be furious too.

  Grif sat back in his chair, thinking about all the things he needed to do. The first was to put away his stubborn, ridiculous pride and tell his wife he loved her. It might not be much, but it was the first step in mending some of the damage he’d done.

  “Thomas,” he said slowly, “do you think you could retrieve something for me from my study?”

  “Of course,” Thomas replied. “Grif, I hate to be the one to rain on your parade, but what are we going to do about Edmund and Dreyfus?”

  Conroy cleared his throat, drawing Thomas and Grif’s attention. “I ain’t supposed to say nothing,” he started slowly, “but I’m guessing you’re gonna want to know, considering.”

  “What is she planning, Conroy?” Grif muttered, closing his eyes against the impending headache he felt coming. Thomas groaned.

  Conroy grinned cheekily. “Since ye asked, your wife is planning on leaving for the Continent by the end of the month. You’ve got a week and a day to do your talking.”

  “Of course,” Grif said, feeling the headache blossom. “Of course.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Kyra sat in the solicitor’s office feeling queasy. Who knew it could be so simple to run away from one’s problems? The rather rotund man who sat across from her, one Mr. Snobrick Jr. of Snobrick and Sons, smiled jovially as he reviewed the plans they had just discussed. Snobrick’s father had been her family’s man of business for as long as she could remember, until his death several months ago. Snobrick Jr. seemed capable, if a tad too eager for her taste. Since becoming the countess of Ashford, she’d had little reason to consult him, which she judged for the best. The man tried her patience.

  “Everything is going well, Countess, very well indeed!” the portly man practically vibrated with self-importance. “When you told me you wanted to leave within a fortnight I didn’t think it possible,” the man confessed eagerly. “But it looks as though I, er we, have made it happen,” he gloated.

  “Your bank accounts are in place and your family estates will be well cared for. I find your husband’s solicitor to be quite competent. Your suite aboard the Lucretia is set, and you depart from London on the twenty-eighth of the month. Your cousin’s coach will meet you at the harbor and deliver you to an inn just outside Caen, where she will meet you. Everything is right and tight. Almost.”

  “Indeed,” she said coolly. “Your efforts have been m
ost expeditious.” She rose to leave. Junior rose, as well. “You’ll send word to me as soon as arrangements are finalized. I’ll return to sign any remaining documents at that time.”

  Snobrick rose and bowed. “Of course, Countess.” He escorted her to the door. He cleared his throat, seeming somewhat uncomfortable.

  Kyra turned her haughtiest look on him, tired of playing at the social niceties her station required. “Cut rope, Mr. Snobrick. I do not like to play cat and mouse.”

  Mr. Snobrick smiled nervously. “I am, um, somewhat uneasy with making you come out to my offices a third time. A lady such as yourself—”

  Kyra snorted. “I understand, sir. My presence is proving troublesome for you, no doubt, as my husband’s scandal has most of Society thumbing their nose at me and anyone who associates with me.”

  Junior raised his hands apologetically. “My father served your family for decades, lady, so I feel loyalty to the Deverill name. It’s just that...having you visit me publicly makes things a little, um, awkward.”

  “Your father served us well,” Kyra said pointedly, hoping the younger Snobrick caught her meaning. The late solicitor, crabby as he was, wouldn’t have batted an eye at meeting with a scandal-ridden young countess. Junior had already bristled at visiting her at the Ashford townhome. She had little time for such nonsense.

  Grif’s solicitor, Duprey, was much more professional, she mused—and loyal. Once she was out of the country, she would see that everything was handed over to him immediately. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements to visit you after hours. Would that be acceptable, sir?”

  Mr. Snobrick exhaled, visibly relieved. “Thank you, Lady Griffin. I would appreciate that.”

  “Send word when everything is ready,” Kyra bit out, her patience worn thin. Without awaiting his reply, she sailed through the courtyard to the Ashford carriage.

  Leaving had proved much easier—and much harder—than she’d anticipated. Everything was ready for her departure, save a few minor details. In little more than a week she would board a packet that would whisk her away from hearth and kin.