Caught by Surprise

by Jen Turano

  “And was Wayne impressed by your plans?”

  “I’m not sure he was impressed with my plans, but he did seem to be rather enthusiastic about the type of growth I expect the business to obtain over the next few years. He peppered me with a variety of questions pertaining to that growth and was very complimentary regarding what he claimed to be my impressive business acumen.”

  Temperance stopped in her tracks again as an unpleasant thought sprang to mind. “Would you say he was overly complimentary about the success of your business?”

  “He may have been a touch more enthusiastic about my business than I was expecting him to be, especially since it’s a rare day indeed when people hang on my every word when I’m discussing exports and imports.” Gilbert’s smile turned rueful. “I’m sure you must recall how I can occasionally wax on and on about export details that tend to have most people turning a bit glazed in the eyes.”

  “I well recall that habit of yours and am sure I’ve sported that glazed look a time or two when you’ve gotten a tad carried away. But hearing you apparently did not bore my cousin to tears is disturbing to say the least and explains much.” With that, she tugged Gilbert back into motion again, moving down the sidewalk at a rapid clip as she tried to sort through thoughts that were only now beginning to make sense.

  “You know it’s very annoying when you don’t bother to expand on those random thoughts that seem to strike from out of nowhere, don’t you?” Gilbert asked, pulling her directly out of those random thoughts.

  Temperance gave his arm a quick pat as they came to a stop in the front of the Palmer House. “I’m sure it is annoying, but I don’t want to say more until I’m perfectly certain I’m on the right track. For now, what I need you to do is go to the front desk, tell them you’re Mr. Randolph Smith, and that you and your wife have a reservation.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because before my two abductors abandoned me after they discovered they’d snatched up the wrong person—although they should have mentioned that they’d snatched up the wrong Flowerdew, which would have clarified the situation for me—they told me that there’s a room reserved for them at the Palmer House under Mr. Randolph Smith and wife. We need to see if there really is such a reservation, and if there is, we’re going to see if any clues can be found in that room.”

  “I was supposed to be left instructions at the front desk,” Gilbert argued.

  “Well, yes, but since I’m going to assume those instructions were meant to be left by Eugene and Mercy, my erstwhile kidnappers, I don’t think we can expect any further instructions to show up since those two people are more than likely on their way back to New York by now.”

  “They simply left you in Chicago?”

  “They abandoned me at the train station without a single cent to see me through my stay in Chicago or to see me back to New York.”

  Gilbert pulled her toward the doorway, thanked the doorman who was already holding the door to Palmer House open for them, and ushered Temperance inside. Glancing around, she smoothed a hand over hair she knew was looking anything other than tidy, then nodded toward the front desk.

  “I’ll wait for you behind that fern,” she told Gilbert with a wave of her hand toward the fern in question. “Remember, you’re Mr. Randolph Smith, here with your wife.”

  “Should I expect to have to pay for the room reserved for this Mr. Smith and wife?”

  “I have no idea. Eugene and Mercy were rather reluctant to divulge much to me, especially after they realized they’d abducted the wrong woman.”

  Gilbert raked a hand through his hair. “Seems a bit odd that kidnappers would coddle their victim with a luxurious stay in a hotel that caters to a wealthy clientele.”

  “I’m afraid, if I’m surmising correctly, matters are about to get even odder.”

  “But you’re not going to explain that curious remark yet, are you?”

  “Not until I have further proof.”

  “Delighted to learn your propensity for being exasperating hasn’t changed much since we’ve been apart,” Gilbert muttered before he turned and began moving through the crowd. His easy gait and confident manner caught the attention of more than one young lady, and as Gilbert inclined his head time after time to the ladies now fluttering lashes rather flirtatiously his way, Temperance smiled.

  There was something about Gilbert that drew feminine attention. It wasn’t that he was always the handsomest gentleman in the room, but he possessed an air of confidence that always drew the eye.

  His ordinary brown hair was kept short, a length he’d always preferred because he said it was easily managed, while his clothing was always made from fine fabrics, but cut in a style that lent credence to the idea he was a serious man of business.

  He never wore fancy cufflinks or diamond stickpins, and his gold pocket watch, while of the finest quality, was not engraved with an elaborate design but carried for the sheer practicality of telling time.

  When three ladies strolling around the lobby stopped in their tracks and glanced Temperance’s way, looking her over quite as if she were a bug they were horrified to view, Temperance recalled that she was not dressed appropriately for her current surroundings, nor was the dirt staining her clothing what one expected to see at the Palmer House. Waiting until the ladies released sniffs and marched away, she slipped behind the fronds of the fern, peeking through to observe her surroundings when her curiosity got the better of her.

  She’d never been to the Palmer House, although she understood it was said to be one of the most extravagant hotels in the country.

  Being six stories tall and filled with art from Paris, chandeliers with garnets embedded in the crystal hanging from the high ceiling, and expensive furnishings were scattered about the first-floor grand lobby, Palmer House was an impressive sight indeed. Craning her neck, she let her gaze linger on a ceiling fresco, the many different scenes pictured there leaving her with a distinct longing to abandon her hiding spot, move to the very middle of the lobby, then stretch out on the floor and spend the next few days considering every inch of painted space.

  Smiling at the thought that guests at the Palmer House would not appreciate stepping around a lady lying about on the floor, Temperance forced her attention from the ceiling and took in the rest of the room. Large pillars rose from the ground to meet the ceiling that was at least two stories tall. Mingling around the pillars were well-heeled guests, all of whom were there to see or be seen by the crème de la crème of Chicago society.

  “You were right. There was a reservation for Mr. Randolph Smith and wife.”

  Temperance jumped and raised a hand to her throat. “You just scared me half to death.”

  To her annoyance, Gilbert grinned. “I’d quite forgotten how you tend to get swept up in your surroundings and become oblivious to everything else around you. What has captured your fancy this time?”

  Pushing aside her annoyance because it was decidedly comforting to be around a person who knew her so well, Temperance nodded toward the ceiling. “I’d heard that Bertha Palmer, Potter Palmer’s wife, was an admirer of art, and she spared no expense with decorating her husband’s hotel. If we have time later, after we’ve seen to collecting any clues we can about my abduction, I would like to take a few hours to roam around this place. Rumor has it Bertha acquired a few works from Claude Monet, and I do enjoy that gentleman’s work.”

  “I’m sure a tour can be arranged, although it might have to wait until we find you some different clothing to wear. I hate to point out the obvious, Temperance, but you’re sticking out like a sore thumb.” He frowned. “Now that I think about it, we might draw undue notice if we’re seen moseying up to Mr. Smith’s reserved room together. Would you mind staying put while I give the room a gander? I’ll be back with a report posthaste.”

  Temperance took a step away from the fern, noticing as she did so that they were already beginning to draw attention from another gathering of young ladies, all of
whom were looking her up and down, evidently finding her lacking given the less-than-pleasant expressions on their faces.

  “That might be for the . . .”

  “Ah, Mr. Smith. I see you located your darling Mrs. Smith.”

  Refusing a grimace when the gazes the ladies were still directing her way seemed to sharpen, Temperance forced a smile and turned to a bellhop who’d materialized behind Gilbert. That man was already in possession of Gilbert’s traveling bag, although Gilbert still had his satchel slung over his shoulder. Inclining her head to the bellhop, she pretended not to notice that he was considering her with what appeared to be horror in his eyes, although a second later, he blinked, and the horror disappeared.

  “If you’d be so kind to follow me, Mrs. Smith, I’ll see you and your husband to your suite. I do believe you’ll be very pleased with the rooms that have been reserved for you.”

  Seeing absolutely no escape, and knowing she would draw more attention to them if she didn’t fall into step behind the bellhop, Temperance took the arm Gilbert thrust her way. With her head lowered, she moved across the lobby, stepped into the elevator, then spent the ride perusing the floor, trying to draw as little attention as possible from the bellhop and elevator operator. With a ding, the elevator stopped at the third floor, the door opened, and after stepping out into a long hallway, Temperance followed the bellhop, nodding her head every now and again as he dispelled little tidbits about the hotel.

  “After the first Palmer Hotel burned to the ground mere days after it opened, Mr. Potter Palmer built this practically fireproof hotel in its place, opening only one year later.” The bellhop stopped in front of a door with gilded molding and smiled. “Your suite,” he said, brandishing a key with a flourish. He opened the door and gestured them inside. “The concierge wanted me to assure you that all of your requests have been seen to, Mr. Smith, and we wish you and your lovely wife a wonderful stay with us at Palmer House.”

  As Gilbert discreetly passed the bellhop a few bills, Temperance moved further into the suite, not turning around until she heard the distinct click of the door shutting behind the bellhop.

  “That was an unforeseen twist of events,” Gilbert said, repocketing his wallet before he let out a whistle and began walking around what was clearly the sitting room of a very well-appointed suite. He nodded to a crystal vase filled with fresh flowers. “It’s interesting, isn’t it, how someone seems to have spared no expense in this abduction fiasco?”

  Temperance nodded as she moved across the room, stepping through a door that led to what was clearly a bedchamber, complete with a canopy bed draped in ivory fabric. “What a magnificent bedchamber.”

  “I’ll take your word for that because it would hardly be appropriate for me to join you in there.”

  Shaking her head at that bit of nonsense because she and Gilbert had been in many a hotel suite together throughout their privileged youth, Temperance took a moment to survey the room. Her attention immediately settled on a freestanding wardrobe, one that had a large red bow tied around the handles. Knowing she was probably not going to like what was inside of that wardrobe, but knowing there was only one way to prove the ridiculous conclusion she was beginning to draw regarding the entire abduction debacle, she stalked across the room and untied the bow.

  Giving the handle a yank, she was not taken by much surprise when she discovered a beautiful yellow gown made up of luscious silk, which just happened to be the signature color of her more than troublesome cousin, Clementine.

  Chapter

  Five

  Everything considered, Gilbert thought Temperance had handled the almost undeniable proof that her cousin was responsible for the unfortunate events Temperance had experienced after being snatched from the streets of New York City rather well.

  Admittedly, he’d had to wrestle the yellow gown away from her because she’d seemed intent on ripping it to shreds. But after he’d made the logical point about her not having anything that wasn’t covered in dirt to wear, and the yellow gown would do in a pinch until he could take her shopping, she’d abandoned her attack on it. She’d then requested he make himself scarce for an hour or two so she could set herself to rights and collect her temper in the process.

  He’d not been surprised by the request. Temperance had always been one who appreciated solitude, using it to study the world around her and gather thoughts she’d once told him always seemed prone to scattering every which way. Knowing time by herself was exactly what she needed, he’d taken a few moments to switch his travel-worn jacket for a fresh one and change his tie, then left their suite of rooms, telling her he was off to find a barber since he’d been without a shave for almost two days.

  Now, sitting in a most comfortable barber chair with a warm, moist towel wrapped snuggly around his face, he turned his thoughts to comprising a plan that would see them back to New York as quickly as possible. Once there, he needed to figure out how best to go about dealing with Wayne, Fanny, and Clementine Flowerdew once and for all.

  That Temperance’s relatives would go to such extremes to see his name attached to Clementine’s should have been shocking. But because he was a gentleman with a vast fortune at his disposal, he was somewhat accustomed to ladies going to unusual lengths to attract his notice. Still, none of those ladies had gone so far as to create an elaborate abduction ruse while they were in pursuit of attracting that notice.

  Calling himself all sorts of a fool for not realizing the moment Fanny Flowerdew threw herself on his Aubusson rug that he was being cast into a play he did not want to be cast in, Gilbert reached up to adjust the towel on his face, stilling when the gentleman sitting in the chair next to him began to speak.

  “I must say, Mr. Potter Palmer certainly knew what he was about when he included this barbershop in his hotel,” the man began. “It allows a gentleman some male time, which I most heartily appreciate, what with all the ladies I’ve been surrounded with ever since we arrived in this windy city from New York.”

  “You here for the Chicago Literary Club weekend?” the barber who’d only recently been shaving Gilbert asked.

  “My wife and her friends said they couldn’t miss it.” The man heaved a sigh. “Being fond of the latest novels of the day, my darling Myrtle was adamant about attending an event where the most intriguing novels are slated to be discussed for hours on end. Add in the troubling notion she’s also convinced it’s necessary to become involved in clubs outside of New York, there was no dissuading her from traveling to Chicago—an up-and-coming city, or so I’ve been told, that is already enjoying a boon to its social standing in the country.”

  He heaved another sigh, this one more dramatic than the last. “When word got out that Bertha Palmer was hosting the Chicago Literary Club at this very hotel, there was practically a stampede at the train station as my wife, along with all her friends, began scooping up tickets to assure they wouldn’t miss a prime opportunity to mingle with their societal Chicago sisters.”

  “At least the literary weekend provides you with an excuse to travel,” the barber said.

  “I’d be content to remain back in New York at my club, thank you very much, especially because my attendance is being demanded later this evening at what sounds to be a most tiresome dinner sponsored by the literary club. There’s nothing worse for a man’s digestion than having to plod through a meal while snippets of literature are read aloud as the courses are being served.”

  The barber chuckled. “I know it’s small consolation, but because that dinner is to be held here at the hotel, you’ll not find a better meal served. Mrs. Palmer Potter is very particular about keeping up appearances, so you should at least enjoy your meal, if not the literature being shared.”

  Making a note to himself to avoid the Chicago Literary Club dinner because it seemed as if it was to be attended by numerous New Yorkers, Gilbert shifted in his chair, drawing the immediate attention of his barber.

  “I say, Mr. Smith. Are you ready to get on your
way?”

  Before Gilbert could respond, his rapidly cooling towel was taken away, a splash of lime water was patted over his face, and with a beaming smile, the barber gestured to the mirror. “Is the cut and shave satisfactory, Mr. Smith?”

  Glancing in the mirror, Gilbert nodded. His brown hair, which possessed a bit of curl, was now combed perfectly into place, and his face sported not a single whisker. Turning his head to see if his sideburns were evenly matched, he stilled when he found the man sitting beside him frowning back at him.

  Regrettably, the man turned out to be none other than Mr. Frank Miller, a gentleman Gilbert knew because he’d once exported Mr. Miller’s cotton wares to his contacts in England.

  “Mr. Miller,” Gilbert began, knowing there was no help for it but to greet the man. “Here for the literary weekend, are you?”

  “I am, but I think a more interesting question is why you’re in Chicago and why you’re going by the name of Mr. . . . Smith.”

  Having no idea how to respond since he certainly wasn’t willing to disclose the true reason behind him being in Chicago, which would certainly draw far too much notice because it wasn’t every day a woman was abducted, Gilbert pushed himself up from the barber chair. Inclining his head toward Mr. Miller, he summoned up a smile.

  “It might be best if you and I simply pretend you’re unaware of my presence here in Chicago and leave it at that.”

  Mr. Miller inclined his head in return. “Understood, although I should point out that it might have been more prudent for discretion purposes if you’d chosen a name other than Smith.” He shook his head. “That’s a name rife with implications, if you get my meaning.”

  Pretending he didn’t see the wink Mr. Miller sent him, or the telling look that accompanied that wink, Gilbert kept his smile firmly in place. “Do enjoy your dinner this evening, Mr. Miller.”