by Jen Turano
“Of course not, but I’m not going to get into my main reason until we get everything straightened away. Then you and I will find a nice quiet place, and then . . . well, you’ll simply have to wait and see.”
“You’re being annoying again.”
“Oh look, we’re on Fifth Avenue, and almost to my house.”
As the carriage began to slow a short time later, Temperance’s annoyance disappeared when the carriage stopped in front of a house that was obviously still under construction, but clearly fashioned along the same lines as the mansion Mrs. Vanderbilt had created a few blocks away.
With anticipation humming through her, she was out on the sidewalk a moment after Eugene opened the door, her gaze running over a structure that could only be described as whimsical. Turning to Gilbert, she grinned.
“This isn’t anything I would have expected you to build.”
Gilbert returned the grin. “I know, but after consulting with Mr. Richard Hunt, the architect Alva Vanderbilt used for her lovely mansion, I felt a distinct urge to use a most unconventional design, one I’ve come to believe I chose, even if subconsciously, with you in mind.”
Even the mere act of breathing turned difficult. But before Temperance could summon up a single word in response to what truly was a most telling statement, Gilbert stepped directly up next to her, put his hands on either side of her face, and then . . . he kissed her.
It wasn’t a kiss remotely similar to the one, or perhaps two, she’d given him, but a real kiss, filled with tenderness, strength, and something more, something intriguing.
“And this is yet another example of what happens when a person is raised in a country that is barely civilized. If you’d been raised properly in England, Gilbert, you’d understand that we British frown on kissing in public, finding it quite beyond the pale.”
“I see your brother shares your ability to be annoying,” Temperance muttered as Gilbert eased away from her and grinned.
“I’m afraid so, and on that note, before he turns more contrary than ever, let us remove ourselves into the house, and . . . look, my parents have arrived.”
Pretending she didn’t notice that Florence and William were beaming at her, which suggested they’d just witnessed their son kissing her, Temperance took hold of Gilbert’s arm, pleased when knees that had gone distinctly weak steadied. Walking with him up the sidewalk that led to the front door, they were followed by his brother and his two friends, with Florence and William bringing up the rear.
“Have you not been able to find yourself a decent butler yet?” Charles asked when the front door remained closed after they reached it.
“I have a very competent butler, as well as a proficient underbutler. And my valet, Tobias, as you might recall, was an excellent underbutler in your house before that wife of yours tossed him out on the streets.” Gilbert frowned. “But speaking of Lady Strafford, should I assume she’s aware that you’re not dead?”
Charles gave a flick of a lace-covered wrist. “I haven’t gotten around to telling her I’m alive just yet. But don’t look so alarmed. I’m sure I’ll get around to returning home in the next few weeks, where I’ll then enjoy a most charming reunion with my shrew of a wife.”
“Why do you expect it to be a charming reunion if you consider your wife to be a shrew?” Temperance couldn’t resist asking.
For a second, she didn’t think Charles was going to respond, but then he shrugged. “Even though I’m quite certain Alice has been enjoying the idea that I, her much older and greatly detested husband, is supposedly dead, I know she doesn’t relish the idea of taking on the role of Dowager Countess. She’s also probably dreading the day Gilbert shows up in England to take over the role of Earl of Strafford, which will see her position within London society diminished. That being said, when I do eventually show up alive and quite well, I have to imagine she’ll smile prettily at me, welcome me back amongst the living, and then we’ll go our separate ways again five minutes after we’ve been reunited.”
“While that is a most touching scene you’ve just painted for us, Lord Strafford,” began Lord Grantley, or at least Temperance thought that was his name, “if you haven’t noticed, the wind has become somewhat brisk. I would hate to take a chill and suffer from a cold once we finally get on our way back to our beloved England.”
“When I was in England, it was raining all the time and far chillier than it is here,” Temperance pointed out, earning a look that suggested Lord Grantley found her vastly unpleasant, right before he turned his head from her as if she were now beneath his notice.
“And that right there is why I balked at becoming a countess,” she said cheerfully as Gilbert flashed her a smile before he moved to the door, opening it himself.
“I imagine another catastrophe has happened with the building crew, which explains why no one is manning the door,” he said ushering everyone inside.
Once they moved into the cavernous entranceway, Temperance found her feet simply wouldn’t move as her gaze darted around.
Her attention settled on a curved staircase, one that split in two before it reached the second floor, that second floor sporting a railed galley, although pieces of that railing were missing. She tilted her head back and scanned a high ceiling that had yet to be completely plastered, which exactly explained why a scaffold had been left in the very center of the entranceway.
“I imagine that ceiling would look stunning with a fresco painted on it,” she said, turning to Gilbert and raising an expectant brow.
“That’s a matter we’ll debate at a later date,” Gilbert said, frowning as he looked around. “Seems a bit quiet, which is curious, especially since . . .” His voice trailed off as Tobias suddenly dashed into the room, looking the worse for wear with a bloodied lip, mussed hair, and . . . a motley-looking dog scampering next him, and one that seemed to have some type of horn tied with a red bow around his head.
“Do not tell me that mongrel is your idea of a cute puppy,” Gilbert said right before the mongrel in question let out an excited yip and made a beeline, not for Gilbert, but for Temperance.
The next second, she was knocked to the ground while the beast tried to lick her to death, the cone attached to his head doing its very best to poke her eye out.
“I knew they would take to each other,” Tobias said. “But, sir, we’ve got a situation in what barely passes for the drawing room. You’d best come see, and . . .” He stopped talking as his gaze settled on Gilbert’s brother. “Lord Strafford, you’re not dead.”
Charles inclined his head. “Good afternoon, Tobias. I see America has already turned you less civilized.”
Pushing herself to a sitting position while the large dog of what could only be described as questionable breeding plopped down on its haunches right beside her, Temperance watched as Tobias raked a hand through his hair and shook his head.
“Begging your pardon, Lord Strafford, and . . .” He stopped talking again. “Lord Grantley, Lord Abinger, it’s nice to . . .” His sentence faded away. “How long have you been in New York?”
“We’ve been here about a week,” Lord Grantley admitted, looking rather taken aback that a man who’d once been Lord Strafford’s underbutler was addressing him so familiarly.
“It’s been you and Lord Abinger I’ve been seeing around town,” Tobias said with a shake of his head. “I thought I was losing my wits, but I really was seeing people I’d seen before. Imagine that, but . . . I don’t think I took note of you, Lord Strafford.”
“I stayed back at the hotel in our rented suite of rooms while my friends traveled around the city, trying to decipher what Gilbert was up to.”
Tobias’s brows drew together. “And I’m sure you have a reason for doing that, my lord, but an explanation will have to wait until we get matters settled here.” He turned to Gilbert. “You’d best follow me, sir, although”—he jerked a head in Lord Strafford’s direction—“you’d best come as well, Lord Strafford, because the concerning sit
uation transpiring in this very house does involve you, albeit indirectly.”
Taking the hand Gilbert held out to her, Temperance struggled to her feet, tugging the folds of her skirt out of the dog’s mouth before stumbling ever so slightly when the dog then began nudging her with the cone still tied around its head.
“That was not remotely what I had in mind when I asked Tobias to find you a puppy,” he said, his attention on the dog that was now trying to divest itself of the cone by shaking his head back and forth.
“He’s adorable, and I’m already in love with him,” Temperance said, bending over to untie the bow that was holding the cone to the dog’s head. She ruffled the dog’s fur and bent close to its ear. “Do know that I’ll try to refrain from tying a cone around your head in the future, although I do think it was only done to fulfill Gilbert’s curious notion that I needed to be presented with a dragon.”
The dog licked her hand before she straightened. “I wonder what I should name him, or if he already has a name.”
“It’s a girl, and no, she doesn’t have a name,” Tobias said over his shoulder as he started down a hallway.
As she followed Tobias at a rapid pace that didn’t allow Temperance time to give the hallway a proper look, she caught glimpses of wonderful molding attached to doorways and numerous swatches of fabric hanging from the walls, clearly waiting for someone to decide which patterns and colors would work best.
“I imagine you’ll be able to whip this place into shape in no time,” Florence said from behind her, sending Temperance a wink when Temperance turned her head to look at Gilbert’s mother.
“Hmm . . .” was all she felt comfortable responding, although given Gilbert’s kiss, and the fact that he truly had procured a puppy that Tobias had apparently been trying to turn into a dragon, she was finally beginning to feel rather hopeful regarding her prospects for the future.
Not knowing what they were about to find in the drawing room Tobias had just disappeared into, Temperance braced herself as Gilbert steered her through a doorway. A woman and man, tied to two chairs, both of them looking as if they’d been in a bit of tussle, looked up.
“Charles . . . darling,” the woman exclaimed. “Praise the Lord but you’re still . . . alive.”
Charles stopped in his tracks and drew himself up. “Alice, what in the world are you doing in America, and . . .” He shot a glance to the man tied next to her. “What is your brother doing here as well, and . . . why have you been tied up?”
Tobias stepped forward. “They came to the front door, and since I’d offered to man that door because the butler and underbutler were off trying to find me something better to use to turn the dog into a dragon, since the dog didn’t seem to want to have a horn attached to its head, I was the one to open the door after they began banging on it.” He shook his head. “Before I could even blink, I found myself staring at the end of a pistol. They then insisted on being taken to Lord Strafford”—Tobias nodded to Gilbert—“and they meant you, if that was in question, now with the former Lord Strafford being alive and all.”
“Come to kill me, if I’m not much mistaken,” Gilbert said, turning to consider the two people tied to chairs he’d only recently purchased.
“Don’t be silly, Gilbert, we weren’t going to kill you,” the woman named Alice said, the beauty of her face marred by the fact her eyes were flashing with temper. “We’d heard that America is a very dangerous place, so my brother and I simply weren’t taking any chances.”
“Is that why you knocked me to the ground and threatened to shoot me after I refused to disclose where Mr. Cavendish was?” Tobias asked. “You thought I’d turn dangerous since coming to live in America?”
“Exactly,” Alice replied before she shot the dog a disgusted look. “It wasn’t very nice of you to encourage that mutt to attack us like it did. Why, we could have been mauled to death and, to make it more frightening for me, you threatened us with the pistol Andrew so foolishly dropped, and then you tied us up.” She lifted her chin. “You’ll make them untie us, won’t you, Charles?”
Charles, instead of doing as his wife asked, was looking her over, his eyes narrowing fraction by fraction. “Not that I believe this is the appropriate time to ask such a delicate question, since I’ve always believed matters of delicacy should be handled privately, but have you taken to eating vast quantities of food since learning I was dead, or . . . could you possibly be with child?”
Just like that, the room went silent.
Alice beamed a bright smile his way. “I am with child, which is why I convinced my brother to travel to America with me, not wanting to take on such a task alone in my delicate condition.” Her smile increased in brightness. “I knew I needed to disclose my condition to Gilbert posthaste, saving him the bother of packing up his life here in America to assume a life in England.”
“Because if you happen to give birth to a male child, Gilbert would no longer be the Earl of Strafford. . . . Our son would be,” Charles said, earning a nod from Alice in the process.
“Indeed.” She turned her attention to Gilbert. “I knew you’d be disappointed to learn I’m in the expecting way, so . . .”
“I’m astonished you’re in the expecting way,” Charles interrupted. “Particularly because you know full well that you and I have not been in the same room together, let alone spent time of a . . . ah, close nature, for over a year.”
The sound of a pin dropping could have been heard in the silence that followed that statement, until Tobias stepped forward. “Contrary to what your wife has stated, Lord Strafford, she’s not expecting. She’s just made use of some type of pillow, one I felt while she was pulling my hair after I wouldn’t tell her where Mr. Cavendish was.”
Charles tapped a finger against his aristocratic chin. “I would imagine your being with child scenario was a backup plan after your efforts to have Gilbert murdered weren’t seeing much success.”
Alice stuck her nose in the air. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re prattling on about.”
“I’m sure you do, as well as knowing that I’m quickly concluding it was you and your brother who put into motion plans for my demise.” Charles began tsking under his breath while Alice deliberately turned her head from him, taking a marked interest in a half-painted wall.
Charles discontinued his tsking and took a step closer to Alice. “There were five attempts on my life over the past few months in England, attempts I became convinced were perpetuated by my brother.” Charles looked to Gilbert. “No offense. I know now you have no interest in the family title.”
“None taken, and I might have thought the same if I were in your shoes.”
Charles inclined his head before he turned back to his wife. “In case you were curious, I faked my own death. I never fell off my yacht, but instead had Lord Abinger sail me to his hunting cottage off the coast. I then asked him to return to London and make the claim I’d been swept out to sea.” He smiled. “What an enjoyable few weeks I had at that cottage without you nagging me, Alice. But because I knew I couldn’t stay dead forever, and knew I needed to uncover the truth about who wanted me dead, I decided to sail to America. At that time, I truly did believe Gilbert was the one behind the attacks on my life, and I knew by the time I reached this country he would have somehow learned I was dead. I wanted to see what he’d do with that information.”
Florence cleared her throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “I sailed home to tell him.”
Charles, surprisingly enough, smiled. “I would have thought you’d try to withhold that information from him, Florence, what with your disdain for the aristocracy.”
“I was told your death had made the papers, and the ocean that separates England from America isn’t nearly as large as it used to be.”
“Quite,” Charles returned, nodding to Gilbert again. “We’ve been trying to keep track of you for the past week, and during that time, we learned that someone seemed to want you dead. I should have realized
then what was occurring, but it’s a little hard to swallow—accepting the idea my wife could have possibly detested me so much that she’d want me dead, or that she’d then set her sights on killing you.”
He turned to Alice. “If you’d been successful with murdering Gilbert, and even if you weren’t, should I assume you were then going to return to London and produce a male child a few months later—one you’d claim was mine, and one I imagine you’d fetch from an orphanage?”
Alice refused to address his question, but Charles didn’t seem to notice as he began to pace around the room.
“It would have been relatively easy to convince most everyone the child was mine since we’ve never let it be known to many people how much we detest each other. I have to imagine you would have then worked it out so you’d retain control over my vast holdings until the baby reached his majority, at which point I’m sure you would have come up with yet another plan, one that would see you continuing to manage matters of the estate behind the scenes.”
He stopped pacing. “What a shame that Gilbert was so difficult to murder, wasn’t it? I imagine that’s what forced you to decide you’d have to do the deed yourself or convince him you really were with child and that he’d need to put his plans on hold until after the birth.”
Alice slowly turned her head, her eyes flashing once again with temper. “Gilbert is incredibly resilient, even with us bringing assassins from England who were supposed to be the best in their chosen profession.” She let out a laugh that was anything but amused. “Imagine my disgust when I learned those idiots were captured during their second attempt of dealing with Gilbert, and that was after they’d failed in their first attempt in Central Park. Because of their ineptitude, my brother and I were left with no other option but to take care of the matter ourselves.”
Charles began twisting a signet ring around his finger before he lifted his head and pinned his wife with an icy glare. “What I don’t understand is why you’d want to kill me. We barely see each other. You’ve been free to enjoy the life of a countess unencumbered.”