by Lori Bond
Chapter 20
Wellburn helped Caroline into her dress. Jerry watched the process, intent on learning the secrets. If he spent much time out in the world hunting down foreign agents for his father, there was no knowing what kind of skills he might need. True, he had not suspected that lacing a woman’s corset would be one of them, but he had no idea what situations he might find himself in again.
Mrs. Turnton fussed over Olive, giving her a small sip from a flask in her reticule. When Olive settled down, Jerry suspected strong spirits, but moving closer to the girl he realized she smelt of peppermint not brandy or whiskey.
Mrs. Turnton nodded approvingly. “I’ve given her something to settle her stomach. It’s an old trick I learned while working for your grandfather.”
Jerry turned away from Olive to stare blankly at Mrs. Turnton. “My grandfather? What do you mean?”
Wellburn answered for her. “Mrs. Turnton, once Lady Mann, and before that, Miss Fanny Wellburn, among other names, was part of the network of informants assembled by your father.”
“The Duke of Danvers has been meddling in foreign affairs for nearly thirty years at this point.” Mrs. Turnton smiled. “Those were the days. My husband and I, along with Wellburn here, used to travel together ferreting out secrets for the crown.”
“You were agents, both of you?” asked Caroline. She spun around, Wellburn dutifully following her as he attempted to fasten up the tiny pearl buttons running up her back. She twisted her head to look at Wellburn and grin at him like a fellow conspirator acknowledging another. “That sounds delightful.”
Mrs. Turnton settled herself on the sofa that still sat crosswise in the room for some reason. “Of course, Wellburn mostly travelled under his real name back then.”
“Real name?” Jerry’s voice came out fainter than normal. He felt as if the world were swaying, more than could be accounted for from the boat’s motion. After all, he hadn’t been sea-sick before.
Wellburn’s face went even more wooden than normal, and his lips mashed together in a solid line. Clearly the answer wasn’t coming from him.
Mrs. Turnton though didn’t seem to mind divulging his secrets. In fact, she seemed to be enjoying both reminiscing and exposing Wellburn. “Peter Byron, second son of the current Lord Byron.” She gave Jerry’s man a fond smile. “You were as nearly as irascible as your scandalous great uncle.”
“Byron, that Lord Byron?” Caroline clapped her hands in pure delight. “You’re related to the poet?”
“A distant connection.” Wellburn’s nose was so far in the air, it was amazing his neck didn’t develop a crick.
“Don’t go all high and mighty on us now.” Mrs. Turnton gave a small snort. “You had your own nose for scandal.” She turned to Jerry. “Your man had both the nose for ferreting out the most delicious on dits—and for causing a few of them too.”
Jerry couldn’t do anything but stare. The picture Mrs. Turnton painted was so far removed from the Wellburn he’d known his whole life. He had no idea how to comprehend the new information.
“You both sound delightfully wicked,” Caroline said. “You must tell us of your adventures someday.”
Mrs. Turnton and Wellburn shared a glance then looked away.
“To the matter at hand,” Mrs. Turnton said, redirecting the conversation. She gave Caroline a pointed stare. “I don’t know what you are about, my little lady, but you are dangerously close to making a mess of everything.”
Somehow Caroline managed to look both chastened and outraged all at the same time. Jerry found it adorable.
“I don’t know what your mother is about letting you get mixed up in one of Danvers’s schemes. Of course, I also never would have dreamed of your mother allowing your marriage to a man like that Bickle. One of Eloise’s less endearing traits is class snobbery,” Mrs. Turnton confided in Wellburn. “She all but broke ties when I married Horace. She maintained that all the money in the world couldn’t erase the taint of the shop or the American accent from a man.”
“I bet she wished she had all the money in the world now,” Caroline muttered.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Mrs. Turnton asked.
Caroline looked stubborn and turned away, clearly unwilling to confide in Mrs. Turnton, no matter how close the woman claimed to have been to her family. Jerry, with some help from Wellburn, took it upon himself to explain Caroline’s situation.
Throughout their recital, Mrs. Turnton’s eyebrows had been creeping up her head until they nearly reached her stylish swept up hair. “I see I should have fought your mother harder to maintain the connection,” she said once Jerry had finished. “I shall make it a priority to check on her once I am back in London.” She shook her head for a moment, lost in private thoughts. Finally, she seemed to remember the rest of them. “That still does not explain how Lady Caroline has been caught up with Danver’s heir in one of the duke’s hare-brained attempts to save the Empire.”
Jerry bristled.
Caroline waved away Mrs. Turnton’s concern before he could respond. “Oh, that. Jerry, I mean Viscount St. David, helped me at the train station. As we were traveling to the port, he realized he didn’t have a woman who could infiltrate the areas on the ship restricted from men. I agreed to come along in return for passage and for the cost of an apprenticeship to a good modiste in New York.”
“And an apprenticeship for Olive,” Jerry added.
Caroline gave him her dazzling smile, and he felt an odd warmth building in his chest. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I have been worrying what will happen to her in New York if my small supply of money did not prove to be enough.” She frowned for a moment. “But that wasn’t the original deal.”
“I could never separate you and Olive,” Jerry said gently. “Of course, you must apprentice together.”
Caroline looked as if she wanted to fling herself in his arms. She might have managed if Wellburn hadn’t still been gripping the back of her dress trying to hook the minute buttons. Despite the audience, Jerry rather wished she’d had the chance.
He realized Mrs. Turnton was staring at both of them, appraising them evenly.
“Yes, that will do nicely,” she said.
“I have thought so for some time,” Wellburn agreed.
Caroline glanced at Jerry, but he shrugged. He didn’t know what they meant either.
“Down to business,” said Mrs. Turnton. “We must figure out how to rid Lady Caroline of that ridiculous Mr. Bickle and then concentrate on your mission, my lord.”
They spent the rest of the morning and early afternoon planning just that.
Chapter 21
That afternoon Caroline met Jerry in the hall in front of her room. Caroline took his arm so that he might escort her to the Grand Parlor, but her fingers fretted on his sleeve. Olive still groaned every now and then, but she seemed to generally be resting peacefully. Caroline hadn’t wanted to leave her, not even to dispose of the unfortunate Mr. Bickle, but Mrs. Turnton had insisted. Mrs. Turnton’s maid sat next to Olive’s bed, ready to assist should she become ill again. At least Caroline didn’t need to worry about Olive waking, ill and alone.
Jerry brought his other hand up to gently pat her tapping fingers. “It will be all right.”
Caroline bit back a sigh. Jerry was only trying to be nice. “I know, but what if this is more than just an ocean malady? What if she really has something much worse, something that could lead to her death?” Caroline whispered the last word. She glanced up at Jerry. To her surprise he seemed to be trying not to laugh.
“What?” Caroline wanted to slap his clamped lips off of his face. How dare he mock her distress.
“I apologize,” Jerry said with a slight bow. “I am not mocking you, truly. I am laughing at myself. I had assumed you were worried about confronting the terrible Mr. Bickle.”
“Oh, that.” Caroline waved away her Mr. Bickle problem. “Either he bows out gracefully, or he doesn’t. Besides, we can always just have Wellb
urn throw the man overboard.”
Jerry gave her an appalled glance tinged with guilt. He nearly tripped on the last step of the stairs.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Caroline said. “It’s not as if you haven’t had the exact same thought.” She adjusted the front of her dress before they could step into the Grand Parlor. “Besides I didn’t really mean it.” She shot Jerry a small smile. “Not entirely.”
“You’re a blood-thirsty little thing.”
Caroline couldn’t tell if Jerry was pleased or alarmed by the idea. She shrugged and left his side to join Mrs. Turnton at a tea table.
Beside the matron, Mr. Bickle stood and gave Caroline a short bow. She nodded politely in return while Jerry helped her into her seat.
“I believe you are acquainted with my niece, Mrs. Wickingham,” Mrs. Turnton said, indicating Caroline, “and her new husband, Viscount St. David?”
Mr. Bickle blanched. “So, she’s your niece now too, is she?” he tried to come back with a sneer, but the man’s lips wavered, and he seemed to be developing a twitch in one eye. Caroline stared at it in fascination until she remembered that the demure Mrs. Wickingham would never stare so long at a man. She dropped her eyes into her lap.
Mrs. Turnton sat unbothered by Mr. Bickle’s implied slight. “Yes, I was just as surprised as you to learn of the connection last night at dinner. It seems that my late husband, Lord Mann, was this girl’s fourth cousin twice removed. It is a distant connection, I grant you, but when it comes to family, is there such a thing as too distant?” Mrs. Turnton managed to sound both pious and threatening at the same time.
Mr. Bickle seemed to understand the implied threat that Mrs. Turnton had taken an interest in Caroline. “I see.” He chose not to argue the point. Instead, he moved on to his next point of attack. “And you are to have me believe that these two are actually married.”
Mrs. Turnton sent Jerry and Caroline a glare so withering that Jerry flushed a bright red, and Caroline shifted in her seat, the picture of abashed youth.
“I perhaps cannot quite condone the hole and corner subterfuge that has gone into their marriage.” She turned back to Mr. Bickle with a world-weary sigh. “Of course, I would have preferred them to have read the banns rather than run off to Scotland, but youth.” She threw her hands up a few inches as if despairing of Jerry and Caroline’s entire generation. “As for the deception on the ship’s registry, it seems that young Lord St. David here wishes to escape England and his father’s notice before setting up house. The two were trying to hide their marriage from the duke as long as possible.”
Jerry’s expression took on a brooding sulk. “He wishes me to marry some dreadful American heiress.”
“That’s no excuse,” Mrs. Turnton snapped.
Jerry looked down at his hands like a school boy who’s been reprimanded by his sister’s governess.
Mrs. Turnton then turned her ire on Caroline. “And why you didn’t just inform this man of your second marriage when he mistook you for his missing fiancée, I will never understand.”
Her head still down, she looked up at Mrs. Turnton through her eyelashes. “Jerry said—,” Caroline started in her youngest sounding voice.
“Jerry said,” Mrs. Turnton interrupted before Caroline could start spinning one of her impossibly plausible tales. “Jerry is barely older than you. Children, the both of you.”
“Let me make sure I understand,” Mr. Bickle interrupted. He had the dazed expression of a man who had been nearly flattened by a speeding locomotive. “This girl, your niece, is not Lady Caroline, but the former Mrs. Wickingham, now Lady St. David. I am to believe that despite her singular similarity to Lady Caroline, that this child is well and truly married.”
Caroline flushed. Thanks to an overly frank conversation with Mrs. Turnton that morning, Caroline now realized that Mr. Bickle referred to the marriage bed he thought, or perhaps doubted, that she and Jerry shared.
“My lord,” Mrs. Turnton said to Jerry.
Still looking like a sulking child, Jerry pulled a small leather portfolio from the breast pocket of his jacket. From that he withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it over to Mrs. Turnton.
Mrs. Turnton glanced at the contents and sniffed her disdain before passing the paper over to Mr. Bickle.
“Disgraceful,” was her only commentary.
Mr. Bickle read through the counterfeit marriage certificate Wellburn had somehow magically produced earlier that afternoon. Jerry had seemed in shock that his man had such a gift for forgery, but Caroline thought it a convenient skill that she wished to learn.
Twice, Mr. Bickle stopped his perusal to stare intently at Caroline. Each time, she looked back at him, her eyes as wide as could be. She felt like a particularly dim-witted doll, but the effect seemed to be working. Mr. Bickle seemed more unsure with each passing moment.
Finally, he handed the certificate back to Mrs. Turnton. He rose from his chair and stared at Caroline one last time. “I seem to have made a very grave error,” he said. “I apologize for any confusion I may have caused.” He gave the table a stiff bow.
Caroline and the rest watched in silence as Mr. Bickle left the Grand Parlor, and hopefully, her life.
Mrs. Turnton brushed her hands together as if brushing away an invisible film of dirt that Mr. Bickle had left behind. “Not that’s over, tell me more about these art smugglers you suspect.”
Chapter 22
Initially Jerry had objected. He hadn’t thought it wise to discuss any aspect of the missing bayonet plans in an open room like the Grand Parlor. Anyone might overhear them. Mrs. Turnton though overruled him. She pointed out that her continuing visits to Caroline’s room were acceptable, but his were not. Even if Mr. Bickle spread rumors about his marriage, it would still be thought odd for him and his man to be spending extended periods of time during the day in his wife’s room.
“Of course, you can spend all night there without eliciting comment,” Mrs. Turnton added, “but then my presence would raise more than a few brows.” She smiled at the comment.
Jerry flushed. Caroline did too, but she glanced at him from top to bottom as if more curious than embarrassed by the situation.
Jerry sat in his chair becoming more and more annoyed as Mrs. Turnton dominated the conversation. He reached his limit when the woman signaled for a steward to fetch Wellburn to them. He didn’t care if the two had a past he’d rather not know about. Wellburn was Jerry’s man, and Jerry didn’t want to share.
Jerry was so busy fuming, that he realized he had missed a good bit of Caroline and Mrs. Turnton’s conversation.
Mrs. Turnton sat shaking her head at Caroline. “I do agree,” she told the girl, “that Miss Hayes did act odd at dinner. I won’t deny you that the woman is almost certainly hiding something, but it might not have anything to do with your missing item.”
At least Mrs. Turnton had the discretion to not directly reference the bayonet plans Jerry sought.
Caroline looked nearly as stubborn as Jerry felt. “Still, I wouldn’t discard her out of hand,” Caroline said.
Jerry nodded in support. “I don’t think we can eliminate anyone yet.”
“There’s not eliminating, and there’s focusing our energies on our priorities.” Mrs. Turnton nodded as if the matter had been settled when nothing felt settled to Jerry.
“Besides, when your father told me to make sure Horace and I sailed on this boat, I never dreamed it was to assist his son in a matter of such delicacy.”
A roaring sound seemed to be filling Jerry’s head, like the sea had somehow washed into his ears.
“Are you all right?” Caroline asked. “You’ve gone pale.”
Jerry ignored Caroline and focused on Mrs. Turnton. “My father sent you?” His voice was calm and quiet, at direct odds with the storm that seemed to be firing in his head.
“And a good thing.” Mrs. Turnton nodded, a complacent gesture that had Jerry clenching his jaw so tightly he feared for a moment
that he might crack a tooth.
Wellburn materialized behind Caroline’s chair at that moment. “Did you require my assistance?” his man asked the table at large, but Jerry could have sworn he was addressing Mrs. Turnton.
“Did you know about this?” Jerry snapped, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “Did you know my father had sent the Turntons to monitor my progress?”
Wellburn gave Jerry a long considering look. “Your father intimated that we might be able to find assistance on the ship, should it become necessary. He did not identify Mrs. Turnton specifically to me, no.”
“I am not here to monitor your progress, young man.” Mrs. Turnton sniffed as if she’d been exposed to an obnoxious gas. “I am here merely to render you aid.”
“It seems as if you are here to run this operation completely.” Jerry knew he sounded like a sulky child, but he couldn’t help himself. “This was my one chance to prove to my father that I am good enough to follow in his footsteps, to someday be duke.” Jerry turned away before anyone saw the moisture that was beginning to build in his eyes. “But as usual, my father still sees me as a child needing supervision.”
Caroline’s hand found its way to his arm. She stroked his jacket the way the Danvers’s stable master petted the more jittery colts. To his surprise, he found the motion as soothing as the small horses did. He turned back to find Caroline eyeing him with concern. “I don’t think Wellburn and Mrs. Turnton are here to supervise you,” she said.
“Indeed not.” Mrs. Turnton looked horrified by the idea. Wellburn made vague non-committal negatives behind her more voluble expressions of irritation.
“Could have fooled me,” Jerry muttered. He knew he sounded like a small child and not the young man he desperately wished the world to see. He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep breath in an effort to compose himself. When he opened his eyes, he found more than Caroline eyeing him warily.
