by Lori Bond
Silently, Caroline berated herself for attaching so much significance to a kiss and a stolen embrace. She had known that both were due to the situation, that they hadn’t been about her. Jerry would have done the same with any woman in the same spot. The pit in her stomach seemed to grow larger, more bottomless. Gods, he had probably been thinking of someone else the whole time. “Who?” Caroline managed to whisper. It was really becoming difficult to breathe.
Mrs. Turnton looked surprised, shocked even. “My dear, you, of course.”
The boat seemed to get caught up in a spinning vortex until it disappeared altogether into the blackness.
Chapter 31
When Caroline awoke, she had been propped up on the sofa. Olive’s anxious face and Mrs. Turnton’s amused one hovered over her.
“Olive, what are you doing out of bed?” Caroline struggled to sit up, and Mrs. Turnton leant her a hand.
“I told you,” Mrs. Turnton said to Olive. “There was no need for alarm. Just a combination of overexcitement coupled with an overly tight corset.” She turned down to Caroline. “A fashionable waist is all fine and good if you aspire to nothing more than hostess in a lord’s manor. For more active women like the three of us,” she gestured around the room, including Olive, “a slight loosening of the stays allows for both a stylish figure and the ability to breathe when needed.”
“Noted,” said Caroline. “Passing into unconsciousness was nowhere near as dramatic as novels had led me to believe.”
“Oh, no, it was a very fetching faint, and added just the right note for the moment.” Mrs. Turnton tapped her chin, considering. “An artistic faint can be one of the most useful tools in a woman’s arsenal. However, you never want to actually faint. Loss of consciousness merely puts one at other people’s mercy.” She gave both girls a stern look. “You never want to be in that position.”
Caroline bit back the “Yes, Mrs. Turnton,” that hovered on her lips. The woman really must have been a governess in a former life.
Mrs. Turnton reseated herself on the sofa, and Olive pulled up a small chair. Caroline gave the girl’s bed a pointed look, but Olive ignored the hint.
“What were we discussing?” Mrs. Turnton pretended to think for a moment. “Yes, of course. St. David’s attachment to our Lady Caroline.”
Caroline placed her hands on her face to hide her heating cheeks. “I know you said that, Mrs. Turnton, but what would lead you to believe such a thing?”
Olive and Mrs. Turnton shared a look, leaving Caroline feeling as though she’d been left out of an obvious secret everyone else knew.
Mrs. Turnton patted Caroline’s hand. “Nearly everything, child.”
“The way he looks at you, the way he talks to you, the way he touches you every chance he gets even if it’s not entirely appropriate.” Olive ticked the items off on her fingers.
“The reason it was so easy to spread the rumor of your supposed elopement had less to do with the gentry’s love of gossip, although that certainly played a part. No, the fact that anyone with eyes could see St. David’s obvious love for you sent that on dit spiraling around the ship. The boy is beyond smitten. I suspect he’s just realized all of this himself. That’s probably why he reacted with such horror all of the sudden to thought of you in danger.”
“What danger?” Caroline scoffed, but she knew she was oversimplifying their adventure. They were attempting to catch a man who had murdered for his country. There was no doubt that if pressed, the Russian agent would do so again.
Mrs. Turnton tutted. “You are not that naïve, Caroline. You know, we all do, that the most dangerous animal is one cornered with no escape. We are on a boat with landfall more than a week away. As the net closes in, this Harold Bryce will only become more desperate.”
“I know.” Caroline slumped down. “But Jerry must not love me, the real me, if he thinks I will meekly sit out now. He’s enamored with a mirage, or worse.” Caroline shuddered as if a ghost had just crossed her path. “What if he really loves the vapid Mrs. Wickingham?”
“I’m not sure anyone could truly love your rendition of Mrs. Wickingham,” Olive said with her own shudder. “Not even the poor imaginary lady’s mother.”
Caroline laughed, and even Mrs. Turnton smiled. “Well put,” the lady told Olive. Turning back to Caroline, Mrs. Turnton added, “I think it’s safe to assume that St. David wants Lady Caroline, complete with all of her personas. Wit and cunning are devilishly attractive to men, especially ones in the viscount’s line of work.” Mrs. Turnton patted Caroline’s hand again. “You should have seen his look of delighted wonder when you spun that absurd story about why his father would have arranged such an unorthodox wedding.”
Caroline looked away. “Oh, you heard that.”
“Like I told you yesterday, you’re the spitting image of your mother. She would have loved that tale when she was younger.”
Caroline frowned, irritated to have been reminded of her mother. “She wouldn’t have appreciated it much now. Proper ladies don’t relish fictions.” She looked back over at Mrs. Turnton, daring the woman to contradict her.
Mrs. Turnton glanced between Caroline’s glare and Olive, who sat studying her bare toes where they peeked out from under her nightdress. Mrs. Turnton’s lips pinched in tight. “I am long overdue a visit with your mother.” Mrs. Turnton clapped her hands together, startling both girls. “However, that is not our concern at the moment. We must help St. David see reason. His love may bring out his protective instincts, but excluding us from the remainder of the investigation is absurd. As I mentioned earlier, we are all trapped on this boat. None of us is going anywhere.”
“Then you think there are still ways I can help?” Caroline hated the pleading note in her voice.
Mrs. Turnton looked at Caroline as if the girl had taken leave of her senses. “Of course. Come, girls. Let us see what plans we can devise.”
Chapter 32
The next day was fairly uneventful in Jerry’s opinion. Wellburn searched Harold Bryce’s room again, but the man hadn’t left the real plans conveniently lying about nor anything else that might hint at his Russian origins. Neither Wellburn nor Jerry had expected as much. For one thing, Bryce shared a room with another valet, and he wouldn’t want a nosy roommate stumbling on his secrets. For another, he seemed to be going to some trouble to cast suspicions in the Kimbleys’ direction. He wouldn’t be fool enough to leave incriminating documents in his own space.
Without concrete evidence, they were forced to sit and watch Bryce. They couldn’t very well take him prisoner and beat the location of the plans out of him. Even if they could convince the captain of the man’s treachery, the ship was a passenger liner. It didn’t come equipped with a brig.
In the absence of action Jerry felt even more keenly Caroline’s withdrawal to her room. He hadn’t realized how much he had come to depend on her company in such a short period of time. He missed her smiles and laughter at meals, and he even missed her pointed comments and insults he suspected she longed to hurl in his direction.
Mrs. Turnton proved herself to be a capable surrogate in that arena. The evening of their disastrous search of the hold he had shown up at dinner alone after being rebuffed by a polite, yet firm Olive. Mrs. Turnton had raised one sardonic eyebrow at him. “Had a little lover’s spat?” she asked.
From her acidic tone, he deduced that Caroline or perhaps Wellburn had told the woman about their little scene in the hold.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jerry hedged. “There was a small misunderstanding, and I perhaps did not deal with it in the most diplomatic manner.”
Mrs. Turnton’s stare coupled with her silence spoke volumes on how poorly she thought he had handled the matter.
“I would have liked to have remedied the matter before dinner,” Jerry added, “but I fear that Mrs. Wickingham is not feeling well this evening.” In fact, Jerry had been stunned when Olive had insisted Caroline too unwell to dine. Caroline had never struck him as the
kind to sulk. He rather expected her to be plotting against him with some new and ludicrous plan for exposing Bryce for the criminal they suspected him to be.
The captain slapped him on the back. Jerry struggled with the impulse to slug the man in return. “You can drop the act, lad. The whole boat knows of your marriage.”
From her smug expression, Jerry suspected the person who had notified the “whole boat.” “As you wish, sir,” Jerry said.
The meal was tense and not altogether pleasant between Mrs. Turnton’s pointed comments and the captain’s jovial knowing ones about marriage. Jerry was relieved when the captain’s duties forced him to excuse himself mid-way through the meal.
At the end, Mrs. Turnton stood. “Horace, our numbers are off. Would you be a dear and escort Miss Hayes to the parlor? Lord St. David, you will accompany me.” The steel in her voice made it clear that Mrs. Turnton was ordering, not asking.
Mr. Turnton raised his eyebrows at his wife’s pre-emptory rudeness, but he didn’t comment. He offered the actress his arm, which she accepted. The two headed towards the parlor discussing her turn as Ophelia on the stage.
Reluctantly, Jerry offered Mrs. Turnton his arm. She took it in a businesslike manner and pulled him towards the door. “What is this protective nonsense you’ve started going on about?” she asked him.
Jerry repressed a sigh. “I have no idea what you mean,” he lied.
Mrs. Turnton saw right through him. “Don’t play dense with me, my lord.”
Jerry took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a fraction of a moment. “I knew she would be upset. I know she’s enjoying herself too much, but you must see that this isn’t fun. This is dangerous work.”
Mrs. Turnton stared at him for a moment before speaking. “Has it occurred to you that it can be both?”
Jerry’s mouth snapped shut. He hadn’t expected her to say that.
“Yes, going after your foreign agent or your traitor or even your garden variety murderer is dangerous. Trust me, young man.” She gave Jerry a pointed look. “I have a better idea than you.”
Jerry bowed his head in acknowledgement. Mrs. Turnton did indeed have greater front line experience.
“Yes, this work is dangerous, but you are both underestimating and undervaluing your young partner. She has a definite flair for this line of work and will make a valuable partner to you whether as a fellow agent or in the more traditional role as Duchess.”
Jerry stumbled, and Mrs. Turnton helped right him. “How?” he started to ask.
“My lord, everyone can see where the wind blows.” Mrs. Turnton patted the arm her hand rested on.
“Am I that obvious?” Jerry muttered.
“Only to people with eyes.” Mrs. Turnton smiled. “Your bride might take a little convincing of your preference. She had a bit of trouble believing Olive and myself. She may need to hear directly from you.”
Jerry swallowed hard. That was just lovely. Not only did he have a Russian agent to snare and missing plans to find, he had to woo a girl he had royally irritated.
Chapter 33
The next night Caroline felt prepared to face Jerry again at dinner. She hadn’t been sulking in her room like she assumed Jerry suspected. She had been putting the plans she had formed with Mrs. Turnton and Olive into action.
Since Olive seemed well enough to be out of bed, the two had thrown themselves into remaking the hideous purple dress with the frills. Caroline needed a stunning new dinner dress, the kind that turned heads. She wanted the Kimbleys’ full attention when she spoke with them after dinner, and a dazzling dress tended to achieve that. Also, if the dress also happened to catch Jerry’s eye, even better. That was not the main purpose, though.
Once they had finished the dress, they set about making an equally stunning, if more modest one, for Olive. She would be making her first reappearance in the Second-Class Dining Room the same night Caroline reappeared in the First-Class one. Olive wanted to catch the eye of the supposed Mr. Hillard, the man they suspected was actually Harold Bryce. Her goal wasn’t to draw out a confession or a location for the plans. Instead, she was to keep him busy while Wellburn investigated all the common rooms that Second-Class passengers could access. With everyone at dinner, it would be his best chance to be thorough. However, the plan only worked if Hillard stayed in the dining room.
Besides, if Olive could coax him into falsely incriminating the Kimbleys, even better. For one thing it would show that the man was aware that Jerry and his extended party were hunting for the spies. It revealed Hillard as Harold Bryce.
Caroline paced her room trying to rid herself of her nervous energy. Wellburn had already collected Olive, and the two had set out on their mission.
Jerry’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when Caroline opened the door to her room, so she knew her dress worked. She gave him a grim smile and accepted the arm he held out.
“That, that.” Jerry stumbled over his words. “That is quite a dress.”
“Well, I did want to be a modiste.” Caroline glanced down and smoothed some invisible wrinkles from the front of her dress. Neither of them asked what she wanted to be now. “I long ago learned how to mimic expensive tastes on a limited budget.”
Jerry continued to study the dress as they walked to dinner. “Wait. Is that the dress with the ruffles?”
Caroline nodded. “Olive and I were busy.”
Jerry sighed. “Mrs. Turnton implied you have been busier at more than just dressmaking.”
“Did you really expect otherwise?”
“Expect? No. Hope? Maybe a little.” Jerry tucked her arm in a little closer to his body. “This is dangerous work, Caroline. The man has committed murder.”
Caroline sighed and glanced around. They were in a deserted corridor, but anyone could be listening behind any of the closed doors. “I feel the need for fresh air. Would you take me on a stroll around the decks, please?”
Jerry glanced at her like she’d suggested they jump in the ocean for a quick dip in the sea. “It’s winter in the North Atlantic. It will be both cold and dark. Wouldn’t tomorrow be a better time to observe the bleak vistas of the ocean?”
Caroline wanted to shake sense into the man, but she resisted the temptation. “I find the ship stuffy, and I would love to see the stars.” She gave him a pointed look when he still seemed skeptical. “And I wish to talk to you this evening,” she added when he still didn’t get the hint. She made a small gesture at all the closed doors around them.
Jerry’s eyebrows shot up his face as he realized what she meant. “Of course, forgive my obtuseness. My apologies. We should commune with the stars immediately. Let me fetch us coats and Mrs. Turnton.”
“Mrs. Turnton?” Why on Earth would Jerry think they needed Mrs. Turnton? She wanted to talk to him, not put together a council of war.
“For chaperone. We can’t go wandering the darkened decks alone.”
Caroline didn’t bother to hide her exasperation. “Jerry, you married me in Scotland,” she said, reminding him of the lie they had told Mr. Bickle only days before. “We don’t need chaperones.”
Jerry shook his head at his own silliness. “Right. I’ll be right back with coats.” He dashed off before Caroline could remind him that he wouldn’t be able to get hers from her room.
She paced the still empty corridor trying to determine how best to approach the conversation she wanted to have. She had been worrying over the matter all yesterday as she and Olive sewed, but she did not know what to say. Olive had suggested being direct, honesty being the best policy and all, but Caroline wasn’t sure what the honest discussion was. The truth was she still didn’t know what she wanted. Not long ago, her biggest dream had been escaping her parents for a career as a modiste. Now, not only was that dream something she could now realize, bigger possibilities like aiding her nation or even becoming the wife of the most amazing man she had ever met were distinct possibilities. Finally, what if she found Jerry so wonderful simply because he was th
e first decent male she’d ever known. After all, her immediate family and Mr. Bickle set a very low standard that wouldn’t be hard for any decent human being to exceed. Was she imagining herself in love with a handsome face and impeccable manners because they were the first to cross her path?
Chapter 34
Jerry rushed back to Caroline, his great coat and warmest overcoat in his arms. In her thin gown, Caroline would freeze on deck. He would stuff her in both coats if the outside air was as cold as he feared. He would not take a chance on her well-being with either a murderer or a chill.
He rounded the corner to find an anxious looking Caroline pacing the passage, her fingers tapping away at the sides of her dress. His stomach plummeted at the sight of her nerves. Nothing good ever came of a conversation with such an anxious looking lady.
He tried to hand her both jackets, but she insisted he wear at least one. He shrugged on his overcoat before helping her into his great coat. She gave him a tremulous smile, and his stomach fell even further until it resided somewhere beneath his toes.
“Jerry,” she started. She reached out and touched the sleeve of his coat. Jerry controlled the urge to pull her to him. They were already pushing the bounds of propriety standing alone in the hall. He wouldn’t embarrass her further by embracing her in public.
Jerry tucked her arm under his and escorted her to the door that led to the deck outside. “Caroline.” He tried for a lighthearted tone, but from the way his voice cracked, he knew he had failed.
He opened the door for her and escorted her on to the ship’s promenade. He’d strolled up here once or twice with Wellburn. Caroline was correct to assume that it was a good place to talk. Very few passengers wished to experience the North Atlantic in the winter.
Although empty during the day, the deck seemed populated by ghosts at night. The moon and the occasional lamp threw silvery shadows that obscured even the slightest obstacle. Twice as they roamed the deck, Caroline nearly tripped on one of the folded canvas chairs piled against the ship’s walls.
