by Jen Turano
“Allow me to see if I’m understanding correctly,” Mrs. Goelet said, her face flushed and her eyes brewing with temper. “My husband gave my dog to a woman he was attempting to court, an unfortunate circumstance to be sure, and that woman had no idea Thomas is married to me?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Mrs. Goelet sat back in her chair. “I see.”
“I know this is little consolation, but Miss Langtry has agreed to have nothing more to do with your husband and will be leaving New York as soon as arrangements can be made.”
Mrs. Goelet crossed her arms over her chest. “I was recently speaking with Alva Vanderbilt about matters of infidelity, which, I’m sure you’re not going to be surprised to hear, is rampant within society, although it’s rare anyone actually talks about it. Alva, however, does speak quite freely about the matter. It’s her belief that husbands tend to behave themselves for about ten years, then go off in search of their little amusements.” Mrs. Goelet blew out a breath. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid Alva is quite accurate with her belief, since I noticed Thomas distancing himself from me years ago, which was right around the time we’d been married ten years.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Goelet pinned Gabriella with an unwavering stare. “What would you suggest I do now?”
“Beg pardon?”
“What am I to do now? I’ve heard rumors over the years about Thomas and his consorts with other women, but now I have proof. What should I do with that proof?”
“I must admit you’re taking this better than I imagined,” Gabriella said before she frowned. “But I’m not the best person to advise you, Mrs. Goelet. I’m an inquiry agent. Perhaps it might be prudent to seek advice from your clergyman.”
“Is that what you would do if you were in my situation?”
Since Gabriella had what could only be described as an uncomfortable relationship with God, believing He’d abandoned her quite as her street family had done, she hadn’t sought out advice from any member of the clergy in recent memory. During her time at the orphanage, she’d been required to attend weekly services, but she’d never believed that God took an interest in her life, nor guided her on any specific path, not with the many challenges she’d faced over the years. Most of those challenges she’d faced alone, with no one to assist her with overcoming them, save herself. She did occasionally spend time in prayer, but in all honesty, she wasn’t convinced that time was well spent.
“I’d probably extract some form of retribution from him,” Gabriella finally admitted.
“How refreshingly honest,” Mrs. Goelet said right as a man strode into the room, carrying a black walking stick. He was swinging that stick from side to side, but his swinging came to an abrupt halt when his gaze settled on Precious.
“Is that . . . Precious?” he asked, shooting a glance to Mrs. Goelet.
Mrs. Goelet rose to her feet. “I’m sure you’re very surprised to see her here, dear, since you gave her to your latest lady love.”
Mr. Thomas Goelet set aside the walking stick, fished a handkerchief out of his pocket, and immediately began mopping a forehead that was already beaded with sweat. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“But where are my manners?” Mrs. Goelet asked sweetly, a good deal of venom mixed in with the sweetness. “Thomas, this young woman is Miss Goodhue of the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency. Miss Goodhue, my husband, the philanderer.”
Gabriella refused a wince as the thought struck that Mrs. Goelet might not have taken her disclosures regarding her husband quite as well as she’d first thought.
Mr. Goelet turned to Gabriella, his gaze sweeping her from head to toe. His perusal of her, though, was suddenly interrupted when Mrs. Goelet grabbed the walking stick he’d set aside, stalked closer to him, then began smacking him about with his own stick.
“How dare you steal my dog, take up with another woman, and now gawk at Miss Goodhue. You’re behaving like a complete reprobate, and you should be ashamed of yourself.” She gave him some additional swats, which had Mr. Goelet backing rapidly across the room.
“Surely you must see that Miss Goodhue is lying to you, dear. Why, she’s not old enough to be an inquiry agent, and are women even allowed to be inquiry agents in the first place? I imagine she stole Precious herself and is telling you some very large falsehoods, hoping you’ll be persuaded to turn over a large reward to her.”
“I’d be careful in what you say about Miss Goodhue from this point forward.”
Turning, Gabriella found Nicholas striding into the room, Winston by his side. That he looked incredibly furious was not in question, nor was it in question that he also looked rather dangerous.
Mr. Goelet drew himself up. “I have no idea what you’re doing here, Mr. Quinn, but I’ll thank you to stay out of my business, especially as it pertains to this charlatan who has apparently convinced my wife I’ve been up to no good.”
“Everyone knows you’re always up to no good, Thomas.” Nicholas came to a stop beside Gabriella. “Have you finished explaining the situation to Mrs. Goelet?”
“I have.” Gabriella turned to Mr. Goelet. “Miss Langtry is no longer interested in your pursuit of her, Mr. Goelet. She’s currently making arrangements to sell that pink buggy you bought her as well as any jewelry you gave her.”
Mrs. Goelet brandished the walking stick at Mr. Goelet again. “You bought her a pink buggy?”
Mr. Goelet eyed the stick, shuddered, then narrowed his eyes on Gabriella. “You’ll regret this, Miss Goodhue, you mark my words. I don’t appreciate disruptions in my life, and you have certainly caused a disruption in my life.”
“I beg to differ,” Gabriella countered. “You’re to blame for all of this. I was simply the one your wife hired to locate her missing dog. Uncovering all sorts of nastiness certainly wasn’t what I was expecting when I took on the case.”
“There certainly is a lot of nastiness,” Mrs. Goelet agreed before setting her sights on her husband. “You and I will be discussing this at length after I pay Miss Goodhue.” She held out her hand. “I need your billfold.”
“I’m not paying this woman’s fee,” Mr. Goelet returned, his voice quavering with indignation. “That would be a waste of my money.”
Mrs. Goelet’s eyes glittered. “You seem to be forgetting that it’s my fortune keeping us in such fine style.”
“A fortune that came to me the moment we married,” Mr. Goelet shot back.
“No, it didn’t. Not all of it,” Mrs. Goelet argued. “Father still holds the bulk of the family fortune, and I assure you, he’ll not bat an eye if I ask him to set up a special trust that only I can access. I also doubt he’ll balk if I ask him to look into how to leave my inheritance in a way that will not allow you to see a penny of it.”
“The law says that a man has complete control over his wife’s life, including any money she may inherit.”
“I’m sure, given how wealthy Father is, he’ll find a way to circumvent some of those laws. Worse comes to worst, there’s always divorce.”
“Divorce would ruin your standing within society.”
Mrs. Goelet shrugged. “It might be worth it to be rid of you.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Mr. Goelet whispered.
“Wouldn’t I?” Mrs. Goelet held out her hand again. “Your billfold.”
Mr. Goelet reached into his pocket and retrieved his billfold, which he reluctantly handed over to his wife. She opened it, pulled out every bill in it, began to count them, but then thrust the whole lot Gabriella’s way.
“There’s far more than what I agreed to pay for you to take on the case. Think of the extra as a bonus for lending me your advice as well as uncovering the truth about my husband—truth I had suspicions about but never wanted to face.”
“I don’t need a bonus,” Gabriella said slowly, taking the money from Mrs. Goelet but prepared to hand a good deal of it back to her.
“It’s cle
arly annoying Thomas that I’ve just given you so much, quite as it annoys me to learn that he’s been showering other women with extravagant gifts.”
Realizing that Mrs. Goelet was not going to take back any of the money she’d given her, Gabriella tucked the bills into her pocket. “Thank you, Mrs. Goelet. And now, if there’s nothing else I can do for you, I’ll take my leave.”
Mrs. Goelet shot a look to Precious, who was gazing longingly at Winston, then returned her attention to Gabriella. “There is one more thing. Take Precious with you. She’s clearly ruined herself by consorting with that beast, so she’s no use to me now.” She gestured to the portrait Gabriella had left by the chair. “Take that as well.”
“I don’t actually care for dogs.”
Mrs. Goelet gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “That’s not my concern. I desire for you to take her away, and because I am your client, I expect you to honor my request.”
A million arguments sprang to mind, but before she could voice a single one of them, Nicholas stepped forward. “We’ll be happy to take the dog, Mrs. Goelet,” he said before he turned, offered Gabriella his arm, and then walked briskly for the door, scooping up the portrait of Precious when he walked past it. Winston loped along beside him, while Precious pranced her way to Gabriella’s side, her topknot bobbing.
“The last thing I want is a dog,” Gabriella muttered as they left the drawing room, Nicholas increasing their pace as the sound of Mrs. Goelet’s shrieks drifted through the hall.
“I know, but if you’re going to find success with your inquiry agency, one that collects some very large fees from clients that belong to the society set, you’re going to have to learn how to deal with those clients. They’re used to having their demands met without question, something you’re woefully inadequate at. Fortunately for you, I speak society and am more than willing to give you, and the other ladies of the agency, lessons in how to deal with members of the elite.”
“A lesson I never thought I’d need. Concerningly enough, I might have been wrong about that.” She sent him the barest hint of a grin. “Difficult as this is for me to admit, I’m grateful you pulled me out of that room, even if I now seem to have possession of a dog I don’t particularly want.”
“I can keep Precious if you don’t want to, although . . .” Nicholas glanced at Precious and smiled. “She seems to like you, because she keeps nudging you with her topknot. Perhaps she’ll grow on you.”
“She only likes me because I saved her from a mauling, but time will tell if she grows on me. If she doesn’t, I’ll take you up on your offer to keep her.”
Hurrying for the carriage, Gabriella got Precious and Winston inside before she settled herself on the seat, Nicholas beside her. Gus set the carriage into motion, and as they drove away from the Goelet residence, Gabriella released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“That was far more difficult than I imagined, even with Mrs. Goelet admitting she’s had her suspicions about Thomas for years.”
“I’m sure being presented with proof of infidelity is devasting.”
“I’m sure it is as well. That means we need to take steps to assure that whatever lady you set your sights on is capable of holding you in great affection, and you need to be capable of returning that affection. That should help assure neither of you experience the devastation of betrayal.”
“I would never break a marriage vow.”
“Perhaps not, but that’s not to say your future wife will hold to the same, especially if she doesn’t hold you in affection and then goes searching for that affection years from now.”
“A less-than-cheery thought.”
“Exactly. So, Mrs. Kaffenburgh definitely needs to return to the city, and I’m thinking she’ll return in two days. That will give me enough time to clear my schedule for a few hours and give Ann enough time to let it be known through her channels that Mrs. Kaffenburgh is back.” She smiled. “Perhaps we’ll spread it about that Mrs. Kaffenburgh is taking tea at Rutherford & Company. I’ve heard the tearoom there is quite lovely, and it’s a place many ladies seek out after a day of shopping. That will allow ladies the perfect excuse to stop by my table to have a chat, and then we’ll see what they have to say about my fictitious great-nephew and take it from there.”
CHAPTER
Twenty
“It would be helpful, Mr. Quinn, if you’d stop looking out the window every other second. I’m afraid if you keep moving, I’ll never be able to do justice to that mesmerizing bone structure of yours.”
Nicholas pulled his attention from the carriage house window, even though he knew he’d be glancing out it again soon because Gabriella and Daphne had been out and about as Mrs. and Miss Kaffenburgh for far longer than he’d expected. He smiled at Miss Judith Donovan, who was in the process of sketching him. “Forgive me for moving again. My only excuse is that I’m unused to sitting still for so long.”
“Something you should have mentioned before you agreed to sit for me.”
“I’m not sure I actually agreed to sit for you. It was more a case of blackmail on your part.”
“Since you ended up finding Gabriella in the park, I’m not sure why you’re complaining. You got what you wanted, and I got an opportunity to paint your lovely face.”
Before Nicholas could respond to that, Ivan, a man Nicholas had never spoken much to until that day, got up from where he’d been sitting for the past few hours and wandered to stand behind Judith, looking over her work.
“How is it?” Nicholas asked.
Ivan winced. “For a first attempt, I suppose it doesn’t look too bad.”
“A first attempt?”
“Judith normally confines her artistic endeavors to bowls of fruit,” Ivan said, his attention returning to the canvas. He winced again and ran a hand over blond hair that was remarkably short. “No offense, Judith, but you might want to consider sticking to fruit. I’m not sure you’re meant for portrait work.”
“And I’m not sure your less-than-supportive attitude is welcome in my studio, Ivan,” Judith shot back, dashing a hand over her forehead and leaving a smear of pencil behind. She nodded to the book resting in Nicholas’s lap. “Perhaps you should continue reading aloud from Cecil B. Hartley’s book The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness. Clearly, Ivan could benefit from Cecil’s wise words because his suggestion was quite ungentlemanly and could very well cause me to abandon my dream of becoming a portrait artist.”
“Some dreams are meant to be only that,” Ivan said.
“And some dreams are meant to be pursued,” Judith countered, setting aside her pencil before she took hold of the canvas and turned it around. “What do you think, Mr. Quinn?”
“After the hours we’ve spent together today, Miss Donovan, I believe you should call me Nicholas, and . . .” Whatever else Nicholas had been about to say vanished when he got his first look at what was supposed to be a sketch of him.
To say it barely resembled a person was being kind, and in all honesty, the head she’d sketched out seemed to resemble a melon of some sort—or perhaps a pumpkin. The eyes were off-kilter, and the lips she’d drawn were incredibly full, but perhaps that was to hide the fact that she’d sketched his teeth out of proportion to the rest of his face, which made them the focal point of the canvas.
“I can hardly wait to see what that looks like after you get it painted” was all he could think to say.
“It’s certain to be a masterpiece.” Judith turned the canvas around again. “But don’t anticipate getting to the painting stage soon. It’ll take at least two more sittings before we reach that point.”
Nicholas shot a look to Ivan, who sent him a sympathetic smile in return. “I’m not sure I’ll have time to do that many sittings. As you’ve heard, Ivan and I have been discussing some of the cases the agency is considering, and those cases will certainly take up a great deal of my time.”
“I imagine they will, but I’ve also heard you a
nd Ivan discussing additional ways for you to be useful to the agency, one of which is giving us basic instructions about how to deal with members of society. You can give those instructions while you sit for me because it doesn’t bother me if you talk as I sketch, since you’re able to read out loud without moving your head much.”
“Nicholas only decided to read aloud because he was uncomfortable with the way I kept questioning him about why he wants to be involved with the agency, or how he thinks his progress with resuming his friendship with Gabriella is going,” Ivan said, retaking his seat. “If you ask me, Nicholas, you seem somewhat disgruntled that Gabriella is off to vet ladies on your behalf, although since you’ve apparently decided to marry a society lady, I don’t understand why you’d be disgruntled that your old friend has decided to step into a matchmaking role.”
“That’s not difficult to understand,” Judith said before Nicholas could answer. “He’s bothered by it because it suggests that Gabriella has no romantic interest in him since she’s willing to help him select a wife.”
Ivan nodded. “Ah, now I see what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing going on,” Nicholas argued as Judith gave a wave of a pencil-clutching hand.
“No one would blame you for holding Gabriella in the deepest affection,” Judith began. “She’s a very intriguing woman and beautiful to boot. That she apparently sees you as only a good friend must certainly rankle. However, you must realize that, with your being a member of society, and Gabriella being, well, Gabriella, it won’t do either of you any good to wonder what if, not unless one of you is willing to make some significant changes in your life. And that someone would be you because you’re the member of the New York Four Hundred.”
“I never said I was romantically interested in Gabriella,” Nicholas said, earning an exchange of knowing looks between Judith and Ivan, which he ignored. “But speaking of Gabriella, aren’t either of you getting concerned that she and Daphne have been away so long?”
