by Rose Gordon
“Weenie,” he said quietly, crossing his arms. “Your husband was looking for you. I assume Alex wants him to play chess again or some such nonsense and he's looking for you so he doesn't have to play.”
Edwina lowered her eyes in a silent apology, then released her hold on Amelia.
Instinctively, Amelia reached for her friend and patted her arm as if now she was the one reassuring her that it would all work out. Perhaps not the way that Amelia once dreamed everything would be, but now there would be no more uncertainty or suspense.
The two ladies exchanged a look, then Edwina quietly slipped out of the library, leaving the door slightly ajar.
“Henry.”
“Amelia.”
Amelia clasped her hands in front of herself, not sure what to say.
“Would you like to sit by the window? The settee over there is far more comfortable than the one here by the door.”
His words were anything but an invitation, but neither were they a coldhearted demand. There was certainly something unusual about him today.
Without a word, Henry uncrossed his arms and fell into a chair not far from where she'd just moved. “Has my brother done something to upset you?”
Amelia started. Not only had he not asked her what she thought he might, his tone had been softer than usual. “P-pardon?”
“Elijah. Has he done something to you or did the two of you have a quarrel?”
“No.” What on Earth was this coxcomb talking about?
Henry stretched his long legs out in front of himself and crossed his ankles. “And have you thought any more about what I told you the other day?”
Amelia snapped her brows together. What was he talking about? Oh. Elijah's supposed secret. “You mean that he blows glass?”
Henry looked at her as if she'd just grown a pair of horns. “No.”
She forced a shrug. “That's the only secret I learned about him yesterday.”
Scowling, Henry said, “That's all you learned?”
“Yes. We spent the entire day together, Henry. Don't you think if there was a secret to uncover about Elijah, I'd have ferreted it out?”
“If you spent all day together, I'd think you would have,” he mumbled. “Just give it more thought and try again.”
She scowled. What did he think this was, a business opportunity for her to ponder over? “No, Henry, I haven't given it nearly as much thought as you think I should have. Quite frankly, I don't think he has a secret. I honestly believe he'd have told me if he did.”
“Oh, he would have, would he?” He scoffed. “Everyone has a secret, Amelia. One they want to keep buried. You just need to dig a little deeper to uncover it.”
“And what is your secret?”
His lips thinned and it appeared he had no intention of answering her, then in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “I used to be insanely jealous of my own brother.”
“Because of his title?”
“No. I never cared about that.” Henry fiddled with his cuff. “Actually, it was about you.”
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
He nodded once, still playing with his cuff. “You used to chase after Elijah and shower him with your attentions. I guess—” He shrugged as if that were a perfectly acceptable way to end a sentence.
“But you didn't like me,” she pointed out, her mind still racing, trying to puzzle out how in the world he could have possibly been jealous. “You used to tell Elijah all the time how you had all the luck between the two of you because you didn't have me on your heels.”
“I know.”
“You—you also used to throw snowballs at me harder than you did at him and even put a dead fish in my picnic hamper.”
“I know. That's how a boy tries to get a girl's attention,” he said, meeting her eyes again.
“But why?”
“I already told you, I was jealous that you only paid attention to him.”
Good grief. This was a conversation she'd never dreamed of having. “Yes, I understand that part. But how was tricking me into eating a worm or hiding my shoes on top of the conservatory supposed to gain you the right kind of attention?”
“How does chasing a boy all around the lawn, screaming like a gypsy that when you catch him you're going to kiss him gain you his favorable attention?” He slid his right leg up and rested his ankle on top of his left knee. “I think you've found your answer.”
“Why didn't you just tell me?”
“Would it have mattered if I had?”
She closed her eyes. It had been because Elijah had been the one who allowed her to join their games without too much of a fuss and had taken her side against his brother that she'd initially gravitated toward him. But it had been his similar sense of humor and their ability to hold a conversation that had kept her attracted more to Elijah than Henry. Henry was as handsome as Elijah, but he was far too cryptic and quiet, and nearly unapproachable at times where she was concerned. It wasn't that he acted as if he didn't like her, he just seemed indifferent toward her when she was in the room. Yes, indifferent, that was a good way to describe it.
“That's what I thought,” he said quietly. He smiled. “It doesn't matter, Amelia. My interest in you is the equivalent of your interest in me: we're just friends. That's all you and I can ever be, and not just because you're married to my brother, but because that special spark isn't there between us.” He raked his hand through his hair and swallowed uncomfortably. “I was at your wedding, too. I could have just as easily been the one to convince you to run off with me. But that's not what either of us would have wanted, was it? While I had some strange sort of jealousy for Elijah being the object of all of your affections, I realized sitting in that sanctuary, that's all it ever was. I didn't actually have feelings of the romantic variety for you.”
“Well, thank you, Henry; this is just the conversation every young lady longs to have. So eloquent and flattering.”
He looked as impassive as he always did. “I'm not the best with words, you should know that by now. So ignore the not-so-flattering parts and think about the others.”
“Must you always talk in riddles?”
“No, I don't have to. But it's more fun this way.”
Of course he'd think so.
“Just think about what I said. Everyone has a secret—even Elijah.”
“Why don't you just tell me what it is then,” she hedged.
He stood. “It's not my secret to tell.”
“Does that mean...” she started hopefully.
“Does that mean what?”
Her face flushed. Leave it to Henry to make her say it. “My secret, is it safe?”
Henry quirked a brow. “I wasn't aware that I knew any secret of yours.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Ah, that secret.” He leaned in close as if he were about to make some profound statement that she alone were fortunate enough to hear. “Amelia, that secret isn't a secret at all—”
The blood rushed from her head and the room spun. It wasn't? “Does Elijah know?” she blurted.
He rolled his eyes and gave a shake of his head. “No. He's probably the only one who doesn't, though.”
Amelia's already unsettled stomach lurched. She was going to shoot the cat. There was no way to hold it in. Franticly, her eyes searched the room for something to retch into, her heart was pounding so hard it just might leap out of her chest.
“Are you all right? You look as if you're about to spew.”
Any other time Amelia might have done her best to give him an icy look for being so vulgar in her presence. But the truth was, she was about to spew and if she didn't find a receptacle quickly enough— No. She wouldn't even entertain the thought.
“Truly, it isn't the worst fate in the world to be in love with one's husband.”
“What?” she choked out. Surely she hadn't heard him right over the roar of her blood pounding in her ears.
Henry reached over and slid a chamber pot out fr
om behind a tall potted plant, then handed it to her. “I never thought you were one for theatrics.”
“I'm not. It's just...well, what exactly did you hear?”
“That Weenie is still blaming you for her nickname all these years later; and still trying to use it to her advantage, I might add.”
Amelia scowled. “Anything else?”
“No.”
Amelia's grip tightened on the side of the porcelain she held. Was he telling her the truth or was this the way he kept people's secrets safe, such as Elijah's? She released her death grip on the chamberpot. It didn't matter. If he was willing to keep her secret, then it was as good as if he hadn't heard it. And that was one thing to be said about Henry. He might come across as distant and boorish sometimes, but he always kept his word.
She placed the chamberpot on the floor beside her and stood up. Brushing out her skirt, she said, “Very well. I shall speak with Elijah tonight.”
“Good. It's about time.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “What is that to mean?”
His lips tipped up in the same lopsided smile Elijah had—except his didn't make her heart race and her blood boil. “Just that it's time the two of you talked. You both might learn something.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You need to go find your wife. Now.”
Elijah snapped his head up to face his brother. “What the devil took you so long?”
Henry found a seat on the leather divan. “I was having the most fascinating conversation.”
Elijah scowled. “With whom?”
“Your wife.”
Elijah's scowl deepened. “And what did the two of you discuss?”
“You.”
Elijah jabbed a finger at his chest. “Me? What the devil for?”
Henry grabbed a pillow and set it at the far end of the divan, then rested his head on it as if he were truly about to take a nap right here and now.
“Well?”
Henry clasped his hands behind his head. “Why don't you go ask her yourself?”
“Because I'm asking you,” he bit off. Amelia and Henry had never gotten along as well as he and Amelia had, and while he knew Henry didn't have any ill feelings for Amelia, he'd often wondered if perhaps the same might not be true regarding Amelia. Considering how coldly Henry had always come off where she was concerned, it wouldn't be without warrant that one might think so. “What did you and my wife talk about? You didn't upset her, did you?”
“I didn't.”
“Are you implying that I did?”
Henry crossed his ankles and shifted to get more comfortable. “Perhaps inadvertently.” He sighed. “You really need to do your duty, Elijah. If not for her sake, then at least for everyone else's.”
Elijah bit back a vile curse. “Who did she tell?”
“Edwina.”
Relief coursed through him. “Edwina won't tell anyone. Lord knows enough gossip has flown about her own husband that she's more likely to jump onto a bed of rusty nails with her bare feet than gossip.” He crossed his arms and lowered his lashes. Perhaps he should just tell her the truth. All of it. She was owed it, after all. No. If he told her she might get herself into danger. His heart constricted. He had to keep her from knowing. But just until the men were apprehended, then he'd retire and could tell her. But not until then.
“Edwina might not tell, but it doesn't mean that she wants to be burdened with such a large secret.”
Elijah loosened his cravat. “Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it.”
“Nonetheless, you'd do well to put Amelia's mind at ease before she confides in someone else.”
Elijah's grasp on the coded paper he held tightened. Dash it all if his brother wasn't correct. If she'd told Edwina, she might not hesitate to confide in someone else or ask questions about what to expect while she was increasing. Panic mounted in his chest. He had to do something. Sadly there was nothing to do. He'd made her a promise and though his breaking it would be for her own good (and there was no need to lie to himself, he'd enjoy making love to her), he just couldn't bring himself to break his word to her.
“Confound it all,” he muttered in frustration. Elijah extended his foot and kicked his brother in the boots. “Don't you be thinking of going to sleep over there. We still have this missive to puzzle out together. I'm ready to catch these two and be done with it.”
“All right. Read it to me again.”
“'Where I be/ There I pray/ That He be there/ Right beside/ Thy maiden fair.'” Elijah dropped the slip of paper. “It reads more like a warning than a clue.”
Henry opened one blue eye. “A warning?”
“Yes. I still don't understand all of it, but the author of this note writes he with a capital H. It's been a while since Mr. Fink first taught us about pronouns, but aren't they all supposed to be lowercase?”
“Except when referring to God.”
“That's exactly what I was thinking. Also, he mentions praying to Him,” he added beneath his breath. That should have been enough to give it away the first time he read it. Since when had he become as obtuse as Alex, missing everything that's obvious?
“Since you married Amelia and became frustrated that she didn't fall right into your bed.”
Elijah grabbed the pillow from under Henry's feet and threw it at his head. “That's enough. Now, let's think about this some more.” He frowned. “All I have is that he's praying that God will keep someone safe. But who?”
“Doesn't it say thy maiden fair in the last line?”
“Yes, but I don't think that's meant literally—”
“It also didn't occur to you until today that the H in he was capitalized.”
Elijah crossed his arms. “Oh, and you'd already solved that little mystery, had you?”
“No. But I don't claim to be a mastermind, either.”
“No. You prefer to let my brain do this type of work while yours dreams about horseflesh.”
Henry sat up. “This isn't my fault, Elijah.”
“Isn't it? If I remember correctly, it was you who agreed to take this mission. Mr. Robinson had told us we were finished and all charges would be dropped after we helped end the illegal whiskey coming to Exmouth from France. We could have been done with all of this and living respectable lives, but you voluntarily took on this task.”
Henry's face grew dark and shuttered. “It was hard to say no, considering what we saw in India.”
Snatches of memories of their time in India flashed in Elijah's head. Young girls, some Indian, some from England, France, Spain or anywhere else in western Europe, all far too young to make decisions for themselves, had been forced into the life of prostitution. Barely dressed and covered with rouge, these young girls would walk the dirty streets, trying to find a paying customer. “And that's why I didn't stop you,” Elijah said hoarsely.
“Stop blaming me for what happened with Amelia.”
“Well, if you'd done your job, we wouldn't be in this mess.”
Henry scoffed. “I'm not the one who took her upstairs at Lord Nigel's house.”
Elijah's face warmed. “You're right, you weren't. But neither were you there to help me apprehend both men in Brighton.”
“Because I didn't know they were going to be there, Elijah. I went with you to Brighton to help you find Amelia. How was I to know Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dum were going to try to smuggle a boat load of girls off from the docks in Brighton that night?” Henry said defensively. He blew out a deep breath. “Has marriage made your brain evaporate?”
“This isn't about my marriage, Henry.”
“Then what is it?”
“It's about the fact that taking this assignment was your idea and you never seem to be around when you're needed.”
The muscle in Henry's cheek ticked. “That's not true.”
“Yes, it is,” Elijah burst out. “You wanted to take on this task and have left all the work to me.”
“Oh, is that what you think I've don
e?” Henry demanded, his blue eyes sparkling with fire. “How quick it is that you forget about the information I've discovered regarding the escape and murder or the fact that I was the one dropping hints and searching for clues about the identity of the man who owns Jezebel while you were carrying Amelia upstairs and seeing her to bed. I might prefer a clear directive over puzzles, but that doesn't mean that I haven't been present when needed, Elijah.”
“Yes, well, I prefer clear directives, too. Unfortunately, that is not what we got this time,” Elijah fired back.
“A clear directive? Is that how you think of an agreement for a free trip from Dublin to Lancashire aboard a steam packet at one in the morning, when we could have just spent the money to stay another night and come home on a passenger ship the next day?”
Elijah tensed. “Why must you remind me of that?”
“Because you seem to enjoy reminding me that we wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for my agreement to help capture the two remaining men involved in the prostitution ring.”
“Well, is it true?”
Henry ignored him. “Would we even be having this conversation if not for what happened with Amelia?”
No, they wouldn't. It might have been due to Elijah's young and careless decision to board a steam packet filled with one hundred barrels of whiskey heading for England's shores that made them work for the Crown in the first place. When the ship had been captured, the two brothers had almost gotten away, stopped only by a burly man who'd seen two more men fall off the side of the boat than bullets had been fired. Those two extra men had been Elijah and Henry. They swam, staying under the water as much as they could until they found a little cove about a mile away. There, waiting for them was Mr. Robinson.
He'd offered them a choice: the gaol for smuggling whiskey or work for the Crown for ten years. The decision was easy: become a spy. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately depending on which day you asked—the two had always been assigned to the same mission due to their ability to communicate with mere looks.
Elijah took a deep breath. “No, we wouldn't be having this conversation if Amelia wasn't involved. But you never had to come along. On the steam packet from Ireland I mean.”
