The meat course was served, which provided a respite from Mummy’s talking, but she soon regained her rhythm. She described in detail the rigors of their ocean crossing, the weather patterns of the West Indies, and some of her favorite memories of her girlhood in England. It was only when she began to talk about the sugar business that Lord Oliver perked up. He put down his knife and fork to put all his attention on her.
“Mrs. Beckham, I am quite curious about something.”
“Yes?”
“I do not expect you to have a grasp of the figures, of course, but do you know if Sunbury’s production has increased in this last year?”
With a bite of roast beef in her mouth, Katarina nearly bit down on her tongue. Lord Oliver had no way of knowing that Mummy had been at the helm of plantation operations before Papa’s illness, and was running the business single-handedly since his death six months prior.
“Oh, dearest Ollie. You are so correct—numbers do vex me so! My head simply swims when I look at a column of figures!” Paulette smiled prettily at Lord Oliver. “But if I am not mistaken, I’ve heard talk that business has been good. But surely the late Mr. Beckham shared some of those details with you? You have been doing business with him for quite a while now.”
Katarina stiffened. Her mother was up to something.
“Of course. Of course.” Lord Oliver raised his wine goblet and smiled as if Mummy were the most fascinating woman in the world. “To Sunbury Plantation!”
Katarina glanced at Neville Danton. Not only had he not said much that evening; he had barely touched his meal. It was if a dark cloud hung over him. Just then the duke held up his crystal goblet and waited until it was filled with wine. He drank it down without stopping for breath.
Mummy did not seem to notice. “Katarina and I are most certainly looking forward to receiving our invitation to the Fletchers’ ball, Lord Oliver. Do you know when we might expect it?”
“Er . . . no, but, Neville, do you know the date for the Fletchers’ ball?”
The duke glanced up and shook his head, an utterly lost expression in his eyes. “Who?”
“Fletcher. Their ball. When is it?”
He shook his head. “I am afraid I do not know, ladies. My sincere apologies. But I shall find out and share the information with you promptly.”
“Well, now, isn’t this lovely, Neville?” Lord Oliver leaned back in his dining chair, looking particularly pleased with himself. “Here we are, enjoying a pleasant meal with our refined visitors—such perfectly respectable ladies. It has been a while since you’ve been in the company of respectable ladies, has it not?”
Neville’s face went scarlet. His upper lip curled and his eyes shot daggers at his uncle. The hatred in his expression made Katarina flinch.
The duke grabbed his goblet and held it aloft once more. No one said a word as the server poured. When the crystal was filled to the brim, he stood. “Excuse me, ladies.” He kicked his dining chair with such force that it toppled over behind him. “I fear I have another appointment.”
With a sloshing wine goblet clutched in his hand, he stomped out.
After several long seconds of silence, Mummy tried to smooth things over. “How unfortunate that the duke is not feeling well.”
A sinister smile flickered over Lord Oliver’s face. Then it was gone. “’Tis naught but a temporary ailment, I assure you. He shall make a quick recovery. Men always do.”
“Excellent news,” Mummy said.
Katarina folded her hands in her lap and stared up at the gilded ceiling. For a dinner conversation about nothing at all, a great many details had been revealed.
Chapter 12
AFTER the joy of acquisition came the bother of putting it all in order. Bliss stood before Captain Pryce’s unassuming little row house, at the top of a short flight steps that led from the walk down to the kitchen service entrance, and allowed herself a small sigh of weariness. Simply because she was very good at making things just so did not mean that she found anything but the driest satisfaction in it.
The deliveries of staples and foodstuffs were quickly filling the larder and cupboards, so she remained above, serenely directing the traffic from the various purveyors. The butcher had come and gone, leaving a variety of beef and pork, both fresh and salted. Men liked beef and pork, didn’t they? And the dairyman had delivered a nice selection of cheeses and butter.
She was directing the final delivery of fresh produce down the stairs when a familiar rattletrap carriage pulled up. The two elderly horses in harness came to a grateful stop.
One whiffed a greeting in Bliss’s direction. Bliss plucked two apples from a bushel being carried down the steps to the kitchen and moved to reward Constantine and Pie for their valiant expedition through London’s chaotic streets. She was happy to see that they seemed none the worse for their stormy outing the night before.
As the white-muzzled gelding and mare gently took the treat between yellowed teeth, an assortment of Worthingtons tumbled from the carriage.
Bliss could not help smiling. It seemed like a month since she’d seen them, yet it had only been the day before that she sat at dinner, dreamily planning the last details of her secret wedding.
Great lot of good that had done her.
“Bliss! A midnight wedding? You sneaky vixen!”
“Is this the house? I thought it would look more sea-captain-ish.”
“Has anyone told poor Neville yet?”
“Cousin, are you sure you don’t mind?” or perhaps it was “Cousin, are you out of your mind?”
That last was Daedalus, who was Bliss’s favorite cousin, if she had to pick one. Although sometimes she thought it was primarily because Dade rarely caused a ruckus, got into a brawl, or blew something up—things that could not be said for any other cousin.
Dade made it much easier to maintain one’s calm.
Now, however, he looked like a summer storm about to strike. His fair hair was untidy, as if he’d run his fingers through it a few times too many. His blue eyes, grayer than her own, were dark with simmering fury.
Bliss blinked. “Heavens, Dade! There is no need to come to my rescue. I am quite well, I assure you.” His concern was rather warming after her night of frustrated hopes. Still, men were touchy about family honor and all that rot, prone to getting themselves into pickles over it, so Bliss kept her tone firm and her expression unworried.
“But for Pryce to pull such a foul trick on you?”
“He had good reason, I suppose.” Bliss blinked at finding herself defending the man. After all, it was a nasty bit of work, was it not?
Normally, she was so very sure of things. Now she carried a niggling doubt that perhaps she had tried to manipulate Neville, just the tiniest bit. Even if her intentions were pure, it wasn’t a very good start to a life of trust and happiness with dearest Neville . . .
Fie on Captain Pryce for his self-righteousness! He’d confused everything! However, she could allow her cousins to see nothing of her uncertainty. As Dade, Cas, and dear, war-darkened Lysander carried her trunks into the house, Attie followed alongside Bliss, peering up into her face.
Not peering that far, Bliss realized. Attie, though not quite fourteen, was already almost as tall as she. And still dressing like a mad escapee from a costume trunk! Today’s ensemble consisted of a cast-off pink silk party dress that must have been Elektra’s, for it was too short and too roomy in the bosom. This was worn over a pair of boy’s breeches that were pegged halfway down her shins and baggy men’s stockings, one green and one blue, that ended in shabby boys’ boots. At least Attie’s brilliant ginger hair now lay in two more or less neat braids instead of the multistrand, spiderlike arrangement she’d once preferred.
Bliss wondered, as she had so many times before, if Attie had any idea of the sort of stellar beauty she had yet to grow into. If so, was this daft wardrobe
some sort of final childish protest against that future?
Plenty of time to worry about Attie’s future when it arrived. At the moment, Bliss was still left a bit unsure of her own present.
“You don’t want to stay here,” Attie said flatly, as if she expected argument. “You want to come home to Worthington House.”
I want to go home to Camberton House, with my sweet, quiet Neville and my sweet, quiet future. Instead, Bliss smiled at Attie with all the serenity she could muster. “If I want Captain Pryce to grant me an annulment, I must convince him that I am not what he thinks I am. I cannot do that from a distance.”
“Lysander thinks we should just kill him.”
Bliss sighed. “That’s sweet. But killing him won’t solve the problem. The law bars a woman from wedding the brother of her dead husband.”
“Half brother.”
That forgotten fact arrested Bliss’s attention for a moment. Then she shook her head, as if ridding herself of homicidal thoughts. “I foresee a long, sticky courtroom debate there. No, my way is the best way, I fear. I must act quickly, however. If I do not gain that annulment soon, Captain Pryce will sail away and my opportunity will be lost.”
Attie looked askance at the bounty still being carried into the kitchens. “So you’re going to feed him into submission?”
Bliss smiled conspiratorially at her young cousin. “Indeed.”
When they reached the bedchamber where the boys had carried her things, Bliss thanked them sweetly, obdurately resisted their urgings to come home, deflected more than one murderous offering, and patted Lysander on the arm, gazing into his shadowed eyes.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Completely in control of the situation. Everything is just fine.”
The shadows did not disperse—they never did—but they did recede somewhat. Lysander gave a short nod of assent, then turned and strode from the room and from the house itself.
Cas looked alarmed. “I’d better chase him down,” he said hurriedly. “You know, just in case . . .”
Then he, too, was gone.
Dade looked no happier than when he’d arrived. “This house is so far away from us. And—” He looked about, concern darkening his handsome brow. “—I know Worthington House isn’t grand, but this? Is the man a monk?”
Bliss took his hand in hers. “Dade, you’re very kind to be so concerned for me, but trust me, I do have matters under control here.”
He began to protest again, but she held up one finger to stop his words.
“Daedalus Worthington, have you ever—ever!—seen anyone get the best of me?”
He thought about that for a long moment. She could see how reluctant he was to let his worry ease, but in the end, he nearly smiled. “No, Cousin, indeed I have not.”
“Then you must trust that I know what I am doing.”
Dade nodded, but then his expression hardened once more. “If he so much as touches—”
“Then—and only then!—may you wipe the floor with his mighty captain hat.”
Dade nodded shortly, then pulled her close. Surprised, she embraced him back. Although they treated her as a sister, with teasing affection and random thoughtfulness, she had not realized how much her cousins truly cared for her until today.
Then Dade was gone, with Attie bouncing at his heels, and Bliss was left alone with her master plan . . . and her doubts.
• • •
“I FEEL AS IF I’VE failed Bliss.” Dade Worthington sat next to Attie in the family’s carriage, looking so forlorn that she reached over and squeezed his hand.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Quite to the contrary, I’m afraid.” He smiled sadly at Attie. “As Bliss’s oldest male cousin, I must ensure her welfare. I should have done something to stop all this.”
“Rubbish.” Castor Worthington sat across from Attie and Dade, with Lysander at his side. “How were you supposed to know she was running off in the middle of the night to be married?”
“Iris knew, and our mother could not keep a secret if you chained it to her wrist. She probably mentioned it at some point,” Dade answered. “I should have paid closer attention.”
Cas chuckled. “Paying closer attention to Iris is rarely the path to enlightenment.”
The carriage had gone no more than two blocks when Attie’s attention was drawn to a large, masculine figure making his way along the street. He reminded her of someone. The shape of his jaw, perhaps, or the tilt of his dark head. Aside from the arrogant way he carried himself, he looked very much like . . .
Neville. She jumped from the bench and smacked her palm against the ceiling of the carriage. “It’s him! Let’s get him! Stop the horses!”
“Attie, sit down.”
“But, Dade, it’s Captain Pryce, right there! Let’s make sure he understands that he’s trifled with the wrong family.”
“Really?” Cas moved aside the curtain to take a look. “Well, you’re right. It must be Pryce. But Bliss was very clear with us just now—she wishes to handle the matter in her own fashion.”
Attie fell back on the seat, exasperated by her brothers’ lack of fervor. Sometimes she felt that she was the only Worthington willing to fight for justice.
Cas closed the velvet curtain. “Besides, she told us explicitly not to do anything.”
Attie saw her opportunity. “No, that’s not at all what Bliss said. She only told us not to kill him.” She looked to her perpetually silent brother for confirmation. “Isn’t that right, Lysander? Didn’t she say not to kill him? See? Lysander agrees with me!”
“By God, you’re right.” Dade banged his palm against the roof of the carriage and ordered the driver to pull over.
While her three brothers exited the carriage, Attie remained inside, nearly hanging out the open door to get a sufficient view of the action. Cas, Dade, and Lysander surrounded a bewildered-looking Captain Pryce and swept him into the carriage, Dade giving instructions to the driver along the way.
The captain was corralled on the bench opposite Attie, Lysander situating himself between their captive and the door. Cas and Dade squeezed in next to Attie, nearly crushing her in the process. It worried her that the Worthingtons’ old carriage and even older horses were not up to the task of pulling this many large men, but the concern soon vanished in the drama of the moment.
Attie braced herself in the corner and narrowed her gaze at their new travel companion. He did not look a bit guilty. Nor did he look frightened or even puzzled by the notion of being kidnapped by a group of strangers. Perhaps it was not entirely unexpected in his line of work.
Because the truth was, Morgan Pryce did not look so much like a sea captain as he did a pirate.
Cas introduced everyone by name and the captain nodded in response.
“I assume you know who I am, as you’ve just snatched me off the street. But might I inquire our destination?”
His tone was assured and commanding, the voice of an educated man. He even sounded a little like Neville, except older and deeper. If Attie was not mistaken, there was even a hint of amusement in his question. Not what she had expected, on either count.
Soon, Attie came to comprehend her brothers’ strategy. Dade had asked the driver to pull toward the center of the street, and they now moved at a snail’s pace, blocked in by milk wagons and fish carts and any number of horses and people. The captain could not get far even if he threw himself out the window.
Attie didn’t bother to hide her grin of satisfaction.
Dade answered their captive. “We thought you might enjoy a leisurely trip around the block.”
“I see.” Pryce nodded, then slowly fixed his eyes on Attie. She coiled her long legs as if ready to spring, imagining herself a furious tigress, giving him her famous stare. She had often been told her green gaze was bloody frightening.
“You must be Attie.” A smile curled the captain’s mouth. “Neville has mentioned you.”
She was no fool. Attie figured most females would be ensnared by the dashing pirate’s handsome smile and rich voice. But she was not most females. “That’s Miss Atalanta to you.”
“Yes, of course. My sincere apologies, madam.”
She sat forward. “And you are about to learn that when you harm one Worthington, you risk vengeance from us all!”
Dade patted Attie’s arm. It seemed she was always being denied the opportunity to complete particularly riveting speeches. Her brother’s approach turned out to be a bit more restrained.
“Captain Pryce, we need to talk to you about our cousin Bliss. Your trickery has inflicted grave distress upon her, distress she did not deserve.”
Morgan Pryce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
“What is the purpose of your deceit?” That was Cas, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Attie approved of the hint of aggression.
Pryce shrugged. “Bliss Worthington wanted a secret wedding. She sent many secret messages to Camberton House and made all the arrangements. She got what she desired.”
Cas growled. “But the man she hoped to marry was not you—it was your brother!”
“My half brother.” The captain’s tone had chilled. Attie watched his whole body stiffen. “Is that what this is about, gentlemen—my being a bastard?”
All the Worthingtons looked to each other for clarification. Dade frowned. “Of course not. We hadn’t even thought of that, Pryce. Who your mother happened to be is none of our concern.”
“We have a question for you.” Cas took over the interrogation. “Bliss wants an annulment. It is a straightforward and justified desire on her part, so why do you resist?”
Morgan Pryce laced his fingers together on his lap and leaned back in the bench. Attie thought he looked like a man settling in for a long conversation. “I’m afraid it is not as simple as all that.”
Dade smirked. Attie had heard that smirking worked quite well in inquests. “Well, then, how is this for simple, Captain Pryce? You lied to a lady. You pretended to be someone you weren’t. There is nothing complicated about that.”
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