“Blanche,” Llewellyn said. “Put the gun down.”
“Who’ll talk first?” Charley asked. “Shaldon won’t need both of you.”
He heard a rustling and the gun veered back to Gracie.
“The boat’s been warned away, Blanche,” Charley said. “You really have no choice.”
The pistol moved their way again, shaking.
“Now,” Charley shouted.
Juan’s knife slashed and, pow, Llewellyn slammed into Charley, pulling them both to the floor.
He rolled the man off. Llewellyn clutched at his belly.
“Gracie,” Charley yelled.
“I’m here.” She crawled over to him, dagger drawn and threatening the Captain. “Are you hit?”
“I don’t think so.” he said.
Llewellyn groaned.
“He’s faking.” Gracie got to her feet and toed the man’s coat open.
Blood stained his waistcoat.
She inhaled sharply. “She shot him.”
On the other side of the room, Juan restrained Lady Kingsley, while Farnsworth staunched the wound in her arm.
And Father had made his appearance.
Charley started going through Llewellyn’s pockets. “I guess we’ll be charging you with attempted murder, Lady Kingsley.”
“It’ll be murder,” Llewellyn said. “I’m gut-shot.”
Charley pulled out the book of sonnets and tossed it to Farnsworth. “Here, your ladyship. You may read it in jail while you wait for the hangman. Do not worry, it is naught but a copy from the library at Shaldon House.”
She laughed, the witch. “It was accidental. With all of you fighting, the gun went off. I will not be in jail, nor will I hang. I am the wife of a peer. But this man of hers, he may hang for stabbing me.”
“I think not, Blanche,” Father said. “Since clearly he was defending my son’s wife. But if you would like to talk, we will listen.”
“Yes, I will talk, Shaldon, and you will not like what I have to share in the scandal sheets about your precious son’s wife.”
Father sighed. “Ever the bully, Blanche.” He nodded to Farnsworth. “See that she’s chained. Charge her with treason, attempted child stealing for ransom, and, for now, attempted murder.”
“I am no traitor. It was Llewellyn and Kingsley.”
“And who else was involved, Blanche? Who were you sailing with tonight?”
“You would like information, and I might have it.”
Charley stood and pulled Gracie up with him, making room for the men seeing to Llewellyn. He moved her over to the narrow bed and sat down next to her.
“Is Francisca well?”
She nodded. “She’s tending to Juan now.”
“Let’s clean this blood off.” He slipped the dagger from her hand and wiped it on the bedcovers. The blade shimmered in the lamplight. He’d come upon Father examining it earlier, after he’d cleaned it. Her father’s gift. “It’s done you good service this day.”
She nodded and leaned into his shoulder.
She was unable to speak. All of the day’s bravery had caught up with her. He pulled her close while he studied the blade. From the hilt to the point was a series of lines and circles, expertly traced, in no particular arrangement that he could make sense of.
His mouth went dry, certainty creeping over him. He’d once studied a code that used these symbols.
Gracie’s hand covered his. “I must have that back,” she said. “I…I treasure it.”
“Of course.” He bit back a smile and slipped it into the sheath at her waist.
He’d married a woman who kept her promises.
“Let’s go home and check on Reina.” He drew her to her feet. “And tomorrow, I’ll buy her a roomful of dolls.”
They managed a quick change of clothes and a visit to the nursery before being summoned to the library where Bakeley and the ladies waited, demanding a report.
Charley obliged, in great detail, and was all but finished when Lord Shaldon returned with Mr. Gibson and Thomas in tow.
Charley’s father excused the ladies so politely, it was a wonder Lady Perry protested before leaving. Graciela got up to leave also, but he bade her stay.
Charley seated himself, his arm finding her, lending her his strength. She’d been very brave, they all said, but inside her heart hurt. She’d ended one man’s mortal existence. She’d confirmed another man’s grave betrayal. How did men bear this sort of burden?
“Where are Farnsworth and Kincaid?” Charley asked.
“Farnsworth is with Blanche.” Lord Shaldon’s lip curled and he threw back a whisky.
It was the most emotion she’d seen him display since she’d asked him if he’d killed her mother.
“Kincaid has Llewellyn in hand. He’ll last a few days. Bakeley, I would ask you and Bink to get some sleep and then set off after Lord Kingsley. We’ll need him back.”
Graciela found Charley’s hand and clutched it. Her guardian would face consequences, yet this was not over. “What of Carvelle?”
He looked away, frowning. “The coastal patrols are searching. They’re bringing in Llewellyn’s ship as well. The Duque’s yacht is another matter. He’ll claim diplomatic privileges, and the King won’t want to cause a stir so close to his coronation.”
“Did she confirm her plan to escape on that yacht?” Charley asked.
“The Duque’s yacht?” Graciela asked. “She was connected to him?” She let out a breath. “They think my father took the Duque’s ship, one they’d invested in.”
“The night of the ball, the Duquesa told me he was bringing the yacht up to take someone important out,” Charley said.
“So that was the whispering in your ear.” She looked at their hands locked together.
Charley was wrong. The Duquesa was wrong. The Duque didn’t send the boat for someone important—he sent it for something important. He wanted the book.
He knew what the book contained.
The thought terrified her.
“Lady Kingsley did not mean to leave with Llewellyn,” she said.
“No,” Lord Shaldon said.
“She meant all along to shoot him.”
“That is likely.”
“Dios.”
Shaldon’s faraway gaze had not changed.
Graciela rose, went to him, and touched his shoulder. “Was it she who killed Lady Shaldon?”
The three brothers went still. Lord Shaldon rested a hand atop hers and sighed. “She is ruthless enough. Was she always so? She had relatives in the East Riding. I’d met her at a neighbor’s house party when I came back from Ireland to marry. Felicity loved the seacoast and the wild country.” He paused. “Bring over that bottle, Charles, and pour each of us a round.”
“Did she pursue you, my lord?” Gracie asked.
Charley’s mouth had dropped open. Lord Bakeley’s gaze sharpened.
“Blanche wanted a title, and my brother had just died, bequeathing me his. And I wonder if you might call me Father, unless you think Captain Kingsley will mind.”
“Oh.” She blinked and glanced round the room. Lord Bakeley had covered his mouth, Mr. Gibson was rolling his eyes, and Charley’s lips quivered.
The brothers did not mind.
Lord Shaldon’s gaze was so much like her Papa’s, discerning and wise. He was a man of secrets also, able to keep them, and perhaps able to allow others to keep their own.
She dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. “I call him Papa, so I know he will not mind if I call you Father.”
He poured a glass and raised it. “To a successful mission.”
She took the glass Charley handed her. “And to Lady Shaldon.”
Charley came and touched his glass to hers. “And to Señora Maria Esperanza Romero de Kingsley."
She smiled. “How did you know—oh, from the book of sonnets.”
She took a drink and let the liquor burn through her, getting up her nerve.
“My lord…Father. Do no
t forget to return me the book of sonnets.”
“As soon as repairs have been made,” he said.
“And the sheet of numbers?” She eased in a breath and held it through his long pause.
“Yes,” he said finally, and smiled. “Now let me show you the deed to your property.” He stood, all business again. “Come join me in my study.”
Later, after a discussion of their new estate in the north, and a long visit by Perry, who claimed insomnia, they were able to get away. Tucked in the high bed with Gracie beside him, Charley drifted into sleep.
“Charley.” Gracie’s breath tickled his ear.
“Mmm. Best sleep. Reina will be up soon.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
He didn’t have to fake a groan.
“This is important. I have an idea.”
He rolled to face her and flopped his arm over her.
She giggled. “Can you tell me, is your father quite well?”
“When he wants to be. When he needs to be ill, he is.”
“He looked very gray tonight.” She swept her thumb over his cheek, and he felt it all the way to his loins.
Sighing, she looked away, and he dived in to nip at her neck, just like one of Francisca’s tlahuelpuchis. She giggled, tasting like good soap and rosewater.
“He was thinking about Mother’s death,” he murmured into the dip above her collar bone.
She wriggled against him. “Oh. That tickles. Yes, well, I’ve decided we should not leave yet. You should not leave him. Not yet.” She pushed away to look at him. “What years he has left, you must treasure them. And then we shall go later.”
“And if later comes a very long time later?”
“That will be a good thing, won’t it? He has had a rough patch tracking down spies and killers. Perhaps he will settle quite happily into a retirement. When my father returns, he won’t stay long, and perhaps once the Spanish and the pirates are defeated, he can return to a more regular sort of shipping.”
“Will that be after you return the book and the dagger to him?”
She blinked and studied him for a long moment.
“Do you have any more secrets you haven’t shared with me, my love?”
She looked up at the canopy, blinking furiously.
“I promised Papa.” She took a deep breath. “The Duque…he is still very dangerous.”
“Look at me, Gracie.” He touched her cheek and turned her toward him. “I love you, and I will protect you. Trust me when I say that my father is not done with the Duque.” He kissed her nose. “And your secret is safe with me.”
“Is it safe with your father?”
He fell back to the pillow laughing. “Yes. Most definitely.”
“Well, then, when my Papa returns to his ordinary trade, we can sail with him and I can show you that world. For now, we will stay here and you will spend time with your father. Is that not a good plan? What do you think?”
“I think it is marvelous.” He touched his lips to hers. “And I think since you have woken me to share plans,” he rolled her onto her back, “I have an excellent idea.”
Her eyelids fluttered and a smile touched her lips. “You’ve had this idea once already tonight.”
He covered her with his body and breathed into her ear. “Am I not a genius?”
He stopped her laughter with a kiss.
Epilogue
Two months later, Yorkshire, West Riding
“We’re losing our nursemaid, Gracie.” Charley looked up from the ball he was lining up. The flat stretch of garden had been perfect for this game of lawn wickets which the Everly family claimed to love.
Perry waved a mallet threateningly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I love her prodigiously, but Reina can spare me for a few weeks. Gracie is with her every morning, and Francisca allows me only a little time all alone with my niece. And you have hired a perfectly good staff. And I have not seen my friend Cecilia in an age. Since her father died, she never comes up to London. When will I have this opportunity again?”
Charley eyed the ball and whacked it. He cleared a wicket and bumped Graciela’s ball.
“Sorry, my dear.” He grinned at her.
A little too brightly, she thought. He was worried about Perry.
“I’m not sure I should allow you to gallivant about the countryside, dear sister.”
“You are not my father, dear brother.”
“I’m not sure Father or Bakeley would approve.”
She harrumphed. “What about Bink? Why not include him?”
Graciela stepped between them. “You must play your ball, Perry. I am getting bored.”
While Perry lined up her shot, Charley watched her closely.
Perry had come along with them to their new estate, bringing along the little maid Jenny who had worked for Paulette and then Sirena, to help train the girls they’d hired from the children’s home run by Bink’s friend, Lady Hackwell. It had been a busy month of settling in, and Perry’s help with the staff and the household management had been invaluable.
And now Perry was bored.
Graciela could understand that. Perry had no Charley to go to every night, no Charley to follow every bit of teasing with a kiss. Two nights ago, at dinner, she’d announced her plans. She would travel to East Yorkshire to visit with a friend she’d met her come-out year in London.
Perry’s ball cruised through the wickets and struck the post. “There,” she whooped. “I have won. I’m returning to the house to direct Jenny’s packing. I shall see you at dinner.”
Graciela picked up Perry’s tossed mallet. “Pack your pistols also,” she called.
Perry’s hand went up in a wave, but she did not turn or break her stride.
Graciela laughed.
“You shouldn’t encourage her.” He tapped his ball again.
“It’s my turn.”
He looked up and frowned. “Come here.”
“You are worried. Don’t be. You cannot stop her, Charley. She has no husband, she has no home of her own, no child to fret over, she is all at loose ends. She needs an adventure. Perhaps she’ll meet a good suitor on this visit. Your father will understand. He will not mind.”
“He will mind plenty, as will my brothers. She is up to something. I should accompany her there. I won’t stay. I’ll return right away.”
“You have the workmen coming to install the new stove in the kitchen. You have grooms to hire. You have repairs on the roof to supervise. You have tenants to meet with.”
He tossed his mallet, scowling. “Fine. Come here.”
She smiled and walked into his arms, looking up into his eyes.
“Drat. I never thought I would be dealing with roofs and tenants and stoves like Bakeley. I always thought, poor sod, I’m glad he was born first. And now I’m a regular sod myself.”
“You are. And you have something else in common with your brother.”
His brow furrowed and he smiled. “My lack of money worries. In part due to my prodigiously good marriage.”
“What else?”
“Some fine horses, though not as many as he has.”
“And?”
He truly looked puzzled. She took his hands and placed them on her belly.
“Really?”
“Maybe. I have been sick every morning in the nursery. And there are other signs. I did not wish to tell you until I was absolutely sure, but I couldn’t wait. I think it’s very possible you have made a baby.”
“We have made a baby.” He pulled her close and kissed her soundly. “Well, then, Lady Perpetua is on her own.”
The End
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Acknowledgments
A Note from the Author
In researching some local history of Orange County, California where I live I discovered that one of the early rancho owners, Don Juan Forster, was actually born in Liverpool, England. Then I came across a book, Testimonios, Ea
rly California Through the Eyes of Women, 1815-1848, fascinating narratives of life in those times.
While history provided inspiration for my heroine’s parents’ romance, I’ve taken the liberty of setting their marriage decades earlier. As usual, my characters and story are entirely fictional, and any historical errors are mine alone.
Many thanks go to editor Tessa Shapcott, to cover designer Cami Brite, and to my daughter, Alicia, for helping me brainstorm the title.
As ever, I’m grateful to my husband for his unfailing support and enduring patience. On a recent trip, the dear man ran all over London with me, including a stop at the historical George Inn on Borough High Street where we hoisted a pint to Graciela and Charley.
I love hearing from readers! You can contact and follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Goodreads, and at my website, AlinaKField.com. For special notices about sales and other news, please consider signing up for my newsletter at my website. I promise I won’t spam you or sell your email address!
Best regards and happy reading!
Alina K. Field
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