Emme’s expression softened. “You have a rich life already, with wonderful people in it. Truth be told, I would much rather attend an academic symposium than a high society soirée. And you, Hazel, have always carried yourself with an air of refinement that class cannot bestow or remove.” She paused and chuckled. “Do you know that when we were children, I looked for your reaction to choices we made even before I looked to Isla? And she was my wise elder cousin.”
Hazel couldn’t hide her surprise. “Isla was the undisputed leader—she cared for all of us.”
Emme nodded. “She did, but yours was the voice of reason. I did not always follow it, but I always heard it. To this day, I admire your sense of self, the control you maintain over emotion, even in times of duress. You’re steady.”
Hazel’s shoulders slumped. “I am boring. I am also a coward. Here I am on the brink of something momentous, and all I can think about is how afraid I am to leave this room with a packed trunk.”
“Of course you are. Anybody with half of a good brain would be apprehensive. But you are the farthest thing from coward that I have ever known.”
“You would not be afraid.”
“Most certainly I would be! I am just reckless enough to throw caution to the wind and leap before looking. You do not make those kinds of mistakes. You’re methodical and organized, and you learn all you can about a topic before wrestling it to the ground with your big brain.”
Emme leaned forward, grasping Hazel’s hands. “You’ve mentioned feeling as though something has been missing from your life, and now you’ve learned of a twin. I’ve heard tales about twins, about a connection that defies logic. And now, you’re going to find her, save her from peril. I cannot wait to hear the tales when you return.” She gave Hazel’s hands a squeeze. “And you will have Dr. MacInnes for support.”
Hazel sighed. “There is another issue.”
“But you said he visited last night and insists on joining you.”
“Yes, and I accepted, but it will be awful. I’ll be in his company without the benefit of work as a buffer.”
Emme paused and scrutinized her closely. “Hazel, are you in love with him?”
“Of course not.” Hazel snatched her hands away and sat up straight.
Emme slowly straightened, and a smile touched her lips. “Of course. I do not know why I did not reason it through before. You work together every day—you spend more time with each other than individually with your families.”
“I am not in love with him,” Hazel insisted, and heat suffused her cheeks. “Even if it were so, we are from two different stations in life.”
Emme’s smile broadened. “Not anymore.”
Hazel put a hand to her forehead. “Emmeline O’Shea, he has no idea! He is blissfully unaware of my presence as anything but an employee, or a . . . a . . . family acquaintance. I am trusting that he will remain ignorant of it.”
Emme raised her hand, palm out. “I’ll not breathe a word to anyone. Your secrets are your own. You should know, however, that it is a splendid match, and I approve wholeheartedly.” She tapped a fingertip against her lip. “And he insists on accompanying you. There is significance in that, I wager.”
Hazel rolled her eyes. She brushed her hands against her skirt and stood. “Help me finish packing. I could use another set of eyes. What am I missing?”
Emme’s answering smile was wry. “A great deal, apparently. Very well, show me what you’ve selected thus far. And when you return, I will enjoy hearing every detail of your romantic adventure.”
Sam studied Dravor Petrescu’s rigid posture as they stood silently in the small parlor of the Hughes’ home. They’d not spoken two words since their early morning meeting at the count’s hotel when Sam had explained his wish to accompany Hazel to Romania. Sam’s pronouncement was met with stony silence, but in the end, Petrescu had agreed with a tight smile. He must have realized any refusal on his part would seem suspect, at the very least. What possible objection could a caring relative have to allowing his niece the comfort of a friend when embarking on something new and potentially frightening?
Petrescu met Sam’s eyes as the silence stretched taut between them. “I wonder what has you so concerned for Miss Hughes’s welfare. I am family and have her best interests at heart.”
Sam smiled. “I am certain you do. Surely you understand my position, however.”
Petrescu tipped his head to the side. “What is that position? You are not her suitor, or so I’ve been told, and there is no obvious family connection beyond an acquaintance between your mother and hers. Perhaps as her nearest male relative, I ought to be concerned for her reputation.”
Sam’s temper rose a notch, but he tamped it down. “No need for concern, I assure you. As the Hughes family has been notably without support all this time, it is my honor to fill the role.”
He was taller than Petrescu by an inch, and grateful for any small advantage. The man had a large presence in the room, an energy Sam couldn’t define. He possessed classically aristocratic good looks and bearing, with dark hair and eyes, but there was a coldness about him that showed itself in snippets, whether due to natural reserve or something else entirely, Sam didn’t know.
He had hoped to reach the Hughes’ home before the count. He wanted a word with Hazel in private. A shouting match greeted him upon his arrival as Rowena Hughes was soundly berating Petrescu, and when Sam entered the parlor, she’d burst into tears of gratitude. For his part, the Romanian had seemed mildly amused. Sam had wondered if the amusement would give way to irritation, though, so when Sam suggested Rowena see to refreshments, he’d been relieved when she’d agreed. Petrescu appeared mild enough for the moment—mild as a snake coiled to strike when provoked enough.
Sam slowly paced the length of the small parlor, restless. Petrescu remained by the hearth, still and aloof, only his eyes tracking Sam’s movement. Footsteps sounded outside the room, and Hazel entered a moment later with Emme O’Shea. He felt a moment’s panic, wondering if Hazel had made good on her suggestion to invite the other woman.
Hazel was pale. Her eyes flicked from her uncle to Sam and widened fractionally; she clearly hadn’t expected to see both of them. Sam pasted a smile on his face and moved forward to greet the women. He bowed first over Emme’s hand and then Hazel’s, keeping hold of her fingers when she attempted to withdraw.
“Hazel, you will be pleased to know arrangements have been made, and your long-lost uncle has graciously invited me to join the two of you as you travel to Romania.”
She looked at Petrescu, as did Sam; the man raised one aristocratic brow but then finally nodded.
“A physician will be most welcome on our trip,” the count said. “One never knows when unexpected illness or the presence of wild animals—natural or mechanical—might cause trouble.” Petrescu smiled. “Besides, I am pleased to share our beautiful homeland with all.”
Hazel nodded and withdrew her fingers from Sam’s. “Emme has been assisting me on clothing choice. I understand with winter approaching I ought to include many layers. Please,” she added, gesturing toward the sofa and chairs, “I believe tea will soon be served.”
As if summoned, Rowena Hughes and Celina entered, the latter carrying a tea tray, and began to serve.
Sam noted Hazel’s deliberate choice of a solitary chair, and he took one next to it while Petrescu sat on one end of the couch, and Emme, the other.
He sat back in his chair and studied Hazel. Her posture was stiff, hands clasped firmly in her lap. He wondered what that brain of hers was sorting. She had the quickest comprehension and best information recall of anyone he’d ever met. She was brilliant, but also had an innocent naivete about her. His protective instincts increased tenfold, and a glance at Petrescu reaffirmed his determination to remain close by her side. Petrescu was charming and very smooth. Too smooth.
Petrescu gave Ha
zel an affable smile, responding to something she’d said, and chuckled. Her hands remained firmly clenched, but Sam noted her shoulders relax the slightest degree. He wasn’t certain if that was a good sign or bad.
“I daresay the climate will agree with you,” the count was saying as Sam made an effort to focus on the conversation. “You’ve certainly lived in cold environs here, and after all, Romania is in your blood.” Petrescu paused as though considering his words. “I wonder if your mother’s mind will be put at ease if I share something I’ve not yet mentioned. Our family line, you see, is directly descended from a distinguished Turkish prince. You and Marit, by blood rights, are princesses.”
Rowena’s hand flew to her chest, and her mouth dropped open as she sat slowly into the final empty chair. “A prin . . . a princess? Hazel! Do you know what this means for you? For us?”
Petrescu sat forward and accepted a cup of tea from Celina. He leaned back with a smile and crossed his legs. “It means, dear Mrs. Hughes, that all of your dreams for Hazel are about to become reality. But do bear in mind that the title is not an official one, of course, as our bloodline is not currently in power and has been rather diluted throughout the years. Still, I find it a great source of amusement and entertainment.” He turned to Hazel. “Once the good people of London read the papers today, you’ll find yourself at the center of social events rather than on the fringes.”
“Ah, but the fringes suit me well. I am much more contented to observe than be observed.”
Petrescu inclined his head. “That is fair, and humility is admirable in its own right. But unofficial princess or no, you’ll find yourself elevated simply by your connection to me. I am a count, and as my niece, you are ‘Lady Hazel Hughes.’” He shrugged. “You might enjoy it, my dear. You’ll find yourself in circles that would be to your benefit.”
Hazel glanced at Sam, and a light blush stained her cheeks. One finger tapped restlessly against her other hand, and Sam frowned. She was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation; one needn’t have known her for long to realize that attention from high society would be her last desire. He didn’t blame her in the least.
The count kept his attention on Hazel. “Are there any other details I might facilitate before our departure this evening?”
Hazel shook her head. “I will retrieve my travel papers from the notary in an hour, and have a few small items to purchase. Otherwise, I am ready.” She inhaled a shaky breath and smiled.
Sam fought the urge to reach over and take her hand. “I’d like to join you on your errands, Hazel. As it happens, I also have papers to retrieve. I brought my Traveler today, and we could accomplish your tasks in no time.”
“Thank you for the offer, Dr. MacInnes. If you’ll wait a moment, I’ll get my reticule and wrap.” Hazel nodded at him but quickly broke eye contact. She stood and gave Petrescu her hands when he reached for them.
“My dear,” he said, “you’ve no idea how happy I am you’ve agreed to do this thing. I am certain I speak for Marit as well, when I express my gratitude. Unless I hear otherwise from you, we shall see you at the docks at six o’clock. I believe you’ll find the Magellan a most entertaining craft.”
Sam fastened the buckles on his traveling trunk and clicked the lock into place. “I believe I have everything we’ll need,” he said to Eugene, who stood in the dressing room with Sam.
“You seem to be bringing an inordinate amount of surgical supplies.” Eugene hefted the trunk up by the leather handles on the sides. As an automaton, he possessed the strength of several men, a decided convenience when traveling.
“Cannot be too prepared,” Sam said as they made their way down the front stairs and out to the waiting rented carriage. Where Hazel was concerned, he was leaving nothing to chance.
Eugene returned inside to retrieve Sam’s portmanteau, which held practical toiletries and some common medical supplies. Sam frowned, reviewing a mental checklist and hoping he wasn’t leaving behind something vital. A carriage pulled alongside the curb behind his conveyance, and Oliver stepped out. “May I join you to the docks?” he called.
“Of course.” Sam nodded.
Oliver paid the driver and joined Sam. “I thought I might have missed you.”
“You are just in time,” Sam said. “Have you learned anything new about our Romanian friend?”
“Not much beyond information on some property. I will scribe if something turns up. Once you’ve reached land, of course, you’ll need to telegraph. I doubt the scribers will be up to the distance.”
Sam frowned. “New coils and rods have been installed everywhere.”
“Not where you’re headed. I checked. Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary are behind the technological wave.” He paused. “You’re certain you want to do this?”
“Not a question of whether I want to,” Sam told him, feeling a touch nervous in spite of himself. “I cannot let Hazel go off with these people alone.”
Oliver studied him for a moment. “You’re a conscientious man, but this course of action seems more intense than concern for an employee.”
Sam brushed the comment aside as Eugene returned with a smaller trunk under one arm and Sam’s portmanteau in the other. “What is that?” he asked his ’ton, pointing to the small trunk.
Eugene secured the portmanteau atop Sam’s large trunk. “I have need of travel items.” His gaze flicked to Oliver and then back to Sam. “Sir.”
Sam would have been delighted if the “sir” had been a genuine utterance of respect. The ’ton clearly sought to appear the faithful servant for propriety’s sake, but his tone was unconvincing and bordered on insolent.
“What items could you possibly need?” Sam asked. “Your uniform never varies beyond the black jacket and trousers with a white shirt; we’ve discussed that. I packed your necessities in the larger trunk, and you stood there with me. Offered suggestions and criticized the placement of nearly every item, in fact.”
“When you connected me to the charging station in the Tesla room this morning, I acquired additional information about our destination. I also have news about the Magellan you may find interesting.”
Sam shook his head. “Tell me when we arrive. We must be off, or we’ll miss departure altogether. Inform Stanley that we are leaving, and then ride up top with the driver.”
Eugene’s expression, had he been human, would have best been described as a smirk. Therein lay the problem, though. Eugene was so very much like a human that Sam was often hard-pressed to remember he wasn’t. The ’ton returned to the house as Oliver and Sam climbed into the carriage.
Oliver shook his head and looked out the small window as Eugene returned a moment later. “I cannot imagine why you allowed Daniel to sell you on the benefits of such advanced programming,” Oliver said. The carriage dipped with Eugene’s weight as the ’ton climbed onto the driver’s perch.
Sam often wondered the same thing himself. “There are advantages. His knowledge base is unparalleled, and his ability to apply new information to different circumstances is extremely useful in medical situations, especially.”
“But he is exhausting to deal with.”
“Yes. Well, technology comes at a price.”
Oliver shook his head. “Daniel nearly has Miles convinced of the benefits.”
Sam smiled. “I’m sure Lucy would be in favor of having a highly evolved ’ton at their disposal.”
The four men—Miles, Daniel, Sam, and Oliver—were close friends, bonded together by the fury of war and boredom of military life between battles. That Miles had married Daniel’s sister, Lucy, had provided an additional cog that slipped in nicely with the others.
Oliver’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “I’m certain she would.”
Sam hadn’t seen any joy in his friend for some time, not since they’d learned Oliver’s brother had become a vampire of some notoriety. Oliver was d
uty bound and an extremely focused person who took his responsibilities seriously. He became absorbed in the criminal cases he investigated and deeply internalized any failures. Sam worried for his friend’s health, and wished, sometimes aloud, that Oliver would make time for a pleasant social life. He attended functions as Sam’s guest on occasion, but only if there was an investigative tie to explore. The only woman Oliver had mentioned more than once lately was Emme O’Shea, and it was hardly with affection.
“You need more sleep,” Sam observed as the carriage rocked gently along the streets.
“I get plenty of sleep.” Oliver scowled. “Does your doctor brain never rest?”
“Does your detective brain never rest?”
Oliver inclined his head. “Touché.” He reached inside his coat pocket for the small, black notebook he always carried and flipped it open. “Petrescu owns property in Romania, of course, but this morning I received records of additional property in Istanbul, Cairo, New Orleans, and Port Lucy.”
Sam’s gaze sharpened. “Why would he want property in such far-flung places? I suppose it’s too much to hope he merely enjoys travel.”
Oliver lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. The man has money, and he travels extensively and often.”
“You do not believe such a simple explanation, though.”
“No, I do not.”
Sam inhaled and let the breath out slowly. He looked out the carriage window. Dry leaves scuttled along the cobblestones. Ladies wore hats sporting goggles, flowers, ribbons, and colorful ostrich plumes that danced in the breeze. The wind plucked a handkerchief from a child’s hand and sent it flying. A young woman, a sister, perhaps, scolded the boy, who knocked into pedestrians as he chased after the square of fabric. Sam envied the lightheartedness the scene evoked, suddenly imagining the scene with him standing beside Hazel, laughingly calling out after a child.
The Lady in the Coppergate Tower (Proper Romance) Page 7
