A Match of Wits

by Jen Turano

  “You should open the letter,” Agatha suggested as she continued to eye the invention Charlotte St. James, one of her dear friends and an avid inventor, had apparently designed for Zayne.

  When Zayne didn’t immediately do as she’d suggested, she tore her gaze away from the contraption and found Zayne frowning back at her. “Well?”

  Releasing a breath, Zayne shrugged. “I do so hate to be the voice of doubt, because it was very kind of Charlotte to think of me and send me that . . . whatever it may be, but . . . don’t you remember the, er, questionable nature of most of Charlotte’s inventions? I mean, she did fall through the bottom of a boat she tried to patch up one time, and that happened while she was trying to sail it.”

  “Not all of her inventions are dangerous, Zayne.” Agatha began to circle around what was evidently another of Charlotte’s masterpieces. “It’s very complex, isn’t it. I mean, it has a steering column that resembles that of a bicycle, but it has four wheels and an elongated box that I suppose is where you’re supposed to sit.” She nodded. “It seems she’s made it long enough to accommodate your cast.” Giving the device a small shove, she blinked when it took off like a shot across the room, coming to a stop when it bounced off the wall. “Ah, it’s fast.” She bit her lip. “Although that might not be a good thing considering your condition.”

  Moving across the room, she pulled the cart—for lack of a better word—away from the wall and began to inspect it. “Did Charlotte put any instructions in that letter, such as what all these knobs, sticks, and cranks are for?”

  Although it seemed he did so reluctantly, Zayne opened the letter, scanned it, and then turned a little pale. “Charlotte says she made it especially for me after running into Theodore and learning I’d returned home but was stuck with my leg in a cast for a while.” He glanced up. “She does apologize for not coming to visit, but it seems she’s expecting another child soon and isn’t very light on her feet, a condition she claims helped her think up her invention.” He regarded the letter again as beads of sweat suddenly popped out on his forehead. “She also added that she’s fairly certain she fixed the problem of the wheels falling off, but cautions me to keep my speed in check.”

  Silence settled over the room, until Drusilla let out a nervous, very un-Drusilla-like laugh. “Ah, well, lovely. I suppose someone should give it a whirl around the room just to make sure it’s safe.”

  “I’ll try it,” Ben said, puffing out his little chest, only to have it deflate when Agatha shook her head.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but this is not a toy. I’ll go first.”

  Drusilla cleared her throat, loudly. “In case you’ve forgotten, Agatha, I get paid a remarkably handsome salary to watch over you. Because of that, and because I’ve not had to do much of late to earn that handsome salary, it’s my duty to try that death contraption out first.”

  “Maybe we could just push it in the direction of the fireplace and tell Charlotte that it accidently burned up,” Zayne suggested.

  “Honestly,” Agatha said, “the two of you are being complete ninnies about this. Charlotte St. James is a remarkably gifted inventor, and I have no doubt that this gift she’s given you is perfectly safe.” She turned the cart around and aimed it for the door. “I’m going to be the first to drive it, and since the hallway right outside this room is conveniently long, it’ll serve nicely.”

  Bending over again, she inspected the boards that made up the body of the cart and smiled. “Why, she’s even added bolts that allow the sides to come down, which will make it easier for you to slide in and out of this, Zayne.”

  Pulling up the bolts, she lowered the side, hitched up her skirt, slid onto the smooth seat, and brought the side back up. Gazing over all the knobs, she looked back to Zayne. “Did she happen to mention what this round knob thing is?”

  Zayne looked at the letter again and frowned. “She says that you can pull that if you’re going uphill and it’ll give you an extra boost.”

  “Excellent,” Agatha exclaimed as she reached for the knob, stopping when Zayne let out a grunt. “What?”

  “There aren’t any hills in the house, so you shouldn’t try that.”

  “Don’t be silly. My purpose in testing this out is to make sure it’s safe for you.”

  “But what if it’s not safe?”

  “Then you can tell me you told me so and we can return to the ridiculous conversation we were having before this arrived—the one dealing with eligible gentlemen and why you’re so interested in that subject at the moment.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” Agatha said firmly. Ignoring the dire predictions Zayne began tossing her way, she gave what she thought was a crank of some sort a good thrust and found herself thrown forward as the cart barreled across the room, directly toward Matilda, who’d woken up from her nap and was ambling her way toward the hall.

  “Turn the steering column,” Drusilla yelled.

  “Put on the brakes,” Piper called.

  Wrenching the steering column to the right, she barely missed running over Matilda before she shot through the open door and began trundling down the hall. Searching for the braking device, she pulled back a large knob attached to the front of the cart, but instead of stopping, she catapulted forward, the cart traveling faster than ever. She barely had a moment to blink before she realized she was reaching the end of the long hallway. Bracing herself, she hurtled into a decorative pedestal that held a lovely cut-glass vase filled with flowers. With a resounding thud, she came to an immediate stop as the vase tipped, water poured over her head along with the flowers, and then the distinctive sound of breaking glass met her ears.

  9

  With his heart in his throat, Zayne heard the sound of breaking glass right as Drusilla, followed by Piper and Ben, rushed out of the room. Pushing himself up, he swung his cast over the side of the bed and groped around for a moment, finally finding the crutches he’d stashed behind the headboard, the crutches Dr. Gessler had assured him he was ready to use. Putting them under his arms, he got to his feet and began making his way rather clumsily toward the door. He finally made it into the hallway as sweat rolled from his forehead and stung his eyes, blurring his vision for a second. Stopping, he blinked a few times and then felt temper replace his fear when he spotted Agatha. She was soaking wet and standing next to a rather large hole in the wall at the end of the hall, and . . . she was laughing.

  Why she was laughing, he had no idea, because from what he could see, there was a distinct trace of red running down her face, clear testimony that she’d been hurt in the crash. Propelling himself forward, he glanced to the stairs and found his mother racing up them. He reached the stairs right as she finished climbing, but she barely glanced his way as she dashed off to join Agatha.

  “My dear, you’re bleeding,” Gloria exclaimed as she fished a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Agatha.

  “It’s just a scratch,” Agatha said, swiping at her wet face with the handkerchief. She grimaced when she looked at the blood now staining the fine linen. “I’m afraid I might just have ruined this, Gloria.”

  Gloria waved the comment away. “What happened?”

  To his annoyance, Agatha laughed again. “It seems I mistook one of the many knobs Charlotte included on that cart for the brake, when in actuality, the knob I pulled must have had some type of spring attached to it which gave it an extra boost, something I certainly hadn’t counted on.” She pulled a flower stem off her head and grinned. “It’s ingenious, that knob, and I’m going to have to make certain to tell Charlotte that the next time I see her, although I probably should ask her exactly how one is supposed to stop that cart, because . . .” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of him. “What are you doing out of bed?”

  Ignoring her question, he hobbled closer. “You’ve hurt yourself.”

  Shrugging, Agatha smiled. “Not really, and besides, better me than you.”

  His temper kicked up a notch. “This is e
xactly why I need to find you a good man.”

  The moment the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a grave mistake. Silence was immediate, paired with a distinct air of coolness from Drusilla, Gloria, and even Piper, although little Ben was simply watching him with his mouth open. Agatha, however, given the distinct fire in her eyes, was furious.

  “What . . . did . . . you . . . say?” she demanded.

  “Children, I believe it’s time for some cookies and milk, down in the kitchen,” Gloria said firmly. She took Ben by the hand and nodded to Piper, who seemed about to protest but settled for saying something under her breath that sounded like “Uncle Zayne doesn’t understand ladies at all” before she took her grandmother’s free hand. They began walking quickly to the stairs and then disappeared down them.

  Alone now except for Agatha and Drusilla, Zayne shifted on his crutches, but before he could speak, Agatha turned to Drusilla.

  “You don’t have to stay with me.”

  “I’m not staying for your protection.”

  Agatha brushed a wet lock of hair out of her face. “I’m not going to hurt him.” She shot him a glare. “Well, not too much.”

  “I don’t know why everyone is behaving as if I did something wrong,” Zayne said. “You’re the lunatic who ran right into the pedestal and almost killed yourself, and once again, you did it in order to keep me safe. I’m the man here, in case everyone’s forgotten. I don’t need a slip of a lady putting her life on the line time and time again in order to save me from some type of distress or injury.”

  “I think I’ll go find those cookies,” Drusilla said before she dashed away.

  The sound of crunching glass drew Zayne’s attention. Agatha was tapping her toe amidst the broken glass she was still standing in, and the reminder of what had happened to her caused his blood to boil. “You’re a complete threat to yourself.”

  Agatha narrowed her eyes. “I cannot believe you’ve apparently taken it upon yourself to find me a . . . How did you put it? Oh yes, a good man.”

  “You need someone to look after you.”

  “I must say, this certainly clears up the whole having Piper read the society page to you and your strange interest in eligible gentlemen. I can’t help but wonder who you’ve decided might suit me, besides Mr. Blackheart, of course.”

  Before he could summon up so much as a single word, she gathered up her skirt and bolted down the hallway, her intentions only too clear.

  “Don’t touch my book,” he bellowed as he took off at a snail’s pace after her.

  By the time he reached his room, Agatha was pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, her lips moving but no sound coming out as she held his journal up to her face.

  “Put that down.”

  She lifted her head. “What did you mean by this—Mr. Arnold Putman . . . nice teeth?”

  “Ah, Arabella mentioned the other day that Mr. Putman has a nice smile, and she specifically mentioned his straight teeth.”

  “So that makes him a viable candidate?”

  “Well, you wouldn’t want to be married to someone who only has gums and no teeth, would you?”

  Letting out a snort, Agatha flipped the page. “Mr. Constable Hefferstenforth. . . .” She rolled her eyes. “Do you really believe I’d like to be known forever after as Mrs. Hefferstenforth? Why, I’m not even certain how to pronounce that name.”

  “If you’ll continue on to the notes I wrote after that name, you’ll see I made that exact same observation and also wrote that it wouldn’t be a good match.”

  Sending him another glare, she flipped to a different page. “Ah, and here we have Mr. Jeffrey Murdock, although it looks like you tried to scratch out his name.” She released a huff of clear annoyance. “Out of all the eligible gentleman I know at the moment, Mr. Murdock would probably make me a more than acceptable husband, but there’s just the pesky little problem of me not actually wanting to acquire a mate,” she said, her voice having risen to almost a shout.

  “You’re upset with me.”

  Pacing back and forth again, Agatha practically sizzled with tension. “I thought we were friends.”

  “We are, which is why I decided I had to help you.”

  “By marrying me off to someone else?”

  Zayne arched a brow. “What do you mean by ‘someone else’?”

  Agatha stopped pacing. “Nothing, I meant nothing by that, but tell me . . . why?”

  Leaning forward on his crutches, Zayne sighed. “You’re always putting yourself at risk trying to save others. If you had a strong and capable man to look after you, you wouldn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, Zayne. I’ve been doing it for quite some time now.”

  “But not doing it well.”

  For just a second, what looked like hurt flickered through her eyes, but then Agatha squared her shoulders and the look was gone, replaced, unfortunately, with rage. “You are not going to find me a husband.”

  “I’m not?”

  “No. If I decide I want one—and I’m not sure I’ll ever want a husband now—I’ll do the selecting. Are we clear?”

  “Not really.”

  “That’s too bad.” With that, Agatha walked to the fireplace, tossed his journal into the fire, and without another word stalked out of the room.

  “Where are you going?” he called.

  To his dismay, Agatha didn’t bother to answer.

  “You do realize this is completely irresponsible of both of us to be out here, in the open no less, and with Matilda leading the way, don’t you?”

  Shoving her spectacles farther up her nose, Agatha glanced at Drusilla, who was dressed in a hideous floral gown of lime and pink, her hair stuffed underneath a ratty old white wig, and carrying a fashionable reticule that was at distinct odds with her gown. Strangely enough, Drusilla was looking as composed as ever. “We’re both in disguise.”

  “True, and I do thank you for not insisting we take this jaunt around the neighborhood dressed as men, although I’m still a little confused as to why you insisted I disguise myself.”

  “I didn’t want you to feel left out, and I didn’t insist we dress as men because it would have taken us too long to don whiskers. I needed to get out of the house.”

  “And since I find that to be a completely rational explanation, it’s clear I’ve spent entirely too much time in your company. However, I’m not exactly sure I understand why you chose to dress as a lady who looks about ready to give birth, especially since most ladies in society don’t venture out in public when they’re in your supposed condition.”

  “It’s 1883, Drusilla, and it’s past time someone made the stand while in this condition. It can’t be pleasant for ladies to be stuck inside for months on end just because they’re expecting, so perhaps I’ll start a new trend.” She was pulled to an abrupt halt when Matilda suddenly found something worth investigating on the sidewalk and refused to budge. Agatha blew out a breath. “He’s an idiot.”

  “Ah, I take it we’re back to discussing Zayne, are we?”

  “I don’t know what I was thinking, allowing myself to care about him, especially since I vowed after he broke my heart a few years . . .” She stopped speaking when Drusilla stepped closer to her and, in a move that was quite unlike the Drusilla she’d come to know, patted Agatha awkwardly on the arm.

  “You never mentioned that Zayne had actually broken your heart.”

  She shrugged. “Well, he did, and now he’s done it again.” A yank on the leash pulled her into motion. Matilda was apparently on the trail of something new, and since the little darling was rather strong when she turned determined, Agatha had no choice but to break into a trot, if only to save herself from being dragged down the sidewalk.

  “Don’t you think it might be best to turn around and go back to the house?” Drusilla asked, panting slightly when she finally caught up to Agatha.

  “No.”

  “You can�
��t hide from Zayne forever.”

  “I’m not planning on hiding for long. In fact, I think it’s about time for me to shed my disguises and walk freely around New York as Miss Agatha Watson.”

  “Please tell me you’re not going to shed your disguise right this moment. I’m afraid we really will draw unwanted attention if you go strolling around in your unmentionables, especially since you’re walking a P-I-G.”

  “Hmm . . . such a display might draw the person who wants me dead out in the open.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”

  Skidding to a stop because Matilda, for some reason, had changed direction and was now rooting around the sidewalk, Agatha laughed. “I wouldn’t really strip down out here, Drusilla. Honestly, where’s your sense of humor?”

  “Back at the Beckett house, where it’s safer for you.”

  “But not safer for Zayne.”

  Drusilla sent her a look filled with sympathy. “I truly am sorry for pushing you toward him, Agatha. I never dreamed in a million years he’d tried to pawn you off on some other gentleman, especially since I was certain he held the same amount of affection for you as you hold for him.”

  “Held for him,” Agatha corrected. “I foolishly let my guard down, and he wormed his way right back into my heart, but never again. I’m done with him for good this time, and I’m furious with myself for believing he truly understood me, when in actuality, he doesn’t understand me at all.”

  “I don’t think Zayne understands ladies in general.”

  “Be that as it may,” Agatha began, jolting forward when Matilda began scampering down the street. “Some other lady can take over the daunting task of teaching him about women, because I’ve had quite enough of Zayne Beckett.” She lifted her chin. “What’s become remarkably clear to me is this—I need to return to work. Writing is my great passion in life, and once I get firmly settled again at the paper, I’ll be able to put Zayne behind me once and for all.”

  “Theodore will never agree with the idea of you going back to work.”