The Puzzle of a Bastard

by Sande, Linda Rae

  “No harm. I got in late last night and sneaked into Merriweather Manor like a thief in the night. Told the butler not to tell anyone I was there. Then I sneaked out this morning to look for you.”

  Tom angled his head. “So... you must have seen my sister?”

  “I did,” James agreed. “Had a very pleasant conversation with her over tea and cakes, in fact. She was an excellent hostess. Must have known I hadn’t eaten any breakfast. Why, I can hardly believe she was once little Em.”

  A guffaw escaped Tom just as a footman arrived to take their drink order. He turned his attention back to James. “I didn’t intend to leave her out there all alone with the servants. I thought she would go with the rest of the family to Cherrywood,” he explained. “Not sure exactly what happened to make her want to stay, but... Mother seemed to think it was acceptable for her to do so.” For a moment, his expression indicated he hadn’t given his sister’s decision a second thought, but now he might.

  “Well, if it’s any consolation, she won’t be there all alone any longer,” James replied as he noticed a blond man waving in their direction. His first thought upon seeing the young man was that Cupid had grown up and put on some clothes. “Do you know him?”

  Tom had furrowed a brow at the odd comment about Emily not being alone, but then followed James’ line of sight. He smiled and stood up when he spotted Gabe Wellingham. “I do indeed,” he said. He shook hands with Gabe once he had made it through the crowd. He turned to introduce him to James.

  “Gabe Wellingham, this is your banker’s replacement, James Burroughs,” Tom said with a grin. “His father, Lord Andrew, has decided to retire, which means James can finally be a banker here in London instead of over in Bath.”

  Laughing as he shook hands with the younger man, James said, “No one calls my father ‘Lord Andrew’ these days. Will I be staying in a bedchamber near yours for the next few weeks or so?”

  Gabe and Tom exchanged quick glances, and Gabe was the first to ask, “Have you offered him lodging in Trenton House?” When he paid witness to Tom’s look of confusion and quick shake of his head, Gabe added, “It’s all right if you have. There are plenty of guest rooms.”

  “Trenton House?” James repeated, just as two footmen added a chair to their group. He suddenly rolled his eyes heavenward. “Oh, good God. You’re Trenton’s boy! Gabe the Younger?” he teased as he settled back into his chair, realizing he had been confused as to which Wellingham family the young man belonged.

  “I am,” Gabe admitted, knowing the ‘Gabe the Younger’ reference was not only because he looked so much like his father but because they shared the same given name.

  “I apologize,” James offered. “I thought perhaps you lived at Woodscastle. That’s where I’ll be staying starting tonight.”

  “Ah, that would be the house belonging to my father’s cousin, Thomas,” he replied. “I’ve never been, but I expect it’s rather well appointed.” He nodded in Tom’s direction. “A bit surprised you’re not living there any longer. Didn’t you live there growing up?”

  “Wait,” Tom said as he spread his hands out in front of him. “Yes, I can claim Woodscastle as my home—I lived there until just a few months ago—but now I am the one who is confused,” he announced as he sat down. Hard. He turned to regard James. “Why are you staying at Woodscastle?”

  James accepted the glass of brandy from a footman and allowed a brilliant grin. “Because this morning, I had an offer I could not refuse.”

  Tom absently took his drink from the footman, his mouth slack. “Emily offered you a room at Woodscastle?”

  “She did, bless her heart.”

  “What about Merriweather Manor?” Tom countered. “Your father spent a fortune renovating that pile.”

  “Two decades ago,” James said, surprising even himself at how long it had been. “And yes, it’s a magnificent estate now, but given the number of people who live there these days, I thought it best I find someplace a bit more... private. Just until I can secure a house in town, of course.”

  “Is it your stepmother?” Tom asked in a whisper, immediately assuming his friend was uncomfortable around the woman who had been Lord Andrew’s first love. He had intended to marry Jane Vandermeer long before she ended up betrothed to another, a marriage arranged by her father.

  James’ eyes darted to one side. “Not at all. Lady Andrew is a lovely woman. I adore her. I do,” he emphasized when he noted Tom’s look of doubt. “I just... I don’t adore the crush of cousins, and nieces, and nephews. I had dinner with them this evening, and I found I could not think. I could not breathe, there were so many people.”

  “This need to be alone—have you experienced it more of late?” Gabe asked as he leaned forward. “I ask only because... I find I do not miss my family since they departed for Italy. I rather prefer having Trenton House all to myself.” He paused and then added, “Well, except at dinner.”

  James nodded. “I admit I had such leanings whilst living in Bath,” he replied. “But I gave them no thought.”

  “Do not get too comfortable at Trenton House,” Tom warned, his attention on Gabe. “Especially if it’s entailed.”

  Gabe knew exactly what Tom inferred by the comment. Although his parents were married now, he had been born a bastard and would not inherit any of the entailed properties of the Trenton earldom. His younger brother, William, would have that honor.

  Or that curse, Gabe thought, rather glad he would be allowed to pursue his interest in Ancient Greek artifacts—for the rest of his life, if he chose. Once William took a wife, Gabe expected he would have to find his own townhouse, or take rooms at the Albany.

  A fleeting thought of Frances Longworth had him thinking the townhouse would be the better choice.

  “I do not know what has happened to me of late, but I find I prefer a quiet environment,” James said in a low voice. “One that doesn’t require me to converse or answer inane questions.”

  Tom was about to say that he might be required to do so at Woodscastle, but then he remembered Emily’s penchant for quiet. She was always satisfied to just be while those around her insisted on being noticed or noticing those around them.

  “So... who did all the talking while you were with my sister this morning?” Tom asked, not intending for his query to sound as if he were suspicious of his friend.

  James blinked. “Hmph.” He gave his head a quick shake. “Both of us, actually. We had the most pleasant conversation. Not the least bit stilted. She’s... well, she’s an excellent hostess and knew exactly how to make me feel at home,” he claimed.

  “Am I going to have to move back into Woodscastle to act as a chaperone?” Tom asked.

  His words sounded light—teasing, almost—but Gabe furrowed a brow when he thought he detected an undertone of suspicion. “It sounds as if they are almost brother and sister,” he offered in James’ defense.

  “Exactly,” James replied. “Besides, it’s quite obvious she has her heart set on another.”

  “Wot?”

  The word of astonishment came from Tom, and its volume had several nearby club members turning in their direction.

  “Apologies, but if... if Emily has her heart set on someone, I’m certainly not aware of just who he might be,” Tom said in a hoarse whisper.

  Was that why Emily had elected to remain at Woodscastle instead of going to Cherrywood with the rest of the family? Because she was secretly seeing someone? Because she was carrying on a clandestine affaire?

  For a moment, Tom knew his expression would frighten off anyone who didn’t know him, and he struggled to erase the evidence of his sudden anger.

  James and Gabe exchanged quick glances. “She wears a ring on a chain around her neck,” James said with a shrug.

  The air seemed to go out of Tom all at once. “Oh. I’m aware of it. I think it’s just a... a family heirloom,” he said. “Something our mother probably found in her jewelry box.”

  Although James didn’t agre
e, he had no real reason to counter Tom’s claim. “Probably,” he said, thinking the ring might be a topic of discussion during a dinner at Woodscastle. He turned his attention to Gabe. “So. Who have you decided to make Mrs. Wellingham?” he asked boldly.

  Gabe’s eyes rounded into saucers. “I’m only one-and-twenty!”

  Tom cleared his throat.

  “Oh. Two-and-twenty,” Gabe amended. “Far too young to have set my cap on anyone.”

  “And yet... you have your mind on someone,” James accused.

  Gabe furrowed both blond brows and regarded his new acquaintance with a less than amiable face. “Not that I’m aware of,” he argued. Then the image of Mrs. Longworth’s too-tight bun flashed before his mind’s eye and he blinked. “Well, I might occasionally think of one particular woman, but not because of what you’re thinking.”

  Tom straightened. “Now you do have to share,” he insisted, a teasing grin lifting the edges of his lips.

  Gabe shook his head. “She’s merely another employee at the museum. I met her just today.”

  “The museum?” James repeated, straightening in his chair. His gaze darted to Tom and then back to Gabe. “The British Museum?”

  “Yes,” Gabe replied. “I’m an archivist there. I specialize in cataloguing the Greek antiquities.”

  James turned back to Tom. “And you’re on the board?”

  Tom furrowed a brow. “My sister told you that, didn’t she?”

  “Yes. Seems you’ve become stuffy,” he teased. Before Tom could put voice to a protest, James said, “It’s rather fortuitous I’ve met you both here this evening then.”

  “Why is that?” The query was said in unison by Tom and Gabe.

  “I came into possession of some Greek urns whilst in Bath. I’m not sure of their worth, but I accepted them in lieu of blunt in a game of whist.”

  “Copies? Or... or originals?” Gabe asked as he leaned forward.

  James shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”

  “From whom?”

  His gaze darting to one side, James leaned forward and said, “A rather bombastic baron who acquired them whilst he was in Greece last year. Most of them seem in good condition, except for a slight alteration made on some of them.”

  “Alteration?” Gabe repeated, his excitement waining.

  “The wiggly bits on the men have been painted over with little fig leaves, if you can imagine.”

  “Oh, that’s actually quite common,” Gabe said, somewhat relieved. “The tastes of some collectors have me flummoxed at times.”

  “Anyway,” James went on, “I’ve no place to display them—my father’s office is already quite well appointed with his collection of Roman artifacts—so I thought to just give them to the museum.”

  “But, surely you’ll want them for your own house, once you’ve settled in one,” Gabe argued.

  James winced. “I rather doubt it. I think there must be eight or nine of them. I prefer more modern pieces. Like those ceramic urns they make up in Stoke.”

  Gabe immediately thought of Mrs. Longworth and then wondered why it was his cock responded as it did. He shifted in his chair.

  “I think you stunned poor Wellingham into silence,” Tom said to James. “As a board member, let me assure you your donation would be greatly appreciated. Most especially if they are originals.”

  “How would that be determined?” James asked.

  “I can usually tell right away,” Gabe said. “And if any are in need of restoration, we have an excellent person for that at the museum. She’s quite good.”

  “She?” James repeated.

  “A potter, yes,” Gabe said quickly.

  “A potter?” Tom repeated, straightening in his chair. The talk of Greek pots reminded him that he needed to ask if Gabe could appraise the vase that was now mounted on a column in his office.

  “Mrs. Longworth is an expert at pottery restoration, if you must know,” Gabe said quickly, hoping they would drop the subject.

  They didn’t.

  “Mrs. Longworth?” Tom repeated, his brows quirked. His eyes widened. “Wait. M. Francis Longworth is a... a woman?” From the manner of his query, it was evident he was as surprised as Gabe had been upon meeting the prickly woman.

  Then Gabe’s eyes widened. “How do you know of Frances Longworth?”

  Tom set aside his brandy. “As a member of the museum board, I authorized his... or rather, her hiring,” he replied, obviously still surprised at what he had just learned. “M. Francis Longworth,” he went on. “Formerly of Wedgwood’s factory, Etruria, in Staffordshire.”

  “I knew it,” Gabe said, his face brightening with excitement. When he noted the looks of confusion on both Tom’s and James’ faces, he added, “She is quite skilled. I sorted that she had to have come from one of the studios specializing in high-end ceramics, and given her...” He allowed the sentence to trail off and then lifted a shoulder. “Wedgwood’s factory was the only one that made sense.”

  Another expression of pain crossed Tom’s face. “You believe her work is good enough for museum pieces?”

  “Oh, I do,” Gabe assured him.

  Truth be told, until he could see the final version of the rhyton she was restoring, he wouldn’t know for sure. But it seemed imperative he defend her just then. Or at least her skills. Surely there were other artifacts she had repaired that were already on display in the museum. He had the impression she had worked there for some time.

  “She’s reconstructing an Ancient Greek drinking cup for me right now,” Gabe explained. “One that arrived literally in a dozen pieces. She had it reassembled on her workbench not even ten minutes after we took it from its crate, a veritable puzzle all ready to glue together.”

  James arched a brow. “You’re smitten with her,” he accused.

  “I am not,” Gabe replied, a bit too quick with his response. “With her skills, perhaps. She’s quite good, but... she is far too...” He paused, not sure how to describe the prickly chit whose bun was too tight.

  “Beautiful?” James offered, the brandy attributing to his general good mood.

  “Vexing,” Tom put in.

  Pointing at Tom, Gabe said, “Vexing is a good word.”

  “Contrary?” James offered.

  Gabe grimaced. “Not exactly.”

  “Prickly.” This came from Tom, and Gabe’s eyes widened.

  “Indeed,” he agreed. “I want nothing more than to pluck the pins from her hair so...” He paused and placed both hands against his cheeks and pushed them back so his facial features were distorted. “So I might see what she really looks like,” he finished before allowing a laugh.

  James turned his attention on Tom, who glanced at him and then nodded. “You’re in love,” they announced in unison.

  Gabe’s eyes rounded into saucers. “But... that cannot be. She is nothing like my mother, and I am most determined that whomever I fall in love with will be like her in every conceivable way,” he argued. “Besides, I am only two-and-twenty,” he reminded them. “And...” He paused to be sure their attention was firmly on him. “She is unavailable. She is already married.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes. “I distinctly remember from reading the character that M. Francis Longworth was not married and was unencumbered by any attachments.”

  Frustration had Gabe shaking his head. “Perhaps at the time,” he argued. “That’s been... how long ago? And for whatever purpose does it serve for her to go by ‘missus’ if she is not married?”

  The other two gentlemen shrugged. “The housekeeper at Woodscastle goes by Mrs. Elliot and she has never been married,” Tom replied.

  “It is the same with the housekeeper at Merriweather Manor,” James offered.

  Gabe thought of Mrs. Thorton, the unmarried housekeeper of Trenton House, and knew his argument was moot. He was about to concede defeat on the matter when Tom held up a finger.

  “I suppose she could be a widow,” Tom offered. “It would explain much,” he added, his
thoughts not entirely on the matter at hand.

  Gabe was determined to put to rest the suggestion he might be interested in the potter in any way but that of a professional association. “Either way, I do not believe Mrs. Longworth is looking for an attachment, and I am certainly not,” he stated.

  Tom once again turned his gaze on James. “Six months, do you suppose?”

  James shook his head. “Four, tops.” He glanced around. “Shall we put it in the betting book?”

  Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Gentlemen, have a care,” he whined. “Unless you truly want me to end up with even more blunt than my father has seen to settling on me.”

  For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he had just said. He never spoke of the fortune he stood to gain when he reached five-and-twenty, nor mention the allowance his father settled on him despite his protests that he didn’t require the funds.

  The brandy had not only loosened his tongue, but he could no longer feel his knees.

  His protests were too late, though, for Tom had already made his way to the adjoining room and was recording the bet in the huge betting book. James joined him, writing in his own bet.

  When the pair returned to their seats, Gabe said“It’s your blunt now, but it shall be mine in four month’s time.”

  James grinned and said, “Time will tell.” He pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat and frowned. “I should take my leave. My first night staying at Woodscastle. I shouldn’t wish to have to wake the butler to gain entry.”

  “He’s up until midnight every night,” Tom said, but then his brows furrowed. “As is Emily. Reading. Do give her my regards if you would. But that is all you will give her, if you take my meaning,” he warned.

  “I will, and I shall be the perfect gentleman as I always am.” He turned his attention on Gabe. “I shall arrange for the delivery of those Greek urns to the museum in the next day or so. To your attention.”

  “Thank you,” Gabe replied.

  “No offense, Wellingham, but you are doomed.”

  With that, James took his leave of White’s.

  Struggling to keep a straight face, Tom finally said, “I wondered if I might prevail upon you to take a look at my newest acquisition?”