An Affair in Autumn

by Jennifer Haymore

  That caught everyone’s attention, for it had been a hellish summer, to put it mildly. Brutally cold and miserable. The Franks mentioned that they’d received a letter from New York that claimed there had been a violent snowstorm in the city in August. Then everyone launched into their personal experiences with the weather, leaving Mark to sit back and observe, taking small sips from his glass of red wine.

  As Mrs. Frank was talking about how she’d slipped on ice in London just last month, two men entered the dining room.

  “Ah, welcome, welcome,” roared Captain Torrance.

  The two men were well dressed in tailored eveningwear. They were young—probably a few years younger than Mark and Caro. Both were blond, tall, and well built. They looked alike but not identical. They were definitely brothers, and they grinned at the company at large until their gazes fell on Caro. Then they both gawked momentarily before regaining their senses.

  “So sorry we’re late,” said the taller of the two, all confidence and suave condescension now and moving swiftly toward the table with his brother in his wake. “We were ensuring our servants were comfortably settled.”

  “You’re not late at all,” the captain said kindly. “Sit, sit.”

  They took the two chairs to Mark’s left.

  “These are the Evans twins, Mr. Owen Evans and Mr. Evan Evans,” the captain told the rest of them.

  Evan Evans? Good God. Once upon a time, Mark would have commented on the name, or at the very least smirked privately at Caro, but now he did neither of those things and kept his mildly interested expression plastered firmly upon his face while he nodded politely to the Welshmen.

  The captain introduced the rest of the group to the Evans brothers, and the food was served—roasted partridge with vegetables and bread. It was a hearty, simple meal, and quite good.

  There was relative silence for a while, no sound except the creaks of straining rigging above deck, the gentle splashes of water against the hull, and the clinking of silverware against china.

  “What draws you boys to New York?” Mr. Frank asked the Evanses.

  One of the men smiled pleasantly. It was Owen, Mark thought. He was the thinner of the two and an inch or two taller than his counterpart. “Our uncle owns several milling operations across the state of New York.”

  “But he’s getting on in age,” Evan said.

  “—so we’re heading there to help him,” Owen continued.

  “And eventually run the business ourselves,” Evan finished.

  Mark nodded and took a bite of meat.

  “That sounds like a profitable venture,” Caro said. “I hear grain is one of the strongest industries in the northeastern states these days.”

  “Oh, yes, yes, it is.” Evan Evans beamed at her as if her knowledge had greatly impressed him. “Our uncle’s granaries have been quite successful, especially since the war.”

  That launched the Franks and the Evanses into conversation about the grain industry, with Caro making polite, intelligent observations and the Evans men fawning over every word she said. Again Mark stayed quiet. He knew nothing of the grain markets and little of trade. He’d been born into a position far removed from all that—though he probably shouldn’t have been removed from it at all. He should probably be listening and learning from these people. So he did just that, taking in as much as he could and trying not to notice the fact that both the Evans men were so solicitous towards Caro. It was to be expected, Mark reasoned. She was magnificent. A man would have to be a fool not to notice.

  “And what about you, Lord Mark?” Mrs. Frank eventually asked. “Why are you going to New York?”

  “I enjoy traveling,” he told her. “And I’ve always wanted to see America. I’ve heard it is quite a beautiful country.”

  Caro narrowed her eyes at him, clearly asking him in her expression why he wasn’t telling them the truth. He just met her gaze evenly, silently imparting that his true reasons were nobody’s business, as the Franks gushed about how utterly beautiful a country America was. Mark had no idea how long the Franks had been in England, but it was clear, he thought wryly, that they were ready to return home.

  “And what about you, my lady?” Owen Evans asked Caro after several minutes when the Franks finally paused to take a breath. “Why are you traveling to America?”

  “I am going to search for a good friend of mine whom I dearly hope is still residing in New York,” Caro said.

  Mark sighed. She’d known very well that he hadn’t wanted to share. He was certain she’d told them the truth just to annoy him. It had worked.

  “Is that so?” the captain asked.

  Mrs. Frank leaned forward, interested. “Who?”

  “His name is Nathaniel Hughes.”

  “Nathaniel Hughes. The name does sound familiar,” Mr. Frank said. “Was he… in the mining business?”

  Caro nodded. “He owns several copper mines.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Frank exclaimed. “I do remember him! Such a handsome young Englishman, if I recall. So fair and tall, with the most striking greenish-blue eyes.”

  “Yes, that’s definitely him,” Caro said, smiling.

  “He lived in New York for a time years ago, but went South to see about expanding his mining operations. I wasn’t aware he’d returned to New York,” Mr. Frank said.

  “He returned not long ago,” Caro said. “Just under a year, perhaps.”

  “Ahhh,” Mrs. Frank said. “That certainly would explain it, as we’ve been away from home for nearly a year ourselves.”

  “But why are you searching for him?” Owen Evans asked.

  “It seems he’s come into a”—Caro cleared her throat delicately—“rather large inheritance.”

  To put it mildly, Mark thought.

  “Ooh,” Mrs. Frank said, utterly intrigued. “But why not just send him a letter?”

  “Letters are easily lost. And I’m concerned he might leave New York again soon, and if he’s already gone, I need to find out where he is and follow him there.” Caro’s words sounded like an echo of the ones Mark had spoken to her ten days ago. He raised his brows at her, but she ignored him.

  “If he’s already left the city, you might be in for quite an adventure, young lady,” Mr. Frank said. “America is quite a rugged land.”

  Caro’s eyes met Mark’s, a sea of the deepest blue. “I’m ready for anything.”

  Chapter Three

  “You’re different,” Caro observed. She’d been watching him read for the past several minutes, trying to connect the Mark she’d known as a child to the Mark sitting across the small salon from her.

  Mark looked over the top of his book in question. But he didn’t look overly surprised. “Different from what?”

  “From what you were like as a lad.”

  “Am I?”

  “Very,” Caro said. They were sitting alone in the salon of the ship on the afternoon of their fourth day at sea. So far the weather had been mild and the sailing pleasant, though Caro found she didn’t love it. A ship was a compact place, a prison, really. And even though her cabin and the common rooms were pleasant enough spaces, what Caro really wanted was to don her walking shoes and take a miles-long walk in the countryside. She’d heard that some people could go mad from being at sea for long periods of time, and she’d never understood that. Now she thought she might.

  “How am I different?” Mark asked.

  “You’re much more serious now. And much quieter.”

  “I’ve learned you can absorb a great deal more information about your surroundings if you don’t spend your time drawing attention to yourself.”

  “You could never stop playing practical jokes as a boy, yet you haven’t so much as voiced a pun in my presence.”

  He closed his book carefully and laid it on the small mahogany table bolted to the floor beside his chair, which was also bolted to the floor. He gave her a crooked, boyish smile that made her gut lurch. The man was simply too handsome for his own good.

&nbs
p; “I might have a practical joke or two left inside me.” His eyes twinkled. “It’ll come when you least expect it.”

  “I’ll brace myself for the worst,” she said dryly. Then she added, “And you no longer tease. You used to tease me incessantly. It drove me absolutely mad.”

  “Only because I was besotted with you.”

  She choked out a laugh. “Nonsense.”

  “It’s true,” he said sagely. “I was completely smitten.”

  “You despised me,” she argued. “You were always jealous of Nate’s friendship with me. And you always argued that I couldn’t join you in your adventures because I was just a girl. Thank goodness for Nate. Without him cajoling you to allow me to join in, I would have had an utterly boring childhood.”

  “You’re right, I was jealous. But not in the way you think.”

  “What way then?”

  “I was jealous of how you looked at him,” Mark said simply.

  Each word he spoke tightened the fist around her heart. His eyes bored into hers, and she glanced away, laughing uneasily. “Well… Nate and I always did believe we’d marry someday.”

  “Right,” Mark said. “I thought so, too. And I was jealous of that. I wondered who I’d marry, and all I could think was that I wanted it to be you.”

  It felt like all the air left the room, and her heart was officially squeezed to pulp. She stared at him, trying to suck in a breath without him noticing. “Really?”

  He nodded, and she sat back in her chair, gazing at him. As children, they’d been neighbors in Gloucestershire. They’d spent many long days together in the country, until Mark had gone away to school at the age of thirteen. Caro and Nate had missed him terribly—Caro had secretly admitted to herself that she felt lonely not having someone to verbally spar with. She and Nate had kept a calendar together, counting the days until Mark would return home for his school holidays.

  But he came home less frequently every year, until the year Nate had left, too, to join Mark at Cambridge. That year had been the year she’d married George.

  “But then,” Mark said, and his face hardened as he did so, “you married Whytestone instead.”

  “Yes.” She fingered the carved design of her armrest, thinking of Mark as a boy. If someone had told her then that he was besotted with her, she’d have laughed herself silly and told them that they were wrong, that Mark’s deepest desire in life was to have nothing to do with her.

  But here he was, telling her—with a straight, serious face, no less—that he’d wanted to marry her.

  She suddenly couldn’t breathe. She rose abruptly. “I believe… I require some air.”

  He stood, too, well-mannered lord that he was, and approached her with worry darkening his expression. “Are you feeling ill? Dizzy? Seasick?”

  “Oh no…” She waved her hand dismissively. “I just…” Need to think. It felt like she’d based so much of herself on who she thought Mark was, on how she’d thought he perceived her. This changed everything… and nothing, she supposed. It was all in the past.

  But maybe—just maybe—if she’d known at the time, she would have despised him less when he’d said those terribly cruel and heartless words. Now they made quite a bit of sense. He’d been hurt—not only for Nate, but for himself.

  Of course, out of a purely automatic and well-bred gentlemanly concern—a trait he’d scorned as a boy—Mark helped her into her pelisse before following her up onto the deck. The waves were small, as they had been on the voyage thus far, and the boat pitched gently as they rolled beneath the hull. A brisk wind whipped the tops of the waves into white foam, and the massive sails billowed overhead. There were a few seamen on deck, all at the stern—one steering the ship, another talking animatedly to him. Two others appeared to be scrubbing the aft deck.

  She walked the length of the starboard side of the vessel toward the bow, Mark keeping stride with her. The deck planks were moist with salty dew, and she carefully stepped over and around various lines and ropes. She had no idea what all of these coiled ropes were used for, but she was certain they were all essential to the ship’s smooth operation.

  Owen Evans was standing in her favorite spot, gazing out over the vast, endless ocean. The sky today was a milky blue, colliding with the darker blue-black of the ocean at the horizon in a vast circle around them. If she thought too hard about it, she might convince herself that the people on the Liberty were the only people left on earth.

  “Good afternoon,” she called as they neared Owen. She didn’t want to disturb his reverie, but there wasn’t much of an option unless they wished to appear as if they were avoiding him.

  Owen turned, and his lips broke out in a wide grin when he saw her. He was a handsome man—both brothers were, with tall statures and well-proportioned faces, though Owen was taller and the more handsome of the two.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Whytestone.” He and Mark exchanged a curt nod. “It’s a lovely one, isn’t it?”

  “Yet another perfect day,” she agreed, coming to a stop at the deck rail beside him. Beneath their feet, the Liberty sliced through the water at high speed. The captain had said they were making excellent time, and at this rate they’d arrive in New York before the first of November.

  Mark stopped on her other side, and she stood, content for the moment, with two large male bodies on either side of her. It was a feeling she hadn’t had in a long while—not since Mark and Nate would flank her as they sat on Nacama Hill—a small rise overlooking the river on the edge of the Duke of Trent’s vast property. When they were very young, they’d named it after the first two letters of each of their names. Nacama Hill was where they met when they’d sneak out of their houses at night and where they’d lie on their backs and stare at the stars and plan their lives and share secrets.

  The last time they’d done so, they’d all been seventeen. It was Christmas, and Mark was home for the holiday. Both boys were nearly eighteen, but she had just celebrated her seventeenth birthday. And that day, she’d been told that her husband had been chosen for her. She was to marry George Addison, Viscount Whytestone.

  She’d been appalled. But she kept the horrible news a secret from Mark and Nate because she’d been certain she’d be able to talk her father out of the match and she hadn’t wanted to unnecessarily upset them. Her father knew how she felt about Nate—she’d been telling him since she was a little girl that she planned to marry him—so surely he’d eventually understand her horror at the thought of marrying a stranger.

  Nate and Mark had showered birthday wishes on her, telling her she had finally caught up to them in maturity and intelligence. She had held both their hands, not wanting to let go, while some dark feeling had nudged at her, telling her that they were no longer children, that this was the last time they’d be able to lie like this, perfectly innocently content, under the stars.

  Seven months later, she’d exhausted all her arguments to her parents. Utterly defeated, she’d written to Nate of her upcoming marriage. Nate had passed the news on to Mark. Six months after that, Nate abruptly left for America, and Mark accused her of being the lowest form of scum for breaking their friend’s heart.

  She didn’t want to think of that now though.

  “I’ve been thinking about your quest to find your friend,” Owen said after a long silence.

  “Oh?” she asked, tucking back a bit of hair the wind had whipped loose beneath her bonnet.

  “Yes, and I’d like to help you.”

  “Would you?” she asked. “Why, thank you. That’s very kind.”

  Mark gave her a narrow-eyed sidelong glance. She truly didn’t understand why he was so tight-lipped about their reasons for going to New York. As far as she was concerned, they should be spreading the news that they were searching for Nathaniel Hughes far and wide.

  “My uncle has associates across New England,” Owen said. “You said your friend is involved in the copper-mining industry? We’ll be able to find someone who knows where he is—I’m su
re of it.”

  “Thank you. Any help you can give will be much appreciated,” she said with a smile. She’d take every bit of assistance they could get.

  “I was thinking…”

  She raised her brows in question.

  “Well, it frightens me thinking of you chasing Mr. Hughes across the wild continent of America. If it comes to that, please turn to me.”

  She tilted her head at him, confused. “How?”

  “Well, Evan is fully capable of managing the mills for the time being,” Owen said. She felt Mark tense beside her. “I could accompany you on your journey. I would worry for you if you went off on your own, but if you were with me, my lady, I could ensure your safety.”

  “Oh,” she murmured. Goodness. “That’s so very kind of you, Mr. Evans.”

  “Please,” he said, smiling down at her, flashing a very white set of teeth, “call me Owen.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Mark said tightly.

  Owen jerked his gaze to Mark as if he just remembered the man on Caro’s other side. “I mean, it won’t be necessary for you to accompany the lady on any further travels,” Mark clarified, speaking directly to Owen as if she weren’t standing between them.

  “Oh?” Owen asked. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I will be accompanying her.”

  Her gloved hand was holding the rail, and he laid his hand over it, squeezing possessively.

  Owen’s blue gaze flickered between her and Mark, and a slight smile curved the edges of his lips. “Ah. I see.”

  Caro sighed. He was throwing down the gauntlet, saying he would gladly engage in competition for her favors. But that was ridiculous. She had no interest beyond a friendly one in Owen Evans. And her history with Mark was far too long and complicated. This was just childish… and silly.

  She wanted no part of this. She’d leave them to their grand male posturing. A nice cup of tea in her cabin sounded excellent. And she was at a very nice place in Les Liaisons Dangereuses, a highly scandalous novel that she’d found quite a challenge to obtain. She was reading it in French in hopes that she hadn’t completely lost her skills in that tongue.