Whispers from the Shadows (35 page)

“Is the bread good? I made it myself.”

“You—what?” He would have turned to stare at her, had he not been loath to disturb her gentle ministrations. “Rosie
let
you?”

“She taught me.” Her haughty tone dissolved into another chuckle. “Under protest, but I won the debate by pointing out that I want to be useful.”

She had won a debate with Rosie. Surely she was a young woman unmatched by any other the world over. He took another bite of bread, though his chewing felt slow. “It is delicious.”

“Well, be sure you praise Rosie tomorrow on her skills as a teacher so that she lets me back in for my next lesson.” Her hands rubbed at the sore spot where neck met shoulders. “How was your trip? Did you discover what the congressman needed?”

One corner of his mouth tugged up. “Ought I be concerned that a British general's daughter is trying to pry information from me?”

“Perhaps, were I the daughter of a different general, one who actually thought us enemies. Who did not just want this war to be over, as it never should have begun at all. Besides, were I to contact
any of them, they would no doubt try to force me away from here. And we cannot have that.” He felt her lips press against the top of his head.

“None of that, now. There will be no more kissing until you court me properly.” He popped a grape into his mouth and then let his hand merely rest on the table, as it felt too heavy to lift again.

Gwyneth breathed a laugh and rested her head on his for a moment. “I missed you, Thad. I was so afraid you would never come home and that it would destroy me.”

“Ah, sweet.” Though it felt leaden, he lifted his hand and rested it over hers on his shoulder. “I was afraid too. That I would come home and find you but an echo again. But you are not. You seem…” Something. Something good. Something strong.

She spoke again, but it was too soft. Her voice seemed to billow around him like a spring breeze. Light and darkness merged into a shimmering twilight, one where time slowed and vision skipped ahead of itself. He floated there for a while, though he could not have said how long. A second, an hour, it hardly mattered.

Until the touch of her lips on his jolted him back to alertness. He blinked his eyes open and found her an inch away, smiling at him. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I cannot carry you to your bed as you have done for me.”

He caught her hand before she could retreat any farther. “Gwyn, I…I love you.”

Her eyes gleamed with emotion and lamplight as her hand settled on his cheek, making him aware of the days it had been since a razor last touched it. “Then why did you not tell me the truth, Thad? About Peggy and Alain and Jack?”

“Because…” His eyes closed again, though it wasn't the cloud of sleep that filled them. “Because I did not want you to see how I betrayed my brother.”

“You did not. You thought him dead. You could not have known otherwise.”

“I should have. Alain was right. I sense so many things…I should have sensed
that
. But I didn't, and I ended up hurting him in a way…” Unable to find the right words, he shook his head.

Her thumb stroked over his cheekbone. “You are a good man, Thaddeus Lane, but you are not God, and you cannot know everything. You cannot
do
everything, but only what He allows. Do
not blame yourself for that.”

She kissed his forehead, straightened, stepped away. “You need to rest. Then in the morning you can go to Washington City as I have no doubt you need to do, and when you return, we can pack a picnic and take a promenade or a ride somewhere. So long as we are back before dark. I have very protective guardians, you know.”

He smiled as she retreated toward the door. Smiled and knew to the depths of his soul that
this
was the Gwyneth who had been waiting these past two months to break free. “Confidence becomes you, sweet.”

The lamplight caught her smile in the moment before she disappeared into the hall. “Goodnight, beloved. Sleep well.”

He would. How could he not? She called him beloved.

“Another fortnight, you say?” Arthur stood beside Captain Yorrick and Gates. His legs, if not his stomach, were steady on deck. He didn't know whether to rejoice or despair at the pronouncement of two more weeks at sea. It fit the projected arrival after the series of storms knocked them off course, but he had rather hoped they could make up some of the lost time.

But it seemed that time, once lost, could never be regained. He dared not consider what that might mean regarding Gwyneth. What had she been doing since she left in April? Had she thought of him as often as she consumed his thoughts? Even half as often would suffice.

Yorrick nodded and turned a bit to include Arthur in the conversation. “If the weather remains with us from here, yes. We will sail directly to Annapolis.”

Annapolis
. He already had the direction memorized, courtesy of that letter from Mr. Lane that had been in the book on chemistry. As soon as his feet were on solid ground, he would ask someone where he might find King George Street. He would run to the dwelling if it was nearby, rent a horse if too far, and knock upon their door before the sun set upon his arrival. Explain that Gwyneth was his betrothed—

“Why do I get the feeling you are already in the Colonies and well ahead of yourself?” Gates offered him a tight smile. “I assure you we will find her quickly, Sir Arthur, but you had best start preparing yourself now for a reasoned approach. We will go first to an inn, rent rooms, and bathe. Take a hot meal. All of which I am sure you agree
is a wise course.”

He swallowed and bent his knees a bit as the ship rolled over a swell. He had to grant the man's point. When he arrived to claim his bride-to-be, he had best be clean and pressed. “Of course you are right, Mr. Gates.”

Yorrick's grin was about twenty degrees warmer than Gates's had been. “No one faults you for your eagerness, lad. Though wisdom would also dictate you brace yourself for a longer search than you obviously anticipate. Even if she is with this family, it is quite possible they are no longer in Annapolis. When I was last there, a great many of the residents had already fled the city upon our arrival.”

The
Falcon
headed into a trough, and his heart went with it. What if she were not there? Then where would they look?

Worse, what if the Lanes had not been there when Gwyneth and the Wesleys arrived? What would they have done? Had Fairchild sent them with ample coin to keep them? Would an American town be safe for a British trio with no local host? What if they had been robbed of what the general
had
provided?

“And now I have caused you to worry. My apologies. That was not my intent.”

Gates waved off the captain's words. “You oughtn't apologize for logic, sir. Your point is valid. And if the Lanes are no longer there, we will simply ask a neighbor where they have gone. I have a few acquaintances I can call upon to help us find her.”

Acquaintances. Arthur had no trouble cataloging what that might mean. Gates worked in the Home Office, which meant that Gates's “acquaintances” were likely men he had recruited to feed him intelligence. Men loyal to England—or at least to the silver they could provide—who would have taken note of anything they deemed of interest. Which he hoped included said trio of British subjects.

He nodded and, when movement to his right caught his eye, turned to Yorrick. “Captain, when we land, I would like to request that Scrubs be allowed to come ashore and act as my valet. He has been a great help to me.”

Gates narrowed his eyes and the captain pursed his lips. 'Twas clear as day that neither thought it a request tempered with wisdom. It likely wasn't, given that the boy had all but admitted he would take off the first chance he got.

Perhaps he would. And perhaps it would allow him to make his way home and see his mother again, and the sisters he had mentioned. Perhaps doing so would allow that family, who no doubt thought Scrubs lost to them forever, to have a measure of peace Arthur so sorely needed himself right now as he searched for his betrothed.

And perhaps, once that was satisfied, the boy would come back. Assuming, of course, they could even get permission for him to put his foot to shore.

He kept his countenance clear and schooled while Yorrick studied him. At length the old man blinked and relaxed. “I will consider your request, Sir Arthur, though I make no promises.”

Arthur could ask no more than that. And he wouldn't mention it to Scrubs at all unless he secured a positive answer. Though he suspected that even if they got one, the boy wouldn't thank him for interfering.

So be it. He would do the right thing anyway.

Gwyneth pressed her lips against a grin as Thad made a show of cocking his head this way and that, studying the nearly finished painting of Emmy with a series of hums. The show, of course, was for the benefit of Emmy and Henry.

At length he shook his head. “You got it all wrong, sweet. Only one nose on her face—”

“You watch yourself, Thaddeus Lane.” Emmy narrowed her eyes, but there was no disguising the pure contentment in them as she stood close to her husband's side.

“No evil glinting in her eyes—”

“You be nice or I'll slip something into your food. I have done it before and I will do it again.”

Thad laughed and turned to Gwyneth. No doubt her question shone from her eyes. “Dye. I walked around with black teeth for a full day.”

“Wish I had seen that,” Henry said, slipping an arm around his wife. His eyes remained fixed on the painting. “It's beautiful, Miss Gwyn. The most beautiful painting I ever saw.”

“Not that our humble Emmy can possibly compare to the beauty and majesty of the
Masquerade…
” When Emmy drew her hand back as if to slap him, he laughed again and leaned over to plant a
brotherly kiss on her forehead. “Glad you are back in town, Em. And the painting is breathtaking.”

Emmy's perfect smile unfurled, and she looked to Gwyn. “Are you certain you do not need me to sit again as you finish?”

“Quite certain. You go on home and get settled.”

The couple needed no further encouragement, and after a round of farewells, Gwyneth turned back to Thad and found him studying not the bright and whimsical scene with Emmy but the sketches strewn over the
secretaire
. The ones she had drawn before that night she would forever look upon as a pivot.

He traced a finger over the unexplainable scalloped shadow and then tapped the blurred figure in the background. “Sir Lancelot?”

A chuckle slipped out as she took her place next to him, wishing she dared to weave her fingers through his in the light of day. She wondered at how she had been audacious enough to act as she had when he got home last night. “Arthur. As you well know.”

He grunted and flipped through a few other papers. “He is in quite a few of them.”

Gwyneth lifted a shoulder in half a shrug. “I suppose part of me blamed him for being so near yet not helping, even if logic says he could not have had any way of knowing what was happening inside the house.”

“Hmm.” He let the pages settle. “Do you think he is searching for you?”

“No.” At the glance he sent her, she held out her hands, palms up. “We scarcely knew each other.”

“Well enough, apparently.”

“Not really.” At the look still churning in his eyes, she grinned. “You are not jealous of him, are you, Captain Lane?”

His brows went up. “Me? Jealous of some London dandy?” He folded his arms over his chest. “I most certainly am. He ought to have known better than to make advances toward the woman I love. Even if I didn't know her yet.”

Another chuckle and a tingling wash of joy at that phrase.
The woman I love
. She held out a hand. “You needn't be jealous.”

His fingers engulfed hers, and he raised her knuckles to his lips. Lingered far too long over them, though she made no objections. And oh, the way his eyes gleamed for her. “No?”