The Wife He Always Wanted (20 page)

Laura nodded. “I feel the same, though my reasons are quite different. I will tell you all about my story later.” She tugged Sarah into the room. “First, we choose gowns for the ladies.”

Within minutes, Sarah was swept into the midst of a whirl of women. Mary welcomed her warmly. “Has your friend made progress in her marriage?” she asked softly.

“She has,” Sarah said with her face warming. “She is very happy.”

“Excellent. Now help me choose between the green and the burgundy.” Mary led her to the two gowns and they quickly chose the latter. What followed were choices of lace or plain gloves, shoes with laces or without; whether one should talk about Parliament or keep to the weather.

“Parliament can lead to a very dull conversation about political matters,” Sarah said with a grimace. “I suggest sticking to the weather or how well he knots his cravat. Men do like to discuss their achievements.”

This brought giggles. One of the women, the lovely Beatrice, said, “Lord Broughton liked to boast about his prowess, convincing me to accept his protection, for a chance to be the luckiest woman in all of England. Thankfully, his wealth was vast, for it was the only reason I did not run him off after our first night together, the lying beast.”

Cecily stepped forward. “They all think they are better endowed than the entirety of all other men. I wonder what instrument they use to measure. It is certainly flawed.”

More giggles. Thankfully, the arrival of Sophie ended the scandalous conversation. Sarah’s cheeks could not take much more. She met Laura’s eyes and they both fought back laughter.

The hour grew late as Sarah and Laura took their leave, chatting as they climbed aboard the hackney. “The courtesan school gives many women new lives,” Laura said as she leaned her head back on the squabs. “Me included.”

Sarah startled. “You were a courtesan?”

“For a while, I thought I was.” She spent the rest of the ride telling her tale. It was both shocking and heartening. By the end, Sarah saw her friend in an entirely different light.

* * *

T
he sound of a screeching cat with its tail ablaze filled the room as Tildy Cloverton slaughtered her second song of the evening. If not for the sweetness of Tildy’s mother, and the way the entire company stared at her as if to gage her reaction to the performance, Sarah would have placed her hands over her ears and fled from the room.

Thankfully, the song was not long and Tildy was replaced by her younger sister, Tempe, who did have a voice straight from heaven. The sweet sound soothed Sarah’s abused ears . . . and nerves.

“What do you think of your first musicale?” Gabriel leaned over to whisper. “And how large will the dowry need to be for some poor dupe to take the lovely Tildy off her father’s hands?”

Sarah placed a finger to her mouth to squelch a laugh. “You are horrible. I am certain Tildy has other delightful attributes.” She made a quick glance around them. “And quite a large dowry, I would say.”

Gabriel chuckled low. “I think twenty thousand pounds should about cover the cotton fluff for her husband’s pained ears.” He frowned. “No, make it thirty.”

“Hush.”

By the time Tildy’s turn came back around, Gabriel had taken her by the hand and they’d escaped from the drawing room.

Refreshments were laid out and they nibbled cakes and sipped punch while the off-key warbling continued; thankfully at a distance, though still not far enough.

“Tomorrow we shall send around an anonymous note to Mrs. Cloverton,” Gabriel said. “The woman needs to be told that to make Tildy sing forever damages the prospects of the poor girl ever marrying.”

“No note. But sadly, I agree,” Sarah replied. “The poor dear needs to find another talent.”

A rustle of skirts turned them around. Noelle and Mister Blackwell joined them. Noelle was still pale from her illness and dark smudges rimmed her bottom eyelids. She grimaced when she looked at the cake Sarah was eating. “I fear we should not have come. I’m still feeling a bit weak.”

“I’m taking her home,” Mister Blackwell said and called for their coach. His concern was evident.

Sarah took her hand. Noelle’s skin was clammy to the touch. “Would it be acceptable if I visit tomorrow?” Worry furrowed her brow. Noelle had been sick all week and did not seem on the mend. In fact, she appeared worse.

Noelle managed a shaky smile. “Please do visit. I am weary of keeping my own company while Gavin is working.”

Saying their good-byes, the Blackwells left.

“I’m troubled by her condition,” Sarah said and pressed her clasped hands to her mouth. “She does not look well.”

Gabriel took her arm. “Noelle is tough. Whatever is causing this will pass and she will be back to her high-spirited self.”

They stayed for another hour until a reasonable time to flee. Mrs. Cloverton thanked them effusively for coming, and Gabriel hurried Sarah out of the house and into the coach.

“Thank goodness that is over,” Gabriel groused and took a seat beside her. She snuggled under his arm. “I think my left ear is permanently damaged.”

“Then I shall only whisper naughty things in your right,” she said, and they shared a sweet kiss. A light rain fell as they drove through the darkened streets, adding a chill to the evening. Fall continued to press forward with crisp air and rainy days and nights. Sarah hated to see gray skies become the norm. She enjoyed sunlight over endless cloudy days.

“The weather cannot be helping with Noelle’s recovery,” she said while listening to the tap of raindrops on the roof. “She needs dry air and sunshine.”

“London seldom has dry air, sweet.” He rubbed her shoulder. “Blackwell told me about a specialist who is coming tomorrow morning to have a look at her. By the time you visit, she should have a diagnosis of her condition.”

Sarah took comfort in his presence. “I do hope so. I hate to see her suffering.”

* * *

T
he Blackwell town house was quiet when Sarah arrived the next afternoon. Her worry did not abate when the maid led her to Noelle’s room and she saw her friend abed, her face white and taut. Gavin held her hand and spoke softly to her. He lifted his gaze when he saw Sarah there.

There was deep worry in his eyes.

Sarah’s stomach turned to stone.

“I will leave the two of you alone,” Gavin said. He kissed his wife on the forehead and exited the room.

Sarah crossed over and took the chair he’d vacated. She leaned her elbows on the mattress and scanned Noelle’s face.

“You look better today,” she said, stumbling over the words. “Your cheeks have color.”

“There is no need to lie to me,” Noelle said and touched her pink-flushed cheek. There were dark smudges under her eyes. “I look like death.”

“Do not say such a thing,” Sarah scolded. She reached for Noelle’s hand and braced herself for terrible news. “You must tell me what the physician said and leave nothing out.”

Noelle closed her eyes for a moment then began. “I am suffering from a lung ailment he believes I caught from someone in Bath. He is convinced I will recover, though it may take weeks to do so.”

“That is good news.” Relief filled Sarah.

Noelle nodded and bit her quivering lip. “There is more. I am with child.”

The unhappiness on her face kept Sarah from expressing joy. She knew how much Noelle wanted children. Why then was her expression grim? “You should be pleased, no?”

Noelle’s eyes flooded with tears. “The illness has weakened me and the physician fears I may lose the babe.”

“Oh, Noelle.” Sarah pushed up from the chair and climbed onto the bed beside her. She took her friend into her arms. Noelle trembled and tears fell.

“I cannot bear losing the baby.” Noelle sobbed. “Gavin and I have struggled to conceive. This may be our only chance to have a child, to give him his heir.”

“Shhh.” Sarah blinked back tears of her own. “You must keep positive thoughts for your recovery and for this babe. I will not let you fall into despair. No looking down at your shoes. You must show confidence at all times.”

With her familiar scold turned back on her, Noelle sniffed and lifted her head. She rubbed her hand over her eyes. It took a moment for her to collect herself. When she did, she frowned.

“When did you become so bossy and strong-willed?” Noelle asked. “You used to be reserved and polite.”

Sarah smiled and gave her a pointed look. “I started the moment we met outside the dress shop and I quickly realized you were both wonderful and temperamental. I realized instantly that I wanted to be like you.”

Noelle laughed lightly. “You poor dear,” she said, and then the tears began anew.

Chapter Nineteen

O
ver the next two weeks, Sarah went to the Blackwell town house every day and returned home weary in both mind and body. She’d often drop face-first on the bed, where Gabriel would rub her back then turn the massage into something more . . . stimulating.

“You know what I need,” she’d say and he’d flip her over and love her passionately until she’d forget anything but him.

“I have not thought about the case for nearly a week,” she’d said after one such exhausting day. Her eyes drooped and her sated body lay liquid on the bed. Guilt stepped in and ruined a perfectly romantic moment. “I am a horrible daughter.”

Gabriel had tucked her to his side. “Nonsense. You’ve been a loyal friend and the case will keep until Noelle is well. Care for her and Brown will keep hunting The Widow.”

Thankfully, in the middle of the third week, Noelle made an upward turn in health, and the pregnancy continued.

As Sarah returned home today, on the afternoon of the seventeenth day, a sudden feeling of unease caused tension between her shoulder blades. The house was very quiet, too quiet.

Listening silently, she finally heard laughter coming from the direction of the kitchen, a mixture of male and female voices. Smiling at her foolishness, she glanced through the mail, discovering a note with no obvious signs of the sender.

“Odd.” Most likely, some doddering Lady or Mrs. forgot to leave her mark on another invitation. It had happened a few times previously.

Too exhausted to assuage her immediate curiosity, she tucked it into her pocket, lifted her damp green hem, and walked wearily up the staircase.

Gabriel was off at White’s with a friend, and they had no plans for the evening. When she crossed over the threshold into the upstairs parlor to check the ceiling for further rain damage, the unsettled feeling returned in a rush.

Something
was
amiss.

The evidence came in an inhaled whiff of rose perfume. Expensive perfume, she knew, from one of her lessons.

She stopped and her body tensed.

A slight flutter of the drapes caught her attention.

The rain came down in sheets and a small fire flickered in the damaged hearth, just enough to cut the chill. There was no reason for the window to be open.

No reason she could fathom with reasonable clarity, anyway.

With caution, she looked for boots or slippered toes peeking out beneath the hem of the drape. Nothing obvious caused alarm. She stepped cautiously toward the window. The sound of the footman talking below gave her courage.

If she screamed, help was near.

Reaching out her hands, with her heart pounding at a furious clip, she swept the drapes open. Much to her relief, no housebreaker jumped out after her.

Her body slumped as the tension fled. Still, she said, “I know I did not imagine the rose perfume.” And the window
was
opened slightly. Someone had been in her house, a woman who could afford costly perfume.

The Widow? Could that be?

She walked to the bell cord and waited. The butler came to the door. “Harris, did a woman call for me today?”

He shook his head. “No, Mrs. Harrington. We received no callers.”

“Thank you, Harris.” She dismissed him and turned back to the window. She pushed it open and leaned out. Though having the potential for bone-breaking if one fell, the height of two stories was not enough to deter someone like The Widow, if she were inclined to make the climb up the ivy.

A shiver went down her spine. She’d been so focused on Noelle that she’d all but forgotten the danger around her. If The Widow had breached these walls to commit mischief, she was becoming more brazen. And more dangerous.

Gabriel would not be pleased. He already worried that her search for Father’s killer put her at risk. Now their home had been breached, again. Searching before they took possession of the town house had not satisfied their thief. He, or she, had returned here and would continue to be a threat as long as there was no solution to this mystery.

“Harris said you were up here,” Gabriel said a few minutes later when he arrived home. He joined her at the window and looked out at the rain. She leaned back against his deep blue coat. “We can take a walk if you’d like fresh air. Then, it is a bit damp for strolling.”

Sarah wanted to lie to ward off his worry about her safety, but she could not. Gabriel easily read her expressions, so he’d know she was untruthful.

“I think The Widow was in the house. I smelled roses in this room, and the window was left partially open. With the cold, it is unlikely the maids would have done so. I can find no other conclusion that makes sense.”

His jaw tightened. “You are sure?”

“I cannot be. However, I am convinced someone broke in, and a man would not wear perfume. The Widow is my best guess, be it one made without proof.”

Gabriel inhaled deeply and closed his eyes for a few seconds. Then, “Let us assume you are correct. For her to break in here during daylight, and with a house full of servants, leads me to believe the woman and her companions are desperate. I think it best if we send you off to live with Brenna where you will be safe”

Anger stiffened her spine. She stepped away from him and spun around. “I will not go. I’ve made too many sacrifices to not see this to its conclusion. I’ll not be chased off by my father’s killers.”

“And I’ll not risk your life.”

The level of his protectiveness both comforted and frustrated her. “Mine is not your life to risk,” she stated. “I kicked the wasp nest and will not be scared off by the stings.” She met his stare and refused to blink. “My father deserves justice. If you send me away, I’ll move in with Nanny and not return.”

The look in his eyes told her he was mulling both taking the chance of angering her further by sending her off and wondering how serious was the threat. Finally, acceptance slipped over his face. “How did I ever think you an amiable wench? Had I known Noelle would turn your temperament from shy to fearless, I would have forbid her instructions.”

Sarah’s lids narrowed. “You cannot blame her for the change. I always had a spark of fierceness in me. It was my aunt who squelched the flame with her stern rules. By Noelle’s example, and my own desire, I discovered my strength again.”

Gabriel placed his hands on her shoulders. “I do not like the danger you face. These people are killers. They will not hesitate to eliminate us both, if we threatened them to exposure to arrest.”

She closed her hand over his. He cared for her; of this, there was no question. “I know. However, with you at my side, we are a fearsome pair. The Widow will not win.”

His mouth twitched. “The Widow had best run and hide. My wife is on her tail.”

Smiling, Sarah rose onto her toes and kissed him. He slid his hands up her back and locked them together. How she loved his kisses and hands on her body. There were so many differences between them, so many reasons why their marriage shouldn’t work, but not because of this.

Once the kiss ended, Sarah reluctantly released his neck. It was then that she remembered the note and withdrew it from her pocket. “This came today.” She held it up. “The sender is a mystery.”

“I hope it is not an invitation to another musicale,” Gabriel groaned. “My ears have not yet recovered from the last.”

“Hush. If it is such an event, then I shall refuse with some reasonable excuse.” She ripped open the note and realized immediately it was not an invitation. She read it aloud:

I have discovered some new information about the case. Meet me at the Black Bess tomorrow afternoon at three.

“It is signed by Mister Brown.” She handed the cryptic missive to Gabriel. He scanned the page and frowned.

“The Black Bess is in a squalid area near the wharf.” He turned the note over. “There is nothing else to indicate why the Runner would want to meet us there. His news must be of grave importance for him to choose the Black Bess.”

“Perhaps he’s found where The Widow is hiding?” Sarah said, hopeful. “A woman spy wouldn’t hide in fancy drawing rooms.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d be surprised where spies hide. It’s rumored that Lord Hayman was once a spy, though it has never been confirmed. He is all of eighty now.”

“His is a story I’d like to hear,” she replied. “What tales the octogenarian could tell if the rumors are true.”

“Let us focus on one spy at a time.” He folded the note and tucked it in his coat. “First, I will have additional locks installed on all the windows immediately. We cannot have our spy breaking in whenever she wishes, and I’ll not have her standing over our bed while we sleep.”

The notion made her shiver.

“Second, I do not like the idea of taking you to the pub. The area is not for ladies of quality.” He held up a finger before she could protest. “However, we have already had this argument once today. We will figure out a way to keep you safe.”

“I do appreciate your acceptance of my part in this drama, though I did not seek your permission,” she said tartly. “However, I do prefer you accepting what you cannot change over arguing until I get my way, anyway.”

* * *

T
he area around the Black Bess
was
squalid. The fetid smell of rotten fish and seawater burned her throat. The streets were not swept, and the buildings had the overall look of disrepair.

This was the sort of place a woman of quality would not want to wander alone, or risk more than her body. She could lose her life.

Keeping her hands in her pockets proved challenging. However, if she wanted to be a believable chimney sweep or one who delivered coal, she could not put her finger under her nose to block the smell. Only a young woman with weak sensibilities would.

Similarly dressed as Gabriel in ash-covered clothing and a smudged face, with her hair tucked under her hat, she was still thin enough to resemble a boy. No one would ever recognize her as a lady without stripping her to the skin first.

The final item to complete her disguise was a knife tucked into her waistband and hidden under her coat. Gabriel had insisted she carry a weapon, and the pistols were dismissed as too bulky to hide under her boy-sized coat.

“I do not understand how Mister Blackwell works under such conditions every day,” she whispered. They passed a pair of rough-looking sailors leaning against a wall. “The smells are offensive and the people, worrisome. How can he not fear cutthroats and thieves?”

“His business is farther down in a place not as disreputable as this,” Gabriel muttered back. “Though, I’d rather you limit your travels to more fashionable districts.”

It didn’t take much to agree. The idea of wandering here alone, day or night, sent an icy shiver through her. She’d be a perfect target for the worst in men.

“You do not need to press the issue,” she said, pulled her hat lower over her eyes, and stepped lively, determined to stay close on his heels.

The Black Bess was nearly empty when they arrived. A serving woman, well-worn and well-endowed, brought two tankards of ale and clunked them down on the table.

“Would ye like stew?” Gabriel looked at Sarah and she shook her head. “Suit yerself.” She ambled off, large hips swaying.

“I fear anything cooked here,” Sarah said and sniffed the ale. Feeling a bit mischievous, she took a sip, shuddered, and pushed the tankard away.

Gabriel chuckled. “It takes a while to develop a taste for ale.” He lifted the heavy cup and took a large swallow. He grimaced. “Especially when drinking this cow piss.”

Time ticked by for a half hour and then for another and Mister Brown failed to appear. They waited nearly two hours before Gabriel lost patience and rose. “He is not coming.”

“I hope he did not get robbed on his way here,” Sarah said. “In this area, one has to hold tightly to one’s purse.”

“Brown would know the dangers. He’d be cautious.”

The comment did not assuage her. “Wherever Mister Brown is, he missed our appointment. I fear something’s gone awry.”

“You may be correct.” Gabriel tossed a handful of coins on the table and led her out of the inn. “However, there is nothing to do now but return home and await his next contact.”

A breeze hit her face and her throat closed, leaving her unable to reply. Odd that she found the air less foul inside the shabby inn than outside where the unforgiving wind brought the unmerciful stench.

She tucked her face into her shoulder and drew in a few deep gasps, accepting that she could not hold her breath indefinitely. “I need a bath,” Sarah said after a moment. “With heavy lye soap.”

A grunt was his reply. He was keenly watching a ship unload several dozen sailors, who whooped and stumbled down the gangway, headed straight for the inn. Several doxies stepped out of the shadows, wearing dresses that covered very little.

“Let us go before the fighting and wenching begins.” Gabriel hurried off with Sarah close behind. They weaved their way back toward the street where a hired hackney driver was promised a generous fee to wait. Sarah was thrilled with the thought of putting the wharf well behind them.

They were about halfway there when a man stepped out from beside a warehouse and into their path. Gabriel stopped and reached out to push Sarah behind him.