13
ISA HAD SPENT her entire day working on the merchant’s ring when Mr. Gordon wandered back to the workshop.
“So,” he said, taking a seat across from her worktable, “his lordship has invited me and Mary Grace to attend his house party.”
“Yes, he told me.”
“I’m just wondering why.”
She concentrated on the setting she was working with. “I would imagine it’s because he finds you both interesting.”
He snorted. “It’s not a crotchety old man like me that he has his eye on. Anyway, I can’t leave the shop—not if you’re going.”
“I don’t have to go, either,” she said quickly. It would certainly simplify matters.
“You do if Mary Grace is to attend. She’ll need a chaperone.”
“Oh. Of course.”
And Mary Grace desperately wanted to go. Isa had learned that at lunch when she’d quizzed the young woman. It had never occurred to her that Mary Grace might have a tendre for Rupert, but apparently she did. Once Isa prodded her a bit—and hinted that Mr. Cale, not Rupert, was the man who’d snagged Isa’s interest—Mary Grace became positively voluble.
His lordship was so brilliant. His lordship was so handsome. His lordship was the finest man in all the world.
“Well, then,” Isa said, “I’m happy to play chaperone.” Especially if it solved the problem of Rupert finding a spouse who was not her.
Mr. Gordon gazed steadily at her. “But if I am to encourage the girl’s father to let her attend, I’ll need to know the extent of his lordship’s interest in her. If he has his eye on you and merely thinks to make you happy by inviting her—”
“I don’t think that’s it. I think she intrigues him.”
“He damned well intrigues her,” Mr. Gordon said dryly. “She couldn’t stop going on about him today.” He shook his head. “Though if his interest turns serious, it will send his mother into apoplexy.”
Isa chuckled. “It certainly will.” She sobered. “But it’s not as if Mary Grace came from the gutter. Her father is a well-admired coffee merchant and she has a substantial dowry.”
“All of that means nothing to a wealthy peer, and you know it. Her father is still in trade, as are the rest of her relations.”
“More money is more money, even to a peer. Besides, Rupert isn’t like other peers. He needs a special kind of woman as a wife, no matter what his mother thinks. Mary Grace might never be good enough for Lady Lochlaw, but as long as Rupert is happy, it doesn’t matter.”
“And do you honestly think he would be happy with my niece?” he asked earnestly. “She’s not you.”
“I know. But even if he may have . . . fancied me a little, I think his affections are already shifting. They might shift more if she gives him any encouragement. And it’s not as if there could ever be anything between me and him.” She met Mr. Gordon’s gaze. “I will never marry him.”
Mr. Gordon searched her face. “Because of Mr. Cale?”
She blinked. “Why do you say that?”
“I’m no fool, Mrs. Franke. Any man with eyes can tell that the two of you have known each other before. I would even venture to guess that you have known each other very well.”
The sudden clamoring in Isa’s chest made it hard for her to breathe. She should have realized that Mr. Gordon would start to wonder about Victor’s interest in her.
Perhaps it was time she revealed the truth. He deserved to hear it, especially when so much was at stake. And she’d prefer that he heard it from her. Then he could prepare himself for whatever consequences came of Victor’s thirst for vengeance, if she couldn’t convince her husband to be cautious.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” she said softly. “Years ago, I lied to you when we first met in Paris.” She drew a steadying breath and prepared herself for his shock. “My name is not Sofie Franke. It’s Isabella Cale. Victor Cale is my husband.”
♦ ♦ ♦
IT WAS PAST 6 P.M. by the time Isa closed up the shop, long after Mr. Gordon had left. He’d been surprisingly understanding of her situation. She’d told him everything—even down to informing him of her family’s crime.
He hadn’t seemed as shocked as she’d expected. Victor’s odd questions had partly been responsible for that, but unbeknownst to her, Mr. Gordon had also had suspicions of his own, born of her insistence on keeping her life so private. Having worked in the diamond industry, he knew how many unscrupulous characters were out there. He said that he also knew she wasn’t one of them.
Tears sprang to her eyes. He was so good to her, and she’d been so lucky. It humbled her that he could take her past in stride. And that he believed her when she said she’d had nothing to do with the theft.
He’d been no help, however, in advising her what to do about Victor. He saw her side, but he also saw Victor’s side of the problem.
The truth was, so did she. And the more she was near Victor, the more she wanted what they’d once had. But her life was entirely different now. And she didn’t even know what his life was like.
She locked the door, then jumped as a man stepped from the shadows. “Rupert!” she cried. “You nearly gave me heart failure. What are you doing here?”
“We have a problem,” he said in a doleful voice.
“What sort of problem?”
He followed as she walked toward the livery that boarded her horse during the day. “Mr. Cale isn’t really my cousin.”
As if that were any great surprise. “He wasn’t in Debrett’s?”
“Yes. No. I mean, he was in an addendum that was shoved into the copy of Debrett’s. But it was not for my family. It was for the Duke of Lyons. It turns out that Mr. Cale is the duke’s first cousin once removed.”
Her heart stumbled. How could that be? And why hadn’t Victor just said that? “Is he really?” she managed.
“It gets worse.”
“I can’t imagine how.”
“When I saw the listing for the duke, I remembered where I’d seen Mr. Cale’s name—in a newspaper article some months ago, about him and the duke. The minute I remembered that, I had the librarian help me find the article. It took half the day, but we finally uncovered it.”
Her pulse began to pound. “What was in the article?”
“It seems that my cousin—I mean, Mr. Cale—was discovered in Antwerp by some company called Manton’s Investigations. I gather that it has connections to Bow Street as well as to the Duke of Lyons. They call it the Duke’s Men.”
Bow Street. Oh, heavens. Even she knew about the Bow Street Runners.
“It seems that the duke didn’t know Mr. Cale existed until five months ago. Apparently, Mr. Cale’s father was an English soldier estranged from the Cale family, though the article didn’t say why. But this Manton’s Investigations went looking for him on behalf of Lyons and brought him back to England. He’s been in London all this time with his real cousin, the duke.”
“Until he came here,” she whispered. Victor must have hired the same people who’d found him to find her. He would finally have had the money and resources to do it.
But how had they found her? Victor claimed he hadn’t even known she’d gone to Paris, and he’d certainly been unaware of her life in Scotland. These investigators must be awfully good.
Which meant they might know about Amalie already!
No—surely Victor wasn’t so accomplished at deception that he could have hidden that from her.
Why not? He’s hidden half his life from you.
And she’d hidden Amalie from him. But she’d had good reason. What possible reason could he have for hiding his connections from her?
Might his duke cousin have something to do with it? Lyons might wish to see Victor married respectably and thus have wanted Victor to find her and divorce her.
No, that made no sense—Victor didn’t need her presence to get a divorce in Amsterdam, as he’d pointed out to her.
So perhaps the duke wanted something else—to have the man’s thieving wife dealt with? These great men never liked scandal besmirching their families. Though there was no way of knowing for sure until she spoke to Victor.
“Of course, I realized at once what was up,” Rupert went on, anger edging into his voice.
She tensed. Rupert had figured out the truth about her and Victor all on his own? “And what is that?”
“Mother hired Manton’s Investigations to find out all about you, so she could separate us. And the agency sent Victor.”
Relief coursed through her. Rupert hadn’t guessed the truth. “Nonsense. If he’s cousin to a duke, he doesn’t need to work as an investigator.”
“Then why is he friends with Mother? Why has he been asking questions about you around town? If he’s my cousin, that makes sense, but if he’s not . . .”
She caught her breath. Rupert had a point. If this had just been Victor hunting her down, either on his own behalf or the duke’s, then why involve Lady Lochlaw? Could the baroness have hired Manton’s Investigations? And then they had notified Victor that they’d stumbled across his wife?
Her mind raced. That would certainly explain how Victor had found her. He’d said that “fate” had thrown them together. Perhaps he’d really meant that.
But then, why was he still hiding his reason for being here if he meant her no harm?
“What did Mr. Cale say when you confronted him with this?” Isa asked.
Rupert stared at her blankly. “I didn’t confront him. I discovered all of this after he left me.”
“What do you mean?” She could have sworn that Victor had gone off with Rupert precisely to prevent the baron from digging into his own affairs. “Are you saying that you parted as soon as you left the cobbler’s?”
“We didn’t go to the cobbler’s. I figured I’d hold on to the shoes in case . . . well . . . some other lady might want them.”
She was too worried about Victor to care if he meant Mary Grace. “So you parted as soon as you left my shop?”
“No, first we went to—” He scowled. “It doesn’t matter.”
“If Mr. Cale went with you, it most assuredly matters to me. You have to tell me, Rupert.”
“I can’t.” A flush had risen in his cheeks. “It’s a surprise.”
“I don’t need any more surprises, believe me.” She searched his face, then softened her voice. “There are things you don’t know about me, things that Mr. Cale is probably here to uncover. I can’t figure out how to deal with him if I don’t know what he knows.”
“He doesn’t know anything from our visit to the flower shop!” Rupert protested. “I was very careful to hide your address when I gave it to the florist.” He scowled again. “Oh, blast, I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Her heart dropped into her stomach. “You’re saying that you arranged to have flowers delivered to me.”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Whose idea was that? Yours? Or Mr. Cale’s?”
“Mine, of course.” Rupert screwed up his face in thought. “Well, it was his idea to have them delivered.” When she paled, he said, “I know what you’re thinking, but I was too clever for him. I didn’t let him see where I was sending the flowers.”
“And he left you directly after that?”
“Yes. He said he had business to attend to.”
Following the deliveryman, no doubt. Of course, it wouldn’t occur to Rupert that anyone would be so devious.
She forced a smile. “Well, thank you for the information you discovered. You’re a dear.” She headed into the livery. “I have to go.”
Most Edinburgh florists made deliveries in the evenings. If she left now, she might beat the deliveryman to the cottage and be waiting for Victor, so he couldn’t question her neighbors or Betsy and find out about Amalie before she could tell him.
It was time to tell him—she had to tell him—but first she had to know what he was up to.
Rupert followed her into the livery. “Wait, what are we to do about Mother?”
“Nothing.” She cast him a thin smile as the groom went to fetch her horse. “Rupert, you are in charge of your own life. And that means you can do as you please, no matter what your mother says. Leave her to her machinations; they will do her no good. I will deal with Mr. Cale. You just take care of yourself, and everything will be fine.”
Rupert sighed. “I really thought he was my cousin. I asked him for advice. I trusted him.”
“I know. And I truly believe your trust wasn’t misplaced.” She prayed that it wasn’t. “He thinks kindly of you. Of that I’m certain.”
The groom came up with her horse, and she allowed Rupert to help her mount. “I would love to talk to you more about this, but I must go. It’s important.” When his face fell, she said, “And you have to make plans for the house party, don’t you? It’s the day after tomorrow.”
“You’re still going to come?” he asked anxiously.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
As she took up the reins, he said, “And . . . er . . . Mr. Gordon and Miss Gordon? Will they come?”
She stifled a smile. “Mr. Gordon said that although he couldn’t leave the shop for that long himself, he would speak to Mary Grace’s father about it. But he saw no reason why she couldn’t go, as long as I was there to chaperone.”
A brilliant smile lit Rupert’s face. “Wonderful.” As she rode out of the stables, he called after her, “I hope you like the flowers! And that you tell everyone about them! Everyone!”
With a shake of her head, she waved and prodded the horse into a trot. She would have thought Rupert was trying to play her and Mary Grace off of each other, if she hadn’t known he was incapable of such a game.
She frowned as she sent the horse racing out of Edinburgh toward her cottage. Victor, however, was excellent at playing games. And at manipulating poor Rupert. She would give him a piece of her mind about that as soon as she saw him.
There was more traffic than usual along the road to her cottage, but she kept an eye out for the florist’s deliveryman. When she never saw him, she breathed a sigh of relief. That gave her a little time to prepare Betsy for Victor’s arrival.
So it was with surprise that she rode up to the cottage to find Victor waiting out front for her. He was leaning against the wall and watching her with that devouring gaze of his, and despite everything, she caught her breath to see him looking so stalwart and handsome.
She leapt down from the horse and handed it off to Rob. Waiting until the fellow disappeared into the barn, she approached Victor warily. “Well, aren’t you the clever one, tricking poor Rupert into revealing where I live?”
That seemed to startle him. “You talked to Lochlaw?”
“Yes. It seems he found a Debrett’s after all and learned that you’re not his cousin.” When Victor tensed, she added, “But that wasn’t the real surprise. That came when he discovered that you’re the Duke of Lyons’s cousin.”
As alarm rose in Victor’s face, she added, “So tell me, Victor, are you here on behalf of yourself, Lady Lochlaw, Manton’s Investigations, or your cousin the duke?”
A curse escaped him. Then he shoved away from the wall. “All but the last. My cousin doesn’t even know you exist. Yet.”
She swallowed hard. “So Rupert was right. His mother hired you.”
“His mother hired Manton’s Investigations. And I was in their office when they showed me your file.” He thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “It didn’t take much for me to figure out that Sofie Franke and you were one and the same.”
She struggled to breathe. He’d come here for her from the very beginning. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know why—I thought you were a criminal at first. I was hoping to find evidence of that.”
Rubbing her clammy hands on her skirts, she said, “And after you knew how we had been tricked? Why not tell me then?”
“For the same reason you wouldn’t tell me where you lived—because I was still trying to figure out what to do. How we were to go on, now that our lives are so different.”
“You mean, now that you are cousin to a duke who might not approve of a wife like me.”
“I don’t care if he approves,” he said fiercely. “He has nothing to do with it.”
“But Manton’s Investigations does. I knew there was something suspicious about how you found me, but I never guessed that you’d been sent here by the English authorities. If you’ve told them about me already, then you will have to give me over to them.”
A scowl knit his brows. “They’re not the authorities, devil take it! They work for themselves, and I didn’t tell them a damned thing. They only know that Sofie Franke is being courted by the Baron Lochlaw. They don’t know about you and me. I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure that Mrs. Franke was you.”
“But you’ll have to tell them eventually,” she pointed out, “when you give them your report. And then they will learn about the theft and I’ll be hauled off to gaol.”
“Damnation, Isa, no one’s hauling you anywhere!” He came up to her and lowered his voice. “Surely you can’t think that after all we have shared, I would let you be arrested.”
“I don’t know what you would do anymore. You hid your purpose from me even after we shared everything. Tell me the truth, Victor. Did you come here for vengeance?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw as his gaze caught hers. He stared at her a long moment, then released a hard breath. “I did. But that’s in the past.”
“Is it?” she asked tremulously. “What are you going to tell your employer?”
He tipped up her chin with one finger. “That I found the wife I thought I’d lost. Which makes Lady Lochlaw’s reason for having you investigated rather pointless. We’ll work out the rest, I swear. I refuse to lose you again.”
When he bent his head as if to kiss her, she pulled away. “Not out here, where anyone can see us.”
Though he muttered a curse at that, he followed her as she hurried into the house. But she didn’t get far, struck dumb by the sight that greeted her just inside the door.
Her foyer was filled with purple dahlias. There were seemingly hundreds of them—arranged in vases with baby’s breath, done up as nosegays, laid casually in bunches upon her front table. She had never seen so many dahlias in all her life.
Tears sprang to her eyes. She couldn’t believe that Victor still remembered her favorite flower after all these years. Or that he’d told Rupert about them.
With her heart quavering, she turned to cast Victor a questioning glance.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Though I encouraged young Lochlaw to order them, I returned to the florist after the baron left to ask that the bill be sent to me at the villa. And that I be allowed to deliver them myself.” A faint smile touched his lips. “One advantage to being a duke’s cousin is that florists are willing to bend the rules for me. Thank God. Because no man but me is going to send my wife flowers.”
His eyes bore into hers, full of heat and yearning, making her throat constrict. And that was when she knew for certain: He meant it when he said he wasn’t here for vengeance anymore. He was here for her, only her.
She cast him a blazing smile that he returned easily. But before he could pull her into his arms, Betsy came hurrying up the hallway.
“You’re home!” Betsy cried. “Isn’t it marvelous? I know the baron must have sent them, but the brash fellow who delivered them insisted on waiting until you arrived. I wouldn’t let him in here, mind you, but—” She came to a halt in the foyer, her eyes going wide as she caught sight of Victor. “Oh. I see that you let him in.”
Victor stared at Isa with one eyebrow raised, and she hesitated. But though she could trust Betsy, she needed to tell Victor about Amalie before she presented him as her husband. And she had to do that now, privately.
“Betsy, this is Mr. Victor Cale,” she said. “We are well acquainted from when I lived on the Continent. It’s a long story, and I promise to tell you all of it later, but first I need to speak to him privately. Afterward we will want some dinner, but for now we’ll be in the parlor, and we don’t wish to be disturbed.”
Though Betsy looked bewildered, she nodded. “Whatever you wish, madam. I’ll just go make sure there’s enough dinner for two.”
As soon as Betsy left, Isa drew Victor into the parlor.
“Still not ready to claim me as your husband?” he said tightly as she closed the door.
“It’s not that. But before we can go any further, I have to tell you something.”
She paced, wondering where to start. How would he feel to know that he had a daughter? And how angry would he be to learn that she’d kept it from him?
“The thing is—” she began. The sound of voices in the hall made her pause.
Then a knock came at the door to the parlor. She bit back an oath as she strode to open it.
Betsy stood there wide-eyed. “There’s a lady here to see you, madam.”
“Just get rid of her,” Isa said irritably. “I told you, we do not wish to be—”
“I know. I haven’t let her in.” Betsy glanced nervously down the hall toward the entrance door. “But I thought you might want to know about it because . . . well . . . she claims to be your sister.”
Isa froze. “My . . . my sister?”
“Aye. It was hard to make out her words, since she barely speaks English, but I’m fair certain she said ‘sister.’ Oh, and she gave her name. Mrs. Hendrix. Jacoba Hendrix.”
Lord help her. After all these years, her family had found her. And now there would be hell to pay.