“MR. THOMPSON? WHAT are you doing here?” Josie exclaimed.
“You know this man?” Blackthorne said.
Josie was so surprised, she answered with the truth. “Yes. He’s a Pinkerton detective.” She clasped her hands together to stop their trembling and asked, “Has something happened to Spencer and Clay? Was it scarlet fever, and not measles after all?”
“It was measles,” Mr. Thompson replied. “And the Lords Spencer and Clay are recovering apace.”
Josie put a hand out to steady herself, and it landed on Blackthorne’s sleeve. “Oh, thank goodness!”
He pulled his arm free, as though she were some foul thing, and said in an icy voice, “You hired a Pinkerton to spy on my nephews?”
“No. Yes. Not really,” Josie stuttered, seeing a look on her husband’s face that did nothing to help the state of her quivering knees.
“Which is it?”
Josie realized she was in deep water and wasn’t sure she could swim back to shore on her own. She shot a discomfited look at the Pinkerton, who stood waiting patiently in his long black duster, his black bowler hat in hand.
To her relief, Mr. Thompson turned to the duke and said, “I’m aware of your current dilemma, Your Grace. I came because I have information that might be of help.”
“Who are you?” Blackthorne demanded.
“As your wife said, I’m a Pinkerton detective. I was hired by Miss Wentworth’s—excuse me, the duchess’s—sister Miranda, that is, Mrs. Jacob Creed.”
“For what purpose?”
“To locate Miss Wentworth, advise her of her inheritance, and make arrangements for her safe return to America,” the Pinkerton replied.
“You seem to have failed in your objective,” the duke pointed out. “Miss Wentworth—the duchess—is still in England.”
The Pinkerton’s mouth twisted wryly. “That is true, Your Grace.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed perceptively. “But you’re still here. Why?”
Josie was afraid the Pinkerton would reveal her plan to abscond—now she was stealing them?—with the boys, so she said, “I care dearly for your nephews and wanted to be sure someone was looking after them, once I left Tearlach Castle.”
“My nephews, who have both a governess and a housekeeper to look after them?”
Josie bit her lip to stop any further explanation of her behavior.
Blackthorne eyed her speculatively, and she knew he was remembering her probing questions at the Abbey about his nephews, her desire to bring them to the Abbey to live, and her original pretense that they were strangers.
She lifted her chin and said, “I asked Mr. Thompson to keep an eye on Spencer and Clay to make sure they were doing well, until they could join us at the Abbey.”
“Why wouldn’t they be doing well?”
Josie hadn’t expected the question, and she wasn’t sure how much she should say about the two boys being caught up in the ongoing feud between his housekeeper and the children’s governess. “No reason,” she said, deciding discretion was important if it became necessary, as it still might, to make her escape with the children. She wasn’t happy with that choice of words, either. Escape? From what, pray tell?
She forced her thoughts back to the necessity for some sort of answer the duke would accept. “Mr. Thompson has been able to reassure me that Spencer and Clay are fine.”
“Except for having the measles,” Blackthorne said, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Yes. Except for that,” Josie said lamely. “And they should be over them very soon, if they aren’t already.”
“How did you get here so quickly from Northumberland?” Blackthorne inquired of the Pinkerton.
“I’ve been in London taking care of business,” the Pinkerton explained. “I have an associate in Northumberland watching over your nephews.” His lips twisted wryly as he said, “A Pinkerton never sleeps.” He cleared his throat when Blackthorne scowled and continued, “Which is how I came to discover the whereabouts of your sister Lady Lark Wharton.”
Blackthorne clamped a strong hand on the Pinkerton’s shoulder, his face grim. “Where is she? What’s happened to her?”
“According to my man, she’s staying at an inn called the Black Swan in Berwick-upon-Tweed.” He hesitated and added, “As the wife of the Earl of Seaton.”
Blackthorne’s shoulders bunched. “Are they married?”
“Not unless they were married before they left London,” the Pinkerton replied. “According to my associate, they registered at the Black Swan late last night as man and wife—without a trip to Scotland beforehand. I could make inquiries, if you like.”
“Damn and blast,” Blackthorne muttered, his hands knotting into dangerous fists. “I’ll kill him.” He focused his gaze on the Pinkerton and said, “How soon can you arrange for your man to find her a chaperon and escort her back to London?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible for some time.”
“Why not?”
“Your sister has contracted the measles.”
“Oh, dear,” Josie said.
“Who’s taking care of her?” Blackthorne asked.
“A doctor has seen her, Your Grace. But she is apparently being nursed in the bridal suite at the Black Swan by the earl himself.”
Blackthorne’s lips compressed to a very thin, very angry line. “I suppose I shall have to go and fetch her myself.”
“I’ll go, too,” Josie said, adding, “She’ll need someone to be with her, once Seaton has been sent on his way. And I’ve already had the measles.”
The duke opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again. “Very well.”
“There is a train to Berwick-upon-Tweed leaving this afternoon, Your Grace,” the Pinkerton said.
“Go fetch whatever you require for the journey,” Blackthorne said to Josie, “while I apprise my grandmother of the situation.”
“Don’t you think we should wait until we have a chance to see whether your sister and Seaton are married? Or not?” Josie asked.
Blackthorne’s face looked grim. “If they aren’t, they will be soon. Go! Get what you need. We don’t have much time to catch the train.”
Once Blackthorne was out of hearing, Josie turned to the Pinkerton and said, “Thank you for not revealing my plans.”
“What plans are those, Your Grace?”
Josie realized suddenly that she’d never spoken directly to the Pinkerton about her desire to rescue the boys—who were now her nephews-by-marriage—from the clutches of the Dastardly Duke and take them to America. But she would never have a better chance to steal them—that word again!—and disappear than she would while Blackthorne was distracted taking care of his sister and dealing with Seaton. Presuming she still wanted to leave her husband, something she wasn’t at all sure of anymore.
Blackthorne had seemed willing to bring his nephews to live at the Abbey when the renovations were completed, but she still had no satisfactory answer for why he’d abandoned them for two long years. The safer course was to take the boys with her when she left.
Was she still leaving? Josie missed her family. She wanted to see them, talk to them, hug them, and kiss them. She couldn’t imagine Blackthorne leaving the Abbey in the midst of all the work being done to go with her—or willingly allowing her to travel on her own. Nevertheless, she was determined to visit her family—and soon. The only issue was whether to take Spencer and Clay with her when she did.
She wished she hadn’t promised to nurse her sister-in-law. She would feel obliged to do exactly that, at least until Lark was feeling more herself. She would have to watch for an opportunity to scoop up her nephews and take ship from Berwick-upon-Tweed on a vessel headed to America. Or, if not to America, at least to someplace she could find a ship to America.
In Lark’s situation she had one more example of how badly Blackthorne was managing those in his care. Naturally he was worried about his sister now. But where had he been before she’d run away?
Even so, Josie’s stomach knotted at the thought of walking away from her marriage. Maybe, before she acted, she should speak more frankly of her concerns to her husband and delve more deeply into his feelings about his nephews—assuming he would share them with her. Surely he would rescue them immediately, if he realized the direness of their situation.
Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe Blackthorne would plead the necessity of spending months repairing the Abbey without having Spencer and Clay underfoot. The two young boys couldn’t help getting into trouble. It was never anything vicious, but the results were occasionally disastrous. But when push came to shove, she wasn’t going to allow them to suffer any more than they already had.
Josie missed her sisters and brothers. She missed…She thought the word home, but the truth was there was no home to go back to—just the bosom of her family. And even that no longer existed, now that her sisters were spread out across the West from Texas to the wilderness territories of Wyoming and Montana.
Here. Home could be here.
With the Dastardly Duke?
He isn’t quite as dastardly as you painted him in the beginning. In fact, he’s seemed quite reasonable lately. Surely, if you explained the boys’ circumstances to him, he would remedy the problem. After all, he helped Harriet reunite with her sisters.
But helping Harriet hadn’t required him to be personally responsible for two young boys who would be constantly underfoot. He might simply hire another governess, rather than bring Spencer and Clay to live at the Abbey. What if she got along as horridly with Mrs. Pettibone as Miss Sharpe had? Then where would the boys be? As unhappy as they were now, that’s where!
No, she must move quickly and surely, once Lark was feeling better, to grab the boys and run.
You’re actually going to kidnap them? Won’t the duke come after you? Won’t he have you arrested and put in jail?
It wouldn’t actually be kidnapping. I’m their aunt.
Tell that to an English judge when the plaintiff is a duke of the realm.
Josie chewed on a hangnail, then realized the Pinkerton was still standing there, and dropped her hand to her side.
“I have some business I need you to do for me.” She quickly explained what she wanted, before she could lose her courage.
The Pinkerton listened and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, I can handle that. But won’t the duke—”
“Blackthorne is to hear nothing of this.”
The Pinkerton raised a skeptical brow but said nothing.
“Once I married Blackthorne, I became Spencer and Clay’s aunt. As far as anyone is concerned, I’ll merely be taking my nephews for a holiday in America.”