CHAPTER
Eight
“How unfortunate, Mr. Quinn, that you suffered an accident with your horse last night. Dare I hope your face will return to its former state soon?”
Nicholas smiled at Miss Emma McArthur, who was currently holding fast to his arm as they strolled about the Lanham ballroom. “No need to fret about the state of my face, Miss McArthur. I assure you, it looks far worse than it is. I did, regrettably, suffer a broken nose, but I’ve since had my nose put to rights. That means, after the swelling and bruising disappear, I should look exactly as I did before my unexpected accident.”
Emma returned Nicholas’s smile. “Was it very painful when your physician reset your nose?”
For a relatively innocent question, it was one that was going to be somewhat tricky to answer because a physician had not been the one to reset his nose.
That task had fallen to Billie Werkcle, a man who’d taken on the role of butler for Nicholas but had once worked at the Black Horse Tavern and had a talent for setting noses because of his time spent in an atmosphere where brawls were a daily occurrence. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience,” Nicholas settled on saying. “But enough about my nose. Are you enjoying the ball so far this evening?”
Thankfully, Emma was easily distracted. She released a titter. “It’s quite enjoyable, although not nearly as exciting as the Birkhoff ball last night.” Her hand tightened on his arm when Miss Louisa Melville glided past, fluttering her lashes at Nicholas. “It’s a shame you weren’t in attendance to experience that excitement.”
A sense of trepidation was immediate. “Why was the Birkhoff ball exciting?”
Emma stopped strolling. “The Knickerbocker Bandit almost struck again, at least according to rumor.”
Nicholas’s trepidation increased. “The Knickerbocker Bandit?”
“He was apparently attempting to break into Mrs. Birkhoff’s bedchamber but was interrupted and forced to flee out the window. Mrs. Birkhoff discovered the window in her chamber open, but she distinctly remembered it being closed when she left the room to greet her guests. An alarm was sounded and then”—Emma raised a hand to her throat—“a length of rope was discovered lying on the ground underneath Mrs. Birkhoff’s window, proof that some type of skullduggery had been taking place. Everyone has been talking about it, and members of society are scrambling to hire guards to protect their valuables. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it at some point today.”
“I spent the majority of the day with my solicitor. However, should I assume, since it appears the Knickerbocker Bandit is still on the loose, that everyone is beginning to wonder if Miss Jennette Moore has been unjustly accused of theft as well as being unjustly accused of being the Knickerbocker Bandit?”
Emma waved that aside. “Jennette was caught red-handed with a piece of the Linwood collection in her possession. In my humble opinion, all that the reappearance of the Knickerbocker Bandit proves is that the thefts credited to him may in actuality have been perpetuated by more than one person.” Her lips thinned. “Truthfully, I’ll be relieved when Jennette goes to trial and is found guilty of the crime she committed against poor Mr. Linwood. Perhaps then we’ll be able to put talk of her firmly behind us. I’m certain Miss Celeste Wilkins will appreciate that coming to pass. I attempted to visit the retiring room earlier but was forced to make a speedy departure in order to avoid a rousing case of dramatics, because Celeste was lying on a fainting couch in that room, overwrought once again because someone had broached the Jennette debacle with her. Thankfully, Miss Kaffenburgh was available to lend Celeste some smelling salts after Celeste realized her vial was practically empty.”
Nicholas frowned. “I’ve never heard of Miss Kaffenburgh before. Has she only recently come to town?”
“Goodness no. Miss Kaffenburgh has evidently lived in the city for years. She’s a confirmed spinster and prefers keeping to herself over mingling at society events.”
“What is she doing here tonight, then?”
“She came with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Kaffenburgh.”
“I’ve never heard of Mrs. Kaffenburgh either.”
“That’s because Mrs. Kaffenburgh has spent a good many years traveling the world.” Emma craned her neck and looked across the room. “She’s right over there, holding court.”
Nicholas directed his gaze to where Emma was looking and discovered a somewhat portly lady with gray hair swept into a dramatic style on the top of her head, wearing a ball gown that looked remarkably similar to one he’d seen an actress wearing at the Cherry Lane Theater recently. Mrs. Kaffenburgh was surrounded by young ladies, many of whom, upon closer inspection, were ladies he’d been squiring about the city of late.
He returned his attention to Emma. “Why is everyone so keen to speak with her?”
Emma’s eyes sparkled. “Mrs. Kaffenburgh recently traveled to London, where she spent time with her great-nephew—or perhaps he’s just her nephew, I was a little confused about that. But no matter the relationship they share”—her eyes sparkled more than ever—“Mrs. Kaffenburgh evidently fancies herself a matchmaker and has decided it’s past time her nephew selects a wife. That’s why everyone is keen to make her acquaintance because, from what we’ve learned thus far, her nephew is quite the catch.”
“He’s an earl. Lord Walter de Bourgh, to be exact.”
“Lord Walter de Bourgh?” Nicholas repeated, having the oddest feeling he’d heard the name before but couldn’t for the life of him remember where.
“Indeed.” Emma leaned closer. “And not that this is my place to point out, but Miss Maryanne Allen seems to be monopolizing Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s attention. I, along with the rest of society, know you’ve been spending a lot of time in her company. Nevertheless, it does appear as if Maryanne is keen on learning more about this nephew of Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s. That seems to suggest you’ve got some competition for her affections unless”—she batted her lashes at him—“you haven’t completely settled your affections on her after all.”
Disgruntlement began coursing through him because he had been spending inordinate amounts of time in Maryanne’s company. Truth be told, he’d recently moved her to the top of his list of potential brides because she was everything a gentleman desired in a wife—beautiful, demure, and possessed of an excellent standing within society. He’d thought they’d been coming to an understanding, but now, since she seemed to be fawning over Mrs. Kaffenburgh, he was going to have to reconsider whether or not to settle his affection solely on Maryanne.
“I suppose a gentleman possessing a title and a castle is appealing to most ladies,” Emma continued, drawing him from his thoughts.
“This earl has a castle?”
“Too right he does. An incredibly significant and ostentatious one, at least according to Mrs. Kaffenburgh.”
Nicholas frowned. “Why aren’t you among the ladies trying to seek Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s favor?”
Emma gave another very flirtatious fluttering of lashes. “While there are many a young lady here tonight who desires nothing more than to become a countess, I happen to prefer American gentlemen.”
Having no idea how to respond to what was evidently Emma’s way of allowing him to know that she certainly wouldn’t mind his affections, Nicholas cleared his throat but was spared any response at all when Emma stood on tiptoe and smiled.
“Ah, there’s Mrs. Kaffenburgh’s sister-in-law now, making her way through the crowd.” Her smile faded. “I have no idea why she wears such hideous black spectacles. Mrs. Kaffenburgh wears spectacles, but they’re very tasteful.”
Nicholas’s gaze settled on a stout older lady whom Emma was now gesturing to, the unusual style of the lady’s gray hair bringing to mind the Cherry Lane Theater again. Nicholas had recently attended a performance of The Wild Duck, and he could have sworn the hairstyle Miss Kaffenburgh was currently sporting was very similar to a style one of the actresses had worn. He turned back to Emma. “I’m curious how the Kaffenburghs managed to secure an invitation to this ball if, as you said, Miss Kaffenburgh does not mingle in society, and Mrs. Kaffenburgh has been traveling the world for years.”
“Mrs. Bracken arranged for their invitations after Miss Ann Evans, her paid companion, told her that she’d recently added Mrs. Kaffenburgh to her list of clients.”
“Paid companions work for more than one lady?”
“They do, especially if they’re in high demand like Miss Ann Evans and her sister, Miss Elsy Evans. The Evanses are highly sought after as companions because Miss Ann Evans is said to have an incomparable talent for reading aloud and bringing characters in a story to life, while Miss Elsy Evans enjoys keeping her clients up to date with the latest on-dit by reading the society pages from the newspapers to them.”
Nicholas’s gaze snapped back to Miss Kaffenburgh, who was, indeed, wearing hideous black spectacles—the same ones he’d recently seen on the face of Miss Daphne Beekman. Add in the notion that it was highly unlikely there were two Elsy and Ann Evans roaming around society, and Nicholas was left to conclude that the ladies of the Bleecker Street Inquiry Agency were up to some manner of shenanigans once again.
“I believe I’d like to make the acquaintance of Mrs. and Miss Kaffenburgh,” he said.
Emma nodded but then frowned when the sound of the orchestra warming up distracted her. “Forgive me, Mr. Quinn, but I’ve promised the first dance to Mr. Sterling. I’ll have to introduce you to the Kaffenburghs after the dance.”
Presenting her with a bow as Emma curtsied and hurried away, Nicholas glanced around the room, finding Miss Kaffenburgh, whom he was convinced was none other than Daphne Beekman, standing off to the side of the ballroom floor, writing something down on a far-too-familiar notepad.
He directed his full attention to Mrs. Kaffenburgh, finding her exactly where she’d been when Emma had pointed her out. She was still engaged in what seemed to be a most enthusiastic conversation with Maryanne Allen, one that had Maryanne beaming one of the brightest smiles Nicholas had ever seen on her face.
Maryanne had certainly never smiled at him in quite such a fashion, even though she’d been very receptive to him spending time in her company. Maryanne’s father had even gone so far as to suggest that if Nicholas would like to make matters more official with his daughter, he and his wife would lend their full support to that.
Tilting his head, Nicholas considered Mrs. Kaffenburgh closely, knowing without a doubt that the lady currently holding court was none other than Gabriella. His lips curved on their own accord because she’d certainly outdone herself with her disguise. Besides looking the part of an older lady, she was holding herself differently and had adopted a rather haughty air, one she was pulling off magnificently.
He couldn’t help being impressed, because although there was little chance she was accustomed to mingling with the crème of society, she seemed completely at her ease, taking that moment to laugh at something Maryanne said.
What she was doing at the ball, dressed in disguise and spreading an outlandish tale, was curious to say the least. But, given the unfortunate way they’d parted company the night before, there was little chance she’d disclose what she was doing to him. That meant he only had one avenue available to find out exactly what Gabriella was up to.
Striding into motion, Nicholas made his way across the ballroom floor and stopped in front of Daphne, who didn’t notice him because she was still occupied with writing something down on her notepad.
“Composing another one of your poems?” he asked after a full thirty seconds passed without her bothering to look up.
“Poems?” she repeated, lifting her head and freezing on the spot when her gaze locked with his.
“You did tell me you enjoy composing poems, didn’t you?”
Daphne began fiddling with a pearl necklace encircling her neck. “You must have me confused with someone else, sir. I don’t have a talent for poetry.”
“Then what are you writing down?”
The fiddling intensified. “Ah, well, my sister-in-law, Mrs. Kaffenburgh, has tasked me with keeping track of all the eligible young ladies present tonight, wanting to compose an accurate list of potential brides that, ah, she intends to present to her bachelor great-nephew once she returns to, ah, London.”
It took a great deal of effort for Nicholas to refuse a grin. “I see. You’re composing a list of ladies. May I be so bold as to take a peek at that list? I too am a bachelor gentleman and would be very interested in perusing a list of eligible young ladies.”
To his absolute surprise, Daphne stopped fiddling with her necklace and handed him her notepad. Glancing over it, he discovered that she’d written down the names of numerous young ladies as well as which gentlemen those ladies thought were the most eligible bachelors out that Season. He lifted his head. “Why are you making note of what gentlemen the ladies seem to think are the most eligible?”
“Ah, well, ah . . .” She brightened and gave a nod. “Mrs. Kaffenburgh wants to get a feel for who the competition is for her nephew.”
“You said he was her great-nephew just a second ago.” He handed her the notepad back, which Daphne immediately began to use to fan her face.
“I’m unaccustomed to mingling in society, Mr. Quinn. I fear this unusual circumstance has made my thoughts somewhat scattered.”
“I never told you my name.”
Daphne blinked before she summoned up a weak smile. “Since many young ladies have mentioned you tonight as one of the most eligible bachelors, something you should take great delight in, I made sure to have someone point you out to me.”
“Nicely recovered, Daphne, but tell me this. Are those young ladies you’ve been taking notes on aware that you’re writing down everything they say, and have they given you their express permission to write down all their thoughts?”
“I have no idea why you’d call me Daphne,” she said firmly. “But to address your concern, know that every lady I’ve spoken with this evening has encouraged me to write down their thoughts. Why, Miss Emma McArthur even went so far as to spell out her name for me to make certain I’d spelled it properly.”
Disbelief, mixed with a hefty dose of exasperation, was swift. “I hope you’re not about to tell me that Miss Emma McArthur spoke to you at great length.”
“I certainly don’t know why that would concern you, but yes, she almost talked my ear off. She was adamant about letting me know how she’d do justice to the title of countess, explaining how she spent hours in her youth pretending she was royalty.” Daphne wrote something down, looked through her notes, then lifted her head. “I’ve been very pleased with how many ladies have wanted to speak with my sister-in-law and me this evening—well, except for the lady who cut our conversation short earlier, but that was simply because a fit of the vapors stole up on her, although . . .” She frowned. “Some of the ladies have been almost overly zealous with seeking me out. I was just followed to the retiring room by five young ladies, one of whom tried to follow me as I . . . well, no need to get into that. Suffice it to say that I’ve found myself in high demand tonight, and all because obtaining a title seems to be high on the list of priorities for unmarried ladies these days.” She added a few words next to a lady’s name. “I suppose the lure of becoming Lady de Bourgh is simply too difficult to resist.”
It suddenly came to Nicholas from out of the blue where he’d heard the de Bourgh name before. He leaned closer to her. “I imagine there are many ladies who’d love to be known as Lady de Bourgh, especially when that’s a name Jane Austen used in Pride & Prejudice.”
Daphne’s head shot up. “You’ve read Pride & Prejudice?”
“I have, although I don’t know why that would surprise you. I did mention last night that I’m an avid reader.”
“I wasn’t with you last night, but because you claim you’re an avid reader, dare I hope you’ve read a few of Montague Moreland’s books?”
Nicholas grinned, enjoying himself more than he had in some time. “Your ability to change the subject is impressive, especially because bringing Montague Moreland into the conversation was unexpected. To answer your question, though, yes, I have read all of Montague Moreland’s books and have enjoyed them very much.”
Daphne’s eyes sparkled behind her spectacles. “How delightful to learn, Mr. Quinn, because I too enjoy Moreland’s books.”
Nicholas tilted his head. “Speaking of Montague Moreland, it’s just come to me that there was a character in Murder at the Abbey who was named something remarkably similar to Kaffenburgh.”
Daphne blinked. “Was there really?”
“Indeed.”
“What a coincidence, but I’m sure Kaffenburgh isn’t that unusual, what with how large my family is back in our old country, which is, umm . . . Scotland. They came to America after there was a horrible . . . potato blight.”
Nicholas swallowed a laugh. “I would have thought Kaffenburgh to be a name that originates in Germany.”
“And some of us came from Germany as well after a . . . a . . . drought.”
“A word of advice, Daphne. If you want a con to succeed, you have to keep it simple or risk finding yourself tripped up by the most innocent of questions. I’m surprised Gabriella didn’t remember that.”
“She didn’t have time to remember it, not with how she’d barely stepped foot in the boardinghouse this afternoon before finding herself thrust into a new plan, and—” Daphne stopped talking as her cheeks turned pink.
Nicholas straightened. “You’ve got a lot to learn if that inquiry agency has a chance of surviving. I am curious, though, how you came up with the characters of Miss and Mrs. Kaffenburgh.”
Clear annoyance clouded Daphne’s eyes. “Fine, you’ve found me out. And to answer your question, we needed a plan that would allow us access to the young ladies of society. Dangling an earl under their noses seemed like a brilliant idea.” She tilted her head. “But how did you know it was me? I thought the disguise Miss Lulah Wallace chose for me sufficiently concealed my true identity.”
“There were a vast number of clues leading to your true identity, one being that I actually saw your costume, as well as your wig, at the Cherry Lane Theater when I recently took in a show there.”
“And isn’t that simply bad luck,” Daphne muttered as couples began taking to the ballroom floor.
He smiled and held out his arm to her. “Shall we continue our conversation while enjoying the first dance of the night together? I arrived late to the ball and have yet to add my name to a single dance card, save Miss McArthur’s.”
“I’m not what anyone would call proficient with dancing.”
“And I’m somewhat proficient on the floor, which means we’ll be fine.”
Daphne glanced around and then blew out a breath. “Oh, very well, I’ll dance with you since we’ve obviously begun to attract attention, and the last thing I want to do is attract more attention by refusing to dance with a gentleman I’ve been told is one of the most sought-after in society.” She took hold of his arm. “Just remember, this was your idea, and I won’t be held accountable for the state of your feet when we’re done.”
“I doubt you’re as incompetent as you’re claiming,” Nicholas said, earning a roll of the eyes from Daphne as he drew her onto the floor. “But just in case, when the music starts, we’ll be moving to the right.”
“Good to know. But wouldn’t your time be better spent dancing with someone else since you told Gabriella you’re determined to choose a bride this Season?”
“Considering that I’m currently feeling incredibly disgruntled toward many of the young ladies here tonight, given how much time they’ve spent fawning over you and Gabriella in a quest to become known to your fictitious nephew, I have no desire to take to the floor with anyone but you. Besides, the dance will allow us to discuss what you and Gabriella are up to tonight.”
“When I say I’m not a proficient dancer, I’m not being modest,” Daphne said. “There’s little chance I’ll be capable of dancing and conversing, so you may find that disgruntled mood of yours increasing.”
Nicholas grinned as the music started, his grin fading a mere thirty seconds after attempting to lead Daphne around the floor. She truly had not been modest about her abilities because she had absolutely no sense of rhythm, even when she took to counting out steps under her breath.
“Not that I want to point out the obvious, Nicholas, but you seem to be having a tough time keeping me off your toes.”
“I’ve lost feeling in my toes and have stopped noticing how often you tread on them.”
Daphne’s lips curved. “I told you this wasn’t a good idea. Plus, it’s distracting me from figuring out which young lady could be behind framing Jennette.” She executed a credible turn, leaving Nicholas with the notion that her lack of proficiency had more to do with nerves than skill. Once distracted by thoughts of what she hoped to accomplish that evening, her hesitancy had evidently retreated, making it possible for her to glide across the room instead of stomp across it.
“Why don’t you tell me what conclusions you’ve arrived at so far,” he encouraged, hoping his question would distract her enough to where she’d avoid mauling his toes with her sharp-pointed shoes.
It took three turns around the ballroom floor for Daphne to disclose all the details of her and Gabriella’s plan.
“I’m not sure how successful our attending the ball has been tonight, though,” Daphne finished as they danced by where Gabriella was holding court, Maryanne still by her side, smiling brightly. “Practically every lady I’ve spoken with has mentioned something about Duncan Linwood being a most sought-after bachelor, leaving me with the impression they wouldn’t be opposed to having him court them, but that leaves us with far too many suspects.”
Nicholas frowned. “You said practically. Have there been a few young ladies who’ve not been interested in speaking with either you or Gabriella, or not mentioned Duncan?”
Daphne stepped on his toe again as she cocked her head to the side. “Well, the only one that I can recall is the lady who was overwrought. I ran across her in the retiring room. She was lying on a fainting couch and seemed perfectly fine—until I asked Miss Blossom about who she felt were the most eligible bachelors. Miss Blossom listed you first, but then added Mr. Duncan Linwood, and that’s when Miss Celeste Wilkins became completely distraught, having to resort to borrowing my smelling salts because she was almost out, and—”
Daphne froze, her gaze turning distant as other couples dodged them, craning their necks to see why Nicholas and his partner had simply stopped moving.
“You do realize the dance hasn’t come to an end, don’t you?” Nicholas asked, to which he received a shush from Daphne before she blinked and caught his eye.
“Do you recall the part in Montague Moreland’s book When the Shadows Fall where Mr. Reuben Antonelli, the villain, adopted a most dramatic air over the death of Mrs. Bainswright, but it turned out to be a complete act, done so to distract everyone from his guilt in murdering the victim?”
“That wasn’t in When the Shadows Fall. It’s in A Murder Most Wicked.” Nicholas leaned closer to her. “What are you suggesting?”
For some curious reason, Daphne’s eyes began to gleam. “You’re quite right, that scene was in A Murder Most Wicked, which means you are an admirer of Montague Moreland since you remembered that. However, that has nothing to do with the matter at hand, which is this—I believe that Miss Celeste Wilkins may be overplaying her part of Miss Jennette Moore’s distraught former friend. She became visibly distressed after Mr. Linwood’s name came up, but now that I think on it, she wasn’t breathing unusually rapidly when she made the claim she needed smelling salts. As a lady prone to swooning, rapid breathing is always a precursor before I suffer a fit of the vapors.” She took hold of his arm and began tugging him off the floor. “We need to tell Gabriella that Miss Celeste Wilkins may be the culprit we’ve been searching for.”
“And then what?”
“No idea. My job is to come up with scenarios and plots. Gabriella’s job is to figure out how to take things from there, although it might be tricky getting her away from all those ladies so that I can discuss this with her.”
Nicholas pulled Daphne to a stop and smiled. “You may leave that up to me.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Gabriella was pretty firm about not seeing you again.”
“True, but she might change her mind about that after you tell her your theory about Celeste, and then remind her that Celeste is presently languishing in the retiring room, which means . . .”
“She’s not currently at home, nor are her parents,” Daphne breathed.
“Exactly.”
Daphne frowned. “But we don’t know where she lives.”
“Which is why Gabriella’s going to realize she needs me because I know exactly where Celeste lives, and . . . I’ve been inside her home.”