Chapter 29

One Week Later

So this was Boston? As Wyatt stepped out of the noisy train depot, all that met his eyes were buildings stacked up against each other like fence staves with no space in between. Wagons crowded the road so closely that a man could’ve crossed the street by hopping from carriage to carriage without ever once touching his feet to the ground. A boy, heavy laden by a canvas bag strapped around his chest, stepped in front of him and waved a newspaper before his eyes. With just a glimpse of the flaying headline, Wyatt read: MYSTERIOUS LEBLANC ARRIVING . . .

“What’s that say?” he asked.

William snatched the paper, crumpled it under his arm, and tossed the boy a coin. “Just a bit of insurance. Miss LeBlanc notified the papers so everyone would anticipate your arrival and you couldn’t mysteriously disappear on your journey.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Wyatt asked.

“I didn’t mean to imply you’d die willingly.”

Oh. Wyatt’s teeth clenched. Maybe he should’ve been more vigilant on the train.

But they had reached town safely, and now Wyatt followed William across the street, swinging his head from right to left, watching for a stray runaway carriage. Once they were back on the sidewalk, the way was no easier. He caught himself peering into each and every face they passed. Used to knowing everyone he encountered, Wyatt couldn’t understand why the Bostonians acted so snippy from the attention. Glares and oaths resulted left and right. He reckoned he’d have to learn to walk like William, head held high, ignoring everyone, but Wyatt couldn’t stretch his legs out without trampling over a child peddling something.

“Do we have far to go?”

“It’s uphill to the Common and then from there only a few blocks. If you get tired I’ll hail a cab, but I thought you might appreciate getting a sense for the city. Especially after the long ride we’ve had.”

He couldn’t see enough of the city. At every corner he looked for Miranda or Elmer in the off chance that they’d happen to be outside among the crowds of people.

As they walked they passed through a section of the city where the smell of smoke hung thick on the buildings under construction. “Is this part new?” Wyatt asked.

“Yes and no,” William answered. “Last November the business district had a blaze that got out of control. It burned sixty-five acres of buildings to the ground.”

“Sixty-five acres?” Wyatt couldn’t get his mind around a town that big, much less it burning. “And that happened here?”

“Yes, sir, but the Bostonians didn’t sit in the ashes and wring their hands. As you can see, the streets are filling back up.”

Wyatt would prefer they’d leave some of those roads empty so a man could breathe. “Did the Wimplegates lose anything in the fire?” he asked.

“They were south of the blaze, not far from here. If we continue our course a block over, we’ll walk past their auction house—if you approve.”

William was acting all fancy, as if Wyatt were someone important. “I reckon I’d like that.” He had to see Miranda. He owed her an apology after accusing her of being in cahoots with McSwain. As soon as he was settled here in town . . .

They turned down a smaller alley, thrown into deep sweltering shade. The heat bounced off the white stone building they were passing on his left.

“This is their business.” William threw a nod toward the building. “Looks quiet today. Maybe they don’t have a sale.”

The building was one of those fancy Greek structures that politicians seemed to favor for their offices. The second and third floors didn’t quite match the base, but when it came to style it was definitely more planned out than his angular barn at home.

They turned the corner to see the front doors. “Doesn’t look like they’re open.” The twelve-paned windows displayed only the backside of rich blue drapes. Pillars as thick as hundred-year oaks flanked the double doors at the entrance. Too easily he could imagine Miranda here. Too easily he could remember her shock when she arrived at his barn. No wonder.

A buggy had stopped at the entrance. One look to see if he recognized the passengers—when would he stop looking people in the face?—but seeing only a stranger, he turned away.

“Wait.” William tugged at his own cravat and dusted off his sleeves before stepping to the street and grasping the handle on the carriage door. Wyatt couldn’t see past him but knew it must be a lady from the way he bowed and then straightened with his chest puffed out. Evidently a pretty lady had the same effect on a man no matter what part of the country he was from. One hand on the door, he motioned to Wyatt. “Please.”

It went against Wyatt’s instincts to climb into the little cage on wheels, but his instincts wouldn’t always serve him through these new experiences. He ducked inside and slid onto a velvet-covered bench opposite the lady. Before William could join him, he’d taken in the rich interior—the fringe hanging over the windows, the flower-filled glass vases bracketed to the wall. Something, either the flowers or the woman, smelled good.

“Had our paths crossed in the street, I would have known you,” she said. She held his gaze with eyes as green as his own. “I congratulate you on your success, William. It’d be impossible for even Frederic to miss the resemblance.”

He’d expected her to be older—more like Ma’s age—but then again, she was his father’s youngest sibling. Already her youthful fleeting beauty had matured into something that promised to endure.

“Aunt Corinne?” He tucked his long legs in tighter to his bench. “I didn’t think we’d meet here.”

“You and William did stray from the path, but I had a good idea where you might wander. Forgive me for my impatience. I had to see for myself before Monty King put you through the test.”

Of course. He hadn’t thought it’d be that easy, had he? After years of denying Ma and Pa’s letters, they wouldn’t just roll over and show their throats because he’d bought a train ticket. The carriage dipped. Wyatt looked out beneath the fringed curtains at the busy street, amazed that after all their walking they were still in town.

“So what do we call you?” she asked. “I fear we’ve disrupted your life and don’t want it to be more painful than necessary.”

“Wyatt is my name . . . and so is LeBlanc. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”

“I was never fond of Yves anyway.” Her gaze stole to William, who was obviously mooning over her. “I wish we had more time to become acquainted before this interview,” she said, “but the painting and its story made it back before you. Frederic and Mr. King are awaiting your arrival and are none too pleased with me.”

William gripped the edge of his seat. “Just say the word and I’ll make Monty King sorry.”

“Dear William, ready to take on the world for me.” She smiled fondly, but clearly the gesture was received with more thought than it was given. “When I heard how they were trying to ruin the Wimplegate family, I had to disclose my actions. I confessed that I’d been the one who arranged for the painting to be sold and shipped west. I didn’t tell them where initially, because I wanted to give Yves . . . er, Wyatt . . . time to think through his decision, as well as time for us to determine what sort of man this Wyatt Ballentine was. The attorney must have had a guilty conscience, because he’s the one who deduced that I’d learned of their old secret.”

“Why did you do it?” Wyatt asked. “Don’t you trust your brother more than a stranger?”

“My brother, maybe, but not Mr. King. As you’re probably too chivalrous to mention, I’m a young lady no longer. All my life I’ve wanted adventure, to travel, to meet people. When I present my plans to Frederic, he worries so much he can’t make any decisions whatsoever and passes it on to Mr. King. For years he’s claimed that I couldn’t afford any expenses, and then he gives me some extra pocket money—as if that takes the place of freedom. Eventually, I refused to take his excuses and began to investigate our finances for myself, but it hasn’t been easy. Mr. King opposes my every request, and Frederic doesn’t want to cause any problems. He’s content to stay at home as long as his dinner is cooked and he has enough credit at the clubs.”

“So you hired a detective?”

Her eyes slanted in fondness. “Dear William. He’s been my salvation throughout this, my contact with the outside world. At first, I lived vicariously through William’s adventures—his dangerous cases—but then we realized that the biggest mystery of all might be in my own family. And so we started looking for you.”

She ducked her head, her earrings swinging with the rocking of the coach. “But enough about my trials. How are you feeling, Wyatt? I can’t imagine the questions you must have.”

He wondered how much his aunt and his father had favored each other. His own green eyes were all he recognized from her, but such things were difficult to judge for oneself. “I knew my father claimed to be from a fine Boston family, but then the LeBlancs told Ma that they didn’t know me, that my father was a liar. I tried to forget what I’d been told, but even if that picture hadn’t come, I would’ve made my way here someday. I always wondered what I’d find.”

“Prepare for a difficult start,” Corinne said. “I’m sure there’ll be many adjustments, but there’s no denying your paternity. You have your father’s eyes and his bearing.”

William leaned against the seat. “The testimony of your adopted brother helps, too. Although he was just a child, his memory of the wagon train and your abandonment verifies what we already know.”

Thank you, Isaac. He couldn’t do the calling for the auction like Wyatt could, but he’d been anxious to jump in and learn the ropes. Wyatt had been surprised by how much he did know. Evidently he’d been paying more attention to Pa than Wyatt gave him credit for.

The curtains swayed, revealing swaths of a bright green spread. Men swung wooden mallets at a ball to roll it from hoop to hoop. Women strolled with parasols overhead, their dresses reminding him of Miranda, but none of them walked as graceful as she. What was she doing now? Had she heard that he’d followed her home? He’d prayed over this meeting ever since he’d learned it was going to happen. Now that the significance of the painting was understood, surely Miranda would forgive him for keeping it.

The carriage stopped. William descended, then turned to help Corinne down. Wyatt ducked through the opening, nearly tripping as he tried to take in the massive redbrick building before him. It was two, three, four stories high, with small round windows popping out above that. He stumbled backward a step trying to count all the white-framed, black-shuttered windows on the face of the home. And yet for all the windows, there was no porch. The front of the house was flat up against the walkway, just like every other building pressing in on both sides.

“Do you live here?” he asked Corinne.

“I prefer spending my time at our Cape Cod home, but this townhouse works well enough for when I must come to the city.”

“And my father?”

“He grew up here. Loved to fly kites with me on the Common.”

William forged ahead, his steps made brisk by the importance of his task. He seemed to challenge the curious stares of the man, dressed in a fancy suit, who opened the door.

“Is that my uncle?” Wyatt whispered.

Corinne squeezed his arm. “It’s the butler. Perhaps you should hold your questions until we’re alone again.”

The noises from outside blurred as they entered. Then the door swung shut behind them and the boom echoed through the vast room.

Not the least intimidated, Corinne released his arm and swept forward. With quick tugs, she removed her gloves and deposited them, along with her hat, in the hands of the butler.

“Jeffrey, tell Frederic we’ve arrived.”

“He’s waiting in the library, ma’am,” and then in an undertone, “and Mr. King has done his best to trouble him over the matter.”

“No doubt.” But she seemed to relish the coming confrontation. William stepped to her side, prepared to go into battle for his lady. Wyatt just hoped he was worth all the fuss. She took one last appraising glance at him and nodded. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Wyatt’s first impression of the library was of an endless cavern of books. Towers of leather spines reached for the ceiling. He almost didn’t notice the man dwarfed by the shelving around them.

Frederic LeBlanc stood in much the same pose as the monsieur in the painting, but with none of the arrogance. His chin trembled. The arm of the chair creased beneath his fingers. “My goodness, it’s Stephan back from the dead.” He looked like he was fixing to cry.

Only then did a stout man rise from beside the fireplace. Frederic shrank from him, curling in as the man wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “But Frederic,” the man said, “your sister has worked so hard to disinherit you, of course she kept at it until she found a believable impostor.”

Wyatt watched with a strange feeling of distance. They were speaking about him, but he’d had no control over who’d birthed him. He hadn’t worked for whatever goods they claimed belonged to him. If they decided to send him on his way, he was prepared to be content. And yet his first need, the only need he had at the time, was to better understand where he belonged and whose he was.

“He isn’t an impostor.” Corinne’s voice was as smooth as a puppy’s fur. “He’s here to help Frederic manage the estate.”

“A backwoodsman from the mountains? He’s going to be the salvation of your fortune? Corinne, you’ve been misinformed. Frederic doesn’t need help. This is just your plot to take everything away from him.”

Frederic couldn’t take his eyes off Wyatt. No matter how this played out legally, Wyatt had the satisfaction of knowing that as far as his aunt and uncle were concerned, he was their blood. The son of their brother. Maybe that was all he’d get, but it was the most important.

“I never wanted to be in control,” Frederic said. His chin quivered. His age-speckled cheeks bloomed. “Armand was the oldest, and Stephan should have taken the reins after him, but they both died. Ever since then my life has been a nightmare. A nightmare of knowing that I should be doing something, but not being strong enough or smart enough.” His thin lashes flickered up. “I’m sorry, Corinne. I let you down. You deserved better than what I’ve provided, so I think it’d be best to acknowledge this man as my brother’s heir.”

Wyatt wanted to hug the fellow but could tell any sudden movement would scare the living daylights out of him. Besides, Monty King beat him to it.

“Let’s not be hasty, Frederic.” Once again he had him under his arm. “There are safer, legal ways to settle this question. Let’s allow Mr. Ballentine to have his say. Take this case before a judge and see what should be done legally.”

“What will a judge do?” Corinne asked. “He’s going to look at the same evidence we have before us and make the same call. Why put Wyatt through the ordeal?”

“A hearing is called for.” Monty twisted a ring on his chubby pinkie. “If he’s legitimate, he has nothing to fear, but it’s in the best interest of the family to test his claims.”

Wyatt made his way to the sideboard as they deliberated. The pitcher sparkled like a bubbling spring as he poured himself a glass and munched on a fancy cookie of sorts from a nearby silver tray.

Monty stood on one side of Frederic and Corinne on the other—an angel and demon battling for his soul. Wyatt drained his glass and pushed it on the table. Surprising, really, that behind all the fancy manners and expensive clothes, these were just people. Somehow in his imagination he’d built his family up to be something grander, people who were by nature heroic, wise, and intuitive. Instead, he was faced with a derelict uncle, no better than Isaac really, and with a bully lawyer who’d taken advantage of them for so long he felt it was his right. Wyatt had faced bullies before, but maybe there were laws in Boston against cracking a skull and sending him on his way. He’d have to do his best without using his fists.

“If that’s your decision,” Monty said, “I have to agree it’s the wisest course.”

“And he should stay here with us,” Frederic was saying. “Have the court case, but there’s no reason he can’t live here until it’s official.”

“I’ll get it on a docket immediately.” King gathered some papers off of Frederic’s desk. “And I know just the judge who can help us.”

Wyatt had seen less vile grins on rabid dogs, but he didn’t look away. If this was his new home, he’d have to deal with that man sooner or later. Wyatt wasn’t Frederic.

As Monty passed out the door. Wyatt took another cookie. Judging from Aunt Corinne’s wrinkled brow, she wasn’t too pleased about a hearing. Uncle Frederic and Aunt Corinne? It was beyond believing.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Corinne went to the wall and pulled a thick ribbon that hung from above. Wyatt leaned backward, visually following the silken rope up to the soaring ceiling and half expected something to fall down from above.

“I am hungry, no fooling.”

“Well, Monty will get this straightened out soon enough.” Frederic rubbed a gouty knee. “I can’t tell you how truly sorry I am that we didn’t know about you sooner. You must believe it wasn’t me who answered those inquiries from the Ballentines.”

“The Ballentines did a fine job with my raising. I was where God wanted me to be.”

A solid maid waltzed in carrying a silver tray covered in thin strips of rolled up meat, fruits, and tiny squares of cheese. Wyatt dearly hoped this wasn’t what they called supper. He moved a decent-sized pile into his hand before he realized that Corinne was holding a plate out to him. With a wrinkle of his nose he dumped his hoard onto the plate. Corinne smiled.

Frederic took the plate Corinne offered him. “What would I do without my little sister?”

“Now you have a nephew to take care of you, too. Although, Wyatt, I don’t want you to feel rushed. Take your time getting settled, and after that we’ll see what information we need to prepare for the hearing. And in case you’re concerned, as far as I can tell, our accounts aren’t completely empty, and we still have all our assets. We might even have enough to buy back some of the heirlooms that were auctioned.” She winked.

“Now that you mention it . . .” he stacked the cheese squares onto each other, because his hands wanted to be busy. “I would like to smooth things over with the Wimplegates. I feel bad for all the trouble this brought on them.”

Corinne scratched at the back of her hand. “I regret involving them like I did. Nothing would please me more than a chance to offer my heartfelt apologies to Mr. Wimplegate and his granddaughter. I understand she traveled with him to Missouri in search of the portrait?”

“Yes, she did.” So much more he could say, but he didn’t.

“Poor child. From what I’ve heard she’s very timid. Such a trip must have been a trial on her.”

From her shocked outrage when he pummeled Isaac at the train station to her deep sorrow when he accused her of stealing the portrait from him, he’d been nothing but a hardship, but he wanted to make it up to her.

In fact, he wanted much more than that.