Miss Stranje spoke as if she read my mind. “We must carry on with our plan as if everything is normal. This may be our chance to trap him.” She hurried off to tell Captain Grey what had transpired.
The rest of the day we worked on preparations for that evening’s celebration. Some of us labored on the warship, while others helped Cook prepare for the birthday feast. Jane insisted the cake be done to Mr. Sinclair’s specifications, and she made the frosting herself.
That afternoon, after I’d taken my turn at guarding the corridors outside Daneska’s cell, Miss Stranje sent me to cut some roses for the table. Lord Ravencross insisted it was his duty to assist me in this onerous task.
We strolled out to the roses and he watched the militia running through their drills. He chuckled at one point and shook his head. “They’re a motley bunch. Mac is on the verge of pulling his hair out trying to get them into shape. He’s determined to run them through twice as many practice formations as they did yesterday.”
I studied him as he spoke and wondered if it wouldn’t be better for him to know the truth about his brother. Perhaps he could be persuaded to keep it a secret and go on as if he didn’t know. Except that would be dishonest. Gabriel would never keep the title knowing it still belonged to his brother. If he told the House of Lords the truth, he would be forced to surrender his lands and home, his tenants would be in peril of a new overseer, and Gabriel’s own loyalties might come into question. There could be a trial … and then his life would unravel.
I sighed. Trapped by the truth on both sides.
He carried the basket while I cut blooms from Miss Stranje’s towering rosebushes.
“Smell.” He lifted a perfect white blossom to my nose.
“Lovely,” I said, trying to look pleased.
“You’re being awfully quiet. Are you well?” He stroked the soft petals against my cheek.
I turned away to clip another rose. I’d asked Daneska that same question this morning. As it turned out, the same shadow hung over both of us. “Quite well, my lord. Worried, that’s all. So much lives or dies on today’s venture being a success.”
“You worry too much,” he said flippantly.
“Perhaps in this instance you are worrying too little.”
He laid the rose in the basket. “How can I worry when I’m happier than I’ve ever been?”
I caught my lip, unwilling to snatch that happiness away from him even though his brother could appear at any moment and shatter his joy to pieces.
Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we …
I hated the end of that blasted expression. So I refused to be merry, as if that might stave off death.
A little too viciously, I cut another stem, ending another rose’s life. I consoled myself that even if I hadn’t cut it, the blossom would’ve died soon.
“Tess.” He stilled my hand. “We’re alone. They’ve all gone inside.”
I glanced around. The garden was empty. The militia had marched across to the far side of the field. “And what does that signify?”
He set down the basket of roses. “I’ve had this idea that I can’t seem to escape. It’s the darnedest thing. I keep imagining you kissing me.”
“I? Kiss you? Shouldn’t it be the other way round?”
“Last time that’s how it was. I kissed you.” He came closer, trapping me between him and the rosebush.
I jutted my chin. “Yes, and rather roughly as I recall.”
“Exactly. I made a mess of it.”
I wouldn’t say that. I was quite fond of that kiss.
Heat flooded my cheeks. Unable to meet his gaze, I studied the weave of his linen shirt.
“Now it’s your turn.”
“Oh, but I already kissed you, a few days ago. Don’t tell me you have forgotten?”
“I remember, on the cheek, after that stunning declaration. But I’ve been thinking about lips.”
“You may think about them all you want, my lord,” I said, shaking my head and looking down. Afraid to meet his gaze. “I don’t think it would be wise.”
“Wisdom is for old men.” I felt his breath on my forehead, warm and inviting.
“But this isn’t the time. Nor the place. I’m quite certain Miss Stranje is up there with her telescope at this very minute, and she’ll have it trained directly…”
He tilted my chin up, and when I met his gaze, my excuses faded. Gabriel’s eyes are soul-soothing brown, and his lips make me long for him in ways I should not. The sweet smell of summer roses wrapped us in a honeyed cloak of euphoria.
“It will be all right,” he said, his voice husky with the promise of bliss.
If only that were true.
“But tomorrow, or the next day, or maybe the next, it won’t be all right,” I argued, trying to break free of his spell. “Any day Napoleon may…”
He brushed his palm across my cheek, melting the last of my defenses. “I don’t know what the next day will bring, but so long as I have breath, I’ll not waste another minute without you. Tess, I—”
I didn’t need to hear his professions of love. What good were words? I read the language of his soul and knew what he was about to say better than he did. I leaned up and pressed my lips against his.
Gabriel pulled me to his chest and covered my mouth with his. He kissed me back, gently at first, but then his kiss deepened, filled with the hunger of a lifetime without affection. And that same devastating force that bends mighty trees in a hurricane and sparks lightning in the storm surged through us.
I have never felt so weak as I did in that moment he held my mouth captive.
Nor as powerful.
When he let go, my legs wobbled and I clung to his arm.
“Good Lord,” he said.
At least he could speak. I could only smile.
And I never smile.
* * *
Very late in the afternoon we all gathered down on the shore and prepared to launch the Mary Isabella. It turned out that Jane was needed to navigate after all, because it was decided that Captain Grey should row out ahead of them to place the targets for the bombs that Mr. Sinclair, Maya, and Georgie had designed.
We stood onshore rehearsing who was to go aboard the Mary Isabella and who was to stay ashore. Lord Ravencross stood beside me, drumming with excitement. “This has the air of a momentous occasion. I believe I would like to sail out with them.”
The dream I’d had of him drowning in dark gray water flashed before my eyes. “No!” I gulped down some of my fear and in a calmer voice advised him against it. “My lord, you must believe me, there are very good reasons why you must not go out on the water. Not tonight. In fact, we should both stay ashore. Both of us.”
It must’ve been the desperation behind my plea because he looked askance at me and then relented. “Ah.” He pursed his lips and nodded gravely. “I wondered why you didn’t insist on going with them.” Then he had a sudden thought. “But the others, will they be all right?”
I sighed and shifted uncomfortably, digging the toe of my shoe into the sand. “I don’t know. I told you these dreams are next to useless. I only know for certain that you and I did not fare well in the water at night.”
There was no more time to discuss it. Mr. Sinclair gave the order, and we helped shove the Mary Isabella into the sea. The tide carried her out a short way from shore, and Lord Wyatt lit the furnace. At the first puff of smoke, we all cheered. A few moments later and the piston rod lurched into action, and the paddle wheel began to turn.
“Huzzah!” The shout went up, both aboard ship and onshore.
The wheel turned as if by magic, slapping the water with a soothing rhythm as it carried them farther from the beach. Georgie jumped up and down, clapping. Lord Wyatt tried to nudge her a little farther from the edge of the flat deck while she jumped. Maya waved merrily at us.
Even Miss Stranje looked quite pleased. I couldn’t help but dance a little myself. Gabriel was right: if it weren’t for the terror of that dream, I would’ve very much liked to have been on that ship.
Sera and I hugged each other with delight and waved back to the sailors aboard our very own little warship.
“Come.” Sera tugged my arm. “From up on the cliffs we’ll be able to see when they fire the bombs at the targets.”
The three of us dashed up the trail to the top of the cliffs overlooking the ocean. I pulled our telescope out of my pocket and trained it on the Mary Isabella, watching her chug out to sea.
The evening was fine and fair as the sun lowered to the horizon, kissing a few scattered clouds with brilliant halos. Before the launch, Miss Stranje had instructed the servants to carry a table to the bluffs. Maya had spread a cloth over it, and the rest of us laid out plates of cheese and bread, bowls of early strawberries, and glasses for the wine Lord Ravencross contributed. Everything was perfectly assembled, so that we looked very much like a group of friends gathered for a perfectly innocent seaside picnic.
One of Gabriel’s soldiers helped Captain Grey row out several furlongs, where they placed two buoyant slabs of wood. Then they lit two large Chinese lanterns, which lifted like glowing kites, and tethered them to the floating wood. Lanterns had been Madame Cho’s idea. She helped us construct them and told us how, when she was a child, she and her brothers used to make them out of papers dyed bright colors. Our white silken globes looked beautiful floating just above the waves. They glowed like giant fireflies in the early evening sky and created a perfect target for Miss Stranje to aim Sinclair’s bomb harpoon, as I’d taken to calling the ballista they built to fire their spears with explosive tips.
Through the glass I watched Mr. Sinclair carefully lift from the munitions rack a spear rigged with the bomb he and Georgiana had constructed. They hadn’t been certain how volatile the bombs might be and had thought that for this test voyage, it would be prudent to bring aboard only two of the four bombs they’d constructed. I could tell from here Jane was nervous as she watched him carry it.
He motioned with his head for her to move back. “Farther.” I saw him gesture. He steadied himself on the rocking ship and made each step with all the caution of a father holding a sleeping infant he was terrified of awakening. Not until he cradled the spears in the groove running down the center of the ballista did he step back and take a deep breath.
“He’s loaded the arrow,” I told the Sera and Gabriel.
“Let me see.” Gabriel wanted a turn with the spyglass, and I could tell by the way Sera strained up on her toes to see, so did she. He took a look and then handed the glass to her. “That ship is a marvel.”
Lord Ravencross had dressed with care for the occasion, in a proper coat and everything. The effect on me was rather embarrassing. I could not keep from looking at him. He turned and caught me staring at him. I blushed and looked away, unable push from my thoughts the way he had kissed me. So I busied myself slicing cheddar, and if the ruddy knife would’ve stopped shaking I might’ve done a half-decent job of it.
He strolled over and placed his hand atop mine. “I fear for the cheese.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Something I’m not accustomed to doing. Fortunately, just then a flock of curlews flew overhead. Their odd rippling song always sounded as if they were injured. Lucky for me, it covered the even more awkward bark of my laughter.
“They’re getting ready to shoot the first one,” Sera shouted.
Maya stood on the starboard deck holding aloft a large red swallowtail signal flag, waving it back and forth to let Captain Grey know they were ready. Captain Grey replied by waving a white striped flag, giving them the go-ahead to discharge the explosives.
“Miss Stranje is sighting the ballista.” Sera gave me a turn with the spyglass, and I focused it on our headmistress lining up the giant bow.
Miss Stranje had insisted that she be the one to handle the weapon. “If Captain Grey is anywhere in the vicinity of your targets, I simply will not allow anyone but me to aim that thing. It’s too dangerous.” She’d taken several practice shots from shore using unarmed spears but ruminated on the fact that the weight of the bomb would have considerable effect on the trajectory.
Captain Grey and the soldier were rowing mightily to get as far away from the target as possible. I swung the glass back to the Mary Isabella. Georgie was bouncing up and down on her toes. Lord Wyatt appeared to be leaning over Miss Stranje, giving her additional instructions. She shooed him away. Mr. Sinclair seemed to be concentrating on steering the rudder. And I knew from experience that in the middle of all that chaos, Maya would be humming softly to herself.
With a snap and jolt, the arrow whizzed across the horizon. It raced across the sky faster than any gull, and when it dipped to go underwater, the sound of the explosion made me jump. We didn’t need the telescope to see the burst of flames as the bomb exploded and sent a fountain splashing up in the ocean.
Gabriel whistled and took the telescope dangling from my fingertips. He adjusted it. “She missed the target. It won’t run through the water like we thought it might. That compression switch is too sensitive.”
Gabriel put down the telescope. “Sinclair is reloading,” he apprised us. “I expect now they won’t try for a shot through the water.”
Maya waved the red flag and Captain Grey responded with the all-clear signal. We were so preoccupied with the first explosion and anxious about the next test arrow that we failed to notice the gentleman walking out to join us on the cliffs until he hailed us.
“Good evening!” Mr. Chadwick called.
We all turned. All except Lord Ravencross, who was busy staring through the telescope.
“Good evening.” Sera turned quite red. Or perhaps it was only the sun’s reflection as it changed to rose and gold on the horizon.
“There it is,” Gabriel reported. “She’s fired the second one. It’s headed straight for the Chinese lantern.”
“I say!” Mr. Chadwick took off his hat and shaded his eyes with it, watching our spear’s progress. The trajectory was promising. The arc looked nearly perfect. It hit the lantern and exploded in a burst of fire and sparks.
“Magnificent!” Gabriel lowered the spyglass.
“Fireworks?” asked our justice of the peace’s son, still holding his hat and staring at the smoke fading from the explosion. “And what sort of craft is that they’re firing from?” He pointed at the smoke puffing from our steamship.
Sera, Gabriel, and I looked at each other, uncertain how to respond. It was Sera who turned to him with an unusually broad smile. “Aren’t the fireworks splendid, Mr. Chadwick? You must join us for our celebration.”
“Celebration?” He looked confused and tucked some of his cherubic curls back behind his ear. “Lord Ravencross’s men mentioned you were having some sort of festivities. Is it a royal jubilee of some kind? I hadn’t heard.”
“Oh, no, nothing quite as grand as that.” She told him about Miss Stranje’s cousin from America and how he liked to celebrate his birthday with explosives.
Mr. Chadwick bowed cordially to her. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I’d called on Lord Ravencross on a business matter and his men told me I might find him here.” He turned briefly to Gabriel. “The militia appears to be getting into fighting order, my lord. Your man MacDougal is doing a superb job of it.”
Gabriel muttered his agreement and turned back to watch the last of the explosion burn out.
“You must join us for supper, Mr. Chadwick,” I said, thinking that his company might be good for Sera, and besides it would’ve been boorish not to ask him to dine with us. “We’ll have a grand supper and there will be cake to follow, cake with frosting. Or so I’m told. The more the merrier.” I directed him to the table. “You must be parched after your ride over. A glass of wine, perhaps?”
Sera stood beside the table, fidgeting with the cloth. She attempted to keep our guest distracted from looking at the steamship puffing back to shore. “Do you enjoy fireworks, Mr. Chadwick?”
“I suppose everyone must. How can one not?” Mr. Chadwick kept trying to glance over his shoulder toward the sea. “My father took me to London to see the fireworks display at Vauxhall Gardens. But those produced a different sort of explosion than yours do.”
“These are a special type,” Lord Ravencross assured him.
Mr. Chadwick nodded genially to me. “A pleasure to see you again, Miss Aubreyson. I see you are getting along better with Lord Ravencross.”
I have no idea why, but my cheeks warmed foolishly at his comment. “I … He…”
Mr. Chadwick rocked on his heels. “And have you consented to be his wife?”
“Heavens no.” I gaped at him. “What I mean to say is, there has been a misunderstanding—”
“That’s a tactless question, Mr. Chadwick.” Gabriel pushed himself between me and Mr. Chadwick.
“Begging your pardon, my lord. I had thought that you announced … but she…” He realized the pickle he’d gotten himself into and backed away, turning to look for Sera. There was little chance then of our keeping the warship a secret, for when he turned he had a first-rate view of the steamship puffing merrily toward the shore. “By the stars! It’s a steamship.”
“So it is, Mr. Chadwick, so it is,” said Sera quietly. “We call her the Mary Isabella.”
The setting sun cast a mellow orange glow over everything, while the sky above us darkened to a deep Spanish blue.
“I’m going to go help pull her ashore.” I dashed away from them, taking the path down the cliffs. Gabriel wasn’t far behind.
Our sailors waved at us as they landed on the shore. “Did you see it?” Jane shouted to me. “Wasn’t it glorious?”
“It was,” I shouted back, racing along the beach to meet them.
Mr. Sinclair grabbed Jane by the waist and gleefully spun her around. She swatted at his shoulders. “Put me down this instant, Mr. Sinclair. Do try to be civilized.”
“I can’t help myself, Lady Jane. I’m just so blamed happy I feel as if I might burst.” He set her down, still grinning broadly. “But then, what do you expect? After all, I am a heathen from the Colonies.”
Lord Wyatt jumped onto the beach. Gabriel and I helped him tug the craft as far onshore as possible, and then he tied the docking line around a sturdy boulder.
“Well done, everyone.” Miss Stranje applauded. “Well done.”
Lord Wyatt slapped Sinclair genially on the back. “First rate, Sinclair. Your uncle would be proud.”
I warned them that Mr. Chadwick had surprised us with a visit and that he would be along shortly with Sera. A few moments later the two of them walked up the beach toward us.
Mr. Chadwick’s eyes were enormous, and for once he seemed at a loss for words.
Sera turned to him. “What do you think?”
“It’s a marvel.” He twisted his hat in his hands and smiled hesitantly, as if he wasn’t quite sure what he’d stumbled upon.
“Yes, well, that it is. But now I confess, I’m famished.” Miss Stranje tugged him away from our prototype. “Shall we all adjourn to the house for some supper and cake?” She looped her arm through Mr. Chadwick’s, towing him away from our ship, but he continued trying to peek over his shoulder.
Mr. Sinclair had the same problem. He couldn’t stop fussing over his ship, inspecting the pontoons for damage and smoothing his hand over the connecting rods and the flywheel.
“Come along, Mr. Sinclair,” Jane called to him. “The furnace is out and your beautiful Mary Isabella is snug and secure in the cove.”
He walked up the beach beside Jane, turning around and walking backward every once in a while to gaze at the Mary Isabella. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Indubitably.” Jane caught him before he tripped on a rock.
We had all climbed up to the bluffs. Miss Stranje crooked her finger at Sera. “Miss Wyndham, perhaps you would like to show Mr. Chadwick to the house. He must be positively famished after his long ride over here.”
“It’s not so very long a ride,” Mr. Chadwick assured her. “We’re only a few miles up the coast.”
“I’m well aware of the distance.” Miss Stranje patted his arm as if he was ten years old instead of twenty. “I’ve been to your estate and had tea with your lovely mother on several occasions. An extraordinary woman, your mother. I’m fortunate to count her a friend. That is all the more reason why you must join us for a bite of supper and cake. I wouldn’t dream of sending you home hungry at this hour.”
“I oughtn’t impose. Although I do have some news for Lord Ravencross, about the incident.” He turned in search of his subject. “My lord, the coroner has concluded his investigation. He and my father are convinced the men who made an attempt on your life were indeed hired assassins. I’m not as certain we’ve come upon the complete answer yet. I don’t suppose you have any French relatives who might want to do you in?”
“None.” Gabriel’s answer was flat and didn’t invite speculation.
“It is so very perplexing. I find it particularly puzzling that these same men would also attempt to abduct the young ladies. My father and the coroner have closed the matter, but we are still left with a great many unanswered questions.”
Miss Stranje clicked her tongue in a mild scold. “Come, Mr. Chadwick, we must not speak of such distressing matters tonight.” She handed him off to Sera. “This is a birthday celebration. We shall be happy for Mr. Sinclair’s sake. He is a very long way from home.”
“My apologies. I promise to set the mystery aside for the evening.” Mr. Chadwick bowed. “But if I’m to stay, you must all call me Quinton. Please, I insist upon it.”
He was a nuisance, an obstacle to be sure, and altogether too curious about everything, but I have to admit it was difficult not to like Quinton Chadwick.
“Are you a fifth child, Mr. Chadwick?” Sera asked as he strolled with us back to Stranje House.
“Oh, you mean because my name is Quinton.” He smiled at her. “No, my mother named me after her father. He was the fifth child. I, on the other hand, am an only child.”
“Of course you are.” Sera sighed. “No wonder they doted upon you.”
“They did,” he agreed cheerily. “I am most fortunate.”
“You are. I envy you.” Sera quietly admitted the sad truth. She said it so softly I doubt anyone but me paid any heed.
Mr. Chadwick regaled us the rest of the way with stories of how his intrepid mother taught him to ride and jump hedges as a youngster, and how his father taught him to play chess at six, but when at seven he bested his father, their chess-playing days came to a close.
We entered the dining room and all of us murmured approval at the sight. Greaves instructed the footmen to set an extra place at the table. The spectacle of the dining room was all very grand and elegant. The silver shone in the candlelight, the crystal goblets glistened, and my roses graced the center of the table in a large vase.
I could scarcely look at them. Even the fragrance of those blossoms reminded me of Gabriel’s heated kiss in the garden and caused my cheeks to burn. Gabriel, on the other hand, stared at them quite steadily and with a jovial curl of his lips. It was not like him to be jovial.
Cook had prepared a feast for us. Of course, most of us had assisted in the preparations. That is, when we weren’t busy mixing gunpowder or building bomb casings. The result was a banquet suitable for a duke’s birthday and, we hoped, passable for our American. He praised Miss Stranje and seemed genuinely delighted. We took our seats around the table and were treated to a first course of white soup. After which Greaves and our footman paraded in carrying platters of roast chicken, new potatoes and creamed peas, crab soufflé, mutton roasted with turnips and carrots, and steaming freshly baked rolls slathered in butter.
Best of all, throughout the entire meal, the biggest, most splendid cake I have ever seen sat on the sideboard tantalizing us.
Cake.
I’d heard stories of such cakes served at the Prince Regent’s palace in Brighton and at great homes in London, but I’d never seen one in person. Cook had outdone herself. Not only that, but our cake was coated with a thick, glistening sugar icing.
After tucking away a hearty portion of mutton, several slices of chicken, and a generous helping of crab soufflé, Mr. Sinclair set down his knife and blotted his mouth, looking quite satisfied. “I must say, that cake looks extraordinary.”
How he would have room for it strained the imagination.
“It’s twice as big as any my mother ever baked. I thank you, Miss Stranje. This is a perfect end to a perfect day.”
Lady Jane smiled to herself.
Georgie leaned over and confided to me, “Jane made the icing. Boiled butter and sugar mixed with egg whites. Cook fussed at her, saying it was a sin to cover up such a fine moist spice cake with a crust of sugar. But Jane convinced her with a tale of woe about how our poor Mr. Sinclair is such a long way from home and he would be terribly disappointed without it.”
Poor Mr. Sinclair raised his cup, not in a toast but in a proposal. “What would you say to inviting all the servants in to share a piece of it with us? That’s what we do at home on our birthdays.” He lowered his glass. “Do you suppose your Madame Cho would like to eat cake with us? It might help her warm up to me a mite. I’m afraid we got off to a bad start when I first arrived…”
I didn’t hear a word he said after that.