Chapter Fourteen

Jess bounded out of the carriage behind Ryland and rushed ahead of him to open the door, desperately trying to maintain appearances. Ryland always did well enough disguising himself, but he sometimes forgot the team aspect. She shot him a glare as she bowed him through his own front door. He just pulled one side of his mouth up in a grin.

A footman appeared to relieve her of her position at the door, and Jess followed Ryland through the house to his study, listening for footsteps to make sure Derek had fallen in line as well. Her mind churned with the possible next steps. There was so little time in which to answer so many questions.

A problem for which she could only blame herself. She didn’t even have time to relish the idea that her brother had survived, not if she wanted to find the one thing he needed to fulfill his destiny.

In the study, she dropped the semblance of servitude and crossed to the chairs situated in front of the dormant fireplace. She didn’t sit, though. Instead she propped one booted foot on the hearth and put a hand on the mantel to lay her head against as she stared unseeing at the cold, charred stones.

A grunt and a bang pulled her from the potential future in time to see Derek almost fall through the study door in his attempts to maneuver the painting through it.

“What are you doing?” she asked with a small grin.

He leaned the painting against a table and kicked the door shut before propping his hands on his hips and attempting to frown through his slightly quickened breathing. “I’m carrying a painting that we technically just stole.”

Her grin widened. “Why didn’t you leave it in the carriage?”

He blinked at her, mouth opening and closing once before settling into a firm scowl.

“Come away from the door,” she said, pushing away from the mantel. “Jeffreys will be bringing tea any minute. He can’t stand to be left out of the planning.”

Derek stepped away from the door and took off his hat and coat, frown fading into confusion as he tried to decide what to do with them without a servant to hand them to or a rack to hang them on.

It was enough to turn her grin into a smile. “You can leave them on that table.”

Derek looked over at her, eyes wide in his round spectacles. “What?”

“Your coat and hat. Put them on the table over there. One of the servants will take them to your room later.” She gestured to the table where he’d leaned the painting. It was empty for just this reason. Ryland had made a habit of always wearing his hat and coat into the study when he returned from somewhere. It made it much less obvious when those articles had been part of a particular subterfuge.

Such as today.

Jess grinned once more at their success.

Derek laid his coat across the table, his hat gently resting atop it. “What do we do now? Wait?”

Ryland set his hat on Derek’s coat and took his own coat over to the desk. “I didn’t just buy an atrociously ugly painting in order to sit around twirling my thumbs.”

“Yet that’s what you’ll be doing,” Jess said, cutting over to the desk and sliding the stack of papers from the coat’s hidden inner pocket before Ryland could decide to hold them hostage. “Your assistance is appreciated but no longer necessary.”

Ryland frowned. “We talked about this already.”

“You talked. I disagreed.”

Ryland grunted and turned back to Derek. “How much is that painting worth, anyway?”

Derek stated an amount that probably wouldn’t have even paid for the coat Ryland had just thrown across his desk. “Mr. Ashley likely thinks you a bit light in the head at the moment.”

“Good,” Ryland said. “That way he won’t suspect me later.”

“I’d love to know who he suspects instead,” Jess murmured, wishing for the first time that she had the network of spies and informants at her fingertips that she once had.

“Hmm, yes, I’ll have Jeffreys send someone to watch the office, find out who Ashley contacts or who else comes visiting.”

As much as Jess wanted to turn him down, to keep him and all his people uninvolved, to walk away today and not look back, she couldn’t. She couldn’t be in two places at once. “I’d love to say no, but you have my permission.”

“Thank you,” Ryland said dryly, “but I didn’t ask for it.”

“You think someone else knows about the paintings?” Derek asked.

Jess sighed and ran a hand through her hair, dislodging the wig of short, brown hair. “Assuming the people doing the painting knew they were creating some sort of map, you have a minimum of eight people involved in the hiding of the bowl. The chances are great that at least one of them passed down some form of story about the importance of the paintings, and it is most likely whichever family decided to make a claim for the throne. So, yes, I expect someone else has been or will be looking for the paintings.”

“I’ve someone watching the Institution as well, so we’ll know if someone takes the same path you did,” Ryland said.

“I will know,” Jess said in as hard a voice as she could muster. “I may have to accept help, but I will be in charge of this, Ryland.”

“How?” he asked, bracing himself on the desk and leaning forward. “You’ve a great deal of travel ahead of you if you’re taking him to see the paintings. Communicating with you will be nearly impossible. It makes sense for me to be the person coordinating everything.”

Jess leaned in as well, rising on her tiptoes in order to reach farther. “And when the problem shows up on your doorstep and endangers your wife and baby girl?”

He shrugged. “I’ll send them to Kent.”

“If something happens to you . . .” She shook her head. “I won’t have that on my head, Ryland.”

“I’m a duke, Jess, living out in the open. I’m eccentric, yes, but I’m seen. Someone would have to be very daring to do anything to me.”

“Some people would risk a lot to gain a country.”

“Excuse me,” Derek said, leaning in and wrapping an arm around Jess’s shoulders to pull her back and physically separate the argument. “May I remind you that despite these great plans you seem to be making, we don’t know who bought the paintings.”

“Yes, we do,” Jess and Ryland said at the same time.

Triumph filled her as she held the sheaf of papers up. In this, at least, she was the capable and knowledgeable one. “Here’s the whole lot.”

A look of marvel flitted across Derek’s face, spiking her sense of triumph into something resembling pride. It was nice to be able to surprise Derek with her accomplishments for once.

And just that quickly, her pride faded to sadness. If ever she needed proof of where she truly belonged in the world, that was it. The only place she shined was in the shadows. Perhaps, when this was all over, she should return to the War Office. Yes, Napoleon had been defeated and whatever had been happening with the former colonies seemed to have simmered down, but surely it was only a matter of time before England got into another skirmish somewhere in the world.

Before she could consider that, though, she had to settle the issue at hand and safely haul a scholar around to look at paintings without anyone noticing.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow. . . . Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.

Jess shook her head. Now they had her thinking in Bible verses. Obviously living with Daphne for three years had influenced her more than she’d thought. Of course, Jess had no idea where to find that verse, what the context was, or even if she was quoting it correctly, so its usefulness at the moment was debatable.

“Do you have a copy of Debrett’s?” Jess asked as she ran a finger down the paper, looking at names and trying to remember anything she knew about any of them. Who were the heirs of the ones that had died? Which ones were heavy gamblers or in other financial trouble and likely to have sold or traded the painting? Who had homes in town or estates in the country?

Ryland turned toward the bookcase, but Derek was still staring down at the paper. “How . . . when . . .”

The door opened, and Jeffreys brought in a tea tray, frowning when he noted they had already circled around the desk. Miranda entered behind him and shut the door with a gentle click.

She stopped short when she saw the newly purchased painting. “What is that hideous thing doing in here?” Her head lifted to look at Jess. “If you brought this as some sort of apology gift, know it’s going in the same place as the tea set you gave us as a wedding present. This is almost as ugly as that teapot.”

Ryland chuckled.

“His Grace saw it in the auctioneer’s office,” Derek explained. “He said it spoke to him.”

“Did it, now?” Miranda murmured. “Was it saying, ‘Burn me, please!’?”

“No,” Ryland said with a chuckle. “It said, ‘I’m on the other side of the room and will provide a nice distraction while Jess borrows a few papers.’”

Derek looked at Jess. “But you never moved. You were in the corner the entire time.”

“Was I?” Jess hummed. “Interesting.” She’d had to be careful not to snag Ryland’s coat on the plant like she’d done when they were leaving, but sliding the papers from the desk had been simple. Mr. Ashley had been more than happy to abandon them in favor of a simpler sale.

Derek took the papers from Jess and flipped through them. “That’s stealing.”

Jess looked up with a blink. “I’m going to give them back. Not right away, of course, but once this is all over and it won’t matter if someone else sees them. I’ll sneak in and slide them between the desk and the wall. He’ll think they fell back there. If he seeks them here in the meantime, Ryland can pretend to be excessively offended by the accusation.”

“This is war, Thornbury,” Ryland said. “The rules are a bit different.”

“We’re not at war,” Derek said, his voice losing the confusion and wonder it had held. “And even if we were, that shouldn’t change the rules of human decency.”

“It does if you don’t want to end up dead,” Jess said, but inside she squirmed a bit. Hadn’t that been her biggest struggle? Having to decide where the line was that she wasn’t willing to cross? Others had thrown every compulsion in the river and done whatever necessary to get the job done. She hadn’t been willing to do that, but she’d had to pick and choose what she kept.

What if she’d chosen incorrectly? What if doing more things the right and polite way would have brought about a better outcome? What if her family—

No. Jess shut out those thoughts with an iron gate. She could not start second-guessing the choices she’d made. They couldn’t be changed. No amount of remorse would alter the past. She could only move forward from where she was now.

Was she going to have to move forward without Derek? She could. Would. If every painting were like the one upstairs, she should be able to translate the diary quickly enough to know what direction she was supposed to look.

That was a rather large if.

Derek was silent for a few moments—long moments, moments in which Jess’s heart pounded harder than she would let anyone see. She forced her breathing to remain steady and slow, even though it made her lungs burn and her throat ache to gasp. As annoying as she found him and his brain full of knowledge that made her feel ridiculously inadequate, she wanted him to stay.

She needed him to stay.

He shook the too-long shock of hair away from his eyes and sighed. “Auctions are usually attended by a small set of serious art collectors.” He held out a hand. “Let me see if I recognize any of the names.”

Jess was very glad that her hip was still braced against the desk as she handed the papers to him. All her relief settled in her knees, making them more than a little bit shaky.

As Derek’s eyes roamed the paper, he said, “We can also try to determine what paintings go with what title. The queen’s descriptions in the diary are detailed. I don’t think every painting is a clue, but I haven’t quite determined how to know which ones matter.”

Ryland, who along with Jeffreys and Miranda had been watching the exchange in silence, cleared his throat. “This is going to require a good bit of travel.”

Jess took a deep breath and nodded. “You said Nicolas had a month?” That wasn’t very long. Not when some of these paintings could be at country estates. “Travel takes a lot of time.”

“And money,” Derek added.

“We’ll let His Grace here help with that, since he’s determined to be involved.” Jess smirked. “I’ve some money, but I wouldn’t say no to more, since we’ll need to hire horses to stay on the move. We’ll borrow your shabbiest unmarked carriage.”

Miranda crossed her arms. “And a chaperon?”

Jess bit her lip to hide her smile as Ryland chuckled. “My dear, chaperons are the last thing someone wants when they’re sneaking about.”

“And that’s the first thing someone will notice when they’re seen.”

Jess’s smile faded. Miranda was right. Hoping she was managing to look casual and unworried, Jess shrugged one shoulder. “We’ll travel as a married couple, then.” A choked noise came from her left, but she ignored it. “It won’t be the first time I’ve pretended to have a husband in order to travel without notice.”

No, it wouldn’t be the first time, but as Jess glanced at Derek from beneath her lashes, she had to admit that it might be the most difficult.

Married? She wanted them to pretend to be married? What exactly did a charade of that nature entail?

Derek looked at Jess, prepared to argue the idea, but quickly diverted his gaze back to the list he’d been studying when she made her pronouncement. She was still in her servant costume, consisting of boots, trousers, shirt, and close-fitting vest. The trousers were the part he couldn’t quite get over. Clothing that had seemed too large when he’d seen her standing beside the duke now looked much too fitted as she leaned over the desk. Whoever had decided the female form should wear layers of draped fabric had the right idea for certain.

He didn’t dare suggest Jess go put on a dress, though, not if he didn’t want her deciding they should travel as brothers instead of a couple.

Not that the couple idea was going to work either.

“We can’t be married,” he said, reading through the titles on the paper over again, even though he couldn’t find enough spare thinking capacity to remember the diary’s details and guess what description matched what name. The paper was the only way he could reasonably keep his eyes away from Jess.

“It’s not real, Derek, just a story to keep anyone we encounter from being too curious about me.”

“What about their curiosity over me?” His frustration allowed him to look up from the paper and keep his gaze on her face. Didn’t she see the problem? “I will see some of these people again. What do I tell them when I am no longer married?”

She shrugged that annoying, indifferent shrug that made him want to shake her until she decided to care. “You would hardly be the first widower in existence.”

He choked. “How, pray tell, are you to have died? Should I have suffered a tragic and immediate loss, or the slow, painful agony of watching you waste away with illness?”

“I don’t much care.”

“Jess,” Miranda said softly, but Jess ignored her.

“Pick your favorite tragic painting and pretend that happened to me.” She turned away from Derek and moved to the shelves. “You must have a lineage book in here somewhere. Where do you keep it, Ryland?”

That was it? Discussion over? “What if they see you again? England is large, granted, but seeing someone you know has been known to happen.”

“I doubt they’ll see me again. If we’re successful, well, I’m not sure what that will mean. More than likely I’ll return to Haven Manor. It’s as good a place to live out my life as anywhere.”

Live out her life? He wasn’t sure how old she was, but he would be surprised if she were anywhere close to seeing thirty yet. Living out her life could take a while.

“I was led to believe earlier that you didn’t particularly care for your position as cook.” Everyone’s reaction to learning what she was doing proved she’d chosen isolation above comfort. She would be able to choose differently after this.

She spun from the bookshelves and flattened her hands on the desk so she could lean toward him. Her hard face should have been glaring at him, but her eyes were flat. Emotionless. “It doesn’t matter. You need to understand that this is dangerous. I will shield you however I can, make sure no harm comes to you because of your assistance, but the fact is I may not have a future beyond this. My brother has, possibly unknowingly, painted a target on my back. Even if we are successful, my future could quite possibly be something completely out of the realm of current contemplation. Planning is an exercise in futility, and I refuse to participate in fruitless endeavors.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to that. Nor did it appear that the room’s other occupants knew what to say. For several moments, no one moved, at least not in a way that made any sound. Derek couldn’t see them, his gaze trapped by Jess’s. It was the calm coldness that convinced him she truly believed what she was saying. She would not look beyond her next objective.

“I’ll chaperone,” Jeffreys said. “You’re going to need a driver anyway, and it might as well be someone who knows how to pick a lock almost as well as you do.”

“We’re going to pick locks?” Derek asked.

Another shrug from Jess. He was going to tie a plank to her shoulders before they were finished with this. “We have to get in the houses somehow.”

“That’s true,” Ryland said, returning to the desk and pulling out a sheet of paper on which he started listing routine household occurrences. “Most houses run on a rather basic schedule. It shouldn’t take much observation to know where and when your best entry point would be.”

“Why don’t we simply knock?” Derek asked.

Jess, the duke, and Jeffreys all looked at him blankly. The clink of cups as Miranda poured tea was the only thing that kept the room from falling into uncomfortable silence once more.

Derek resisted the urge to squirm. “It won’t work in Town, obviously, but in the country, most housekeepers are happy to give a tour in return for a coin or two.”

Ryland chuckled and threw his pen down on the paper. “I think we’ve been doing this too long, Jess.”

“Or we’ve taken too long a break from it,” she returned.

“That only leaves determining which houses to visit,” Jeffreys said. “There’s only so many you can visit in a month, even with continually renting fresh horses.”

“Are you going to be able to match the names to the descriptions?” Jess asked.

Derek shook his head. “Not with this alone. I’ll need another source, something that puts the titles with a description of the painting.”

“Do you know where we could find one?”

He took a deep breath and was thankful Miranda began handing out tea, as it gave him an excuse to sit down. After taking a small sip, he set his cup aside and finally answered. “Yes. I know where such a book is.”

“Excellent. We’ll go there first. Where is it?”

“In my room,” Derek said quietly. “At my parents’ home in Oxfordshire.”