She smiled. “Yes, I saw the throngs at the Maxwells’ gate and the glow from their cottage.”
“It almost looked as though someone had set a torch to the place,” Da said.
“It must have, if you could see it all the way from Touro Square,” Jack said drily. He’d wondered where Da was when he’d left for the ball last night. And he was glad he hadn’t looked for him when he’d arrived home just past one in the morning. Some things a son did not need to know.
“Please sit,” Flora said, gesturing at a wicker settee that was placed at a right angle from where she and Da sat.
“Thank you,” Jack said. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”
“You know if it’s within my power … such as it is … it’s yours,” Flora replied.
“You mentioned not too long ago that you have a home in London. I was wondering if you’d let me stay there?”
“Of course. Are you planning a vacation?”
“I wouldn’t quite call it that. I promised Edward Maxwell I’d accompany his mother and sisters to London.”
“When are you going?”
“Saturday morning,” he replied. “I’ve been told that the Maxwells’ yacht makes the crossing in seven or so days, so a week from Saturday, I should be in London.”
“I knew this had to be about that Maxwell girl,” Da said. “Are you not through collecting her yet? I’d think you’d have her all wrapped up by now.”
Flora gave Da a curious look but ignored his question. Jack did, too.
“Why is Edward not going?” Flora asked.
“Bremerton broke Edward’s leg in a polo match today,” Jack said. “It was intentional, even if he got the wrong target.”
“Were you the target?” Da asked.
“Yes,” Jack said. “Bremerton is going back to England. He has managed to fool Agnes Maxwell well enough about his nature that she’s packing up Caroline, Helen, and Amelia so that she can continue to push a marriage between Caroline and Bremerton.”
“This is not good,” Flora said, frowning.
Jack nodded. “It isn’t. I’m genuinely worried for Caroline at this point.” He didn’t add that he was falling in love with her. Flora had already guessed that, and Da didn’t need to know.
“You know,” Flora said, “I believe I have had enough of Newport. It’s time for another sea change. I’m going to book passage to England.”
Jack appreciated her concern for Caroline, which he knew was behind this announcement. However, it presented a problem for him. “If you can then recommend a place for me to stay—”
“Don’t start with that,” Flora said, cutting him off. “London is not Newport. Clem and I spent half our time there. I have my friends, and they know who I am and what they may expect. Believe it or not, they like my unconventionality.”
“Oh, I’m believing it,” Da said.
“I was speaking to your son,” Flora said firmly.
“But I’m wondering whether these friends so like your unconventionality that they will embrace you even with two Culhanes under your roof?” Da asked.
“Are you saying you want to go to London?” Jack asked before Flora could answer. Because of some happenings in his village when he’d been a child, Da had no fondness for all things English.
“I am,” Da said.
“But you hate the English.”
“Not all of them,” his father replied with a wave of his hand. “Though it is sounding like I wouldn’t mind seeing this Bremerton put in his place.”
Jack couldn’t argue with the sentiment, but he did have other questions. “How will you work from there? You’ve already set business aside for more days in Newport than I thought you were capable of.”
“Oh, I’m capable of slowing down … with the right person,” Da replied, looking over to Flora, who was doing her best to look stern. Her acting talents were slipping, though. Jack could see she was losing her heart to Da all over again.
“And I’ll work better than you on your best day,” Da said to Jack. “London isn’t my favorite place, but it’s not bogside, either. If I’ve managed to keep a fortune afloat from a village the size of a flea’s arse in Donegal … and I did for a month when my mam, God rest her, was on her last days. I’ll be set fine.”
“Patrick, I don’t recall saying whether you may stay at my home,” Flora said calmly.
“May I?” Da asked.
“No.”
Da looked completely shocked. “No?”
“You have made your intentions clear, Patrick Culhane,” Flora said. “You have told me that you’re courting me the way I should have been courted by you all those years ago. Suitors do not sleep under my roof.”
It was killing Jack, but he bit his tongue.
“Fine, then,” Da said. “I’ll get myself a suite of rooms at a hotel, but you can’t keep me from London.”
“I’d suggest the Savoy, on the Strand,” Flora said primly.
Jack couldn’t hide his grin.
Da glared at Jack. “Smile all you want, boyo. Because you’ll be staying there with me.”
SEVENTEEN
As far as Caroline was concerned, brothers were miraculous beings. Saturday morning had dawned better than she would have thought possible, all thanks to Eddie. Who but Eddie could have persuaded Mama to bring Jack on the Conqueror? And who but Eddie could have presented Caroline with a shiny new six-shooter and bullets to replace her beloved Colt that Mama had confiscated on Thursday?
If Caroline had to go to England, at least she was going with a man and a gun. Matters could be worse. So of all the females now gathered in Rosemeade’s Imperial Salon, only Mrs. Longhorne was in tears. And she was nearly inconsolable.
“I am leaving a great deal of wedding planning in your hands, Mildred,” Mama said to her friend. “I ask that you follow my list to the letter. There should be no deviations, no matter how small they might seem to you. I have a vision of how this ceremony should be.”
If Caroline had believed for an instant that there would be a ceremony, she would have been offended by her mother’s overstepping. But as it was, planning would keep Mama occupied while Caroline sniffed out Bremerton’s secrets. He could not hide in his own land. People there knew him, and from what Peek had said, they didn’t necessarily like him, either.
“I won’t deviate a bit, Agnes,” Mrs. Longhorne said as she dabbed her eyes with a violet-embroidered handkerchief. “And I am honored that you’re entrusting me with this.”
“I wish I could be here and we could work side by side. We are a most formidable team,” Mama replied, looking a little watery herself. “Even with the church arranged for, there’s so much to be done, but I can hardly send Caroline on her own.”
“Of course not,” Mildred agreed.
“Promise me that you’ll find the very best craftsman for the cherubs to be placed in the festoons on the end of each church pew.”
“Or course,” Mildred said.
According to Mama, Caroline was to have a February wedding at St. Thomas’s. Thus, the cherubs.
“Each figure must be detailed, lovely, and covered with enough gold leaf that it could be taken for solid gold. And I want the faces to look real,” Caroline’s mother added. “None of those blank-eyed pudding faces.”
“You could use Caroline’s and Bremerton’s likenesses from when they were children,” Helen suggested in a peppery tone.
Mama didn’t seem to pick up on Helen’s attitude, though. “That’s a very original idea. Well done! But I think we’re going to have difficulty getting a childhood portrait of Bremerton here on such short notice.”
Thank heaven for that, Caroline thought. If it were to be in the least accurate, any childhood portrait of Bremerton would have him pulling the wings off butterflies.
“Mama, Lord Bremerton hasn’t even proposed yet,” Amelia said. “What if he finds someone he loves more?”
“He will be proposing to Caroline, or he would not have invited us to Lo
ndon, Amelia. And who do you think would be more appealing than Caroline?”
“No one, Mama,” Amelia dutifully replied.
Mama might have missed it, but Caroline had caught the wistful look in Amelia’s eyes. Were Caroline an innocent sixteen and had not seen Bremerton’s true colors, she might have felt the same way. But she was older, wiser, and battle-hardened. She resolved to tell Amelia about the dangers lurking out there for an heiress. While Helen was aware, Amelia remained blind, and Mama would never arm her properly.
“Mildred, please start contacting florists today,” Caroline’s mother said. “We’re going to need tall, potted cherry trees just beginning to blossom. Since it will be February, they will have to be forced.”
That, at least, was a neat fit, Caroline thought. Both the bride and flowers would be forced.
“Yes, yes,” Mildred said, nodding. “I know exactly whom to contact.”
Berta entered the room. She was dressed in her gray traveling dress, complete with heavy cloak. Caroline, who had opted for her lightest travel dress in gabardine, wanted to perspire just looking at Berta.
“Ma’am, the carriages are ready,” she said to Mama.
“Is the staff at the harbor?”
“They are all aboard ship, ma’am.”
Mama nodded briskly. “Very well. Please gather up Pomeroy and place him in his travel basket, Berta.”
Mrs. Longhorne sniffled again.
“And Mildred, the lilies must be pure white,” Mama said. “No cream at all.” She smoothed her kid gloves and briefly touched the brim of her hat, as though to confirm that its tilt was perfect. “If you have any issues whatsoever, send me a telegram.”
“I will,” Mrs. Longhorne said.
Mama turned her attention to the girls. “Let’s be on our way. Caroline’s future awaits her on bended knee!”
And with luck, Caroline thought, Bremerton would never rise again.
* * *
“ONE MAN owns this?” O’Toole asked Jack as they stood at the Conqueror’s polished teak rail awaiting the Maxwells.
“Yes,” Jack said.
O’Toole snorted. “What does he do with it all? It’s a waste. Most of my village would fit in the servants’ quarters. Did you know there are over fifty workin’ for the Maxwells on this ship alone? And I’m not countin’ the maids and whatnot who paraded on after us.”
Jack had thought he was numb to great wealth, but he was wrong. He had never before been aboard the Conqueror. At almost three hundred feet long, the black, steel-hulled beauty was indeed a floating village. But she was also fast, built especially to beat a Vanderbilt yacht. And Jack, who generally wasn’t interested in that kind of fiscally insane competition, appreciated the results of Bernard Maxwell’s obsession. He planned to tour the engine room as soon as possible. Whatever Maxwell had going on with those twin steam engines would translate well to an efficient brewery. The more heat Jack could throw, the more beer he could make.
The rest of the ship kept pace with its engines, too. Earlier, Jack had been shown to Eddie’s private stateroom, which even Eddie hadn’t seen since the ship had been refitted. If he had, he would have been damn tempted to fight down the seasickness and cope with the bad leg. The room was a small-scale gentleman’s club, finished in dark woods and hunting tapestries. It even boasted a built-in humidor packed with cigars and a bar cabinet offering a selection of whiskeys Eddie would kill for.
And then there was the bed. If anything on this ship was—as O’Toole had said—a waste, it was a bed that big for just one. As tempted as Jack had been to imagine Caroline sharing the massive four-poster, he refused to let his mind travel in that direction. For the next seven days, he would be Saint Jack. Brotherly Jack. A Jack above reproach. He didn’t need to give Agnes Maxwell a valid reason to cut Caroline off from him. Agnes tended to do a good enough job with no reason at all, and Jack needed to stick close to Caroline.
“Damned if there’s not more of them comin’,” O’Toole said from his spot on the rail next to Jack. “Would you look at that?”
The Maxwell women had just exited one carriage, and the servants, another. Jack quickly spotted Caroline in a light blue dress with a small matching hat perched on her head. The breeze made the puffy arms of her dress ripple as she scanned the ship with one hand cupped over her eyes to shade them from the sun. Though he was amidships and at least one hundred feet away, he raised a hand in subtle greeting. Her wave was less restrained and resulted in her mother quickly shooing her up the gangway.
“So your attention has turned from the Goelet governess?” asked a dry English voice from behind Jack.
He knew it was Peek, so he didn’t turn. O’Toole did, and yelped. This must have been the boy’s first sighting of the governess.
“My attention is on the dockside, Miss Peek, and not on anyone in particular,” Jack said.
“There is no point in lying, Mr. Culhane. I am not a naïve miss,” Peek said as she came to stand next to him. “And I am fierce in defending my charge.”
“I am sure you are.”
“Which is why I find myself in the unusual diplomatic position of coming to you, from whom I am duty bound to protect Miss Maxwell, and seeking your help.”
“What sort of help?”
She looked O’Toole up and down. “I would prefer not to speak in front of your servant.”
“Then we won’t be speaking at all,” Jack said with a shrug.
“Very well,” she replied. “If you feel this youth is that inconsequential, I shall speak.”
O’Toole stiffened, and Jack briefly settled his hand on O’Toole’s tweed-covered shoulder. Like most young men, O’Toole hadn’t yet learned how to choose his battles.
“I told Mrs. Maxwell yesterday that I had recently made inquiries about Lord Bremerton with an acquaintance of mine,” the governess said. “And while she was not interested in the results, I am quite sure you will be.”
“Bremerton is no friend of mine,” Jack said.
“I fear he is no friend of Miss Maxwell’s, either.”
For the first time, Jack could hear actual concern in the governess’s voice. She was more than a woman fixed on keeping an unblemished work record intact.
“What did you learn, Miss Peek?”
“My friend, a fellow governess, says that Lord Bremerton’s estate in West Sussex is declining at a startling rate. Her employer recently hired the former Bremerton housekeeper. Lord Bremerton could not keep up on wages, and the house was daily growing barer of art and silver.”
“Which is why he’s so fixed on Miss Maxwell,” Jack said. “More men than His Lordship view marriage as a means to pay their way out of debt.”
“It seems neither you, nor Mrs. Maxwell, can understand. These are belongings that would have been in the family for generations, and not for Lord Bremerton to do with as he pleases. Bremerton’s grandfather is a man of great wealth and pride. His Grace must be unaware that this is happening, and it would behoove him to know.”
“I don’t travel in the same circles as dukes, Miss Peek.”
“But you travel closer than I. And you seem to have a great interest in Miss Maxwell. I hope that you will use this information. I fear her mother will not.”
“Thank you for sharing it,” Jack said. If nothing else, he would see what Flora might be able to find out through her friends.
“That does not mean I won’t be watching your behavior with Miss Maxwell,” the governess crisply added. She walked away toward the Conqueror.
Jack smiled. “I would expect no less.”
O’Toole gave a low whistle. “I don’t know how you rich find the time to make money, with all the time you spend sticking your noses in each other’s business.”
Jack laughed. “You don’t know the half of it.”
* * *
THE WEATHER was perfect, the ship a marvel, and by Wednesday dinnertime, Caroline was losing her mind. Not only had her mother not taken to her quarters as Caroline h
ad eagerly anticipated, but she was at the head of the table.
“There must be more plum tartlets,” Mama said to the waiter, a tall and stoic Scandinavian. “Go back and check.”
The waiter inclined his head and retreated. Mama, who had eaten three already, frowned impatiently at the man’s back. “One would think he was in a funeral procession, the pace he’s walking.”
“You seem in good spirits this trip, Mama,” Caroline said, hoping to spare the waiter more criticism.
“I believe the sea air is agreeing with me,” her mother replied. “Peek suggested that I should spend time keeping my eyes on the horizon and putting fresh air in my lungs. It’s working wonderfully! And Pomeroy seems invigorated, too.”
Caroline glanced at the little mop who sat on a tapestry pillow by the dining room’s arched entry, and tried to discern whether the dog was invigorated or not.
“Did you know your father even designated an area for Pomeroy’s constitutionals?” Mama asked. “He has his own strip of sod from Rosemeade to use while we are at sea.”
“I’m not certain that’s proper dinner conversation, Mama,” Amelia said.
“Ah, but we are in a land of no laws,” Mama replied.
“Not to mention no land,” Helen muttered just under her breath. Caroline, who sat next to her, caught it. Jack must have heard from his seat opposite her, too, because he ducked his head to hide a smile.
“In this rugged environment, I have decided I’m free to speak as I wish,” Mama decreed.
Rugged? Caroline was the only one missing a comfort while aboard ship, and that was Jack. Meals were the only time she saw him. There were other opportunities, but he’d actively avoided them.
Mama cast a gimlet eye on Jack. “Did your father win a house in London on a hand of cards, too?”
Caroline wanted to sink beneath the linen-covered table, but Jack just laughed. “No, he did not, Mrs. Maxwell.”
“Then where are you staying?”
“At the Savoy,” he replied.
Mama sniffed. “Really? How unexpected.”
Jack started to say something but stopped. Caroline gave him credit for his self-restraint. Hers had reached its limit.