A Talent for Trouble (16 page)

“I didn't think about that,” Felicia said, swiveling her head to try and gauge exactly how tight the fabric was stretched across her bottom. She shook out the coat, eyed it for a moment, and then tossed it on. “I don't believe I've ever seen a gentleman wear this particular color.”

“At least you won't attract any attention from the ladies,” Grace said with a laugh. She eyed Felicia for a moment, and then her face turned pink. “I saw your brother the other day on his horse, your brother Daniel.”

Felicia felt her lips begin to curl, but she quickly stifled the urge to grin when she realized immediately why Grace had been lurking for such a long time outside the door. She'd probably been contemplating exactly how to bring Daniel—oh so casually—into the conversation, because it was obvious that, although Grace couldn't be more than eleven or twelve, she'd developed a wee bit of an infatuation for Felicia's younger brother.

Remembering all too well her first infatuation, with a boy by the name of Rupert, no less, Felicia paused to consider how she should reply.

While she'd been in the midst of her infatuation with Rupert, she'd trailed him around rather obviously, and that trailing had been noticed by Rupert's older sister—either that or he'd complained to her about Felicia's unwanted attention. His sister had been less than careful with her choice of words, ruthlessly telling Felicia that Rupert was far too old for her and only liked ladies who were possessed of grace and charm. She'd then warned that if Felicia didn't leave her brother alone, she'd be sorry indeed.

The embarrassment of that encounter lingered still, which was why Felicia needed to be very careful with Grace's tender young feelings.

She caught Grace's gaze and found the girl staring back at her rather intently. She summoned up a smile. “Daniel's just recently returned from Harvard, but I do believe he intends to head up to our summer home in Newport soon. After that, he's planning on traveling to Pittsburgh with our father in order to learn a bit about the family steel business.”

Grace's slim shoulders sagged. “We don't have a summer home in Newport. Our house is on the Hudson.” She brightened and looked to her mother. “We should buy a house in Newport. Why, I bet it would be a wonderful investment, and you know how Father dearly loves investing.”

To give Cora credit, she barely batted an eye. “That's a wonderful idea, Grace, and I'll bring it up to your father at my earliest convenience.”

Grace frowned. “How early is your earliest?”

“The next few years or so, but certainly before you turn eighteen.”

Felicia swallowed a laugh, knowing full well that if Grace still had the same feelings for Daniel when she turned eighteen, Cora, being one of the most diligent matchmaking mothers in society, would not only speak to her husband, she'd make certain a house was bought in Newport as well. She'd probably go about trying to purchase the home right next to Felicia's family, even if that meant disposing of the family who currently owned the place.

“But, that's forever away,” Grace said slowly.

Agatha nodded. “Indeed it is, but for now, how about if you help Felicia get that mustache back on properly?”

As a distracting factor, including Grace in their preparations worked wonders. Her shoulders straightened, her lips curved into a smile, and a moment later, she was holding a jar of glue as she considered Felicia's mustache. “How much do you think I should use?”

“I have no idea, but try to put on enough so I don't lose my mustache in the middle of our investigation,” Felicia said. “That would be a sight, wouldn't it, if I were to lose my mustache in the midst of speaking with someone?”

Grace leaned closer, dabbed some glue on Felicia's upper lip and lowered her voice. “I know where the two of you are going.”

Felicia turned to find Cora was engaged in adjusting Agatha's costume, but even so, she spoke softly. “How do you know that?”

“Agatha talks to herself when she's plotting, and I just happened to be standing right outside her door.”

Felicia knew without a doubt she'd just discovered a kindred spirit. She leaned closer to Grace and lowered her voice even further. “While I can hardly lecture you for eavesdropping, seeing as how I used to do quite a bit of that myself in my younger years, it might be best if you didn't disclose that information to your mother. It'll only make her worry. Although . . . if your sister and I don't happen to return in the next day or so, feel free to tell everyone our destination.”

Grace grinned. “You know, I heard Agatha say you're rather odd, but I don't find that to be the case at all.” She pressed Felicia's mustache firmly into place and held it for a second. “I think it'll stay, but I'm afraid it might sting when you try to remove it. Hopefully it won't leave too much of a mark, although, with your fair complexion, you might be rather red for a while.”

She really should have considered that before she'd encouraged Grace to plaster her mustache back on her face. Although her dress for the Beckett ball was red, she really didn't care to have a matching face. It would hardly allow her to impress . . .

She pushed that disturbing thought right out of her mind. Honestly, she had a dangerous assignment ahead of her, and the last thing she needed was Grayson and how he'd react to seeing her at the ball stomping around her mind.

“Are you all right?” Grace asked. “You've turned pink.”

It was time to redirect the conversation. “Don't you have a younger sister? Where is she?”

Grace looked as if she wanted to continue discussing Felicia's pink face, but then she shrugged. “Lily's over at Mr. Hamilton Beckett's house. Eliza used to be our governess, before everyone
learned she was an aristocrat and before she met up with Hamilton. Now that she's turned all respectable, Mother allows us to visit her.”

Cora let out a sniff. “I never forbade you access to Eliza.”

“You threw her out of our house,” Agatha reminded her.

“Your father threw her out of the house,” Cora corrected, “and you know full well it was a simple misunderstanding. I adore Eliza.”

“You made her wear Aunt Mildred's hideous gown and attend one of your dinner parties,” Grace added.

“And since that turned out incredibly well for her, seeing as that is where she met Hamilton, I don't understand why everyone still brings that up.”

Agatha smiled. “We bring it up because it's amusing to watch your reaction.” She turned to Felicia. “Grace and Lily have taken to helping Eliza entertain the children, especially since Ming's been spending a lot of time over there.”

Grace nodded. “Ming has been driving everyone batty lately. Eliza keeps telling everyone it's just a stage.”

“Why didn't you stay with Eliza and help if Ming's being so difficult?” Cora asked.

The shifty expression returned, causing Felicia to swallow a laugh.

Grace rolled her eyes. “Lily's much better at it than I am. Besides, I'm twelve. Lily's only ten, and she has nothing better to do with her time. I came home because . . . I need to find something to wear tomorrow night.” The last part of the sentence came out very fast and somewhat mumbled.

Cora drew herself up. “And where, pray tell, do you think you'll be tomorrow night?”

“Eliza told me I could help their nanny watch the children during the ball.”

Cora frowned. “You need to worry about what you're going to wear to Eliza's house?”

“I won't actually be at Eliza's house, Mother. Piper didn't want to miss out on the festivities, and since Zayne Beckett is her uncle and the ball's being held in his honor, Eliza felt it was acceptable to indulge her just this once.”

“Hmm,” Cora began. “Well, I'll allow you to go, but I better not find you shirking your duties and slipping into the ball.”

“Piper's tricky, and you know she won't be content to peer over the banister. I might have to go after her, which means I'll have to be dressed appropriately.”

“As long as it's not at your suggestion she makes a dash for it,” Cora said dryly.

Grace opened her mouth, obviously to proclaim innocence in regard to that idea, but whatever she was about to say was interrupted when a housemaid stuck her head into the room.

To Felicia's surprise, the maid's eyes widened only a bit as she looked at Agatha, even though her lips were quivering ever so slightly, as if she were trying not to laugh.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Watson, but Mr. Zayne Beckett has arrived.”

Grace stepped forward. “How does he look?”

The maid frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What's his disguise?”

“Oh, he's not wearing a disguise. He looks perfectly normal in a jacket, trousers, and appropriate hat.”

Cora headed for the door. “I should go speak with him while you two finish up.”

Agatha rushed to the door and blocked Cora's way. “I don't think there's any need for you to speak to him.”

“He'll find it rude if he's made to wait without anyone keeping him company.”

Agatha nodded to the maid. “Rosie, you should go keep Mr. Beckett company.”

Rosie looked downright alarmed at that idea. “I don't think . . .”

“Ignore Agatha, Rosie. You may go back to whatever you were doing before you came up here,” Cora said, which had Rosie spinning on her heel and disappearing a second later. “Honestly, Agatha, sometimes you make the most outlandish demands, asking poor Rosie to entertain Mr. Beckett, one of the most socially prominent gentlemen in New York.”

“I'd rather she speak with him than you. You know you'll end up badgering him about going out west to join Miss Collins.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” Cora said before she sailed out of the room without another word.

Agatha's brow wrinkled. “We'd better hurry. I can't allow Mother to spend too much time alone with Zayne. The good Lord alone knows what she'll say, and I can guarantee you, whatever she says will be certain to cause me no small amount of embarrassment.” She hurried over to a chair and plucked up an opera gown that greatly resembled the one Arabella had previously lent Felicia.

“What are you going to do with that?” Felicia asked.

“It's Zayne's costume.”

Felicia exchanged a glance with Grace, who was grinning. She turned back to Agatha. “Is there really a need to have Zayne dress up as a lady, or dress up at all, for that matter?”

“Of course there is. I've thought it out thoroughly, and since he's a rather large gentleman, and we're rather small ladies who are trying to pass ourselves off as men, well, it will only bring more attention to us if we're in the company of a normally dressed man. If he goes as a lady, his height alone will garner attention, and then no one will even notice us, and we'll be able to proceed with our investigation with relatively little fuss.”

Felicia rolled her eyes. “That was a pretty speech indeed, but are you sure you're not trying to force Zayne to wear a gown as a subtle attempt at revenge over his leaving New York to join Miss Collins?”

Agatha's eyes hardened for just a second, but then she waved a hand in the air. “That idea never entered my mind.” She grabbed a hat from a table, plopped it on top of the dress, and marched out of the room.

“I wonder how Zayne will react when he gets a gander at that gown,” Grace said as she took Felicia's arm and they began to follow after Agatha.

They didn't have long to wonder.

A
haze of smoke burned Grayson's eyes, and a persistent itch plagued his scalp. He pushed a finger under the edge of the wig he was wearing and rubbed it back and forth, his movement stilling when he noticed a patron of Posey's watching him through bleary eyes. Realizing his scratching was causing his red locks to wiggle, he lowered his hand and sent the patron a smile.

He really couldn't say he blamed the man when he blinked and rubbed his eyes. It wasn't every day one saw a lady well over six feet tall slouching against a wall.

Thankfully, the man was soon distracted by the appearance of an opium pipe, which allowed Grayson to direct his attention back to the crowd. It came as no surprise that there was little space unoccupied. Customers lounged on the floor, reclining on questionable-looking pillows, drawing smoke into their mouths from long, thin pipes with balls on the ends of them. The stench from the opium was overpowering, and Grayson felt slightly light-headed due to the fumes that hovered in the air.

He'd never been tempted to try opium, even though he'd been around it daily when he lived in China. There was just something off-putting about it—from the smell, to the smoke, to the idea that it caused men, and quite a few ladies, to descend into a permanent state of oblivion, their only goal in life being that of enjoying their next pipe.

A thread of regret stole through him as his gaze traveled over his surroundings. It had been his job to secure transportation for the opium the Wu family produced, and he'd been very good at his job, securing new trade routes to faraway countries, one of those countries being America.

How many lives had he been responsible for ruining while he'd been in the midst of securing himself a fortune?

Pushing aside that unanswerable question, he shoved away from the wall, knowing he would never complete his mission if he continued observing people instead of mingling with them. He stepped forward, hoping none of the men in Posey's would take his mingling as a sign he would welcome their attentions. Quite frankly, he had no idea how he'd react if someone extended him a proposition.

It wasn't that he thought he made a lovely lady, but opium was known to cause hallucinations in some people, and it would be just his luck if some poor soul decided he was attractive.

He stepped over a gentleman lying on the floor and edged around another who was rocking back and forth, his eyes vacant and an odd humming noise coming out of his mouth. He was forced to a stop when a group of men blocked his way, none of them seeming to realize Grayson wanted to pass, their attention solely fixed on a pipe they were passing around between them.

If he hadn't been dressed like a woman, he would have simply jostled his way through them, but he didn't want to draw more attention to himself than was strictly necessary. He turned on his heel and headed back in the direction he'd just come,
reaching an empty spot against the wall a moment later. He leaned against it and twitched the skirt of his garish red gown back into place, effectively hiding his less-than-feminine boots.

He hadn't intended to dress as a lady, even though he'd known he would have to disguise his appearance somewhat in order to snoop around Posey's in an attempt to ferret out a bit of information to give to Theodore. He'd been thinking more on the lines of obtaining a beard and perhaps a mustache, but then he'd had the brilliant idea to request assistance from the gentlemen he'd met from the Rogue's Theater. He'd sent them a note bright and early that morning inquiring whether or not they'd be interested in helping him, adding in that note that he'd be more than happy to pay them for their time and counsel. To his amazement, instead of sending him a return reply, the two men who'd escorted Felicia back to Theodore's had simply shown up on his doorstep a few hours later, lugging a huge trunk between them, smiles of obvious delight on their faces.

Evidently money was always short when one worked in theater, and they'd been only too happy to relieve him of his funds as they went about disguising him.

Before he'd even had the presence of mind to balk, they'd stuffed him into the red gown—stating too gleefully that it was the only one they had on hand that would fit him—smothered his face in rouge after they'd made him shave it, attached some gooey substance to his eyelashes that he thought made him look as if he had caterpillars hanging over his eyes, and proclaimed him perfect.

A second later, one of the men eyed him closely, declared that Grayson wasn't quite perfect, and made the outlandish suggestion that he would need to shave his chest.

Grayson had balked then, even though he realized that ladies weren't normally possessed of hair on their chest. After conferring with the men, a compromise was struck. They pulled a shawl
out of the trunk and wrapped it securely around his shoulders and chest, and fastened it with a lovely cameo brooch. The only thing that hadn't been in the trunk were shoes that would fit him. So, much to the theater men's dismay, Grayson had been forced to wear his own boots. It had taken him a good five minutes to convince his helpers that no one would see the boots, as they were well hidden beneath the flaring skirt of the gown.

As he twirled a bit to show how well the boots were hidden, Ming had toddled into the room. She'd taken one look at him, let out a wail, and turned and fled from the room, screaming at the top of her lungs for one of her nannies. It seemed his identity had been safely concealed.

No amount of coaxing on his part had convinced the child that he was actually her father, so with a quick apology to the nannies, who were going to have to deal with a distraught child for the rest of the day, Grayson had taken his leave.

An opium pipe was suddenly thrust into his hand, distracting him from his thoughts.

“Go ahead. Smoke it. I don't mind sharing.”

“No. Thank you, but . . .” Grayson paused when he realized the gentleman who'd passed him the pipe was looking back at him, his expression decidedly bemused.

He had to remember to use a higher voice. He cleared his throat and pitched his tone appropriately. “You're too kind, but no.”

He handed the pipe back to the man, took a step forward, and stumbled over the hem of his gown. He regained his balance, hitched the skirt up just a tad, and shouldered his way through the crowd, coming to an abrupt stop when he caught sight of a dark-haired man who looked vaguely familiar. Grayson squinted and tilted his head as he considered the man.

He
had
seen the man before, and if he wasn't mistaken, the man was one of the captains Grayson had dealt with.

Here was a man who would know without a doubt if anyone, or rather any Chinese, were searching for Grayson.

Grayson took off after the man but was forced to stop yet again when the man disappeared through a back doorway right as five Chinese men, obviously guards, stepped through that same doorway, blocked the entrance, and began to scan the crowd.

Ducking his head, he took off in the opposite direction, not stopping until he found a spot along the wall and quickly slouched against it.

Bright light suddenly hit him squarely in the eye. Peering toward the front door, his gaze settled on an odd sight indeed.

Three people were entering the den, two slight gentlemen and one rather large lady, all of whom paused in the entranceway, almost as if they had no idea what to do next.

The front door slammed shut and the room went dim again, casting the new arrivals into shadows before they disappeared into the crowd.

Reminding himself that he was supposed to be obtaining information and not gawking at the odd patrons who kept walking through the door, Grayson put his head down and edged around the room. He finally came to a stop almost where he'd started, but this time in a position hidden behind numerous patrons that enabled him to be near the back doorway without allowing the guards to see him. He inched closer, and satisfaction flowed over him when he caught the sound of what seemed to be a rather heated discussion.

“. . . and there was some unwanted attention by the police,” a voice was saying. “They were all over the dock area, and another ship from China that was right behind mine actually pulled back. I have no idea if they'll try to drop their shipment anytime soon, which means you might want to watch how you're speaking to me. You can't run an opium den if you don't have any opium.”

Grayson strained to hear the muttered reply and then realized that someone was translating the words into Chinese.

It really was unfortunate he'd refused to learn the language. By the loud guffaws now drifting out the door, he had a feeling the demands of the first man—probably the captain he'd noticed earlier—were being scoffed at. Hopefully the man was a bright sort and wouldn't attempt to argue. He'd seen all too often what happened to those who stood in the way of profit.

A large body suddenly lurched into him, sufficiently distracting him from the conversation he'd been straining to hear. Reaching out, he steadied an unusually large woman, frowning when he realized the arm he was clutching seemed to be made of steel. Before he could contemplate that realization, the woman shrugged away from him, squared her shoulders as she patted her hair, and ducked her head, making it impossible for Grayson to see her face.

“I do beg your pardon,” she said in a high, slightly nasal voice. “These dastardly dresses can be a bit of a menace at times.” The woman lifted her head and then . . . her eyes widened. “Grayson? Is that you? And if it is, what are you doing here?” she said in a voice that greatly resembled Zayne Beckett's.

Grayson's mouth dropped open right before a snort of laughter shot out of it. “On my word, Zayne, you make a lovely lady.”

Zayne eyed him for a moment and then grinned. “I wish I could return the compliment. Why do you have that . . . thing wrapped around you?” he asked, gesturing to Grayson's shawl.

Pulling the shawl closer, Grayson returned the grin. “This is to hide the low bodice of this adorable gown. I'm wearing it because I didn't believe showing an overabundance of chest hair would lend me the look I was attempting to achieve, and I didn't particularly care to shave.”

Zayne glanced down at his own bodice. “Why didn't anyone think to lend me a shawl? Agatha made me shave, and I must tell you, it was not a pleasant experience.”

“Agatha's the reason you're here?”

“She's working on a story.”

“Hmm, that explains a lot, but tell me, why are you dressed like a lady?”

Zayne rolled his eyes. “Agatha spouted some nonsense about me not being recognized and not drawing undue attention to her disguise, but quite honestly, I think she just insisted I dress up this way in order to make me look completely ridiculous.”

“And yet you went along with her.”

Zayne frowned. “So I did, which begs the question of why.”

“I don't think that question should be difficult for you to answer, but tell me, where is Agatha?”

“She's right over there,” Zayne said with a nod toward a group of patrons standing a few feet away. “I'm not exactly comfortable leaving her side, but she insisted I would be too distracting and that would result in her being unable to gather any information. She then threatened me with pouring something of a nasty nature down my bodice if I didn't comply. Since my skin is remarkably sensitive due to the shaving business, I thought I'd keep my distance but stay close enough to help if she requires my assistance.” He shook his head. “She and Felicia have turned out to be incredibly annoying ladies today.”

All the breath left Grayson's body in a split second. “Felicia's here as well?”

“She is.”

She was going to be the death of him. Did she not remember the danger she was in, and more importantly, that the danger she was facing was a direct result of him being seen by the Chinese?

She was an intelligent lady, so one would think she would have put two and two together and realized that the last place on earth she should be at the moment was an opium den.

She was the most exasperating woman in the entire world.

“Where did you say they were?”

Zayne gestured with his head. “I told you, right over there, and no, I don't think it would be advisable for you to go storming up to them—something the expression on your face clearly states you're about to do. They will not thank you for disrupting their investigating, so take a couple of breaths and calm down.”

“Investigating? What are they investigating?”

“I'm not certain. Agatha was remarkably stingy with any details.”

Grayson's temper began to simmer. “How could you agree to escort them to an opium den without learning the details regarding why you were coming here in the first place and what was to take place once you got here?”

“I agreed because I knew they would come here on their own if I refused.”

He did make a most excellent point.