A Talent for Trouble (25 page)

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Authors: Jen Turano

Tags: #FIC042030, #FIC042040, #FIC027050, #Life change events—Fiction, #Man-woman relationships—Fiction

BOOK: A Talent for Trouble
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That thought had crossed his mind, and quite honestly, he'd decided he would brave another ride with Felicia at the reins if that was what it took to get her to speak with him.

“She's not that bad of a driver,” he muttered.

“She is, and you know it, but hopefully we can come up with something else that will get her talking to you again.”

Agatha looked at Sam and his sisters and then frowned. “Just
don't make a point of bringing up that you've taken three more children into your home. Felicia knows about your generous act, of course, but if you bring it into the conversation, she might think it was done to impress her, and that won't earn you any points.”

“I didn't bring Sam and his sisters into my home to impress Felicia.”

“I know that, but Felicia's in a sensitive frame of mind right now, and you did blunder rather badly when you asked her to marry you, if one can even consider what you did a proposal. You'll need to tread lightly with her.” With that, Agatha began walking toward an area bedecked with flags and ribbons where a large crowd had begun to assemble.

Grayson looked over his shoulder and nodded to the nannies, who began walking behind them. He'd told them he wasn't planning for them to take over the care of all the children today, wanting to try his best to spend as much of his time as possible with them, but he wasn't delusional. He knew perfectly well he had limits, thus the reasoning behind bringing in professionals in case he found himself in over his head.

Zayne fell into step beside him as Sam, holding Harriet's hand, walked a few feet in front of them, chatting happily to his little sister and pointing out things of interest.

“It was a good thing you did for them,” Zayne said softly, nodding his head toward the children.

“I keep getting this unusual urge to keep them myself, but I know they need a proper family, and I can't provide that.”

“You could if you married Felicia.”

“Shh . . . Don't say that out loud. Honestly, Zayne, if Felicia hears even a snippet of something that suggests I'm only interested in her so I'll be able to keep Sam and his sisters, well, she really will never speak to me again.”

“Hurry up,” Agatha called over her shoulder.

“It would be easier to hurry if this basket of yours wasn't quite so heavy,” Zayne called back.

Agatha stopped walking, and she and Beatrice waited for them to catch up. “I wanted to pack an extraordinary lunch this year. That way I'll be certain to get bids.”

“You know I promised you I would bid on it,” Zayne muttered.

“True, you did, but since the proceeds for this basket auction go completely to the church, I thought I should make my lunch as appealing as possible so that it drives up the bids.”

Grayson frowned. “A basket auction? What is that exactly?”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon, Grayson,” Agatha said. “Even with that accent of yours, I sometimes forget you're a foreigner. It's a tradition, mostly in small towns, that on the Fourth of July, ladies prepare a picnic lunch, and then gentlemen bid on the baskets, and the gentleman with the highest bid gets to eat the lunch and spend that lunch with the lady who prepared the basket.”

She smiled. “Felicia organized the first auction a few years ago for those of us who stay in town over the Fourth of July. Some families were finding it more difficult to spend time at their summer homes, and she remembered how fun it had been when she went to the auctions in Newport as a child.”

Grayson felt a thread of irritation run through him. “She stayed in the city because of Reverend Fraser, didn't she?”

“I do believe that was the case, but Felicia started a wonderful tradition here, and I'm so thankful she did.” Agatha sent Zayne a rather smug smile. “I'm interested to learn how much money you'll have to turn over in order to secure the winning bid.”

“You never said I had to secure the winning bid,” Zayne said slowly. “You only said I had to bid so that your basket wouldn't be sitting there forlorn and unnoticed.”

Agatha stuck her nose in the air. “Fine, don't make the
winning bid. I mean, you are leaving in the next day or so, and we'll probably never see each other again, but apparently you're not going to miss my friendship.”

“Fine, I'll win the basket.”

“Lovely,” Agatha said before she turned to Grayson. “I don't know why I didn't think of this before, but all you have to do to get Felicia to speak to you is make the highest bid on her basket.”

Zayne shook his head. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

Grayson ignored him. “Felicia couldn't avoid me through an entire meal.”

“Exactly, which is why I hope you brought a large sum of money with you,” Agatha said with a grin. “I've seen Felicia today, and she's looking absolutely darling in a gorgeous gown of purple that brings out the color of her eyes. I'm afraid she's attracted quite a bit of attention from the gentlemen who arrived early for the festivities. You'll need to be diligent with your bidding in order to win the day.”

“Piper, Ben.” Ming squealed and began to squirm in his arms.

He watched Piper and Ben walking toward them in the company of Eliza and Hamilton and had no choice but to set Ming down, afraid he would otherwise drop her or suffer another one of her bites. “Behave yourself,” he said before he let go of her, and she flew on tiny legs over to Piper and gave her an enthusiastic hug before she did the same with Ben.

Perhaps she would actually behave herself. Maybe his refusal to allow her to spend time with her cousins this past week had finally gotten through to her, which might, hopefully, cause a change in her behavior.

Agatha tugged Beatrice over to Piper and Ben and introduced them to one another, then gestured for Sam and Harriet to join them. Piper looked absolutely delighted to have new friends, and with barely a nod to him, she took Ming by one hand, Harriet by the other, and with Sam, Ben, and Beatrice taking
up positions beside her, she called over her shoulder that they were off to find some treats, and away they went.

Grayson took a step forward. “I should go with them.”

Eliza put a hand on his arm. “They're fine, Gray. Children like to be by themselves sometimes. Besides”—she gestured with her head—“Gloria and Cora have already joined them, and you know those ladies love nothing more than having children to spoil. You really shouldn't ruin their fun, and your nannies are also keeping an eye on them from a distance.”

Grayson turned his head, and sure enough, Ming's nannies were standing a few feet away from where the children were chatting with Gloria and Cora, who'd somehow managed to get cookies into everyone's hands and appeared thrilled they had so many little faces turned their way. He looked to the right and found, much to his relief, some somber-looking gentlemen watching the children, their somberness giving testimony that the guards hired to protect the children were taking their assignment seriously. He turned back to Eliza.

“Any luck finding a family for Sam and his sisters?”

“Not yet. There aren't many families who are willing to open their homes to three children, but we'll find someone.” She smiled. “Are you finding it's a little difficult to care for four children?”

He returned the smile. “Maybe, but I have to say, Sam, Beatrice, and Harriet are wonderful children and haven't caused any problems—whereas Ming . . .”

Whatever he was going to say next slipped out of his mind as a laugh he knew only too well floated to him on the breeze. He took a step forward, and then another, coming to a stop when he caught sight of Felicia and felt his temper kick in.

As Agatha had mentioned, she was dressed in a delightful gown of purple, her hair attractively arranged with some type of barely there hat attached to her crown. He took no issue
with the way she was dressed, but he did take issue with the fact that she was surrounded by gentlemen trying to win her favor. His lips thinned into a straight line when one bold gentleman picked up her gloved hand and pressed a far too intimate kiss against her knuckles.

“Don't do anything rash,” he heard Eliza mutter right as he began moving again.

He pretended he hadn't heard that bit of nonsense, set his sights on Felicia once again, and decided that a rash act was exactly what was needed.

20

F
elicia forced out yet another laugh, the odd thought coming to her that it was slightly pathetic that she wasn't enjoying herself. Here she was, surrounded by delightful and eligible gentlemen, all of whom were vying for her attention, but . . . she wasn't having much, if any, fun.

Not one of the gentlemen gathered around her seemed capable of making her pulse race even the slightest bit, and it was entirely Grayson's fault.

He'd ruined her, probably for life, in the matter of racing pulses. Since he hadn't tried to contact her again after her unfortunate decision to climb out her window, she was fairly certain he'd come to the conclusion she was a crazy lady and was through with her forever. That meant her pulse was destined to simply plod through her veins instead of gallop for the rest of her days.

“. . . and the sanctuary is almost as lovely as the one here in New York,” Reverend Bannes said, causing Felicia to blink out
of her thoughts as she tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

Reverend Bannes was turning out to be a somewhat pleasant gentleman, when he wasn't pushing the idea of marriage on her, or his belief of what a perfect wife should be, or how she could obtain such perfection. He'd toned down his wooing efforts, much to her relief, but she knew he hadn't given up just yet. She had the sinking feeling he was determined to win her picnic lunch.

Felicia shuddered at the thought of having to watch him eat what she'd prepared. She'd only attempted a sandwich with a salad, but unfortunately, the bread had turned slightly soggy, and the salad . . . How could she have known making boiled eggs would prove to be so tricky?

“Miss Murdock, are you paying attention?”

She certainly wasn't going to admit that her attention had not been on whatever it was he was saying. She summoned up a smile. “I'm sure the sanctuary at your church is lovely.”

“I was inquiring as to when you'd like to visit.”

“Ah . . .”

The rest of her response—whatever it would have been, since she really had no idea what to say to that inquiry—was deemed unnecessary when the sea of gentlemen surrounding her parted and an uneasy silence settled over the group.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I need to speak with Felicia.”

Her gaze immediately found Grayson, right as her pulse began to flutter. He was staring at her all too intently, and from what she could tell, there was a distinct hint of surliness in his tone.

He was never more attractive to her than when he was surly.

She shook herself slightly over that ridiculous idea, remembered she was still supposed to be put out with the gentleman—even though she readily admitted, at least to herself, that she'd missed him dreadfully—and lifted her chin. She opened her
mouth to respond but was interrupted by Reverend Bannes, who seemed to have a vast number of words at his disposal.

“Now, see here, Lord Sefton. This is not well done of you. It is common knowledge that Miss Murdock has refused your suit, so hear me well—I won't stand idly by and allow you to badger the lady.”

Grayson arched one aristocratic brow. “Felicia thrives on badgering.”

It was suddenly perfectly clear that it was about to turn into a very interesting day.

“Demure young ladies such as Miss Murdock do not enjoy badgering, let alone thrive on it,” Reverend Bannes returned.

“Miss Murdock, although she's been able to put on a good show of it the past few years, is not demure in the least.”

For some odd reason, Grayson's words, which might have been seen as an insult to most ladies, caused her heart to sing, to sing until he opened his mouth again and a distinct expression of grumpiness stole over his face.

“My patience is waning rapidly, Felicia. So either you can agree to come along peacefully and speak with me, or I will resort to flinging you over my shoulder and carting you away in order to say my piece.”

One corner of her mouth curled up. Grayson, it seemed, was in an unusual mood, but he apparently had forgotten he was standing in the midst of numerous gentlemen, all of whom were now muttering rather fiercely. She felt the other corner of her mouth begin to curl, but it stopped midcurl when all the mutters abruptly ceased, evidently because Grayson was sending the men one of his all too dangerous glares.

She couldn't help but be slightly impressed by his determination—even though it was somewhat annoying to learn that her bevy of admirers, who'd moments ago been only too keen to seek out her company, didn't seem as keen to defend her
from the seemingly insane gentleman who'd wandered into their midst.

Grayson took that moment to crack his knuckles. She couldn't help it—she grinned.

“You've lost your mind, Mr. Sumner. While I would adore nothing more than to speak with you, especially since you've asked in such a pleasant yet demanding manner, I see my mother signaling over there, and I do believe the bidding on the baskets is about to begin.”

To her surprise, he smiled, but it was a somewhat frightening smile, especially when he stopped cracking his knuckles and rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful, let the bidding begin.”

Before Felicia could so much as blink, Grayson strode forward, took her arm, and ignoring the halfhearted protests of the men she'd been speaking with, towed her away from them. He strode through the crowd and brought her to a halt right in front of the makeshift stage that had been created for the day's festivities.

Ruth stood on that stage, her eyes gleaming with excitement. Felicia was suddenly a little wary, knowing her mother had never run the auction before. She had stepped in for Reverend Fraser, who was still away on his wedding trip.

“Happy Fourth of July,” Ruth called. “It's a lovely day for our celebration and a lovely day to bring in much-needed funds for the church.” She narrowed her eyes as she scanned the crowd. “I expect the bids to be generous.” She smiled as laughter filled the air, turned, and strolled casually down the row of baskets, plucking up a delightful-looking red basket decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons, holding it high for everyone to see.

Felicia wondered why she hadn't realized her mother would start with her basket. Considering the food resting on the inside was probably not edible, she was thankful she'd taken extra time to make certain the outside of the basket looked presentable.

“This delightful basket has been created by my dear daughter, Miss Felicia Murdock,” Ruth called as she held the basket even higher. “I must tell you, she is a fine cook. I'm certain she's made a delicious feast for any gentleman who wins this basket.”

She really needed to have a chat with her mother regarding her frequent exaggeration of her talents.

“I bid five dollars.”

Felicia swung around and barely had time to look at the man who'd placed the bid before another man yelled a higher bid, and to her amazement, a fierce bidding war erupted around her.

It was disconcerting to be the object of such attention, but . . . She narrowed her eyes as her gaze settled on Grayson.

Why was he just standing there? Had he changed his mind and decided he didn't want to win her basket? Had he come to the conclusion she wasn't worth the effort? Was he truly going to allow some other man to make off with her basket and win her company?

The urge to swallow her pride and tell him she'd made a mistake by refusing his offer swept out of nowhere, causing her to forget to breathe. She had made a mistake. She didn't want to lose him, and . . . she wanted another chance.

She also didn't want to eat lunch with the burly man who'd just shouted out a bid of fifty dollars.

She reached out a hand to him, but before she could make contact, he stepped forward.

“One hundred dollars.”

Relief and a thrill of something she couldn't quite name coursed through her.

“Are you certain, Mr. Sumner?” Ruth called.

Grayson tilted his head. “Better make it two.”

Breath came charging back, filling Felicia's lungs with air. She stepped toward him. “That might be a little too generous. The last bid before yours was only fifty dollars.”

Grayson, much to her surprise, let out what sounded remarkably like a snort. “I'd pay double that, triple even, to win your basket.”

Right then and there, Felicia's knees began to wobble.

“You know I can't cook.”

“I'm not a particularly picky eater.”

“Sold,” Ruth shouted, “to Mr. Sumner for two hundred dollars.”

Nerves suddenly made themselves known, most likely brought on by Grayson's gazing at her oddly, with what seemed almost like tenderness in his eyes. She cleared her throat and struggled to come up with something to say. “Ah, well, you've just made my mother's day. She's been nagging at me all week to talk to you.”

“She's not still put out with me?”

Felicia smiled. “Hardly. She's been reserving her ire for me, mostly because I wouldn't talk to you.”

“We have much that's left unresolved between us. Perhaps we can get some matters solved while we eat your picnic lunch.”

“I'm not certain it's advisable to eat the lunch I made. I wasn't being modest when I admitted I couldn't cook.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, causing her knees to go all wobbly once again. “We don't have to eat, Felicia. There are so many—”

His words were interrupted when Reverend Bannes appeared right behind them, his face red and his brow perspiring. “Lord Sefton, or Mr. Sumner, or whatever you're calling yourself today, I fear I must insist on speaking frankly to you, although I do hope you'll refrain from hitting me after I'm done.”

Grayson frowned. “My good man, I don't normally attack people, especially men of the cloth.”

Reverend Bannes wiped a hand over his perspiring brow and simply looked at Grayson for a long moment.

Grayson turned to her. “Why does he think I'll hit him?”

“Because you were sending him and all the rest of the men who were around me one of your dangerous glares.”

“I was doing no such thing.”

She patted his arm before she turned to Reverend Bannes. “He won't hit you, Reverend Bannes, so please continue.”

Reverend Bannes eyed Grayson a bit warily for a moment and then nodded. “Well, I've come to the conclusion that you, Miss Murdock, are distressed regarding Lord Sefton winning your basket, so I and some other gentlemen thought we'd pool our money together to beat Lord Sefton's winning bid. That way,
we
could eat lunch with you, even if your basket doesn't have enough food in it.”

“I'm perfectly capable of exceeding any amount you and those other gentlemen can scrape together,” Grayson said, his eyes going all too dangerous once again.

She punched his arm this time instead of patting it. “Be quiet.”

She turned back to Reverend Bannes. Even though he was a rather blustering sort, he was a dear man at heart, but . . . he wasn't meant for her, nor were any of the other men she'd been speaking with.

“Reverend Bannes, forgive me, but I do believe you've been suffering from a few delusions in regard to me. While I appreciate that you were willing to face Mr. Sumner and his temper by approaching us, it isn't fair to allow you to continue believing you and I would make a good match.”

“But . . . from what Reverend Fraser told me, you'd make the perfect minister's wife. He said you're a lady of exceptional faith.”

“Which I am, but I'm not demure, which is what you claimed you were looking for in a wife. Quite honestly, I'd drive you insane if you spent much time in my company. I'm afraid you're going to have to look elsewhere.”

“But you're going to have to eat lunch with him now,” Reverend Bannes said slowly.

Felicia smiled. “So I am.”

“You don't seem distressed about that.”

Her smile widened. “I'm not distressed in the least.”

Before she could say another word, and with barely a nod to Reverend Bannes, Grayson took her arm and pulled her through the crowd, not stopping until they reached a spot well away from the people still bidding on the baskets. She couldn't help but notice that after he let go of her arm, he took hold of her hand.

“Why aren't you distressed?” he demanded.

Here it was, the opportunity she'd been dreaming about, the opportunity to tell him the truth. “I, ah, well . . .” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “I wanted to have lunch with you.”

Grayson's eyes darkened and he leaned forward, lowering his head. All the breath left her in a split second when she realized he was going to do the unthinkable and kiss her right in the middle of Central Park.

“Uncle Grayson.”

Grayson stilled, released a breath, the air from it fanning her face, and then he pulled back and turned. Felicia turned as well and discovered Piper marching up to them, a mutinous-looking Ming by her side, while three nannies trailed behind them, all looking somewhat resigned.

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