Bees in the Butterfly Garden (33 page)

Another drop of sweat tickled Ian’s scalp, but the heat he felt had nothing to do with the pot he helped Pubjug return to the back of the wagon. With it safely returned to its spot, Pubjug climbed up to the driver’s seat.

The job was nearly done. Inside that pot had been enough hot coals to keep melted the gold they’d needed for the fake bricks they’d just rehidden among the delivery inside the garden. The melted gold eagerly accepted the image from the Pemberton seal. Thanks to false information supplied to Brewster through the man Ian had sat with on the train from Peekskill, he would monitor that pickup. All they needed was for Brewster to act true to himself by stealing from the thieves he believed had stolen the gold first.

The only difference in the plan was the empty compartment beneath the wagon, something Pubjug clearly did not understand. This job had ended up costing them instead of bringing in a penny of profit. But the thought of Brewster believing he’d outsmarted Ian, then learning he hadn’t, was worth every cent of Ian’s investment. It might not free him—it might inspire another beating—but it would be worth that, too.

He stepped back from the covered cart and took a deep breath of evening air as Pubjug drove the wagon out of the covered Pemberton parkway. Ian hadn’t been sure he could do it. But he had. Best of all, it would be done without a whisper of trouble Meg’s way.

Maybe God didn’t think Ian so useless, after all.

He had just one thing left to do. Return the seal.

Ian let himself back into the Pemberton home through the servants’ entrance. The prospect of facing that safe this second time hardly frightened him at all. He’d done the right thing once; he could do it again.

A noise at the front door froze him into stillness, choking back his confidence along with his breath. Someone was there—with a key.

Silently, Ian retraced his footsteps. He listened at the kitchen door, only to be sure someone had indeed entered. He heard the front door open, then close. It was no use. He would have to find another way to return the seal.

Ian left the kitchen, shutting the servants’ entrance and locking that as well, knowing that doing so meant he would be unable to get back inside without some measure of trouble. Hang it all, this was why he never took the chance at home burglaries. They were too unpredictable. Too personal.

Ian pulled the black scarf from around his neck, wrapping the seal inside. Searching for a place to hide it, he chose a spot close to the delivery porch, well beneath a thick and prickly bush so no one—not even a curious dog—was likely to investigate.

Then, brushing off his jacket, straightening his cravat and hat, he walked around to the front of the house, glad Pubjug was long since gone. Ian was just in time to see Nelson Pemberton emerge.

With a wave, Ian joined him at his driverless carriage. Evidently the man had come back entirely on his own.

So much for thinking God might have blessed what Ian had just done. He’d very nearly been caught, and until that seal was returned, he wasn’t free of trouble yet.

Meg hadn’t expected the height of her performance to begin until after the theft was discovered. But behaving as if nothing were wrong while everyone else celebrated an evening of entertainment was surely as difficult as acting innocent.

With each passing moment of Nelson’s absence, she grew more and more fretful that he had found Ian in the most compromising circumstance.

The music, instead of soothing her, grated on her nerves as each note pounded into her head. Rubbing her eyes, she wondered how much longer she could endure the wait. She’d left Kate with Claire, preferring instead to sit off to the side by herself so she could play with the food she had no intention of eating.

“That looks especially delicious.”

She nearly dropped the plate from her lap at the sound of the familiar voice nearby. Next to Nelson stood Ian, as tall and handsome as ever, a twinkle—of triumph?—in his eye.

Meg rose, but there was nowhere to put her plate. So she clutched it in hopes of keeping steady her hands and offered instead the most welcoming of smiles. “Oh! I’m so glad you’ve made it to the party.”

Relief over seeing him gave the first hint of unfurling the knot inside. Surely nothing had gone wrong. Did it mean that even now the golden bars were hidden among the bricks in the garden? Entirely unprotected, innocently waiting for Pubjug?

Refusing to dwell on any number of dire possibilities, Meg trusted the calm facade Ian presented.

“I found him just arriving at the house,” Nelson said, “with apologies for his tardiness. But that doesn’t matter, does it? We’re all here now.”

Ian looked around. “I must say you know how to plan a party. Everyone looks to be enjoying themselves, and the violins are bound to attract more people than you’ve planned.”

“Music should be for everyone, don’t you think?” Nelson asked.

Kate joined them, smiling as easily as if this were any other day, as though she and Ian were the true friends they pretended to be. All of which steeped Meg in confusion. Not knowing what Kate was about to do only added to the tension this night had already brought. At the same time she marveled at their self-control. It required more than composure to do what they did just then, in their elegant grace—each wanting the opposite outcome. How did they do it?

She’d expected her fears to subside once Ian arrived, yet his presence did not ease her anxiety after all. If anything, her heart pounded harder, and she could not even look at Claire.

The rest of them sat chatting while Meg watched silently, barely keeping up with the topic at hand. Her best training couldn’t keep her mind on what was being said. It all seemed so mundane and unnecessary.

Why had Claire proven herself so fully capable of being a friend? Even Evie, who just now laughed with the scullery maid, as troublesome as she could be, possessed not one ounce of true malice. Youthful self-centeredness, yes, but though she had yet to show a trace of the piety both her siblings demonstrated, she crossed class barriers far easier than any one of her Fifth Avenue neighbors might.

The violins played nearby, low enough to allow conversation but loud enough to cover a quiet voice. Meg leaned closer to Ian while the others continued to eat and talk.

“Is everything . . . all right?” she asked.

“And why shouldn’t it be? I’m only a bit late, not absent altogether. I hope to speak to you, though. There is something that must be said.”

“Yes, I have so many questions. Did everything—?”

“It’s fine, Meg.” His gaze held hers, and she wanted to stare into the dark-blue depths far longer than she should allow. There was something new there, a sort of peace that she could not recall seeing since the day she arrived at his home on the Hudson. Was that what came of completing a challenge? It was exactly what
she’d
expected to feel. Triumph. Joy, even, that she’d proven herself to be her father’s daughter, fully capable of working with Ian and thus with her father. She’d proven he was wrong to have shut her away all those years.

Yet she didn’t feel peace at all.

They ate in silence for a while, even as Meg grew more restless for answers. This was neither the time nor the place for a discussion, and yet somehow they must have it.

Not long after Nelson delivered his speech—one that only compounded Meg’s guilt because of his goodness—the chairs were rearranged and the musicians relocated off to a corner, leaving free what appeared to be a makeshift dance floor. Because of the music, and because it was a Saturday evening in a public place, others besides the Pemberton staff were attracted to the sounds just as Ian had predicted. Soon there was dancing both within the circle of chairs and beyond it.

Ian asked Kate to dance first. Meg watched him holding her in a polite waltz, yet a closer look revealed their conversation seemed anything but polite. It was quiet but earnest.

Perhaps Kate could be convinced not to bring Ian or Meg any trouble. She was no squealer, after all. Was she?

Meg wanted to be relieved when both Ian and Kate smiled her way after their dance ended. They’d obviously come to some kind of agreement for the very first time. But complete relief was not to be found. This was likely the last function in polite society Meg would attend. Her life as a thief had already begun, and if her part in the crime was discovered, it would be the end of any welcome except by other thieves like her.

Ian could hardly wait to hold Meg in his arms. It was likely the last time he would be able to do so.

He’d wanted her to be the first he danced with but knew he needed to speak to Kate, just in case her presence meant any trouble. What he’d told her forestalled any of that. She’d been only too happy to hear what he’d had to say. Meggie was safe; that was all that mattered. She’d agreed to keep quiet about all of it, to not even tell Meg what he’d done to protect her. No sense risking her reaction until everything else had gone according to plan and Ian’s goal to see Brewster made the fool was complete.

On his way here, he’d wondered how he would feel when he saw Meg. If she knew the truth, would she hate him? Be disappointed? And which would be worse to withstand?

The force behind his love for her had surprised even him. If he’d doubted himself before tonight, he would never do so again. He was capable of loving someone more than gold, after all. Enough to do what was best for her . . . even if it was not best for him.

At last he was able to lead Meg to the dance circle. He wished he could lavish her with a gaze of admiration, but he looked at her only when he thought she couldn’t notice. Tonight, for the first time since landing in this country, Ian had conquered the loss he’d carried with him since disembarking from that ship without his family. He hoped it would make what he was about to do easier or at least bearable.

“You’re lovely, Meg,” he whispered, because in spite of his intention, he couldn’t keep the words inside or stop himself from holding her close. Let this dance be as unconventional as the rest of the party. “But then I’ve noticed your loveliness ever since you were a child. From the first time I saw you.”

“Have you?”

The two words came to his ears in breathless happiness. Yes, he would savor that. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that he’d loved her since that first moment—even before that, from the moment John had told him about her. He wanted to ask her how it was possible she hadn’t seen his love the moment she’d stepped off that carriage in Peekskill all those weeks ago.

But instead he must keep that to himself, if tonight’s job were to be considered nearly complete. Soon she might remember this night as one she’d spent dancing with a man who’d lied to and humiliated her. If that must be what she believed in order to secure her future, so be it. A future without him or his ways.

“You should be dancing under these stars with someone like Mason,” he told her. What an accomplishment, to make his voice sound so sincere.

She was surprised by his words; he saw that immediately in the lift of her brows. “I thought it was already clear I’m hardly fit for permanent residence on Fifth Avenue.”

“You’re fit, Meg. More than fit for such a life. Mason himself would be all too eager to convince you of that. You ought to consider letting him.”

Her lips tightened, changing that look of surprise into anger. “If I didn’t know better, Ian, I would say you’re trying to be rid of me before we’ve split whatever spoils you garnered tonight.”

He laughed at the words that proved what she thought of thieves like him. “Perhaps I am.”

She still looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Kate once said you would never be satisfied. That I might be reaching for something I can’t get from my past, but that you’ll always reach for more to secure your future.”

His gaze left her briefly to land on Kate, who was dancing with Nelson. “She may be right.” Then he looked again at Meg. “Tell me, did you think nothing of the painting that hangs in the Pemberton office? Of Christ with the two thieves?”

She looked away rather than facing him straight on, and when she did not speak, he knew the truth. It had affected her as well. That was the best sign he’d seen all evening. Maybe this evening’s turn had been worth it from more angles than he’d hoped.