Wrapped (14 page)

I found Woolsey dozing in the seat, the pretty young seamstress no doubt having tired of being stared at and retreated to another location within the shop.

“Look sharp,” I ordered. “Mother will be waiting.”

Woolsey smiled, stretched, and snapped the reins, stirring the carriage to life. My mind raced as I sat inside the box, reflecting on what I’d discovered this morning, how the time spent in Deacon’s hovel was like the best sort of dream—the kind that I could remember clearly, replaying again and again in my thoughts. And I realized as we neared the Park that despite the dangers, despite the gravity of the situation itself, I was already mourning that my moment in this story was drawing to a close. I would tell all to Father, I would give up my place in the events to others more suited to the task. I would surrender the excitement and the intrigue that could not be matched, no matter how scandalous the rest of the season proved to be.

There was something else, though, that troubled me more. Something I couldn’t quite define. Something I suspected I would miss only after I realized it was gone.

I supposed it had to do with Caedmon.

He was exasperating and accusatory, yes. But he was also earnest and intelligent and brave. And it bothered me more than it should that this might have been my last opportunity to see him. Once I’d told Father, he’d take over, ending my chances to speak again with Caedmon.

But then perhaps it was merely my worrying about him being so lonely, having no one to look after him.

But was it more than that?

Had I grown
fond
of him?

At our initial meeting in the museum, I’d found him annoying and less than forthcoming. But then, so was I.

And of course he could stir up a quarrel faster than I could blink.

But all the same, I
did
like him.

Realizing it almost made me laugh. And then I did laugh to think that no matter how charming I found him, no matter how handsome he was (and this, too, I was forced to admit, was the case), it couldn’t possibly matter. I could no more choose him than he would even want me. There were lines between our classes, between our stations and families (or his lack of one).

No, despite his many finer qualities—character and otherwise—they would never be enough to convince Mother to allow him at table, much less earn him a place in our society.

My amusement at my own silly heart was beginning to give way to something like regret at the injustice of it all—for I told myself it was the outmoded social mores I was bemoaning and not something more personal—as Woolsey dropped me inside our front gate. I took the stairs to the entry hall slowly, less than eager to meet with Mother and the Martins.

But further thoughts on Caedmon were interrupted by what I saw sitting on the table in the foyer: an officer’s hat, brushed clean and bedecked with two gold bars and a simple white feather. Within I heard delighted laughter, one warm voice ringing out above the rest.

My brother David was home.

Chapter Twelve

I flung my hat onto the table next to my brother’s and sprinted for the drawing room, nearly knocking Mrs. Brewster flat as I barreled in. “David!” I shouted.

“Aggie!” He bounced to his feet from his seat beside Mother on the sofa, gathering me into a hug.

“But what are you doing here? I thought you wouldn’t be home again for months!” I buried my face in his wool jacket.

“You are happy with your surprise after all, then?” my father asked from the armchair nearest the sofa.

I released David and flew to Father. “You knew?”

He laughed. “He was half the reason for my errand to Tilbury,” he explained.

“And you kept it from us!” I said, eyes wide.

“Father thought it might be a nice surprise. And with Mother so worked up over your debut, he thought it best to not give her any more reason to throw the household into a state,” David explained.

I turned back to my brother and looked him over. There were faint lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there when we’d seen each other last almost two years ago. And the uniform that once seemed to hang from his shoulders now fit him perfectly. He looked more man than the boy I’d grown up chasing down the back stairs, but he was still my brother.

“You’re taller again,” he said, somewhat sadly.

“I haven’t grown since my fourteenth birthday.”

“But you’re always taller than I remember you,” he said. “It’s just that my baby sister is not supposed to be so . . .
adult
.”

I jabbed him in the ribs. “And you are supposed to write more often.”

“You sound like Mother,” he said, laughing and gathering me into his arms again.

“Why
are
you home?” I asked again, grateful that he was safe with us rather than preparing for battle at sea.

“I just finished telling Mother, but . . . ,” he said, sitting down.

“But I’m sure you won’t mind telling it again,” Rupert interrupted from his chair in the corner, where he managed to look bored already with my brother’s return.

“It seems your brother has distinguished himself as quite the hero,” said a voice I was not expecting to hear. Showalter! I was stunned to find him leaning against the mantel, eyeing me curiously.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Agnes,
really
,” Mother hissed.

“I’m only surprised to see you, Lord Showalter. Please take no offense,” I said, curtsying. I wasn’t unhappy to see him. In fact, it gave me great pride to show David off to him.

“Of course not. I simply came to call on you and your mother. I’d thought to arrange that visit to the museum we spoke of, but was pleased to find David here to meet instead.”

“I’m glad that you were able to meet him,” I said politely, then turned back to my brother. “David! Tell me what you’ve done.”

David ducked his head. “Only my duty.”

“David,” my father said, “hobble your modesty and tell her before I botch the story myself.”

My brother smiled and settled back beside Mother on the sofa. I perched on the ottoman at his feet to hear his tale. His ship had caught up with a French corvette south of Spain. They’d received dispatches that this very ship had made a sly approach up the Welsh coast after some local fisherman spotted her in waters she had no real reason to be in and alerted the navy. David’s ship was lucky to stumble across and corral her in a shallow inlet. “I led the boarding party,” David concluded.

“You never!” I said, my eyes widening at the thought of my brother, sword drawn, jumping to the deck of a French ship.

“Calm yourself,” he said with a laugh, “there was no blood spilled. In fact, the crew offered no resistance. There were no marines aboard, only some very light artillery, and the captain himself surrendered, willingly offering that the ship had been sailing reconnaissance missions up and down the coast.”

“Thank heaven you caught up to them!” I whispered.

“So we took the captain prisoner, locked up a few of her crew for good measure, supplemented with our own, and I was given command to bring her back as a prize to England.”

“Your first command!” I shouted.

“His first command!” Mother echoed.

“His first command,” Rupert chorused with mock enthusiasm, adding in a mutter, “And all he had to do was climb onboard and turn the boat around.”

“Not quite,” David said coolly. “Captain Hoyle wisely ordered us to take the corvette due west into the open sea for several hundred miles before tracking back east for England.”

“To avoid any possible encounters with French naval forces that might wish to reclaim her,” Father supplied.

“Precisely. And as soon as we set sail, it was a wonder no one pursued us to the ends of the earth. I’ve never been aboard a trimmer vessel. She fairly flew over the water, hardly any draft at all, and laden with sails that seem to make their own winds rather than wait around for it to start up a blow. . . .”

David looked wistful. He looked enamored. He looked like Caedmon when he talked about the Rosetta Stone. I wondered if I’d ever find anything in my own life that made me look that way.

“David?” My mother’s voice nudged my brother back to his story.

“Right. As I told you, the crew when we took her was small, really less than half strength of what one might expect of a ship of her class. But if, as they said, they were meant to provide reconnaissance, it was logical that they’d run her skeleton. But as we sailed, I began to notice that one of the topsail men didn’t know his business at all.”

“How odd,” I offered.

“For heaven’s sake, Agnes, the more you interrupt, the longer it takes him to tell the bloody story again,” Rupert groused. I waved him off, and David went on.

“The man couldn’t tie a knot to save his own life. And then my lieutenant, he said that when we’d first boarded and he’d secured all the prisoners while we took inventory of the ship, that man’s hands had been as smooth as a virgin’s throat and that he was no more a sailor than the king himself.”

“David, your language,” Mother warned. We both ignored her.

“Then what was he doing aboard a corvette running at half-strength?” I asked.

“Hiding, as it turns out. I left the man on his sails, though I detailed another hand from our ranks on the
Hyperion
to quietly double-check his work. And then I instructed my men to pump the other sailors for what information they could. They were a tight-lipped lot—and so few of my men spoke French as to make it even more difficult—but we did learn from one with a fondness for drink that the ship was engaged in transport, and supposedly returning a very important person to France.”

“A spy!”

David and Mother looked taken aback; only Father did not flinch. Rupert crowed, “A debutante figures out in half a minute what it took you weeks to learn,
Captain
.”

I glared at Rupert, but David only laughed and said gamely, “Yes! How did you—,” he started to ask me, but I couldn’t divulge the fact that this unique brand of intrigue had been dominating my thoughts for the last few days.

“What happened when you brought him into port?” I cut short his question.

My brother smiled. “He tried to slip away—and the other French crewmen even made a halfhearted effort at helping him, and had we not been watching him secretly, he might have succeeded. But we rounded him up and carried him into the war department, him refusing to speak a word. We thought we were going to have a time figuring out who he was and why he’d have been so important to Napoleon as to risk bringing him back to France now.”

“But it turned out that when we handed him over to the army, he was recognized. He’d been serving as a desk officer for nearly four years. He disappeared two weeks after Napoleon returned from Elba, having somehow received word from France to head home.”

I shuddered. “To think what Napoleon might have done with what the man knew . . .” I trailed off. “You
are
a hero, David.”

“And your father kept us
all
in the dark,” Mother said, though she couldn’t bear to be unhappy.

“The army summoned me to Tilbury to await the arrival of the ship and its prisoner. I only learned of the affair a few days ago, and thought it best to keep it quiet in the event David was not granted leave to come back with me.”

“So tonight we celebrate.” Mother beamed. “We dine together, as a family.”

She quickly looked to Showalter. “You will join us, of course, won’t you, Lord Showalter?”

I sucked in my breath. The entire room was quiet. I knew Mother was being polite. But I also knew that her invitation was another step in signaling to Showalter how accepted his attentions were toward me. Including him in a family dinner—one featuring the rare joy of David’s presence—was an unmistakable encouragement of his advances.

Showalter smiled, bowed slightly to Mother, and accepted her invitation. “But please excuse me now, for I’ve business to attend to before we meet again.”

Father rose, clapped a hand on David’s shoulder, and escorted Showalter from the room.

After they had gone, my mother gave me a look. “Agnes, you must encourage him a bit more,” she chided.

“You encourage him enough for the lot of us, Mother,” I teased.

“He really does seem a good sort,” David agreed.

“And he’s rich as a sultan,” Rupert said, rolling to his feet. “I’ve also got business to attend to,” he announced, though I suspected he was only slinking off to take a nap or round up a drink at the club.

“And I’ve got to consult with Cook—we’ve a special meal to prepare in honor of David’s return,” Mother said, leaning over to David and offering him her cheek before she rose and disappeared into the hall.

My brother and I sat quietly for a moment before I managed to ask the question that we’d all been too afraid of uttering.

“When do you go back?”

He sighed. “Tomorrow morning—early. I’m to rejoin the
Hyperion
by way of a supply ship this weekend. The corvette will take some weeks to refit to our naval standards before she’s in service, and it’s unlikely her command will fall to me. Besides, we’ve all got this business with Napoleon to get through before anything is decided.”