But the child, just a toddler, never arrived at the aunt’s manor and no trace of her passing was uncovered. It was to find the whereabouts of at least a grave to end this mystery that Preston planned an extended stay in England. And the wharf remained his concern, on behalf of his father and brothers, whose ships were regularly in and out of port, until the couriers he paid had some evidence of her passing for him to investigate himself.
During the weeks that his misfit band of detectives questioned the south of the country, Preston worked and entertained himself with the regular court parties and activities, such as dinners, trips to the theater, dances, and gambling. He tried mightily hard to stay out of the way of his friend Geoffrey and his new bride, for he remembered well how grateful he was at the end of a day when he could nestle his own Brianna in his arms and close out the rest of the world. But he soon suspected that his etiquette in this was not appreciated.
When the sun was setting and he would have left the wharf for some evening entertainment in the palace, he went instead to the vessel on which he knew he would find Geoffrey. The Patrina was now the favorite but not the only ship that Lord Seavers possessed, and Preston had heard it was also his home. Apparently Seavers lived on his ship while buying, refurbishing, and repairing more vessels, stocking them with arms, and eager to be setting them out to sea.
Seavers’s crew was busy clearing the deck of ropes and building materials as they ended their day. Rodney stood looking out over the men, his hands plunged into the pockets of his heavy woolen coat, his cheeks bright red from the cold, and steam coming from his nose. Preston came on board and lifted a hand to Rodney, to which the manservant-mate nodded once. In question, Preston pointed toward the captain’s quarters, to which Rodney nodded again. They passed each other in the cold twilight without another word.
Preston gave two sharp raps to the door and heard Geoffrey’s terse welcome. "Aye."
Preston scowled slightly at the sight within the small room. Geoffrey sat behind his desk virtually hidden among rolling plans and litter. His clothes were draped recklessly about the cabin, a bed made out of a windowseat still lay in rumpled disarray, and nothing about the man or his habitat resembled the Geoffrey he had known for so long.
"You?" Geoffrey said. "What have you about this part of town? I heard you entertained yourself mostly at Whitehall."
"Someone let it get about that I have the means to gamble well, and true, I’ve been welcomed into their circle. But I find their games tiresome at times." Preston looked around the disheveled quarters. "Are you so eager for your fortune that you need sleep here?"
"It’s proven efficient enough," Geoffrey said, rising and reaching for a skin of wine that hung from a nail near his desk. He poured some into two cups and held one out to Preston. "Now there’s the money, the time is what I grow short of. I’ve waited a mighty long time to get this fleet together."
Geoffrey raised his cup in something of a toast and Preston complied. "To your industry," Preston offered. They both drank. "But what’ll you spend your fortune on?"
Geoffrey shrugged and turned away. "More ships, I imagine."
"What of pleasurable things? Have you given them up altogether?"
"I’ve no taste for dancing and the Duke’s Theatre."
"I was there just today," Preston said. "With the lovely Lady Seavers."
Geoffrey glanced up with something of a start, then quickly accepted his friend’s news and walked back toward his papers. "I thank you for escorting her. She’s been left alone a great deal."
"She did not tell me how much, but from the looks of this place, it seems you see your wife but little."
"A busy time..."
"A beautiful woman, to be abandoned in London, at the whim of the court and all their vultures?"
Again Geoffrey shrugged and did not meet Preston’s eyes.
"Would you like to tell an old friend about your troubles?"
"What troubles? I’m a busy man and can’t find the time to play honeymoon at the moment. But once the work is done I can settle myself into more pleasurable games." He smiled and pointed his cup toward Preston. "You’ve grown more solid since your marriage."
Preston did not smile. "I’ve been here since November and with luck I’ll leave in early spring. Since that time I’ve seen you betrothed, wedded, and acting the part of a hermit in your ship’s cabin. What ails you? Do you hate the lass?"
"No, I have work," Geoffrey insisted very loudly.
"No man has work so urgent that he can’t spend a few minutes in a coach to sleep in a decent bed with a beautiful woman, rather than taking up sleeping in a sty such as this. Not even the king."
"I’ve been with my wife," Geoffrey lied.
"She’s not a very happy woman," Preston informed him. "Though she pretends to be."
"She has money, beautiful clothes, plenty of invitations to dinners she can handle quite well, and I’m near enough to be called. If she’s not happy, I’d say it’s her concern, not mine."
"Why do you scorn her?"
"By God, what is your interest in my private life? In where I sleep and when? In my wife’s happiness?"
"There’s a bad smell in the air, Lord Seavers. If you have a problem, let me share it."
"No problem," Geoffrey insisted, turning away from his friend again, his face reddening and his muscles tensing more as each moment passed.
"Is it a whore who needs to be dealt with? This urgency with money—is there a problem I can help you solve so you can live a normal existence? Money I have and whores I’ve dealt with before."
"Money I married and whores I have no time for," Seavers barked. "Leave off."
"I’m not here to pry, but to help. If there’s something—"
"Christ, leave off I say. There’s nothing." Geoffrey set his mug down with a clunk and ran a hand through his tousled hair. "Look, friend, I appreciate your concern, but it’s for naught. There are plans that need work, workers that need pay, a war that needs ships, and foul-smelling Dutchmen lurking on the seas. I have no time for parties and court games. Mayhaps when I have twenty ships ready to sail and a pregnant wife, I can wander about and worry about other men’s personal problems."
Preston put up his hands as if to stop Geoffrey or at least soften his tenseness. "I only wished to offer aid—if there is a problem. I did not intend that you should be angry with me.
Geoffrey shook his head. There was no hiding his troubles; it was clear and probably all about London that he saw his wife almost not at all, barely maintained the house on Tiller Street, and since his wedding had not been seen at any functions. He did not know how much gadding about Alicia was doing; he had assigned the chore of watching her movements to Rodney and did not want to hear about her unless there was urgent trouble. From what he had gathered, Alicia did little more than wish away her days in their house.
His growing desire for her pressed down on him every time he was in her presence. He found himself wanting her, and the feeling shook him to the core. If it was not enough that she was a common tavern wench, an unlikely match for a noble bred through a long line of aristocratic ancestors, she was also his pawn in an illegal scheme to trick himself into some quick money. Becoming at all attached to her now would be a disastrous mistake; it could only lengthen the time he had to fear discovery. He could not even consider his own emotions. He forced himself to disregard her. She was the means to his fleet and work became his life.
He popped in and out of the house, checked on the servants and the condition of the property he rented, and then went back to work. He worked continually, often through the night, and thought about the woman who was known as Lady Seavers as little as possible. True, there were a great many times she arrived without notice into dreams that left him weak and breathless, but he vowed that in time he would control even those.
"You’re right," Geoffrey said reluctantly. "I’m working too hard...and there’s no great reward in never having a day off. What say I clean up and we??
?ll take Lady Seavers to dinner?"
Preston smiled and shook his head. "I’ll beg off this time. I’ve made plans to meet a group for more dice and there’s a pretty wench to bring me some luck." He laughed. "Luck only, Seavers, I promise you—I don’t play the ladies since I can’t find one in all the world looks better to me than Brianna. I’ll leave you to have dinner with your lady alone." He nodded once and his smile was sincere. "You look as though you could use it."
He turned to leave, but at the sound of his name he turned to look at his friend once more.
"Preston, I regret that I shouted. I appreciate your offer of help, but the truth is there’s nothing I need but to get my work finished and my ships on the sea. Then I imagine I can enjoy myself more."
Preston nodded and left the cabin and the ship, and went on to his evening of throwing dice. His nights were spent mostly on his favored vessel, the Letty, though there were offers aplenty of more comfortable lodgings, and occasionally he took rooms elsewhere.
It was past midnight when he’d had enough gambling and drinking and hired a coach to take him back to the wharves. He bade the driver pause at a certain place and asked him to wait a moment.
Preston walked slowly toward the Patrina and a young sailor jumped up from the deck at the sound of Preston’s close footfalls. The man shouted down, "Who calls?"
"Captain Tilden. Is your captain aboard?"
"Aye, come up, sir."
Preston paused, gave a long sigh, and called back. "I’ll see him tomorrow, lad. Good watch. Good night."
"Thank you, sir," the lad called back.
Preston took his coach the rest of the way, damned if he could figure it. Poor bastard, he thought in perplexity. Suppose he wants to use her—and can’t.
Eight
The one advantage of the house in Tiller Street was that there were gardens; lovely, quiet gardens. When one inhabited apartments in Whitehall there were also gardens, but they were filled with maids playing games, suitors playing suit, the royal family abiding there, and, on several occasions, political conferences meant to be secret: the plotting of plots and the scheming of schemes.
Spring was not exactly on the horizon and the weather had a strong tendency to be nasty, but Alicia was a country girl, and so was accustomed to being outdoors in any kind of weather. She’d played, eaten, and even bathed outdoors. She was more familiar with the elements than she was with the functions of a noble’s house in the city. For that reason, she considered herself fortunate that, between Rodney Prentiss and Mrs. Stratton, she was not needed to oversee any household projects. They did ask her, on a regular basis, what her preference for cleaning, decorating, or cooking would be, but if she only shrugged, the chore would be completed just the same.
There were spaniels that belonged to the driver of their carriage and the dogs sometimes played in the garden.
Alicia could easily have had them driven away, for this was her home now, but she enjoyed the dogs and would sit for hours throwing sticks for them, patting their heads and stroking their backs.
She was sitting on the marble bench in the garden with her friends when Preston called out to her. At the sound of his voice, she turned with a bright smile to greet him.
"Those dogs will dirty your skirts," he said, smiling. "But I don’t think that matters much to you, does it?"
"Not a bit," she laughed, jumping to her feet and brushing off the deep green velvet that covered her. "Mrs. Stratton enjoys fussing about it and then cleaning the clothes." She giggled a little. "Sometimes I think she’s the mother I never knew."
"That’s right," Preston said, scratching his chin. "Your mother died when you were born."
And it quickly became Alicia’s moment for surprise, for she was so comfortable with Preston that she had forgotten he knew nothing of her actual past. He only knew the past of Charlotte. A very strange feeling crept over her at the realization of that, since she felt more of a kinship with Preston than she did with Geoffrey. "Yes," she murmured. "That’s right."
"I’ve come to say good-bye. I’m going to be out of the city for a while—not long. I’ll be back as quickly as possible. I think I told you that my wife will deliver our first child this summer."
"Then you don’t want to be away too long," she responded quietly.
"I’ll hurry business if I can, but it isn’t a thing that can be hurried."
"Trade? Are you buying—"
"No, Charlotte, it’s the business of my sister that takes me out of the city. The couriers I sent in search of information have returned to tell me of a few things I would like to investigate."
She tilted her head slightly and peered at him. She had no idea what business this was.
"Geoffrey did not tell you?" he asked.
"He said nothing of your sister...only your shipping and your brothers and...the fact is, he’s been so busy that...well, we hardly find the time..." She let her voice trail off, for she had not yet complained of a lack of attention from Geoffrey. She felt she had no right to. Things were progressing just as had been planned; she played the wife and he played lord, merchant, and sailor. There was nothing in their agreement that said he would also play the husband.
"I think you need say no more. I know that Lord Seavers spends very little time with you." Preston lifted her chin with a finger and looked into her eyes. "He seems greatly troubled, Charlotte. Do you know why?"
She shrugged and shook her head. "He speaks often of pressing schedules; work to be done."
"I suppose that is the extent of it. I always had my family and we shared the work; sometimes without pause for enjoyable things. Geoffrey has only himself."
He needn’t be alone, Alicia thought. If he would but make me his helper rather than—
Alicia had come to the conclusion just after the wedding that they need not make this a temporary arrangement just for the dowry. She had already fooled the court and been accepted as well as Charlotte Bellamy ever would have been. There was no need for her disappearance or simulated death. If Geoffrey felt anything for her at all, and there were times she believed he did feel something, they could go on with their play forever. All she needed was to be told that it was she and not the ghost of Charlotte and a fortune that he wanted.
"Tell me about your sister, Preston," she said. "What happened to her?"
He took her elbow and, kicking away the spaniels, led her to the marble bench where they could sit and talk.
"My family fled England just after the king was murdered. My mother, father, and five brothers. Mother pleaded for the baby, Letty. She feared taking her abroad to parts unknown. The rumors were wild then; stories of fleeing nobles being murdered on the road and worse. Mother’s sister could take Letty until the worst was over, and we could send for her or return for her.
"But Letty never arrived." He shrugged. "A letter followed us for almost a year before we knew that the youngest and safest of us all had not made the journey."
"And since? No word?"
"The driver of the coach that took her away and the maid who tended her were married and had no children. It was always our hope that they’d claimed her and settled someplace in the country. In that case they could eventually be found. But never did my father or any of his men find any couple with a child that could be my sister. There has been no trace until now."
Alicia sat on the edge of the bench with her elbows on her knees, listening intently to every word. Her own background being so hazy, the strong sense of family that Preston exhibited was wonderful to her. That he would be moved to pursue the fate of his sister filled her with envy; she had searched for a sense of belonging, a sense of family for a long time. "And now, Preston? What trace now?"
"There a village of not more than a hundred people in the south that has an old coach they’ve used for fifteen years. It was a rich coach when it was first found, and the smith repaired it a hundred times over the years so it could be used. It has a family crest on the door that’s marred, but possibly recogn
izable. If it’s a Tilden coach I’ll know it. And if it is the coach, Letty must have been found nearby. I’ll at least know where she is buried."
"I imagine if you can find that much, there should be an entire story to go along with it. Oh Preston, I do hope it’s good news."
"I think that’s a little too much to hope for. I’ll be content simply to know what happened to her."
Alicia felt a lift in her heart, a kinship of souls with Preston. He portrayed for her the type of family she would choose for herself, if that were possible. She felt her eyes grow moist with the emotion. "That you would even search for her past, Preston, is so noble, so..."
Preston laughed at her and touched her nose, a gesture that made her smile in spite of her deep feeling. "Of course, you would understand: your mother was lost to you early and your father left you soon after. Not many understand as you and I do, since our families have both been separated and spread apart.
"And that is the thing I consider now; that we have no evidence concerning what became of my sister. I think the matter cannot be put to rest in any of our minds until every effort is made to uncover her story."
"Even though she had a very short life, I find I envy her, Preston," Alicia said with a sigh.
Preston delighted in her. "You’re the perfect audience, Charlotte. But let’s remember, cherie, it’s very likely the best that can be done is to be pointed to an unmarked grave. I don’t know how an infant would survive..."
Her eyes began to water slightly. "You shall find her, Preston. I just know it! And please, hurry to tell me. Please."
Preston rose from the bench and looked at Alicia with open adoration, he was so moved by her sensitivity. "Thank you for your encouragement, cherie. I will send word. And I won’t be away long."
Preston started toward the house with Alicia close behind him, chattering all the way. "And if she isn’t married, Preston, what do you suppose? What if she’s turned awful and mean? What’ll you do if she’s fat and ugly?"