A Match of Wits (17 page)

“Well, no. My father did prevail in the end, convincing my mother I’d hardly enjoy living life as a Francine, but she was only willing to modify her preference so much, which is why she named me . . . Francis.”

“I think that’s a lovely name,” Drusilla suddenly said, stepping up to peer down at Mr. Blackheart. “I always told my late husband that if we ever had a son, I’d name him Francis.”

“You don’t have to humor me, Drusilla,” Francis said. “It’s a ridiculous name and hardly suits me, which is why I always encourage everyone to address me as Mr. Blackheart.”

“I don’t humor people,
Francis
,” Drusilla said with a shake of her head. “I truly do adore your name. It’s honorable, and I think it suits you admirably . . . ”

Agatha stared at Drusilla for a long moment, noticing that the lady had a very unusual expression on her face, one that looked quite sappy. It was telling, that sappiness, and also telling that Mr. Blackheart—or Francis, as he’d just disclosed—was looking up at Drusilla as if he’d never seen her
before in his life. Or maybe he was looking at her that way because she was still gushing about his name.

“ . . . and it has numerous meanings,
free
man
being one, but my favorite is
gentle giant
, and that, my dear man, exactly describes you.”

“It’ll be a good name for Agatha to pass along to her son after she and Francis get married and set up house,” Roger said, interrupting Drusilla’s speech.

Having had quite enough, Agatha cleared her throat, having to do so twice in order to be heard over Francis’s protests. When everyone finally realized she was trying to get their attention and turned her way, she opened her mouth. “I’m not marrying anyone, Father—not Francis, not Zayne, and not some random gentleman who has nice teeth. Now then, if all of you would be so kind as to leave this room, I’d like to get out of the tub, since the water has turned chilly.”

“But what about your honor?” Roger demanded.

“My honor is perfectly intact, Father. Although, it might not be for much longer if Francis lingers.”

Less than a minute later, Roger had helped Francis to his feet and they’d disappeared through the door—with Roger’s threats of continuing the conversation in the library drifting back to her.

“I’d better go make certain Roger doesn’t take out his gun,” Cora said, making her way to the door. She looked over her shoulder. “Although, maybe I should grab mine. After all the trouble you’ve caused of late, a shotgun wedding is looking almost appealing.” Not bothering to give Agatha an opportunity to respond to that piece of insanity, Cora disappeared, leaving only Drusilla in the bathroom.

Accepting the towel Drusilla handed her after she’d closed the door, Agatha stepped from the tub and wrapped the towel
around herself. “I hope you know that my father isn’t really considering forcing me to marry Francis,” she said when she noticed the frown marring Drusilla’s face.

“Francis would make you a more than acceptable husband, and you could do far worse.”

“True. I could marry Zayne.”

Drusilla’s lips curved into a smile. “Zayne, no matter how annoyed you are with him right now, is perfect for you.”

“He’s delusional.”

“Perhaps, but in a very charming way.”

“There you go again, up to your old matchmaking tricks, but . . .” Agatha moved out of the bathroom and into her dressing room, waiting until Drusilla joined her before she continued. “Speaking of matchmaking, what in the world is going on between you and Francis?”

“Nothing.”

“Why then were you so bothered by the idea my father threatened to make me marry him?”

“I wasn’t bothered by that, although I was concerned you would do something rash if your hand was forced, such as run off to investigate some brothel or tenement slum.”

“It seems that Zayne’s not the only delusional person around at the moment, but since you obviously don’t care to delve into your true feelings for Francis, let me distract you by telling you what my intentions are for the rest of the day.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought up the whole brothel idea,” Drusilla muttered. “You’re planning on doing some investigating, aren’t you. And . . . I don’t have any feelings for Francis.”

“You do, but again, you’re delusional, so back to my plan.” She opened her wardrobe but jumped back when Matilda barreled out of it. “What are you doing in my closet, darling?”

Sending her a look that had accusation written all over it, Matilda scampered to Drusilla’s side and let out a pitiful whine. Bending over, Drusilla gave her a good scratch behind the ears. “You must have shut her in there before you took your bath.”

“I think you’re right. But in my defense, I’ve been somewhat distracted of late.” Sending Matilda a smile that the pig didn’t see since she was now burrowing under Drusilla’s skirt, Agatha turned back to her wardrobe and pulled out a pair of trousers.

“Do you honestly believe it’s advisable for you to dress as a man when you know full well your father is waiting for you in the library with thoughts of marrying you off to someone on his mind? Why, if he thinks you’re up to something impulsive, he really will send for Reverend Fraser.”

“Hmm . . . I didn’t think about that,” Agatha said, stuffing her trousers back into the wardrobe and pulling out the first available gown, a delightful frock of emerald green. “We’ll make plans to go tomorrow.”

“Go where exactly?”

Taking a moment to slip into undergarments and then the gown, Agatha turned around and waited while Drusilla buttoned her up before replying. “I’ve decided I need to take a more active role in the investigation of the threats against me.”

“That’s a horrible idea.”

“No, it’s not,” Agatha said firmly. “What everyone, myself included, has apparently forgotten is that I’m an investigative journalist. I spend my time snooping out stories, and yet, here’s the biggest story of my life and I’ve been content to sit back and allow everyone else to try and puzzle it out.”

“Because someone’s trying to kill you.”

“Which gives me a hefty dose of incentive to locate this person.”

“Francis will never agree to this.”

“While it’s quite interesting to me how quickly you’ve adopted using his given name, that’s a conversation for another time.” She moved to the vanity and began twisting her wet hair into a knot. “Francis, being an intelligent gentleman, will realize he has no choice but to agree to help me. He knows full well I’m capable of slipping away from him if I put my mind to it, which means he’ll reluctantly offer me his assistance, which I will admit I have come to rely on.”

“Francis might eventually agree to help you, knowing he really has no choice, but Zayne will never agree.”

“Zayne has no business even being mentioned in this conversation.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Agatha nodded. “There, now I’m ready to face my father.”

“I do hope we won’t find him holding Francis at gunpoint.”

“My father would never resort to that. My mother on the other hand . . . We should hurry.”

Taking Drusilla’s arm, Agatha exchanged a grin with her before they walked out of the room and down the staircase. Reaching the first floor, she turned toward the library, but her steps slowed when she heard a laugh she knew far too well drift out of the room.

“One would think I’d know better than to continue using Charlotte’s invention, especially since those silly wheels keep falling off.” Agatha came to a complete stop and began lurking right outside the door, refusing to budge even when Drusilla tried to nudge her forward, and listened as Zayne continued, “I have no idea why I can’t seem to fix that little problem, but I do thank you and Mr. Blackheart for coming to my rescue a few minutes ago when I lost a wheel right in the middle of the street. Without your assistance, I might have been run over by a fast-moving carriage.”

“Since Mr. Watson was just about to send for Reverend Fraser,” Francis said, “if you had been run over, well, at least some last prayers would have been said in a timely manner.”

“Why was Reverend Fraser going to be fetched?” Zayne asked slowly.

“He wants the good reverend to marry me to Agatha.”

“Oh . . . dear,” Drusilla whispered. “Francis has turned ornery.”

“And isn’t it interesting how well you really do understand that man, although, I just might be able to use that orneriness to my benefit,” Agatha said, releasing her hold on Drusilla’s arm to breeze into the room.

She glanced around and found Francis casually inspecting his nails, Zayne glaring back at him, and her father sitting in a chair by the fireplace with a clear expression of wariness on his face.

“See what you’ve done now, Father?” she asked before she pulled up a chair next to Francis and sat down, resisting the urge to lean over and take his hand. “I take it you’ve told Zayne we’re soon to marry?”

Francis stopped inspecting his nails and arched a brow even as the right corner of his mouth curled. “Yes, and he has yet to offer his congratulations.”

“He should be offering you his heartfelt thanks since you were one of the gentlemen at the very top of that list he made. Although . . . you might want to show him your teeth.”

Francis blinked. “What?”

“He was very concerned about the state of teeth, but if you prove to him yours are in good standing, well, I’m sure he’ll give us his blessing.”

“What has gotten into the two of you?” Cora asked, stepping
away from where she’d been hidden from view by the window, carrying, of all things, a shotgun.

Agatha wasn’t certain if she should laugh or make a dash for the door.

“They’re just being ornery,” Drusilla said, walking up to take the shotgun firmly out of Cora’s hand. “And this can kill or seriously maim a person, Mrs. Watson, which is why I’m going to go hide it now.”

“Are you coming back?” Agatha called as Drusilla began marching out of the room.

“Not in a million years.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Francis asked after Drusilla disappeared from sight.

“I think she’s lost patience with us, or . . . she might be annoyed that I’m sitting so close to you.”

“I’m sorry?”

Waving Francis’s question away with a flick of her wrist, Agatha turned her attention to Zayne, who was sitting in a chair directly across from her, watching her with blazing eyes. “Well, aren’t you going to offer us your congratulations?”

“You’re not marrying Mr. Blackheart.”

“I’m not?”

“After careful deliberation over the past two days, I came to the conclusion that Mr. Blackheart should never have been included on my list. He’s much too stodgy for you.”

Francis let out a grunt. “I
can
be stodgy.”

“I adore stodgy gentlemen,” Agatha said, unwilling to part with her charade just yet. “Why, I find stodgy gentlemen absolutely delightful.”

“I meant to say dodgy,” Zayne said, through lips that were barely moving.

“Dodgy gentlemen are even more delicious to me.”

“
I
can be dodgy,” Zayne said.

“Indeed,” Agatha agreed, “but I find you less than delicious.”

“I asked you to marry me, and you know perfectly well that you and I are more suited for each other than you and Mr. Blackheart.”

“What you did can in no way be considered a marriage proposal.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, Francis was discovered by my father in my bathroom while I bathed, which means we have no choice but to get married.”

Zayne frowned. “Who in the world is Francis?”

“Mr. Blackheart, of course. And you must realize, since we’ve taken to addressing each other by our given names, and again, he was in my bathroom, that we truly are considering marriage . . . to each other,” she clarified.

Zayne had the nerve to laugh. “Knowing Mr. Blackheart—or Francis rather—he was probably just doing his job. He most likely thought someone had broken in to your bathroom, which means there’s absolutely no need for the two of you to get married. As for using his given name, well, he doesn’t exactly look pleased with that turn of events, which means he was coerced into telling you his name is Francis. Besides, you’re not going to marry him, because you’re going to marry me.”

“I think we should leave Zayne and Agatha alone,” Roger said, getting to his feet and pulling Cora up beside him. “Francis, I’ve just noticed that you’re soaking wet. I’m sure you’ll feel much better if you go and change your clothes.”

“While I do have extra clothing here at your house, Mr. Watson, I’m afraid my position as Agatha’s bodyguard demands I stay here and see after her welfare.”

“I would never hurt her,” Zayne argued. He struggled out
of the chair and wobbled for a second. “You insult me by even suggesting that.”

Francis rose to his feet. “From what Theodore told me after he had me fetched from the slums, you did indeed hurt Agatha—perhaps not physically, but you’ve hurt her heart. That’s why I intend to stay by her side and make certain you don’t do that again.”

“I don’t see how offering her the protection of my name could have possibly hurt Agatha’s heart.”

“Clearly you haven’t bothered to take the time to see anything at all.”

Rising to her feet, Agatha stepped between the two men, who were now bristling with temper. “Gentlemen, enough. I have heard all I want to hear.” She nodded to Francis. “You need to go change out of those wet clothes, and you,” she said with a nod to Zayne, “need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until I say what I came to say.”

“I have no interest in anything else you have to say.”

Ignoring her, he continued speaking. “As I mentioned before, I’ve had quite a bit of time to think lately, and I’ve realized that, not only is Mr. Blackheart not suited for you, but also that I might not have actually done the whole proposing thing very well.”

“You never proposed.”

“Didn’t I just admit that I hadn’t done it well?”

“Well, yes, but you said you’d proposed and you never did that at all.”

“Which is why I’m here now,” Zayne said around teeth that had taken to clenching.

“You’re not being very nice.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Zayne released it and smiled. “Better?”