Beware of Virtuous Women (27 page)

"He's taking perfectly good care of me," Eleanor said impatiently, grabbing Rian's hands in her own and shaking them in order to regain his attention. "Morgan. Tell me about Morgan. Is she all right? Was it a long confinement?"

"Some wine, Rian?" Jack asked, and the younger man nodded gratefully. "You look as if you've been in the saddle for a long time."

"I only stopped to rest Shamus, and to snatch a few hours sleep in a fairly ratty inn. But London is magnificent, Elly. The sheer size of it. I never imagined!"

"Rian," Eleanor said in her most determined tone, "I want to hear about Morgan. That is why you came here, isn't it?"

Rian accepted a glass from Jack and downed its contents in three long, fairly inelegant gulps. "She's Morgan, Elly. She stood up from the table two nights ago, said
oops
and made a terrible mess on the floor, and the next thing we all knew Odette was tripping down the stairs with two babies in her arms. Court nearly had to prop Ethan up, I tell you, because his knees buckled where he stood. Morgan's fine. The babies are fine. Even Ethan is fine, once he stopped worrying about Morgan and realized he's now father to both a son and a daughter all at one and the same time. It's Odette who's not smiling all that much."

"Odette's ill? Why do we always forget she's growing older?"

"It's not her age that's made her ill, not that she's really ill. She's just walking around muttering about twins being very powerful and Morgan and Ethan's twins being probably strong enough to rule the world or ruin it. You know Odette, full of voodoo and superstitions. Can I have another, Jack?"

Rian held up his empty glass, but Eleanor snatched it from him before Jack could take it. "What you need, Rian, is a bath and a bed, and probably a good meal. Papa really allowed you to come to London. I'm amazed."

"Why? You're here. Morgan was here. Even Chance. Nobody's recog—" He shut his mouth, looked at Jack, who had sat down on the facing couch.

"I'm not really here," Jack said, smiling at Eleanor's brother. "And my ears don't work."

wanted you to know, you'd know. Now, did Papa send a letter with you?"

Rian's expression closed. "No."

Now it was Eleanor's turn to look at Jack. "Because Papa didn't send you, did he? This was all your idea."

Rian jumped to his feet, once more reminding Eleanor of a poet, a rather intense, hot-blooded poet, unfortunately. "Damn it, Elly, how do you always know? Chance is gone to hell and married life, Spencer's off to war. Court's playing at Black Ghost. What am I supposed to do?
Knit?"

"He could be useful, Eleanor," Jack said, feeling a little sorry for the boy, who certainly had a point. "He's not incompetent."

"Well, thank you for that, Jack," Rian bit out. "And now go to hell."

"Rian," Eleanor said, getting to her feet and placing a hand on her brother's arm. "We've...that is, we're in the middle of something rather important, which is why we're in London in the first place. Now be truthful. Is that why you're here? Because you know something's happening and want to be a part of it? Because if you're here to see gaming halls and cockfights, you'll be on your way home the moment you've rested."

Rian immediately calmed down. "This is about the Red Men Gang cutting off our suppliers, isn't it? I knew it. What else could it be? After all, Jack, you're in charge of that end. Of both ends. Tell me what you need me to do."

Eleanor instinctively knew that it was time she retired from the field, leaving it free to Jack and whatever he decided to tell Rian.

"I'll go upstairs and pen a letter to Papa," she said, heading for the doorway. "He's either half out of his mind with worry, or enjoying the joke. But since I can't know which, we really need to tell him Rian is here with us, and safe."

Jack waited until Eleanor had left the room before taking hold of Rian's rather dusty and disheveled neck cloth and rapidly backing him up across the room, all the way to the wall. "Now, halfling, why are you here? No more lies."

"I told you. Morgan's babies. I...I thought Eleanor would want to know as soon as possible. And...and to help, yes. But I already said that. Jesus, Jack, what else could there be?"

Jack gave the younger man a quick shake. "Jacko. There could be Jacko. Couldn't there?"

The boy should never play at cards unless he wished to be thoroughly fleeced. "Jacko? No. Why would you say that?"

"Because, my fine young spy, London is a rather large place, and because I don't believe Ainsley sent you here alone. But if Ainsley didn't give you my address, someone did, and the only other someone who knows it is our good friend Jacko. Now, do you agree to talk, or do we stand here like this until your sister comes back to ask why?"

"Let go," Rian said, then shook back his clothes when Jack did just that. "I could have fought you, but Elly would have heard."

"And how would we have explained your bloodied nose?" Jack shot back, indicating that Rian should sit down once more, then fetching wine for them both. 'Talk."

"There's not much to say. After the babies were born, Jacko pulled me aside and said this is the excuse we needed to have someone sent to London. To keep an eye on you if you'd begun having any thoughts about Elly that you shouldn't be having. Jacko's very protective of Elly, you understand. We all are, but Jacko even more so, God only knows why. Maybe it's because he's so big, and she's so little?"

"She's stronger than most of you think, and a grown woman, as well," Jack informed him coldly.

"Elly's a mother hen," Rian said, not without affection. "Somebody's got to mother her, too. She's never set foot off Becket lands."

"While you are world-traveled, I suppose?" Jack said, unable to help himself. "At least, unlike Eleanor, you were on the island, weren't you?"

It was amazing, the look that came over Rian's handsome face. An instant shuttered look, almost as if someone had snapped their fingers and he'd responded like a well-trained dog. "I don't know what you mean, Jack. God, I'm famished. Do you suppose I could have something to eat?"

"Cut the line, Rian, I know about the island. Ainsley was in business somewhere in the islands. Merchant trading. Shipping. Something. Near Jamaica, I figure. And then he brought you all here, back to civilization. Except that he stuck you all in Romney Marsh, which many might say is not civilization at all."

"If you know, why ask?"

Because I'm nosy as hell, because I want to know what happened there, what happened to Eleanor, and how.
"You're right," Jack said aloud, then smiled. "Back to Jacko, if we can? He actually sent you here in the way of a chaperone? No other reason?"

Rian shook his head. "Just that, and telling me to make myself useful, get some of the wet out from behind my ears. Oh, he did tell me to be sure to remind you that he ties very good bows, whatever that means. Come on, Jack, my ribs are shaking hands with my backbone—I truly need something to eat, the wine's going straight to my head. Where's the kitchen? Or I'll find my own way?"

The younger man was already on his feet once more and, knowing the Beckets' approach to taking care of themselves whenever possible, Jack only vaguely waved him toward the back of the house, and the stairs leading down to the kitchens. By now his servants were probably becoming accustomed to such behavior.

Rian got as far as the doorway before Eleanor appeared once more, looking slightly harassed, so unusual in his calm, composed, determined Eleanor. "I forgot, Rian," she said, shaking her head at her own folly. 'Their names, dear. I completely forgot to ask the names of Morgan's babies."

"Oh, that. Caused something of an upset with that, I'm afraid. She named them Geoffrey and Isabella."

"And Papa was upset?" Eleanor asked quietly, her heart somehow singing and breaking at the same time. Geoffrey, the man Ainsley Becket had been. Isabella, the woman he'd loved and lost.

"You know Papa. He went very quiet, and then excused himself for several hours. Jacko finally ran him to ground in the dressing room next to Morgan. It's serving as the nursery for now, you understand. He was just standing there, looking at the babies. He must have been there for hours."

Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth as she blinked back sudden tears. "And he's happy?"

Rian nodded his head. "I'd say so, yes. Jacko took him off to bed, and then came downstairs, whistling. If Jacko's happy, Papa must be happy."

"What am I missing here?" Jack asked, confused. "Are those special names?"

"Oh, yes, Jack," Eleanor said, leaning against his side. 'They're special names. Very special names, very special people. It's like a circle, closing." She shut her eyes for a moment, as if seeing something only she could see, then stood up straight, looked at her brother. "You've been on the road all day, Rian. Aren't you hungry? Come along, I'll introduce you to Mrs. Hendersen."

Jack stayed where he was, watching them walk away, arm in arm. A circle closing? Yes, he supposed so. And he was standing on the outside of that circle... and damned if he knew why.

"No more secrets, Eleanor. One day, and very soon, no more secrets..."

"I don't much like delays. They usually mean trouble," Cluny grumbled as Jack walked into his study long after midnight, leaving Eleanor only reluctantly, as he enjoyed holding her sleeping form in his arms very nearly as much as he did making love to her. Especially tonight, when their time together had seemed stolen, as they'd had to wait until a travel-weary Rian had finally gone off to bed.

Not that he'd expected the boy to go on some sort of nocturnal rounds, checking on his sister's sleeping arrangements—but try telling that to Eleanor.

"And a good evening to you, too, Cluny. I take it you at least found my note warning of our delay and to make yourself scarce. Where were you earlier?"

"Having a jolly time, of course, tramping about in the rain and mist with my eye out for a perfectly matched team of black horses." Cluny lifted his glass, tipped it to show it was empty. "Have you any idea the sheer number of black coaches drawn by black horses that exist in London? Not counting the rented hacks and hackneys, of course."

"No," Jack admitted, a small smile tickling at the corners of his mouth, "but I'll wager you have a fairly good idea."

"I thought I spotted it the once, just at the end of Saint James's Street, but by the time I hoofed myself down there it had driven off. Useless, my boy, useless. We're definitely going to have to goad Chelfham into contacting the man, then follow him to their meeting place. We've run out of time to use that Lady Beresford you were chatting up the other day, when you still thought to dip yourself into society."

Jack handed the Irishman a full glass of wine, then retrieved his own from the drinks table. "True enough, although her ladyship did manage three invitations for us. It's a shame it's not safe to have Eleanor traipsing all over Mayfair. So it's either push Chelfham into running to the man, or hold a knife to his throat while I convince him to simply tell us the man's name and location, as I believe you've already suggested. That idea, by the way, is beginning to hold some appeal."