The Handmaiden's Necklace (10 page)

Aunt Flora smiled, pleased at the soft look he cast in Caro’s direction. Robert bade them a pleasant farewell and Caro walked him to the door.

“You are lucky to have such friends,” he said, still within earshot of Dani.

“I’m very lucky,” Caro said.

Fabric rustled as he leaned closer, perhaps kissed her cheek. “I’m glad I met you, Caroline Loon.”

Dani heard the door close behind him, then Caro walked back into the parlor, an expectant look on her face.

“Well…what did you think?”

“He’s a handsome devil,” Aunt Flora said. “Well educated and utterly charming.” She shook her head, jiggling one of her several chins. “Why on earth is a man like that working as a servant?”

“It’s a long story, Lady Wycombe.”

She waved a blunt hand. “Yes, and none of my business. Still…it worries me.”

“Well, I liked him very much,” Dani said brightly. “And I believe he is as taken with you as you are with him.”

A soft blush crept into Caro’s cheeks. “Robert traded one of his carved wooden horses for a pair of tickets to a play. It’s a comedy called
Life
and he has asked me to accompany him. He says Mr. Steigler has a business meeting and won’t be home until late.”

From the gossip Dani had heard, that was probably a polite way of saying Steigler was spending the night with his mistress.

Caro gazed out the window, watching Robert walk off down the street. As he disappeared round the corner, the smile on her face slid away. Caro had believed she would be staying in America. Now Dani was returning to England with Rafael. Aunt Flora would go with them and Caro would be forced to go, as well.

She knew no one in America. And even if Robert’s intentions were honorable, he couldn’t ask her to marry him for at least four more years.

Dani watched her friend leave the room and her heart ached for her. If only Rafael had stayed in London, in time Caro might have found a future with Robert. Dani didn’t think it was going to happen now.

Another misfortune she blamed on Rafael.

R
afe paced the floor of his suite at the William Penn Hotel, his mind on Danielle and his upcoming wedding. It was actually going to happen. He was going to marry Danielle Duval. He could still hardly believe it.

He paused for a moment in front of the window, looked down at the lantern burning next to the sign on the front of the hotel, then turned at the sound of a firm knock on his door.

Rafe walked over and pulled it open, only mildly surprised to see Max Bradley standing in the hall instead of appearing in the suite without warning as he usually did.

“Max! Come in. I thought, perhaps, you had gone back to England.”

“Not yet. Though if things go the way I plan, I should be leaving very soon.”

As they walked into the parlor and closed the door, Rafe noticed the worry lines digging into Max’s forehead. His black hair was mussed, as if he had run his fingers through it.

“What is it, Max? What have you found out?”

“Not as much as I’d like. I came to ask for your help.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.” He had promised Colonel Pendleton his aid and he intended to keep his word.

Max nodded. “I know you’re getting married. I believe we can get this bit of business finished and be back in plenty of time for your wedding.”

“How did you know about…? Never mind. You ought to start some sort of information service. You could make a fortune.”

Max almost smiled. “I need you to go with me to Baltimore. If we press hard, we can make the journey in a couple of days, three at most. That’ll give us time for the meeting I’ve arranged and you’ll still be back in time to get married.”

Rafe hoped Max was right. Though Danielle might prefer he didn’t show up at all, being late for his own wedding certainly wouldn’t be the best way to begin their future.

“When do we leave?” Rafe asked, thinking of the note he would need to send Danielle explaining his disappearance and that he would be back very soon.

“Early in the morning. The sooner we get there the sooner we can return.”

And Rafe still had plenty to do once he got back. He was about to become a married man. He wondered why he wasn’t the least bit worried by the thought.

Baltimore was a town of a little more than twenty thousand people, Rafe discovered, a bustling seaport that traded with England, the Caribbean and South America, a city that seemed to be growing by leaps and bounds.

As usual, Max Bradley had done his job. He had engi
neered a meeting with a wealthy shipbuilder named Phineas Brand. The story Max concocted was that the Duke of Sheffield was considering a venture with the Marquess of Belford, owner of the Belford Enterprises shipping fleet, and several other wealthy Englishmen. The duke had heard of the fabulous new schooner called a Baltimore Clipper that Brand’s company was building and thought the vessel might be suitable for hauling goods into smaller, less accessible ports.

Or at least that was their story.

The meeting was set to take place in the inner office of the Maryland Shipbuilding Company on the lower floor of a large brick warehouse near the harbor. As the discussion progressed, Phineas Brand rose from his chair, a short man with curly gray hair, patches of which were missing, and wooly gray sideburns. Small silver spectacles sat on his prominent nose.

“The
Windlass
has just been completed,” Brand said, smiling proudly as they left the building and headed for the dock where the ship was moored. “Wait till you see her. She’s unparalleled for speed and maneuverability, the fastest ship of her kind ever built.”

Rafe made no comment, but he was anxious to see the ship for himself, to discover if such a vessel actually posed a threat to England.

“Of course, if you’re seriously interested,” Brand continued, “you’ll have to act swiftly.” He cast Rafe a glance. “As I told your man, Bradley, there are other interested parties. It’s first come, first serve around here.”

“We’re talking about twenty ships, is that correct?”

Brand nodded. “Since each ship takes a great deal of time
to build, it’s a five-year project to completion. You understand the highest bidder will get the deal.”

Rafe nodded. “Mr. Bradley informed me.”

“Of course, you can always wait until the first fleet has been built.”

“I don’t think that’s an option.”

They reached the spot where the
Windlass
rocked softly against the dock, her lines creaking in the breeze. Rafe paused to study the low, sleek, graceful lines of the hull, the twin masts tilting slightly toward the stern. He had never seen such a design before, but he could imagine how it might increase the schooner’s speed.

The hull itself was also unique, and he thought that, indeed, the builder had created a craft that would be nearly impossible to duplicate without the designer’s plans.

Brand invited him aboard for a demonstration and Rafe accepted. The day was sunny and warm, with just enough wind to fill the unusual, triangular-shaped sails, which again were unlike any Rafe had seen. Though the boat wasn’t designed to carry much cargo, she was fast—amazingly so, and incredibly easy to maneuver.

Should the ship be armed with men and cannon, she would be a force to be reckoned with against slower, larger, less maneuverable war ships, which could easily fall prey to such a vessel.

As the wind whipped the sails and the sleek craft sliced through the water, Rafe believed the rumors could very well be true, that Napoléon was, indeed, interested in purchasing a fleet of these clippers to use against English warships, vessels that had defeated him so soundly at Trafalgar last year.

“I’m having a little get-together tonight, duke,” Brand
said as they returned to the dock. “We’d love to have you join us.”

Rafe’s smile felt wolfish. He needed to gather as much information as he could, particularly about a trader named Bartel Schrader whom Max believed was the man behind the deal with the French. Phineas Brand had just provided the perfect opportunity.

“I would be delighted, Mr. Brand.”

It was late, well into the evening when Rafe arrived at Phineas Brand’s three-story stone mansion on Front Street. He had come late on purpose. He didn’t want Brand to guess how anxious he was to prevent a fleet of Baltimore Clippers from being sold to the French.

He wasn’t sure if England would be willing to make a higher bid for the fleet, but he was certain that if the ships went to Napoléon, it was going to cost a lot of British sailors their lives.

Lights blazed through the windows of the house as he climbed the wide front porch steps. A liveried servant stood on each side of the carved wooden door to welcome guests, and he was quickly ushered inside.

Two hours later, he was headed back out the door.

The evening had progressed even better than he had hoped and he was anxious to be on his way. He had the in formation he had come for. Now all he had to do was get that information back to Max.

“How did it go?” Max stood up from his chair near the unlit hearth in Rafe’s room, one of two he and Bradley had
taken at the Seafarer’s Inn, downtown near the harbor. He hadn’t seen Max since early that morning.

“Pendleton was right to be concerned,” Rafe said, shrugging out of his tailcoat and tossing it over the back of a chair.

“Yes…I followed you down to the harbor this afternoon. I saw her…the
Windlass.
” Max walked over to the dresser and poured them both a glass of brandy from the bottle that rested on top. “An amazing bit of craftsmanship.” He handed a glass to Rafe. “Armed, she could be deadly.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Was Schrader at the party?”

“He was there.” Max had filled him in on the international trader they called the Dutchman. Schrader made large sums of money by finding buyers and putting them together with sellers. The merchandise might vary, but if the deal went through, Schrader got paid a percentage for his efforts. According to Max, there was a very good chance he was working for the French.

“Sandy hair?” Max confirmed. “Blue-gray eyes? Perhaps late thirties?”

“That’s him.” Rafe took a sip of his drink, grateful for the ease it gave the muscles in his shoulders, thinking of the brief conversation he’d had with the man Phineas Brand had introduced him to at the house party.

“Your Grace,” Schrader had said with only the slightest accent. He was Dutch, after all, and obviously a man of the world.

“A pleasure, Mr. Schrader.”

“Our host tells me you enjoyed a brief sail aboard the
Windlass
today,” the Dutchman said. “Quite a vessel, isn’t she?”

“Indeed, she is.”

“I’ve heard you may have an interest beyond that of simple curiosity.”

“Have you? I’ve heard the same of you.”

That seemed to surprise him. “Really? So I’ll assume my information is correct.”

“The ship is intriguing in some ways, but hardly designed for cargo. Which means its uses are limited.”

“True enough.”

“What about you, Mr. Schrader? What use might your client have for such a fleet?”

The Dutchman just smiled. “I’m really not at liberty to say. My job is simply to broker the sale, should my client decide he is ready to make the purchase.”

Phineas Brand returned just then, putting an end to the conversation. But Rafe had already discovered what he wanted to know and now it was time to find Max.

Or more aptly, wait for Max to find him.

“Schrader has elegant tastes,” Rafe continued. “He dresses in expensive clothes, wears shoes of fine Spanish leather.” Schrader’s black stock, Rafe recalled, was perfectly tied, his sandy hair immaculately groomed.

“That’s the Dutchman, all right. He makes a lot of money and spends most of it on himself.”

Rafe relayed their conversation, knowing Max would want to hear every word.

Bradley swirled the brandy in his glass, then took a drink. “I presume you assured Mr. Brand of your continued interest in buying his fleet.”

“He’s rubbing his hands together at the prospect of a higher bid.”

“Then our job here is finished. We can leave for Philadelphia first thing in the morning.”

Rafe felt a sweep of relief. They were going back and in plenty of time for the wedding.

“Once we get there,” Bradley continued, “I’ll take the first ship bound for England. I need to inform the necessary parties what we’ve learned.” Max smiled, not a common occurrence. “And in the meantime, you, my friend, can get yourself properly leg shackled.”

Rafe just nodded. As he watched Max leave the room, an image of Danielle appeared in his mind, her flame-red hair swept up, her smooth skin glowing like pearls in the flickering light of the candles.

His groin tightened. He rarely allowed himself to feel the desire she could arouse with the slightest glance. In the past, a ripple of laughter could bring him fully erect, or a single soft smile. Now as he loosened his stock and shrugged out of his waistcoat, just the memory of her face made him hard.

He remembered the exact shape of her breasts, the ripe feel of them in his hands that day in the apple orchard behind Sheffield Hall, the small nipples that stiffened into tight little buds beneath his palms.

He shouldn’t have taken liberties, but their wedding was so near, and soon she would be his wife. He remembered how badly he had wanted her back then and realized he wanted her even more now.

His erection pulsed and he went achingly hard. He wanted her and soon she would be his.

As he stripped off his shirt and prepared himself for bed, Rafe suddenly felt uneasy at how eager he was for that to happen.

It was Thursday, the day before the wedding. The
Nimble
was set to sail early Saturday morning for the lengthy voyage back to England.

In the bedroom of her aunt’s rented row house, Dani sat on a tapestry stool in front of her dresser, cursing Rafael, trying to think of a means of untangling herself from the awful web Rafe had dragged her unwillingly into.

She was only half-dressed, sitting there in a thin lawn chemise that barely came down mid-thigh, her hair not yet combed, when Aunt Flora knocked, then walked hurriedly into the bedchamber.

“Oh, dear, you are not yet dressed. The duke is here, my dear. He is just arrived downstairs.”

“The duke? What does he want?”

“To discuss the wedding, I imagine. His Grace says all is set for tomorrow. You must hurry. He is waiting for you in the parlor.”

“Let him wait,” Dani said stubbornly. “He can wait till the devil sprouts a halo for all I care.”

Aunt Flora nervously smoothed the skirt of her high-waisted morning dress, a soft pearl gray trimmed with rows of black lace beneath her substantial bosom. “I know this is not what you planned, but the duke came all the way to America to set matters straight between you. Perhaps marrying him is the right thing to do.”

Dani got up from the stool, paced over to the window, then returned and sank down on the edge of the canopied bed. The white eyelet ruffle on top danced over her head.

“How can I marry a man I don’t trust, Aunt Flora? He ruined me before. He would have done it again if I hadn’t
ended my engagement to Richard. Rafael will do anything to get what he wants, no matter who gets hurt.”

“Perhaps he wants only what is best for you. If you marry him, you will be living in England, instead of thousands of miles away. It may be selfish, but I cannot be sorry.”

Dani looked at her aunt, saw the gleam of tears in the older woman’s eyes. She stood up from the bed and the women embraced.

“You’re right,” Dani said, “that is something. At least we can be together.” She sighed as she eased away, her gaze returning to the window. In the garden below, Caro had set up her watercolor easel and was painting a row of bright purple iris. She was such a sweet young woman. There was something about Caro Loon, a subtle elegance that most people didn’t seem to see.

Dani turned away from the window. “With Richard, I would have had children,” she said wistfully.

“Those two never would have been truly yours, no matter how hard you tried to make it so. Richard and his mother wouldn’t have allowed it.”