Sea of Fire (10 page)

If not for her father and the mess she was involved in with Roderick, she would have enjoyed the walk. The chirp of the birds and the springtime smell in the air teased her with that notion, though it was still too early for spring. At a moment’s notice and a turn of a cloud, it could become colder and snow.

After several blocks, it occurred to her that if Christian indeed planned a visit—he might spot her on the walk. He would be so bold as to stop his carriage and pursue her right there on the street. She was becoming quite tired of hopping in and out of carriages, but she knew that Roderick’s plans for her required her to get used to it. Regardless, she wished for no confrontation with Christian and once again, hailed a ride for the rest of her journey to Charlotte’s.

The Godfrey home was within several blocks of the silversmith shop where Roderick would be at this hour. She paid the driver and approached the door. It was important for her to see Charlotte. “Please be home,” she quietly said aloud and gave the lion-headed knocker on the door a few taps.

Francie, the housemaid answered. “Miss Elizabeth. Charlotte’s in the loft. She’ll be pleased by your surprise visit. Let me take your wraps.”

Elizabeth handed the woman her outer wrap and hat. “Thank you,” she replied and marched up the thickly carpeted steps to Charlotte’s third-floor loft. The door was open, allowing Charlotte to see her approach.

Charlotte set down the book she had been perusing and walked over to greet Elizabeth. “I was hoping you would come visit today.” She clasped her hands together.

Charlotte’s large blue eyes sparkled in her plump, though pretty face. She wore a smock to protect her gown from ink. Regardless, somehow or another, Charlotte always managed to get ink on herself. Elizabeth smiled as she noticed a streak of black ink in Charlotte’s blond curls.

Elizabeth’s fears and concerns about their friendship— and the notion Charlotte might sense something wrong— melted away. Charlotte and Roderick resembled each other, but acted nothing alike. Thankfully, Charlotte knew nothing of his evil involvement.

“Have you finished the invitations you’ve been working on for Madam Perkins?” Charlotte asked.

“Nay. I’ve a few left to do.” Elizabeth rolled up first one sleeve of her gown then the next as far as it would go. “What are you working on?”

“I’ve been trying to master a floral design in this book by Sir Isaac Gillot on the
Theory of Illumination. “
Charlotte picked up the book she had set down when Elizabeth had first entered the room. She pointed to the decoration.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Why don’t you try it?” Charlotte reached for a paper and one of her pens to offer Elizabeth.

“Thanks. I think I will, but I’ve brought my two own favorite pens,” Elizabeth said, and retrieved them from her reticule.

“I should have known,” Charlotte said, and smiled in return. She set the book before them and opened the pages wider. “Here.” She handed Elizabeth a round, crystal paperweight to hold the pages in place. “Start with the tendrils then next the leaves.”

The two seated themselves at Charlotte’s large, polished worktable with their pens, inks, papers and sand. They practiced in silence for a short while before Charlotte spoke. “Walter and I attended the most fabulous concert the other night at the William Street Exhibition Hall,” Charlotte began. “The orchestra played compositions by Corelli and Vivaldi. It was magnificent. You and Adam would love it.”

Elizabeth smiled. She decided to wait a while longer to confide in Charlotte the little she dared to tell about Adam. “It does intrigue me.” Grudgingly, she was reminded of how freely Walter Bloomfield had given her name to Christian. She forced herself to hide her irritation for Charlotte’s sake. “How is Walter? Have you set a firm date for your wedding?”

Charlotte set her pen down and huffed before she replied, “Aye and nay. We’ve decided on October, but not the exact date. I know it is soon, but we’re both anxious. You know how much I love my Walter.”

“Aye. You’re a lucky one,” Elizabeth answered. She was happy for Charlotte, though she envied her for having met her one special someone. Her own relationship with Adam had hardly been similar or hardly reflected love. Hindsight had enabled her to realize that

“What are you thinking, Elizabeth?”

“Adam ceased his courtship,” Elizabeth blurted out, now anxious to tell Charlotte.

“What? I can’t believe it. Whatever for?”

Charlotte reacted as Elizabeth expected, especially since Charlotte was the one who had introduced her to Adam as Roderick’s friend. Elizabeth carefully chose her words to answer her. “He’s become involved in other activities.”

“Like what?” Charlotte pressed the issue.

Elizabeth shrugged. “I wanted to tell you, but I also don’t want to dwell on it. It came as a surprise and naturally hurt my feelings. I cared for Adam.” She paused. How quickly that emotion had turned to hate. No doubt, had she given her heart completely, her hurt would have been greater.
Lowest of low, scoundrel that one.
“There’s more.” She glanced at Charlotte’s shocked face.

“More bad news?”

“Aye. It concerns my father. First, you must promise not to tell a soul what I’m about to tell you.”

Charlotte leaned forward in her chair, obviously apprehensive about what she had to say. “You have my word. I’ll not tell a soul.”

“My father has been abducted.”

Charlotte gasped and rolled her large blue eyes. “Abducted. Oh, Elizabeth. Have you told the police? You must tell them. How did this happen?”

“I was warned that if I told the authorities my father would come to harm. I needed to talk to someone, and I know I can trust you. For now, there’s naught I can do, but what father’s abductors say.” Except, she silently pondered, if she could find Adam, she was certain she’d find her father.

Charlotte stood. Elizabeth did also, and the two hugged. “I wish there was something I could do. I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said.

Elizabeth patted her friend’s back and broke away, “‘Your listening to me is help enough. I don’t want to burden you with my troubles. I just needed someone other than Hannah to talk to about this.” Elizabeth smoothed down the sleeves of her gown. As much as she had tried to concentrate, she could not. It would do her no good at the moment to practice calligraphy.

“How is Hannah taking all this?”

“She’s been very positive and encouraging, but I’ve known her too long. She is worried, too.” Elizabeth wiped her pens before she placed them in the case.

Charlotte clasped her hands together. “You’re leaving already?”

“Aye. I can’t keep my mind on lettering. We’ll practice again soon. I promise.”

“You need to take your mind off Adam and your father— at least for a while.” She unclasped her hands and became excited. “I’ll ask Walter to arrange for a friend to come for a get-together. The four of us can go to the theater or music hall. Maybe even the gardens, if it’s a pleasant day.”

“Nay. I appreciate your concern, but I’d only be a dreadful bore to the gentleman. My thoughts would be elsewhere.” Elizabeth turned to Charlotte. The mischievous smirk on her friend’s face warned her that Charlotte had no intention of listening. Charlotte wanted to help. If it made her feel better—Elizabeth would allow her.

“All right. You win.”

Charlotte clapped her hands and gave an exaggerated squeal like a child who had received sweets.

“Remember. This will not be a love match. This gentleman is to understand the relationship would be nothing more than friendship.”

Charlotte gave her a mischievous smile again.

Elizabeth played along. “I can see your determination is far greater than mine over this matter. Very well. I’d like to place my request,” she teased. “I could not tolerate another handsome man. The gentleman must be plain of face, heavyset and in the winter of his years. And, it wouldn’t hurt if he was wealthy.”

“Anything else?” Charlotte asked. “Perhaps a bulbous nose?”

The two laughed, and Elizabeth realized it was the first time in a long while she had done so. Perhaps, Charlotte was right. Maybe she needed to socialize more. She was certain that wherever Adam was, so was her father. Maybe she would stumble upon Adam’s whereabouts in the process.

Chapter Seven

Christian’s hand was poised to knock on the door to Elizabeth’s town house when an idea occurred to him. The firebrand would be expecting him. More than likely, she would refuse to see him. Why should he play her game?

He lowered his hand and returned to the pavement where his carriage and driver sat. “We’ll sit here a few minutes,” he told his driver. The man nodded, and Christian stepped up inside the vehicle.

Elizabeth would expect him to continue to pursue her until he got the answers he wanted, but what if he didn’t seek her out? Maybe if he let her worry about what he might do, she’d be so unnerved by the time he did approach her that she would cooperate. Aye. He liked the idea. Let her fret over whether or not he or the authorities would show up on her doorstep. He inwardly smiled. It would be a small triumph, but nonetheless would pay back Sister Friar for the desirous way in which she caused his body to respond to her. Christ! The last situation he needed was one where he was physically attracted to the woman, especially considering her involvement in the mystery surrounding Adam’s disappearance. The woman was a liar—not an appealing trait.

He took his hat off and set it on the seat next to him. He’d bide his time. Meanwhile, he’d simply watch Elizabeth’s activities until the moment was right to confront her—the moment when she could do naught but speak the truth.

Having resolved upon his plan for Elizabeth, he now mulled over the idea of visiting Walter Bloomfield, the gentleman who so kindly had offered up Elizabeth’s name as being Adam’s sweetheart that night at the theater, Bloomfield had even given Christian his card, saying he was an importer for a number of Dublin shops. If Christian heard of any noteworthy merchandise, he should call on him.

Fortunately for Christian, the man was an aggressive businessman who apparently never missed an opportunity to solicit. Otherwise, Christian would have had to hire someone to find him. That would have taken precious time. What the hell did he do with the card, though?

He stuck his head out the door and said to his driver, “Back to Dawson Street. We’ll stop long enough for me to run inside and back out again.”

“Aye, Mr. Christian,” the man answered and snapped the reins for the horse to trot ahead.

Half an hour later, Christian had searched the pocket of the waistcoat he had worn the night he met Walter Bloomfield and found the man’s card. Minutes later, he ordered his man to take him the short distance to Fitzwilliam Square on the other side of St. Stephen’s Green.

As the carriage halted in front of Walter Bloomfield’s terrace home, the gentleman himself exited and stood at the entrance engrossed in conversation with his footman.

Bloomfield was fashionably dressed in a brown cloak, tawny breeches and highly polished boots. He wore a tawny hat over dark hair that was considerably grey near his temples. Like Christian, apparently he preferred his own hair to be tied in a queue rather than wear a wig. Though his face suggested he was perhaps forty years, his body was trim and muscled, more like that of a man of five-and-twenty. Self-consciously, Christian glanced down at his own stomach as if to remind himself that the same region of his anatomy was supposed to look like that ten years from now.

Walter finished speaking to his footman and headed towards the pavement. Instantly, Christian left the carriage and approached the man.

“Mr. Bloomfield. Walter,” Christian called.

Walter squinted at him at first before he smiled in recognition. “Traynor, isn’t it? We met at the theater a couple weeks ago.”

“Aye.” Christian offered his hand.

Walter shook his. “What brings you here?”

“I was hoping we could talk.”

“Actually, I just finalized some business,” Walter said, and smiled as if the deal had been a profitable one. “I was on my way to spend a few hours at Bailey’s Club before I visit my fiancée. You’ve met Charlotte.”

“Nay,” Christian said. “I don’t remember an introduction.”

“She must have run off to chat with some friends,” Walter said thoughtfully.

“I believe that is what you had told me when we parted.”

Walter nodded and continued, “Would you care to join me at the club?”

“I’d like that,” Christian answered. “My carriage is right here. I’ll follow you in yours.”

Bailey’s Club was one of the smaller gambling halls, but popular. It offered quiet alcoves where men could sit and smoke, discuss business, and more times than not, complain about their wives or mistresses. Of course, gaming and drinking was the main pastime and Bailey’s did it with flare. Even during the day, the drapes were drawn to give the illusion of nighttime, which was all highly conducive to their patrons’ positive outlook. For those who got hungry, around the clock an assortment of foods from meat pies to sweets were set out for their pleasure in the Gathering Hall.

Upon Christian’s and Walter’s arrival, they handed a valet their coats and found an empty alcove with a side table between two leather wing chairs.

No sooner were they comfortably seated when a steward rolled over a small serving cart with bottles of cognac, brandy, and claret. “Gentlemen. What may I serve you?”

“Cognac,” Walter said.

Christian paused. It was late morning, and earlier than he liked to have a drink. However, he decided to be cordial. “Cognac for me.”

The steward handed them their drinks and departed.

“That’s better,” Walter said. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip.

Christian did the same. He waited for the liquid warmth to spread down his throat before he spoke. “When we first met, we discussed my brother and Elizabeth. I had hoped you might have thought of more you could tell me.” Christian studied the man across from him. Once again, he hoped he could be as fit and trim as Walter when he was the man’s age.

“Nay. I only met Adam on the two occasions when he was with Elizabeth at Charlotte’s. Did you talk to Elizabeth?”