Sharon Sobel (18 page)

“First you must turn them all to face upwards and line them evenly along the edge of the table. When that is accomplished …”

Lark and Janet had no choice but to obey, and their fingers darted about the surface, making some sense of the chaos before them. Mr. Siddons deigned to help, but after his hand came into contact with Lark’s, he settled back into his chair and watched at a safe distance.

“I do not understand how we might assemble this map if we are indifferent to the place names,” Lark protested.

“The only geography one needs to know is the topography of each separate piece. They must fit into one another, like clasping hands.”

Lark had a sudden remembrance of her body pressed close against Ben Queensman’s contours and thought that a more intriguing analogy.

“Of course, if one does know, say, that the Hudson flows southerly, or that Canada is to the north of Albany, one’s task is greatly facilitated,” said a voice to the accompaniment of the scraping of a chair across the veranda.

“Mr. Warren! Mr. Queensman!” Janet cried with transparent—and radiant—pleasure. “How good it is to see you again.”

Lark looked quickly at Gabriel Siddons’ face before acknowledging her guests, and confirmed her suspicion that she would see dislike upon it. While she did not understand the cause of the enmity, she knew how strongly it was felt, and had a growing need to investigate it further.

“Lady Larkspur?” Mr. Queensman’s voice demanded his share of attention, but remained pleasant and almost caressing. “Are you so rapt in the mind teaser at hand that you will not notice us?”

He knew very well why she would not rush to face him again, Lark thought, but she could not be censorious. After all, she had asked for his intimacies as much as he, and he had done nothing she did not desire. But it was, rather, the unaccustomed circumstances in which they found themselves that proved so unsettling, coupled with the almost absolute certainty that it should all come to nothing.

She looked up at him. His eyes studied her as if there were nothing else to see, and she caught the reflection of her
own red hair in them. A smile teased the corner of his mouth even as he tried to be very serious, and she caught a glimpse of his straight white teeth.

As she watched him, his hand came up to straighten his cravat—as if that were the infraction—and she saw a bandage neatly tied across his palm.

“Whatever happened to you?” she cried, and realized, too late, that she sounded far too anxious for the professional relationship they espoused.

Ben Queensman caught her concern at once, and she could see it gave him pleasure. He held his hand aloft, like some banner of truce.

“A minor mishap on the beach this morning, that is all. Lucky for me, I am usually in the company of this fine physician at my side, so the damage proved minimal.”

Matthew Warren beamed, and Janet sighed in appreciation.

Strangely, this bit of information proved disconcerting to Gabriel Siddons.

“You are incautious to be on the beach at such an odd hour, sir,” he said sternly. “There are any number of dangers that might threaten you, and few people around to come to your aid if something were to happen to you both.”

“I thank you for your advice, Mr. Siddons,” Ben Queensman said icily, “but I need not remind you I am far better acquainted with these waters than you are. Or are you aware of some peril yet lurking? Are we to expect another invasion? Or a smuggler’s plot?”

Gabriel Siddons grew very red, taking far more offense at Mr. Queensman’s teasing than surely was justified.

“And how do you know about it, after all?” Mr. Queensman continued to provoke and antagonize.

Mr. Siddons glanced at his uncle, who seemed more engaged by the map than the sparring match.

“I know enough to say you were not caught in a crab’s claws this morning, sir. I have information from those as canny in these waters as you yourself.”

The jab hit its target or, at worst, was deflected. Mr. Queensman’s eyes opened even wider, and he gestured silently in Lark and Janet’s direction. Lark did not need a sixth
sense to understand that he did not wish to discuss his affairs in the presence of ladies—and that those affairs might prove even more embarrassing than having feminine witnesses to his morning swim.

“How fortunate for you, sir. Your network of spies must also have informed you that I found a boot and a very fine piece of driftwood,” Mr. Queensman said dismissively, and deliberately put his injured hand in his pocket.

“But we did not come to talk of our paltry finds.” Mr. Warren broke in suddenly. “We have come to discover if the ladies have quite recovered from their outing into town.”

“Oh, indeed, we have, Mr. Warren. We can hardly wait to go again,” Janet said excitedly.

But Lark did not feel so recovered, nor did she think she ever would be. Remembering the things she had been doing with Mr. Queensman could provide no balm to her spirit, nor afford her any peace.

She glanced up at him and thought he must know what she was feeling.

“Do sit down,” she said politely. “Our interests this day are rather sedentary, and you might prove helpful to us.”

“It is our only objective, my lady,” Ben Queensman said. He settled himself upon the chair he had pulled up when he first greeted them.

“Of course,” Mr. Siddons felt compelled to add. “As you are the lady’s physician, it can be your solitary concern.”

“Have your spies also given you that piece of information?” Mr. Queensman asked rudely.

“We admitted a new patient this morning, Miss Tavish, someone you may enjoy meeting someday,” Mr. Warren said, changing the subject. “Like yourself, Mrs. Jasper professes a great interest in Asian arts.”

Lark looked at Janet in surprise. In all the years of their friendship, she never recalled anything particular about Janet’s taste for the Orient. Of what could she have been speaking while Lark discovered other delights on the terrace at the hospital?

“It would be a pleasure to meet her. I hope she is not so very ill?” Janet said smoothly.

Mr. Warren glanced at Mr. Queensman, who seemed more
interested in the pieces of the map. “As to that, we cannot yet say. She is here on vacation, visiting her daughter, and we know little of her history.”

“But that she likes Asian arts,” Lark interrupted. “Perhaps that is why she is drawn to Brighton. The sight of the Royal Pavilion must provide some gratification.”

“I am glad it does to someone,” Mr. Queensman said distractedly. And then, to Colonel Wayland, “I believe you are mistaken, sir. The fort at Mount Hope is not down near Kingston. A man of your experience ought to know it.”

Lark, confused at first, realized he had turned his attention to the dissected map. Colonel Wayland had been busy on it, but now it seemed Mr. Queensman took issue with some of the placement and was set upon rearranging the pieces.

“I say, sir, I did not have these brought for your enjoyment. I hoped to entertain the ladies with the little puzzler,” Mr. Siddons protested.

“Ah, surely they would not mind if I set them upon the right course,” Mr. Queensman said, and snatched up one piece.

“I hold the city of Albany in my right hand, Colonel Wayland. Where would you have me put it?”

The colonel made some vague gesture at the table, and Mr. Queensman held the piece aloft expectantly.

“I believe the bathing machines will be available for use tomorrow,” Mr. Siddons said, demanding their attention.

“I can hardly wait.” Janet clapped her hands.

“You must be very careful, Miss Tavish,” Mr. Warren said. “As practiced as Mrs. Gunn is, the whole business is not without its mishaps. I understand there were several drownings in Margate.”

“You sound almost as worried as Mr. Siddons,” Lark said easily, though she continued to be drawn to the little drama between Mr. Queensman and the colonel. “We shall be very safe. I, for one, look forward to the lovely freedom of dancing in the waves.”

“Are you very fond of dancing, Lady Larkspur?” Mr. Siddons said, on a note of sympathy.

“She may profess to enjoy it, but I, for one, found her resistant to its appeal when we first met in London,” Mr. Queensman said, though he still looked at Albany in his hand. “I
finally prevailed upon her to dance with me and can report she has a very fine step.”

Lark would have liked to knock the map piece from his hand, and the complacent smile from his lips.

“Did you know each other in town?” Mr. Siddons asked, scarcely disguising his curiosity.

“Yes,” said Mr. Queensman.

“No,” said Lark at precisely the same time. Mr. Queensman allowed himself the indulgence of looking away from his hand to gaze upon her.

“That is, hardly at all,” Lark amended. “Mr. Queensman is acquainted with my brother-in-law, as they were together in America.”

“Did you know Southard, Colonel?” Mr. Queensman asked pointedly.

“An elderly gent, well past his prime, as I recall. Widowed two or three times.”

As the description did not fit John, or any of his immediate relatives, Lark felt ready to correct the colonel. But a look from Mr. Queensman made her reconsider, and she looked down at the map again. She was coming to think Mr. Queensman’s affairs as much a puzzler as the dissected map before her.

And she may not have been the only one to think so, for no one said anything for several minutes. They each sat around the table, studying the map as if it held the key to eternal youth, and pushed the little wooden pieces around on the smooth surface. Mr. Warren’s fingers trifled with Janet’s, and Mr. Siddon’s rather thinner ones tapped impatiently on the arm of his chair. Mr. Queensman and Colonel Wayland seemed engaged in some sort of contradance, as one placed a piece only to be corrected by the other. And Lark, too aware of everything going on around her, tried to concentrate on the tiny letters imprinted upon the map.

Suddenly Colonel Wayland tossed a piece over the side of the veranda, sabotaging all their efforts.

“There is no such place,” he said angrily.

“I assure you, sir, I have been there myself,” Mr. Queensman said, looking as if he were the victor of some major battle.

“I wish to have my tea indoors,” Colonel Wayland insisted. “Gideon, you must come with me.”

If Mr. Siddons noticed his uncle mistook his name, he gave no sign of displeasure. Instead, he rose slowly and came around to assist the old man.

“I will return tomorrow,” he said to Lark.

“And I shall welcome you,” she responded politely. As he led his uncle away, she said to Mr. Queensman, “I do not understand why you dislike him so.”

“Someday, I may be in a position to better explain it,” he said simply and returned his attention to the map.

“Would you like to walk upon the beach, Mr. Warren?” Janet asked sweetly. “If the dangers are as great as you say, I should appreciate your advice as to the currents and rocks in the water before Lady Larkspur and I venture out into the waves.”

Matthew Warren looked momentarily flustered and almost ready to dismiss Janet’s fears. But then, apparently realizing the great opportunity she offered, he collected himself.

“It would be a privilege, Miss Tavish,” he said. “Would Lady Larkspur and Mr. Queensman be so good as to excuse us?”

“We shall be engaged in completing the map,” Mr. Queensman said before Lark could protest. And, in fact, he looked as if nothing could interest him more.

Finally, but for Miss Hathawae dozing in the corner, they were alone. After his unconscionable behavior on the terrace of his hospital, Ben did not dare imagine Lady Lark would ever allow herself to be unchaperoned with him again. If her contempt for him had managed to sustain her for so many weeks, it could only have multiplied many times over since he had ravished her.

And yet here she sat, quietly focused on the very same thing as he and acting as if she had not a care in the world.

He glanced at her and recognized his mistake at once.

She did not look upon the map, nor did it seem to matter to her at all. Instead, she waited on his notice and stared into his face with unnerving intensity.

“You do not like Colonel Wayland?” she asked.

His heart sank with disappointment that she thought not of him but of another man.

“I am reasonably indifferent to him as a gentleman. He seems
pleasant enough, if a bit of a bore. But I do not trust his recollections and wonder why he insists upon them when they are so imperfect.”

“Perhaps he has nothing else,” Lady Lark said. “Sometimes the imagination is more satisfying than real life.”

“I suppose you believe the more we can satisfy our dreams, the happier we ought to be.”

She seemed to contemplate his words, and he thought she looked vaguely troubled. “I have not thought of it that way, but I believe you may be right. It is a fault of yours.”

He sat back, confused. “That I wish to satisfy my dreams?”

She smiled briefly, and her deep brown eyes looked wistful. “That you are so often right.”

He looked down at the table again, wondering what game she played. Ironically, at the very moment he uncovered her deception, she seemed in every other way enigmatic and subtle, and ultimately far more complex than he could have guessed. And, even more unsettling, he had the feeling she enjoyed having the upper hand.

“I have had a letter from Raeborn,” she said suddenly.

“So have I. He intends to bless us both with his presence,” he added, wishing it did not sound so sarcastic.

“You have the ability to shorten his stay if you but pronounce me well.”

“But you insist you are not well, my lady, and a gentleman must always believe a lady. Your unexpected insistence on standing on your own two feet back at the hospital might well have been inspired by the other patients you saw there. We both know you are not yet ready to be returned to my cousin and the rigors of married life.”

“With your cousin they might not be so rigorous,” he thought he heard her say, but then knew such indelicate words were impossible. He pushed some errant pieces of the map to the corner near her, wishing he dared touch her again.

Perhaps she did believe in the transference of dream into reality after all, because her own hand slid across the half-completed board to rest on his. Her thumb rubbed over the white bandage Matthew had applied so neatly, and she turned his hand over to reveal his palm.