Whispers from the Shadows (29 page)

Father made no rash answer. He let his eyes wander upward as he pursed his lips. Then, after a long moment, he met Thad's gaze again. “It was not a mistake. You provided Jack with a family, a sanctuary. You gave Peggy a feeling of purpose again. She told your mother it was the first time she had had a goal since she lost Alain. To be a good wife, to show Jack what family was meant to be.”

That was what he had always told himself. But somehow, with his best friend staring him down, it came off lacking. He let out the breath he had been holding and started forward again. “Maybe. But maybe I should have refused to touch her—”

“That is not how God designed marriage, son. And certainly not how He designed man. Which leads us to Alain's concerns about you and Gwyneth.”

Thad groaned and, after a quick glance both directions, crossed to the other side of the street. “He overreacted. I kissed her, yes, but that is all. I will not apologize for it.”

“I will settle for you apologizing to her. Not for kissing her, but for kissing her before you explained what has made you the man you are and gave her the chance to reciprocate.”

He clenched his jaw and let that simmer as they closed the distance to the next intersection. “How upset was she?”

“She ran away from your mother. What does that tell you?”

That this might have to be a very long walk if he hoped to return and find her calm enough to want to speak with him. He lifted a hand to rub at the sore muscles in his neck. He was getting too old for wrestling matches with Arnaud. “What am I to do? I love her. I love her like I have never loved anyone, like I had begun to think myself
incapable of loving.”

“Then you rest in the knowledge that a love so deep will not fade, and you give her the opportunity to mourn her father and recover from the trauma of seeing him killed.”

The scent of the bay teased Thad's nose, and he caught a glimpse of dark water between the buildings. He knew what waited there—the Chesapeake merchant fleet, stranded in the harbor. And beyond it, over the horizon, the line of British vessels that held them there.

A vise went tight within him; a shiver slithered up his spine. “What if I haven't that much time?”

Father again came to a halt, more abruptly than before. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Thad quickened his pace, his feet pulling like a lodestone toward his ship.

“Thaddeus!” A few pounding footfalls, and Father was at his side again. “What is it?”

“I don't know.” But whatever it was, it thrummed through him, setting every nerve ablaze. “It is the same feeling I get out at sea when a storm is coming.”

“Your mother insists you are no changeling, but I think you must be to have such a strange intuition. If I could bottle it, I would be the wealthiest man in the nation.”

Thad laughed and mentally thanked his father for a reason to do so. “I thought the stories of changelings were that the fairies stole the real children and replaced them with ones who were stupid and oafish.”

“There is no need to insult yourself, son. You are odd without question, but not stupid.”

He laughed again. Then he stopped as another alleyway loomed before them, stopped a mere second before a figure stepped out. Familiar, but not familiarly clothed. He sucked in a breath. “Mr. Bolton?”

Congressman Tallmadge, dressed like a farmer, emerged from the shadows with a frown. “The Misters Lane. You could not have received my note already.”

Father's frown matched his friend's. “We were out for a walk. What brings you to Baltimore, B—John?”

The congressman glanced between them and then nodded toward the Chesapeake. “Walk with me and I will explain as we go.” They
flanked him as he continued on the path Thad had already set out. “Captain Lane, forgive me for taking liberties, but I sent my men to gather your crew. The moon is new and the night will be dark, thereby safe to slip past the British. Henry assures me he can pilot you safely through the blockade.”

Thad's heart pounded nearly as fast as it had when he held Gwyneth in his arms. “You are sending me to sea?
Tonight
?”

“I have little choice.” His voice low, Tallmadge looked all around them. “We both know the British fleet is on its way from Europe, and as soon as they arrive, they will decide where in the region to attack. We need to know where they are, how many they are, and when they will be here. We cannot wait for someone else to discover this by chance, Captain. And if you wait any longer, the moon will
not
be new, and you will be forced to go the long way around to avoid detection.”

But if he intended to set sail tonight, it would have to be when tide and darkness were both with him. Which would mean that he would have to board his brig within the next few minutes.

He sighed. Tallmadge's point was undeniable. And had it been any other day, Thad would have bounded most gratefully onto
Masquerade
. But today? Tonight?
Now
? He looked past the congressman to his father.

Father stared right back at him. “You said a month ago you wanted action.”

“Yes, but Gwyn is already upset with me.” Arnaud would understand, but would she? “If I leave without warning…”

“A bit of distance just now may be for the best. I will explain the situation.”

Tallmadge's head swung from Thad to Father and back again. “Gwyn? The Gwyn you mentioned when you came to see me last month? Why would she be upset if you leave?”

Thad cleared his throat. He had a feeling that the head of the Culper Ring would not be entirely thrilled to learn that his Samuel Culper III was in love with the daughter of a British general. A murdered British general, whose brother-in-law was set upon the destruction of their country.

Father laughed. “Take one guess, old man.”

Tallmadge sighed. “In my day, one waited until the war was over before one turned one's attention to matters of courting.”

Father, bless him, nudged his longtime friend with an elbow. “
You
may have. Some of us are quite capable of juggling both concerns at once.”

With a shake of his head, the congressman turned with Thad toward the docks. “Tell me you will go. If you do not, I cannot think who to send.”

His crew would be but a skeleton. Getting out of the harbor would be dangerous, finding the fleet risky, and getting home again an ordeal.

But his feet itched with excitement and purpose thudded through his veins. “They will head to Bermuda first, I am sure. I can await them there to get the count. Though
Masquerade
will need water and food—”

“I have men loading it even now, enough for the short trip. You will have to purchase more once there, though.”

“A good excuse for landing.”

And there she was, his first love, bustling with life again after two years asleep in the harbor. Dock workers carried crates and rolled barrels toward and onto her, and the
Masquerade
bobbed joyfully in response. He spotted his crew—the few still alive and not fighting off the Redcoats elsewhere—on the deck, in the lines, on the dock.

Henry jogged their way, his white teeth the only thing on his person that stood out in the quickly falling darkness. “There you are, Captain. I wanted to tell you I talked it over with Emmy, and she knows I be gone longer than usual this time. You gonna need me to lend a hand the whole way.”

He slapped a grateful hand to Henry's back, nodded at Tallmadge, and caught Father's gaze. “You will make sure she understands?”

“I will.” And he would see everything at home was cared for, Thad knew.

Except he could not promise to bring rest to Gwyneth's spirit, could he? The insomnia might come back. The nightmares might strike again in what minutes of sleep she could find. When he managed to return, it might be to find her hollow and haunted once again, their progress lost.

You must always be the one to swoop in to the rescue
.

The tension in his chest throbbed.
Dear Lord
… But what could he pray? “We had better hurry. Farewell, Mr. Bolton. Father—give everyone my love and request their prayers.”

Father nodded.

Thad's fingers curled into his palm.
Dear Lord…I commit her to You.

Twenty-Two

G
wyneth stared out the window into the darkening night, her arms folded over her middle. No light shone now from the heavens other than an early star or two, but a square of illumination fell onto the lawn from a downstairs window. She hadn't lit a lamp in her chamber. Why bother? The shadows draped her, warm and velvety, like a cloak.

A figure turned in from the street, and when he passed through that square of light, she recognized Mr. Lane. Alone, though she had watched him leave with Thad an hour earlier. And walking with a sort of…resignation.

Her throat tightened. Where was his son? Out at some tavern, listening in on rum-loosened tongues, getting a feel for the prevailing state of mind of his neighbors? Or perhaps gone to make amends with Arnaud, who had charged out five minutes after he departed?

Her eyes slid shut, though that scarcely added to the darkness. Why had she not seen it? Not made the connection? And why did it bother her so? She had known he was married before, had known the reasons.

But somehow it changed it to know it was his friend's wife. Not even because of the strangeness that came with Captain Arnaud's return from the dead, but because she
knew
them. Arnaud and Jack. She saw Thad with them nearly every day, had made comments about Peggy that made it clear she had
not
made the connection—and he had left her with those misunderstandings. Left her in the dark.

She had thought he trusted her. She had thought he wanted to involve her in his life. Was that not why he had told her about his Culper Ring? She had thought he, unlike her father, thought her worthy of the truth, able to handle it, able to
help
with it.

The truth is too much for you
. The thought came like a silent
whisper in her ear.
Your mind is too weak.

She spun away from the window, flew to the door, and followed the sound of conversation down to the kitchen. Then she came to a halt at the sight of an unfamiliar woman within.

At once she knew it must be Rosie's Emmy. They had the same fog-gray eyes, the same shape to their faces. But Emmy's skin was as near to Gwyneth's cream as to Rosie's brown, her hair a middling brown rather than black. And her face was even more stunning than Philly's.

No wonder Thad had said she would not forget an encounter with this woman. Her fingers ached for a pencil with which to put her likeness to paper. And her mind filled with questions.

Rosie spotted her lingering in the doorway and waved her in with a smile. “Are we keeping you awake, Miss Gwyn?”

As if she could have slept? Gwyneth returned the smile and shook her head as she eased into the room. The elder Lanes were both there; Winter at the table with a mug before her, and Mr. Lane pulling out a chair for her, his face somber.

“Sit yourself down, and I'll get you some lemonade.” Rosie nodded toward the stranger. “I don't believe you have met my Emmy yet.”

Her Emmy smiled, which made her even more beautiful. “I've scarcely gotten free of Henry's sister all summer, Mama. Poor thing. But I've heard all about you, Miss Fairchild. And just how smitten Thaddeus is.”

Heat surged into her cheeks as she sat. “Call me Gwyneth, please.”

Emmy took a sip of water, her gaze not leaving Gwyneth's face. “I meant to visit before now, but with Liza bedridden I have scarcely seen my own home since May, much less anyone else's. Henry has been so worried I would overtax myself.” She patted her abdomen, which drew Gwyneth's attention to its rounded state.

An even more perfect picture. She needed a riot of blooms in the background, her standing in the midst of them with her focus downward, one hand on that expectant stomach. Dressed in something filmy and whimsical, with a breeze playing at the hem.

Winter smiled and patted Emmy's arm. “I am glad you will be with us for a while, Emmy, and I know Philly will be ecstatic to learn you are back home.”

“Ah.” Mr. Lane brightened, leaning around his wife to grin at the young woman. “Will you be staying here with us, Em?”

“Mm-hmm. Henry recommended it while he is away with Thad, and I thought it a fine idea. Better a few weeks with my favorite people than all alone at home.”

Gwyneth had gripped the glass of lemonade that Rosie put before her but didn't lift it. At the moment she needed no cool drink—her veins had filled with ice. “Away with Thad?”

For a few
weeks
?

Mr. Lane cleared his throat. “Congressman Tallmadge intercepted us on our walk, my dear. He needed Thad to sail immediately to Bermuda to see how many ships the British are sending here.”

Her fingers loosed the glass, slid over the table, and tangled with the fabric of her dress in her lap. “But he left with nothing but a hat—”

“He keeps the basics in his cabin on the
Masquerade
.” His smile was tight. “I am not certain why Ben did not give him any more notice than he did, but it was imperative he leave at once.”

So he did. Without a word, without an apology, without an explanation after those kisses and then the confrontation with Captain Arnaud…he just left, because some politician told him to. On a mission to spy on her father's friends in the navy. To put his life in the gravest of danger. To possibly never come back.

She pushed away from the table, working hard to keep a smile upon her face. “I imagine if anyone can give the congressman the information he requires, it is your son. Now I am afraid I must beg your indulgence and promise to visit more in the morning. I have a bit of the headache.”