Chapter 3
A Week Later…
Io had had enough.
Enough of Edith Barrymore’s incessant sniping and carping.
Enough pointless shopping for clothing she had no intention of wearing.
Enough of the endless lectures about manners and vapid social convention.
Just enough.
Day after day, Io accompanied her sister and Miss Barrymore shopping, spending hours trying on garments she neither wanted nor needed. She’d had to all but fight physically for the right to choose her own clothing—garments that reflected her belief in the Reform Dress movement—rather than the dangerous crinolines, unhealthy corsets, objectifying bustles, and acres of skirts that Edith tried to force on her.
Last, but not least, Io had had enough of Corbin Masterson’s cool, judging gaze on her every night at dinner, not to mention his infuriating presence at the manners and dancing lessons Edith insisted they all endure every minute they were not eating, sleeping, or shopping.
Yesterday had been the last straw.
Io and Eva had spent three hours learning how to hold a teacup properly and sit like a lady while paying insipid morning calls.
Io had already been on the verge of flinging her cup through the window when Mr. Masterson had arrived early for their wretched dance lessons.
Edith had immediately gestured to Eva and Io—as if they were a pair of trained poodles—and said, “Are they not sitting politely and holding their cups like proper ladies, Mr. Masterson?”
Io’s head had become so hot so fast that she thought the top of it would blow off.
But that had been nothing to the fury that had seized her when Masterson had turned his opaque gray gaze on her and opened his mouth—as if he would actually answer the demeaning question!
“Oh yes, my dear Mr. Masterson,” Io had simpered in a deliberately vapid tone before he could get a word out. “Please do share your opinion!” She fluttered her lashes and then added, “The way Edith is all but panting for your judgment makes me believe you are an expert on the critical subject of teacup holding.” Io was vaguely aware that Edith had gasped, but not for the world could she have pulled her eyes away from Masterson’s inscrutable face.
After a long, pregnant moment, he had turned back to Edith. “Very nice, Miss Barrymore. You have worked miracles in such a short time.” And then he’d had the gall to add, “Perhaps you might work next on the proper way to hold a wine glass.”
Io had lurched to her feet, spilling hot tea all over herself in the process, her clumsiness only adding to her fury. “And just how is the way I am holding this damned cup any different from the way I did at breakfast this morning, Mr. Masterson?”
His eyebrows had lifted fractionally, the minute shift of his features even more aggravating than an open smirk would have been. “This morning you were holding your cup like a longshoreman gripping a pint glass. Today you are—or you were until a moment ago—making great strides toward behaving like a lady.” He paused, and then said, “Your language, however, is another matter entirely. Vulgarity will not endear you to society hostesses in either New York or London, my lady.”
At that point, her sister had shot to her feet and forcibly removed the cup from Io’s hand before she could throw it at Masterson’s head.
Even Edith had not protested when Io had stormed from the room, flinging over her shoulder that they could bloody well practice their dancing without her.
As little as Io had wanted to go down to dinner last night, she’d not wanted to give either Edith or Masterson the satisfaction of thinking that she was sulking in her room.
But she had drawn the line at spending time doing needlework in the drawing room after dinner.
As for today?
Today Io planned to get away entirely. If she did not escape her gilded cage and do something worthwhile, she could not be held responsible for her behavior. And Edith, along with her vile henchman Masterson, would be the ones who bore the brunt of her wrath.
If Io lost her temper and attacked Zeus’s fiancée—or his best friend and secretary—then she would doubtless be sent packing back to Canoga in disgrace.
While that vision of the future did not bother her, she knew it would upset her twin. For whatever reason, Bal had been as fierce an advocate for giving up two years of their lives to Zeus’s plans as their little sister Eva.
Io understood Eva’s desire to move in tonish circles—she was wild about anything English—but she was utterly baffled as to why Bal was so keen to leave his life in Canoga behind.
In any event, Io was more than willing to risk banishment if it meant she could get away for a day.
To that end, she woke up before first light this morning and dressed not in her old clothing which would be far too conspicuous even in a city as vast as New York, but in a dress that she’d obtained from one of Zeus’s maids.
The woman, Mary, had been ecstatic but dubious when Io had offered a straight trade: one of the new gowns Edith had foisted on her for Mary’s plain brown worsted.
“But, my lady, this gown is far more valuable.” Mary had stared lustfully at the putrid peach walking costume that Io wouldn’t be caught dead in. “It wouldn’t be right,” she’d added, with far less conviction.
“Value is a subjective matter, Mary.” At the woman’s blank look, Io had elaborated. “Your gown is far more valuable to me than this peach one. So, from my point of view, I am the one getting the better bargain.”
Mary’s brow had puckered. “Oh. I would never have thought of that.”
“So, you will do me this favor and trade?”
“Well, if you put it that way—”
“Excellent! Just, er, don’t wear the outfit anyplace where Miss Barrymore might see you, hmm?”
Mary had even offered up her superior needlework talent to alter the brown gown for Io, bringing in the waist and lengthening the hem.
Once Io was dressed in her new brown gown and her satchel was filled with all the information she needed for the day—as well as enough money to pay for street trams or cabs—she tiptoed down the hall to her twin’s room, shocked to find Bal still asleep in his monstrous canopied bed, face down in the pillow.
Io pinched his bare shoulder. Hard.
“Ow!” Bal shouted, flipping onto his back, his angry eyes heavy with sleep. “What the hell are you doing, Yoyo?” He glanced at the window and then squinted at the clock. “And why are you bothering me at this ungodly hour?”
“If we were at Canoga, you would have been up and breaking your fast by now.”
“We’re not at Canoga,” he retorted sourly.
“Did you overindulge last night, twin?”
Bal rubbed his shoulder, his look of reproach ruined by the guilt she saw seeping in.
Io clucked her tongue. “My, my. How well you have taken to a life of sloth and indolence, Balthazar. Drinking and gambling and carousing all night and then shopping and lounging all day. Tell me, have you sunk to visiting brothels and foisting yourself on prostitutes, as well?”
Bal glowered. “Oh, leave off, Yoyo! What do you want with me, anyhow?”
“I need you to lie for me today.”
He seemed to notice her gown for the first time and sat up. “Why are you dressed like that?” His eyes darted to her heavy black satchel and he groaned. “Oh God. You are going out to get yourself arrested. Again.”
“I am doing no such thing.”
“Then where are you going and why do I have to lie about it?”
“You cannot tell anyone what you do not know, Balthazar.”
He flopped onto his back and stared at the canopy above his head. “Please do not do this, Io.”
“I have commitments to fulfill before I leave here, Bal, important ones. Also, I need to do something worthwhile. If I don’t, I’ll scratch Miss Barrymore’s eyes out. And Masterson’s too,” she added for good measure.
When he didn’t answer, she felt a pang of remorse and put a hand on his shoulder, but gently this time, until he turned to meet her gaze. “I will drink tea like a lady and dance at their parties and every other manner of vapidity when we reach England. But right now, there are things I must do before I leave everything behind.”
“You are still planning to continue your efforts when we reach Britain?”
By efforts, he meant Io’s commitment to women’s reproductive rights. “Yes, Bal.”
“Our brother will not be happy about this, Yoyo. He will take action to stop you, you must know that.”
“Zeus cannot take action if he does not know, can he?”
Bal snorted. “Because you are so subtle in pursuing what you believe in.”
“I promise I will be more circumspect in my efforts.”
“You had better be, Yoyo. You are the sister of a duke, now. Like it or not, Zeus cares about his reputation. Having a sister in jail is the last thing he will want.
“I will be careful. But please—cover for me today?”
He huffed out a pained sigh. “Fine. What am I to tell them?”
“That I have gone to visit a friend who left the colony and lives here in the city.” She grinned and added, “Tell them my friend is now married to a Presbyterian minister.”
Bal gave a grudging laugh. Presbyterians were the chief persecutors of the Canoga Colony. It also happened to be the religion of their oldest brother, not to mention his insufferable fiancée and secretary.
“You want them to believe me, Yoyo, so I will leave that last part out.”
“Thank you, twin.” She kissed his forehead and turned to go, but he caught her hand and pulled her back.
The laughter had drained from his green eyes, which were the same shape as hers, but a far lighter and prettier—in Io’s opinion—peridot while hers were a boring hazel.
“What is it, Bal?”
“I will cover for you today. But this is the last time, Yoyo. We all voted and agreed before leaving Canoga that we would give our brother’s plan a chance for the next two years. I know this past week has been difficult—especially for you and Eva—but it won’t take two years to—” He broke off, an odd look in his eyes. “Just be patient.”
“It won’t take two years to what? Is there something you should tell me?”
He gave her a gentle shove. “Go and enjoy your day.”
Io was sorely tempted to push the matter, but she was also desperate to embrace her freedom.
And so, she shrugged off her concern and said, “I will be back in time to dress for dinner.”
***
Although it was barely after daybreak, Corbin had just returned to his room after his morning bout of boxing with the duke.
This morning, to his surprise, Lords Ares and Apollo had joined the two of them in the basement room where he and the duke were once again, for an hour three mornings a week, just plain Corbin and John as they pummeled each other.
The duke had set up the room so it was just like the boxing saloons that had become so popular in New York among upper-class men over the last few decades.
In addition to the heavy sandbags, dumbbells, and other accoutrements associated with pugilism, there were also comfortable overstuffed chairs made for sitting in, rather than for their appearance, and a small kitchen where the duke’s valet—Crombie a man who’d been Hastings’s corporal during the war—prepared less delicate fare than Miss Barrymore allowed the cook to make. Food for men, in other words, rather than dainty finger sandwiches and fussy cakes and pastries.
The duke’s youngest brothers were pleasant company, and if Corbin regretted the invasion of the hour that he usually jealously guarded, he soon lost the feeling as he watched the twins beat each other with far more vigor than he and Hastings—fifteen years their senior—could manage these days.
Corbin had just indulged in a hot shower—a modern miracle the duke had installed in both his Fifth Avenue home and his country house on Long Island—and finished dressing when he happened to glance out his window and saw a familiar body wearing a very unfamiliar dress, bustling down the street, without a maid or footman to attend her.
“Damnation! And just where are you going so early and so quickly and so alone, my lady?” he muttered under his breath.
Corbin snatched up his coat and hat. And then, on impulse, he yanked open the drawer in his nightstand and removed his service pistol, tucking it away as he sprinted from his room.
He was fortunate that his quarry was walking and not taking a cab, which allowed him to catch up to her a block away.
She’d been easy to spot as it was so early in the morning that the only people moving about were the armies of domestics who served the grand mansions that lined the most prestigious street in the city.
Corbin was not surprised that Lady Io had bolted her brother’s house with such stealth. The duke had warned him of the possibility several nights before, when the two of them had enjoyed a glass of whiskey after a grueling day of negotiations regarding an upcoming bank merger.
“Io is like a wolf on a chain, snapping and snarling at her captivity,” Hastings had said with a weary sigh. “Watch her for me, will you? And keep her out of trouble if you can.” His chiseled jaw had flexed with tension. “I am afraid that my sister does not care for Miss Barrymore’s assistance when it comes to preparing for her new life in England.”
It had taken all Corbin’s self-control not to laugh. Does not care for was an understatement of epic proportions. It had only been a few days at that point and already the two women were at each other’s throats.
Corbin respected Hastings greatly, but the man had a blind spot as large as a stagecoach when it came to his fiancée and her rather abrasive nature and rigid expectations.
Nobody understood better why his friend was so forgiving of Miss Barrymore’s prickly ways, but Corbin thought it was going to prove a huge mistake turning the care and training of his new siblings over to his exacting fiancée.
Hastings could have chosen from a number of female relatives on his mother’s side, any of whom would have been able to handle the transformation with more tact and care.
But what Edith wanted, Edith got as far as Hastings was concerned. It had been that way for years, ever since her brother Kelvin—who’d been a very close friend to both Corbin and the duke—had extracted a deathbed promise from Hastings. Corbin didn’t know the exact nature of the promise, but he suspected the burden was a heavy one.
Ahead of him, Lady Io suddenly lifted her hand, the action pulling Corbin from his thoughts.
“Hell,” he muttered under his breath as a cab rolled to a stop beside her. He glanced around for another one and waved his arm wildly to capture the attention of a driver half a block away, keeping his gaze locked onto Lady Io’s rapidly disappearing carriage until his own stopped beside him. “Follow that cab,” he told the driver, raising a shiny new dollar coin.
The cab lurched down the street before Corbin had even closed the door.
Luckily, there were few conveyances on the road, so his driver was able to keep up.
Corbin’s mood turned darker and darker the farther they went from the respectable part of town.
“Where the devilare you going, my lady?” he muttered to himself as both cabs continued to roll toward a part of the island that was even more dangerous than the Wild West.
By the time the cab finally stopped it was barely a stone’s throw from the area that was still infamously known as Five Points, even though the streets that comprised those points were no longer in existence.
It was the most treacherous part of the city, infested by hardened criminals and their powerless prey—the vulnerable immigrants who were too poor to escape to someplace better.
Corbin tossed the driver his coin and followed Lady Io, who’d disembarked and was hurrying along on foot.
He watched in open-mouthed horror as she blithely passed a pack of lads who, while only eleven or twelve in age, were ancient in the ways of crime and fell into step behind her, their intentions nefarious.
Utterly unaware of the danger creeping up behind her, she stopped in front of a building that must have once been quite grand but was now mostly shuttered and dilapidated, the formerly white siding blackish brown from years of smoke and filth.
Corbin waited until she disappeared inside before approaching the obviously disappointed gang of lads.
“What’s in that building?” he asked the boy who looked to be the leader.
“What’s it to you?” the boy shot back.
Corbin drew a coin from his pocket.
“There’s quacks in there—and those do-gooders,” the boy obligingly said.
“Aye,” another chimed in. “And free rubbers.”
The others laughed at the new street cant for what had been called johnnies when Corbin had been a boy.
So. Lady Io was here to meet with her radical suffragette associates. Corbin sighed.
“Did you see that lady who just went inside?”
The oldest boy’s leer was worrying, even though he could not possibly have hair on his balls. “Aye,” he said with a suggestive thrust of his hips. “A real handsome piece o’ calico.”
Again, the others chuckled.
Corbin drew out his wallet and extracted a bill that made even the jaded young ruffians’ eyes widen.
“This is for you if you do what I say.”
“Why should I do anything? Why don’t I just take it—and all the rest—from you?”
The boys behind him moved a bit closer to their leader, muttering and nodding.
“Why don’t you try?” Corbin said, smiling unpleasantly. He would take some licks if the whole gang attacked him like the feral dogs they aped, but his blood was up thanks to Lady Io’s thoughtless idiocy, so he was not afraid of a few bruises.
They must have recognized the violent glitter in his gaze because, after a moment, the leader eased back. “Alright. What do we have to do?”
“Is there a back entrance to this building?”
“Aye.”
“I want you to keep an eye on it. If she slips out the back, come and tell me. If you stay there until she leaves—whether through the front door or the back—I’ll give you the same amount again. And there is one more thing.” He held up yet another note. “If one of you will accompany me to that saloon across the street, I will pay you to deliver a message.” Corbin would need to let Hastings know that he might be out of commission for a while.
“A message? Where to?”
“I’ll tell you when I give it to you.”
The little ruffian was so pleased by the prospect of such easy money that, for a moment, he looked his age. But then he remembered to be tough and growled, “Aye, I can do that.”
Corbin handed over the money and watched as the boys split into three groups. Two went behind the building to wait while three others headed directly to one of the small carts that sprang up each morning to sell roasted corn.
Corbin was impressed that they went to buy food. If they were beyond redemption, they would have gone into one of the saloons that infected the area like carbuncles on a prostitute.
The leader of the small gang waited patiently beside him, evidently taking the delivery job for himself.
Corbin briefly considered entering the building and bodily dragging Lady Io out of it, but decided discretion was the better part of valor. Besides, the last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to her presence in this part of the city.
Instead, Corbin strode across the street into the saloon that afforded him the best view of the building and settled in to wait.