Chapter 10 #2
Mr. Tyne hesitated, then reached some internal decision.
“He may not trust you, perhaps not even me, with the full details of his work. But you can certainly trust him, Miss Bigsby. Open his heart, and I am sure you will find it as bottomless as the Atlantic Ocean. Monsieur Grantham would lay down his life for you.”
Henri tilted her head, studying the secretary’s expression. “Yes, I keep hearing about Monsieur Grantham.”
He winced visibly. “Lord Trenwith uses that name when he is engaged in sensitive matters. I fear I cannot say more than that without betraying his confidence.”
“Sensitive matters,” Henri repeated slowly. “Diplomatic work, I assume? Intelligence, too, I presume? Something that requires him to maintain a false identity while in France?”
The secretary’s uncomfortable silence was answer enough.
Henri rose from the bed and moved to the window, gazing out at the harbor view where ships bobbed at anchor in the gray water, their masts creating a forest of vertical lines against the overcast sky.
Somewhere among those vessels might be her passage back to England, if she could find a way to reach them.
But, if she did so, would she imperil the men Gabriel would not talk about?
“Mr. Tyne,” she said without turning from the window, “I appreciate your loyalty to your employer. Truly, I do. But you must understand my position. I am being asked to marry a man who refuses to explain why he destroyed my life, who conducts his business under false names, who apparently considers kidnapping an acceptable solution to his problems. Would you advise your own sister to accept such a proposal?”
When she turned back to face him, Mr. Tyne looked deeply troubled. “Miss Bigsby, I … that is … the circumstances are highly unusual …”
“Indeed they are,” Henri agreed. “And until Lord Trenwith sees fit to treat me as an intelligent adult capable of understanding those circumstances, I see no reason to consider his proposal seriously.”
She returned to her seat on the bed, noting how Mr. Tyne’s distress increased with every word she spoke.
“I do not doubt that you believe in your employer’s essential goodness, Mr. Tyne.
But belief is not the same as knowledge, and I require rather more substantial evidence before entrusting my future to a man I barely know. ”
“But Miss Bigsby,” the secretary began desperately, “your reputation—”
“Will survive or it will not,” Henri interrupted with more confidence than she felt. “But I will not surrender my independence to preserve it. There are other options available to a woman of education and determination.”
Mr. Tyne stared at her with obvious dismay, clearly unprepared for such stubborn resistance to what he saw as the obvious solution to her predicament.
Henri almost felt sorry for him. He was clearly a good man caught in an impossible situation, trying to serve both his employer’s interests and his own sense of moral obligation.
“Is there anything I can say to convince you to reconsider?” he asked finally.
Henri considered the question seriously.
“Lord Trenwith could start by treating me as an equal rather than a problem to be managed. He could explain his work, his reasons for bringing me here, his plans for resolving this situation. He could demonstrate that he sees me as a partner rather than a possession.”
“And if he were to do those things?” Mr. Tyne pressed.
Henri met his gaze steadily. “Then I would consider his proposal on its merits rather than dismissing it out of hand. But until that happens, Mr. Tyne, I’m afraid your employer will have to find another way to solve the problem he has created.”
The secretary slumped back in his chair, looking defeated.
Henri commiserated, caught as he was between his loyalty to Gabriel and his obvious distress at her situation.
But she would not be swayed by pity or guilt.
Her future was too important to sacrifice on the altar of someone else’s convenience, no matter how honorable their intentions might be.
Outside, the church bells began to toll the noon hour. Henri wondered what Gabriel was doing at this moment, whether he was conducting his mysterious negotiations or plotting his next attempt to convince her to accept his proposal.
Whatever his plans, she would be ready for them. She had made her position clear to Mr. Tyne, and to Gabriel himself. Now it remained to be seen whether Lord Trenwith was capable of the honesty and trust that any real partnership would require.
Henri suspected she would not have long to wait for her answer.
Gabriel emerged from his morning meeting with étienne feeling both elated and cautiously optimistic.
Word had arrived from Paris that the King’s counsel was reviewing their negotiated treaty with favorable attention.
étienne expected the approved documents to be returned within a couple of days. Maybe as soon as tomorrow.
After weeks of delicate negotiations, they were finally approaching the conclusion.
The agreement that would secure the release of the English agents was tantalizingly close to completion.
Soon Gabriel would be free to return to England and address the more personal matters that had complicated his life so dramatically.
The mystery of the manuscript needed to be resolved, and he needed to learn what Miss Bigsby’s involvement was once he could secure some spirit of cooperation with her.
Her situation weighed heavily on his thoughts.
The afternoon hours passed quickly as Gabriel focused his attention on Miss Bigsby’s sketch and the manuscript pages he had been working on.
With the negotiations essentially complete and only the formality of royal approval remaining, he could dedicate his full attention to unraveling the mystery that had led him to Danbury’s estate.
Gabriel applied his considerable analytical skills to the coded symbols. His training in cryptography, honed through years of diplomatic work, served him well as he began to identify patterns and relationships between the sketch and the manuscript text.
By midafternoon, he had made significant progress. The sketch was indeed a map, as he had suspected, with the coded symbols corresponding to Malory’s original work. More importantly, he had managed to work out what appeared to be the solution to the first clue.
Gabriel sat back in his chair, studying his work with satisfaction.
The connection between the sketch and Horace’s murder was still unclear, but at least now he had concrete progress to discuss with her.
Perhaps sharing this discovery would help rebuild some of the trust he had so carelessly damaged.
He called for Mr. Tyne and instructed him to bring Miss Bigsby down for tea. It was time to attempt a more civilized approach to their relationship, to see if he could salvage something from the wreckage of the past few days.
When Miss Bigsby appeared in the doorway of the small sitting room where Gabriel had arranged for tea and scones to be served, he was struck once again by her natural elegance.
The blue gown she wore complemented her coloring beautifully, and someone, presumably Lisette, had arranged her honey-brown hair in a style that was both practical and becoming.
Despite everything she had endured, she carried herself with a dignity that commanded respect.
“Miss Bigsby.” Gabriel rose as she entered, offering a slight bow. “Thank you for joining me. I thought perhaps we might enjoy a more pleasant afternoon than our previous encounters have provided.”
Her expression remained composed as she took the seat he indicated, though Gabriel noticed how she positioned herself to maintain maximum distance between them. “Lord Trenwith. Or should I say Monsieur Grantham? I confess I am no longer certain which identity you prefer.”
“Gabriel will suffice,” he replied, pouring tea. “I had hoped we might move beyond such formalities.”
“Formalities seem to be all we have left,” she rebuked coolly, accepting the delicate china cup he offered along with a scone smothered in jam.
“Given that you refuse to share anything of substance about your work or your motives.” She kept her eyes firmly locked on his as she took a dainty bite of her scone.
Gabriel felt his jaw tighten at her pointed reference to his continued secrecy, and at the way her tongue darted out to lick jam from her lips, but he forced himself to maintain his composure.
“There are matters I cannot discuss freely, as I have explained. But perhaps we might find other topics of mutual interest.”
“Such as my continued captivity?” she inquired with deceptive sweetness. “How much longer do you intend to keep me here, Lord Trenwith? Surely, your mysterious business must be nearing completion.” She sipped her tea while still holding his gaze in challenge.
Gabriel set down his own cup with careful precision. “Miss Bigsby, you must understand that your situation is more complex than simple captivity. There are considerations—”
“Yes, you keep mentioning these mysterious considerations,” she interrupted, her amber eyes flashing with irritation. “But you never seem inclined to explain what they might be. Instead, you speak in riddles and expect me to accept your word that everything you have done has been necessary.”
Gabriel studied her face, noting the stubborn set of her jaw and the fire in her gaze.
This was not the Henrietta Bigsby he remembered from their previous encounters—the charming, vivacious woman who had made his visits to Wells’s townhouse so memorable.
This Miss Bigsby was guarded, suspicious, and clearly angry.
He had created this version of her through his own actions, and the knowledge sat heavily on his conscience.