Chapter 5
Gads, Julia, could you have been more rude?
” Henry rubbed his thumb and forefinger at the sides of his forehead.
He needed a drink. Interestingly, there’d been none at dinner the night before.
And after some further conversation, during which Henry had learned nothing of import for his search, Mrs. Seymour had bid him goodnight, freeing him to stalk up to Julia’s room, where she’d pretended to be asleep and not answered his knocking.
So now he was back the following morning.
Julia did not even look over at him while she scribbled something on a piece of foolscap at the desk. “I was not rude, Henry. I was tired. Have you ever been tired before?”
“Frequently. Since the day you were put in my charge.”
She stuck her tongue out at him before dipping her pen in ink.
He pushed from the beautifully papered walls of the bedchamber—not a single bit of it peeling—and walked to stand behind her.
“Just because you do not want to be married does not mean you ought to treat our hostess so unkindly. What has gotten into you? You are not usually like this.” The opposite really.
Julia had ever been the calmer of the two of them.
Kinder and gentler. Henry hardly recognized the fiery woman before him now.
She spun in her chair and cocked a brow at him. “How would you know?”
“I am your brother.”
“I have seen more of Kate and James lately than you.” She referenced their mutual friends with accusation in her voice.
“I have been busy, Julia.” Trying to save her and her future. “And this is not about me.”
“Perhaps it should be. Now that I have your attention, there are a few things I’ve been needing to address.” She set down her pen and came to a stand.
Foreboding filled him.
“I never see you anymore, Henry.”
He spread his hands wide at his sides. “Here I am.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “I mean before now. You are always gone.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I do not approve of where you spend your time. Gambling and drinking should not be excuses to be too busy to see your own sister.”
Before he had a chance to defend himself, she continued. “And to own the truth, I am rather irked with you for agreeing to this invitation without even consulting me. I am not a debutante any longer, Henry. I do not need you organizing my social calendar.”
Henry took a step back, determining which accusation to respond to first. He chose the easier one. “I apologize. I thought you would enjoy spending the summer on an island.”
“That is not the point, Henry. The point is you are treating me like a child.”
“You are acting like a child right now.” He nearly groaned. He really needed a drink.
She laughed without humor. “That is rich coming from you.”
Henry was flabbergasted. “Where is this anger surfacing from, Julia? What have I done to deserve it?”
She advanced on him. “Nothing! You have done nothing at all, and that is the problem! I hardly know you anymore, Henry. You come and go at all hours of the night. You drink yourself into a stupor and gamble for what seems like days straight. And then, out of the blue, you decide we are taking a little familial vacation to the house party of a woman neither of us knows?”
Henry looked at the closed door. Could anyone hear them? He could not afford to draw undue attention. “Keep your voice down, will you?”
She rolled her eyes but plowed on in a blessedly softer voice.
Her quiet anger was almost more terrifying to behold.
Cold and pointed. “For a moment, I thought perhaps this was the changing point. The moment you recalled you had a sister and might wish to invest in a relationship with her. But no, you’ve only remembered me long enough to tell me you intend to marry me off.
” Moisture gathered in her eyes, but she blinked it away, breathing heavily.
“So forgive me if I came across as rude at dinner. I am afraid I am dealing with a great amount of disappointment just now.”
Henry stared at her, unable to come up with any words to say, let alone any that would help. His shoulders slumped. “I . . . I am sorry, Julia. I did not know you felt this way.”
She nodded, brushing at her tears and avoiding his eyes.
Silence stretched between them as dust-specked rays of sunlight broke through Julia’s window.
For the second time in as many days, Henry could feel how much he’d failed with such acuity it was physically painful.
He longed to explain himself, to tell her why he’d been acting this way.
How they’d been financially so upside down he could hardly see a way to fix it.
How he was just trying to help her. How badly he was broken from their father’s death.
But that was self-serving. It would make him feel better to share the burden but would make her feel worse. And that would not fix anything. But listening to her, apologizing to her, might. However late the apology was.
He swallowed hard, hands flexing and clenching. “I truly am sorry, Julia. I promise I did not set out to be such a lackluster brother, but it seems I’ve done just that.”
She let out a watery laugh. It was a start.
“I won’t push you to marry. We can just enjoy this time together. I thought I was helping you, but I see I was not. I do not want to be rid of you. I just want you to be happy.” And safe. From him and the chaos he’d created in their lives.
Her still-glistening eyes finally met his. They searched in his gaze—perhaps for sincerity—then she minutely dipped her chin in a nod.
“You will not try to marry me off?”
He cleared his throat, attempting to bring levity to the depressing mood that had fallen.
“I will fight off the men of the party if I have to.” He hadn’t particularly liked how that Shelbourne fellow had looked at her the night before anyway, those dark eyes of his like black pits.
He intended to write Carlton about him, see if he could determine if Shelbourne was one of the men at the masquerade that fateful night. Him and Carruthers.
She chuckled again, swiping the last vestiges of tears from her eyes. “Fine. A vacation, then. Just for us.”
“Just for us.” And a pirate or two, if he were lucky.
Her eyes darted between both of his. “I’ve missed you, Hen.”
He pulled her into a hug, tucking her to his chest. “And I’ve missed you, Jules. I’m sorry I’ve been so absent.” Without even realizing it, which seemed worse.
She did not forgive him, but nodded into his shoulder.
“One thing, though.”
She pulled back with a raised brow.
He speared her with a look. “If I’m not marrying you off, you’ve got to stop any thoughts of matchmaking.”
A smile curled across her face. “You noticed that, did you?”
“I think the Prince Regent noticed it. And he’s across the Channel.”
She laughed. “An exaggeration. But you have to admit, Mrs. Seymour is very pretty.”
“Beautiful.”
Her brows raised again.
He shrugged. “It is simply a fact, Julia. But I am not looking to marry either.” Some might say an heiress would solve all his problems, but not Henry.
Henry knew that he was not deserving of any woman’s ardor, even if she might shoulder the burden of his debt.
It came with the burden of his failures and his past.
“I was just noting a time or two you could enjoy one another’s company,” she hedged.
“Knowing you, it would have been a great deal more than that. Promise to stop?”
Her lips twisted in a smile. “Yes, fine.”
“Good.” Before stepping back, he ruffled the top of her head as he’d done when they were young.
“Agh! Henry!” She danced away. “I just finished my hair!”
Grinning, he backed up. “Sorry.”
She glowered at him, but it seemed halfhearted. “You are not at all.”
A pang of frustration slipped through his entertainment as she stepped to the looking glass.
He could not even afford to bring her maid with them on the trip.
Certainly, she’d not seemed to mind when he’d suggested leaving Mary in London with some cockbrained excuse about her deserving a bit of a break—really he couldn’t afford the fees to have her travel when Carlton was only paying for Henry and Julia—but he should be able to provide for his sister.
This summer was supposed to have done just that, and yet here he was, only two days into their visit, and he’d already promised to give up his plan to marry her off. Now he had no other option than succeeding in uncovering the Gentleman Pirate and his band.
Carlton,
We’ve safely arrived. I could use some information on two men here. Both naval men but not from the island. Lieutenant Carruthers and Lieutenant Shelbourne. Is there any chance of you discovering if their ships were anchored near London the night of the masquerade?
Will write when I have made discoveries.
—Sir H
Henry’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his pant leg as he stared out the darkened window. It was blasted odd to be on an island surrounded by water that was out there, just not visible in the inky blackness.
All day, party members had been arriving.
Visitors from England and those from the island filled the home, creating a buzz of noise nearly everywhere Henry went even without the group gathering for any activities or meals.
He made a point to meet as many guests as he could, if only briefly, but after what he’d learned in town, he was currently only interested in those who lived on the island.
His hands moved to tap on the windowsill. Despite the late hour, he could not sleep. He did not like being inactive, but he had to wait until he was certain the household was asleep before he could accomplish what he needed.
Just a little longer should do it. It was already well past midnight.
Logically, the late Commander Seymour both made sense to investigate and did not.
He made sense because of his naval ties and location on the island.
He was one of several men stationed on the island during the war, and as far as Henry had been able to determine prior to coming, he was the only officer who had then stayed.
But he was dead—he could not be the Gentleman Pirate, unless someone had taken on his role.
Yet due to his lack of presence in the house, he was the easiest to investigate.
Henry pulled out his pocket watch. It was nearing one in the morning. The house should be quiet.
On soft feet, he slipped from the room and down the carpeted corridor.
The housekeeper had given him and Julia a tour that morning.
While the location of the late Commander Seymour’s bedroom had not been a part of that, his old study was.
Mrs. Trumble, the housekeeper, had opened that door with an almost reverence—evidently, the staff had quite adored their master.
Did they give the same respect to their mistress?
The room was locked, but Henry pulled out his cravat pin and made quick work of the simple mechanism.
He closed it quietly behind him and set the candle on the desk.
He started in the drawers, pulling out ledgers and setting them atop the desk to flip through in a moment.
Once it was clear, he tried the back for a small tab.
Something minor that he could—there. His finger brushed a bit of fabric, minuscule in size.
He grasped it with his nail, pulling upward, and a false bottom to the drawer came out.
Many a man had their secrets, but this was certainly suspicious.
Or it would have been, except the compartment was empty. Cobwebs clung to his fingers when he pulled his hand out, and he brushed them against his leg, avoiding a slight shiver. No matter how many dark places he scoured or hid himself in, spiders would forever raise the hair on his neck.
He moved to the other drawer. It had no matching compartment, so he flipped through the ledgers.
As he understood it, the master of the house had died four years before, and the ledgers were all similarly outdated.
The steward must keep newer records with himself.
Henry hadn’t the time to read every page, but he scanned them closely enough to ensure that several balances were correct and no entries appeared suspicious.
Everything seemed in order. Costs of the servants, upkeep of the home, investments.
The man had been quite wealthy. He’d spent an inordinate amount on alcohol as well—but not strangely large. Just a man who enjoyed his port.
Gads, Henry wished for some of that. Just something small to wet the dry ache that seemed to have taken residence in his throat in the last day and a half.
There had to be something available in the house.
And based on the ledgers, it was clearly far better than what he had at home.
Where would they keep the stuff? By the kitchens certainly, since there didn’t seem to be any in the study. Perhaps the drawing room?
He shook his head. What was he doing thinking about port during a job? He needed to focus.
He pulled a page out of the middle of the ledger.
It might come in handy to have Seymour’s handwriting to compare to if needed.
But after searching the rest of the desk, and thoroughly scanning the bookshelves—pulling several books out and looking for any false insides or hidden papers—he found absolutely nothing.
Innocuous letters and plain old books. Nothing of import.
And the housekeeper had informed them Seymour had died in action during the war with Napoléon. A dead man couldn’t possibly cover his own tracks. Which pointed toward Seymour’s innocence. Barring additional information.
What had Commander Seymour been like?
The thought came suddenly and unannounced. And for some reason, it was accompanied with a curious heated sensation in his chest.
Was he jealous of a dead man? Certainly not. That was absurd. Julia’s pointless matchmaking must have caused a train of thought regarding Mrs. Seymour that he should not entertain.
He rubbed his fingers across his forehead, as if he could erase errant thoughts.
With probing eyes, he scanned the place one last time while picking up the candle.
He’d left nothing out of order, and he could almost conclusively take Seymour off his suspect list. It would do for a single night’s work.
He slipped from the room, locking it before he left.