Secret Courtship of an Athenian Bluestocking

One

From the Diary of Isabelle Darlington

Our second daughter arrived on a blustery spring day, her inquisitive eyes taking in everything around her.

Once we had stopped laughing, Matthew asked what we should name our second little angel. I have chosen Evangeline, meaning "bearer of good news." May she always use her cleverness and candor to spread light and truth.

Jonathan Hackberry wasn’t an assassin. The only dirt he had ever gotten on his hands was from digging for artifacts.

So how had he arrived here?

He paused at the edge of the twenty-foot-wide dock, shading his eyes against the harsh Mediterranean sun while searching for the ship flying the Union Jack. It no longer mattered how he came to be here. The Collector was dead, and Jonathan was going home.

Fate had done the job, leaving him with a clear conscience. He only hoped Farrin accepted his word, because the proof was scarce.

He spotted the Clara-Rose swaying in the harbor. The ship had dropped anchor in the Port of Piraeus two days ago, and he was determined to be onboard when she set sail again.

His walking stick clicked against the weathered boards as he headed toward a group of passengers gathered at the dock.

A rowboat loaded with trunks pushed away from the Clara-Rose, oars slicing through brilliant blue water.

A few passengers chatted while the majority tracked the boat's slow progress.

The captain would be the last to leave his ship; Jonathan might be waiting a while. He slowed his pace, giving a wide berth to laborers unloading barrels and crates. The mingling of languages and working men's shouts created a symphony that never grew tiresome.

Returning to England left him with mixed feelings. In the eyes of others, he was a bumbling eccentric obsessed with ancient frame drums, the goddess Athena, and those lovely little cucumber sandwiches his former fiancée used to have laid out when he came round.

The facade had served him well over the years, allowing him to gather French military secrets during the war without anyone being the wiser. Across enemy lines, he had been just another harmless crackpot who bored everyone with his endless chatter.

Arriving at parties with a tear in his jacket from fending off an attack? Look at that poor, clumsy Sir Jonathan. He never watches where he is going.

Found somewhere he shouldn’t be? Well, it is Sir Jonathan. The dotty fellow becomes turned around all the time.

Many times, he wished he had abandoned his persona during his short return to England. Maybe now he would have a second chance.

Through a break in the crowd, a flash of color caught his eye.

A young lady, her face hidden by a lemon-yellow parasol, wandered away from a group of travelers waiting for their luggage.

Her blinding white skirts flapped in the constant sea breeze as she planted a hand on her bonnet to keep it from flying away.

She walked around the laborers, stopping occasionally to examine a crate filled with olives or grapes. He forgot about his travel plans to follow her progress.

“Oh, look at this,” she said to no one in particular. Her cultured English made him smile. She was a glimpse of home coming to him.

He wasn't the only one to notice her. Two sailors altered their course to intercept her, calling out to her in Flemish. She glanced over her shoulder, straightened her spine, and gave them the cut direct.

The stouter sailor made a lewd gesture behind her back. When dockworkers standing nearby laughed, Jonathan’s grip tightened on his walking stick. Though he had no sisters, he had always imagined he would be protective of them if he did.

He strode toward the sailors, intent on teaching them some manners.

The younger one grabbed and shook his companion’s arm, pointing at Jonathan.

Both men scurried back toward the end of the dock where a yacht was moored.

Jonathan glowered at the dockworkers, and they returned to their tasks, unfazed.

A man and woman disembarked from the yacht and paraded along the dock, an entourage trailing in their wake. The vessel belonged to the Dutch ambassador, known for flaunting his wealth with ostentatious displays.

The young lady abandoned the cargo to watch the spectacle—ambassador, wife, and four armed guards marching past. Next came a maid and two footmen, followed by a distinguished male servant toting a gilded cage with a white cockatoo.

“Oh, my! Aren’t you a beautiful bird?”

The cockatoo preened, fanning its head crest to reveal pale yellow feathers.

The lady gasped, covering her heart in mock horror. “How mortifying! We’ve arrived in the same outfit, sir.”

She laughed heartily at her own joke. When the cockatoo mimicked her, another round of merry laughter followed. Jonathan chuckled too.

As she turned to watch the procession, he caught his first glimpse of her face.

Reddish-gold, wispy curls fluttered against her cheeks.

Her eyes sparkled like the sea behind her.

And when the full force of her smile landed on him, he froze, momentarily forgetting how to perform the simplest of tasks.

Someone bumped him hard from behind. The toe of his boot caught on an uneven board, and he stumbled into a stack of crates.

Hellfire! Sheepishly, he glanced up, but she wasn’t looking at him.

“Let go!” She tugged on her reticule, wrestling over it with a thief.

A gust caught her discarded parasol and sent it skipping toward the water’s edge.

“It’s mine! Let go!” She gripped the corded handle with both hands, kicking his shins as they spun in a circle, fighting for control of the reticule.

“You there!” Jonathan rushed forward to help her.

The scruffy thief shot a panicked glance at Jonathan, raised his arm, and struck her with the back of his hand. She cried out, instinctively reaching for her cheek. He ripped the reticule from her grasp and turned back toward the shore.

A buzzing in Jonathan’s ears drowned out all other sounds. His vision narrowed on the blackguard barreling in his direction, desperate to disappear into the hills.

Jonathan raised his walking stick, fingers tight on the polished wood.

The thief darted left.

So did Jonathan.

The man’s eyes bulged, and he zigzagged right.

Jonathan sidestepped, drawing the stick back to strike as the thief grew closer.

Whack!

Jonathan startled.

An orange orb had smacked the back of the thief’s head. He tripped. There was a thud, and the boards shook.

He dropped the reticule in the fall then scrambled to grab it. Jonathan struck his wrist. The thief yelped, drawing his hand back and rolling onto his side. He hurled insults at Jonathan while attempting to kick him, but he was too slow. Jonathan’s walking stick absorbed the blow.

“Don’t move,” Jonathan barked in Russian, cane raised overhead.

Someone shouted for a Janissary.

The young woman, her bonnet askew and an orange in hand, marched toward her reticule. Red-cheeked and flustered, she snatched the embroidered bag from the ground. She turned away, but not before he spotted a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

Jonathan briefly glared at the thief, then raised his hand to get her attention. “Miss?”

She looked his way as he withdrew a handkerchief from his jacket and offered it to her. She stared at the white linen square with a perplexed frown.

“For your lip,” he said. “It’s bleeding.”

“Oh!” Her hand flew to her face, smearing her glove. “Oh, drat!”

Heavy footsteps pounded on the dock. Jonathan glanced over his shoulder to see two fierce Janissaries bearing down on them. He drew her aside to avoid getting caught in the scuffle. She accepted his handkerchief in exchange for the orange and blotted the corner of her mouth, wincing slightly.

A crowd had gathered around the thief to gawk.

“You had quite the blow,” Jonathan said to her. “Do you have any other injuries?”

“No, and thank you.” She gingerly touched her lip again. “For the handkerchief and for saving my reticule.”

Jonathan brandished the orange. “You recovered the reticule yourself. You have impeccable aim.”

“You are British.” She gifted him with a smile that reached her deep blue eyes. “I definitely detect a Yorkshire accent.”

He inclined his head, acknowledging her observation.

“What language were you speaking a moment ago? Was it Greek, perhaps?”

“Russian,” he said, “but I know Greek as well.”

“How marvelous! I have something for you.” She dug into her reticule.

“No, no.” Jonathan waved to decline a reward as a commotion from the crowd caught the young woman’s attention.

“Please, move aside. Let us through.” A striking woman with golden blonde hair shouldered her way through the crowd, pointing in his and the young woman’s direction. “I see her, over there. Evangeline!”

The young woman swiped the handkerchief across her peachy pink lips, leaving a fresh smear of red on the linen. “Blast,” she muttered when she saw the stain. “My sister is headed this way.”

A handsome man with darker skin appeared at her sister’s side, guiding her clear of the crowd with his hand on the small of her back. He whispered into her ear as her eyes widened.

“Good heavens!” The blonde rushed forward to hug the younger woman. “You’re bleeding, Evangeline. What happened?”

Evangeline… It wasn’t a name he heard every day. Why did it sound familiar?

“Minor trouble with a thief,” Evangeline answered, holding up her reticule. “But there’s no cause for alarm. My property has been recovered.”

Her sister’s face was red and glistening. “What were you thinking, wandering off like that? You could have become lost.”

Evangeline laughed lightly. “My sense of direction is more refined than you suggest, Gigi.”

“You know what I mean.” The blonde, Gigi, turned toward the man standing next to her, frowning. He rubbed her shoulder while murmuring reassurances.

“You there,” a gruff voice called out in Turkish.

One of the Janissaries approached, his face stern and eyes hard. Jonathan stepped in to shield the women from any further unpleasantness. After a brief exchange, the guard informed Jonathan that he and the young woman—Evangeline—were free to go, as the thief was in custody.

She had lost her parasol during the tussle, and he found it dangling halfway over the edge of the dock. Its ruffled edge fluttered in the breeze as he untangled it from a coil of rope and approached the traveling party.

“It isn’t good for you to become overwrought,” Evangeline was saying to her sister.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of fretting over nothing.” Gigi planted her fists on her hips. “You should’ve just given him the reticule.”

“But we need it. What can I say to ease your worries?”

“That you won’t do this again. You could’ve been seriously injured.”

“I wasn’t,” Evangeline said softly, reaching for Gigi’s hand as tears misted the slightly older woman’s eyes. “I promise to be more careful in the future. You have my word.”

The gentleman accompanying them wrapped his arm around Gigi’s shoulders. “Your sister is safe, chérie, and she has promised not to be foolish again.”

“Wait a moment.” Evangeline frowned. “I never used the word foolish.”

The man’s challenging green gaze met hers, and she ducked her head.

“An oversight on my part,” she murmured.

Jonathan stepped in. “Miss, I believe this is yours.”

“Oh!” Her face brightened when he held out the parasol. “I thought I’d lost it for good. Thank you.”

“It’s scuffed but still functional.”

“Much like me,” she said, accepting his offering and tipping her head to study him. “That was quick thinking, what you did with your walking stick. I would venture to say you’ve had some training.”

He hesitated. “I studied fencing at university,” he lied. “Today, I was lucky.”

“I’m impressed nonetheless. Thank you once again for your assistance.”

He sketched a bow. “We are far from home and must look out for one another.”

“Indeed.”

As the last of the Clara-Rose’s passengers filtered past, the rowboat returned with the shipmaster at the bow. He should go if he wanted to speak with the captain before he lost him in the crowd, but his feet were rooted to the dock.

The gentleman with them nudged the willowy blonde. “We should go.”

“What brings you to Athens?” Jonathan blurted.

Evangeline laughed, sending a wave of heat crashing over him.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Don’t be sorry. It’s refreshing to meet a gentleman who is direct. A rare and pleasant surprise.”

He blinked, unable to meet her eyes as he stammered another lie. “I…I’m not usually this socially clumsy.”

She waved off his apology with a delicate flick of her fingers. “None of us are etiquette instructors, and as you pointed out, we’re far from home. Shall I perform formal introductions?”

“I would be honored.”

She gestured toward the couple. “Please allow me to present my sister and her husband, Mr. and Mrs. Xavier Vistoire. Regina and Xavier are traveling for their honeymoon.”

They exchanged greetings, though Regina Vistoire’s response was weak. She appeared to have wilted in the aftermath of the excitement and was sagging against her husband. Bluish circles marred the pale skin beneath her eyes.

“Oh! And I’m Evangeline Darlington.”

As she continued to talk about their journey, her voice faded into the background. Darlington… Why did that name sound familiar?

“I wonder if I might impose upon you once more, sir.” She reached into her reticule and extracted a letter with a broken seal. “You said you read Greek?”

He nodded.

“Splendid. Would you be so kind as to translate this address? We’ve come to surprise our uncle.”

Jonathan glanced at the envelope, his eyes widening as he read the name scrawled across it. Now he recognized the women. He looked up, his gaze flickering back and forth between them.

Hellfire and all that is unholy! He was staring at Evangeline and Regina Darlington, the Earl of Wedmore’s nieces.

Jonathan’s target was still alive.