Chapter 13

It was getting colder. London started its day frost bit and ended it with a bone-deep chill. The people on the streets bundled as tightly as possible. Some wore a mismatched collection of rags and hand-downs, attesting to their meager resources. Some wore serviceable and sturdy coats or cloaks which marked each as part of the working class. Others wore more decorative and better made coats and cloaks, identifying them as a step further up in society.

And then there was the man who stepped out of a closed coach to approach a street vendor. He was no less bundled against the bitter chill. He wore a tall hat of good beaver, a black woolen scarf about his throat and a multi-tiered cloak of heavy, fine quality wool. Taken all together, no one would doubt this man was a gentleman, a man of quality, wealth, and good family.

He stood over the vendor's cart, carefully assessing the quality of the wares and finding them worth their asking price. Chatsworth had to take great care over the wagon of oranges as he picked a half dozen for Katrina now that the weather was getting colder. Even with the blankets used to protect the valuable fruit, there was still the chance of frost damage and freezing. These were being shipped in from Spain and priced high, but Katrina would have her oranges at whatever the expense.

Smiling to himself, Sir Jonathan remembered starting this practice back when he had been a student visiting her home. He had wanted to do something toward a gift for their hospitality. Robert was not rich, but was affording a group of eight visitors regularly for lunches and occasional dinners. A generous hospitality he felt the hostess deserved some show of appreciation for. Recently, Jonathan had heard an off-hand remark about Katrina's love for winter oranges and enjoyed having a bowl of them at the table. It had been a luxury Robert didn't feel like affording, so Jonathan offered to gift her oranges with the husband's blessing.

When Sir Jonathan had chosen six, he paid the vender and returned to his coach, bidding the driver to continue to Dr. Tomlinson's home.

Chatsworth visited the doctor's home at least once a week now. Most times, he stayed for dinner. The two men had been renewing their old friendship through their concern for Katrina. They reminisced about old times and slowly caught up on where they had gone in their careers and personal lives. Sometimes they even spoke of the future.

Neither man had yet married. They were ready for it, but no one of interest had come their way. They had each reached the summit of their careers and were building for family and retirement.

They still enjoyed some of the same pass times of their youth. Daniel admitted he had not been to hounds in years, and his polo playing had suffered from a lack of practice. Yet, he still held his memberships and made it to major games occasionally. Sir Jonathan was in much the same way. He had given up on polo entirely, but hunted at least once a year.

They also talked about Katrina.

She was much better of mind, fully recovered in body, and was living with Daniel and his widowed sister. She was still subdued and would not join the men at dinner, but could occasionally smile and join them for tea and conversation.

It had taken a great deal of time for her to build up to hearing about the fraud done to her. The telling broke her down anew. She had sold everything that she and Robert had built and had paid the man half her income for so long out of ignorance. She admitted she had known of the Medical Academy's grant, but had not known it was his only backing.

Chatsworth and Dr. Tomlinson had talked with her about it. They made sure she understood she was at no fault in the matter. "Frauds are perpetuated on men and women of high rank and intelligence all the time. I presided over many such investigations in my work. Set properly, anyone is susceptible to such things. The most successful based on truth, such as this one. You had no way of knowing that Robert did not have Jordan's backing, so do not upset yourself," he said. "I will see to it. He will never do this to anyone else."

It had been decided, for the investigation and her own protection, that Katrina not return to her old apartments. Chatsworth himself had decided that, impressing on her landlady not to tell anyone of her whereabouts.

Mrs. Johnson did not need the warning. She had seen Isaac Jordan come calling on her border. Mrs. McTavish, Chatsworth had been told, had always been upset afterward. When the man had offered the nurse employment, Mrs. Johnson had been surprised, but had kept her silence as the nurse assured her the association would be short. Katrina had at that point confided that the man had held a debt over her.

Mrs. Johnson had been worried all day about the arrangement, so when the nurse came back late the same night through the back entrance, she had still been awake. Getting up from her sewing, she deduced no good had come of the trip. She went up to offer comfort and see what damage had been done. That act of kindness saved Mrs. McTavish from ultimate grief.

She informed Chatsworth that Mr. Jordan had already been by inquiring about the nurse several times and had even left money for information about the nurse's return. "The money went to the nearest street urchin and his address I threw in the trash. I would cut out my tongue before telling him a thing."

On the way home from his visit, Chatsworth mulled over thoughts haunting him. Katrina was getting better. She was still as fine looking a woman as she had ever been. In his eyes, her beauty had deepened rather than waned with time. Am I getting old and sentimental? The answer could explain the potent feelings he was having for Katrina.

So is Daniel, possibly. Daniel's being a doctor, as Robert had been, and her living in his house gives him the upper hand if this turns into a rivalry for the lady's affections.

Thinking that, he stopped himself and laughed aloud at the mere thought of him and his old friend getting into such a fool's game.

Daniel would have the advantage. I don't give myself good odds on winning such a rivalry, even if Katrina seems to favor me more than the others in our youth. And I did do that one thing she treasures.

But Daniel is aging better, and…

What?

Am I giving up the field already? Is there a field to be had?

Chatsworth shook and cursed himself for nine kinds of fool before he banished the subject.

Winter preparations across the Derbyshire countryside were in full swing. Rebecca had settled into playing lady of the manor, with the quiet efficiency she always did. She had it with Sir Boniface's blessing from the age of sixteen and now with Phileas's acceptance. She had so far overseen the stocking of the pantries, putting the gardens under mulch, and the winter cleanup of the house and grounds.

Even Phileas, who preferred the city, had been content to preside over the usual winter preparations. He had overseen repairs and the re-thatching of the cottages. He had seen that hay and firewood had been gathered in quantity, too.

Rebecca considered the yearly routine a comfort. It would have been unblemished bliss except for receiving a few requests from Isaac Jordan for her company back in London. She replied she that was too occupied. She had been busy, and she hoped he would stop asking. She was growing very sorry for accepting that first meal with him.

The Secret Service's first female agent was not young, innocent, or naïve. She knew some men needed very little encouragement to become long-term nuisances. Had she not learned that with George Williamson? All Rebecca had done was dance with him at a party twice. For that small show of favor, the man had followed her around like a puppy for a year.

Rebecca had concluded that she should either stop accepting invitations or settle on only one or two male friends with the sense to know the limits she set for them. Right now, the only man she could say that for was Phileas, but he was her cousin.

It was a dilemma. One she needed to handle. Rebecca had not had a steady lover since she and Prescott broke off. He had also become a pest, demanding more than she would give. They had started out their association with the full understanding it was to be a light affair only. But in time, he couldn't get it through his thick head that she was not his property.

Had I been the one to talk of marriage first, he would have accused me of trying to trap him. It was just so unfair. And men say women are marriage hungry. He wished both to perdition and took a walk through the meadow for air.

Phileas covertly watched Rebecca fuss over the flowers from the French doors with a view into the mud room by the garden. He had been overseeing his cousin's attempts at the domestic arts over winter preparations with amusement most of the time. There had not been another woman in this household other than cook and the housemaids since his mother died. As such, his cousin had been the de facto mistress of Shillingworth Magna for years. It was a role he believed she had taken to out of duty more than personal inclination.

His father's ideas on bringing up his female ward had been no different from how he brought up his sons. That didn't allow devotion to quiet endeavors like flower arranging. Sir Boniface had sent Rebecca to a finishing school every summer from her twelfth birthday to her début. She hated the place and had run away from it twice. His father had finally bribed her with riding and fencing lessons to make her stay.

Rebecca really does not need to bother with such things. McIvers, cook, and the staff know their business.

He watched as Rebecca made a mess of the arrangement and then turned the job over to a maid. Her frustrations came from getting letters from Isaac Jordan. She had received several. She had opened one in the study, along with all her over mail. A mild irritation crossed her face as she read. She had later handed him a letter to frank with a deliberate air that did not bode well for the recipient. Her reply, he deduced, would have been a clear refusal.

Phileas later noticed Rebecca becoming short-tempered with the staff after each following letter from him. Whatever had been in the letter he handed her today had been taken out on the flowers.

To divert her frustrations before she ran off the staff, Phileas proposed they stay through Christmas. That would require them to host a few parties. Rebecca had been all for the idea and more than willing to take up the tasks.

Phileas guiltily recalled how he had been ducking traditional family gatherings and socializing here. He had made himself necessary in London every December since his father's death.

This year, we will make up for that; and Rebecca is excellent at that sort of thing. She had all the traditions cataloged like a list of mission gear. No one Fogg knew of short of the queen's own protocol officer could plan such events and the timing of entertainments with as much skill.

It was all a rouse to keep her out of London. According to Chatsworth's most recent information, Jordan's trap would be sprung in February or April when her account went into deficit. As she did not want to see the man, he was happy to keep her busy. No need for her to suffer more than needed. Until necessary, he would shelter her as much as possible.

And to my surprise, Chatsworth isn't unbraiding me for it. I expected a fight over a need to keep Rebecca close at hand, so Jordan didn't lose interest, but he agreed with me to keep Rebecca away from London.

"Wonders never cease."