“Why do I get the feeling you are already in the Colonies and well ahead of yourself?” Gates offered him a tight smile. “I assure you we will find her quickly, Sir Arthur, but you had best start preparing yourself now for a reasoned approach. We will go first to an inn, rent rooms, and bathe. Take a hot meal. All of which I am sure you agree is a wise course.”
He swallowed and bent his knees a bit as the ship rolled over a swell. He had to grant the man’s point. When he arrived to claim his bride-to-be, he had best be clean and pressed. “Of course you are right, Mr. Gates.”
Yorrick’s grin was about twenty degrees warmer than Gates’s had been. “No one faults you for your eagerness, lad. Though wisdom would also dictate you brace yourself for a longer search than you obviously anticipate. Even if she is with this family, it is quite possible they are no longer in Annapolis. When I was last there, a great many of the residents had already fled the city upon our arrival.”
The Falcon headed into a trough, and his heart went with it. What if she were not there? Then where would they look?
Worse, what if the Lanes had not been there when Gwyneth and the Wesleys arrived? What would they have done? Had Fairchild sent them with ample coin to keep them? Would an American town be safe for a British trio with no local host? What if they had been robbed of what the general had provided?
“And now I have caused you to worry. My apologies. That was not my intent.”
Gates waved off the captain’s words. “You oughtn’t apologize for logic, sir. Your point is valid. And if the Lanes are no longer there, we will simply ask a neighbor where they have gone. I have a few acquaintances I can call upon to help us find her.”
Acquaintances. Arthur had no trouble cataloging what that might mean. Gates worked in the Home Office, which meant that Gates’s “acquaintances” were likely men he had recruited to feed him intelligence. Men loyal to England—or at least to the silver they could provide—who would have taken note of anything they deemed of interest. Which he hoped included said trio of British subjects.
He nodded and, when movement to his right caught his eye, turned to Yorrick. “Captain, when we land, I would like to request that Scrubs be allowed to come ashore and act as my valet. He has been a great help to me.”
Gates narrowed his eyes and the captain pursed his lips. ’Twas clear as day that neither thought it a request tempered with wisdom. It likely wasn’t, given that the boy had all but admitted he would take off the first chance he got.
Perhaps he would. And perhaps it would allow him to make his way home and see his mother again, and the sisters he had mentioned. Perhaps doing so would allow that family, who no doubt thought Scrubs lost to them forever, to have a measure of peace Arthur so sorely needed himself right now as he searched for his betrothed.
And perhaps, once that was satisfied, the boy would come back. Assuming, of course, they could even get permission for him to put his foot to shore.
He kept his countenance clear and schooled while Yorrick studied him. At length the old man blinked and relaxed. “I will consider your request, Sir Arthur, though I make no promises.”
Arthur could ask no more than that. And he wouldn’t mention it to Scrubs at all unless he secured a positive answer. Though he suspected that even if they got one, the boy wouldn’t thank him for interfering.
So be it. He would do the right thing anyway.
Gwyneth pressed her lips against a grin as Thad made a show of cocking his head this way and that, studying the nearly finished painting of Emmy with a series of hums. The show, of course, was for the benefit of Emmy and Henry.
At length he shook his head. “You got it all wrong, sweet. Only one nose on her face—”
“You watch yourself, Thaddeus Lane.” Emmy narrowed her eyes, but there was no disguising the pure contentment in them as she stood close to her husband’s side.
“No evil glinting in her eyes—”
“You be nice or I’ll slip something into your food. I have done it before and I will do it again.”
Thad laughed and turned to Gwyneth. No doubt her question shone from her eyes. “Dye. I walked around with black teeth for a full day.”
“Wish I had seen that,” Henry said, slipping an arm around his wife. His eyes remained fixed on the painting. “It’s beautiful, Miss Gwyn. The most beautiful painting I ever saw.”
“Not that our humble Emmy can possibly compare to the beauty and majesty of the Masquerade…” When Emmy drew her hand back as if to slap him, he laughed again and leaned over to plant a brotherly kiss on her forehead. “Glad you are back in town, Em. And the painting is breathtaking.”
Emmy’s perfect smile unfurled, and she looked to Gwyn. “Are you certain you do not need me to sit again as you finish?”
“Quite certain. You go on home and get settled.”
The couple needed no further encouragement, and after a round of farewells, Gwyneth turned back to Thad and found him studying not the bright and whimsical scene with Emmy but the sketches strewn over the secretaire. The ones she had drawn before that night she would forever look upon as a pivot.