A Talent for Trouble (8 page)

“The same.”

Mr. Bonchamp nodded and took his leave, promising to send Andre back with their drinks as everyone picked up their menus and disappeared behind them.

A moment later, Felicia set hers down. “Am I really considered a woman above reproach?”

Grayson peered at her from over the top of his menu. “I don't know why you've taken issue with that notion. You should feel honored you've managed to obtain such a lofty position in life. People respect you because of your strong and abiding faith.”

“I'm not a nun,” Felicia returned. “Nor do I understand why everyone believes I should act like one. Take Agatha, for example.”

“Oh, I don't think there's any reason to pull me into the conversation,” Agatha said as she buried her entire face behind her menu.

Felicia pretended she hadn't heard her friend's remark. “Agatha is a lady possessed of a deep faith, and yet no one expects her to be perfect. She's landed in jail . . . twice.”

Agatha peeked over the menu, lowered it just a touch, and then smiled at Grayson. “Tell us about China.”

Grayson returned her smile. “I'd much rather discuss you and jail.”

Agatha's menu lowered another inch. “I'm sure you would, but alas, I don't feel up to obliging you. Let's return to China. I must say I've been dying to ask you how you managed to learn that language. From what little I've heard spoken here in the city, it seems to be a complicated tongue, one I'm quite certain I wouldn't be able to master.”

“I don't speak Chinese.”

Agatha's brow wrinkled. “Eliza told me you lived in China for over five years. Are you saying you never picked up the language?”

“As you mentioned before, it's a difficult language to learn.”

Agatha's wrinkles increased. “You were married to a Chinese woman. Surely you picked up a smattering of words?”

“No, not a one,” Grayson said cheerfully, although Felicia thought there was another of those pesky edges to his tone. “I'm just not very clever, and since it would be incredibly rude of you to question me further on the subject when I've freely
admitted my intellectual deficiencies, perhaps we should move on to something more exciting—like the weather.”

It hit Felicia then, out of nowhere. China was the reason behind the darkness Felicia knew resided in his very soul.

She wanted to ask about his wife but found herself hesitating, not really knowing if she truly wanted to know about the woman who'd apparently captured his heart years ago.

The feeling of annoyance that had immediately run over her at the mere mention of his deceased wife was disturbing. Not wanting to contemplate the matter further, Felicia looked up and let out a small sigh of relief when Andre suddenly appeared out of nowhere and everyone settled into the task of placing their orders.

Andre had barely left the table before Agatha shifted in her seat right as her eyes went wide. “Oh no, here comes Mrs. Amherst.”

Felicia felt the distinct urge to duck under the table.

Mrs. Amherst was one of the biggest gossips in the city. She never had a pleasant word to say about anyone, and she was one of the few people who'd openly questioned Felicia's wardrobe choices, usually in a loud voice.

“Good afternoon,” Mrs. Amherst exclaimed as she came to a stop in front of their table. Grayson set aside his napkin and rose to his feet. “Lord Sefton, this is a pleasure. Please, sit down, although I do appreciate your stellar manners.”

She smiled as Grayson resumed his seat and directed her attention to Agatha. “Miss Watson, lovely to find you doing something normal, such as eating, instead of running wild about the city snooping for stories, and . . .” Her gaze settled on Felicia. “Good heavens, would you look at you, Miss Murdock. Done a bit of shopping lately, have you?”

Before Felicia could even think of a suitable reply to that bit of snippiness, Mrs. Amherst had pulled a pair of wire-rimmed
spectacles out of her bag—much like Mrs. Shaffer had done a short time before—shoved them onto her nose, and leaned forward. Her gaze traveled down and lingered on Felicia's gown for a long moment before she straightened, whipped the spectacles off, stuffed them back into her reticule, and then nodded, just once.

“Much better, Miss Murdock. You don't look hideous in the least today.” She shook her head and sent Felicia a rather pitying look. “I do hope this new you was done for the right reason and not because you're trying to change yourself because of that unfortunate business with Reverend Fraser.”

It was rapidly becoming clear her little secret about being infatuated with Reverend Fraser hadn't been much of a secret, but . . . Since when had she decided she'd only been infatuated with the gentleman and not head over heels in love?

“Rest assured, Mrs. Amherst, Miss Murdock has not changed her style because of Reverend Fraser.”

Felicia drew in a sharp breath at the same moment Agatha did. She exchanged a glance with her friend, realizing in that moment that Grayson's casual statement made it sound as if she'd changed her style because of him.

What could he be thinking?

Word would sweep like wildfire through society the moment Mrs. Amherst left their side.

Everyone would come under the misimpression she and Grayson were romantically attached.

Felicia blinked. For some reason, that idea didn't bother her nearly as much as it should have, but no, she wasn't thinking clearly.

“On my word, I had no idea you and Miss Murdock had an understanding,” Mrs. Amherst exclaimed. “May I presume an announcement will be forthcoming soon—perhaps at the Beckett ball?”

Grayson settled back in his seat, smiling somewhat pleasantly, but his eyes had turned hard. “I wouldn't presume anything if I were you, Mrs. Amherst.”

“Hmm” was the only response Mrs. Amherst gave to that, although her eyes did narrow right before she directed her attention to Agatha.

“Are you going to the Beckett ball, dear?”

Wariness immediately crossed Agatha's face. “But of course. I've been looking forward to it.”

“I would have thought you'd be dreading it, seeing as how it's a going-away ball for Mr. Zayne Beckett.”

Agatha began to sputter, but Mrs. Amherst ignored her as she shifted her gaze back to Grayson. “I saw your daughter the other day with your sister, Mrs. Hamilton Beckett. What is your daughter's name again?”

The vein on Grayson's forehead began to throb. “Ming.”

“Ah yes, I knew it was something foreign. She's Chinese, isn't she?”

“Her mother was Chinese.”

“I see,” Mrs. Amherst replied with a nod before she inclined her head. “Well, I don't want to take up any more of your time. Enjoy your lunch.” She turned on her heel and strode away without speaking another word.

It was somewhat odd.

“You shouldn't let her bother you, Grayson,” Agatha said softly. “She only attacked because you didn't give her any details regarding what she assumed was an alliance between you and Felicia. It's just ignorance on her part.”

Felicia pulled her attention away from Mrs. Amherst's retreating back and settled it on Grayson. A shiver ran over her when she spotted the rage lurking in the depths of his eyes.

“It is ignorance this entire country seems to share.”

She'd obviously missed something of an important nature.
“I'm sorry, but what ignorance are we talking about at the moment?”

For just a second, she thought he wasn't going to answer her, but then Grayson sat forward. “I thought this country would accept my daughter. Unfortunately, the United States is not as progressive as I wished.”

Agatha nodded. “There does seem to be a strong anti-Chinese sentiment. I've heard whispers at the paper concerning a Chinese Exclusion Act, which will curtail any new Chinese laborers from entering the country.”

“I've heard the same whispers,” Grayson said. “Only I've heard that not only will the act make it impossible for new Chinese laborers to enter the country, it will also exclude the family members of those laborers already in the country from being allowed access to the United States. Wives and children will be stuck in China while the men will be stuck here, forced to stay because there are limited opportunities in their home country.”

Felicia frowned. “I thought you amassed a fortune over there.”

“Only because I possessed connections to the white world, connections that were . . .” His voice trailed off, his brow furrowed for a brief moment, and then he smiled. “Ah, look, here's our lunch.”

Felicia smiled her thanks as Andre set her meal in front of her and settled into it as Agatha and Grayson did the same. The fact that no one spoke as they ate was telling, but even though it was clear Grayson had been relieved when lunch arrived and the talk of China interrupted, Felicia still had numerous questions she wanted to ask. All she had to do was gather up enough nerve to ask them. She set down her fork.

“Has Ming suffered from the sentiment against the Chinese?”

Grayson took a sip of tea and shrugged. “Not overly much as of yet. I've been trying to keep her out of the public eye as much
as possible. In fact, I've recently been considering changing her name. I think Mary has a nice ring to it.”

Agatha dabbed her lips with her napkin and shook her head. “You can't change who she is simply by changing her name, Grayson. Ming looks nothing like a Mary, and besides, don't you think it would have concerned Ming's mother if she would have known her daughter would not grow up being proud of her ancestry?”

“As her mother is quite dead, along with the rest of her family, that's a moot point.”

Felicia's eyes grew wide. “What happened to them?”

“I'm not comfortable speaking of it,” Grayson muttered before he smiled. “Why don't we talk about something pleasant, like your decrepit pony or perhaps the weather?”

“Have you considered going back to England?” Agatha asked, ignoring Grayson's request.

Grayson sent Agatha a glare. “I have.”

“Again, I thought you abandoned your title,” Felicia said slowly, the thought of him putting an ocean between them causing something strange to happen to her heart.

“I recently discovered you can't actually abandon a title,” Grayson said. “I received a letter from my cousin, who assumed the role of earl after my father died and I was believed dead. Turns out, Eliza's old fiancé, Lord Wrathshire, has spread it about London that I'm alive and well.”

Agatha paused with her glass of tea midway to her lips. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Spencer, my cousin, is no longer accepted as Lord Sefton.”

“He's been stripped of the title?” Agatha pressed.

Grayson shook his head. “Not really, since the title didn't actually belong to him in the first place. He's agreed to continuing managing all of the estates—for a substantial salary, I
might add—but I got the impression he'd really like to return to his own home and put the whole business behind him. I don't think London society has been very kind to him after it was discovered I'm alive. English aristocrats are sticklers for the proprieties, after all.”

“But . . . are you willing to accept the responsibilities that come with resuming your title and . . .” Felicia stuttered to a halt as Grayson suddenly stiffened in his seat and his expression became downright frightening.

“Are you insinuating I'm incapable of handling responsibilities?”

How in the world had he gotten that from what she'd asked?

“Of course not.”

Before she could formulate a better response, Grayson got to his feet and pulled out his billfold. He tossed some bills on the table and sent her a nod. “I've just recalled an urgent matter that demands my attention.” He bowed in her direction, turned and did the same to Agatha. “You'll make certain Felicia gets home all right in your carriage?”

“She drove herself today, remember, in her pony cart?”

“Ah, exactly right, I almost forgot, and you did bring your own carriage, didn't you?”

Agatha nodded. “I did, but . . .”

“Then since the two of you have a means of transportation to see you home, I'll bid both of you good day.” With that, Grayson, not bothering to even look in Felicia's direction again, stalked rapidly from the restaurant.

T
hree long days after storming out of the restaurant, Grayson was coming to the uncomfortable realization he was a coward. Quite frankly, after trailing behind Felicia for several hours in the slums of New York, never allowing his horse to catch up with her so that he could actually apologize to her, there was no other explanation. Cowardice was exactly why he was currently lurking behind a parked delivery wagon, watching Felicia from a distance as she chatted with a group of ladies who were clearly ladies of the night.

That she seemed remarkably comfortable around such women was beyond disturbing. She had no business even being in this part of town, let alone unescorted.

Where were her brothers? Did they even know their sister apparently spent a great deal of her time in the slums? Her comfort in the midst of squalor and her ability to mingle comfortably with ladies society deemed unacceptable was concerning.

He edged his horse forward but then brought it to a stop when one of the ladies let out a peal of laughter, pulled out a gown
from a bag in Felicia's cart, and shook out a garment of red and green that Grayson distinctly remembered Felicia wearing at the ball her mother had given that past Christmas.

It was suddenly evident that, not only was she delivering baskets of food to the needy today, she was also distributing her old wardrobe, something that caused an odd pang to settle in the region of his heart.

He liked her old clothes. They were unusual to be sure, but they effectively hid her figure from view. And that would have come in handy today, seeing as how as she'd traversed through the streets of the city, she'd commanded far too much attention from every gentleman who happened to catch sight of her.

There'd been numerous times he'd reached for his pistol in order to come to her aid, but instead of displaying any menacing attitudes toward her, the gentlemen—and he used that term loosely—all showed her a distinct measure of respect. That was probably a direct result of the fact that Felicia's goodness practically oozed out of her every pore, but it had also reminded him that she was far too good to spend any of her time with the likes of him.

“Have a good day.”

Grayson blinked and then frowned when he realized Felicia was already back on the road, waving goodbye to the ladies of the night as she set Thor into motion, steering him into the crowded street.

He kneed his horse and directed him into traffic, keeping a close eye on Felicia as she and Thor plodded along, apparently unaware that they were causing carriages and wagons to pile up in a line behind them.

The slowness of Thor's gait made it incredibly easy to watch her, however, while giving him plenty of time to think.

It seemed ages ago since he'd fled the restaurant and subsequently buried himself inside his house with only Ming
and his army of nannies and servants to keep him company. During the first two days, he'd descended into what could only be described as a fit of the sulks, staring morosely out the window as life passed him by and refusing all company, including his sister.

Eliza hadn't seemed exactly thrilled when she'd stomped out of his house after he'd had his butler tell her he was indisposed. In fact, as he'd peered through a crack in the curtain, she'd lifted her head, shook a finger directly in his direction, as if she'd known he'd been spying on her, and then marched back to her carriage. She'd flung herself inside and sent him one last shaking of her finger through the window.

He'd spent the majority of his time after Eliza had taken her leave feeling very put upon and annoyed with the world, or more specifically, Felicia, but then something had gradually begun to change. Embarrassment replaced the annoyance, which had led him to some less-than-comfortable conclusions.

For one, he was an idiot.

He'd completely overreacted to Felicia's question regarding whether or not he'd want to resume his title and all the responsibilities that went with that, because, quite frankly, he'd always been irresponsible when it came to his inheritance, blatantly turning his back on his many estates and the work those estates demanded.

For two, he'd allowed himself to use Felicia as a handy target for his disgruntlement, which was completely ridiculous now that he'd had time to ponder the matter. Felicia didn't have a mean bone in her body and certainly hadn't been trying to point out his deficiencies by asking a simple question regarding his desire to return to England and take up his title again.

His deficiencies were, and had always been, a sore spot with him, and it had been all too convenient to turn his resentment toward Felicia instead of simply owning up to the truth that
he'd led a despicable life. It was past time he stopped blaming others for circumstances he'd brought about all on his own.

He needed to make amends with Felicia, but he had yet to figure out what he should say. He was not, after all, a gentleman who apologized on a regular, if ever, basis—hence his conclusion regarding his cowardly nature.

If only he would have made himself known to her as she'd pulled away from her house, he wouldn't be skulking behind her in the midst of the slums. He'd been so close, but his courage had mysteriously disappeared, and he'd been trailing after her ever since.

During the hours he'd been following her, she'd first stopped at a disreputable-looking boardinghouse, leaving poor Thor unattended and snoozing on his feet while she sauntered up to the door. She'd pounded on it in a most enthusiastic manner, and when the door had opened, revealing a rather careworn-looking lady, she'd thrust what appeared to be a freshly baked pie into the lady's hand and disappeared into the house.

It had taken everything Grayson had to not follow her into that dismal excuse for a home, but he'd bided his time, and she'd eventually reappeared, looking cheerful and happy as she kissed four dirty and ragged children goodbye and called back to the woman in the doorway that she'd return in a few days so they could finish their conversation.

Grayson was fairly certain Felicia intended to return in order to make sure the children and woman were fed, but when that notion began to make him feel all fuzzy inside, he'd quickly abandoned the thought and settled for concentrating on keeping her in his sights as she traveled to her next destination—an even more deplorable house in one of the worst tenement slums Grayson had ever seen, but a slum that didn't appear to phase Felicia in the least.

She'd traveled into numerous ramshackle neighborhoods after
that, depositing pies and bags of what appeared to be food to one downtrodden family after another. Dirty children seemed to delight her, and the more Grayson watched, the more he came to realize exactly how special Felicia was.

There was a glow about her as she interacted with the people in the slums, a glow he'd come to realize was a direct result of the pleasure she took in her work. She truly was a child of God, called by Him to help the needy, which was why, after he finally apologized for his dismal behavior, he needed to leave her alone.

She needed a gentleman of faith by her side to help her along in life, and he was fairly certain, considering the sins of his past, that God had given up on him.

Felicia took that moment to suddenly steer Thor to the opposite side of the street, cutting off a large delivery cart in the process. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when a disaster didn't occur, but the relief was quickly replaced with trepidation when she brought Thor to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk right in front of what appeared to be a theater. His eyes narrowed on the sign nailed over the door.

Rogue's Theater.

He watched in dumbstruck amazement as she jumped off the cart, looped Thor's reins around the hitching post, kissed her pony on the head, and then hitched up her skirts and hurried to the door, completely oblivious to the crowd of seedy-looking men directing their attention her way. She pounded on the door, and a moment later, it flew open and four exuberant men bounded through it, greeting Felicia as if they were long-lost friends.

He couldn't hear what was being said, but Felicia kept pointing to her pony cart as the men nodded eagerly. They walked over to the cart, and Felicia extracted a dress from one of the remaining bags. The men's eyes widened, and they began to ooh and aah over every dress she pulled out.

His patience waning, Grayson decided to put an end to the
nonsense once and for all. He swung off his horse but paused yet again when Felicia gave the men a cheery goodbye, got back into her pony cart, flicked the reins, and . . . simply sat there when Thor didn't budge.

He couldn't help but grin when she flounced out of the cart and gave the pony a stern talking to. She grabbed hold of the reins and tried to pull Thor back into the street, but the pony wouldn't move—not even when Felicia leaned down and kissed it soundly on the nose.

It was rather odd to feel jealous of a pony.

Deciding there was nothing to do but step in or otherwise remain stuck in the slums forever, Grayson began to stride forward but froze on the spot when two men stepped in front of him, speaking rapidly in Chinese. The rhythm of their speech sent a wave of revulsion through him as they pushed past. Sweat immediately beaded his forehead as he followed them and moments later watched them disappear into a building seeping smoke with a familiar scent. Grayson's gaze lifted and settled on the sign swinging slightly above the building's door.

Posey's.

The sweat rolled off his forehead and down his face, stinging his eyes, but he found he couldn't blink, couldn't move, as he continued staring at what could only be an opium den.

Why had he never considered there would be opium dens in this less than reputable part of the city?

The demand for opium had been increasing in the United States, no matter that the government had passed a law banning the importation of the substance. That ban had not decreased in the least what the Wu family had garnered from providing America with an abundance of the substance. Granted, they'd had to pay quite a few bribes to get the opium through the docks and into the proprietors' hands, but money easily opened doors. One of Grayson's main responsibilities had been to organize
the massive ships to transport the drug to these shores. He'd become richer by the minute while countless men and women became addicted to the vile substance.

He watched a group of well-dressed men enter the establishment, and then it hit him—Felicia was on a street that sported an opium den.

He swung his attention back to her . . . and felt an icy hand of terror clench his heart. She was gone, but Thor still remained exactly where Grayson had last seen him.

Pulling his horse through the crowded street, he threw the reins over the hitching post next to Thor's and set his sights on an older gentleman sitting on a stoop.

“Begging your pardon, my good man, but did you happen to see a woman standing next to that pony just a moment ago?”

The man nodded and then grinned. “She couldn't get that there pony to move, so she shook her finger at the beast and began walking down that way.” He pointed to his right. “Maybe she decided to travel home on foot.”

Felicia would never abandon her pony.

“Thank you,” Grayson called over his shoulder as he strode down the sidewalk, peering into dirty window after dirty window as he went. His panic grew until he stopped in front of a place called the Wild Rose and heard a familiar tinkling laugh drift out the open door.

What was wrong with the woman?

He stalked through the door, coming to a complete stop when he spotted her.

His terror turned to disbelief.

Felicia was sitting at a dirty table, surrounded by men, with a glass of what appeared to be whiskey in front of her.

She'd obviously lost her mind.

He squared his shoulders and strode over to her table. He came to a stop and simply waited for her to see him.

It turned into a rather long wait.

Felicia was completely engrossed in a conversation with a man who was missing most of his teeth, not that Felicia seemed to mind. She was giving the man her full attention, and suddenly, Grayson's anger simply melted away.

She truly was a wonderful woman, no matter that she seemed to have abandoned all of her principles by waltzing into a pub of all places.

Felicia lifted her gaze and her eyes widened.

“Frank,” she exclaimed, rising to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

Grayson swallowed a laugh at the guilty expression on her face. “Clara . . . you're right, it's Frank, and might I ask you the same question?”

“You know Clara?” the man sporting no teeth asked. “Who are you—her gentleman friend?”

It was a bit disturbing to learn he'd been right about what name she would assume, the name of the character who'd come to a bad end in one of her favorite novels. “I do know Clara, and I
am
her gentleman friend.”

Felicia's eyes narrowed. “Frank
is
a gentleman friend of mine, but he's not
that
type of gentleman friend.”