Page 22 of A Waltz on the Wild Side (The Wild Wynchesters #6)

The next morning, Jacob was unsurprised when Miss Henry arrived to interrupt him. He was in the barn, unwrapping the front paw of an injured fox he hoped to release back into the wild.

Jacob was surprised that his beautiful client had knocked, rather than barrel into the barn as though she’d been launched from a cannon.

The paw had healed beautifully, so he placed the fox in a temporary carrier and opened the door.

Miss Henry looked as unsettled as the injured fox had done upon losing a battle with a wild boar.

Jacob found it unlikely his client had been brawling with wildlife in the forest. Then again, Miss Henry was the sort of woman to charge in absolutely anywhere…

while secretly wearing leather-reinforced sleeves for safety, and a corset lined with chain mail.

Which meant she was brave and scared, he realized. She tried to do it all. To control everything around her but knowing she could not. So she shored up her defenses as best she could, and hid her interminable worrying behind a mask of total competency and fierce independence.

Coming here and asking for help must have nearly felled her.

Jacob gave her his gentlest smile. “Good morning. And congratulations on completing your first mission.”

“It’s far from complete. We haven’t found Quentin or cleared his name.”

“But we do have clues we wouldn’t have known about if it weren’t for your help. I’m glad you were with us.”

Miss Henry glanced away, as if unsure what to do with such a compliment. Her darting gaze locked on the basket at his hip instead. “Packing a picnic?”

He shook his head. “ Vulpes vulpes .”

“A red fox?” She looked intrigued.

So was Jacob. This wasn’t the first time she’d demonstrated uncommon knowledge of the animal world. Usually, his siblings’ eyes glazed over whenever a Latin genus escaped his mouth. Miss Henry hadn’t even blinked.

“How do you come by your passion for zoology?” he asked. “Have you always loved unusual animals?”

She looked embarrassed. “Secondary effect from proximity to Quentin, I’m afraid. What are you going to do with this creature?”

“Release him.”

“Might I go along, too?”

He surprised himself by considering the offer before shaking his head. “It’s better if you don’t. Not because I wish to exclude you, but because the fewer distractions for our friend the fox, the better. He needs to return to his home.”

As he spoke, Miss Henry flinched, then nodded.

Jacob wondered at her initial wince. Had he offended her by not accepting her company?

Or was Miss Henry’s mind with her cousin, whom she also hoped would return home?

Perhaps Jacob’s words had even made her think of her prior home in the West Indies.

She must have left it for a reason. He well knew from experience that not all homes were the sort one ever wished to return to.

“I’ll be back within the hour, if you’d like to wait inside the house with my family,” he offered.

She glanced over her shoulder. “I suppose I shouldn’t waste an opportunity to study the character of each of your siblings.”

“Planning a future play?”

She’d already admitted to having penned several anti-Wynchester scripts. He hoped her opinion of them was starting to mellow. Even if it hadn’t, his siblings would still thrill at the notoriety, the rogues.

Miss Henry widened her eyes with exaggerated innocence. “I can only go where my muse leads me.”

He snorted. “You don’t believe in muses.”

“And you have a fox to release. Don’t worry about me. Your family and I cannot get into that much trouble while you’re gone.”

Had a more ominous phrase ever been spoken?

Jacob did his best to hurry. He was back in less than forty minutes and wasted no time dropping off the empty basket and hunting down his family members and client.

He found Miss Henry in the siblings’ sitting room, discussing tenement mismanagement with Philippa in between exchanging insightful commentary with Graham as he read lines aloud from the daily newspapers.

“What did you burn down while I was gone?” Jacob asked suspiciously.

“The patriarchy,” Philippa answered without looking up from her book.

That sounded like a normal afternoon, but Miss Henry looked unusually… bubbly .

“Did you outlaw men in my brief absence?” he asked.

“No, but we found one,” she replied with a joyous smile. “Or are soon to, anyway. Graham has a lead on—oh, my apologies, I shouldn’t use your Christian names without permission.”

Jacob waved a hand. “By all means, Miss Henry. No one’s ever accused this family of standing on propriety. I beg you to call me Jacob.”

“I… Vivian.” Their gazes locked for a brief moment. She looked flustered, then continued, “Your brother believes he’ll have located and interviewed Newt by this time tomorrow.”

“Then so it shall be. Graham’s network is remarkably industrious.”

She pressed her clasped hands to her chest as if praying. “Hopefully that means Quentin will be home tomorrow, too. Thank God. I can’t decide whether to box his ears, or give him an earful, or both.”

“Possibly why he hasn’t returned home,” Jacob said with a small smile.

She sighed. “I know it’s normal for lads his age to push at boundaries and spread their wings. I’m just not certain Quentin was ready to be released into the wild quite yet.”

“If it helps,” Philippa began. “On average, most adolescents—”

Before she could give whatever insight she’d been about to impart, Mr. Randall strode into the sitting room with a bemused expression. There was no calling card in his hand.

“Pardon the interruption. A ‘Mr. Smith’ urgently requests an audience.” The butler lowered his voice. “Whoever he is, he’s patently not Mr. Smith. He’s a man disguised as… something. His ruse couldn’t be more obvious if he were wearing elephant ears.”

“Quentin!” Vivian exclaimed in delight. Her shoulders relaxed in obvious relief. “Of course he would come here rather than go home first, the scamp. Is our caller tall and lean, with light brown skin and short black hair styled in raffish twists? Possibly covered in chalk?”

The butler blinked at her. “No.”

She visibly deflated, her shoulders sinking and her spine wilting.

“Does your cousin often wear… chalk?” Jacob enquired.

“Didn’t his club provide a full list of their games?” she replied with a roll of her eyes. “Please, show in your guest.”

Jacob inclined his head to Mr. Randall, who returned to the sitting room in short order, this time accompanied by a stocky white man wearing a footman’s white wig pulled low over his eyes, and threadbare coattails at least three sizes too small.

Their guest’s pristine champagne-polished black leather boots had been shoved into a pair of worn wooden pattens. The sort servants sometimes used to keep their shoes free of muck. This man teetered on the five-inch platforms as though a light sneeze would topple him over.

“Thank you for seeing me,” the alleged Mr. Smith said without preamble. His accent was aristocratic, and his voice familiar. “I am the valet to a very important man who finds himself facing an unpleasant dilemma of extreme—now, you wait just a bloody minute. Are you two servants or Wynchesters?”

“I’m neither,” said Vivian, clearly shocked at being recognized and remembered. She rose to her feet. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Olivebury?”

The man’s mouth fell open.

“All the rest of us are Wynchesters,” Philippa said quickly. “You may not remember me, but I recall you visiting my father, Mr. York, to discuss matters for the House of Commons before he retired.”

Mr. Olivebury blinked. “Your father was my mentor. He’s the reason I enjoy the powerful position I have today.”

Philippa held out her palm. “Do take off your pattens. They look as uncomfortable as that wig. Shall I ring for tea?”

With a sigh, Mr. Olivebury sat down heavily in the closest armchair. “Madeira, if you have it.”

Graham summoned a footman.

Jacob joined Vivian on the sofa across from their newest guest. Philippa took the armchair next to Graham.

“What seems to be the problem?” she asked politely.

Mr. Olivebury gave Jacob and Vivian another mystified look before bursting out, “I’ve been burgled, blackmailed, and harassed. Make it stop. This cannot be borne.”

Graham withdrew a notebook. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

Vivian was already scribbling in her journal.

“Do anything you please, as long as you put an end to this,” said Mr. Olivebury. He rubbed his face with his hands. “You must have seen in the papers that I was robbed some days previously?”

Graham nodded. “We’re aware of the incident, but not the nature of the item stolen.”

“That is by design. The malefactor who stole from me intends to use his spoils as leverage against me. Whatever mischief he’s planning, he intends for it to unfold soon.”

“How do you know?” asked Philippa.

Mr. Olivebury pulled a square of parchment from his waistcoat and shook it out angrily. The torn page bore only one word, written in all capitals in the very center:

SOON.

“Your handwriting, I presume?” Jacob whispered to Vivian.

A satisfied expression filled her face. “It worked!”

“You terrorized our client,” he pointed out.

She nodded. “I said it worked.”

Face pale, Mr. Olivebury shoved the paper back into his pocket. “The first letter forbade me from coming to you for help, but I see no other choice. What do we do?”

“You haven’t fully explained what’s happening,” Graham pointed out gently. “What was stolen? What blackmail is the thief requesting?”

“This is ruining my life,” Mr. Olivebury said in despair.

“The thief wants me to argue as instructed for an act that’s already been delayed three times.

How am I to live in the meantime, when this villain possesses…

” Mr. Olivebury dropped his face into his hands and let out a sound not unlike the cry of an injured loon.

“We should unmask him quickly,” said Graham. “We tend to be quite efficient… when we have all the facts.”