Page 21 of Unforeseen Affairs (The Sedleys #6)

“Undine Punch?” Colin hissed under his breath. “Of all the names you could have—”

“What?” Miss Sedley—or Miss Punch, as she sought to be referred to as—stared at him blankly. “Does it not suit?”

It had been a week since their meeting in the storeroom of The Black Candle, where they’d sketched out their plan: Colin would fetch Miss Sedley from the shop in a hired cab, and they would arrive at the location in Bayswater together, where he would introduce her, using an alias, as a family friend.

From there they would wait until the right moment, using silent signals between them in the dim light, to seize Mr. Bass—or, perhaps more likely, Mr. Trenwith—during an act of subterfuge.

Then one of them would make for the lamps, turning them up so all those present could plainly see how Mr. Bass was deceiving them.

A sound strategy, Colin thought, considering the setting and its trappings.

But Undine Punch ? Colin raised a hand to his temple but, thankfully, there was no sign of pressure or tightness.

Yet.

Miss Sedley sat alongside him in the hired hack, looking very unlike herself.

Colin had stumbled over his greeting to her, in fact, because he hadn’t expected her to look so…

sunny. She wore a pale blue walking suit that very nicely complemented her black hair, which was set underneath a round-crowned hat turned at a fetching angle.

She appeared a perfectly lovely young lady, ready for a holiday stroll upon the shore in Brighton.

Except, of course, for the hideous, masculine, omnipresent watch fob, still on its thick chain around her neck.

“But Punch,” he sputtered, “is the other…” He nearly cursed in frustration, but stilled his tongue. He drew in an exasperated breath. “It’s the Irish boot blacking! Not to mention the magazine . Are you mad, Miss Sedley?”

“Miss Punch,” she said serenely.

“Truly, you commit yourself to such folly?”

“You’ve said nothing of Undine. I thought you’d take umbrage at that, rather.”

“It could put the entire exercise in jeopardy,” he continued on, slipping into the manner of a stern, emotionless commander. “And for what? For some private joke, arising from a misguided turn of your imagination? To be clever?”

Even as the cab rattled and bounced, she remained still as a statue, watching him with those intense eyes. It recalled their last meeting, and the unnatural restlessness he’d felt under her scrutiny. Never before had anyone, least of all a young lady, so discomfited him.

“Very well. You may call me Undine, if you prefer. After all, we are supposedly very close friends.”

Colin looked out the window, suddenly wishing very much that he’d figured out a way to restore Beaky’s reputation on his own.

“And you do refer to Miss Pearce so familiarly, do you not?”

He wanted to correct her, to claim he did no such thing. But that would be a lie. So he remained silent.

When he did not answer, she pressed him further.

“Do you think, then, Sir Colin, that my fictitious name will be the thread that unravels the whole undertaking?” She paused, like a leopard waiting to pounce. “Or will it be because you refused to practice our agreed-upon method of silent communication?”

He frowned.

Agreed-upon, yes, but reluctantly on his part.

It was poor enough form that he’d been traipsing about London with a handsome, unmarried young lady from a well-off trade family, but to sit alongside her in the storeroom of a curiosity shop, just the two of them, touching their feet and legs to one another under the guise of practice ?

Sir Colin was a gentleman; that was simply too much.

“Our hands will need to remain upon the table,” she reminded him. “Fingertips touching.”

“I’m well-versed in spirit circle procedure now, thank you,” he said, a bit short.

He did not want to think about touching her. His dreams, unfortunately, had been far too focused on that subject as of late. But this was waking life, where Colin could still control himself. Or so he prayed.

For none of this was about the mysterious Miss Sedley, or even Colin himself.

It was for Beaky, his best friend. For the future happiness of two families, the Gearings and the Pearces.

And for Alice. But just now, the thought of Miss Pearce fell somewhat flat, like taking a bite of treacle tart after sipping lemonade.

His lack of emotion about Alice surprised and discouraged Colin, and in an attempt to set his mind right, he kept thinking about her, imagining her at her prettiest, her sweetest.

The carriage slowed, and Colin came up from his mental exercise, alarmed.

“Are we stopping?”

“Well, this is Bayswater, after all,” Miss Sedley replied. “We passed the gravel pits a while ago.”

“But we haven’t settled the matter of your alias!”

“Haven’t we? I haven’t heard any ideas from you.”

The carriage halted.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Miss Punch.”

He prayed that they would succeed.

Bayswater was a popular, relatively new neighborhood, full of ancient streams and handsome, modern terraces that sprang from charming crescents, wide streets, and garden squares.

Mrs. Kitson’s home, tall and of Georgian design, gave every impression of prosperity.

Mr. Bass’s letter had described the lady as the widow of a civil engineer, and “very keen” to make Sir Colin’s acquaintance.

Colin hadn’t much cared for that.

An unimpressed butler quickly ushered them inside to a drawing room with high ceilings and tasteful furnishings, where a very impressed Mrs. Kitson waited, flanked by Mr. Bass and the taciturn Mr. Trenwith.

A gaggle of ladies and gentlemen milled about further within, beyond what appeared to be the same large, circular table that had been set up in Colin’s home.

He wondered how exactly Mr. Bass and Mr. Trenwith moved it about the city. No doubt Miss Sedley knew. He glanced sidelong at her, and started at what he saw.

She was smiling. Grinning, in fact, from ear to ear. Appearing almost an entirely different person.

Colin didn’t know how he felt about that.

Mr. Bass, on the other hand… Colin was quite certain of how he felt about the medium.

For where his ingratiating manner had previously led Colin to forget himself and allow that the man might not be all that bad, there was no longer any doubt in his mind.

Everything about his demeanor—and indeed, his dress—betrayed his flagrant falseness, from his long, curling blonde locks and garishly lavender neckcloth to his bright, yellow-checked waistcoat and insipid mustache.

“Sir Colin! I am so pleased to have, shall we say, piqued your interest in the spirit world?” Mr. Bass punctuated his greeting with a raised eyebrow and a shallow bow. “This is the lovely Mrs. Kitson, who was only too eager to extend the invitation when I put forth your name.”

Mrs. Kitson was a fairly young widow, perhaps only ten or fifteen years older than Colin himself. She had a broad face and bright eyes that were trained right on him.

“Sir Colin,” she said, “I cannot believe it myself. Why, if only my Arnold could see us now. He was a great follower of the Navy, if you would believe it. I still recall him excitedly reading aloud of your capture of those two filthy pirate vessels as if it were yesterday.” She clasped her hands together and sighed happily.

Colin smiled graciously, but then she began speaking hurriedly, in a way that suggested recitation.

“The captain as well as the first lieutenant violently ill and under board, the young second lieutenant, Colin Gearing, quickly took command and pressed his advantage.”

Suddenly he felt the top of his head tingling, as if his scalp were being stretched taut.

“…and his ship, the—”

“ Iapyx ,” he interrupted, wishing very much to put a stop to her soft-soaps.

Mrs. Kitson, absolutely tickled, cried out in glee.

He’d only done his damn bloody job, as anyone else on the ship would have. He never expected to be anything other than a simple captain. It was Bernard who was meant to be the hero. Not him.

Before Mrs. Kitson could start in again and send his head reeling, Colin turned to Miss Sedley. A mixture of giddiness and panic coursed through him, like a boy who was about to tell an outlandish falsehood. Which, of course, he was.

“Mrs. Kitson, Mr. Bass, might I introduce a dear family friend.” He gave Miss Sedley a resigned look that he hoped only she noticed, then turned back to the hostess and the medium. His voice nearly caught in his throat as he said, “Miss Undine Punch.”

“Miss Punch?” Mrs. Kitson repeated.

Colin drew a breath, bracing himself.

“Miss Punch,” Mr. Bass echoed. He glanced at his assistant, then back. “Were you not at Mrs. Gearing’s spirit circle? I do not believe we were properly introduced then.”

“I was, and no, we were not.” Miss Sedley, thankfully, maintained her typical aloofness, though it was now tempered by a lovely, if false, smile.

“An unexpected outcome that was, I have to say.” Mr. Bass grimaced slightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Allow me to assure you that not all of my circles end with such, well…”

“Theatrics?” Miss Sedley suggested dryly.

Mr. Bass chuckled. “Yes, a fine way to put it. I do apologize.”

“Oh, no need for that, Mr. Bass. I would not pin the blame for what happened there on you. As if the spirits could be compelled to follow your direction!” Miss Sedley fluttered her lashes. “What a notion!”

Mr. Bass smiled, albeit somewhat uncomfortably.

Christ, was she flirting with the vainglorious fool? Enough of this , Colin decided resolutely. They were sailing perilously close to the edge.

He placed a gentle hand upon Miss Sedley’s arm.

“Undine, dear, shall we take our places?”

Her head whipped about, her eyes wide as he laced his arm through hers.

He had never before given much thought to such familiar gestures, whether it be a handshake, a clap on the shoulder, or Alice’s hand upon his.

Not even Miss Sedley’s hand on his in the café a week ago.

But this… this sent such a thrill through him that he nearly faltered.

Nearly, but not quite. After all, Sir Colin Gearing had not earned his reputation by being faint of heart.

He flashed a charming smile at her. They were supposed to be family friends, were they not?

She stared back at him, and he fain felt he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. Finally, she smiled as well—a wicked, devilish expression that stirred something else within him. Colin liked it. He liked it far too much. He wanted her to look at him like that again, and maybe…

No. Colin took a breath and tore his gaze away. Mr. Bass was watching them. They needed to act as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“I thank you, Mr. Bass, for humoring the budding interest of a neophyte,” Colin said cheerfully.

“It is I who is obliged,” Mr. Bass said with another half-bow. “And if you should be so inclined as to pen a testimony for the papers, well…” He extended his arms graciously. “I would be even more so.”

Colin nodded. Before he could turn away to lead Miss Sedley to the table, Mr. Trenwith stepped forward and whispered something in Mr. Bass’s ear.

Colin’s heart began to race; he wondered if Mr. Trenwith knew who Miss Sedley was. He took a deep breath and tried not to worry. There was hardly time for it, anyhow; the other guests were taking their places, and it was time to focus. The campaign was underway.

Miss Sedley slid her hand about his arm, drawing them closer together. Filthy thoughts about the softness of her flesh burst into his mind, hot and insistent. He shoved them aside, irritated by his lack of self-control.

“So it is Undine, then?” she whispered as she leaned into him.

“What? You gave me leave, if you’ll recall,” he responded. He stared straight ahead, trying to think of the blandest, most rote work one could do at sea. Swabbing the deck. Scraping the irons. Hell, keeping watch.

She looked at him as if puzzling out what he was about.

He pulled out a chair for her.

“Anyway, it’s like you said.” He affected a charming, boyish air. “We grew up together, didn’t we, Undine ?”

She regarded him suspiciously before sitting.

This time they positioned themselves as close to Mr. Bass as possible; Colin sat to his immediate left while Mrs. Kitson sat to the medium’s right.

Miss Sedley sat at Colin’s left side. The same purple cloth lay upon the table.

Miss Sedley had told Colin that Mr. Bass likely employed his feet underneath it in some manner, but the cloth served their purpose as well, as it concealed their own lower extremities, which they’d planned to use to signal each other.

Now, as Mr. Trenwith dimmed the lamps and Miss Sedley touched her fingertips to his, Colin felt a sudden foreboding.

The assembled began singing off-key; Mrs. Kitson’s warble was a particularly rough and terribly pitched soprano.

When Miss Sedley joined in, though, he was pleasantly surprised by the sound of her low, gentle alto.

Colin realized he’d been waiting to hear her singing voice. He swallowed.

They really ought to have practiced.