Dragons & Dirigibles Page 7

  Emma nodded. “I understand.”

  Hell, she probably did. She was wise well beyond her years, maybe from all her time listening at doors. “I have another question for you. How good are you at pretending?”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Pretty good. What kind of pretend?”

  “If I were to tell you a secret, could you act like you didn’t know? To everyone, all the time?”

  She thought hard, then nodded. “I think so. Is it important?”

  “Very important. Maybe even life-or-death. Or would you rather not know?” He couldn’t believe he was talking like this to a child, but he didn’t see any other option. He couldn’t bring himself to lie to her without her direct request.

  “I want to know. I have other things I’ve heard—things I’ve never told because they were somebody’s secret.” Her voice was small but determined.

  “Oh, like what?” he asked with a grin.

  “Like Mr. Hatch—” She grinned back. “That would be telling. But you already know Mr. Hatch was a pirate, so it’s not. I can tell you, can’t I?”

  “You can tell me anything, I promise. And Mr. Hatch likes to pretend he was a pirate. Don’t believe all of an old salt’s stories. Now, don’t tell him I said that. He likes to think I believe them all too.” He shared a conspiratorial wink.

  Emma giggled. “Aye-aye.”

  “Now, about this other secret. Promise me you won’t tell, or give it away by your actions.”

  She drew an X across her chest. “Promise.”

  He spoke slowly, picking each word with exquisite care. “Miss MacKay is actually a government agent. She’s going to help us while I look for the smugglers. To do that, we have to give her a reason to stay here.”

  “Why don’t we just ask her?”

  “Because it’s improper for a lady to spend time at a gentleman’s house without a good reason. That’s why she and I are going to pretend to be engaged.”

  Emma gasped. “To be married?”

  He nodded. “Still think you can keep the secret? You can only talk about it to me or to Miss MacKay, and then only if you’re sure you’re alone.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose again, tipping her head back and forth before nodding. “All right.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  She shrugged. “I like Miss MacKay. And you have to marry someone, you know. You are the earl. And I’m just a girl. I can’t inherit the title.”

  “You know quite a bit, don’t you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid. Mama and Papa used to fight about that all the time. He was mad because I wasn’t a boy and she got mad because I was noisy.”

  Victor sighed. “I’m sorry.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “If it helps, poppet, I wish you were a boy too—only because I’d rather you have the title than me. I think you’d have made a wonderful boy—but you’ll make a beautiful lady one day too.” He tugged her braid. “Now go to sleep—and no more gallivanting about. I’m going to make sure Mrs. Bates stays up here overnight, all right?” While he was off to send a teletext. And let the grand illusion begin.

  “All right. But I still think you should marry her for real. She’d make a wonderful aunt.”

  Victor ignored that parting volley and slipped out of the room. He sent a prayer out to the sea gods that the ruse didn’t backfire.

  Chapter Five

  “Can I call you Aunt Melody?” were the first words Melody heard as the bed bounced at dawn. She groggily opened one eye to glare at Emma.

  “Only if you want to give your uncle an apoplexy,” she grumbled. “But that’s fine with me, so why not?” Anything to make the bouncing stop. She yawned, then dragged herself into a seated position and reached for the ugly bed jacket.

  “Good.” Emma bounced again. “Then I’m going to.”

  Birch lumbered over the bed to thoroughly lick Emma’s face. Apparently he’d already adopted the girl. Melody didn’t want to ask if Emma knew the engagement was a fraud, but she was being awfully cheerful. Had Victor chosen not to tell the girl the truth?

  “I know you’re not really getting married.” Emma leaned close to whisper in Melody’s ear. “But I still think you should. He’s a good catch, you know. He’s a lord and everything. And he has pots of money. My papa always complained that he had all the work and Uncle Victor had all the funds. Besides, if you married Uncle Victor, you’d get to stay here with me. I could help you build your airships and then we could go explore together, all three of us.”

  Melody smiled. “That’s the best argument you’ve used yet. I’m not going to marry anyone for their title or wealth, but for a little girl like you? It would almost be worth it.” She gave Emma a hug. “But don’t get your hopes up, poppet. This is just playacting.”

  “I know.” She shrugged. “Uncle’s going to make Mrs. Bates the official nursery maid. She and Alec are going to sleep in the room beside the nursery and Alec gets to share my lessons.”

  “Maybe your uncle would let Birch stay with you at night to keep you company in your room.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “You’d let him stay with me? Truly?”

  “He’s welcome to spend as much time with you as you’d like while we’re here.” Melody would sleep with a weapon beside the bed and still rest easier knowing Birch was with Emma.

  “But won’t you miss him?” Emma wound her arms around the dog’s neck, hugging him close.

  “I will, but he’s only been mine for a few months. I’m still used to being by myself.” Although she’d had one of the deerhounds most of her life, she’d just recently been taken Birch from her grandparents’ home. “I had another dog for a long time, but they don’t live forever. After she died, I didn’t get a new one right away. But just like we can love more than one person, or more than one dog, a dog can love more than one human, so I’m sure Birch will be happy to sleep with you.”

  Emma sighed. “It’s kind of like how I miss my parents, but I’m glad Uncle Victor is here, isn’t it?”

  Melody’s throat caught and she scooped the girl up onto her lap. “I think so. You must miss them very, very much.”

  Emma snuggled into Melody’s chest. “I do. But Uncle Victor says they’re together, and happy. That helps. They—they weren’t very happy when they were here. Sometimes Mama said she’d be better off if she was dead.”

  Melody had gathered as much, from what little she’d heard of Victor’s older brother, but she’d had no idea Emma had been so aware of it or felt it so deeply. Growing up in a household full of love, Melody had been occasionally embarrassed by her parents’ open affection. She had no idea what to say and she wasn’t sure her voice would work anyway. All she could do was hold Emma close.

  Birch gave a muffled woof when someone scratched at the door.

  “Come in, Mrs. Bates.” Melody smoothed Emma’s hair as the girl crawled off her lap to sit beside her, reclining like a princess against the pillows.

  The maid bustled in, a wide grin on her face. “Thought you’d be here, Lady Emma. Brought breakfast for both of you.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bates.” Emma settled back beside Melody.

  Bates nodded. “And Miss Melody? Most of the staff are that pleased that you’ll be stayin’ on. We want to wish you and the master many happy years.” She placed the tray over Melody’s lap and dipped a curtsy. “Anything I can do to help you out, you just let me know.”

  Melody wanted nothing more than to hide her face under the covers. Deceiving good people was a horrible thing to do, but she’d committed to this for Emma’s sake—and for Victor’s too, she had to admit. The crusty sailor had turned out to be a prince in disguise. Moreover, she’d begun to find him far too attractive, despite his dour exterior. “Thank you, Mrs. Bates. I’m sure I’ll have any number of questions as I get to know the household better. On that note—is there any chance you can find a pair of crutches about? If I have to stay in this room for one more day, I’ll go barking mad.” That part wasn’t a lie in
the least.

  Bates pressed her lips together. “His lordship said you need to stay in bed.” Then her eyes twinkled. “Since you’re to be the mistress, though, I guess I have to do what you ask, right? Men always act like women are too fragile to breathe. I think there’s a pair out in the stables. Might have to saw them off a bit, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you again.” Melody took a sip of her coffee, letting the deep, rich flavor and scent infuse her senses. Mrs. Bates ducked out to the hallway and returned with another tray, this one set with milk instead of coffee, and placed it over Emma’s lap. “Now, not every day, mind you. Tomorrow you go back to eating in the nursery, my girl. I just thought today was something of a special occasion.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “Does it still have to be porridge? I hate porridge and that’s all they ever bring me in the nursery.”

  Bates tipped her head. “I’ll speak with cook—and his lordship.” She turned back to Melody. “Alec will be right in for Birch. Is there anything else?”

  “Just the crutches.” Melody smiled at the maid, feeling a little guilty for deceiving the helpful woman.

  “I truly wish you were really staying,” Emma whispered as she cut into a thick piece of ham after Bates left. “Then you could make sure I never had to eat horrid porridge again.”

  “I like porridge,” Melody said. “When my grandmother’s cook makes it with apples and raisins and cinnamon and walnuts. Maybe that could be a compromise.” Not that it mattered. Emma’s struggles with authority would go on long after Melody was gone. All Melody wanted was to make sure there were no more threats to her life.

  An hour later, she was dressed in a borrowed skirt and shirtwaist, her coveralls having been unsalvageable. It felt good to be in a dress, even if it didn’t fit properly and she didn’t have a corset. A man’s thick wool sock covered the bindings on her bad ankle. Emma and Alec flanked her, with Birch trotting along, content to let Emma hold the lead. Ignoring the curious gazes of some of the servants, the entourage made its way out the kitchen door toward the barn where Alec had helped move the pieces of the Zephyr.

  “The small parts are here.” Alec indicated a stack of maybe six large burlap bags. “The bigger pieces are behind the barn. I made sure the tarps are on tight.”

  “Excellent. Now, perhaps you can find me some tools?” She lifted one of the bags. “Drat. Too heavy to carry while on crutches.”

  “Can I help you, miss?” A tall man in his fifties or sixties, with an exquisite handlebar moustache in steel gray, bowed to Melody and Emma. “Lady Emma.”

  “This is Mr. Willard, the stablemaster,” Emma said. “Sometimes he lets me sneak carrots to the horses.”

  Melody held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Willard. I’d like to start examining my airship. Do you mind if we do so behind the barn?”

  “Not at all. Perhaps I can help?” His warm brown eyes twinkled. “I’ve got my lads trained so well that they don’t need me for the morning.”

  “Perfect.” Melody gestured to the sacks. “Let’s start by spreading one of the tarpaulins on the ground and using that to examine the objects from the sacks.” Without waiting for the others, she crutched her way out the back door and viewed what was left of her ship.

  Not much. The envelope framework was obvious under one tarp and the bulk of the gondola under another. A third held a small pile of something—spars and rigging she assumed. Not much left to show for what was supposed to have been the invention of a lifetime.

  * * *

  Victor finished going through the stack of correspondence from the manager of his family’s shipyard. This was his inheritance—the legacy that was always to have come to him, while Dick had the earldom and all the land and wealth that came with it. Except—there wasn’t any wealth anymore, not from the estates. Everything that could be sold had been. All that was left were the entailed properties—Black Heath and Black Walk, a shabby pile in London where Victor had stayed just long enough to be officially recognized as the heir, before hurrying home to Emma. All the subsidiary properties, all the investments and trusts were gone.

  What the hell had his brother done? How had he gotten himself so far into debt? Thank heavens for the shipyards and Victor’s own sound investment strategies. The Heath was still in the black, but it had taken a hell of an amount to get it there. Without the shipyard, both Victor and Emma would have been destroyed. Victor signed a few more papers, this time reestablishing the dowry his grandfather had left for Emma. Dick had looted even that, but Emma need never know.

  He looked up at the portrait of his former sister-in-law. “Just what the hell did you do to him, Fleur?”

  The cough from the doorway sounded an awful lot like a laugh. “Ahem. Talking to ghosts, are we, lad?”

  “Barnaby, have that painting moved up to the attic and stored for Lady Emma. I don’t want to look at it anymore.”

  “Aye, sir.” Barnaby didn’t bother hiding the chuckle this time. “You’ve visitors, my lord. Friends of Miss Melody’s, they say. Come to wish her well on the wedding, I assume?”

  “Don’t make me strangle you, old man.” Victor stood, even as he snarled. “And I think it’s her chaperone. Please send up and see if Miss Melody is awake and ready to receive them.” Barnaby was the only servant who knew the truth but he couldn’t resist baiting Victor.

  Barnaby’s lip twitched. “She’s not up there, milord. She’s in the barn with the youngsters, looking over her airship.”

  “Son of a—” Victor dragged his coat off the chair behind his desk and shrugged it on. “She’s still supposed to be in bed. Where are these guests? Drawing room?”

  Barnaby nodded. “Shall I have Mrs. Ritchie prepare rooms?”

  “I already did.” Victor strode toward the doorway. “As well as moving Miss Melody into the family wing. Her friends should be in the room right beside hers.”

  “All of them, Cap’n?” Barnaby scratched his head. “Might be a bit crowded, sir.”

  Victor stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean, all of them? There was supposed to be one couple—a Sir Liam and Lady McCullough.”

  Barnaby shrugged. “Come along, milord.”

  Victor followed him, muttering curses under his breath. Once they reached the drawing room, Barnaby announced him to the three—yes, three—elegantly clad visitors perched on Fleur’s gaudy velvet settees.

  “Now, sirs, miss, madam, would you like me to fetch Miss MacKay or would you rather join her?” Barnaby spoke in his most snooty imitation of a London butler.

  The young woman grinned, the older shook her head and the young man—about the same age as Melody, Victor assumed, openly chuckled. “We’d better go to her,” the chap said. “Otherwise, we might not see her for a week.”

  Victor nodded. “Sir Liam, I assume?”

  This time they all laughed.

  “No,” the man said. He was taller but slimmer than Victor, fair with deep blue eyes and an air of authority about him despite his youth. “Wink and Liam were busy on a case in London, so you got the lot of us instead. I’m Sir Tom Devere. I work with Melody. This, Miss Dorothy Hadrian, my foster aunt, here to play the role of chaperone, and my foster sister, Miss Nell Hadrian.”

  “Who is solely here to provide moral support to Mel and to get out of London for a few days.” The young woman with thick black hair and dusky skin smiled up at him. “Thank you for having us, Lord Blackwell.”

  “Delighted.” He offered his elbow to the elder Miss Hadrian, a tall, handsome woman with steel-gray hair and deep brown eyes, as propriety dictated. “Shall we go see how well Miss MacKay has progressed on her airship?” He’d need to talk to Melody about whether or not to inform her friends of their true arrangement. It was probably the right thing to do, but something in his chest rebelled at the idea. Hell. He’d leave it up to her discretion.

  “Lord Blackwell, before you welcomed us, you mentioned to your butler that Melody was supposed to be in bed. Before we se
e her, would you mind filling us in?” Devere walked alongside Victor with the younger woman on his arm. “Is she ill?”

  The man must have the hearing of a bat. Victor gave them a sketchy version of the dirigible crash. “I suspect she’s fine. She seems too intelligent to risk further injury.” Except she was doing just that by agreeing to stay here. Once again, he reconsidered this crazy plan he and she had cooked up.

  Miss Dorothy Hadrian patted his arm. “She is. Melody is very conscious of her own capabilities.”

  They came into the barn to find her seated, cross-legged on a tarp, with her skirt tucked around her knees and pieces of her ship spread out all around her. Her three faithful acolytes—girl, boy and dog—looked on, and Willard, the stablemaster, hovered nearby. She looked enchanting—and enchanted by her work. Victor grumbled. “She’s hasn’t been here two days and already has everyone wrapped around her little finger.”

  “Melody’s very sweet,” the younger Miss Hadrian said. “Everyone likes her.”

  Victor lifted an eyebrow. Sweet? The woman was a termagant. On the other hand, she’d defended Emma and most of the servants seemed to adore her.

  Melody’s head whipped up at the sound of her friend’s voice. “Nell! What are you doing here? And Tom? Miss Dorothy?”

  She started to scramble to her feet, but Victor reached her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t stand. Your friends will understand.”

  She caught her breath at his touch. Was that good or bad? He knew he felt a jolt at the contact, even through her layers of clothes, as if his fingers had skimmed across a glimmer of lightning. Before he could think, he was pushed away as each of the others bent to hug her. The women, he didn’t mind. When it came to young Devere, however...

  Until Melody smacked the man on his shoulder. “Let go, you ape. And don’t step on anything.” She gestured to the tarp, and to Victor’s surprise, the others—even the tall, stern-looking elder Miss Hadrian—folded up their garments and took a seat, right next to the two children.