“I’m trying to trundle hoops with the lads,” Frederick burst out in wounded glory, “but Annie insists on trundling hers right where we’re racing ours, and she’s ruining everything!”
Redmire leaned over, one hand covering his mouth. “Last I recall, your Annie was a hoyden more than capable of keeping her own with the neighborhood lads.”
“That’s no doubt the problem,” Jack murmured back. “I bet she’s winning.”
“It’s not fair!” Frederick’s arms stiffened with indignation. “We’re twins and she’s taller and I told her to go and play with flowers but she said she’s tired of flowers and I said to go and trundle hoops with her own friends and she said my friends were her friends and I said they weren’t, that’s why they’re calledmyfriends, and she said, ‘Piffle, one needn’t be friends with a lad to best him at hoops,’ and then she—”
“Frederick,” Jack interrupted, keeping his tone calm and modulated. “I promise I will speak to your sister.Aftermy meeting. In the meantime, you must try to get along, even if that means letting her trundle hoops with you.”
“But,” Frederick spluttered, “but she doesn’tlistento me!”
“Women never do,” Redmire said sagely. “Now, go on lad, your papa’s busy paying a pirate for smuggled goods.”
“Aargh.” Frederick spun on muddy heels and stalked out the door.
“What is wrong with you?” Jack hissed at Redmire in exasperation. “You can’tsaythat.”
“What does he think we’re doing?”
“Backgammon?”
Redmire arched his brows at the tea table. “With pistols?”
“I don’t know how to play backgammon!”
“It’s lovely,” Redmire said. “You should try it.”
Jack leaned to one side to peer out the open doorway. “Frederick, the secret panel?”
A pregnant pause, then stomping boots, a huff of martyrdom, and a slam of the door.
“Thank you, my son.” Jack refilled the wine glasses. “Where were we?”
“Champagne. Our orders have tripled, and we need new routes.” Redmire dug a map out of the wooden box and shook out the folds. “This was our best harbor, but the government now has a blockade. What do you think if we…”
Jack might dream of owning a small vineyard one day, but his true forte lay in logistics. He compared Redmire’s map to several of his own, cross-checking each with coded journals containing details of each port, route, and shipment. Before they’d even drunk half the bubbly Veuve Clicquot, new passages had been routed, along with contingency plans in case additional blockades sprung up without warning.
“Magnificent.” Redmire tucked the new maps into his greatcoat and handed Jack a scrap of parchment. “This is your slice after commissions are deducted. The deposits will be made across the usual channels.”
Jack’s chest lightened and he let out a slow whistle. “With this, I’ll finally be able to—”
The secret door bounced open and a coltish virago burst into the room.
“See this?” Annie jabbed a finger at three ragged rapeseed flowers caught in her tangled brown hair. “A moment ago,thiswas a crown of yellow flowers.”
“It looks like a bird’s nest,” Redmire said helpfully. “An ugly one.”
“Exactly.” Annie turned her scowl toward Jack and waited expectantly.
He sighed. “Do you need me to do the crown?”
“No.” She stomped over to his chair, spun around, and dropped to her knees. “I need you to do my hair.”
Redmire choked on his champagne. “Never say you’re too miserly to hire a maid.”
“We have scores of maids,” Annie informed him loftily. “But Papa can do it faster.”
Jack placed his glass of champagne on the tea table next to Redmire’s pistol and plucked the wilted flowers from Annie’s hair. When she’d left the house an hour ago, her unruly brown curls had been corralled into a thick plait. Now, she sported… well, a bird’s nest. Redmire was right.
