“As I’ve told you before, sweeting, family isn’t defined solely by blood. An even more elemental bond is love.” She smiled as she smoothed a hand over his unruly curls. “And Aunt Alison will crack him over the head with her cane if he dares to say otherwise.”
His quivering lips slowly curled upward. “Wrexford says she’s an unholy battle-axe when her blood is roused.” He blinked. “But I would never repeat that to her in case it hurt her feelings.”
“Actually, it would probably make her laugh, but it’s a very gentlemanly sentiment.” She gave him another quick squeeze. “Now, come, let us not keep everyone waiting.”
* * *
“Are you busy?” Wrexford poked his head into Sheffield’s office. “Or do you have a moment for a few questions?”
“Thank heaven!” His friend dropped a thick sheaf of shipping manifests onto his blotter, and heaved a theatrical sigh. “Fire away—and feel free to ask more than a few. I’ve been drowning in the minutia of Kashmir wool and calico bolts—and to which mill each needs to be shipped. So you’ve just thrown me a lifeline.”
“Miss Whitney won’t thank me for providingtoomuch of a distraction,” responded Wrexford. After clearing a set of ledgers from a chair, he took a seat. “Do you, perchance, still have the manifests from the unloading of Quincy’s merchant ship?”
In answer, Sheffield opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a folder.
“I’m impressed, Kit.”
“A tidy mind is necessary for tidy profits.” His friend sorted through the papers. “Have you something specific in mind?”
“I’ve been thinking . . .” Wrexford moved to the windows and gazed out over the wharves, where the spiderweb of masts and rigging seemed to mirror the tangled threads of the damnable conundrum. “You said the plant specimens being gifted to the Royal Society had a manifest detailing what was in the crates,” he answered. “I’m wondering whether the delivery marked for DeVere did as well.”
Papers rustled as Sheffield skimmed through them. “As a matter of fact, yes.” More rustling, then he passed over a handful of sheets.
Wrexford paged through them and let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Might I keep these for a bit?”
“On one condition.”
He lifted a brow in question.
“You include me in whatever you have planned.”
“As I said, I’m merely thinking,” answered Wrexford. Yes, an idea had come to mind. But there were dangers involved that might have ramifications that rippled out—
“Granted, I’m not as skilled in clandestine forays as you—or the Weasels,” added his friend. “But you have to admit, I’m getting better at it.”
He sat back and tapped his fingertips together. “Besides, if you’re going to break into DeVere’s conservatory, you could use a sentry to keep watch while you’re fiddle-faddling among the plants. As we both have reason to know, that godforsaken place is a jungle of greenery, making it easy for an adversary to sneak up on you.”
“Who says I’m planning on breaking into DeVere’s conservatory?”
Sheffield responded with a very rude word.
The earl folded the papers and tucked them into his coat pocket.
Maintaining a stoic silence, his friend waited.
Choices, choices.
“Wear soft-soled shoes, and bring a black toque to hide that flaming-gold hair,” Wrexford finally muttered. “We’ll meet in the mews behind my townhouse a half hour before midnight.”
“For what are you looking?”
“I’m not precisely sure.” A pause. “But I’m hoping that Hosack—who’s the leading expert in American botanical specimens—might be able to spot something that’s out of place.”
* * *
“By Jove.” Wolcott let out a low whistle as he descended from the barouche and looked around at the sprawling gardens, whose endless array of colors, shapes, and textures seemed to stretch out in all directions as far as the eye could see. “It’s absolutely magnificent.”
“There is a grove of evergreen specimens just past the Temple of Aeolus, Lord Wolcott,” said Hawk. “Would you like for us to take you there?”
