At the mention of his name, the parrot fluffed out his chestfeathers. He didn’t make a single sound but ominously began stretching and scrunching his neck in patent offense to the suggestion that he required a comrade. During the entire display, he did not break his gaze from Charlotte, as if he blamed her personally for the perceived indignity.
“I was in the northern part of the Americas, not the southern, so I did not come across another parrot,” Matthew said. The single sentence caused Pan to freeze, and the bird returned to mimicking a stuffed one.
“I was hoping you might run into a sailor willing to sell his pet,” Sophia sighed. “Pan always seems to be in his doldrums. Another bird would be good for him.”
She reached up and scratched Pan’s chest. She only managed a few scritches, however, before Pan clicked his beak in warning. Hastily, Sophia withdrew, and smug satisfaction gleamed in the parrot’s eye as he continued to glare at Charlotte.
Trying her best to ignore the malevolent bag of feathers, Charlotte instead focused on the human conversation buzzing about her. The Wicks definitely had connections to pirates, and Matthew had just returned from a long sea voyage. Could he be involved in his older brother’s nefarious dealings? Did those transactions involve marauders on the high seas? Charlotte’s heart set off on a gallop.
“Your latest journey was one of many then, Dr. Talbot?” Charlotte inquired, forcing her voice to remain neutral despite the intense anticipation swirling through her.
“Aye.” Matthew jerked his chin again. His slight Scottish brogue was a testament to both his Highland childhood and his university days in Edinburgh.
“Dr. Talbot, here, is a true swashbuckler.” Sophia bumped Matthew’s shoulder lightly, but the gesture was patently friendly without a hint of flirtation. Still, red stained Matthew’s cheeks, the color apparent even beneath his sun-kissed complexion. The movementfreed the chunk of dark brown hair that he’d earlier tucked behind his ear.
He should have appeared silly between the unkempt strands and his neck as red as a hawthorn berry. But he didn’t. Instead, he seemed… oddly tempting. Charlotte wanted to smooth the errant locks… or undo the rest of his clubbed-back hair and run her fingers through his silky, unfashionably short mane. Then she’d explore how deep his flush went, first by unloosening his cravat, and next the buttons of his…
“I would not go so far as to say I am an adventurer. I have seen bits of the world. That’s all,” Matthew said as he fixed his hair.
“That’s more than most folks ever do,” Sophia pointed out and sat down in the chair across from the sofa, clearly now invested in the chat. Both Hannah and Sophia employed additional workers, which freed them to join whatever animated discussion intrigued them.
Matthew resumed his seat as well, but Sophia turned to Charlotte when she spoke. “I’ve never met a more modest man than Dr. Talbot. Most gents are braggarts, but this fellow is the opposite.”
That fit with the boy Charlotte remembered, but for the first time, she began to wonder why. Perhaps humbleness was an intrinsic part of Matthew. Or, just as likely, his past may have instilled self-effacement into his soul. But what if he had more sinister reasons not to draw attention to himself—a trick rather than a trait?
Suddenly, some of the burgeoning attraction inside Charlotte shifted into suspicion. She had no time to disentangle the conflicting sensations. She had to dig for any clue, no matter how unlikely, and she would employ all means necessary.
“What is the cause of your trips away from our foggy shores?” Charlotte leaned her body ever so slightly in Matthew’s direction. The maneuver worked well to set salon guests at ease or subtly flatter intellectuals who needed their egos stroked. It also drew out secrets. Intimacy—fabricated or earnest—always did. Her heartbeat faster, but whether from danger, increased nearness to Matthew, or both, she did not know.
“My benefactor is the reason for my travels,” Matthew said as he rather quickly reached for the cup of coffee that Sophia had brought him. “Mr. Tavish Stewart.”
Charlotte had precisely two social circles—that of the highest echelons of Society and that of the luminaries of the literary community. Even she, though, had heard of Mr. Tavish Stewart, the mysterious Scotsman who had amassed a fortune from shipping. Her mother’s friends generally would not sully themselves with gossip about those whose wealth originated from trade, no matter how large or impressive the riches. Mr. Stewart, however, offered wagging tongues a temptation too sweet to ignore—a delicious enigma. No one, no matter how well connected, could learn anything of his past. It was as if he had appeared like the legendary Athena, fully formed from mere sea-foam.
“Truly?” Charlotte inched her body even closer to Matthew’s, sensing their nearness unsettled him even more than it did her. “How ever did you become acquainted with Mr. Stewart?”
“In Edinburgh. When I was a student. He’d read one of the papers that I’d written for the Amica Fauna Society and then attended a lecture that I gave on the subject of the wildcat. He was impressed with the efforts I took to track and sketch the elusive animal, rather than rely on the myriad of myths. He offered me a position as surgeon on the flagship of his fleet and the chance to study wildlife at the ports of call.”
Charlotte vaguely remembered Alexander telling her that Matthew worked as a surgeon on a seafaring vessel, but she had assumed he served the Royal Navy in some capacity.
“Is it common for a merchant ship to employ a physician?” Charlotte asked, her mind working quickly as she tried to organize the collection of new information into some semblance of order.
“Mr. Stewart and his commercial practices are anything but common,” Sophia said.
“In what manner?” Charlotte asked, trying to keep her voice casual despite the chill skittering up and down her spine. Half-formed images sprouted in her mind—pirates holding cutlasses above their heads, smugglers slipping unseen into a sea cave, privateers swooping down upon a foreign vessel. This was her very first hint of criminal activity, and she wanted to pounce on it like a foolish pup. But any display of eagerness might scare away her quarry.
“In the best way,” Sophia answered rather mysteriously. Charlotte had learned it was difficult to extract any information from the Wick cousins, no matter how innocuous.
“What is in the best way?” Alexander asked cheerfully as he rejoined their little group, his cup of coffee gripped in his free hand.
“The manner in which Mr. Stewart operates his business,” Sophia answered.
“Which one?” Alexander inquired.
“He has more than one?” Charlotte asked, even more intrigued.
“He also owns a printing business. It is more of an amusement than a serious endeavor,” Matthew quickly interjected. Given that the man rarely volunteered much, Charlotte turned sharply in his direction. His face looked… stern, as if he was offering Sophia some sort of warning. But about what? The suspicions already thrumming through Charlotte grew stronger.
“An ‘amusement’ that garners him a hefty income each year.” Alexander snorted before he took a sip of his coffee. Putting it down on a low table in front of him, he smiled at Sophia. “I say, you and your cousin are veritable geniuses at creating these novelty coffee drinks. I never thought the brew could taste so divine. I would drink this even without its invigorating effects.”
