Chapter 3

Three

Camilla drew in a deep breath, then another, then another after that, but finally abandoned the whole deep breathing process when she realized it wasn't doing a thing to help her regain control of a temper she rarely lost.

"I believe a more pressing question over why Lottie is holding that man at pistol-point, Mr. Timken," Camilla began, directing her attention to her butler, "is how he gained access to our house when he's nothing more than a common criminal."

"Criminal?" Mr. Timken repeated, his eyes widening.

"Quite right, and one Lottie and I believe has nefarious plans to abduct me."

Mr. Timken sent the man he'd called Mr. Chesterfield a look of great disdain before he nodded to Lottie. "Keep that trained on him while I send a groom to fetch the police. It won't take me but a few minutes."

"You might want to fetch a weapon of your own on your way back, Mr. Timken," Lottie said, her hand shaking the slightest bit. "I'm not certain how much longer I can keep this beast of a gun aloft. It's far heavier than I was anticipating, and it was a miracle I was able to retain my hold on it when Miss Pierpont and I took an unexpected dousing in the Hudson."

"You ended up in the Hudson?" Mr. Timken asked, returning his gaze to Camilla.

"It was purely unintentional, a result of a tumble we took down an embankment as we were fleeing the man you called Mr. Chesterfield, as well as a pack of aggravated raccoons." Camilla dashed a sopping strand of hair out of her eyes. "We then almost drowned because Lottie refused to let go of the weapon she's currently wielding, which turned into nothing short of an anchor after she got pulled into the current. She was then swept underneath the water, but thankfully, I managed to haul her back to shore, a daunting feat because Lottie wouldn't relinquish the gun, which made it impossible for her to assist with swimming since she had a choke hold around my neck with her other hand."

"It's too fine a weapon to condemn to a watery grave," Lottie argued. "As I mentioned, after we finally got to shore and you gave me that look you use when you're annoyed, I told you that I'm familiar with a gun dealer down in Five Points who'll give me top dollar for it."

"Considering your past history, and the fact there are still members of the criminal underworld, specifically one Victor Malvado, who would love nothing more than to find you and force you back into shady dealings, the last thing you should be doing is seeking out a gun dealer in Five Points, no matter how much he'll give you for that revolver."

A loud clearing of a throat drew Camilla's attention to Mr. Chesterfield.

"You have something you'd like to say?" she asked.

"Quite a few things," Mr. Chesterfield began. "The first is, of course, my concern that your companion is intending to sell one of my Colt Dragoons. They were a present from my grandfather, and as such, they hold a great deal of sentimental value for me."

"Then perhaps you should have left them at home and brought less sentimental weapons to use during your abduction attempt."

Mr. Chesterfield gave his nose a rub. "Forgive me, Miss Pierpont, but even though I know I'm at risk to incur more of that formidable temper of yours, I feel compelled to point out yet again that I wasn't trying to abduct you."

"I don't possess a formidable temper, and am, in fact, considered a lady of admirable composure, which I never lose."

"I wouldn't say you were admirably composed when you took that shot at me earlier," Mr. Chesterfield muttered.

Mr. Timken took a single step toward Camilla. "You tried to shoot Mr. Chesterfield?"

"Only because he was about to shoot poor Lottie," Camilla said. "I had no other option to distract him from that dastardly intention except to use my derringer."

"I wasn't going to shoot your companion," Mr. Chesterfield argued. "I was merely of the misimpression that she was one of the men I'd chased away. If you'd not shot at me and redrawn my attention, I assure you I would have lowered my weapon as soon as I realized Lottie was no threat."

"She was wielding a tree limb," Camilla pointed out.

Amusement flickered through Mr. Chesterfield's eyes. "True, but Lottie is a wee-bitty thing and I'm fairly confident I wouldn't have suffered much damage if she'd gone on the attack."

"She's far more lethal than she looks."

"Duly noted," Mr. Chesterfield said, catching her eye before he winced. "However, since you're continuing to display what I can only describe as an annoyed look, something Lottie suggested you do often, lending credence to my observation that you possess quite the temper, allow me to return to the second item I wanted to broach—my reason for traveling to the Hudson Valley today. I assure you that abduction was never on my mind as I'm here on a legitimate matter of business."

Camilla lifted her chin. "If I'm currently looking slightly annoyed, which is not a usual happenstance for me, know that it's a direct result of you seemingly being under the impression I'm completely gullible."

"I don't recall suggesting that."

"It was certainly implied, as you seem to think I'm going to believe you're here on legitimate business, when you and I both know you're here because your abduction plan was foiled and you've now been forced to modify that plan."

His brow furrowed before he smiled. "Ah, I see where you're going with your train of thought, but I'm afraid you've read the situation wrong, Miss Pierpont. And before you try to explain why you're not wrong, allow me to explain why you are."

He nodded to the revolver Lottie was still holding aloft, although her arm had begun shaking more than slightly. "From what's been said, my Colt Dragoon went into the Hudson River with you, and it wasn't simply in the river but was fully submerged. That means the gunpowder residing in its cylinder is now wet, as are the percussions caps, which means there's no need for her to continue pointing my own revolver at me because it's been rendered inoperable."

"How could that possibly prove I'm wrong about your intentions?" Camilla asked.

"Because you're a, ah, diminutive lady, which I hope doesn't offend you as much as calling you ‘little lady' did, and as such, and given the differences in our sizes, if I were here to abduct you, and because I know the revolver Lottie is holding is useless, you would already be slung over the back of my horse, riding down the road."

Camilla stripped off a soggy glove and used it to dash aside a glob of mud that was trailing down her cheek, needing a few seconds to digest everything Mr. Chesterfield had said.

Frankly, he'd made some excellent points because he was, indeed, almost twice her size and could have certainly made off with her, as well as rendered Lottie and Mr. Timken incapacitated, with very little effort.

"May I dare hope, since you've had a moment to consider what I've said," Mr. Chesterfield began, "that you're now ready to admit we've merely suffered from an unfortunate series of misunderstandings and agree to a fresh start between us?"

The doubt that had been worming its way through Camilla intensified, but after the harrowing events of the morning, she wasn't quite ready to abandon caution just yet. She turned to Lottie. "There's little point in keeping that weapon aloft, although I suggest you keep hold of it because if we're mistaken and Mr. Chesterfield does have nefarious plans in mind, you could always drub him over the head with it."

"I don't need a drubbing," Mr. Chesterfield muttered.

"Perhaps not, but until I'm absolutely certain of that . . ." She turned toward the door and whistled, which resulted in the sound of nails clattering down the marble hallway a blink of an eye later. A second after that, Gladys, a poodle that was a disgrace to the breed since she refused to wear bows and loathed any attempt at grooming, bounded into the room, followed by El Cid, a cat who'd been all but foisted on her by her very dear friend Adelaide Duveen, or rather, Mrs. Gideon Abbott these days.

"Gladys, El Cid," she began, sending a nod Mr. Chesterfield's way, "guard him."

It took a great deal of effort to keep her mouth from going slack when Gladys immediately sidled up next to Mr. Chesterfield, where she promptly began, not snarling at him, but nuzzling him, while El Cid moseyed up to Mr. Chesterfield's other side and promptly rolled on his back, demanding homage in the form of a brisk belly rub.

"Traitors," she muttered, earning a grin from Mr. Chesterfield before he scooped El Cid from the ground and settled him against his shoulder as Gladys plopped down on his feet, something that didn't seem to bother the man in the least.

"Don't take their acceptance of me as a betrayal of their loyalty," Mr. Chesterfield began. "I simply have a way with animals, as well as with children, the elderly, and the majority of men. It's mostly members of the feminine persuasion who seem to take issue with me, although..." He shook his head. "I suppose I should revise the statement about animals since I definitely failed to bond with those raccoons earlier and was fortunate to escape with only a tattered sleeve."

"May I assume you won the battle because you resorted to shooting that leader?" Camilla asked.

"I couldn't have in good conscience shot any of them since it was hardly their fault their morning nap was disrupted when bullets began flying," he said, scratching El Cid behind the ears. "This handsome boy was also enjoying a nap when I first arrived, but did I hear you call him El Cid, and if so, may I presume he's named after Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar?"

"You know El Cid was the nickname of Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar—a Castilian nobleman from medieval Spain?" Camilla asked slowly.

Mr. Chesterfield gave El Cid another scratch. "I should probably be insulted that you apparently take me for an uneducated man, although I understand I haven't lent you the most favorable of impressions. With that said, though, I minored in history in college, majored in engineering, so yes, I know who El Cid is, and I'm impressed you named your cat after such a fascinating man."

"I can't take credit for the name," Camilla admitted. "My friend, the former Adelaide Duveen, a great lover of cats, is responsible for naming him. She's an avid reader and chose the name because there's a poem written about Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar that she particularly enjoys."

As El Cid began purring rather loudly, the purrs increasing when Mr. Chesterfield gave him a bit of a snuggle, Camilla took to considering the man, the thought springing to mind that there was something to be said about not judging a book by its cover because, clearly, her first impression of Mr. Chesterfield might have been a little off the mark.

Instead of the criminal she'd assumed he was, it appeared he was an educated man, and one who seemed to have a particular way with animals, given the way El Cid, who held the greatest disdain for most humans, was now purring more earnestly than ever.

"If we could return to this Adelaide Duveen," Mr. Chesterfield said, snapping Camilla from her thoughts. "Walter Townsend mentioned her yesterday, as well as mentioned that you were responsible for convincing the Four Hundred they needed to abandon their quest to give her the cut direct."

"You're acquainted with Walter Townsend?" Camilla asked.

"I am, but perhaps I should back up and approach this as if we're just becoming introduced." He presented her with a bow, something El Cid apparently took issue with because he gave him a bat of a large paw, although since his claws weren't extended, it evidently wasn't meant to harm the man, merely show a touch of displeasure.

Mr. Chesterfield didn't miss a beat, merely took to cradling El Cid in his large arms before he sent Camilla a smile. "I'm Mr. Owen Chesterfield, of Wheeling, West Virginia, and Walter and I are business associates. To prove that ..." He shot a look at Lottie. "I'm going to retrieve something from my pocket, and no, it's not my lone remaining weapon. That means there's no reason for you to consider giving me a drubbing with an inoperable weapon that happens to be my property."

Lottie didn't lower the revolver she was still brandishing like a baton, although she did settle a faint smile on Owen. "I'll be more than happy to return this to you, but only after I'm completely convinced you're not a threat to Miss Pierpont."

"If I were a danger to either of you, you'd already be disarmed and Miss Pierpont would be on her way to wherever abductors take their victims," he returned before he juggled El Cid around, then stuck his hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. He then apparently decided to err on the side of caution because he handed the paper to Mr. Timken instead of trying to move closer to Camilla.

"If that's not enough proof for you, I can also provide you with one of my business cards."

"I wouldn't be opposed to seeing your card," Camilla said.

A second later, Owen handed a card to Mr. Timken, who glanced over it before he walked over to Camilla and handed her both items.

"As you can see," Owen began as Camilla read through a referral Walter Townsend had, indeed, provided Owen with, "my name is embossed on my business card. That's certainly further proof I didn't set out to kidnap you because I doubt any self-respecting criminal would carry around a card that reveals their identity when they're in the midst of perpetrating a crime."

Camilla looked over Owen's card before she lifted her head. "It says you're the owner of Chesterfield Nail Manufacturing."

"I am," he admitted. "And not to brag, as I'm only telling you this as further proof I never had any intention to abduct you, but my company provides almost the entire country with nails. I also own iron ore, copper, and bauxite mines, and have factories that manufacture iron, along with steel, which is how I've been able to corner the market on the nail industry."

"It sounds as if you operate a lucrative endeavor."

"And is exactly why I have no reason to abscond with you—or anyone, for that matter," Owen said.

"A valid argument."

"Indeed," Owen agreed. "And now, with that out of the way, shall we proceed to why I'm here?"

Manners drummed into Camilla since childhood had her shaking her head. "Before we get into that, Mr. Chesterfield, I believe that I need to extend to you my most heartfelt appreciation, as well as an apology. You, and at great risk to yourself, came to my rescue, and instead of thanking you for your assistance, I behaved quite badly."

"No need to apologize, Miss Pierpont," he didn't hesitate to say. "You were being chased by hoodlums, and being a woman and all, well, it's no wonder you were a little frazzled."

Any charitable feelings she'd begun holding toward the man disappeared in a flash, but since she'd just remembered her manners, she ignored the irritation that was now thrumming through her and summoned up a smile. "How gracious of you, Mr. Chesterfield, but frazzled-ness aside, perhaps it would be best if we turn the conversation to why you're here."

Owen set El Cid on the ground and straightened. "I'm in need of procuring your special services."

She blinked. "Are you suggesting you're here because you want me to sponsor you on the marriage mart?"

"The last thing I need is a wife. My life is complicated enough as it is."

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage then, because I have no idea what else I could possibly do for you."

Owen bent over again, this time to give Gladys, who was now directing pitiful whines his way, a pat. "I need to make use of the talents you employed when you took Miss Adelaide Duveen from a wallflower to one of the most sought-after ladies of the New York Season."

"You want me to turn you fashionable?"

He straightened again before his eyes took to crinkling at the corners. "No offense, Miss Pierpont, but I think that would be beyond those impressive skills Walter mentioned you possess. I'm well aware I'm socially inept, and, frankly, I don't have time, what with how my businesses have been booming over the past decade, to improve my manners or concern myself with spending hours with a tailor just so I can stroll around Wheeling looking like a dandy."

"I'm not sure, even if you were dressed in the first state of gentlemanly fashion, that a man like you could ever look like a dandy. You're a little on the ... large size."

"Dandies aren't large?"

"Not the most successful ones."

"Huh."

Her lips twitched. "Yes, well, dandies aside, if you don't want me to turn you fashionable, and you don't want me to find you a wife, how can I possibly assist you?"

"I want you to take my sister, Luella, in hand," Owen said before he caught her eye. "However, in the spirit of full disclosure, I feel compelled to divulge that, to put it bluntly, she's a bit of a handful."