Blaike: Secrets Gone Askew (Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Book 4) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Quote

  Copyright

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  Other Collette Cameron Books

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  From the Desk of Collette Cameron

  Enjoy the first chapter of BROOKE: WAGERS GONE AWRY

  BLYTHE: SCHEMES GONE AMISS

  BRETTE: INTENTIONS GONE ASTRAY

  Enjoy the first chapter of A KISS FOR MISS KINGSLEY

  BLAIKE: SECRETS GONE ASKEW

  Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper, Book Four

  By

  COLLETTE CAMERON™

  Blue Rose Romance®

  Portland, Oregon

  Sweet-to-Spicy Timeless Romance®

  He opened those incredibly dark eyes, and for an instant, she was lost in their depths—

  a connection she couldn’t put words to holding her fast and quickening her pulse.

  BLAIKE: SECRETS GONE ASKEW

  Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper

  Copyright © 2018 Collette CameronTM

  Cover Design by: Teresa Spreckelmeyer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By downloading or purchasing a print copy of this book, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

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  Portland, Oregon 97203

  ISBN eBook: 9781942368229

  ISBN PRINT: 9781942368212

  www.collettecameron.com

  Interior Design: Cindy Jackson

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  A Waltz with a Rogue Series

  A Kiss for Miss Kingsley

  Bride of Falcon

  Her Scandalous Wish

  To Tame a Scoundrel’s Heart

  The Wallflower’s Wicked Wager

  Castle Brides Series

  The Viscount’s Vow

  Highlander’s Hope

  The Earl’s Enticement

  Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper Series

  Brooke: Wagers Gone Awry

  Blythe: Schemes Gone Amiss

  Brette: Intentions Gone Astray

  Blaike: Secrets Gone Askew

  Blaire: Truths Torn Asunder

  Heart of a Scot Series

  To Love a Highland Rogue

  Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series

  Triumph and Treasure

  Virtue and Valor

  Heartbreak and Honor

  Scandal’s Splendor

  Passion and Plunder

  Seductive Surrender

  Seductive Scoundrels Series

  A Diamond for a Duke

  Boxed Sets

  Embraced by a Rogue

  To Love a Reckless Lord

  When a Lord Loves a Lady

  Stand-Alones

  Heart of a Highlander

  Earl of Wainthorpe

  For MKS

  Miss you.

  So many people were involved in the writing of BLAIKE: SECRETS GONE ASKEW, and they all must be acknowledged.

  Thank you, Maxine Wilson for suggesting M’Lady Lottie’s name, and to Nicole Laverdure for your expertise in translating the French in Blaike and Oliver’s story. Sharon Fornier and Courtney Chase, your contributions to M’Lady Lottie’s colorful vocabulary were priceless.

  Star Montgomery, a special thanks to you for answering all of my cockatoo questions and even sharing a recording of Koo Koo, your cockatoo. Thanks too, to Linda Martin for sending along the adorable talking parrot video which gave me the idea to teach M’Lady Lottie animal sounds.

  Of course, I must give a shout out to Teresa Spreckelmeyer for the book’s stunning cover and to Kathryn Lynn Davis for her fabulous edits. Oh, and to Anna Campbell for BLAIKE: SECRETS GONE ASKEW's cover quote too. Lastly, I’d be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge my assistants DF and CJ for the myriad of things they do to help me and keep me sane!

  xoxo

  A lady of refinement takes utmost care to consider that every

  word whispered in confidence ’tis oft’ heard repeated many miles away.

  ~Scruples and Scandals-The Genteel Lady’s Guide to Practical Living

  Port de Lyon, Lyon, France

  Early Evening 17 March, 1823

  A stuffed-to-its-capacity portmanteau in one hand, and a small sack of food in the other, Blaike inhaled a fortifying breath as she stepped from the rickety coach. A brow raised, half in relief and half in wariness, she surveyed Port de Lyon’s bustling wharf.

  Situated at the intersections of the Saône and Rhône rivers, the busy harbor hummed with activity. All sorts of vehicles rumbled to and fro, while merchants huffed past, their covered carts containing coveted silks and other treasures.

  Vendors enthusiastically hawked their wares alongside street urchins and beggars haranguing passersby for a coin or two. Stevedores and gruff seamen of every nationality called to each other above the din as they loaded and unloaded cargo. Others drunkenly staggered along, leering at or propositioning the few women braving the docks at this hour.

  Except for the Culpeppers, a male or a stern-faced chaperone accompanied any other ladies of gentle breeding, distinguishing the respectable females on the wharf from the doxies beginning their work as twilight’s mantle descended.

  Despite the impropriety and the thorough scolding t
hey’d receive when they reached home, Blaike and Blaire had journeyed to Lyon and would sail to England unchaperoned. They had much explaining to do to their family upon arriving home.

  No, rather Madame Beaulieu, proprietress and head mistress of Les Dames de l’Académie de Grâce, had much to account for.

  The deceptive, conniving witch.

  Institute for higher education, indeed.

  What utter poppycock and claptrap.

  Les Dames de l’Académie de Grâce was nothing but a glorified finishing school. Which, Blaike strongly suspected, doubled as a brothel. Far too many unexplainable comings and goings by men visiting the other house on the property at all hours.

  A shudder rippled down her spine that had nothing to do with the brisk March air.

  Several laughing or jabbering French sailors in crisp blue and gold uniforms hurried past as her twin Blaire, came to Blaike’s side.

  Blaike only understood a smattering of their words, but what she did comprehend heated her cheeks.

  One debonair officer with a pencil-thin black mustache, winked, while another tossed a pastry scrap to a pair of hungry-looking mongrels.

  Teeth bared, they snarled and snapped, each vying for the largest share.

  Poor beasts.

  She’d experienced hunger; was experiencing it at this moment, as a matter of fact. To stretch their swiftly dwindling funds, she and Blaire had shared their two meager meals a day, and neither had eaten since breaking their fast with tea and toast at dawn. Scant money remained in the reticule hanging from Blaike’s wrist; a worry that cramped her stomach worse than lack of food.

  Blaire’s purse held little more.

  The rolls, cheese, and apples Blaike had purchased from the inn this morning would have to suffice until they boarded the ship home. Pray God they sailed soon. If not . . .

  A distinguished looking man—a ship’s captain from his attire and confident bearing—descended a gangplank and was met by several other finely dressed gentlemen awaiting him on the waterfront. He slashed a casual glance in Blaike’s direction, then brazenly pivoted to more fully observe her. A slow smile curved his mouth, crinkling the scar lancing his left cheek as he stared.

  He doffed his brown leather Continental hat and inclined his head.

  At once, the others turned to see what had captured his attention.

  A rotund fellow wearing a gaudy canary-yellow coat boldly withdrew his quizzing glass and put it to his eye.

  Ridiculous. As if he could see them any better through the lens that far away.

  When the captain, or whomever he was, continued to regard Blaike and Blaire, his mien almost speculative, she angled her back toward him. In her limited experience, men misinterpreted even the most casual of glances as an invitation.

  Besides, the last time her nape hair had stood at attention in this manner, she’d been brutally accosted. After tucking the food beneath her arm, she switched her heavy valise to her other hand and pressed her palm to her hollow midriff.

  An assortment of noxious smells hung heavily in the air, and Blaike wrinkled her nose before releasing a slow, gusty sigh.

  “Lord, it reeks most awfully.” Blaire raised a slightly soiled gloved hand to her nose. “What is that stench? Rotting fish and—?”

  “I’m not sure, but I agree. It’s most disgusting. But at least with the breeze the air is slightly fresher than the fusty interior of the coach.” Barely. Blaike arched her spine, stretching the stiff muscles from bum to neck. “I swear, someone let a billy goat live in that conveyance.”

  “Maybe Brette’s grandfather, old Fusty Boots, used it a decade or so ago.” Blaire chuckled as she, too, examined the pier. Their cousin’s grandsire, the Duke of Bellinghamshire’s malodorous feet had been legendary.

  Three and a half days they’d rattled about in the stinking, poorly sprung equipage. Why, even now whilst standing, Blaike could yet feel the rhythmic jostling. Flattened from constant wear, the seat provided minimal padding against the jolts and bumps. She’d be surprised if a spot remained on her or Blaire’s bodies that didn’t sport bruises.

  Although . . .

  Not all of her welts could be blamed upon the poorly sprung, well-used coach.

  She closed her eyes for an agonizing instant, remembering—

  “Zut.”

  The sour-tempered driver swore beneath his breath, and she glanced over her shoulder, wincing when he hauled their small trunk from the boot and dropped it on the ground with the same distaste as a sack of weevil-infested grain.

  He’d been miffed since the first day and the vails he’d expected hadn’t been forthcoming. As much as Blaike would’ve liked to have passed him a coin or two, their dire circumstances required her to economize at every opportunity.

  “Odeur putride,” he grumbled.

  Indeed. Most putrid.

  Wrinkling his nose, he swore again. “Merde. Le navire esclave est au port.”

  “Did he say a slave ship is in port?” Blaire’s gaze flew to the rows of towering masts lining the gloaming sky.

  “I shudder to think so.” Blaike opened her eyes. Queasiness tensed her stomach even as the vile odor clogged her throat. “God help them.”

  “But I thought slavery had been abolished in France.” After tossing Blaike a distressed look, Blaire scrutinized the ships nearest them as if she sought to see the pathetic wretches confined inside the stout hulls.

  “It was, but I remember reading somewhere the ban hasn’t fully taken effect yet.”

  The twins situation paled compared to those desperate souls so brutally torn from their home and everything familiar.

  At least she and Blaire more or less knew what their futures held.

  Just over a month ago, when the situation at the academy had deteriorated to intolerable, Blaike had secretly written and posted a letter to her sister, Blythe, Marchioness of Leventhorpe. She’d asked her to arrange passage home as hastily as possible and said she would explain the reasons later. Suspecting Madame Beaulieu steamed the wax seals loose and read their correspondences, Blaike had asked Blythe to respond in code.

  In her reply, Blythe was to mention a date for a house party and that would be the day they were to sail. Too dangerous to name the ship, but she’d say the arrangements had all been made, or something of that nature.

  Though Blaike and Blaire had already planned on leaving later in the spring when the weather improved, a recent incident had compelled their immediate departure.

  ‘Flight’ more aptly described their leave-taking.

  Blaike didn’t know how they’d have managed if it weren’t for Blythe’s generosity—or rather her husband’s—and her assurance their passage had been arranged. She and Blaire were to inquire at Port de Lyon’s Harbor Master’s Office regarding the matter.

  “Blaike?” Worry roughened Blaire’s soft voice around the edges.

  “Yes, dearest?”

  “What if the ship we’re to sail upon isn’t in port yet? We are nearly a fortnight earlier than the date Blythe gave us.”

  It didn’t bear contemplating, for the coach and lodging from Geneva had exhausted the monies they’d managed to secret away at the academy these past wretched months.

  She could always try to sell their clothing and few pieces of jewelry, though the gems had been gifts from their guardian, the Earl of Ravensdale. True, their garments were of the finest quality and the latest fashion, but they hadn’t many with them. They’d escaped the school in such a rush, that the bulk of their possessions were left behind along with instructions where to ship them.

  Honestly, cows were more likely to crow than either she or Blaire were ever to see their belongings again. Madame Beaulieu would claim the lot as her due for some fabricated reason or other. The woman hadn’t a virtuous or honest bone in her skeletally thin body.

  Offering Blaire a reassuring smile, more forced confidence than actual bravado, Blaike searched for the Port Captain’s Office. “All will be well, I’m sure of it. I
feel it in my bones. We’ve come this far, and surely we deserve a little grace after enduring more mishaps than a Greek tragedy—”

  “A broken wheel, a fallen tree, a lame horse, and a flooded creek.” Blaire held up three fingers, then a fourth, followed shortly by a fifth. “Required to sleep leaning against one another in a common room that second night. Not to mention I’m hungry enough to lick crumbs from a biscuit tin, and our driver has the temperament of a wounded—”

  “Bear.” They were forever finishing one another’s sentences.

  “He is most surly, even though we’ve done our utmost not to inconvenience him.” To ease the pinching between her shoulder blades, Blaike rolled her shoulders.

  “True.” Blaire shook her blond head, the once crisp silk flowers adorning her hat flopping with the motion. She slipped her hand into the crook of Blaike’s elbow. “We have each other though,” she said, giving her twin a little hug. “I know we’ll manage somehow.”

  “This is all my fault.” Blaike pressed her lips together and dragged in another deep breath. “I’m truly sorry, Blaire.”

  Tears tingled, but she blinked them away. The time for remorse had passed. Wallowing in regret and self-pity wouldn’t help now.

  Balancing her hat boxes while making a comforting noise in her throat, Blaire slipped her arm around Blaike’s waist. “Stuff and nonsense, dear one.” She leaned into her sister’s side. “And know this, Blaike. Your secret will always be safe with me. I shall never, ever breathe a word. If anyone is to know the whole of it, you will do the telling, not I.”

  Those dratted, stubborn tears welled again, and Blaike swallowed. Mortification burned to her marrow. “I know. And I trust you. But we aren’t the only ones who know what transpired. Should it become public knowledge, our entire family will be—.”