by Aston, Alexa
The girls and their governess continued down the stairs while he and Charlotte climbed to the next floor.
“As you can see, Harriet is a handful. She’s sweet but you never know what might come out of her mouth. Jane has a tender heart.”
“They’re lovely girls.” He paused. “I feel a bit like Lady Harriet here but I noticed that you’re with child. I suppose it’s not something I should point out but you should tell me instead.”
Charlotte laughed. “We are expecting a new little Grayson come July.” She placed her free hand on her belly. “Be glad you weren’t here two months ago. All I did was gag and run from the room. I’m much better now.”
They reached the library and Burke opened the door. Charlotte glided in and he followed behind her.
Gray spotted Charlotte and his face softened as he rose. In that moment, Burke knew just how much his old friend loved his wife. Then he spied Burke and rushed over, throwing his arms around Burke and pounding his back in a manly greeting.
“My God, it’s finally you,” Gray said, releasing him. “Standing here at Gray Manor.”
“With Lord and Lady Crampton,” he said. “Who would have thought you’d ever be the earl—much less find such a lovely countess?”
Gray slipped an arm around Charlotte’s waist and gazed at her fondly. “She is the best thing that ever happened to me. But come. Sit. We’ve so much to catch up on.”
They did and tea arrived. Charlotte poured for them, handing Burke his as she said, “There’s nothing as soothing as a cup of tea.” Then as he took a sip, her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Or I supposed you would say a woman in your bed?”
He sputtered, tea coming out his nose. He grabbed a napkin and wiped his face as Charlotte chuckled and Gray joined in the laughter.
“What have you told her?” he asked Gray.
“Oh, Charlotte knows you are a womanizer from your youth,” Gray responded.
Burke shrugged. “I suppose I can’t hide from the truth. But, my lady, you’re as bad as Harriet with your inappropriate remarks,” he teased.
“Oh, you’ve met the girls?” Gray asked.
“I did. Harriet wanted me to remove my eyepatch.”
Gray shook his head. “I pity the man who falls in love with Harriet. He’ll have his work cut out for him. Jane’s husband will have no problems at all, other than she’ll fuss over him too much.”
“What was it like, becoming a father immediately? And may I congratulate you on your upcoming child?”
Gray linked his fingers with Charlotte and raised her hand to kiss it. “I was terrified. Probably more so than going into battle. You’ve seen them, Burke. Harriet alone would frighten the French into a mass retreat.” He smiled. “But they grew on me quickly.” He glanced at Charlotte. “As did the incredible Miss Nott.”
“Miss Nott?” Burke asked.
Charlotte said, “I was Charlotte Nott before our marriage. Gray likes to address me that way at times.”
She looked at her husband with such love that it almost knocked the air from Burke.
Masters suddenly appeared. “My lady, I hate to interrupt but you are needed to resolve a matter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Masters. I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good.”
Charlotte said, “I was going to leave the two of you to talk on your own anyway.”
“Don’t go,” they both said at the same time.
She laughed. “Gray told me you were as close as brothers but I had no idea that you could speak in unison, unprompted. No, I shall leave so you can talk about whatever you wish.”
Gray kissed her hand again before releasing it and both men stood as she left.
Once the door closed, Burke said, “She is incredible.”
“Beautiful both inside and out,” Gray agreed. “Intelligent. Loyal. Incredibly efficient. Besides acting as governess to the children, she was running both the household and the estate when I arrived. The housekeeper had up and fled with the estate manager, whom I might add was siphoning funds for years. The inimitable Miss Nott had everything under control. I wasn’t even really needed,” he joked.
“How?” Burke asked. “A mere governess? Though having now met her, I can see her doing so.”
“She was Lady Charlotte Nott, not merely Miss Nott.” Gray sighed. “We’ve seen cruelty on the battlefield but Charlotte dealt with her fair share of it at home. She is the daughter of Lord Rumford of Rumford Park, which is only a dozen miles from here. When her father died and her half-brother became the new earl, he got rid of her.”
Burke thought he’d heard wrong. “He . . . what?”
Gray’s eyes grew hard. “Charlotte’s mother was a renowned opera singer. The son resented his father remarrying and the little girl who so closely resembled her mother. He told Charlotte she was a mongrel. The child of a whore. Booted her from Rumford Park, saying she was dead to him.”
Anger flared within Burke. “Did you—”
“I addressed it,” Gray said. “Charlotte lived in poverty eight years before she came here. She’s changed everything—and everyone—at Gray Manor.”
“She’s certainly changed you, Gray. Reid and I were worried about you when you left Spain. The war had done such damage to you.”
Gray nodded in agreement. “Charlotte not only healed me. She’s made a new man of me. One I like very much.”
Burke grinned. “I’m only sorry you were the first to meet her. I should like to have known her then but I’m pleased to know her now.”
“I highly suggest you find your own Miss Nott, Burke.”
“Come on, Gray. You know I was never one meant to wed. I love women too much to ever settle down with one.”
“No, you enjoy having sex with them. I hope you will find a woman to love, Burke, as I have with Charlotte. I never thought I would marry. I absolutely never thought I would be in love. But love crept up on me and then slammed into my heart. I hadn’t a chance against it.”
He could see how happy his friend was but Burke had no hopes of finding love.
And no wish to do so.
Chapter Six
Gemma dressed for the day with Joanie’s help and then went to her small dining room for breakfast. She was punctual—and so was Mrs. Pettigrew. The moment Bosley seated Gemma at the table, the door opened and Mrs. Pettigrew entered with a tray. Bosley accepted it and set the meal before his mistress, which consisted of her usual. One soft-boiled egg. One piece of toast with orange marmalade. One cup of tea, sugar and cream already added.
“Thank you both,” she said, dismissing them.
The servants left. Gemma had no need of someone standing nearby while she ate. She wouldn’t need anything so she’d told them to always go about their duties once her food was delivered. She ate the small breakfast first and then sipped her tea as she opened the post for the day, which always awaited her every morning.
Now that the Season approached, invitations were starting to arrive. That in itself had surprised her. She’d always been invited to numerous events while she’d been living with Lord C and had gone with him to everything from balls to musicales to routs. Once he and Rob died and she went into mourning, she’d been left alone. Her friends—and society—must figure it was time she got out and about again, which would explain the invitations starting to come in.
At first, Gemma thought she should ignore them all, much as she’d been ignored by others after the deaths of her loved ones. Her work for Sir Paxton kept her busy and she still loved to garden and read. She even played the pianoforte at times. A part of her, though, longed to return to the world. Make contact with friends and acquaintances again. Simply because she had no wish to ever wed again didn’t mean she should become a hermit. She would go through the stack of invitations that had come, both these and the ones waiting on her desk, and respond to all.
Gemma decided to be choosy, though. She didn’t want her life to turn into a social swirl, where she was out until the wee
hours of the morning every night of the week. She would strike a happy medium between attending nothing and going to every event she’d been invited to. It would do her good to see others. Perhaps she could help introduce the new Earl and Countess of Covington into society. The poor pair. The new earl still seemed wet behind the ears and the countess looked barely old enough to drink ratafia. Their innocence would mark them as ripe for gossip and susceptible to the vicious claws of the ton. She decided to send them a note and see if she could call upon them soon so they could discuss ways to navigate through the Season.
Bosley entered the dining room, his large size making him look more like a day laborer than butler. Gemma knew none of her servants would ever be able to work for anyone else in society because of the casual way she ran her household.
“What is it, Bosley?”
“A message just arrived for you from Sir Paxton. It’s important, according to the man who delivered it. He asked that you read it immediately and give a verbal reply.”
Her butler handed the sealed parchment to Gemma and she opened it.
My dear Lady Covington –
I have an unusual request which deals with a new opportunity for you. Because of the delicacy of this matter, we cannot meet at the War Office.
If you are available at eleven o’clock this morning, I would ask that you come to my townhouse to discuss the particulars. Please let the messenger know. He can give you my address.
I hope that you will accept my invitation to talk about your future and the role I would like you to play in England’s efforts against Bonaparte.
Gemma noticed it was unsigned but she recognized Sir Paxton’s handwriting from other notes she’d received from him.
“Bring the messenger to me,” she told Bosley.
He nodded and retrieved the man, who looked nothing like the usual messenger. He wore clothes of good quality and had abundant gray hair and kind eyes.
“Can you come, my lady?” the man asked without introducing himself.
“Yes. Inform Sir Paxton that I will be there.”
He gave her the address and said, “Sir Paxton will be pleased.” With that, he left the room, Bosley trailing after him to see him out.
“Talk about piquing my curiosity,” she said to herself.
Gemma couldn’t help but wonder what kind of opportunity Sir Paxton would present to her. She was far from bored with the codes he gave her. Maybe instead of trying to break codes, he wished her to create some. Still, why would he wish to speak to her away from the War Office? He’d told her there were some women in the employ of the crown so it shouldn’t surprise anyone to see her there. Unless he thought to protect her reputation.
She decided to deal with the correspondence and reply to the invitations that had been delivered to her. By the time she wrote out responses to the ones she’d received, it was time to leave for her appointment with Sir Paxton.
Summoning Bosley, she said, “I would like you to drive me to my engagement and wait for me. I’m not sure how long I’ll be. Once you’ve dropped me off at home again, you can deliver these to the various addresses.”
Gemma handed him the stack of correspondence and went to fetch her hat and reticule. She wrapped her favorite cloak about her to ward off the brisk wind. March was definitely going out with a bluster. She looked forward to the blooms of April and May and hopefully warmer weather.
The carriage ride took a quarter of an hour. Bosley handed her down and said he would be waiting for her when she finished. She went to the front door, painted a deep green, and rapped on it.
The door swung open. A butler her exact height quickly assessed her and said, “Come in, Lady Covington.”
Gemma stepped into the foyer and allowed him to take her cloak.
“Sir Paxton is engaged at the moment, my lady. He asked that you wait for him in his study. If you’ll follow me.”
They remained on the first floor, heading down a corridor to the right. The butler opened the door and gave her a tight smile.
She entered the room and the servant closed the door quietly behind her. The study was done in various shades of browns, with a desk and two chairs before it. What drew her eyes, though, was the man across the room who had his back to her.
He was tall, with a lean, athletic frame and a headful of thick, dark hair. His hands were clasped behind him as he gazed out the window. Immediately, she wondered if he had something to do with the opportunity Sir Paxton had written about. The man turned and Gemma froze.
It was Burke Nicholson.
A wave of anger rippled through her. She hadn’t seen him since last summer, when he’d shown up unannounced and then blurted out that he’d gotten Rob killed. Before she’d had time to collect herself from the blow his words had on her, he’d turned and raced from the room, leaving her with so many unanswered questions.
Gemma moved quickly across the room, yanking her glove off as she did so. The moment she reached him, she slapped him. Hard. Her palm stung as if a thousand needles jabbed her. She saw the imprint of it on his face, which remained immobile, his lone gray eye staring at her.
“I would say I’m sorry—but I’m not,” she said succinctly.
“I don’t blame you, Lady Covington.”
Replacing her glove slowly, she fought the urge to berate him. She raised her eyes and their gazes met again.
“Why did you even come to see me?” she asked softly. “When you knew you couldn’t tell me the circumstances of Rob’s death?”
She saw surprise register on his face.
“If you were agents in the field together, then what you did was classified by the government. Something that I could never be told. I knew Lieutenant-Colonel Baker’s letter to me was a lie, pretending Rob died bravely on the battlefield.” Gemma paused. “I didn’t like it—but I could live with it, knowing Rob died in the service to his country.”
“What you didn’t like was me coming to you, face to face. It made it seem more real.”
“Yes,” she hissed. “It did. You could offer me no comfort. No details. I still don’t know why you came. Your visit was pointless. And hurtful.”
He took her hand and again, Gemma felt that odd sensation from before. She looked at their joined hands and pulled hers from his.
Nicholson cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back again. “I bungled it. Badly. I went to see you in person because your husband asked me to. If I survived. Then you revealed you knew he was a crown agent and, somehow, I lost all rational thought. I was angry.” He stopped and shook his head. “No, I was already angry. At what happened to The Don. To me. I was furious I’d lost my eye, as well as a good friend. Irritated that this stupid war seems to go on and on.
“I blame myself for lashing out at you. I should have known The Don never would have told you what he was up to. Your husband had more integrity in his smallest finger than most men do in their entire body. He talked about you as if you were his equal. He respected you a great deal, Lady Covington. He once told me that you would have made for a much better soldier than he was and that your cleverness and resourcefulness would have defeated Bonaparte if only the powers that be would have put you in charge.”
Gemma took in the words, smiling at the thought of Rob singing her praises to his fellow officers.
“I’m sorry I became irrational and stomped out. I apologize for acting in an ungentlemanly manner. I regretted my actions then—and still do, to this day.”
“Then why didn’t you come back?” she asked.
“Because I left London that day. Physically, I was still a wreck. Emotionally, I was even worse off. I retreated to a small cabin in the country and have remained there until a few days ago.”
“You needed time to heal.”
He nodded. “I did. I’ve returned to town, though, and I’m happy that I can share with you your husband’s last words.”
Gemma’s breath hitched. She gripped her hands, steeling herself. “What were they?”
Her throat grew thick. Poor Rob. Thinking of her to the end. Worrying that he was leaving her alone to face her father and society, never knowing that by giving her his name—and gaining a title he’d never known about—that she was able to win her complete independence. She was a dowager countess who had the means to live on her own. Gemma only wished that Rob would have been able to learn about the work she did for the crown. She’d never been able to write to him of it. He would have been so proud of her.
A few tears spilled down her cheeks and she quickly wiped them away. She knew Rob also regretted that he wouldn’t be coming home to her. That they wouldn’t be able to share a life together, though naturally some of it would have been apart as he sought out others that interested him. It saddened her that his life had been cut short and it hurt that she would never know how—or why. Perhaps it was for the best, recalling how terribly gaunt and haunted Burke Nicholson looked when she’d last seen him. This way, she could remember Rob as he was before he left England and endured the trials and tribulations of war.
“Thank you,” Gemma told the man before him. “Thank you for being with my husband at the end. For surviving whatever the two of you experienced. For coming back and sharing with me his last words. I know you can’t give me any particulars. I accept that. You’ve given me a piece of Rob again. For that, I am grateful.”
She stepped toward him and, this time, kissed the very cheek she’d slapped only minutes ago. She caught the faint scent of the soap he’d used that morning.
He eyed her warily. “I don’t expect your forgiveness.”
“I’m not sure if you’ll ever have it,” she admitted. “You’re here. Rob isn’t. If one man had to perish, I would rather it have been you so that my husband could have returned home to me. I know that sounds cruel. Forgive me.”
“You have nothing to be forgiven for, my lady.”
Frankly, she didn’t know if she ever could forgive this man. He’d told her he’d done something to get her husband killed. Was it Nicholson’s carelessness? She didn’t think he’d deliberately betrayed Rob and their mission. Gemma remembered how awful Nicholson looked when he’d come to see her and that was two months after Rob’s death. She couldn’t know what he looked like right afterward. Or what he’d suffered. She swore to herself to forget this man’s involvement with Rob’s death.