by Laura Beers
“I am not,” Follett responded. “I have just had an epiphany.”
“You have?” Booth asked.
Follett bobbed his head vehemently. “I should be a vicar!”
“You, a vicar?” Haskett asked. “That is absurd!”
“I disagree,” Follett said, his voice rising. “I like telling people what to do.”
Oliver lifted his brow. “I don’t think vicars tell people what to do.”
“They preach to us every Sunday about how we should be better and whatnot,” Follett explained. “I could do precisely the same thing, and I would do it better.”
“But you would just spout nonsense,” Haskett joked.
Follett smirked. “Isn’t that what vicars do?”
Booth turned his attention towards Oliver. “Our friend has gone mad.”
“I would agree,” Oliver replied. “Perhaps it is time that we called it a night.”
Haskett removed the pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied it closely. After a long moment, he asked, “Isn’t it rather early to be calling it a night?”
“It is not,” Oliver said, shoving back his chair. “I find that I have had my fill of cards and alcohol this evening.”
Booth placed his hand to his chest, feigning outrage. “You wound me, sir.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Oliver remarked as he rose.
The serving woman hurried over to him and asked, “Can I get you anything, milord?”
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he pulled out a coin and extended it towards her. “No, thank you.”
“Thank you for your generosity this evening.” She accepted the coin and slipped it into the pocket of her green gown.
Oliver gave her a brief nod and pushed in his chair. “I shall see you all tomorrow at Mrs. Linfield’s ball.”
“Will Lady Jane be in attendance?” Booth asked eagerly.
Oliver pointed his finger at Booth and ordered, “You will leave my sister alone.”
Booth put up his hands in surrender. “I was just curious.”
“If I catch any of you even speaking to my sister, I shall have no choice but to challenge you to a duel,” Oliver warned.
“That would be foolish on your part,” Booth teased. “I am quite proficient with a pistol.”
A slow, smug smile came over Oliver’s lips. “I assure you that I can outshoot you any day of the week.”
Booth grew serious. “You have made your point,” he replied. “I won’t even attempt to engage your sister in a conversation.”
“Very good,” Oliver muttered before he turned to leave.
As he made his way through the gambling hell, his alert eyes scanned the room, looking for anything suspicious. But he found nothing out of the ordinary.
He opened the door and stepped outside. The pungent odor in the air assaulted his senses as he started walking down the worn cobblestone street. He kicked at a rock that was near his boot and watched it take flight across the pavement.
Oliver had just turned the corner when he heard booted steps behind him. He stopped and turned back around. A brawny man in threadbare clothing was standing a few yards back, gripping a small dagger in his right hand. A prominent scar ran the length of his sunken-in left cheek.
“Give me all of your money,” the man ordered.
Oliver sighed. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, debating whether to retrieve his muff pistol from his right boot.
The man gave him a questioning look. “Why have you not emptied your pockets?”
“Here is the thing,” Oliver started, “I am not going to give you any of my money.”
“Then I will kill you.” The man took a commanding step towards him and brought up his dagger.
Methodically, Oliver removed his jacket and laid it on the ground. “I could have already killed you where you stand, but I find I am curious about something.”
“Which is?” the man asked as he glanced down at the jacket on the pavement.
“How good of a fighter are you?” Oliver asked, bringing his fists up.
The man’s eyes flickered in surprise. “It is a shame that I will have to kill you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, because I don’t want to kill you,” he explained. “I am just attempting to rob you.”
“We shall see,” Oliver said.
In the next moment, the man lunged at him with his dagger, but Oliver easily stepped to the side. He grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted it, causing the dagger to drop to the pavement.
“What are you going to do now that you don’t have a dagger?” Oliver taunted.
Rearing back his fist, the man punched him in the jaw. Oliver staggered back and brought his hand up to his face. He smiled as he spat out some blood onto the pavement.
“That was a lucky shot,” Oliver admitted.
He ran forward and plowed his right shoulder into the man’s stomach, then stepped back and jabbed him in the nose. The man fell to the ground and stared up at him in amazement.
“Who are you?” the man asked as he kept his hand on his bloody nose.
Oliver extended his hand towards the man. “That is not important.”
The man accepted his assistance and rose. “I’m sorry I attempted to rob you of your coins,” he said as he moved to retrieve his dagger.
“Don’t be,” Oliver said. “I haven’t had a good fight in a while.”
“I’m happy to be of assistance then,” the man remarked as he wiped blood onto the sleeve of his once-white shirt.
Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Oliver removed a few coins and extended them towards the man. “I have no doubt that you need these more than I.”
The man clutched them in his hand. “Thank you, sir.”
Oliver retrieved his jacket and shrugged it back on. “You may want to sharpen your dagger,” he advised. “It appears rather dull.”
Looking down at the dagger, the man shrugged. “It does its job.”
“Good evening,” Oliver said as he turned to leave.
Some might consider him foolish to turn his back on a man that he had just fought with, but he knew the man was not a threat to him. Not anymore.
As he walked along the pavement, Oliver clenched and unclenched his right fist. It was sore from hitting the man in the face, but it felt good to hit someone. It had been far too long since he had engaged in a bout of fisticuffs.
“Would you care for an overcoat pistol this evening, milord?” his silver-haired valet asked as he brushed down his black jacket with a clothing brush.
“Not tonight,” Oliver replied.
Jarvis grinned. “It might keep the matchmakers away from you this evening at the ball,” he joked.
Oliver chuckled. “You do make a valid point.”
Taking a step back, Jarvis perused the length of him, then asked, “Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Oliver replied as he adjusted his gold cuff links. “It is best that I get this over with.”
“You don’t seem pleased.”
“Don’t I?”
“I must wonder why you attend these social events if you detest them so,” Jarvis said with a shake of his head.
“Sometimes I wonder the same thing,” Oliver admitted, “but we must put our duty ahead of our own wants.”
“Your father used to say that.”
“That he did,” Oliver said as he walked to the door, “and it still resonates with me.”
“Your father was a good man,” Jarvis declared.
Oliver bobbed his head in agreement. “That he was.”
After Oliver departed from his room, he walked down the long hall and descended the stairs. He saw the heavy-set butler standing in the marbled entry hall. His blond hair was brushed to the side, and the lines around his eyes crinkled when he saw Oliver.
“Good evening, Pratt,” Oliver greeted. “How are you?”
Pratt gave him a knowing smile. “I am well, but I must assume that you are dreading
the ball this evening.”
“You know me well, my good man,” Oliver said as he came to stand next to him. “Are my mother and Lady Jane ready?”
Pratt shook his head. “They have not come down yet, but your brother is in his study.”
“Then I shall go speak to him.”
Oliver walked across the entry hall and headed towards the rear of the townhouse where his brother’s study was situated.
The door was open, and he stepped in to find his brother reviewing ledgers at his desk.
“Good evening,” Oliver greeted.
Baldwin glanced up at him as he closed the ledger. “Good evening,” he muttered. “I can’t imagine you want to go to this blasted ball any more than I do.”
“You are married now,” Oliver reminded him. “You must attend these social events to keep Madalene happy.”
At the mention of his wife’s name, Baldwin’s face softened. “It is true. I would do anything to bring a smile to Madalene’s face.”
“You have been married for a month now,” Oliver commented. “Any regrets?”
“None.”
Oliver walked over to the drink cart and picked up the decanter. “You sound like a fool blinded by love.”
“One day, you will understand,” Baldwin said, leaning back in his chair.
“As I have stated previously, I have no desire to wed.” Oliver removed the stopper and poured himself a drink. “A wife brings a whole host of problems.”
“Madalene brought joy back into my life,” Baldwin shared. “She is the reason I wake up with a smile on my face every morning.”
Oliver took a sip of his drink. As he lowered his glass, he asked, “Do you miss working as an agent?”
“At times, yes,” Baldwin replied. “But I have more than enough to keep me busy at the moment.”
“I can imagine that is the case. After all, your investments and portfolio are quite extensive.”
Baldwin glanced down at the pile of ledgers on his desk. “I could always use your help, you know.”
“I am not interested in helping to run an estate,” Oliver said. “Perhaps you could ask Jane. She has already proved that she has an aptitude for it.”
“I believe I might, especially since she did such a wonderful job while I was gone.”
Oliver walked over to the settee and sat down. “I do wonder if Jane will ever be able to look at me without disdain in her eyes.”
“Give her time,” Baldwin encouraged. “She has started to come around with me.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think time will change it.”
“Then what will?”
Oliver shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know. It isn’t as if I can stop the ruse of being a rakehell, and I can’t tell her the reasons behind it.”
A familiar voice came from the doorway. “No, you most assuredly cannot,” Corbyn said as he closed the door. “That could jeopardize your cover.”
Oliver turned his attention towards the leader of the agency. Corbyn may have only been a few years older than him, but he was responsible for all the agents of the Crown. He was dressed in a blue jacket, white waistcoat with matching cravat and buff trousers.
“I take it that you are not attending the ball this evening,” Oliver commented.
Corbyn huffed. “I’m afraid I am much too busy to be attending frivolous social events.”
“Do you require any assistance?” Oliver asked hopefully.
“I do not,” Corbyn replied. “Besides, you need to be at the ball and listen for anyone that spouts radical nonsense.”
“I tire of this assignment.”
Corbyn grew serious. “I have received a tip that a radical group has recently formed, and members from Society are joining their ranks.”
“Truly?” Oliver asked.
“I checked the information myself,” Corbyn replied, “and it sounded credible.”
Oliver leaned forward and placed his glass on the table. “I shall keep my eyes and ears open then.”
“Good,” Corbyn said as he came to sit down across from him. “I knew I could rely on you.”
Baldwin rose from his desk and walked over to the drink cart. “Would you care for something to drink?”
Corbyn bobbed his head. “That sounds delightful.”
As Baldwin filled the glasses, he commented, “You work entirely too hard, Corbyn.”
“Someone has to,” Corbyn replied with a smile. “I don’t have the luxury of retiring to spend time with a lovely wife.”
Baldwin chuckled. “You could rectify that problem by finding a wife.”
“I think not,” Corbyn remarked firmly. “I have no desire to be tied down to a woman.”
“I don’t know why you and Oliver are both so opposed to matrimony,” Baldwin commented as he walked a glass over to Corbyn. “I find it suits me most admirably.”
Corbyn accepted the glass and said, “Oliver almost got married, but he was wise enough to cry it off.”
Baldwin shifted his curious gaze towards Oliver. “Is that so?”
Frowning, Oliver replied, “It is not something I like to speak of.”
“I hadn’t realized you were even engaged,” Baldwin pressed. “When did this happen?”
“While you were in France,” Oliver revealed.
Baldwin came to sit down on the settee next to him. “Who were you engaged to?”
He paused. “Miss Charlotte Lockhart.”
With an expectant look, Baldwin asked, “Pray tell, what happened?”
“If you must know, she broke the engagement off.”
“Why?” Baldwin pressed.
Oliver shook his head. “Are you always such a busybody?”
Baldwin grinned. “I am just trying to make sense of what happened.”
Rising, Oliver walked over to the darkened window and stared out. “I always knew that I was going to marry Charlotte, even from a young age,” he shared, “but she took issue with my growing reputation amongst the ton.”
“You mean being a ‘rakehell’?” Baldwin questioned.
“Precisely,” Oliver replied. “I tried to convince her that I would be faithful, but she didn’t believe me. Eventually, she decided to call off our engagement.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Baldwin said.
“It was for the best,” Oliver remarked, his words sounding forced to his own ears. “Sadly, she went on to marry Lord Albert Hughes but died during childbirth.”
Baldwin’s voice was filled with compassion as he murmured, “That is awful news. I had no idea.”
“Being an agent is not conducive to having a wife,” Oliver muttered as he turned back around to face them.
Corbyn nodded. “I would agree.”
“Regardless, a foundation built on lies would have eventually come crumbling down,” Oliver remarked. “It wasn’t as if I could tell her the truth about me.”
“That is true,” Baldwin agreed, “but I—”
Oliver cut him off. “May we speak of something else now?” he asked firmly.
Baldwin eyed him with concern. “I suppose we can,” he hesitated, “for now.”
“Thank you.” Oliver walked over to the table and picked up his drink. He tossed it back before returning the glass to the table. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Charlotte. He had loved her, desperately, and he had let her walk out of his life… willingly. He had been a blasted fool for doing so, and his heart had yet to recover from it.
A knock came at the door, and Baldwin ordered, “Enter.”
The door opened, and Madalene stepped into the room. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted politely.
Corbyn rose and bowed. “Good evening, Lady Hawthorne.”
Madalene smiled kindly at him. “It is good to see you again, Lord Evan,” she said. “Will you be attending the ball this evening with us?”
“I will not,” Corbyn replied, “but I hope you have an enjoyable evening.”
Baldwin walked over to his wife and wh
ispered something into her ear, causing a blush to stain her cheeks.
Oliver felt a twinge of jealousy at the display of affection between his brother and sister-in-law. They were truly a love match, one that was the envy of the ton.
Madalene turned her attention towards him. “Are you looking forward to the ball, Oliver?”
“I suppose I am,” he replied.
“Liar,” she teased. “You are dreading this ball as much as my husband is.”
Oliver chuckled. “You are as wise as you are beautiful.”
“Flattery?” Madalene asked, smiling. “I would have thought you were better than that.”
Baldwin slipped his arm around her waist. “If you will give us a few moments,” he said, “we have some things that we need to discuss before we depart.”
Madalene tipped her head. “Of course. I will be in the entry hall with your mother and Jane.”
After Madalene departed from the room, closing the door behind her, Baldwin turned his expectant gaze towards Corbyn. “Is there anything else you needed to discuss?”
“Not with you,” Corbyn said. “Need I remind you that you are retired?”
“That may be true, but I am happy to render any assistance,” Baldwin pressed.
Corbyn huffed. “I am confident that Oliver can manage this assignment on his own, even if he has a swollen lip from being attacked yesterday.”
“I wasn’t attacked,” Oliver defended. “I willingly got into a fight. There is a difference.”
“With a man holding a dagger,” Corbyn said with a shake of his head.
“I had the situation under control,” Oliver insisted.
Baldwin crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Perhaps you can start boxing with Madalene every morning.”
“I wouldn’t dare hit a woman,” Oliver declared.
Baldwin smirked. “I underestimated Madalene once, and she nearly broke my nose,” he said. “But enough of that now, we don’t want to keep the ladies waiting.”
“Quite right,” Oliver agreed.
Chapter Three
Emmeline smoothed down her ivory gown with its pale blue overlay as the coach came to a stop in front of Mrs. Linfield’s townhouse.
The door opened and the footman extended his hand towards her. She placed her hand into his and stepped down onto the pavement. As she withdrew her hand, she heard her plump, white-haired companion complain from behind her.