Once a Spy

by Putney, Mary Jo

  “White Horse Manor,” he whispered. “It seems forever since we honeymooned there.”

  “Three months, but three very eventful months.” She kissed Simon’s right hand in the middle of his palm. Her voice unsteady, she said, “You were near death, but Lucas saved you. I believe he has a divine ability to heal, though he says it doesn’t happen often. I’m just thanking heaven that it worked for you!”

  “So am I, mon coeur.” He gazed into her green eyes, caught in an intimate bond beyond words. Even so, he would try to speak. “We have come on such a long journey together. Remember when I found you in your London boardinghouse and you thought I was mad when I proposed marriage?”

  “I still think you were mad,” she said with a twinkle as her hand clasped his. “But mercifully you were persuasive as well.”

  “We’ve shared so many words,” he said hesitantly, “yet when I was sliding into death on the battlefield, I realized I had never said that I love you. You know I do, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Her hand tightened on his. “But I like hearing the words. Would you like to hear that I love you?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “You may repeat that several times.”

  She laughed. “I love you, I love you, I love you, my handsome and lovable lord. I’m not quite sure when it happened, but I went from loving your touch to simply loving you.”

  “Speaking of touch, do you have any idea of how long I’m to be trussed up like a Christmas goose?”

  “Lucas says that the bones are healing remarkably quickly. I suspect that is part of his miracle.” Her smile turned even more mischievous. “But I am very inventive. Shall we experiment to learn what parts of you are working?”

  Ignoring the pain on his left side, he rolled toward her to touch his lips to her warm, welcoming mouth. His beloved, his heart. “By all means let us experiment, my love. And we shall learn whether saying words of love has made lovemaking even better than before.”

  “I think that would be impossible,” she murmured. “But I yearn to find out!”

  Epilogue

  White Horse Manor

  Berkshire, England

  July 1815

  Simon would never tire of admiring the play of light and cloud shadows over the galloping white horse carved on the opposite side of the valley, and the sofa in their private sitting room gave him a splendid view. The view became even better when Suzanne breezed in, looking delectable in a shimmering green silk gown that turned her eyes a mesmerizing shade of emerald.

  “Good afternoon, mon chéri!” She bent and brushed a kiss on his head. “It has been far too long since I’ve seen you!”

  “Almost three hours. Since we lunched together. Definitely too long.” He caught her hand and tugged her down beside him on the sofa so close their bodies touched. As enthusiastic about her arrival as Simon, Leo promptly deserted his position on the sofa back to claim his lady’s lap.

  “What did the surgeon say when he examined your leg?”

  “It’s healing well and I should be able to abandon this cane in a fortnight and ride perhaps a week or two after that.”

  Her brows arched. “And your interpretation of his advice?”

  Simon grinned at her. “I believe what he meant to say was that I’ll be riding with you by next week.”

  “I am somehow not surprised.” Suzanne clasped his right hand with her left and used her free hand to scratch Leo’s head, which sent the little cat into ecstasies. “I asked Stanley to send up tea so we can admire the white horse together.”

  “It’s a very peaceful occupation.”

  They chatted idly for a few minutes until Stanley arrived with a tea tray that held tea, sandwiches, and cakes, and a smaller tray piled with letters. “The post has arrived,” he announced.

  “Are there any letters from Belgium?” Simon asked.

  “I believe so, sir.” Stanley set the tea tray on the low table in front of the sofa and handed over the smaller tray, which held a letter opener as well as the letters. Leo instantly jumped on the table, acutely interested in the sandwiches. Suzanne gently removed the cat while Simon sorted through the pile.

  “Most of these are business, but . . . ah! Here’s one from Philippe.”

  “Good!” Suzanne offered Leo a shred of ham from one of the sandwiches. It was accepted with great enthusiasm. “I’ve been worried since the whole French army marched right by his estate.”

  “And ran back in the other direction after the battle.” Simon broke the wax seal and scanned the letter. “He sends fond greetings and assures us that there was not much damage to the estate apart from the soldiers trampling two of his fields of rye. He rather casually mentions that the surviving wing of the château was burned down, which is a blessing since it will no longer attract wandering vagrants. I think that’s aimed at me.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Suzanne agreed. “What does he say about Marie?”

  “She’s written her own note on the lower half of the page. She loves the estate and adores the Cordiers and says she never expected to have a family like them. Young Simon is possibly the most beautiful and intelligent infant in France and motherhood is wonderful.” Simon handed her the letter so she could read it herself and opened another.

  “This one is from Maurice. He says that a box of excellent salted herring was delivered to the house with compliments from Captain Pieter De Jong, and do I wish it to be sent here?”

  “Let the household in Brussels enjoy it, but I like that Captain De Jong honored his fish promise after you saved his life.” Suzanne looked down at Leo. “His ears perked up when herring was mentioned.”

  “Better give him more of the ham,” Simon advised. “Here’s a note from Kirkland. He thanks me for my efforts in Belgium, but suggests that in future I not try so hard to get killed because he knows you would disapprove.”

  “He’s quite right about that! Are there any others from Belgium?”

  Simon riffled through the pile. “A letter from Lucas!” He broke the wafer and scanned the precise handwriting. “He’s returning to England! He asks if he can stay here for a while, and is there room in the stables for the Magdalene?”

  Suzanne laughed. “Of course there is! Both of them are welcome to stay here as long as they wish. White Horse Manor is a good place to relax and adjust gradually to being an English gentleman again. It will also be useful to have a medical man around the place, especially one who can occasionally perform miracles. He’s up to three, but more miracles are always welcome.”

  Simon glanced up. “He saved Marie’s baby and he saved me. Which is the third?”

  Suzanne gave him a Mona Lisa smile. “You said you’d mentioned to Lucas that I didn’t think I could have children, and he told you not to judge the future by the past.”

  Simon stared at her, dumbfounded. “Suzanne,” he breathed. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  She laughed with delight. “Apparently all I needed was a better man, and there are no men better than you!”

  “Mon ange!” He leaned over and swooped her onto his lap in a flurry of green silk skirts. Leo leaped away with an indignant squeak, but managed to land neatly in the middle of the tray of sandwiches.

  Simon gazed into her enchanting green eyes. “There are certainly no better women anywhere than you, my brave beloved.” So he kissed her.

  Always in my heart . . .

  Author’s Note

  Waterloo is a feast for military history buffs, not to mention that it’s wonderful material for a novelist. Two of Europe’s greatest generals faced off against each other and Wellington’s forces won, ending Napoleon Bonaparte’s imperial ambitions after far too many years of war.

  I wrote about Waterloo before in my novel Shattered Rainbows, including the Duchess of Richmond’s famous ball and a more detailed battlefield experience, but this time I was writing about spies and intelligence workers, which took me to events around the edges of Waterloo. The research was an education in how vi
tal intelligence gathering was, and how difficult transmitting information was in an era when everything had to travel by horse and hand.

  Simon’s character was inspired by the real Colonel Colquhoun Grant, Wellington’s most valued intelligence officer. On the Peninsula, Grant was captured and held for two years by the French, and even then managed to send information back to Wellington.

  After the emperor escaped from Elba and Wellington made Brussels the headquarters for his Anglo-Dutch army, Grant was made chief of intelligence and did his usual thorough job of observation and analysis. He was the first to realize that Napoleon wasn’t going to attack through the Belgian city of Mons, but through Charleroi.

  Grant’s report was sneered at by General Dornberg in Mons, who didn’t pass on the vital dispatch that Wellington had been waiting for. Despite this enormous frustration that left Wellington at a disadvantage, Colquhoun Grant made it back to the army in time to take the field at Waterloo, an experience I gave to Simon.

  Another interesting incident I discovered was the English camp follower who was captured by the French and questioned to find out what she knew of the movements of the Allies. I doubt that she, unlike Suzanne, was interrogated by Napoleon himself, but the incident does show how desperate armies were for information.

  The most interesting thing I learned in this round of research was how Waterloo was truly won by Allied nations. Many histories are very Anglocentric, but it wasn’t England alone that defeated Napoleon. The British army was made up of soldiers from all over the British Isles, which meant a lot of them were Scottish, Irish, and Welsh.

  Nor did the British army take the field alone at Waterloo. A significant number of Wellington’s troops were Dutch-Belgian, along with military units from various German states such as Brunswick, Nassau, and Hanover. (The state of Hanover owed fealty to the British Crown since the royal family was descended from George I, the elector of Hanover.)

  Nor could the battle have been won if the Prussian troops under Prince Blücher hadn’t reached the battlefield in late afternoon after a ferociously difficult march over difficult terrain. Some of Blücher’s staff were reluctant, not entirely trusting the British, but Blücher had promised Wellington to lend support, and he was not the man to break a promise. His troops made the critical difference. Though Blücher was in his early seventies, he led the way.

  As Wellington famously said, the battle was a near-run thing, and without the Prussian troops, it would almost certainly have gone the other way. There is a famous picture of Wellington and Blücher shaking hands about 9:30 that evening near La Belle Alliance, the tavern that Napoleon had used as his headquarters.

  The irony is that the name means “the Beautiful Alliance,” a phrase that could be used to describe the coalition that brought the emperor down. Cooperation was as beautiful a thing then as it is now.

  Please read on for an excerpt from

  SEDUCTION ON A SNOWY NIGHT,

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  Bombay, India

  Summer 1816

  Dawn was the best time of day here. Night had cooled the air and the savage heat of high noon was still hours away. The air was fragrant with scents unknown in England, and in the trees bright birds were busy about their early morning business.

  Lady Diana Lawrence, the blackest sheep of her generation of the noble Lawrence family, curled up on the teak bench of her bedroom’s balcony and admired the morning mists floating over the field that lay beyond the house. Dim shapes resolved into an elephant. An oxcart. A graceful woman in a sari carrying a bundle of sticks. The timeless rhythms of India.

  She felt a sudden sharp longing for the mists of home drifting over the still surface of the Broads. Water birds and reeds and fishermen in low boats gliding across the silvery waters.

  She’d left England over seven years before. The general reason was her craving to see the world; the specific one had been the shattering pain of a doomed love affair. In the years since, she’d traveled widely and seen many strange and wondrous sights.

  After several years of traveling ever eastward, she’d come to rest in India, but she’d never felt that she would stay here forever. Perhaps it was time to go home, because England was home and always would be.

  She took a sip of her cardamom-flavored tea. That tea would be something she would take home with her. She asked her companion, “Do you think you’d like England? It’s not as warm, but I guarantee you’ll continue to eat regularly.”

  He yawned, showing sharp feline teeth, then tucked his white nose under his long black tail. The Panda was a pragmatist. As long as there was food, he would be content.

  Now the sky had lightened enough to read the letter that had arrived the evening before from her favorite niece, Lady Aurora Lawrence Vance. She was known as “Roaring Rory” in some circles, just as Diana had been proclaimed “the Dashing Diana.” Or even “the Devilish Diana.” More proof of how alarmingly alike she and Rory were.

  But Rory’s life had taken a surprising turn toward love, marriage, and stability. Though not, Diana was sure, tedium.

  Having savored the anticipation long enough, she opened the oilcloth packet that had protected the letter on its journey halfway around the world.

  My darling Aunt Diana!

  So much news to share! (Oh, I must be careful or I will run out of exclamation points before the end of this missive!)

  For someone who always found the prospect of marriage deeply alarming, I’m finding the reality quite deeply wonderful.

  Diana laughed, feeling Rory’s bubbling personality as strongly as if she were in the room. She returned to the letter.

  Once more I give thanks to my wonderful visit with you in India because that led to being captured by corsairs on the way home, which was not wonderful but did lead me to meeting Gabriel, which never would have happened if I’d been more sensible and less captured.

  When I wrote my last letter, I believe that I said we were leasing a rather absurdly large house in London because it was the best available. I also mentioned that we were looking for a modest estate near London.

  However, instead of buying an estate of our own, we decided to make Gabriel’s grandfather’s estate, Langbridge, our country home. It’s very sensible because Gabriel will eventually inherit the property and he wants to become acquainted with the land and people. Having spent so many years at sea, he says, it will take time to learn farming and estate management.

  Of course he’s learning quickly and enjoying the challenge. Most of all, he loves having a stable full of horses and being able to ride whenever he wishes, which wasn’t possible in his sea captain life. Now we ride together, which is a high point of our days. Or was—I’m not riding as often now for reasons I’ll get to soon.

  But the real issue is not learning the land, but the fact that his grandparents are getting old and they need us. His grandmother is a darling and we plotted together to persuade the men that the move was a good idea.

  The negotiations made the Congress of Vienna look straightforward! The years of estrangement after Admiral Vance disowned Gabriel made matters awkward, but Gabriel wants to make up for those years, and his grandfather, once England’s most rigid retired admiral, now yearns for Gabriel’s company
and decided he was willing to accept my unruly self as part of the package.

  I miss Cousin Constance dreadfully, but we exchange letters often, the United States being much closer than India, though not precisely close. We’re collaborating on new stories.

  She sends her love to you, along with the happy news that she and Jason now have a baby boy! Named Richard Gabriel Landers in honor of Jason’s father and my Gabriel. She assures me that he is the best and most beautiful baby in North America.

  Diana thought nostalgically of the fun the three of them had had when Rory and Constance had come for a long visit, the only members of the Lawrence family to make it all the way to India. Those months were the most enjoyable Diana had experienced here. Constance was illegitimate, the daughter of Diana’s least reliable brother, but she had grown up sweet and kind and wise. She was Diana’s second-favorite niece, though really she shouldn’t make comparisons. Rory and Constance were both wonderful.

  Constance and I also have another book baby! (Oh, dear, the exclamation points are breaking out again!) The Shining Blade, our corsair book, has now been published and is quite the rage! Have I thanked you lately for sending our first books to your publisher friend in London? He has done well by us, under the stern eye of my father, who handles all our contracts and makes sure we aren’t swindled.

  Have you ever thought of publishing your own work? Not novels, I’m the one with the lurid Gothic imagination, but your travel journals. They’re quite wonderful—you have such a keen eye and a sense of humor about the travails of travel, and warmth for the people you meet and the differences and the similarities. among us.