Secrets of Lady Lucy

by Rachel Ann Smith

  “My lady, the coach will be readied and available posthaste,” Evan informed Lucy as he entered the room.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised—the trio often anticipated her orders—yet in this instance, she hadn’t even mentioned a thing to Carrington as she dressed this morning, her thoughts preoccupied with Blake. Her clever maid must have figured Archbroke’s note would result in them traveling. She was grateful for their efficiency, which normally allowed her to focus on the issues that required her attention, not random thoughts about a handsome stranger.

  She needed to regain her unwavering concentration. “John. Evan. Matthew has ordered a minimum of four outriders, and that will be how many we will employ. You will be armed, of course, but given we are set to venture about Town, it would be a waste to hire more.”

  Lucy had ordered the travel coach as a ploy to divert Matthew; she sincerely hoped it would not be necessary for the entire time she was away.

  She had traveled to the Lone Dove on many occasions to receive further details regarding her assignments. The tavern was a reasonably short distance located at the edge of London’s city limits and at the crossroads of two main highways leading in and out of Town. She prayed her task could be completed in the comfort of one of the Lone Dove’s well-kept rooms. She shuddered at the notion of being cooped up in the travel coach.

  “Carrington, I expect we will be gone for six days.”

  “Yes, my lady. I’ll ensure we are ready as soon as the coach is brought around.” Carrington flew out of the library.

  “My lady, it is your intention to remain inside the coach, is it not?” John bravely dared to ask.

  Lucy replied, “While we remain in Town.”

  She began to formulate her plans. If they arrived an hour early, it would allow her enough time to change and scout the inn. She was familiar with the inn’s layout and would post footmen at each entrance. That was not Lucy’s concern. She was interested in who would be patronizing the inn while she conducted her meeting. Would any of her associates be present? Should Carrington accompany her to the private parlor or remain in the hired room?

  Lucy decided it best to meet her correspondent alone and have Carrington arrange for supplies in the event they were indeed required to travel out of Town.

  As she turned, she began, “I should…” But the room was empty.

  Before lowering her voice, Lucy twirled about, ensuring she was entirely on her own, then said, “Lucy, your orders are to change and ensure the assignment is completed successfully. Stay focused. Be sure you are home in time to accompany your brother to another boring ball, for you might just run into the man who has your thoughts in a muddle.”

  Giggling at her own antics, she left to ready herself for the upcoming week. Indeed, her imitation of Archbroke was pitiful.

  Carrington was tapping her foot, eager to get her mistress into her traveling gown as Lucy entered her room. “Carrington, really. The pale blue? It is by far the most uncomfortable dress with all the extra frills and whatnot.”

  “I’ve suggested you cease using your mama’s modiste and seek out the services of Mrs. Lennox, for your entire wardrobe and not just for particular items.”

  “Mama would never accompany me to Mrs. Lennox’s establishment. It is already a trial to convince mama to leave the house. I will employ Mrs. Lennox to outfit me when the time is right.”

  Lucy had always been mindful of her expenses; her modiste and milliner bills were never outrageous, and she never asked for an advance of her pin money. Rather, she used her funds for critical items that assisted her in keeping her investigations and missions a secret from Matthew, namely bribing the help. With her earnings from the Home Office and the generous allowance Matthew provided, she was never short and even managed to sneak a book purchase once in a while.

  Carrington pulled her laces tight, and Lucy had to take in a breath. “Why are you determined to torture me this morn?”

  “Why didn’t you alert me of your plans this morn?” Carrington tartly replied.

  Lucy turned and waited for Carrington to meet her gaze. “Carrington, I’m sorry.”

  And with that simple apology, Carrington smiled brightly and retorted, “And it won’t happen again. I know, my lady.”

  Lucy let her maid turn her in the direction of the door and fully expected the push in the back and exaggerated her stumble, which sent Carrington into a fit of giggles.

  “I’ll be right behind you, my lady.”

  Lucy was confident that Carrington had managed to pack an outfit for every occasion imaginable and squeeze them meticulously into a traveling trunk along with all Lucy’s writing supplies. One never knew what opportunities might present themselves. Since the end of the war, Archbroke rarely required her services, which had led to Lucy taking on other clients. Admittedly, assisting in the recovery of a runaway ward or lady was not as challenging as decoding for the Home Office. However, it provided Lucy with a sense of purpose, one that she would not relinquish for a marriage of convenience.

  Eager to be on her way, Lucy descended the stairs where the traveling coach and her footmen were awaiting. As she climbed into the coach, her mind wandered to Blake once more. What would his activities be for the day, for the week while she was away? Were his thoughts as muddled as hers?

  Chapter Four

  Hands clasped behind his head, Blake lay on the uncomfortable and ill-sized bed he had inherited along with the long-neglected town house. He should be making lists of needed repairs or meeting with his steward, but his mind kept returning to the events of the previous evening. Cursing his inability to forget an image, he reached for his notebook. If he sketched her, maybe he could focus on other matters. But he was deceiving himself—capturing her image on paper would only reinforce his ungodly desire for the woman.

  His pencil flew over the parchment as he envisioned every physical detail. Lucy had undeniably grown into a beautiful woman, but it was the spark of her invigorating energy that intrigued him. He replayed their conversation. He would have to brush up on his social etiquette, for he had clearly offended her on the dance floor. What to say when dancing with a fascinating lady?

  His interactions with the fair sex over the years had been limited, for the most part having no company but his own while on the Continent. Recruited by the Foreign Office immediately upon completing his exams at Oxford, he had spent little time these past years among the ton. He had built no repertoire of bons mots with which to flatter and flirt. All his efforts had been in service to the Crown, honing his natural skills of absolute recall and artistry.

  Blake glanced at the stacks of boxes that lined the sidewall of his bedchamber. They contained numerous journals and rolls of maps he had compiled while on the Continent. Journals filled with portraits of royalty from various countries, along with dignitaries and the enemy. Some held images of key towns and their defenses. But the rolls of maps, evidence of his cartography skills, were his key possessions, for they had provided vital information for Wellington and his men. Blake understood his skills were critical to England and its allies’ success; thus he had remained on the Continent until the Corsican was exiled to Elba.

  Blake held the drawing up. The woman staring back at him was not the image of the lighthearted and enthusiastic girl he had carried with him all these years. Fool that he was, he had fallen in love with the girl he had met during his one and only visit to Halestone Hall. Blake had believed those feelings well buried when Harrington had informed him about Lucy’s attachment to their neighbor Lord Taylor and how in love she was with him. He had been crushed to learn there was an understanding between both families that Lucy would someday marry Taylor.

  Frustratingly, Blake had even liked the older boy with aristocratic good looks who was a protector of the weak when they attended Eton. Lord Taylor represented the quintessential heir to a title, honorable and well liked by all, who yet carried himself with humility and grace.

  While Blake had inherited the title of
earl nearly a decade ago, he was still uncomfortable among the prying eyes of the ton. The Continent was no different. His aristocratic features and fluency in the language had occasionally landed him assignments in the French court, but he had always been most comfortable traveling in solitude.

  Returning to England meant resuming his responsibilities. And that he was no longer alone. He was constantly sought out day and night by servants, friends, and acquaintances. It was taking a toll on his nerves. An immediate solution would be to find a wife and retreat to his country estate, Shalford Castle.

  After seeing and conversing with Lucy last night, he questioned if he had ever really been successful in burying his feelings for her. He had held on to her image, his perfect English lady. But did Lucy’s heart still belong to her beloved Taylor?

  Before his mind could engage in any further thoughts of Lucy, Blake rose to prepare for the day. Unaccustomed to being waited on, he went to his wardrobe to retrieve a clean shirt.

  From the middle of his bedchamber, Gordon said, “My lord, I believe that is my duty.”

  Blake flinched as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t. How long would it take to become accustomed to having others constantly nearby? Comfortable with servants at his beck and call?

  “Gordon, I’ve dressed myself for the past decade—I’m certain I can manage without your assistance.” The man’s face fell, and Blake instantly wanted to retract his harsh words. “It will take me some time to adjust to being back in England. Bear with me; it will sort itself out.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “I need to send a message to Harrington. Could you assist me with that?”

  “That would be Henderson’s job, not mine.”

  Having been self-sufficient for his duration on the Continent and having never paid attention to these matters prior, Blake was making a hash of his reentry into English society. “Excellent. I’ll speak to Henderson directly then. I aim to attend the Hereford soiree this evening. Does that give you something to attend to?”

  “Yes, my lord. I appreciate you informing me with notice.”

  Blake glanced down at the intricately tied cravat Gordon had created without his notice. Tugging at the neck cloth, Blake said, “Gordon, I prefer simple, unassuming designs so as not to draw attention.”

  “Understood, my lord.”

  Gordon was a good and loyal servant. Blake didn’t want him seeking out another household. He had better placate the man. “For today this will be a nice change.” His valet must have interpreted his statement as a dismissal, for he promptly left the room.

  I need someone who can assist me in assimilating back into the role of earl. Not someone, a wife. His mind had cataloged images of many beautiful women since returning to London, but only one lady remained at the forefront.

  He padded over to retrieve the sketch he had left on his bed. Lucy was a confounding challenge. Could he convince her to explore the magnetic pull that was obviously evident between them?

  Chapter Five

  Lucy issued orders through the coach window. “Evan, I need you to ride ahead and ensure all will be ready for our arrival.”

  Evan’s brow creased, but he nodded his assent. Why the displeasure? Evan was normally only too happy to do her bidding.

  Sliding over to the other side of the coach, she pulled back the curtain. “John, whatever is the matter with Evan?”

  “Beg pardon, my lady?”

  “Why was Evan surly when I asked him to ride ahead?”

  John peered into the coach, eyeing Carrington, alluding that a relationship had blossomed between her and Evan. It had never occurred to Lucy that Carrington might one day marry. She had assumed that she and Carrington would become spinsters and grow old together. Did Carrington wish for a family? How selfish of Lucy to have never asked.

  Lucy considered children blessings. She often had dreams of raising a large brood, but for that to occur, it would require her to be married first. She could not fathom any gentleman of her acquaintance allowing her to continue the various activities that she believed essential. Why then did Blake’s name come to mind?

  The coach rolled to a stop before the Lone Dove. Lucy pulled out her pocket watch. Pleased to see she had plenty of time to spare, she smiled at the innkeeper, Mr. Barnwell, as he came out to greet her. Taking his outreached hand, she alighted from the coach.

  The man’s cheeks were flush as he gushed, “My lady, it is extremely good to see you. We have a chamber ready for you.”

  Lucy gave Mr. Barnwell a broad smile and preceded him into the inn. During daylight hours, the Lone Dove appeared more than respectable; however, as soon as the sun set, the inn began to fill with a number of interesting patrons. On occasion, Lucy had visited during the darkened hours. It was during these trips that she had been introduced to an entirely different set of society. Over the years, she had formed friendships and traded advice with pirates, naval captains, opera singers, Cyprians, hell owners, crime lords, and Bow Street Runners. Today, none of her acquaintances were present, only weary travelers.

  After being shown to her room, Carrington assisted Lucy out of her traveling gown and helped her don breeches and a ruffled lawn shirt she hid under a riding habit. What would Blake think of her attire? How would he react if he found out about her association with the Home Office? She hadn’t shared such information with Matthew. Theo was the only soul she had ever confided in. Lady Theodora Neale, her childhood best friend, was like a sister. Theo was always willing and able to provide her with an alibi for her disappearances. Theo’s support had allowed Lucy to accomplish many a mission without raising Matthew’s suspicions.

  Distracted by the growling of her stomach, Lucy was overjoyed when a tavern maid scratched at the door and, upon her command, entered with a tray. Carrington eyed the contents of the tray as the maid slipped out of the room.

  “Mmm. Carrington, doesn’t it smell delicious?”

  Carrington peered at the bowl made from bread, filled with a hearty stew. “I would have ordered a light repast.”

  “Evan did his best.”

  Carrington snorted. Strange—the two were usually inseparable and in accord. A lovers’ spat. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed, for that was the only logical explanation for Carrington’s volatile behavior.

  Lucy sat at the table near the window and let her mind wander as she consumed the meal before her. She was back in the countryside, racing her mare and jumping over hedges. She could feel the wind biting her cheeks and the rhythmic beating of hooves.

  She loved the freedom of the country, yet her work and her causes required her to often venture to London. Combined with the fact that Matthew had an obligation to attend the House of Lords, their family tended to reside in Town longer than most. He was committed to the fight for universal suffrage, as their papa had been. While Matthew gave the appearance he had taken on his role as the head of the family with ease, she sensed he was heavily burdened. This was in stark contrast to their mama’s transition to widowhood eight years ago. Their mama had been pregnant at the time of their papa’s death and had chosen to retreat into solitude. Even after the birth of their younger brother, Edward, Mama had remained reclusive, never attending social engagements and preferring the sanctuary of her rooms.

  It was silly of Lucy to continue to associate Town life with her papa’s demise. Her papa had been attacked and knifed by a ruffian trying to steal his coin. Memories of the dark days after his death began to resurface. Her whole body began to physically shake, and she stood abruptly, trying to rid herself of these unwanted feelings.

  The meal no longer interested her, and she militantly walked toward the door, pausing before she crossed the threshold. “Carrington, be prepared to leave on short notice.”

  Continuing to the private parlor, Lucy refocused her thoughts on the meeting about to take place. By the time she reached the room, she had regained her composure and calmly stood by the window to await her correspondent.

/>   A scratch at the door had Lucy issuing the command, “Enter.”

  A young man entered, similar in age to herself and with nondescript features. “Miss Jones?”

  Lucy replied, “Mr. Smyth, I assume. It is a pleasure you could join me today.”

  The man didn’t say a word but proceeded to stare. Was there a problem? Why did he not just pass on the message and leave as all the others had in the past? Mayhap it was his first assignment. She continued to be patient, but an awkward silence fell between them.

  Unexpectedly, the man smirked. “Miss Jones, my apologies, but I was told to look for a lady who had many years of experience.”

  Lucy was smiling sweetly, but her tone was direct when she addressed him. “I appreciate your honesty. However, I would prefer our business to be conducted swiftly.”

  When Mr. Smyth reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, Lucy tensed. He slowly pulled out a bundle of paper.

  “Yes, yes. Here you are. A good day to you, Miss Jones.” Despite his farewell, Mr. Smyth remained standing in front of Lucy, staring at her as if she were the most interesting woman he had ever encountered.

  Reaching out, Lucy pried the packet from Mr. Smyth’s fingers. Good gracious, did he not trust her in her claim to be Miss Jones? She dismissed him with a nod, and the very young Mr. Smyth made his way to the door.

  Before leaving, he turned and said, “My superiors should have advised me to look for the most beautiful woman at the inn. That would have made identifying you a lot easier and would have been a most accurate statement. I hope to make your acquaintance again.”

  Stunned, Lucy stared at the now-empty doorway. Had Mr. Smyth really called her beautiful? She had been referred to as sweet, adorable, cute, and even pretty by some, but never beautiful. Lucy made a mental note to ask Carrington if she had done anything different with her face paint or her hair today.

  Putting the curious comment aside, Lucy walked over to the fireplace. Carefully, she opened the packet Mr. Smyth had given her. The top page read: