The letter had been intercepted by a solider, who had been shot soon after intercepting it. But the heroic chap had managed to make it back to the British camp and provide the missive to Wellington. The earl had the honor of bestowing a medal on the unfortunate soldier just before the man died from his wound.
The British, along with their allies, the Spanish and the Portuguese, had won the battle at Bidassoa, but the outcome might have been much different had the private not given his life to stop that letter from reaching the French commander, Soult.
The treasonous letter had been promptly sent back to the Home Office where a score of spies and experts spent weeks attempting to discern the handwriting of a traitor. Only a handful of men in Great Britain had known about the British plans to cross the river. Two were ruled out for their loyalty and their lack of opportunity. Three were left: Lord Copperpot, Lord Hightower, and Lord Cunningham.
After weeks of study, the Home Office had declared that the letter hadn’t been written by any of the three lords. They were not, however, cleared of suspicion. It was believed that someone in their employ wrote the letter for them, for the express purpose of concealing the man’s identity. This line of thinking opened up the possibility that someone in one of the three lords’ employ knew about the treason and had actively participated.
It stood to reason that one of the servants had been paid well to write the letter. And if Beau knew one thing about a man who could be paid well to betray his country, it was that the same man could be paid just as well to betray the culprit behind the treason. That is precisely what he hoped to accomplish by pretending to be Lord Copperpot’s valet for a fortnight.
As it happened, Clayton was friendly with all three of the suspected lords. Clayton was friendly with everyone. That’s what had made his house party the perfect spot for this particular intrigue. As it also turned out, quite conveniently, all three of the suspected lords had daughters who had just made their debuts and had received no offers, which made a house party for debutantes a particularly alluring draw for all three of them.
Beau ensured that Clayton invited all three men. Beau further ensured their attendance by intentionally spreading the rumor within the special council that Clayton’s house party would be attended by the Prince Regent himself. Which was one of the reasons that Sir Reginald Francis, that blowhard, had to be invited. Sir Reginald was harmless, and he tended to get the Regent out of Carleton House for the odd house party. If there was one thing that Copperpot, Hightower, and Cunningham had in common, it was their never-ending desire to impress the Prince Regent and spend time in his company whenever possible.
Clayton had reported last week via letter that all three men had accepted and were expected to be at the house party in addition to Sir Reginald and hopefully, the Prince Regent. Everything was falling into place. This wouldn’t be the type of mission that could get one shot and killed. Beau had been on plenty of those types of missions in France over the last few years.
No, this was a subtler mission, one that involved a good deal of acting, and if his friend Kendall happened to find a wife in the process, all the better. Meanwhile, there was no possibility Worthington would survive playing a servant for longer than forty-eight hours, even if he were in the stables pretending to be a groomsman. So, in addition to doing his job and possibly helping Kendall find a wife, Beau also stood to win a considerable amount of money if he was the last servant standing.
As the carriage rattled toward Clayton’s estate, Beau leaned back in his seat, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and pretended to sleep. By the time the fortnight was over, he fully intended to have uncovered the Bidassoa traitor and turned the filthy blackguard over to the authorities to be tried for disloyalty to the Crown.
It was only a bit of playacting at a summer house party, after all. How difficult could it possibly be?
Chapter Two
Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate,
Devon, August 1814
Miss Marianne Notley stared at the costly gowns, gloves, and other assorted accoutrements strewn about the bedchamber floor and sighed.
Her mistress, Lady Wilhelmina Copperpot, was nothing if not consistent. They’d only been at Lord Clayton’s house party for the better part of one day, yet her young mistress had already made a mess of her room.
The debutante tended to try on multiple articles of clothing and discard them like so much rubbish on the floor, waiting for Marianne, her lady’s maid, to pick them up and restore them to their rightful locations.
Marianne grabbed up the first gorgeous gown from the floor. It was ice-blue satin with delicate lace trimming around it. How she would have loved to wear something this beautiful even once in her life, let alone every day like Lady Wilhelmina did.
For a few fleeting moments, Marianne held the gown to her chest and looked down the length of it. She and her beloved Mama—God rest her soul—had pretended so many times. Marianne would fetch one of Mama’s old gowns from her wardrobe and dance around the room with it in front of her. Now, she glanced at herself in the cheval mirror across the bedchamber. She smiled and curtsied to an imaginary suitor. “Why yes, thank you, my lord. I should love to dance the waltz with you.”
She couldn’t help her laugh, but she quickly let the gown drop away from her neck, and folded it over her arm. There was no time for such silliness. She needed to return the gown to the wardrobe with all the other lovely gowns she would never wear. There was no use wanting what you could not have. And pretending that she was a debutante was certainly that.
Marianne had only been in the Copperpots’ employ since the start of the year. She’d been recommended to Lady Copperpot by Lady Courtney from Brighton. Marianne had grown up in Brighton and had known Lady Courtney her entire life. She was fortunate to count such a fine lady as her friend. Lady Courtney had known her Papa—God rest his soul. After Mama’s death, the fine lady had employed Marianne as a companion for the last five years until her own niece was of age and able to come from Surrey.
That left Marianne looking for work, and she’d scoured the papers from London until she found an advertisement for a lady’s maid for one Lady Wilhelmina Copperpot, who had just come of age.
Taking a position as a lady’s maid with one of the finest families in London was not something Marianne had ever imagined, but after asking Lady Courtney for a reference, Marianne found herself traveling to London less than a fortnight later to meet Lady Copperpot and her daughter Wilhelmina.
Marianne was only five years older than Lady Wilhelmina, but they could not have been more different. Lady Wilhelmina was tall and blond and frightened of things like bugs and horses. Marianne was short and red-haired and hadn’t found much that frightened her yet.
Marianne had been to London numerous times as Lady Courtney’s companion, but she’d never been privy to the comings and goings of a debutante until her acquaintance with Lady Wilhelmina.
It was certainly a social whirl. During the Season, the young lady had attended parties, balls, and dinners seemingly every night, and Marianne had been ready to ensure that Lady Wilhelmina’s clothing was properly set out and cared for, and that the debutante was dressed and ready for each and every occasion.
Marianne helped milady with her hair and toilette before each event, and she stayed up into the wee hours of the morning, sometimes nodding off in a chair in Wilhelmina’s bedchamber, waiting for the young lady to return so Marianne might help her undress and prepare for bed.
After the Season had ended, Marianne had enjoyed a respite from the social whirl—that is until Lady Copperpot had announced last week that the family would be packing up and traveling to Devon to attend Lord Clayton’s house party.
Despite Lady Wilhelmina’s beauty and family connections, the young lady had not secured a match during her first Season. It was the source of much discussion and angst between mother and daughter. In fact, the Copperpots seemed obsessed with seeing to it that Lady Wilhelmina secured an engagement as s
oon as possible.
So, when Lord Copperpot had received an invitation to Lord Clayton’s summer house party, there had been considerable joy in the household on Hertford Street in London. Apparently, Lord Clayton had a number of friends who were bachelors, each of them highly eligible.
Marianne had just picked up the last article of clothing that had been left on the floor—a delicate pink satin reticule—when the door opened and Lady Copperpot and Wilhelmina came traipsing into the bedchamber.
“I’m not pleased, I’ll tell you that,” Lady Copperpot said, dropping her golden shawl from her shoulders onto an emerald-green velvet tufted chair near the door. Her voice took on a nasally quality when she was irritated, and she was most certainly irritated at present.
“They might still arrive, Mama,” Wilhelmina replied, kicking off both of her silver slippers and dropping her own silver shawl onto the center of the floor. Marianne scrambled to pick up all three of the items before making her way back to the wardrobe where she neatly arranged both the slippers and Wilhelmina’s shawl.
Marianne had learned in this position that she should be fast and efficient, stay out of the way, and say very little. It was quite unlike her position with Lady Courtney, who often asked her opinion on things and dined with her and spoke to her and never dropped clothing in the middle of the floor.
“I doubt it,” Lady Copperpot replied to her daughter. “I specifically asked Lady Clayton if either Lord Kendall or Lord Bellingham intended to join the party, and she was quite vague. If they were coming, surely she would have said so.”
“One of the young ladies said that the Prince Regent might attend,” Wilhelmina told her mother. The poor girl was always trying to please her mama, who never seemed pleased with much.
“Think, Wilhelmina,” Lady Copperpot snapped, “what good will a visit from the prince do for you? The man is already married. We need eligible gentlemen here, and there are no two more eligible gentlemen than Kendall and Bellingham.”
Marianne made it her business to look busy arranging the articles of clothing in the wardrobe, but they were all already perfectly arranged. She was nothing if not orderly and efficient, but she did like to overhear Lady Copperpot and Wilhelmina’s schemes. It usually gave Marianne an idea of how well things were going and how long they intended to stay. Apparently, they hadn’t got off to a good start at this particular house party. That did not bode well.
Lords Kendall and Bellingham. Marianne had heard those names before. Mostly because she’d also made it her business to remember all of the names of the eligible bachelors who Lady Copperpot and Wilhelmina discussed. There were scores of bachelors, and all of them were ranked by the ladies in order of eligibility.
The only names that had been higher on the list than Kendall’s and Bellingham’s last Season were those of the Duke of Worthington, who was apparently a drunken lout—although a young, handsome one—and the Marquess of Murdock, who was no longer a part of their discussions because he had become engaged to the fortunate Lady Julianna Montgomery during the Season, thereby crushing the hopes of many a mother/daughter pair.
Kendall and Bellingham, however, hadn’t been present at any of the events of the Season. At least as far as Marianne could discern, and apparently, the two gentlemen remained eligible, as evidenced by Lady Copperpot’s desire for them to attend the house party.
“Surely, there will be others here, Mama,” Wilhelmina offered in a gentle voice, clearly trying to appease her mother again. “Lord Kendall and Lord Bellingham aren’t the only two eligibles after all. And didn’t you say Lord Clayton is known to associate with the Duke of Worthington?”
Lady Copperpot rolled her eyes. “Yes. They are said to be fast friends, but Worthington is a bit of a lofty goal for you, Wilhelmina dear, don’t you think?”
Her face still hidden in the wardrobe, Marianne winced. Lady Copperpot tended to say such things to her daughter. Things that were hurtful and a bit mean as far as Marianne was concerned.
Marianne thought back to her own childhood. Her parents’ home hadn’t been stately or grand, but it was filled with love and the laughter of her parents and her two older brothers. There may not have been things like fine clothing and jewels and balls, but there had been joy. Marianne couldn’t imagine either one of her parents saying anything as cruel to any of their children as Lady Copperpot said to Wilhelmina on a daily basis.
Marianne shook her head. She had lingered long enough. It was time to retreat from the room as unobtrusively as possible. She shut the wardrobe with a soft click and padded toward the door that connected Wilhelmina’s room to that of her parents.
She was about to leave when Lady Copperpot’s voice stopped her. “Oh, Marianne, dear, there you are.”
Marianne couldn’t help her wry smile, one that thankfully Lady Copperpot couldn’t see. She’d been in the room the entire time, and Lady Copperpot acted as if she’d just noticed her. That happened quite regularly.
“Will you please take my shawl into my room by way of the corridor, so that you may ask one of the housemaids to bring us tea?” Lady Copperpot continued.
Marianne swiveled around and curtsied. “O’ course, milady,” she responded. “I’d be happy ta.” She hurried over to where Lady Copperpot sat and pulled her shawl from the back of the chair. Just before she left the room she asked, “The usual fer tea today, milady?”
“Yes, please,” Lady Copperpot replied curtly.
“Thank you, Marianne,” Wilhelmina said with a soft smile. She might be untidy, but Wilhelmina was kind. She always made it her business to thank Marianne. Not that Marianne expected thanks.
She’d been briefed by Lady Courtney to ensure that she remained quiet, useful, and efficient, and to never expect special treatment. The most one could hope for in some positions in London households was a lack of abuse, regular meals, access to some medical care when one was ill, reasonable accommodations, and wages paid on time. The Copperpots certainly weren’t abusive, and they treated her with respect, but they rarely thanked her or showed her much notice, unless Wilhelmina was around.
Marianne returned Wilhelmina’s smile as she slipped from the room. She’d intended to go down the servants’ staircase at the back of the manor to find a housemaid and request tea, but as it happened, a maid was passing by when she exited the room.
After sending the order along with the maid, Marianne hefted the shawl in her hands, turned, and made her way to the entrance of Lord and Lady Copperpot’s bedchamber.
The room would be empty. Lord Copperpot was out riding with the men this morning. Milord’s valet, a man named Broughton, drank to excess and rarely did any work when his master wasn’t watching him. And Lady Copperpot’s maid, Mrs. Wimbley, was aged and didn’t walk up and down stairs more than she had to. As a result, Marianne had taken over a great many of Mrs. Wimbley’s duties in order to help the older woman.
Marianne turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped inside. She hadn’t taken more than two steps into the room when she stopped and caught her breath. There was indeed a valet in the Copperpots’ bedchamber, but he certainly wasn’t Lord Copperpot’s valet.
Chapter Three
Beau had only been in Lord Copperpot’s bedchamber a few minutes when the door handle turned and in walked a diminutive, red-haired maid, who stopped short when she saw him.
The brightest blue eyes he’d ever seen blinked at him. He thought she was going to smile and introduce herself when instead she plunked her hands on her hips and said, “What are ye doin’ in milord’s chambers?”
Beau turned to face the woman with his most charming smile. She had to be one of the Copperpots’ female servants, and he wanted to make friends with all of them, as it would only help his mission. “Good morning, Miss. What is your name?”
The redhead narrowed her eyes on him. She was wearing a bright blue dress with a bright white apron, black slippers, and her hair was caught up in a tight bun on the back of her head. She looked neat as a pi
n and angry as a hornet. “Ye didn’t answer me question.”
Her accent was working-class with a hint of Irish to it. Beau cleared his throat. He was clearly getting off to a bad start with this young woman. “My apologies.” He bowed. “I am Lord Copperpot’s valet.”
If it were possible, her blue eyes narrowed even further until they were brightly lit slits in her otherwise adorable face. “Yer no such thing. Mr. Broughton is milord’s valet.”
Beau straightened to his full height and folded his arms behind his back. He wanted to seem as non-threatening as possible in order to restore some peace between himself and the spirited maid. “You’re perfectly right, of course. I am merely serving as Lord Copperpot’s valet for the fortnight.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a pale eyebrow. “And where is Mr. Broughton?”
Beau cleared his throat. “Taken ill from what I understand—quite unfortunate, poor chap.” His arms still folded behind his back, he rocked back and forth on his heels, feigning total innocence as to the affliction that temporarily had taken the dear Mr. Broughton from them.
“Ill from the bottle more like,” the redhead replied.
Beau had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud at that astute observation. The reaction surprised him. He normally wouldn’t have to resort to such tactics to control himself.
“Perhaps,” he replied, once again trying to sound nonchalant. “I was not informed as to the nature of his complaint.” Lies, all of it, but this was the first time in weeks he’d enjoyed himself, verbally sparring with someone.
The maid still clearly didn’t trust him. Instead, she glared at him and tapped one slippered foot on the wood floor. He got the distinct impression that she might tackle him if he tried to leave the room. And he just might enjoy that, too.
The Valet Who Loved Me Page 3