Beau’s weekly check-ins with Marianne usually consisted of both of them saying they had nothing new to report and then nodding primly toward each other, while one of them went up the stairs and the other went down. The entire unsatisfying routine made Beau want to punch his fist through the wall each time it was over.
In fact, the only progress they’d made in the traitor investigation to date was the bland discovery of what the three noblemen had been discussing in the study at Clayton’s house.
The Home Office had intercepted some correspondence between Lord Copperpot, Lord Hightower, and Lord Cunningham sent after the house party, which indicated the three men were planning…a ball. A bloody party, of all things. Nothing clandestine. Nothing suspicious. And when Beau replayed through his mind the bits and pieces of the conversation that he’d heard at Clayton’s house, he realized that that’s exactly what he’d been listening to. Three fathers planning a shared ball for their unbetrothed daughters.
Lord Copperpot’s London residence was set to be the location of the ball, scheduled for the evening of the fourteenth of October. And the Home Office had made it quite clear to Beau and Marianne that they were expected to remain at Copperpot’s estate in the meantime, then go to London for the ball with the family and investigate further.
After nearly two torturous months at Lord Copperpot’s estate, they were all set to travel to London tomorrow, two days prior to the ball. Beau had already devised a way to travel in a coach with Marianne, alone.
Chapter Thirty
Bright and early the next morning, Marianne settled into the servants’ coach and waited for the other maids to join her. When nearly half an hour had passed, and she was still alone, she began to wonder what was keeping them.
As the coach began to roll forward, she was about to pop her head out of the window and call to the coachman to wait for the other maids, but then the door opened and Beau jumped inside.
He landed on the seat opposite her with a huge grin on his face and dusted off his jacket, easy as you please.
She blinked at him. “What are you doing? Where are Miss Harper and Mrs. Wimbley?”
Beau leaned to the side of the seat and braced an elbow against the squabs. “I convinced them to ride with the footmen.”
“With the footmen? That’s not proper.” Marianne frowned at him.
“Perhaps not, but the money I gave them made it worth their risk.”
Marianne folded her arms over her chest. “You think you can just pay off any poor servant and get what you want, don’t you?”
His face fell. “Not at all. I thought I was doing them a favor. I gave them both more money than they make in six months’ time.”
“You cannot buy everything,” Marianne pointed out, her fist clenching in her skirts.
“I cannot help it that I have money, any more than they can help it that they don’t. What would you have me do with my money, if not use it for such things?”
“I’m certain I don’t know. I’ve never been wealthy.” She felt a bit waspish after his perfectly reasonable explanation about not being able to help the fact that he had money.
Obviously deciding to change the subject, he gave her a serious look. “Are you that unhappy at the prospect of riding to London with me alone?”
Marianne glanced out the window, contemplating his words for a few moments. The ride to London from Lord Copperpot’s estate would take half the day. She doubted they would stay alone in the carriage the entire time, but something about the idea of being so near him, so alone with him, did give Marianne pause.
The truth was that she didn’t trust herself alone with him. She’d made certain over the last several weeks that they never spent time alone, apart from their weekly briefings in the servants’ staircase. And those meetings were safe enough because they were over quickly.
However, there were nights, a score of them at least, where it had taken every bit of strength she had to keep herself from going to him, begging him to make love to her again.
She didn’t go for two reasons. First, she had been the one to suggest that they keep things strictly professional between them. If she arrived in his room, ready to toss over that pronouncement, she’d look a fool. And second, there was no way a rekindled affair between them could end happily. It would only serve to break her heart. The man was a marquess, and she was a servant. It wasn’t as if they could ever marry. No. The closer she was to Beau, the more difficult it would be when the time came to break things off completely. And she fully intended to have her heart intact when that time came.
“Well? I assume you wanted to speak to me alone, or you wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble and expense,” she said as the coach rumbled along the dirt road toward the front of the estate.
“You assumed correctly.” Beau cleared his throat. “We…we need to make a plan, for what we’ll do when we are in London. Lord Hightower and Lord Cunningham will both be at the ball, and some of the guests may spend the night, even if they have town houses themselves. It’s not uncommon.”
Marianne’s foolish hope that he’d wanted to ride alone with her in order to tell her something personal—such as that he longed for her, that he couldn’t stand to not kiss her again—died a quick death. She shook her head and sat up straight, taking a deep breath. Very well. If he wanted to talk about their mission, she could do that.
“I agree. In fact, I asked Wilhelmina if she knew of anyone else spending the night at the town house. She said she wasn’t certain.”
“No matter. We’ll find out when we arrive.”
“Very well,” Marianne agreed. “What should we do the night of the ball?”
“It’ll be important to watch for any interactions between Lords Copperpot, Hightower, and Cunningham. I’ll be especially curious to watch Hightower and Cunningham.”
“Yes, I agree that Lord Copperpot isn’t our culprit.”
Beau plucked at his lip. “Is there anywhere in Copperpot’s London house where we can surreptitiously watch the proceedings in the ballroom? If either of the other two men see me, they might recognize me.”
Marianne felt her cheeks heat. Indeed, there was such a place, but she didn’t want to admit how she knew. She had often sneaked to the small alcove above the musician’s stage in the ballroom to watch the dancing. She so enjoyed the music and the gowns and the lovely spread of refreshments and the tables full of flowers. On the handful of occasions last spring when the Copperpots had held a ball or a large party in the ballroom, Marianne had enjoyed nothing so much as quietly watching from the alcove.
“I do know of a place,” she said, pressing her lips together. “I’ll show you.”
Beau nodded. “You watch Lord Cunningham. I’ll watch Lord Hightower.”
“Very well, but you’ll have to point out Lord Cunningham to me. Unlike you, I’ve never met either of them before.”
Beau nodded again. “I will point them out.”
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, each staring out the opposite coach window as the landscape moved past. Autumn was slowly arriving in the English countryside and the leaves had begun to change colors.
Finally, Beau cleared his throat. “What are the housing arrangements at Copperpot’s London town home? For servants, I mean.”
Marianne swallowed. “Much like the estate, the upper servants are housed in private rooms on the fourth floor. The family is on the second floor and the guests are on the third.”
Beau arched a brow. “Are the upper servants separated by sex?”
“The women are on the right and the men are on the left, if that’s what you mean.”
“A pity,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why is it a pity?” Even as she asked the question, she knew she would soon come to regret it. But she couldn’t help herself all the same.
His gaze locked with hers. “Because there hasn’t been a night that’s gone by since the last time we were together at Clayton’s house that I haven’t wanted to
come to your bedchamber.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Lord Copperpot’s London Town House,
14 October, 1814
Perhaps Beau shouldn’t have said what he’d said to her in the coach two days ago. He’d wanted to kick himself afterward. Marianne hadn’t said a word. She’d just taken a deep breath and turned to stare out the window silently.
Regardless, what he’d said that morning had been nothing but the truth. An uncomfortable truth, perhaps, but one that he’d finally decided he needed to admit. If they never spent the night together again, it wouldn’t be because Marianne didn’t know how he felt. He wanted her. He’d always wanted her. He wanted her even now.
They’d ridden the rest of the way to the next coach stop in silence, and once they’d arrived, Beau had surreptitiously changed spots with the maids and hadn’t seen much of Marianne since…until tonight.
The ball was in full effect before he met her at the servant’s staircase on the fourth floor so that they could travel downstairs together. Guests had begun arriving a bit after eight o’clock, and it was nearing ten before Marianne appeared.
No longer clad in her blue maid’s dress, tonight Marianne wore a simple white sarsnet gown, one entirely unlike any of her others. Small embroidered flowers graced the neck and hemlines. Her bright hair was caught up in a chignon, and her blue eyes sparkled.
Apparently, she’d forgiven him for his remarks in the coach, because tonight she gave him a warm smile.
“Good evening, Mr. Baxter,” she said with a laugh as she curtsied to him.
“Miss Notley,” he replied, bowing in kind. He offered her his arm. “You are breathtaking. Would you care to attend a ball with me this evening? From a distance, that is?”
Her smile was gorgeous, and when she reached out and placed her hand on his sleeve, a tingle shot up Beau’s arm. He’d always thought she was lovely, but he’d never seen her like this before. Wearing a pretty gown, fresh-faced and smiling, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
Most of the other servants were down in the servants’ hall, either preparing food and drink to take up to the ballroom, or—if they had no duties for the ball—talking and laughing with each other. Beau was able to escort Marianne down the staircase to the second floor at least without running into any other servants.
The moment they arrived at the door to the second-floor corridor where the families’ bedchambers were, Marianne pulled her arm from his sleeve and nudged open the door a few inches. She peeked out.
Apparently, the corridor was empty, because she quickly said, “Follow me.”
She led him about a quarter of the way down the hall until they came to a small door that didn’t look like the others. It appeared to be a utility door.
“What is this?” Beau whispered as Marianne wrenched the door handle to open the obviously stuck door.
“Not many people know about this place,” she whispered back.
“How did you find it?” he asked.
Her tinkling laughter followed. “I’m a spy, remember? I’ve scoured every conceivable part of this house.”
Beau smiled and shook his head. He had to stoop down to follow her through the short doorway. When the door closed behind them, they were enveloped in darkness. The strains of music from the ballroom met his ears.
“Marianne?” Beau whispered.
“Just a moment,” she whispered back.
He heard the scratchy sound of a flint being struck beside him before a blaze of light brightened the space. Marianne had lit a candle in a holder on a small table near the door.
The candle illuminated a portion of the musty, cramped space. There was some old furniture against the walls, but otherwise, the small room was empty. Marianne lifted the candle and Beau had to continue to duck as she led him through the tiny room, and into an even more narrow, dark passageway. The music grew louder as they moved through the small corridor.
When they emerged at the other end, they were in a room that wasn’t much larger than the one they’d left. A rickety wooden chair sat at the far end of the space and the strains of a quadrille were even clearer than before.
“Over here.” Marianne made her way to the questionable-looking chair.
Beau followed her again and once he was standing next to the chair, he could clearly see that there was a small window-like space cut into the paneling, covered with wooden slats, which afforded a view of the entire ballroom. Looking directly down, he saw that the musicians were beneath them.
“From the ballroom side, this is covered with wallpaper, you don’t even notice it,” Marianne explained, pointing to the slats. “But you can see nearly everything from here.”
Beau nodded. “Indeed. Good work, Agent M.” He turned in a circle looking for a place to sit.
“There’s only one chair,” Marianne said apologetically.
“One moment. I’ll go back and get another one.”
Taking the candle, Beau quickly made his way back through the small corridor into the bigger space, where he found an equally rickety chair that he carried back through the corridor with him.
By the time he returned, Marianne had already taken her seat and was staring out across the ballroom below. “I love this melody,” she breathed, tapping her foot along with the quadrille.
Setting the candle on the ledge in front of them, Beau pulled up his chair directly next to hers and they watched as the party unfolded beneath them. Groups of four couples had taken to the dance floor, and were engaged in the boisterous dance.
Beau scanned the ballroom’s occupants for a few minutes. “There is Lord Cunningham,” he finally said.
Marianne leaned forward. “Where?”
“At the far end of the room on the right. He’s wearing a dark-green coat. He’s speaking with a woman in a pink gown.”
Marianne studied the scene for a few minutes before nodding. “I see him.”
“Good. Keep an eye on him.” Beau paused for a few more moments, continuing his search of the crowd, before saying, “Lord Hightower is on the opposite side of the room near the refreshment table. He’s wearing dark blue and speaking to two ladies who are both wearing yellow.”
“Must be the color of the autumn Season,” Marianne replied with a slight laugh. “I see Lord Copperpot,” she added a few moments later.
“Where?” Beau asked.
Marianne leaned forward again and pointed, and the scent of her flowery soap made Beau clench his jaw.
“There, by the doorway,” she said. “It looks as if he’s still greeting guests.”
Beau shook his head. He forced himself to find Lord Copperpot’s form in the crowd. “Good. We can keep an eye on all three of them.” He moved his chair a bit away from hers to restore his mental equilibrium.
They sat there, watching the crowd in the ballroom silently until Beau noticed that Marianne was swaying in time to the music. A waltz had just begun.
“Do you like to dance?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“I’ve never danced before,” she replied, blinking.
“What? Are you quite serious?”
Marianne shrugged. “I’ve never had an occasion to dance. This might surprise you, but I’ve never been invited to a ball before, either.”
Beau frowned. “You’ve never been invited to any sort of party where there was dancing?”
She tapped her cheek thoughtfully for a few moments. “I’ve been to country dances, if that’s what you mean, but…I’ve never danced a waltz like this.”
“Would you like to?” The words escaped his lips before he had a chance to examine them.
“Would I…?” She pressed her lips together and blinked at him again.
“I’m quite serious,” he replied. “I know how to waltz, and I’d be happy to teach you.”
He could see the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed hard. “Aren’t we supposed to be keeping an eye on Lords Cunningham and Hightower?”
Beau stood and p
ushed back his chair. “Yes. But I daresay they’ve been completely uninteresting so far this evening. I doubt we’ll miss anything.”
Marianne laughed. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Entirely,” he replied. He stood in front of her and held out his arms. “Miss Notley, if you will?”
Marianne bit her lip and glanced back and forth as if seriously debating whether dancing the waltz with him in this alcove was a good idea. But he could tell the moment she’d made up her mind, because she lifted her chin, stood, and set her own chair out of the way.
“Mr. Baxter, I’d be honored.” She held her hands out to him before quickly adding. “But if I step on your foot, I cannot be held accountable.”
Beau laughed at that. Then he clasped her hands in his and waited for the beat of the music to come back around. “I’m certain you’ve seen from watching that the waltz is done in three sets of three.”
“Yes,” Marianne replied, nodding. “But we don’t have much room here, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll simply have to make do,” Beau replied before taking the lead and stepping into the first trio of steps. He led the way and even managed to ensure he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling beams as they waltzed in a small circle to the music drifting up from the ballroom below.
At first Marianne looked as if she were terrified that she might actually step on his boot, but after a few sets of steps, she got the pattern down brilliantly, and as her confidence grew, so did her smile.
Beau couldn’t remember a dance he’d enjoyed more, and he’d danced with some of the most popular ladies of the Beau Monde. But here, with Marianne in this small second floor room that smelled like dust, he actually felt for the first time in his life as if he were courting a lady. And there was no one he’d rather be with.
The Valet Who Loved Me Page 15