by Joan Wolf
She rubbed the taut muscles in the back of her neck, poured herself a cup of coffee, greeted him courteously and asked if she could see a part of the paper.
# # #
Adam went to the Horse Guards, slightly puzzled by the distance he had sensed in Nanda’s manner this morning. But he had seen her rub her neck and concluded she must not be feeling well, and put it out of his mind.
He spent the morning dealing with a matter that had been brought to his attention by the Admiralty in regard to their coordinating their ships arrival at Santander with Wellington’s movements. As Adam was writing his last memo the door opened and Gacé stood on the threshold.
“I hope I am not disturbing you, Stanford,” the Duc said in his precise English.
“Not at all, Gacé.” Adam put down his pen and rose to his feet. “Please, come in.
Gacé closed the door behind him and crossed the room to Adam’s desk. His cool gray eyes took in the neat pile of maps and papers. “You are an example to us all, dear boy, with your dedication and your industry.”
“Thank you,” Adam replied, as he too scanned the desk in order to make certain nothing of importance was visible. “Won’t you sit down, Gacé?” he asked, gesturing to the other chair in the small room.
“Thank you.” Gacé seated himself as if the chair were a throne. “I have come to thank you for your assistance to my wife and son yesterday.”
“I was glad to be of service, but your wife was the heroine of the day. She saved Marc from serious injury.”
Gacé’s lips thinned. “Marc is sadly in need of stronger discipline. It is unfortunate that my wife seems incapable of understanding this.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a more devoted mother than her grace,” Adam said, his voice sounding merely polite.
Gacé waved a hand. “I have conceded the battle of the children. They are my wife’s concern. As you say, she is very fond of them.” He paused and Adam waited for what was coming next. “I am on my way to Hartwell, Stanford. The king is alarmed because England has refused to commit troops to Germany. Have you any suggestions as to what I might tell him?”
Adam picked up a pen and regarded it thoughtfully. “We have learned from Baron Stein that the nationalistic mood in Germany presently resembles that in Spain. If that is so, surely Prussia and Austria are the natural leaders in that part of the world.”
“The king has seen Prussia and Austria fall to Napoleon too often to put much faith in their effectiveness,” Gacé returned smoothly.
Adam smiled. “Between you and me, Gacé,” he said, “I think things will go very differently this time.”
“Why?” Gacé asked sharply.
“The Prussians are going to sign a treaty with Russia.”
“How do you know that?” Gacé’s voice was even sharper.
From your letters, Adam thought. He said, “Surely it must be obvious to any person of sense. General Yorck’s signature on the Convention of Tauroggen makes it almost inevitable.”
Gacé’s eyes narrowed but Adam kept his face expressionless.
“Perhaps,” Gacé said slowly. “But the Prussians hardly have an army; certainly not one capable of withstanding Napoleon.”
“Remember, Gacé, Boney’s own army is not as well trained as previously. The veteran forces that remain after the Russian debacle are being held down in Spain by Wellington.”
“It’s not the army it once was, I grant you, but it’s still better than the Prussians,” Gacé insisted.
“Perhaps. But I doubt Boney could face the combined forces of Prussia, Russia, Austria and the states of the Rhenish Confederation.”
“Metternich is not going to commit Austria.” Gacé’s voice was tight. “And if Austria remains neutral, Bavaria and Baden will also.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed and he gave Gacé a smile that clearly made the Duc uncomfortable. “If I were Napoleon, Gacé, I wouldn’t count on that.”
There was a long pause, then Gacé said, “Well, you are certainly encouraging, Stanford. I shall pass your words along to his majesty.”
“By all means, Gacé, if you think they will reassure him.”
The Duc rose to his feet and Adam rose with him. “I imagine what happens in Spain this spring will have a strong veering on the events in Germany,” Gacé said.
“I certainly think so,” Adam replied truthfully.
Gacé walked to the door, then turned once again. “By the way, Stanford, I may be detained overnight at Hartwell and there is a reception this evening at Carlton House I was to have taken my wife to. I fear now I shall be unable to attend. I was wondering if perhaps you…” Delicately he left the question hanging.
“I should be delighted to escort the Duchessee,” Adam replied.
“Excellent.” Gacé put his hand on the door latch. “I don’t know how we should get on without you, Stanford.”
“Very well, I suspect. It is I who am grateful for your kind hospitality. He hesitated, then said slowly, his eyes on Gacé’s face, “I won’t be bothering you for much longer, however. I’ve heard of some good rooms near St. James’s. I thought I might go and have a look at them this afternoon.”
A look of alarm fleetingly crossed the Duc’s face, then was gone, leaving only solicitude and concern in its wake. “We shall be devastated if you leave us, Stanford. Your stay in London is not going to last beyond the summer, I am sure. There is little point in taking rooms and engaging servants for a few months only. Remain with us.” He smiled, totally charming, totally at ease. “My wife and children would never forgive you if you deserted us for a set of rooms, you know.”
“You are very kind,” Adam said.
“Not at all. I am really very selfish.” Another charming smile and Gacé was gone.
Adam sat on at his desk until dusk set in. It was true that Gacé was selfish; why, then, was the Duc so anxious to have Adam as a houseguest? It was odd, at the very least, for a man like Gacé to introduce a man like Adam into his home. The only reason that made sense was Gacé wanted something from Adam, and he was prepared to take the necessary steps to get it.
When Gacé had first left Nanda to Adam’s company, he had thought the Duc was trying to seduce him through his wife. But, as he got to know the principals better, he had seen the falseness of that idea. Nanda’s reputation was flawless. In a town that talked about everybody and all the time, there was never any gossip about Nanda. If she hadn’t succumbed to the blandishments of the most sophisticated men in London, there was no reason to suppose she would succumb to him.
On the other hand, there was every reason to suppose he would succumb to her. Nanda’s spell lay not only in her beauty but in the warmth of spirit that lay behind it. That was the light that danced in the darkness of her eyes, the radiance that illuminated her smile. Once a man got close to Nanda it was impossible to think of him voluntarily exiling himself.
As he sat there at his desk in the gathering dusk, Adam was certain that Gacé had taken these facts into his calculations. The Duc did not love his wife. Adam doubted that he loved anyone except himself. But he trusted her. No, Adam thought, trust was the wrong word. He numbered her as one of his possessions, to be used as he needed.
And he was using her now to keep Stanford at Gacé House. It would please the Duc very much if his guest should fall in love with his wife. He wanted Adam available, under his roof, so he could pick his brain at leisure about the English war effort.
There was a distinctly grim look about Adam’s mouth as he sat in front of his laden desk that cool April evening. He had said enough to Gacé to shake the Duc out of whatever complacency he might have been harboring. He had certainly made clear the importance of the Spanish campaign to Napoleon’s future. It only remained for Adam to find the evidence he needed to prove Gacé’s guilt.
For Adam had never had any intention of leaving Gacé House. Not because of Nanda, he told himself firmly, but because of Nanda’s husband.
CHAPTER EIGHT
As it turned out Nanda did not attend the regent’s reception. The headache she had awakened with grew worse as the day progressed, and by evening she was laying on her bed, a cold wet rag on her forehead, every bone in her head drumming with pain. Every hour Ginny faithfully brought her a newly soaked cloth; it didn’t help, but it gave Ginny something to do.
Nanda was familiar with headaches. They had started about six months after her marriage, when she finally understood that Matthieu’s icy demeanor toward his daughter was deliberate, a part of his plan to force Ginny into her role of Royal Princess. Nanda had protested, only to find she also was expected to fit into a role - that of the Adoring Wife. She had not fit very well, and in despair she watched her husband’s growing hostility as she fought with him over Ginny.
Lying now on her bed in the darkened room, the horror and suffocation she had once felt overwhelmed her once more. She had not known it was possible to be so bitterly unhappy. It wasn’t that Matthieu was violent, or even deliberately cruel. It was simply that everything he valued, everything he stood for, was morally repugnant to her. He dwelt in the closed, stifling world of his own pride, and she couldn’t breathe in its suffocating atmosphere.
She could not leave him because of the children. And he could not bear the world to know that there was strife between him and his beautiful young wife. And so they had reached a compromise: Gacé had given her freedom to deal with the children in whatever way she wished; and she made every effort to be the sort of wife he expected her to be. Her headaches had abated.
But now, as she lay suffering with the headache she had not known for over a year, she feared for the future. Matthieu had changed of late. There was a tension about him that was new. Perhaps that was the reason for her recent feeling of depression she thought, lying still on her wide bed. It must be. Nothing else in her life had changed. Had it?
# # #
Adam went to the reception alone. He was in no mood for the chatter and gossip of Carlton House, but his attendance was virtually a royal command. Ever since he had become regent, the prince had shown himself friendlier to Wellington and the Tories, and he had expressed an interest in meeting the man Wellington had called his ‘eyes and ears.’
After a brief, polite conversation with the prince, Adam was left on his own. Carlton House was packed with people he didn’t know, and when he saw Miss Marrenby he made his way to her side. “What a crush!” he said pleasantly. “May I get you a glass of champagne, Miss Marrenby?”
Elizabeth Marrenby turned to him, a smile on her lovely face. She was her father’s only child and heiress to his considerable fortune. She had not always been seen as acceptable to the ton, however. When they had first come to London from India (where Mr. Marrenby had made his money), Elizabeth had been in danger of being ignored. None of the great hostesses deigned to invite her to their events, and she had no hope of a voucher for Almack’s.
Nanda had met her at a milliner’s in Bond Street one morning and, falling into conversation, had taken a liking to the girl. Under her lovely exterior Elizabeth had a genuinely sweet nature, and Nanda kindly included her in several of her own schemes. Once it was seen that the Duchessee de Gacé had given her seal of approval to Miss Marrenby, others were swift to follow. From a nonentity Elizabeth soon became one of the acknowledged successes of the Season.
Nanda had introduced her to Adam and he liked her. She was pretty and kind and easy to talk to. But the thought of marriage – to her or to anyone else – was far from his mind. It annoyed him no end whenever someone hinted that he might seriously be contemplating the married state. He liked Miss Marrenby, but he didn’t want to mislead her, so when Lord Broome joined them, Adam moved away.
“The Regent keeps his rooms uncomfortably warm, do you not agree, Lord Stanford?” said a woman’s voice at his elbow. He turned and looked into the gold-flecked eyes of Lady Sophia Lowestoft.
Lady Sophia was a sophisticated woman of twenty-nine, widow of a much older man who had left her well provided for. She had not married again, but she never lacked for masculine companionship. The list of her lovers was small but select, and since she always maintained perfect discretion, her standing in society was secure. She had returned to London recently and had immediately made Adam the target of her attention. Before the regent’s reception was over, Adam found himself accepting an invitation to supper at her house in Mount Street the following evening.
He went with one thing on his mind, and since Lady Sophia’s mind was on a similar path, they had spent most of the evening in her bedroom. It was a long time since Adam had been with a woman; months of pain had kept any thoughts of sex far from his mind. But as he had grown stronger his young male body had become more normal in its demands. He wasn’t sure why it had taken him so long to do something about it. Or why, when leaving Lady Sophia’s house, he should feel so dissatisfied.
Ever since a housemaid had first seduced him when he was sixteen, women had been an occasional, but regular, part of Adams life. Somehow there had always seemed to be an available, willing female around when he wanted one, and since he knew how to give pleasure as well as take it, he had always thought his relationships were fair.
His encounter with Lady Sophia should have left him with the sense of well-being, the glow of enjoyment and fulfillment he knew so well from other nights. But instead he was left with this feeling of vague dissatisfaction, of hunger for something lost. He knew it to be no fault of Lady Sophia’s; it was in himself. But what caused it he did not know.
# # #
The reports Adam received from the men he had hired to watch Gacé were disappointing. He kept no questionable company or clandestine appointments. He was not faithful to his wife, a report that - for some reason - pleased Adam. He had the lady who enjoyed the Duc’s favors investigated, and acquitted her of being a French spy. What Adam needed to convict Gacé was to apprehend the Duc in the very act of passing secret information to a French spy. It was with great reluctance Adam concluded he’d have to give Gacé some information to pass. He decided to leak to the Duc news of the alliance talks presently being conducted between England and Sweden. Then he would see what happened.
# # #
Gacé also realized he needed some information to pass along. The tight security around Wellington’s spring initiative had increasingly frustrated the Duc. Added to this frustration were the doubts Adam had so cunningly planted in Gacé’s brain about Napoleon’s future. The Duc was coming to fear that he might have chosen the wrong side.
Gacé’s alliance with Napoleon was of relatively recent date. For seventeen years he had been the ardent royalist he appeared to be. He had believed a restoration of the monarchy was the only way he would be able to return to France and live out his life in the home of his ancestors. However, as time went by, Gacé’s hopes of a Bourbon restoration had dwindled. He also feared that, even if Louis XVIII returned as King of France, he would have to placate the new ruling class, which had risen with Bonaparte. Aristocrats of the ancien regime might receive some compensation for their lost property, but it looked as if there would be little chance of that property being returned. Compensation was not good enough for Matthieu de Vaudobin. He wanted the Chateau de Gacé, and nothing less.
Then Napoleon defeated the Austrians and married an Austrian princess, linking himself dynastically to the Hapsburgs. It began to look to Gacé as if no one would ever depose him.
This was when the Duc had opened up a regular correspondence with his numerous relatives and friends throughout Europe. In six months time, there wasn’t a plot against Napoleon anywhere that Gacé didn’t know about. He began to share his information with the emperor; it had seemed the prudent thing to do.
Only now Napoleon’s ultimate victory didn’t look as certain as it had a year ago. The grand army had been destroyed in Russia and the Russians were about to sign an alliance with Austria. If Austria joined with them, as Stanford had predicted, then the German states would join as well.
Gacé saw the return of his chateau disappearing into the surging tide of nationalism. And, if Napoleon were defeated, the Paris government assuredly would expose the Duc de Gacé as a spy. Gacé could not allow this to happen; he had to do something to stem the tide that was rising against Napoleon.
CHAPTER NINE
Adam was dining at White’s with Charles Doune and some friends. It had been raining all day and he was black-tempered and edgy and the damp made his leg ache.
“The only company I am fit for this evening is my own,” he finally said, excusing himself before the pudding was served. “I’ll be better off just returning to Berkeley Square.”
“Where are Nanda and Gacé going tonight?” Charles asked.
“They were dining with Lord Liverpool,” Adam returned, as he pushed back his chair and stood up. But when he reached Gacé House he found Nanda in the small drawing room reading a book. He stood silently in the doorway for a moment watching her.
She wore an evening gown of her favorite dusty-rose color over a cream underskirt. Her dark hair was dressed simply in a chignon at the nape of her long, graceful neck. He had made no sound, but her head turned almost immediately, as if she sensed his presence. Her beautifully drawn eyebrows arched in surprise. “What are you doing home at this hour?”
He advanced a few steps into the room. “I might ask you the same question.”
“Ginny had a toothache this afternoon, and after the ordeal of a trip to the dentist, I felt the need for a little quiet. I sent a note round to Lady Liverpool so she could secure another female guest – Matthieu wanted to go.”
“Poor Ginny.”
“Poor Ginny indeed!” she returned, a glint of amusement in her dark eyes. “Poor Nanda, you mean. Let me tell you, my lord, there is little that is worse than taking a reluctant child to the dentist. They recover from the experience much more readily than the exhausted parent.”