The Scandalous Life of a True Lady

by Barbara Metzger

  “She and Mimi became friends,” Anthony said, naming the mistress he’d sent back to London. “Even after Eloise realized Mimi was no more French than a French poodle in Hyde Park. They practiced together for tonight’s performance. They talked. I listened, but I didn’t think anything much of it. Women’s chatter, you know. If anyone was going to start trouble, though, she’d be my bet.”

  “Did Gollup know?” The shipbuilder was English born and bred; Harry’s sources had told him that much.

  “Eloise’s father was Gollup’s partner. I suspected Gollup was running guns in his trading ships, along with other contraband. That’s how he became so rich.”

  Anthony’s words tasted true, damn it, and none of them were in the information Harry had. “Were they really lovers, the Frenchwoman and the merchantman?”

  Anthony shrugged. “His wife is pregnant. I know that much.”

  So did Harry, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t come here to plot and plan, or to trade information or pass notes to others. Or to find him, for revenge.

  “Didn’t you think you ought to tell someone your suspicions?”

  “As I said, women cluck like hens. I put about as much stock in their gabble as I’d do in a chicken’s. I did send a note to a chap at Whitehall called Major Harrison. I heard he could get a message to a shadowy figure they call the Aide, who’s in charge of cloak and dagger stuff for the government. Secret, don’t you know.”

  Now everyone knew. Anthony’s note was likely on Harry’s desk right now, while Eloise and Gollup were on their way to London.

  Damn, damn, damn.

  Harry accepted a glass of brandy while he thought.

  They had to be intercepted. There was no choice, unless he wanted to chance losing Eloise and her plans on one of Gollup’s sailing ships. He could have Gorham call out the stables and mount these swells to go after them. They couldn’t be all that far away, not with the women needing to pack, the coach traveling in the dark, a stop for supper if he was lucky. He looked around the room, at Anthony with his foot propped up, Ellsworth with his cane, Sir Chauncey in his cups as usual.

  Rather than count on the rest of the useless aristocrats in the room, he could roust up the magistrate and the local sheriff to go halt the carriage in the name of the Crown, but on whose authority? Major Harrison’s? The Aide’s? Harry Harmon had none. He’d be giving up his identity, his other plans, his future.

  No, he’d do better to get word to Whitehall immediately and let his trusted staff handle this. They could wait at Gollup’s house and Eloise’s. Or Mimi’s, when they dropped her off. The problem was, Gorham’s servants couldn’t be trusted with such a message. Jeremy Judd couldn’t get to the right people. Daniel, who could, was in the village, but likely in a stupor or some barmaid’s bed. And no one could get there fast enough, or with such effect as he could himself.

  Before he left the library, feigning a yawn, he asked one more question: “Does anyone know anything about blackmail letters?”

  No one knew anything, and Danforth was not in the room.

  “Traitors, spies, extortionists? Lud, what’s next on your list of gossip, Harry?” Gorham asked. “Assassinations?”

  Exactly.

  At the stables, he told a drowsy groom that he was going into the village to spend time with his cousin, Mr. Stamfield. He waved the boy off, saying he’d saddle his own horse.

  He put the saddle on the bay gelding, not his stallion who was too well known and easily recognized. Neither Harry Harmon nor his horse could be seen on the road to London or at an arrest in the city. The bay was not as fast, but had stamina and a good heart. He wouldn’t be such a handful as Fidus, besides.

  He stopped in the village, as he’d told the groom he would, but only long enough to drag Daniel out of a card game and tell him what happened.

  “Watch after Noma if I don’t return by morning.”

  “What about searching Danforth’s rooms at the manor?”

  “No, we have time. The next demand is not due until after the house party. You stay out of trouble. Make sure the woman does, too.”

  He rode like the wind, in the wind and occasional rain. He kept his hat pulled low, his muffler high, but wore no beard or moustache. The dark was his disguise tonight.

  Gollup’s coach was big and ornate, easily recognized by ostlers along the way, especially with few other travelers out on so moonless a night. He was lucky to spot the inn where they’d stopped to change horses and stayed for a late supper. He kept pace with them afterward, then passed them on the outskirts of London, waiting to be certain they were not headed toward the docks. Why should they be, when they had no idea they were being followed or even under suspicion? Then he watched to see if they took Mimi home first. They did.

  He knew the address of the love nest on Clarges Street where Gollup kept Madame Lecroix. That, at least, was in the dossier of house party attendees. He also knew the ship owner would not take Eloise home to his own place on Russell Square, not to meet his pregnant wife, who was not expecting him for a few more days.

  Harry raced through town to McCann’s Club, to a secret back door hidden down an alley under a fallen shed that was big enough to hide a horse. Inside he found the manager, Frank Harrison, one of his adopted brothers, and issued a string of orders. He watched in the shadows of Frank’s office as trusted employees ran out to army barracks, Whitehall, and various members of the intelligence department.

  When the coded messages were sent off, Harry shook Frank’s hand and said, “It’s almost over.”

  “We’ll all pray it is.”

  Harry headed the bay gelding toward Clarges Street.

  The Home Guard was already there. Whitehall was there. Bow Street was there. Harry Harmon wasn’t, not that anyone saw. No one saw him, but he saw the Frenchwoman taken out in manacles, screaming about death to Englishmen. Oh, she was guilty all right, but of what? She’d be kept in confinement until he sent Daniel back to question her, to find the truth. Gollup was babbling, also in handcuffs. The greedy fool sold guns to his country’s enemy, slept with his dead partner’s daughter, and left his own pregnant wife behind. He ought to hang, but most likely his fortune could buy him exile instead. Harry wondered what the wife would do.

  The gelding had rested while he watched, so Harry headed back, but without the urgent speed. He dared not stop at his place in Kensington because he had to be at Gorham’s before anyone missed him except Simone, after he stopped at Daniel’s room at the inn first.

  His knock on the door sent a half-dressed wench rushing past him.

  “Idiot, you are going to end with the pox.”

  Daniel wore a towel and a grin. “No, they are good clean girls.”

  Harry peered around the room to make sure it was empty. “They? You had more than one tonight?”

  Daniel’s grin grew wider.

  “Then you’ll litter the countryside with bastards. I’ll have you drawn and quartered, I swear, if you get one of your doxies with child.”

  “That won’t happen. Sponges, don’t you know.”

  Harry knew how fallible such preventatives were. He was proof. “You’re not leaving a babe without a name, damn you. I’ll make you marry her, whether she’s a tavern bawd or a royal princess.”

  “You and who else, little cousin?”

  “Me and my sword, you lummox. Now get dressed, I need you in London.”

  “I’m here for the party, remember.”

  So Harry told him about the arrests in London. Then he told Daniel that he had to go interrogate the woman so they got the rest of the conspirators.

  “Hell, no. I’m not in the army anymore. I’m not one of your Inquisitors anymore, either. I’m not going, by Hades.”

  Daniel and his cousin Rexford had saved countless soldiers’ lives by getting the truth from French prisoners. They were commended by the generals, and feared by everyone else. “I am not asking you to intimidate the female. Just listen, find out if she’s naming all her c
o-conspirators, admitting to the real plans they had.”

  “I don’t care if she is or not. The war is over. Whitehall has her. They’ll get to the bottom of the mess without your help or mine.”

  “That’s not good enough, and you know it. How can anyone else know if she’s lying?” Harry tossed a shirt from the floor at Daniel. “Get dressed.”

  Daniel tossed the shirt onto the bed. “I can’t go. I’ve got too much money on the horse race. Have to cheer on Miss Ryland, Miss Royale.”

  Harry’d forgotten the race was today. “What time is it set for?”

  “Eleven. That’s not many hours away, so let me get my rest. Now that you’ve scared away my bed warmer, the least you can do is leave me in peace.”

  “Very well, you can go up to London after the race. Madame Lecroix will keep. She might even be more amenable to talking after a few hours of solitude. I’ll send messages that you are coming.”

  “Deuce take it, I said no, Harry.”

  Daniel started to turn toward the bed, but he stopped when he felt a knife at his throat. “You wouldn’t.”

  “Do you dare to find out? If I have to go back to London, the rest of my life will be spent looking over my shoulder, and it will be a damned short life at that. If Harry Harmon is not at Gorham’s while Major Harrison is in London, this whole mare’s nest”—he gestured with the knife to indicate Richmond, hiring a mistress, acting like a rake—“would be for nothing.” Except Simone was something. “You might be willing to throw away your gifts, but I am not willing to let you.”

  “But the Lecroix female will lie. Criminals always do. I’ll get such a rash it won’t go away by the time of the ball. I was invited, you know. Looking forward to it, too.”

  “Why, so you can step on more females’ toes? That’s not for two more days anyway. You’ll be back. Metlock can cover your rash.”

  “Your valet can’t take away the itch, can he?”

  Harry was tired of arguing. “I’ll let you dance with Noma.”

  “She already promised me a waltz. How about if you sell me Fidus? Your stallion is big enough to carry my weight.”

  “He’s big enough, but you’re not rider enough to handle him.” He stepped out of range of Daniel’s fists after that insult. “But I will give you one of his colts. Rex has a mare we want to—”

  “Done.”

  *

  Harry put the gelding away himself, rewarding the bay for a job well done.

  He went into the manor through the kitchen, where the cook was just taking bread out of the ovens for the servants’ breakfast. He tossed her a coin and took one with him.

  The night footman in the hall handed him several sealed messages that had just been brought by riders.

  “Sick relative,” he explained when the footman looked curious enough to ask questions, or mention the notes to his fellow servants. “More will be coming. Bring them up to my room, there’s a good fellow.” Harry tossed another coin into another eager hand before carrying his letters up the stairs. He read by a candle left burning in the corridor where his room was, where Simone was sleeping, he hoped.

  The ship owner was the one doing all the talking, the Aide’s assistant wrote, blaming Eloise Lecroix for everything, naming others involved. The Home Secretary was pleased.

  So was Harry. He was also exhausted. He’d stayed up the whole night before, loving Simone, then watching her as she slept. The night before that he’d been up planning, laying his trap. Now it was almost dawn and all he wanted was his bed. And Simone. He’d want her from the grave, he thought.

  Just to hold her would be enough. Just to sleep next to her, to hear her breathing, that’s all he wanted.

  He ate a chunk of warm bread to get rid of the bad taste. He never could lie to himself, but he told himself he was a realistic man and a decent one. He might want her, but knowing he could not have her, he could control his baser instincts. He would.

  Until he saw the shape on the bed next to her. In his spot. The knife was back in his hand in an instant. He never thought he could kill a man in peacetime.

  Or a dog. Mr. Black woofed a sleepy welcome and wagged his tail.

  Hell, no. If he couldn’t sleep next to Simone, neither could the dog. Harry might give up the soft bed to save his honor, not to save a flea hound from the floor. He ordered the dog down. “And not on my blankets near the fireplace, either.” He sat on the mattress to take off his boots, wishing for Metlock, who would be bringing his shaving water all too soon. The effort was too much. Harry leaned back and fell asleep, next to Simone. He didn’t even awaken when the dog jumped back up and ate the rest of the bread.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Simone awoke to feel hot breath on her neck, and a weight against her right side. “I told you, dogs do not belong on the bed, Blacky. They don’t even belong in the house, but you’re not welcome anywhere else.”

  Mr. Black licked her cheek, on her left side. Simone rolled over with a start. She hadn’t heard Harry come back in, or change his clothes.

  He hadn’t. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, in his shirt and breeches and boots. He’d come to her bed in boots? He’d also come unshaven and unwashed, smelling of horse and spirits and sweat. He looked like a libertine who had stayed out all night, which was what he was and what he had done, the lizard. She sniffed the air for the scent of perfume, but detected only damp wool and dog. Good. Her honorable Harry would not shame her by going to another woman after she’d refused him her bed. Would he?

  The very idea of him tom-catting like some of the other men made her shake him harder than she’d intended. “Where were you?”

  He rolled over, proving why he was better at managing the intelligence division from an office than he would have been as a spy in the field. He’d be shot his first morning.

  Simone shook him again. “Get up. We have a busy day.”

  He made a gurgling sound—or was that the dog, wanting to go out?—but he did not move.

  “Harry, it’s the race day. And you promised to teach me billiards this morning before anyone else is up. That contest is scheduled for tonight after the entertainment.”

  “Mm. Start without me.”

  “I can’t, you moron. I do not know how.” When she got no response, she tried to arouse his jealousy. After all, it worked on her. “Maybe I’ll get one of the other gentlemen to teach me.”

  “Fine. You do that, sweetings.”

  She put her hand to his forehead. “Are you sick?”

  Harry pulled a pillow over his head, sending a cloud of bread crumbs over the sheets. That showed Simone how much he cared about her concerns and her comfort. Why should he, anyway? He’d only hired her to impress his friends. She ignored all his blather about national security and personal danger as more weapons in a rake’s arsenal. The silver-tongued devil could get a gullible female like Simone to believe anything he said, and permit any liberties he chose to take. She tossed her own pillow atop his head. “Take that, you dastard.”

  She didn’t ring for Sarah, not wanting the girl to see her master so…so sunk in dissipation. She didn’t want anyone to know he’d spent the night elsewhere, either. She had her pride. She found a morning gown she could fasten for herself.

  Many of the gentleman must have stayed up late too, for few of them were in the breakfast room when Simone went in. Claire was, for the first time since Simone had arrived. She must be thinking about the race also, Simone decided, to be up so early. Claire was dressed perfectly, every black hair in place, unlike Simone’s hastily coiled braid. Simone decided not to stay to watch Lord Ellsworth and Mr. Anthony fawn over their hostess. She selected a sweet roll to take with her when she went out to the stable to speak with Jem.

  Claire set her coffee cup down before she could leave. “Where is Harry?”

  Simone dipped her head. “Good morning to you, too.”

  “I need to speak to him.”

  Simone couldn’t keep the rancor from her voice. “S
o do I.”

  “Trouble?” Claire sounded delighted.

  “Of course not. He’s merely sleeping in this morning. I believe he stayed up with the gentlemen last night.”

  “No, he went to the village. His cousin Stamfield, half cousin, I suppose, has been making the acquaintance of every serving girl at the inn, I understand. My maid’s sister’s husband tends bar there.”

  Simone knew what Claire was implying. She knew what she feared, that Harry’d sought a soft bed to sleep in, and a soft woman to sleep beside. “Harry and Mr. Stamfield are very close friends.”

  Claire sank her teeth into an apple, when she didn’t get a rise out of Simone. “Are you ready for the race?”

  “I will be.”

  “What about the entertainment? Have you decided what you will perform?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Perhaps you should consider withdrawing from that event if you do not have confidence in any of your, ah, talents.”

  “Not yet,” Simone repeated, putting an apple in her pocket to bring to the gelding. “But what did you wish to speak to Harry about? Perhaps I can help.”

  A shutter came down over Claire’s face. She gestured that Simone should come closer so none of the gentlemen or servants could overhear. “Did he tell you?”

  Tell her what, that he was going to the village? That was none of Claire’s affair. “I do not know what you are speaking of.”

  Claire looked around to be certain they were private. “Did your lover tell you about my past?”

  Ah, now Simone understood: Claudinia Colthopfer. “Yes, he mentioned something most people do not know. Do not concern yourself. I am no gossip.”

  “I need to know who else he told and how he found out.”

  Simone started to reassure the other woman that Harry was as close as a clam, but then she had an idea. “We have an hour or more before getting ready for the race. I’ll tell you what Harry told me, if you teach me to play billiards.”

  “We are rivals. Why would I do such a thing?”