The Making of a Duchess

by Shana Galen

  "I can't, ma mère."

  "You can't marry Serafina or you can't forget your brothers?"

  "Either. Both. I don't know. I just know that I leave for France in two days."

  She closed her eyes, pain making her features stark. "What can I do, Julien? What can I do to help?"

  He smiled. His mother had never let him down. He leaned down, kissed her on the cheek.

  "Just pray."

  Eighteen

  Sarah sat on the couch in the library, still and silent for a long time. Her mind went over and over the kiss she had shared with Valère—Julien. In her thoughts, at least she could call him Julien.

  She could not believe she had been so wanton, that she had completely lost her reason and allowed him to touch her so intimately. But she knew why she had been carried away.

  For the first time, she had actually believed he might want to marry her. For the first time, she dared to believe he wanted her, might feel something for her. Not as much as she felt for him. No, she did not think he was in love with her, but he said he wanted her.

  Still, she could hardly believe that he, a duc, would marry her, a mere governess. Everyone knew the aristocracy did not marry for love. His two completely business-like proposals proved that well enough.

  No, he would marry someone of his own station, someone who would bring him wealth or power or prestige. Sarah knew she could give him none of these things. She was not silly enough to believe love would win the day.

  Which meant, she still had a job to do. She had to exonerate him. If she could not, and the Foreign Office learned she had helped him make travel preparations for France, she might be considered equally guilty of treason.

  It was common knowledge that women convicted of this crime were not hanged, drawn, and quartered. Unfortunately, the prospect of being burned at the stake was no more appealing to her. She had once read a book describing the practice, and the punishment was gruesome indeed.

  She wanted to go with him to France. She wanted to see firsthand his search for his brother, be able to prove without doubt that he was not selling secrets to the French.

  And yes, she wanted to be with him. How could she stay here in London while he risked his life abroad? She would lose him soon enough when he returned.

  And there was another concern as well. If she were here in London and it became known that Julien was away, Sir Northrop would not waste a moment in finding her. She shuddered to think what he would do to her. She was probably safer in France.

  But if she wanted to go to France with Julien, she would need documents. She would need papers that gave her a false identity. Julien would need the same. Suddenly, she looked at his desk with new interest. There were several documents on top, most likely those Mr. Thompson, who had left just before her arrival, had brought.

  She glanced at the library door. It was ajar, and no one was in the vestibule. She fumbled in her reticule until she found her spectacles, went to the desk, and keeping her eyes on the door, scanned the papers lying in front of her.

  She gasped when she moved the top sheet. Underneath were French papers for a Monsieur Julien Harcourt. There was no mention of his title. In fact, his profession was given as baker. This was exactly what she needed. She would find this Mr. Thompson and persuade him to make her false documents. She would be Madame Harcourt, the baker's wife.

  She glanced at the door again, making sure she was not seen as she rummaged through the papers, looking for Mr. Thompson's address. She found it quickly enough and made note that he was located on Fleet Street.

  She would go tomorrow and then—

  What?

  Julien was not going to welcome her along on the voyage, and he might change his plans altogether if she told him her suspicions about Sir Northrop. She could not allow that. Finding his brother was the only way to ensure his safety. She would have to surprise him. She would have to find a way to make it impossible for him to refuse. Her life might depend on it.

  She began to rearrange the documents so they looked undisturbed, but her hands stilled when she saw the list stuffed under the false identification papers. She stared at it for a long moment.

  The attic. That was where Sir Northrop had said Julien's brother Armand was located. But could he have meant… She heard a sound and quickly restored the papers to their original order. Yes, she was definitely going to France, and right now she had packing to do.

  ***

  The remainder of Julien's preparations went smoothly. His mother looked worried each time he saw her, but she no longer tried to persuade him to stay in England.

  Sarah was distant. There had been no repeat of the kiss they had shared in the library the day before. In fact, he had hardly seen her.

  That evening he escorted her and his mother to the opera, and he pulled Sarah aside during the intermission. "Is everything well with you?"

  They were in the privacy of his box, his mother having gone to speak to friends in their box, but that did not mean they had any real privacy. The ton was watching everything that went on.

  Sarah smiled and waved her fan. "Oui, bien sûr. Why do you ask?"

  "Where have you been lately?"

  "Busy."

  "With our friends?" He did not want to mention the Foreign Office. He was to sail for France tomorrow evening, and the last thing he needed was to slip up and have someone hear him reveal something he should not this close to his departure.

  "Who else? I've promised them the moon, and I must give them something soon."

  He nodded, though something about the way she would not meet his eyes made him question. But why would she lie to him? Who would she have gone to see if not Sir Northrop? "As we discussed, I'll leave you the letter to show them. It might not be enough to persuade them, but when I return with Armand, I should have no trouble convincing them."

  She nodded and looked back at the stage.

  "You will be all right while I am gone? There's no danger?"

  She smiled, though it did not quite reach her eyes. "Of course not."

  He was hardly reassured, but he had little other choice but to trust her. The Foreign Office would not hurt one of its own. And she would be safe in his home while he was away. He realized this might be their last chance to be alone together. "Sarah," he whispered.

  She glanced at him, alarm in her eyes. He was a fool to use her real name, but he could not call her Serafina. She was Sarah to him now. "You will be here when I return?"

  "Of course. Where would I go?"

  He did not know, but he had the feeling he might never see her again. "I'd like my brother to meet you."

  "And I would like to meet him. Having him in London will make proving your story to the Foreign Office a good deal easier."

  He frowned. That was not what he had meant at all. He wanted the people who mattered to him to know her, but before he could say that, the orchestra began to tune, and they returned to their seats.

  Perhaps it was best that their conversation had ended. It was clear she had no expectation he would marry her. Perhaps she did not want him in any case. And then again, did he really intend to marry her? What did he know about her other than the fact that she was a governess and a poor spy? She had no family, no connections, no money.

  And did he really care about any of that?

  What he did care about was duty. It was his duty to marry and continue the line. His mother had never said he should marry a fellow aristocrat, but he had always understood it to be an obligation.

  And what of his own desire to exact retribution on those who had tried to extinguish his family? News of his marriage to another threatened French aristocratic family would probably never reach the peasants who had killed his father, but it was a victory all the same.

  The opera began, and Julien pushed all thoughts of marriage out of his mind. He would think about that later, when he returned from France and had Armand safely in England. He would think on it after the threat of a charge of treason was eliminate
d. Right now, he simply had to survive this opera.

  ***

  The following evening, he was at the east dock three-quarters of an hour before midnight. The docks smelled of decaying fish and unwashed bodies, and they were never completely deserted. Cargo was loaded and unloaded, and sailors came ashore looking for a pint or a willing woman. Tonight there was a smattering of noise from the patrons of nearby taverns, but at the Racer's dock, all was deserted. No crew members walked about loading cargo, no one was preparing the sails or rigging for a voyage, and Julien had not seen Captain Stalwart.

  The Racer was moored under a crescent moon, and the fog rolled in thick off the waters of the Thames. The masts, furled tightly with white sails, shot high into the cloudy sky. All in all, Julien judged it to be a good ship. It was small and likely fast—a racer indeed.

  But with so little time before departure, where was the ship's crew? The vessel sat low, which meant the cargo might already have been loaded, but surely someone was about. As he stood in the shadows of a nearby alleyway, Julien felt a prickle on the back of his neck. Was this a trap? Had Sarah betrayed him?

  And then he heard the sound of a carriage approaching. He ducked back farther into the shadows and watched as Stalwart's conveyance appeared, halted, and the man himself departed, followed by the large, black man Julien knew as Oak.

  The captain stood, hands on hips, surveying his ship, and Oak put his fingers to his lips and whistled. A moment later, the dock was swarming with crew members. They had appeared silently and went about their work. Their first task was to lower the gangplank. Stalwart started toward it, and Julien moved out of the shadows. It was now or never.

  "Captain," Julien called. "A word."

  Stalwart paused, turned, and waited for Julien to approach. "Did you bring the blunt?" Stalwart asked.

  Julien gestured to a satchel he carried. "Perhaps you'd like to see it in the privacy of your cabin?"

  "That I would." He started up the gangplank again, then called over his shoulder, "Oak, bring our other guest to my cabin as well."

  Julien frowned. "What other guest? We never discussed another passenger."

  "This is my ship. I don't feel the need to discuss what I do aboard it with you."

  That was true, but it did not mean Julien had to like the arrangement. What if this guest knew him, could identify him? Julien did not like the added risk. But what choice did he have? He could go along or go home.

  Blowing out a sigh, he followed Stalwart across the deck, went into a hatch, and down a short flight of steps.

  At the end of a narrow corridor, Stalwart paused and held open the door to his cabin. The room was small which, considering the ship was compact and built for speed, was expected. The sleek cabin had a berth, a trunk, a small desk, and a table littered with maps and charts. The furniture was bolted to the floor, and a weak lamp burned above the desk.

  Stalwart motioned Julien inside, and ducking his head, Julien entered the cabin. He set the heavy satchel on the table. It was filled with five thousand pounds, and Julien hated to release it, but it was the price for Armand. He had to remember that. The rest of the money he had given to Stover, with orders to bring it as soon as Julien sent for it.

  Of course, he had plenty of money on him—sewn into his coat. But that was in francs. He would be prepared if all did not go well in France.

  "You'll get the rest when I return safely. I have it with a friend."

  Stalwart shook his head. "I should never have agreed to this. You'll cause me more trouble than five thousand pounds. You already have."

  A knock sounded on the door.

  "Come," Stalwart said, his eyes on Julien. The door swung open, and outside stood Oak with Sarah right beside him.

  "What the hell?" Julien started forward.

  She gave him a sheepish look and allowed the large man to push her into the cabin. The door closed behind her, leaving the captain, Julien, and Sarah alone.

  "I can explain," Sarah began.

  "What are you doing here?" Julien said at the same time.

  "I knew this would be amusing," Stalwart drawled, taking a seat at his desk.

  Julien rounded on him. "We need a moment alone."

  The captain raised his brows. "Well, you won't get it in my cabin. I've been anticipating this all evening."

  Julien turned back to Sarah. "What's going on? Is this some sort of trap?"

  "No, this isn't a trap." She reached out to touch him, reassure him, but he moved away. "I-I'm going with you."

  "The hell you say! You'll do no such thing."

  Behind him, Stalwart chuckled, and Julien had the urge to throttle the man.

  "Julien, just listen to reason. I need to come because—"

  "I don't give a damn what you need. You're to go home this very instant. Stalwart?" He turned back to the captain. "May she use your carriage?"

  Stalwart shook his head. "Of course. How do you think she arrived here?"

  Fuming, Julien turned back to her. "What is going on?"

  "If you'll just give me a moment to explain—"

  "There's no time." Julien pulled out his pocket watch and examined the face. "The ship sails in ten minutes. You have to get off."

  "I'm afraid I can't do that."

  "Then I'll carry you off." He advanced on her with every intent of lifting her, throwing her over his shoulder, and bodily removing her from the vessel.

  "Captain!" she cried, skirting around the table. "Tell him!"

  "She's coming with us, Valère," Stalwart answered. "It's both of you or neither. That's the agreement."

  ***

  Sarah had known Julien would not react well to this. She did not blame him, but she had no other choice— at least that was what she told herself when she left the house tonight.

  As was expected of her, she had smiled through dinner and, alongside the duchesse, bid Julien farewell. They pretended he was only going to his club for the evening, not wanting to alert the servants to the truth.

  As soon as Julien was away, the duchesse retreated to her room. Sarah pretended to do the same then sneaked out a back door, clothes and papers tied in a pillow case and thrown over her back. She had been trembling like a leaf as she left, terrified something would go wrong.

  But fortunately, she had been able to hail a hackney quickly, and the jarvey had agreed to take her to Captain Stalwart. She knew she would need his support. Walking through The King George had been a daunting task with Stover and Julien and had seemed almost impossible on her own. But she had done it, and it was with a small sense of accomplishment that she knocked on Stalwart's door. Though obviously surprised to see her, he admitted her to his suite right away and, after the initial pleasantries, she told him she planned to sail with him.

  He raised a brow. "Your duc's fee pays only for his passage." He was sitting in an armchair, sipping brandy while the large man he called Oak gathered the personal effects from the room and packed them in a trunk.

  Sarah took the seat opposite him. She was resolved now. She had come this far and would not turn back. "There will be no passage at all if I'm not allowed to come along."

  The captain set his brandy glass down on the table between them and steepled his fingers. "That's a serious threat. I hope you're prepared to back it up."

  "I am. I'm an operative for the Foreign Office. I think they would be very interested to know about your recent excursions to France."

  Stalwart did not blink. "They might, but do you really think I'd allow you to leave and tell them?"

  He reached into his coat and pulled out a small knife. Casually, he began to groom his nails with the tip. Sarah swallowed, feeling the bile rise in her throat. She was no idiot. Captain Stalwart was threatening to kill her!

  But she had thought her plan through, had tried to anticipate every detail. She smiled. "If I don't leave safely or give a signal within the next five minutes," she said, glancing at the clock on the mantel, "you won't be going anywhere but Newgate tonigh
t."

  He worked the knife on his nails and studied her. Sarah could tell he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. She raised a brow, hoping she looked a good deal more confident than she felt.

  "Why do you want to accompany Valère?" the captain finally asked. "Is the Foreign Office watching him?"

  "That doesn't concern you, nor will it. Suffice it to say that Valère needs me."