The Duchess and the Spy

by Marly Mathews

  She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  “Uncle Henry, I shall need your assistance,” Christopher said.

  “Certainly. My deepest apologies, Isabella,” he said stooping down and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

  “Think nothing of it, Uncle Henry. Christopher, do be careful.”

  “I shall my dearest. I know how you abhor the colour black.”

  “Oh, you silly man.” He tipped his hat to her bowed, and was out the door in a flourish of movement. Henry followed him, closely, and she rushed to the door, to wave at him, as he jumped onto his black horse, and galloped down the street.

  “Shall we be off?” she asked excitedly, as Roselyn took her lavender coloured pelisse from Trotter, and moved to fix her bonnet in the mirror.

  “You look quite fetching, Roselyn. Why I do believe that you have bloomed rather nicely.”

  “Thank you, Isabella. Papa hates town life, I can only pray that he makes it through with his mind intact.”

  “The carriage and horses are ready. Are you ladies ready to depart?” he asked amiably, coming over to put his arms around both of them.

  “Quite,” They both agreed in unison.

  Duncan waited until the three of them were settled in the barouche, and then he smiled at them. “We shan’t be joining you ladies. We’re going to ride alongside the carriage.”

  With their watchful eyes, she would never be able to slip away to make her rendezvous. She should have told everything to Christopher when he returned moments ago.

  Why hadn’t she?

  “Men are a bloody hindrance while shopping,” she muttered.

  “Don’t fret, darling, they’ll probably wait outside of the shop. They shan’t get in the way. Have heart,” Roselyn said.

  “They better not,” she sighed.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  They pulled up to Madame Collette’s dress shop, and Isabella stared anxiously at the storefront. While in the carriage, she had recalled the name of the shop, and they had stopped to give their instructions to the coachman.

  “Ah, yes. This is a lovely establishment. We used to go here, Isabella, but then it was under different ownership at that point in time.” The footman whisked down the steps and helped her down onto the sidewalk.

  “I am quite certain this Madame Collect is Maria’s aunt.”

  Drat it, she only had one hour before she would have to make her excuses, and rush off to the bookshop. She didn’t know how she would manage to escape her uncle and cousin, but she’d have to give it a go.

  They walked into the shop, and Isabella breathed out in delight when she noticed all of the lovely fabrics. They spent the next thirty minutes looking through designs, and inspecting fabric for flaws with Madame Collette, and the woman confirmed that she was indeed, Maria’s aunt. The other patrons in the shop were being attended by assistants. As soon as an assistant had heard who they were and that they would be putting their items on the Brandon credit, Madame Collette had rushed over. She supposed that Christopher’s family settled their accounts in a timely fashion. She listened carefully, to the other women in the shop, and her interest was piqued, when she heard her name mentioned.

  “My daughter tells me that she just arrived back from France, and now the little bit of muslin is living with Lord Wyndham. She’s become his mistress it seems. My poor Beryl is quite bereaved. She always had her sights set on the marquess and was determined to catch him this season. I must say that they should keep their dirty hands off of our English men.”

  Her grandmother stopped talking, Roselyn was wide eyed.

  Isabella was outraged, and yet, she didn’t want to make a scene.

  Her grandmother, however, didn’t seem inclined to choose that option.

  “Good afternoon Lady Gordon. How is the baron?” she asked politely.

  “Why he is in good health, Your Grace, thank you for asking,” the Baroness said.

  “Upon my soul, that is a relief. With you as his wife, it must be a trial for him every day. I suppose that’s why he keeps two mistresses,” she continued. Isabella watched the baroness blush visibly. “How is your dearest, Beryl?”

  “Why she is feeling quite well. She did have a dreadful cold, but she has recovered quite splendidly,” Lady Gordon replied, shifting nervously in her spot.

  “Splendid, splendid. As you can see, my family is whole once more. My darling granddaughter is back from France, and we have celebrated her marriage to Lord Wyndham. Now, she will have to be styled as Lady Wyndham while in England. Shame, really. I did like her having the title of Duchess in her own right so much better, but you know, you must be loyal to your husband.”

  Lady Gordon stared in bewilderment at Adaira. “Why yes, indeed, that is a wife’s lot in life. I congratulate your granddaughter on her nuptials. Lord Wyndham was highly sought after on the marriage mart.”

  “Yes, well, darling Isabella has taken him off the market.”

  “I see,” the Baroness said, looking as if she had just eaten crow.

  “Give my regards to Beryl. Pray tell her that everyone in the ton has quite forgotten how she was caught behind the curtains with Lord Cuthbert at Lady Carrington’s Winter Ball. One of my friends tells me that she and he were caught in quite the compromising position. It seems she had lost an earring, and had bent down to retrieve it only to get caught somewhere in the region of the flap on his trousers. Some insisted that she really didn’t have her hair caught there, and that she was doing a favour for dear Cuthbert, but I don’t give any credence to rumours, do you?”

  Isabella gasped, and so did Roselyn and the rest of the patrons in the shop. If that rumour had lost life with the gossipmongers, her grandmother had just breathed new life into it.

  “I…uh, yes…I should be going…Beryl will be deeply grieved that she missed seeing you, Your Grace. I…yes, I need to go now.”

  Her grandmother watched as the woman left the shop, and then she wandered back over to them. “She and her daughter are both lady-birds. She used to do favours for the men in the ton before she landed her baron, and now, her daughter is taking after Mama. I think Beryl will probably see an offer of marriage shortly from Lord Cuthbert, either that or one of the other lords that she’s been with behind the curtains shall offer for her hand, but I shan’t think she’ll get higher than a viscount,” Adaira mused.

  Your Grace, may I offer my sincerest apologies. I didn’t think that something like that would ever happen in my shop,” Madame Collette said.

  “Pay that woman no mind,” Adaira said. “I think I set her straight. She shan’t be spreading such vicious rumours in the future.”

  “Oh, Grandmamma, I don’t think she’ll show her face in around the Beau Monde for years. She looked absolutely mortified. I almost forgot, I simply have to go and get a compilation of love poetry. You know what a romantic I am, and Fellows Bookshop closes at four o’clock sharp. Do you think that you could spare me for fifteen minutes while I scoot down there to pick out a book?” she asked.

  “You go along, child,” Adaira said. “I shall finish up here, with Roselyn as my company.”

  “You are both such dears. Never fear, I shall not go alone.” She smiled at them, and dashed out of the shop.

  “And where pray tell are you off to?” Duncan asked, walking beside her as she hurried to the bookshop.

  “I am on my way to Fellows Bookshop.”

  “Ah, I see,” he said, as he walked alongside her. She sighed, she wasn’t going to be able to lose him. She’d have to come clean about the whole thing—it was the only way.

  She chanced a glance behind them, and saw Jason running to catch up with them. Duncan opened the shop door for her, and she slipped inside, and examined the shop for any signs of her contact. When she recognized him holding a copy of Romeo and Juliet, she knew that she had found the right person. If she did this, there would be no going back, and she would lose any trust she’d gained with Christopher.

  “I shall
be over there if you need me,” he said, gesturing to another aisle in the bookshop. She nodded her head, and watched as he wandered away from her. Everything was going a little too smoothly.

  “Hullo, my lady,” The man said evenly, as he bent down to replace the book that he was holding. “I pray that you are in good health?” The bell on the door tinkled as someone else walked into the shop.

  “I daresay that I feel bonny and fair,” she replied earnestly, watching the man, and repressing a shudder of alarm when she noticed his black eye patch.

  “That warms my heart, my lady,” he responded, reaching for something inside of his coat. She tensed in anticipation and relaxed when he only pulled out a pomfret cake and popped it into his mouth. He gave her a wicked smile, and her stomach dipped.

  “Don’t you want to give me any instructions?” she hissed, furtively darting her eyes around to make certain that no one was listening to them.

  “Not today. Meet me back here in a fortnight,” he commanded softly, reaching for his walking stick.

  “Wait,” she whispered anxiously, clutching her reticule so tightly that she just knew her hands were quite white beneath her gloves. “I need to tell you that there is a traitor in Napoleon’s Court. He plans to betray His Imperial Majesty. His name begins with…Passion is such a wonderful thing is it not, Jason?” she asked, halting what she was about to say, just as Jason came up behind her. “I think that love stories are the best ones to be told, wouldn’t you agree?” Her contact bent to pick up a book.

  “I am sorry, my lady, but I do believe that you dropped this, and I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. You are indeed right. But sometimes passion can be a man’s downfall. But do not fret, my lady, it shall resolve itself, as most things usually do.” He tipped his hat, and strode toward the door.

  “You look shaken, Bella. Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she answered tiredly.

  It was done. She had betrayed Jason, and the rest of her family. She was a wretched woman, and she deserved anything that life threw at her now. She accepted Jason’s offered arm, and leaned rather heavily upon it, as he led her out the door. She was still holding the book of poetry that her contact had shoved into her hands, and she gasped, when they stepped out onto the pavement. “I can’t just take this book, I have to go back inside and pay for it.”

  “Hand it to me, my dear, and I’ll go and pay for it,” Duncan offered, staring at her pitifully. He ducked back inside the door, and remerged seconds later. “All is well, my dear, why don’t we go back to Madame Collette’s now?” he suggested softly, standing on her other side, as they began walking back towards the shop. She tried to ignore the nauseating feeling in the pit of her stomach, and stared apprehensively over at Jason trying to discern if he had heard anything that had conspired between her and the French agent. He seemed quite carefree though, and so she stared ahead of her, and remained rather numb, as she was led back into Madame Collette’s. As Madame Collette was a fashion designer her shop had everything they needed, saving them the trips to any other shops. They left the shop at last and climbed back into the waiting carriage. She decided that shopping was too strenuous of an activity. She would much rather stay at home. She slumped against the satin squabs in the carriage, and closed her eyes. She was so tired, that she felt dead on her feet.

  She opened her eyes as she felt a tingling sensation down her spine, and stared out the window only to discover that Christopher was riding along with them, and he was engrossed in a conversation with Jason. Ice ran through her veins, as she wrapped her hands together to still them from trembling.

  “Oh, my dearest Isabella, you need your rest,” Adaira chastised gently, leaning over to pat her hand. “We shall leave you in peace tonight, so that you will be able to get some sleep.”

  She looked over longingly at her grandmother, and tried desperately to purge all of the thoughts concerning her questionable actions that afternoon. She would welcome her bed. She just didn’t how she would face Christopher. Her guilt weighed on her so heavily, she felt as if she might collapse from it all.

  They drew up to Wyndham House and she groaned in trepidation, as the carriage door was flung open. She moved to dismount from the carriage, and expected to be handed down by a footman, and was surprised to find Christopher waiting for her. She sagged against him, sighing when she felt him wrap his arms around her.

  “You look quite fagged,” he whispered.

  “I feel as if I could sleep for days.”

  “We shall see you tomorrow my dear,” Adaira promised, as Roselyn quickly leaned out to wave at them. The footmen were still unloading the carriage of the numerous packages, and they began carrying them into the mansion just as Jason and Duncan pulled up.

  “Take care of her, Christopher,” Duncan advised sternly. “She has a habit of doing whatever is in her head at the moment, and it makes her quite susceptible to certain dangers.” His horse whinnied impatiently. “She’s a treasure, and take it from me, treasures can slip out of your fingers as easily as sand.”

  “Aye, I know. Thank you, sir.”

  Relieved beyond belief, that she would be able to quickly eat her evening meal, and then rush upstairs to wallow in her guilt, she leaned against Christopher as he quietly escorted her back to their bedchamber.

  “I think that perhaps you should read this at your earliest opportunity. It came in the post this morning. I have no idea how Maria acquired the address, but somehow it got mixed in with my letters. I haven’t opened it though realizing that that would violate your privacy.”

  “Thank you for being so thoughtful, it is much appreciated,” she remarked, leaning up on her tiptoes to graze his cheek with her lips. He caught her around her waist eliciting a squeal of surprise from her as she moaned with longing when he plundered her mouth with his own blazingly hot one. She dropped the letter onto the floor as he scooped her up into his arms.

  “I missed you today, and I heard that you had quite a fascinating day.”

  “Christopher, you are incorrigible. We still haven’t eaten,” she pointed out, thinking of the delectable roasted lamb that she had asked the cook to prepare.

  “Never fear, dearest, you will enjoy this much more, and besides you shall be able to work up quite an appetite, and therefore you will be able to appreciate the meal even more.”

  He gave her another fiery kiss, and then reached up to her hair to release her flaming curls from their prison. She gasped, as her hair fell down around her shoulders.

  “Breathtaking,” he murmured, as he reached around to help her out of her spencer. She stared at him and then wrapped her arms around herself in a protective gesture.

  “Perhaps we should do this another time,” she suggested hopefully, as he stopped suddenly, and raised his one eyebrow at her.

  “I…I suppose we could.”

  “Well I am quite shattered, and I thought that we could share a quiet and peaceful meal. And my stitches, well, I think we should cool our ardour.”

  “Right,” he said softly, walking towards the door. “I’ll be waiting for you in the dining room.” He shut the door quietly behind him, but the way she felt he might as well have slammed it behind him. She felt like a loathsome little toad.

  “What do I do?” After a few moments, she rang for her maid, and dressed for dinner. She entered the dining room, and looked over at Christopher who sat sullenly at the other end of the table. “The meal will be served shortly,” he muttered, taking another long sip.

  “That’s fine,” she replied. “I had a visit from Austin Blanding today, and I’ve decided that he is a despicable fellow.”

  “He’s the worst sort of fellow. I can’t believe I share a blood bond to that bastard.” She sighed, and shakily reached for her glass of wine that had just been poured. She downed about two glasses before the meal had even begun and was reaching for the fourth by the time that she began eating her main course.

  “You do have a fancy for your wine, don
’t you? At this rate, you’re going to become a lush.”

  “Not a chance. Not with my French blood.” My father drank much more. The De Clermont’s are able to drink champagne and wine as easily as water. You should see how much Jason is able to drink.”

  “Jason is a man.”

  “Well that doesn’t mean a bloody thing,” she said irritably, reaching for her glass of wine, and taking a long gulp just as he frowned at her. “Oh, do stop, Christopher. I shan’t get foxed. I promise.” This time, she drank the entire glass in one gulp, and fell silent, as she finished the rest of her meal. She tucked into her pudding, staring down at him with wide hopeful eyes, just as he allowed his spoon to clatter against his plate.

  “I suppose I should do something to break this infernal silence,” he mused, staring at her.

  “I almost stole a book today…and…”

  “Now see here, Duchess,” he said. “Leave,” he said, giving his order to the footmen in the dining room. They rushed to do as he bid, knowing by his tone that he was quite serious. She felt nervous. What was he going to do now since he had dismissed their only witnesses?

  “What else happened today, Isabella?” he asked her

  “Dearest, Christopher,” she murmured, in a silkily smooth voice that nearly undid him.

  “I…I was going to meet with my contact here in London, and then, then, I decided against it.”

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Truly.”

  He looked unconvinced, but didn’t press the matter. She stood up on wobbly legs, and had to sit back down.

  “I told you would get jug-bitten.”

  She scowled at him. “I am not drunk, it’s my knee acting up.”

  “So, mayhap you’re not drunk but you’re a trifle disguised.”