“My Lord, I am no fool, and you know it. I have no desire to be the target of the anger of men who can coldly contemplate assassination. But… why would they suspect? To them, at their age, I am simply an old woman, prone to gossip, and to having unwelcome opinions on how the young should comport themselves. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.”
“Even so. Take care. I would… but no. If I accompanied you, it would increase the risk, increase the chance that they might be careful – for such men might, just might, have some inkling of my role for the Crown. But do nothing rash – if circumstance provides you further information, that is excellent, but if not, then it will, in the end, come to me another way. For now, I have set yet more men to guarding the Prince Regent.”
Anna was silent for a moment, considering his words. His suggestion that he might wish to attend a social occasion with her left her feeling pleased, warmed through. She knew that she was foolish to consider this any more than a convenient fiction, yet the simple fact that this man now called upon her every few days made her feel younger, girlish, and fluttery. Which was a rather alarming thing. She wasn’t like that at all – this really wouldn’t do! But, she admitted to herself, she wanted it. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like, to go to occasions with this man, to have the right and expectation to be on his arm. She pushed the imaginings away.
“That is good to know, my Lord. What I will do is discover from the girls which servants in those houses can be trusted – which ones are related to, or close with, the girls, or other staff that we know. If there are any suitable, perhaps I will find a chance to speak with them, when I am there.”
“That would be advantageous – but only if you can do so without drawing undue attention to yourself, or them. I will also set some men to watch those houses, and perhaps even to become employed there. The more sources of information we can achieve, the better.”
“Of course.”
They lapsed into silence, sipping their coffee, and nibbling on the exquisite small cakes, all lemony and cinnamon flavoured, which were a specialty of Anna’s cook.
The afternoon sun shone through the window, bringing a vibrant glow to the burgundy of the drapes, and lighting glints off the gilded carvings on the wainscoting. Anna sighed, discovering herself to be feeling happy, and, after so many years, unused to that feeling. She lifted her eyes towards Lord Setford, to find him watching her. Their eyes met, and time slowed. He smiled, and her heart beat faster. Flustered, she carefully lowered the cup to the side table. How did he do this to her?
“My Lady? Shall we talk of other things? Things less morbid in nature, perhaps? I fear that I have precious little conversation outside my work for the Crown. And I enjoy your company, I have always found your conversation enlivening – you are so much more forthright than most women that I have met.”
Anna felt the warmth pool in her midsection, his words perhaps the best compliment that she had ever received.
“I would enjoy that, my Lord. What would you like to discuss?”
“I… do not really know. I have so little experience of such conversation. I do not see my younger brother, or my sister, with any frequency, and I have, perforce, due to my work, few close friends. Perhaps you could tell me of the plans for your ongoing charity work. I have a good knowledge of what you have done so far, and I am deeply grateful for the information it has brought me - but… what of the future? What will those you take in do?”
Anna laughed, an unrestrained outburst of true amusement. To do so was, of course, unladylike, but she didn’t care. He watched her with those eyes, his own self-deprecating amusement obvious to her.
“Lord Setford – I never thought to hear you admit to not knowing anything! Your reputation for being aware of everything, to an almost supernatural level, is renowned. But let me fill this gap in your knowledge.”
He laughed at her words, and nodded.
“Please do.”
Anna launched into a long and detailed explanation of their plans – for expanding the school they ran for the girls and their children, for assisting them to find work - for they could safely be away from the houses to work, knowing that others would be there to care for the children - and for purchasing even more houses in the area, and continuing to take in more girls in need.
He seemed genuinely to be interested, and the afternoon disappeared in pleasant conversation.
~~~~~
The first event was a dinner party, followed by one of those tasteless musical soirees, where daughters of the family displayed their rather poor musical skills. Anna winced her way through it, conversing politely as required, lying about her opinion of the music, and generally being socially normal. The young men of the house soon took themselves, and most of the young men amongst the visiting families, off to another room to play cards.
Which made it impossible for Anna to observe them. She sighed, and bore the atrocious music with a smile. At least there was one older woman present who she could actually talk to – someone who appreciated the tartness of her wit. Lady Comerton liked to gossip, so Anna settled near her, and encouraged that.
“Good evening Lady Comerton, I trust that you are enjoying the… unique… talents of our performers this evening?”
“Oh indeed, Lady Farnsworth. I don’t believe that I’ve seen the like before… most… unusual… Lady Yellingport must be very… proud of her daughters.”
“Quite. I cannot, I find, fault the young gentlemen for taking the chance to make themselves scarce. And I am sure that lacking their presence ensures us far greater peace to… appreciate…”
“I am not sure, Lady Farnsworth, that I would call some of them gentlemen, no matter how noble their breeding. Thoroughly disreputable, most of them, and always complaining about something. So obnoxious do I find them, that this… entertainment… is far preferable to needing to spend time in their presence.”
“Oh? I have not spent much time around any of them – blessedly, it would seem. Of what do they complain? Surely, as privileged young men of the ton, they have little to lament?”
“One would think so.” Lady Comerton made a sound which could, if one were uncharitable, be described as a snort of disgust. “But they complain of the lack of respect of both the lower classes, and the highest. I believe that they object to Prinny’s spending habits, among other things.”
“Well… that would not be so unusual. I think most people are rather awed by his capacity to spend. But few voice their objection, as it allows their own excess to seem less by comparison. What makes these young men different? Well, apart, I suppose, from their willingness to speak about it.”
“I don’t know. Perhaps they simply find it fashionable to be outspoken – or perhaps one amongst them encourages the others to make a drama of life.”
“Perhaps – but what man would do that? What would he have to gain?”
“Again, I’ve no idea – but it is an intriguing thought. Men rarely do anything unless they perceive it as profiting them. Now the question will prey upon my mind, Lady Farnsworth.”
“Well do tell me if you find an answer.”
“Oh, I will, I will. I know that you are always interested in the doings of the ton.”
At that moment, another musical piece began, and Anna clenched her jaw, pasted on an artificial smile, and set herself to endure it. She was quite certain that Lord Setford would be darkly amused at what she was enduring for his benefit. The thought of him suddenly made it easier to bear. She allowed herself to dwell upon the pleasure of his company, and how much she looked forward to each visit. A fabricated courtship or not, she planned to enjoy every moment.
Once the last piece of execrable music was complete, Anna excused herself, and went in search of the necessary, hoping to perhaps overhear something along the way. But the evening remained unproductive.
When she passed the parlour where the gentlemen played cards, she overheard nothing beyond the groans of the losers, and the jubi
lant exclamations of the winner. Ah well, perhaps the next event would provide more information. At least Lady Comerton’s comments had confirmed what they knew of the disreputable nature of the young men, and the topic of their complaints.
~~~~~
“Nothing useful, yet. Last night was, perhaps, the most excruciating musical performance that I have ever witnessed. I hope, my Lord, that you appreciate my sacrifice!”
“I do, Lady Farnsworth. I am sure that I can manage, in some way, to make reparations for the torture which my requests seem to have inflicted upon you. Perhaps…” he paused, his eyes filled with something alarmingly like mischief, and Anna waited, wondering what was coming next. “perhaps I could escort you to the theatre – to a performance where the quality of the music might be, almost certainly, higher?”
Anna blinked at him, his words sinking into her mind. He had just asked to take her to the theatre. To be seen in public with her. To the ton, that would be a declaration of sorts, even more so than his regular visits to her home. Her blood thundered in her veins, and she was, for one of the few times in her life, almost speechless. After a moment, as she watched his face, a shadow of an expression crossed it – was that… worry? doubt? But Lord Setford was always sure of himself! She pushed the strange fancy aside. She should answer him.
“My Lord, that would be delightful. Thank you.”
For a moment, she thought she saw him flush. Preposterous – she must be imagining things.
“Was there anything at all, last night – beyond bad music? Any hint, even if not confirmed?”
“There was, at least, confirmation that that set of young men are not well regarded by many. Lady Comerton disparaged them rather pointedly, citing the fact that they complain all the time, including about the Prince Regent. So, I feel that we are right to suspect them of more than simple bad behaviour. But perhaps little is discussed there, or perhaps they have become more careful. I did come to wonder, though, just why they complain as they do. Surely such grumblings would wind down to nothing, naturally, unless they are encouraged. So – does someone encourage them? Does someone specific drive them to a fervour of objection? And, most importantly, if one man could be held to account for that, why? What would that man have to gain, by inciting them against the Prince Regent to the point where they might consider assassination?”
He stilled absolutely, considering her words. The very stillness, she thought, was the surest indication of how deeply he was thinking.
“A very good question indeed. For a man to incite such a plot, I would imagine that there would be a very strong motivation. Men do not commit treason lightly. But to answer that question, I believe that we will need to identify, amongst those we have information on, just who might be the leader, the head of this beast. Continue with your plans, and I will look elsewhere, for men with a strong reason for resentment.”
Chapter Six
Cecil slipped into Bigglesworth’s Books, carefully choosing a time when the street outside was almost deserted. He liked the early mornings, for the ton were not up and about yet, and the heat of the day had not yet set in. As Summer lengthened, many of the wealthy had taken themselves out of London to avoid the heat, but, most interestingly, none of their suspected conspirators had done so. That fact made Cecil concerned. The Prince Regent had gone to Brighton, just last week. Cecil had sent men with him, in various apparent roles, but all with a perpetual eye to his safety.
It seemed that the conspirators would wait until his return, in the autumn. He had expected them to act sooner – and not knowing why they waited nagged at him. Still, he was grateful for the extra time to investigate. Bigglesworth greeted him as he went through the shop, and into the back corridor. The lack of customers in the early part of the day was also useful – no need to waste time in the shop until they left. The smell of books filled the place, pleasant and peaceful.
Upstairs, Cecil unlocked the door, set his papers down on his desk, and went about his coffee ritual. Only once he held a cup of perfect coffee, did he turn to those papers. Amongst them was a letter, which had arrived that morning, from one of his men in the Prince Regent’s household. He broke the seal, and unfolded the thick paper. It was, as always, written in coded language – but Cecil could read that as easily as plain English, after so many years.
He began to read. Within moments, he had carefully placed his coffee upon the table, and taken the letter to the window, to get the maximum light upon it. His eyes had not deceived him – finally, he had a connection – a man who had been seen with some of the conspirators, and who had a reason to resent the Prince Regent. From such petty beginnings was treason born.
It seemed that Baron Partmann, a man he’d seen rarely about town, had suffered the ignominy of his wife becoming one of Prinny’s mistresses. And, his informant explained, the man had not accepted the inevitable with good grace, but had become belligerent and angry – to the point where he had been ‘encouraged’ not to make his presence felt at court. If that was what had led the man to plotting, he was very much a fool. If he simply waited, Prinny would, of a certainty, become bored with Lady Partmann, gift her extravagantly in gems or coin, and send her away. At which point, Lord Partmann would be better off than before.
But it would appear that the man had no sense. More investigation would be required – the man had been seen to talk to those they suspected, but had never spent much time with them at social occasions – so, the obvious conclusion was that they met somewhere else – somewhere as yet unidentified.
Cecil sat, and began to write.
Soon, messengers went out from Bigglesworth’s, and messages reached a number of Setford’s men. Lord Partmann would be watched, from now on. Eventually, he would lead them to the conspirators – Cecil was sure of it. Every instinct said he was right – for now he had a man with a motivation, a man who was using the young hotheads for his own petty ends, no matter what high principled explanations he gave them.
Satisfied, Cecil reviewed the rest of his reports, then locked the room, and went downstairs to browse in the bookshop. He would buy some more books for Lady Farnsworth’s charity girls, then make his way home. The day stretched ahead of him pleasantly – for that evening he would take Lady Farnsworth to the theatre, as promised. The thought of more time in her company warmed him, left him humming cheerfully to himself.
She had been determined in her pursuit of information, to the point where the social tedium of the events she attended was wearing her down – the more frustrated she became with their lack of progress, the more acerbic her commentary upon the doyens of society became. He enjoyed her insight, and her cynicism. For months now, not three days had gone by without him seeing her – and he did not wish to consider a time when that would not be the case. Yet… the longer she spent, quietly asking questions of servants in hallways, carefully poking into the corners of stately homes, and eavesdropping at doors, the greater the risk became that she would be discovered. And the very thought that his request of her might bring her into true danger sent a chill through him. He had sent men into danger, every day, for twenty years or more – but this was different.
He wanted days spent in her company, without the need to worry about her safety. That thought made him stop, there amongst the crowded shelves. He stared at the book in his hand, unseeing. He examined his thoughts, closely. He wanted more than just some days spent in her company – he wanted every day in her company – not just a few hours here and there. And… the logical conclusion of that thought led to only one place. There was only one way to have her company every day. Mentally, he shied away from it. He would consider it again later. Blinking, he brought the book into focus, and decided to add it to the pile he was purchasing.
But, no matter that he had pushed the thought aside, it kept returning. Throughout the rest of the day, as he attempted to reassess everything that they knew, in the light of the information about Baron Partmann, as he allowed his valet to dress him for the evening, and especi
ally as his carriage conveyed him to her door, that thought forced itself back to the surface of his mind. He could not deny it. He could not unthink it.
Reduced to its essence, his inescapable conclusion was that he wanted to marry her.
~~~~~
Anna stood before the mirror, amazed at herself, and unable to prevent herself from wondering what Lord Setford would think of the gown.
“My Lady, that is even more beautiful than the last one. Every time the modiste sends another gown, I think it can’t be better – but it is!”
“Well – she is a genius at her craft. But I agree, this one is particularly lovely.”
The gown was of another rich red shade, dramatic, and yet not overdone. The shoulders and bodice were embellished with tiny ruby and jet beads, and a band of lace of the same rich tone as the gown adorned the hem. It showed her figure to best advantage, and made her cheeks look delicately blushed. The ruby and jet necklace she wore glittered in the light, as did the ruby studded pin that held the spray of feathers in her hair. She thought that she had never looked so good. She could only hope that he would think so too.
Sternly, she reminded herself that this courtship was false, was simply a convenient fiction, for the purposes of spying – yet… it felt so real. She had come to look forward to seeing him, and found herself wishing that it might be every day, not just every few days. They were so comfortable together, could talk for hours, and not just about the information that had been gathered since last they saw each other, that she often forgot that they were pretending. Well – that he was pretending – if she was honest with herself, she had to admit that she had long ago stopped pretending.
To her, it felt so real, that she could not help but become more and more emotionally engaged with him, each time they met. What she would do, once this was all finally done with, and the fiction no longer necessary, she did not know – and preferred not to think about, for now.
Attracting the Spymaster: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 15) Page 4