“What are you doing?” Guy asked with a gasp.
“We might have need of this.” John handed the tiepin to him. “An eagle. A Napoleonic symbol. Like those that sat atop regimental flag poles.”
“To lose an eagle would bring shame to a fighting unit,” Guy said. “Vincent told me he was close to Napoleon.” Hating to hold the thing in his hands, he gave it back to John and turned to the butler. “Hammond, have two footmen move my brother into one of the bedchambers. Wait for me in the library, John.”
Guy went to oversee the laying out of his brother. He gazed down at the face he’d longed to see again since he was twelve years old. He sat for a moment in the still room staring at nothing, his mind grappling with the horror. When he finally left the room and returned to John, he was barely aware that his body ached for the pain in his heart was so intense it almost brought him to his knees. He walked to the drinks table. “Whiskey, John?”
“Please.”
Guy sloshed amber liquid into two tumblers and handed one to John. He sat and took a large swallow as warmth spread through his cold insides. It failed to remove the hollow pain and sense of loss. He doubted anything ever would.
“So, this is the spy Whitehall has been looking for,” John said.
Guy nodded, his shoulders slumped.
“He was a murderer. I’m sure he would’ve killed you, Guy.”
“I have no doubt of it.”
“The government must be informed. Lord Parnham will handle it.”
“I see.”
“But Parnham will be disappointed.”
Guy glanced up. “Disappointed? I should think he would be relieved.”
“Vincent was to lead us to the spies’ nest.”
“You’ve learned nothing from following Forney?”
“He’s being cautious. He approached you believing you to be Vincent and expected more from you. Your reaction would have surprised him.”
Guy gingerly touched his head. “Perhaps.”
A curricle rattled its way up the drive.
“See to that wound while I consult the magistrate. He will need to view the body. After that, we must return to London.”
Guy searched his friend’s sharp gray eyes. He was bone-tired and had no strength left to argue. “As you wish, but I won’t leave until Vincent is interred in the family crypt.”
“Yes, of course.”
Guy sighed. “What must Hetty be thinking?”
“I visited Miss Cavendish. She is concerned, naturally.”
“Zut!” Guy rested his head in his hands. It had taken quite a battering of late. “I must get word to her.”
“Sorry, Guy. Parnham expects us at Whitehall,” John said. “Send a note to put Miss Cavendish’s mind at rest. But say no more.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hetty paced around the parlor earning an appeal from her aunt. She had barely slept after the trip to Hampstead. When she and the duchess called at Berkley Square, they were told Lord Strathairn had not returned. They could do nothing but go home and wait. Hetty had never found waiting easy, but now it was a torment.
Fanny wrote to say she would call at two o’clock. Hetty groaned. “Oh, not now. I can’t see Fanny while all this is happening!”
She and Fanny hadn’t met since she’d come to London. She guessed that Fanny’s season had been carefully orchestrated by her mother. Fanny had been presented in the Queen’s drawing room and would have danced at Almack’s. She would be bubbling over with news. Hetty only wished she was in a fit enough state to enjoy every detail.
As the clock struck two, Fanny swept in, dressed in a very smart half-dress of striped primrose yellow sarcenet, richly trimmed around the hem. Her face was rounder, and she’d developed quite a confident air. Pleased to find her looking so at home in her new surroundings, Hetty hugged her. Lady Kemble followed in a Turkey-red gown and puce turban.
“Almack’s is de trop,” Fanny said, ignoring her mother’s frown as she selected another tart from the cake stand. “You require a voucher from one of the lady patronesses to attend.” She giggled. “I danced with so many partners I can’t remember their faces, let alone their names.”
“No one was of particular interest to you?” Hetty asked, as her aunt poured more tea.
Lady Kemble took the flowery china cup and saucer with a nod in Aunt Emily’s direction. “Viscount Rothwell is enamored of Fanny. As are several gentlemen.”
Fanny wrinkled her nose. “Rothwell is too old.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Kemble said. “He’s years off forty with a large estate in Sussex.”
“He seems old.” A mulish expression tugged Fanny’s mouth down at the corners. “I don’t care for him.” She replaced her cup in its saucer. “Mr. Bonneville pleases me.”
“Forget Bonneville. He is known to be in dun territory and is in the market for a rich wife. Your dowry would not be acceptable to him, Fanny. He merely flirts with you.”
“I’ve met Mr. Bonneville,” Hetty said. “He has big, sorrowful brown eyes like a puppy.”
Fanny gave a trill of laughter. “That’s Bonneville precisely! Such a dear face.”
Lady Kemble turned her frown on Hetty. “You do look peaky, Miss Cavendish. You must make sure you get your sleep. A young lady in search of a husband needs a good complexion.”
Hetty swallowed and looked away.
“Hetty is a little tired,” Aunt Emily said quickly. “Her social life has been such a whirl.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Hetty strained her ears for any activity in the street outside.
“Do you know if Lord Fortescue is in London, Hetty?” Fanny asked.
“I’m not sure where he is at present,” Hetty replied, careful to modulate her tone. She rubbed her bare finger. It distressed her, but she’d decided to remove her ring. News of her betrothal had not reached Fanny’s ears, and it wasn’t prudent to mention it now. She fought to maintain her composure, but her hand shook, and her cup rattled in its saucer.
“You’re very fidgety, Miss Cavendish,” Lady Kemble said with a sharp-eyed stare. “I was surprised to learn your father permitted you to come to London.”
“Is it so very surprising?” Aunt Emily’s eyes glittered. “My brother loves his daughter and wants the best for her.”
“I’m sure he does.” Lady Kemble put down her cup and saucer. She rose from her seat. “We must go. We have many calls to make, and then Fanny needs to rest before the ball this evening.”
Fanny cast Hetty a sympathetic glance. “I do hope you are enjoying your time in London. We must get together for a coze soon.”
Hetty returned the hug. “I’d like that, Fanny.”
After they left, Aunt Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “Mrs. Kemble is a spiteful woman.”
Hetty shrugged. “I fear she doesn’t like me.” It seemed unimportant now.
“That’s because you’re prettier and more intelligent than her daughter,” Aunt Emily said with a fond smile.
“Prettier than Fanny? Come now, Aunt.” Hetty kissed her cheek.
“You’ve had little chance to shine. When you become a baroness, you will come into your own, my dear. See if I’m not right.”
Her aunt clung to the idea that Guy meant to marry her. If only he was safe, she’d accept whatever happened, even if it meant losing him.
In the afternoon, a footman delivered a letter. Hetty pounced on it. It was from Guy. Her hands shaking, she sank into a chair in the entry hall to read it.
Guy’s note was appallingly brief. He was at Rosecroft Hall and would call on her when he returned to London. Exasperation fought with relief as she hurried upstairs to tell her aunt.
*
The morning after, Vincent was buried in the family crypt in the Digswell churchyard. Then Guy and John traveled to Whitechapel in Vincent’s curricle, John’s horse tied behind.
At Whitehall, Lord Parnham, a man in his fifties with thinning gray hair, put a plan to Guy. “You
are in the enviable position of gaining these conspirators’ trust. You can lead us to them.”
“And just how might I do that?” Guy already had an inkling and dreaded to hear what Parnham would suggest. Bruised and saddened, he just wanted to be with Hetty. Lord Parnham’s grave voice broke into his thoughts.
“Your twin brother adopted the title while working to free Napoleon. We would like you to become him. No one could possibly suspect you.”
“But I don’t believe Vincent had any intention of joining them. He wished only to take my place at Rosecroft Hall.”
“They are not to know that,” Parnham said. “But it confirms the view that he has not been in contact with them.”
“But I neither know any of these conspirators nor what they plot.” Guy held out his hands, palms up. “This is madness! Vincent had a scar on his cheek. That would give me away immediately. Why do you need me?”
“Because we’ve lost our agent. One of Lord Castlereagh’s fellows got close enough to learn the secret code they go by. Unfortunately, he became too confident, and they grew suspicious. They slit his throat and threw his body in the river.”
Guy scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Nom de Dieu!”
Lord Parnham leaned forward in his chair. “This will work. Forney has seen you without a scar. It’s unlikely the rest of them have ever met Vincent. You are identical. They will not doubt you even if they have met him. It will give us the time we need to act. And it will draw out the rest of them. If you call one wolf, you invite the pack. Once you have entered their midst, we will pounce.”
“But they must suspect you’re on to them.”
Parnham shook his head. “No one has been arrested. They will be confident they’re safe.”
Guy eyed him. “I’m not trained in espionage.”
“We’ll help you with that.”
Guy’s eyebrows arched. “I cannot imagine how.”
“Lord Strathairn will assist you with the finer details.”
He’d had enough of the violence men do to one another. Guy huffed out a breath. He was spent. “I intend to visit my fiancée, Miss Cavendish. She will be concerned about me.”
Lord Parnham shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible until this is over.”
Guy pushed back his chair and stood. “Then I won’t do it.”
“Sit down, please, Fortescue.” Lord Parnham motioned him down again. “You can send word that you are ill.”
Guy shook his head as visions of Hetty banging on Strathairn’s door swam into his head. “That wouldn’t keep Miss Cavendish away.”
“I’m afraid my orders come from Viscount Sidmouth, the Home Secretary. I must insist,” Parnham said. “The future of England far outweighs the demands of one young lady.”
“This is preposterous. You cannot insist.” Guy swung around to look at John. But he shifted in his seat and wouldn’t meet Guy’s eyes.
“These saboteurs plan to strike here in London. Would you prefer to allow them to continue to work against England? To assassinate the prime minister or the Prince of Wales? To stir the masses to riot and work against the Crown?”
“I would not,” Guy said with heat. His love of England was deeply ingrained. “What do these Frenchmen hope to gain by this?”
“They are not all French, some are Englishmen. But the delusional souls are united in their quest to free Napoleon,” Parnham said with a tight-lipped smile. “Their reasoning being that as he escaped from Elba, he can do so again. Destabilizing this country’s government and stirring up the mood of the people will aid them in their cause. The present unrest plays into their hands. There’s revolution in the air and some of these Englishmen prefer England to revolt instead of–in their opinion–remaining enslaved. They hate Liverpool’s Tory government. They hate the Regent and his reckless spending and intend to ferment trouble wherever they can. There are organized societies with the same aim.
“What concerns us most is a new threat to the regent’s life. We have prevented one attempt recently. He’s unpopular, but to lose him would prove disastrous for England.”
Parnham held out his hands, palms up. “Your life has been badly affected by revolution, has it not? You do understand why England needs you to do your duty, Lord Fortescue?”
Guy released a long breath. “I’m quite prepared to do as you wish. But only if I can visit Hetty. She must be told the truth. I know she can be trusted.”
Parnham’s clever brown eyes assessed him. “On reflection, it might seem odd if you stopped courting Miss Cavendish. You may tell her about your brother if you wish. Continue as you were, but she must not learn of your mission. It would be too dangerous. Do I have your word?”
Guy had to agree. The last thing he wanted was Hetty involving herself in this, and he was sure she would. “You have it.”
Parnham rose, came around the desk, and shook Guy’s hand. “Then it is done. You are to infiltrate the group to discover their plans. Best you don’t come here again. I expect to learn something from you in the coming days. We’ll keep in touch through Strathairn.”
“And the scar?” Guy traced a line down his cheek.
“We might give you a fake one, but the count has already seen you so that won’t serve.” Parnham tapped the desk with a quill. “We shall have to trust no one has met Vincent.”
Guy crossed Whitehall with John to the carriage. “Hetty and I will marry as soon as my sister arrives in London to identify me,” he said. “Should I die, I want Hetty to inherit all my unentailed property.”
John eyed him as he settled back on the squabs. “You French are a pessimistic lot, aren’t you?”
Guy shrugged. “It would be foolish to be anything else, would it not?”
“I have your back, Guy. Remember that.”
“I’m not likely to forget it,” Guy said with a rueful smile.
Chapter Twenty
Hetty beat the maid to the door. She threw it open, and all but fell into Guy’s arms. He looked so weary and sad that she stilled. His cheek was bruised and there was a cut on his chin. Her questions fell away as shock dried her mouth.
He greeted her aunt in a sober voice, then sank onto the sofa.
Hetty sat beside him, her concern and curiosity getting the better of her. “What happened?”
Guy held up a hand. “I shall tell you.”
She swallowed, not knowing what to expect and fearful of what he might say. She was sure it wasn’t good.
Guy’s voice was strained as he related the happenings of the last week.
When his voice fell away, Hetty, horrified and confused, rubbed her arms, and tried to sort through what he just told her. His twin brother whom he had thought dead in France was a veritable monster. He’d tried to kill Guy and take his place at Rosecroft Hall.
“Vincent accused Papa of deserting him when the fire engulfed our chateau. But he did not. I couldn’t make him believe it. He hated us.” He sounded so bitter it made her yearn to try to soothe him. “Life is cruel. Fate has cheated me of a brother.”
When Guy lapsed into silence, her aunt offered her heartfelt sympathy and excused herself.
Hetty moved closer to Guy on the sofa. “My poor love.”
Guy placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. The muscles on his arms were hard with tension. Tears blinded her.
“It’s over, Hetty.” He cradled her face in his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “I’ve missed you,” he said quietly, and kissed her. “Will you be my wife?”
“Oh, Guy, yes. I love you.” her heart throbbed with love for him. She coiled her arms around his neck and kissed him. As he held her, Hetty stroked his hair and discovered a lump. She pulled away. “You’ve been hurt.”
Guy shrugged. “I’m lucky to have a hard head. Hopefully, I still have my wits.”
She leant her head against his shoulder. “It’s all over now.” She sighed with relief.
His arm tightened around her.
His eyes widened. “What is it?”
“Your sister, Genevieve has arrived in London. We traveled together to Hampstead where you were last seen. She has taken a house in Portland Place.”
Guy grinned. “Genevieve is here?”
“As soon as I received your letter, I sent a servant to let her know you were safe.”
“Merci.” He sobered. “You and she went to Hampstead?”
Hetty wished he didn’t look so defeated and unlike himself. “We traveled in your sister’s opulent turquoise carriage,” she said with a smile. “The coach is lined with fine parquetry, paisley silk curtains, velvet upholstery, and gold carriage lamps. I’ve never seen the like!”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Genevieve is never without her comforts.”
“She was determined to find you.”
He drew away and stood. “I must go to her.”
“Of course, you must. I like her very much, so please tell her I hope we meet again very soon.”
“Tomorrow, I’d like to show you the Mayfair house which I found the day before Vincent…” Guy shook his head. “There might be a delay, Hetty.” He rubbed his hand over his nape. “I must consult with my solicitor and I must ask your father. After that, the banns must read. Reverend Dewhurst at St. Georges will advise us of a suitable date.”
“Oh, Guy.” Hetty gazed at him with longing. “I do so want to be with you.”
He pulled her into his arms and took her mouth in a kiss. “Tomorrow,” he promised, drawing away.
She touched his cheek still unsure, still unable to fully trust in their future and wondering why. “But is everything all right now?”
His eyes looked shadowed. He took her hand in his big one and kissed it. “Oui, mon cheri amour.”
After Guy left, Hetty told her aunt about the house.
Aunt Emily hesitated. “But I cannot go with you. I have an engagement with the poetry society.”
“That’s all right, Aunt. It’s no longer a false engagement. We are to marry.” Hetty paused, something still wasn’t right. His eyes were troubled. Was it because he mourned his brother?
The Baron's Betrothal (Dangerous Lords Book 1) Page 19