by Laura Beers
Desmond grunted. “This should be interesting,” he muttered under his breath.
“We are sorry about your rally earlier,” Baldwin said. “It was most unfortunate that shots were fired in Fieldstone Square, causing everyone to flee.”
“That was most unfortunate,” Desmond agreed, “but I was informed that the perpetrator was shot trying to detonate a bomb.”
“That is correct, but Marie referred to it as ‘machine infernale’,” Corbyn shared.
Desmond’s face paled slightly. “That is impossible,” he muttered. “I haven’t heard that term in years.”
“We discovered that Carbon had a daughter who was just as capable of making bombs as her father was, and she was harboring quite the hatred for you, even after all these years,” Baldwin said.
“Why me?”
Corbyn picked up a vase off the mantel and replied, “You were one of the agents assigned to ensure Napoleon was assassinated, but when Carbon failed, you abandoned him and his fellow conspirators.”
“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” Desmond declared.
Corbyn placed the vase down. “It matters not,” he replied. “You did your job, and I have no doubt that you followed your orders. We just wanted to inform you that Carbon’s daughter had every intention of assassinating you today at the rally.”
“But we foiled her plans,” Baldwin interjected, “along with a group of radicals who were planning a revolution.”
Desmond looked at him with newfound respect. “You are an agent,” he said. “Of course, that is why you were gone for so many years.”
“Not anymore,” Baldwin replied. “This was my last case.”
Desmond offered him a sad smile. “The desire to be an agent will never go away. The danger, excitement…” His voice trailed off. “I miss it every day.”
Corbyn’s voice drew back his attention. “Unfortunately, we do come bearing some bad news.”
“More of it?” Desmond asked.
Corbyn shook his head. “Informing you about Marie was more of a professional courtesy, but we wanted to give you a warning before this news became public.”
Glancing between them, Desmond inquired, “Which is?”
“One of the radicals arrested today was your solicitor, Mr. Tom Walker,” Corbyn shared.
Desmond waved his hand dismissively. “I work with many solicitors, so his arrest will hardly impact me.”
“Mr. Walker has decided he doesn’t want to die for the cause, and he has offered something up in exchange for his life,” Baldwin explained.
“Which is?”
“Proof that you stole money from the workhouses that you are contracted to run,” Baldwin replied plainly.
Desmond chuckled, albeit nervously. “That is a horrendous accusation.”
“It is, and Mr. Walker says that he has been compiling proof over the last few years,” Baldwin shared. “Apparently, he really loathes you.”
“That is impossible,” Desmond declared. “He has no proof. He is clearly lying.”
“I am relieved to hear that, because if he does have any proof, it will discredit you,” Corbyn said. “And it will ruin your chance of ever running for Prime Minister.”
“Furthermore, you will be forced to resign as the contractor for those workhouses, and I can’t imagine how the public will react to an earl stealing from the poor,” Baldwin remarked.
Desmond’s face paled further. “I am being set up,” he insisted. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Then you have nothing to fear,” Baldwin asserted.
“You must believe me, Hawthorne,” Desmond appealed, panic in his eyes. “Mr. Walker is just trying to save himself.”
“Frankly, I don’t,” Baldwin replied. “I believe you were culpable in stealing that money from the workhouses.”
“Regardless, we need more workhouses in the rookeries,” Desmond pressed. “The Poor Laws are outdated, and we need a new way to fund building them.”
“I agree, but you won’t be contracted to run them,” Baldwin replied.
Desmond frowned. “You aren’t going to help me push this bill through Parliament, are you?”
“No,” Baldwin responded with a shake of his head, “but I will recommend that we update the Poor Laws to incorporate new laws on workhouse conditions.”
“That isn’t enough,” Desmond said, his voice rising.
Baldwin took a step closer to him and replied, “If you hadn’t profited off the poor, then your passionate argument may have worked on the other members of the House of Lords. But I am not fooled by you, no matter how loudly you speak.”
As Baldwin turned to leave, Desmond’s defeated voice met his ears. “It was such a trifling amount of money,” he said. “What if I returned it to the workhouses?”
“That would be a start,” Baldwin remarked, “but it won’t solve all of your problems. Nor should it.”
Not bothering to wait for Desmond’s response, Baldwin walked out of the room and Corbyn followed closely behind. They didn’t speak until they stepped back into the coach and it started rolling down the street.
“Do you suppose we did the right thing by informing him of the investigation?” Corbyn asked.
“I do,” Baldwin replied, “but it won’t matter now if they don’t press charges. Just the allegations will ruin his reputation.”
“He will never be Prime Minister now.”
Baldwin shook his head. “No, he most assuredly won’t.”
“Now on to things that are much more pleasant,” Corbyn said. “It is time for you to travel to Miss Dowding’s townhouse and woo the lovely young lady.”
“It is,” he replied. “I hope it isn’t too late for her to receive callers.”
Corbyn pounded on the top of the coach, and the coach started slowing down. “This is where I get out.”
“Why?”
Corbyn smirked as he opened the door. “I need to get back to work. We have a cell full of rebels that need to be interrogated before they are deported or hung for their treasonous acts, including their leader, Morton,” he said as he stepped out.
“Would you care for some assistance?”
Corbyn chuckled. “Need I remind you that you are retired?”
“You work too hard.”
“Someone needs to,” Corbyn replied before closing the door.
Baldwin watched as Corbyn headed down the pavement, disappearing into the first alleyway he came to.
As the coach continued down the street, Baldwin decided it was time to rehearse the speech he intended to say to Miss Dowding.
Dressed in a white gown, Madalene stared out the darkened window as she waited for Lord Hawthorne to call on her.
“I wish you would step away from the window,” Mrs. Foster said from the settee behind her. “You wouldn’t want Lord Hawthorne to see you in the window if he comes to call.”
“He will come,” Madalene remarked firmly.
“How can you be so sure?”
Madalene turned away from the window and met her companion’s gaze. “He told me he would.”
Mrs. Foster lifted her brow. “When was this?”
“When we spoke last.”
“Which was?”
Walking over to an upholstered armchair, Madalene sat down. “It matters not,” she replied dismissively.
Mrs. Foster frowned. “When you arrived home earlier, you looked terribly disheveled, and you told me quite the story about Miss Gaillard.”
“It wasn’t a story,” Madalene defended.
“I know, and I believe you,” Mrs. Foster said. “But you failed to mention anything about Lord Hawthorne or Lord Oliver being present.”
“They weren’t there when Miss Gaillard abducted me or when I freed myself.”
“Then how was it possible that Lord Oliver brought you home?” Mrs. Foster asked. “And in a hackney, no less.”
Madalene pressed her lips together, unsure of how to respond. She didn’t dare confess that L
ord Hawthorne or his brother were agents of the Crown. That was not her secret to share, and she would never betray them.
Mrs. Foster sighed. “I am not a simpleton, my dear,” she said. “It is evident that you are keeping more secrets from me.”
Madalene lowered her gaze to her lap. “I’m afraid it is not my place to say anything else.”
“Just as I thought,” Mrs. Foster replied. “But I should warn you that secrets can consume you, assuming you let them.”
“I understand.”
Mrs. Foster reached for the cup of tea on the table in front of her. “I do hope that Miss Gaillard got what she deserved for abducting you and killing Miss Hardy.”
“I can assure you that she did.”
Mrs. Foster bobbed her head in approval. “That is good,” she said, bringing the cup up to her lips.
“I am sorry—” Madalene attempted.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mrs. Foster said, speaking over her. “You have a right to your secrets, and I respect that.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Foster lowered the teacup to her lap. “It sounds like you had quite the adventure,” she remarked.
“I did,” Madalene responded. “I most assuredly did.”
“You never were one who enjoyed being idle for too long,” Mrs. Foster said fondly. “Perhaps Lord Hawthorne is a good fit for you after all.”
Madalene looked at her in surprise. “You approve of him?”
Mrs. Foster laughed. “Let’s not be too hasty,” she replied. “I merely think he isn’t as terrible as I once led myself to believe.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?”
“When you went missing, I went over to Lord Hawthorne’s townhouse, and I spoke to him,” Mrs. Foster revealed. “He was very attentive, and I could tell he was quite worried about you. It made me realize that I may have misjudged him.”
Madalene smiled. “I am happy to hear you say that.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t be interested in a boring lord who sits around the library reading all day?” Mrs. Foster joked.
“I would not.”
“I assumed as much,” Mrs. Foster replied dramatically. “Perhaps it is time for me to do something else with my life.”
“No, no, no…” Madalene declared, moving to sit on the edge of her seat. “You are my companion. You can’t leave me alone.”
Mrs. Foster’s face softened. “I would never leave you alone, but I can’t help but wonder if you will be married soon.”
“Lord Hawthorne hasn’t declared his intentions.”
“I believe he will, and you won’t be in need of a companion anymore.”
Madalene shook her head. “I will always need you in my life.”
Placing her cup on the table, Mrs. Foster said, “I was thinking about applying for the position of headmistress of the orphanage.”
“Pardon?”
“Those girls are going to need someone to tend to them, especially after losing Miss Hardy and Miss Gaillard so closely together,” Mrs. Foster remarked. “I would like to help advance your mother’s legacy.”
“That is a splendid idea, but I am not ready to say goodbye to you,” Madalene said dejectedly.
Mrs. Foster smiled reassuringly at her. “That is the brilliant part. I won’t be so far away from Hawthorne House, and you often visit the orphanage anyway.”
“The girls would love having you as a headmistress,” Madalene commented.
“But you will need to hire someone to handle the ledgers,” Mrs. Foster asserted. “After all, I would like to spend as much of my time with the girls as possible.”
Madalene nodded. “I could do that.”
“Cheer up, Madalene,” Mrs. Foster said. “You look as if you are being led to the executioner.”
“What am I going to do without you?” she asked, her eyes filling up with tears. “You have been with me since before my mother died.”
“And that won’t ever change,” Mrs. Foster stated. “I couldn’t love you any more than if you were my own daughter.”
Graham stepped into the room and met her gaze. “Lord Hawthorne is here to call on you, Miss.”
Madalene blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall and rose from her seat. “Please send him in.”
Mrs. Foster gave her a knowing look. “I will give you and Lord Hawthorne a moment alone,” she said, “but I shall be in the next room.”
As Lord Hawthorne walked in, Madalene felt her breath hitch at the mere sight of him. He was impeccably dressed in a blue jacket, ivory waistcoat, and buff trousers. His hair was neatly brushed forward and his sideburns had been recently trimmed. She had to admit to herself that he was, by far, the most handsome man she had ever met.
He stopped and bowed. “I hope I am not calling too late.”
Madalene opened her mouth to reply but found she couldn’t formulate any words. Thankfully, Mrs. Foster took pity on her and spoke up. “Not at all, my lord. We only just finished supper.”
Lord Hawthorne directed his gaze towards her. “May I speak to you privately, Miss Dowding?”
She nodded slowly.
His lips twitched at her lack of response.
Rising, Mrs. Foster said, “I shall give you two a moment alone.”
After Mrs. Foster stepped out of the room, Lord Hawthorne asked, “How are you faring?”
“I am well.” Madalene was pleased that she was finally able to find her voice. “And you?”
Lord Hawthorne took a step closer to her. “I am well.”
Madalene smiled nervously. “I am glad that we are both well.”
Chuckling, he replied, “I am not the one who was abducted by a madwoman and still managed to secure a hackney to travel to one of the most disreputable public houses in all of the rookeries.”
“I have had harder days,” she joked.
“I can only imagine.” Lord Hawthorne grew serious. “I must assume that you have some questions for me.”
“I do.”
Lord Hawthorne took another step closer to her, making them only a few feet apart. “What would you like to know?”
“You will be honest with me?”
With a thoughtful nod, he replied, “From here on out, I will never lie to you again.” Madalene could tell he was in earnest.
“It pleases me immensely to hear you say that,” she said. “I am going to start with an easy question first.”
“Whatever you would prefer.”
With a solemn look, she asked, “What is your favorite dessert?”
Lord Hawthorne’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Sugar biscuits.”
“That is a wise choice, my lord,” she joked. “But I’m afraid the questions will become increasingly harder now.”
“Yes, I imagined that would be the case.”
Madalene glanced over at the door and lowered her voice. “How long have you been an agent of the Crown?”
“I was recruited out of Oxford.”
“Is that why you disappeared for three years?”
Lord Hawthorne nodded. “I was working with a group of French royalists on the island of Jersey as we tried to stop Napoleon.”
“Why didn’t you come home when Napoleon was exiled?”
“Because we were still tracking down people who were loyal to him,” he explained. “I only came home when I heard that a French spy was coming to England to meet with a group of radicals.”
“The French spy being Marie?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did you have to kill her?”
“I wasn’t the one who killed her,” he revealed. “Another agent took the shot.”
“Was it Oliver?” she boldly asked.
“It was not.”
“But he is an agent, as well?”
Lord Hawthorne bobbed his head. “He is.”
“Does Jane know?”
He winced slightly. “No, she does not,” he replied, “but I assure you that it is much safer
if she doesn’t know the truth.”
“Why is that?”
“The less people that know about us, the better.”
Madalene pursed her lips together as she found the strength to ask her next question. “Was anything that you told me the truth?”
“Most of it.”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine that to be true.”
“A good lie always has some elements of truth to it,” he shared. “I just left out the parts that would incriminate me as an agent.”
“I feel as if I don’t even know the real you,” Madalene said as she turned away.
Madalene stopped when Lord Hawthorne placed a hand on her sleeve and replied, “You know the real me. I have been here the whole time.”
“But you have another life I know nothing about.”
“That is true,” he said, “but you should know that I am no longer an agent.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “You aren’t?”
“This was my last case,” he informed her as his hand dropped to his side. “My days will now be filled attending Parliament and managing my properties and investments.”
“That doesn’t sound very exciting.”
Huffing, Lord Hawthorne replied, “No, it does not.”
“Whatever will you do to alleviate your boredom?”
He gazed intently into her eyes. “About that,” he started in a solemn voice, “we do have a problem.”
“Which is?”
“How can I be certain that you won’t tell anyone about my being an agent?” he asked with an uplifted brow.
“You shall have to take me at my word.”
Pressing his lips together, he replied, “I’m afraid that is not good enough.”
“It’s not?”
“No, it is not.” He took a step closer to her, forcing her to tilt her head to look up at him. “I propose a union between us.”
“So I won’t reveal your secret?” she asked hesitantly.
“Among other things.”
Dropping her gaze to the lapels of his jacket, she felt disappointed by his offer. She didn’t want a marriage of convenience to Lord Hawthorne. The thought of marrying him when he didn’t return her affections caused her heart to ache.
“I’m afraid I must decline your offer,” she murmured as she reluctantly stepped back.
The surprise was evident on his face as he asked, “Why?”