Once Upon a Spy: A Secrets and Seduction Book

by Sheridan Jeane

  She hurried down the hallway to check on her sisters. The moment she knocked on their bedroom door, Stephanie yanked it open and dragged her into the room.

  They were already dressing, and judging by the dresses on their beds, they planned to attend court. “I see you didn’t change your minds about coming to court today. I’d hoped you had.”

  “This doesn’t only concern you,” Evalina pointed out. “This is our future too.”

  Stephanie gave a yank to tighten Evalina’s corset strings. “You can’t simply go about making decisions regarding our lives without consulting us.”

  “What if someone sees you?” Antonia protested. “What if your names are printed in one of those scandal sheets? You could lose your home at Miss Hermitage’s school if the other parents complain.”

  “We’ll hide our faces and we won’t give out our names. Besides, if the judge rules in our favor, we’ll never have to go back to Miss Hermitage’s again.”

  “But Lord Tidmore plans to close the court when he hears the case,” Antonia insisted, hoping to bolster her stand. “He’s not allowing visitors.”

  “We aren’t visitors,” Evalina said as she turned and began yanking at Stephanie’s corset strings. “We’re plaintiffs”— yank— “or whatever we’re called”— yank. “Since this is about our claim on our inheritance, then we most certainly are not mere visitors.”

  She had a point, though Antonia hated to admit it. “You might want to stop tugging on those corset strings. Stephanie looks like she can’t breathe.”

  Evalina’s eyes went wide and she began loosening her sister’s lacings. “Sorry, Steph,” she murmured.

  “S’no problem,” Stephanie said in a strained voice as she gasped for air.

  “Honestly, you’ll both be bored,” Antonia said, unwilling to give up without one last try, but since even she didn’t believe her own words, her voice didn’t have any conviction behind it.

  “We’ll be fine,” Evalina said in one of those tones that meant “stop talking nonsense.”

  “What could be more interesting than hearing a judge decide our future?” Stephanie added, now that she could breathe again.

  Antonia shook her head in defeat.

  Robert didn’t appear surprised when all three sisters came downstairs together. He locked gazes with Antonia. She read volumes in those sky-blue eyes, but apparently no one else did. She glanced away, afraid that the tender smile teasing his lips would betray them.

  “You and your sisters and Miss Galloway can take my carriage,” Robert said. “Frederick and I will follow on horseback. I’m also having six footmen accompany us as guards. I don’t know if the Russians have caught wind of today’s court proceedings, but if they have, the extra men should dissuade them from trying to take the church register by force.”

  Antonia glanced at the cluster of tall footmen standing near the door. They all wore Robert’s livery, and their grim faces made them appear stern and competent. “They’d frighten me,” she murmured.

  Robert must have heard her, because he caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. “I retrieved this for you this morning.” He handed her the church register.

  Antonia’s reticule was large enough to allow her to slip the book into it with ease. The unaccustomed weight dragged at her wrist. Surely anyone observing her would know it was there, wouldn’t they?

  She wanted to clutch it tightly to her chest, but instead she forced herself to let it dangle as though it didn’t contain the key to her future.

  “Circle around her,” Robert said, waving his footmen closer. “Don’t let anyone come near.”

  The footmen surged forward, closing ranks around Antonia until all she could see were men’s backs, arms, and shoulders.

  As they left the house, the footmen remained bunched around Antonia, keeping her at the center of their cluster.

  Antonia’s sisters preceded her into the carriage, and the footmen continued to surround her until she was tucked inside with Evalina and Stephanie.

  “Are you comfortable?” Robert asked through the door of the carriage.

  “I’ll feel much better once this book is no longer my responsibility.”

  He nodded. “It won’t be long now.”

  Antonia felt edgy as the carriage pulled away. She peered out the window, her gaze darting from one potential threat to the next.

  Twenty minutes later, the carriage arrived outside the courtroom and Antonia prepared to run the gauntlet again in order to reach the courthouse doors. She wouldn’t feel safe until she’d handed that book over to the judge.

  As soon as she exited the carriage, the pack of footmen gathered around her. Once she stepped into the courtroom, they finally backed away enough for her to view her surroundings. The wood-paneled courtroom had few people in it, and no onlookers sat in the benches.

  It took a moment for her to recognize Mr. Montlake. In his white wig and black robes, he looked almost identical to every other court official in the room.

  But when he smiled at her, he immediately put her at ease.

  The rows of seats which had been filled with onlookers the last time she’d been in court were now empty. Last year her public humiliation had been just that. Public. Her exoneration would be carried out in private.

  Please, let it be her exoneration. Because honestly, whether or not this took place in public didn’t really matter, as long as the judge decided in her favor.

  What if Tidmore the Tyrant ruled against her? That’s what Frederick had called the man, wasn’t it? Or had it been Robert? Either way, the nickname sounded bad. What if he decided that she and her sisters were illegitimate? What recourse would she have?

  None. This was her last chance.

  She needed to stay calm.

  As her gaze swept the room, she noticed Uncle Walter, and she made the mistake of looking into his furious eyes. Eyes that were so similar to her own copper-colored ones, only brighter— more intense.

  “Is this your doing, missy?” he hissed, his plump lips shiny with spittle. “I was woken from a sound sleep before the sun was even up. Do you know how it makes a man feel to be woken by policemen pounding on his door? Not charitable, I can tell you that much. Not charitable indeed.” He narrowed his too-familiar eyes at her. Why had she never before noticed the strange, intense glow they held? Perhaps it was because she’d never before made him this angry. “I should have known you had something to do with this. You and those illegitimate sisters of yours. The three of you should be ashamed to show your faces in public, let alone to harass the one other person who was so gravely wronged by that man you insist on calling your father.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you were inconvenienced, Uncle Walter,” Stephanie said.

  “Don’t call me that.” His look of scorn could have melted iron. “I’m no uncle of yours. That’s been established in court.”

  Antonia stepped between Walter and Stephanie. “Don’t speak to my sister, Mr. Winter. Not ever. If you have something to say to anyone in my family, you can say it to me.”

  “Nothing would make me happier. In fact, I’m done with this conversation. I’ll let my lawyer do the talking.” He turned away in a huff and returned to the other side of the courtroom.

  Robert moved to stand next to Antonia, and he shot a menacing look in Walter Winter’s direction. “That was your uncle?”

  “Yes and no. Apparently, he doesn’t want us to refer to him as such,” Antonia replied.

  “No great loss.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “All rise,” a man intoned from across the room.

  A bewigged and bespectacled Lord Tidmore entered the courtroom, and everyone fell silent. The glower he wore made Antonia’s stomach clench. Tidmore the Tyrant indeed.

  “I’m here for one reason alone,” Lord Tidmore stated in a forceful tone, “and that’s because this case is of interest to Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. I plan to reach a decision as quickly as possible. I will tolerate n
o delaying tactics.”

  “I must protest, Your Honor,” Walter Winter’s barrister said. “My client was dragged from his bed and brought here without being given pertinent details regarding this case. We have no idea why we’re here.” Antonia had to give the man credit for his audacity. She’d never have had the temerity to interrupt the judge after what he’d said.

  “If you’ll be silent, that should become apparent rather quickly. If you can’t, I’ll have you gagged.”

  Walter’s lawyer closed his mouth, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. Perhaps he wasn’t as dauntless as his speech suggested.

  “The first issue we must address today is one of property ownership,” Lord Tidmore continued. “Miss Winter has made a claim against Squire Winter. She states that her grandfather’s art was left to his daughter, and that it should, in turn, have been passed on to the three daughters, Antonia, Evalina, and Stephanie Winter. Is that correct?”

  Antonia’s lawyer, Mr. Montlake, nodded. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I must object, Lord Tidmore. This issue was addressed, and the previous judge ruled that— ”

  “Gagged. I mean it. Did I give you permission to speak?” barked Lord Tidmore. “No? I thought not.” He glanced at a man standing at the side of the room. “Bailiff, bring in the painting that was seized from Mr. Winter’s home this morning.”

  Two men wearing white gloves brought in a large canvas-draped painting and set it on an easel at the front of the room. Once it was securely in place, they removed the cover to reveal the artwork.

  Antonia gasped as her gaze snapped toward the central figure. It was her mother, radiant with happiness, just as Antonia always remembered her. A band tightened around her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She missed her parents so much it hurt.

  “Squire Winter, please examine the painting one more time. Is this your property, and if so, has it been damaged or altered in any way?”

  Walter bustled forward to peer at it. As he reached out a gloved hand to touch the frame, Mr. Montlake interrupted him.

  “I’m sorry, Squire Winter, but if you’d like to touch the painting while it is in the court’s possession, I need you to put on cotton gloves. I want to ensure that the gilt frame isn’t damaged by any trace oils your leather gloves might have absorbed.”

  Walter looked as though he’d like to argue the point, but then shrugged. “That isn’t necessary. I don’t need to touch the painting.”

  “Examine it now, please. I need your confirmation that it is, indeed, your painting,” the judge instructed.

  The squire glanced at his lawyer, who gave a cautious nod. Walter then approached the painting and examined the canvas and frame. “Yes. It’s mine.” He turned and returned to his seat.

  “Miss Winter, is this the painting you claim as your own?” Lord Tidmore asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor. The central figure is my mother.”

  Her uncle’s face tightened. It was obvious that he hadn’t known.

  Walter’s lawyer glanced at Antonia and then whispered something in his ear. Walter pressed his lips together and gave a sharp shake to his head. Whatever the lawyer had said, Walter didn’t like it.

  The lawyer cleared his throat. “Although Squire Winter was unaware of the identity of the central figure, he is unwilling to relinquish ownership of the painting. Since he was deprived of his rightful claim to his inheritance for many years while his brother wasted it on the illegitimate offspring of his bigamous relationship, Squire Winter feels entitled to reclaim that lost income in any way he can.”

  Mr. Montlake glanced at Antonia, but she didn’t meet his gaze. She’d heard these claims from her uncle before. None of this man’s insults could shock her anymore.

  But Mr. Montlake wasn’t as willing to let the comment stand. “Surely the value of Vladamir Nevsky’s art far outweighs anything the former Squire Winter could have spent on raising his daughters.”

  “This court does not recognize them as his daughters,” Lord Tidmore interrupted, “so refrain from referring to them as such.”

  A flush crept up from beneath the collar of Mr. Montlake’s starched white shirt. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “And you,” the judge barked, turning his attention to Walter Winter’s barrister. “What’s your name? You never introduced yourself.”

  Walter’s lawyer had been smirking at Mr. Montlake, but the question caught him off guard. “I apologize, Your Honor. I’m Mr. Parish. Leonard Parish, of Parish and Gromley.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Parish. Since you just claimed that the former squire was involved in a bigamous relationship with Miss Winter’s mother, how can you claim her inheritance as belonging to your client? By your own testimony, you hold that their marriage was not legal.”

  “The day before their deaths, the former Squire Winter took his mistress, Miss Nevsky, to Gretna Green and married her in a hasty ceremony. The proof of the marriage has already been given to the court. As soon as she legally married Squire Winter, all of her property automatically became his. That’s the law.”

  “And they made no specific arrangements for Mrs. Winter’s three daughters?” the judge asked.

  “None,” Parish replied. “Squire Winter’s will left everything to his daughters, but by law, these three girls are not his legal daughters. I know they use the surname of Winter, but Squire Walter Winter, in a show of great kindness, did not insist they stop using the name. Since they have used it all their lives, he believed it would be too difficult for them to use the surname Nevsky.”

  Of course, he had no way to force them to, either. But Mr. Parish didn’t bother to mention that fact.

  “Mr. Montlake, do you have any proof that the marriage in Gretna Green did not take place?”

  “No Your Honor, we do not. Our argument today is based on another, earlier marriage ceremony.”

  “That’s a ridiculous claim. The first marriage was found to be illegal since Squire Winter was already married to another woman at the time.” Parish threw his hand into the air. “How many times do we have to keep going in circles?”

  The judge glowered at him. “Hush, Mr. Parish. It isn’t your turn to speak. Now, I understand that although another judge already ruled on this case, he left open the possibility of overturning his decision if proof was brought forth regarding a marriage that purportedly took place in Russia. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Mr. Montlake said.

  “Again, I must protest, Your Honor,” Mr. Parish said. “The last decision was quite definitive. There was no question in the judge’s mind that— ”

  “Stop. Just stop,” Judge Tidmore interrupted. “Your client was not the only person who didn’t get enough sleep last night. I arranged to have a number of people’s slumbers interrupted. That last judge you mentioned? I woke him as well. And everything you just said directly contradicts what he told me. Please, stop wasting my time, or I’ll gag you and your client will have no one to speak for him. Is that understood?”

  During the judge’s entire diatribe, Leonard Parish’s face went paler and paler. Now he barely managed to squeak out a “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Frederick Woolsy claims to have a record which will prove that another marriage, a legal marriage, did, indeed, take place. Mr. Woolsy?”

  “I apologize, Your Honor,” Frederick replied, “but I cannot allow this item to leave my possession, by order of the Queen.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m well aware of the restrictions you placed on the item,” the judge said with a careless wave of his hand. “But the entire point of today’s session is for me to examine the book, is it not?”

  Antonia watched Walter Winter and noticed that at the mention of the book, he became still. Then he turned and glared at her.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Frederick crossed the room with the book and handed it to the judge. “If you look at the pages marked with the red ribbon, you’ll be able to read the pertinent information.”

  “I must protest, Your H
onor. How can I refute the information in that book if I cannot be permitted to see it as well?”

  “By all means, Mr. Parish, please join us. You can inspect it right alongside me.”

  Mr. Parish scampered across the room to peer over the judge’s shoulder. After looking at the page for a moment, he stood up straight. “How am I expected to read that, Your Honor? It’s in Russian or Cyrillic or whatever it’s called.”

  Walter’s face went beet red. “This is quite unreasonable,” he shouted. “How can I protect my inheritance if my lawyer cannot read the information being presented?”

  “Please silence your client, otherwise I’ll have him gagged.” Lord Tidmore didn’t even bother to look up as he made the pronouncement.

  Walter’s mouth snapped shut. But he still looked furious.

  Lord Tidmore glanced from Frederick to Mr. Parish and back again. “I have a suggestion. Let’s have Mr. Woolsy write down his translation of the pertinent information, while I write one as well. If they match, then you can trust that we performed the task correctly. Will that do?”

  The judge left the Mr. Parish with little choice. He could either agree to accept the translation, or object and impugn the judge’s abilities. Of course, if the translations didn’t match, the case would go no further. But Antonia had no doubts. They would match.

  Mr. Parish nodded. Frederick pulled a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket. “I already translated it.” He handed the paper to one of the court clerks.

  “Perfect. Just give me a moment.” It only took a few minutes for the judge to write the translation on a sheet of paper. Once he was done, he passed it to the clerk as well.

  The room fell silent. Antonia glanced at the man who denied their kinship. His forehead was beaded with sweat despite the chill in the courtroom. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face before shoving it back into his pocket.

  “Are the translations the same?” Judge Tidmore asked his clerk.