The Heiress and the Spy (The Friendship Series Book 2)

by Julia Donner

  Lady Byerly’s hauteur faltered when Elizabeth announced, “Our hostess has taken much delight in spreading gossip about Asterly and did so within my hearing.”

  When Harry raised his quizzing glass, Lady Byerly’s complexion paled under a discrete application of rouge. He directed an assessing, magnified eye over her person before he turned to Elizabeth.

  “I am grieved that you have been distressed, dear sister. It shall be as you wish. Rave, countess, Freddy, you may stay if you like.”

  Lady Gertrude shouldered her way into the group. “Sir Harry, they’ve been asking for you in the card room and you’ve yet to ask me to dance.” When Harry ignored her, she added with an artificial laugh, “Why is everyone overset by this trifling matter?”

  Rave’s tone had a hard edge when he inquired, “And how is it that you are aware of the topic of our conversation? It must be supposed that you were a part of the event that has caused Lady Asterly discomfort.”

  Before Lady Gertrude could reply, Cass said, “Hurtful words are never trifling, especially when delivered intentionally.”

  Lady Gertrude hastily countered, “Cassandra, it was nothing more than an exchange of teasing banter.”

  Freddy asked, “At whose expense, Gertie?”

  Lady Gertrude’s façade slipped, replaced by the pinched-faced meanness Elizabeth knew so well. She snarled through gritted teeth, “So much fuss over a tradesman’s offspring.”

  Countess Ravenswold took a single step to stand next to Elizabeth. She stared down her patrician nose at Lady Gertrude and their horrified hostess.

  “Lizzie,” Cass crooned, her narrowed gaze locked on Lady Gertrude, “please tell me I may do you a service.”

  Elizabeth slid her hand over her friend’s fist. Asterly had mentioned that Cass had a volatile temper when riled. As much as she would love to see Lady Gertrude’s nose bloodied, she refused to have Cass seen in an unfavorable light.

  “You may favor me by joining Harry and me for a late supper. Mr. Bates, do help us make a party of it.” In the chilliest tone she could muster, she said to Lady Byerly, “I do not take my leave of you, ma’am, and if possible, would much appreciate to never be in your company again. Either of you.”

  Harry allowed the quizzing glass to slip from his fingers and happily added, “Not to worry, Sis. I’ll see to that. Please, go on ahead of me. I’ll join you in the vestibule.”

  Freddy took her arm to escort her away. When they paused in the hallway to wait for Harry, they overheard him saying, distinctly and loudly enough for the assembly to hear, “I’m interested in experimenting with this type of teasing banter you both consider so harmless. It grieves me to confess that I shall never darken this particular house’s doorway and plan to advise others of the same. Ah, Lady Gertrude, it appears our hostess has suffered a fainting fit. Perhaps she’ll revive in time to enjoy your shared notoriety.”

  “Harry, you wouldn’t—”

  “Gertie, you don’t know me at all, but I know you. Remember that masquerade last year, the one everyone denied attending?”

  An unfamiliar ugliness hardened the baritone beauty of his voice, which he lowered to a whisper loud enough for Elizabeth to hear. “You wore a green domino, Gertie. It didn’t entirely cover your dyed hair. Everyone speculated your identity underneath it, and later took it for a fact, when Bascomb discovered that very same night that the color wasn’t the same everywhere else.”

  Lady Gertrude’s horror-ravaged expression didn’t provide the satisfaction Elizabeth imagined it would. As much as she loved Harry, his ferocious protectiveness did nothing to stop the hateful chorus repeating inside her head. The ammunition he’d given her to shut off Lady Gertrude’s vicious tongue didn’t help to quiet the suspicion it was meant to create. The gossip she’d heard in the retiring room refused to cease.

  The refrain went on during supper. Everyone tried to lighten the mood. Not even her joy in the passionate support of her new friends eased the tightness that surrounded her heart, but the incident had allowed her to see her fears and prejudices from another angle.

  She had allowed the smallness and cruelties of others to rule her for too long. That had to stop, and with that determination, something within released and fell away. Her resolution had nothing to do with being a baroness, which didn’t alter her sense of self-worth and never would. Another concern, closer to her heart, took precedence. Every malicious word spoken in the retiring room had a root in truth. Sorting the truth from the meanness would take time and objective study. Scolds from her supper guests forced her to set that task aside.

  Elizabeth apologized for her preoccupation, assured them that she was well, laughed, and ate the meal, but felt ill from exhaustion by the time they left. She climbed the steps and stood silent and shivering while Merrick divested her of clothes and brushed out her hair. The rhythmic brushing that calmed her for sleep refused to have its usual result.

  Elizabeth stared at the mirror, not seeing Merrick’s impersonal smile as she brushed. All Elizabeth could see was the memory of the last time Asterly came to her at Marshfield and his bold writing on the letter he told Crimm to have hand delivered. It had been addressed to Kensington Gardens.

  Chapter 36

  Harry insisted that what she came to think of as “the Byerly fiasco” be immediately followed up with a triumph, which became an acceptance to a ball at Lord and Lady Sefton’s. Elizabeth accepted the challenge with faint heart but unbreakable determination. She’d made a promise to Asterly and meant to keep it. This was another opportunity to convey the illusion that Asterly was in town and not across the sea.

  As it turned out, her worries were for nothing. Maria Sefton’s kindness and intelligence, the absence of Lady Gertrude and Byerly, and Harry’s refusal to leave her side made for a pleasant evening.

  Lord Sefton’s political cronies had been invited, and more often than not, Harry got shoved from her side by parliamentary members she’d entertained—or one inveigling for an invitation—to what others dubbed her “salon extraordinaire.” Receiving so much attention and respect came as a surprise. Perhaps moving among London Society wouldn’t be the agony she’d imagined.

  Social success did nothing to minimize her worry for Asterly but did lessen her concern about the Kensington Gardens mystery. Every week she found messages in the bank packets. She decoded them and had them delivered into the proper hands, but weeks dragged by without word from Asterly. All of her energy became centered around finding things to do to avoid a painfully obvious fact—her life felt like an empty hole of tedium until she heard from her husband.

  The rest of the time she studiously avoided thinking about the mystery woman in Kensington Gardens. Crimm’s methods of unearthing information would satisfy her curiosity, but what if it turned out to be something she didn’t want to know?

  So she lived to receive the dispatches and contented herself that the reason he rarely sent personal missives was due to his protection of her and the need for secrecy.

  After the first of the bank dispatches arrived in June, Harry dressed in his brother’s clothes. Escorting her in the dim light of dawn, they tooled down to Marshfield. Harry proclaimed the house of his childhood restored. His happiness and compliments for her efforts provided only a momentary respite from the worry. No letter waited at Marshfield in the hidden cache inside the Roman ruins. She stayed one night in Kent and insisted on returning to London, eager to check the bank packets for signs that Asterly still lived.

  The bank courier carried no dispatches when he arrived on the nineteenth. Elizabeth began to pace, striving to control her fear and constant urge to weep. It took all of her will to force herself not to imagine what had happened to him, why there were no messages of any kind.

  The Tower canons thundered on the twenty-second, announcing victory at Waterloo and Napoleon’s abdication. Still no word from Asterly.

  On the twenty-third, she finally received a letter, not with the bank dispatches but delivered to her fro
nt door. She stared at the letter on the salver, her name scrawled on the front. The handwriting wasn’t Asterly’s. It might be horrible news.

  When she broke the seal, she discovered two letters, not one. There was one with Asterly’s familiar handwriting. Dated the fifteenth, his script looked more scrawled than usual.

  A knock on the door took Crimm from where he waited by her desk to the door, where he spoke to a footman. Opening the door wider, Crimm announced, “Sir Harry, my lady.”

  Elizabeth rose and sped around the desk. Crushing the letters under one arm, she offered him her hands. “Harry, how glad I am that you’ve come to visit. I’ve finally heard from your brother.”

  After saluting her cheek with a kiss, Harry walked with her to the window. “Tell me what it says, Lizzie.”

  She lifted the note from Asterly, her hand still shaking. “He wrote this from Brussels. At a ball the Duchess of Richmond gave in honor of Wellington, but it breaks off. Never finishes. Just this blob of ink.”

  Harry quickly said, “Before you think the worst, what does the other letter say?”

  Expensive parchment crackled when she unfolded and scanned the second letter. “It’s from Her Grace. She writes that Asterly collapsed from exhaustion….Wellington specifically asked that Asterly be cared for and go with the Richmond household when they evacuated Brussels…that he be delivered home. This was written before the outcome of Waterloo. She mentions the distress everyone suffers due to Napoleon’s superior odds…but she doesn’t indicate when Asterly will be brought home. What if he got up from his sickbed to join the battle? He would’ve known we were outnumbered. You know how bullheaded he is.”

  “Calm, Lizzie. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. He’s come home from war so many times and always mended swiftly. Give him a few more days. By then, a missed message may arrive that explains everything. If we hear nothing by week’s end, then we’ll think of an expedition across the channel to find our wayward child. Until then, save your energy.”

  Sound words, she tried to convince herself the next day. She almost cried out with relief when the next letter arrived. She snatched it off the salver. The single sheet of inferior paper didn’t contain what she expected. A flare of rage rippled through her.

  Crimm stiffened to attention when she looked up and ordered, “Send for Sir Harry then return to me.”

  After Crimm sent a footman to Mayfair, he came to her desk. Fury roughened her voice. “Who delivered this?”

  “A street child, my lady, who also relayed a verbal message. He said another note could be found inside the green porcelain vase in the vestibule.”

  Her chest felt so tight she could barely speak. “Please fetch that note yourself, Mr. Crimm.”

  “I took the liberty of doing so before coming in to you.”

  He withdrew a small, sealed missive from his coat pocket. No identifying insignia had been pressed into the wax, but she hadn’t expected there to be any. She scanned the contents and handed it to Crimm.

  After he’d read the contents, she said, “I suppose there was no chance of having the boy who delivered the first note followed.”

  “No, my lady. He ran to the end of the street and darted into traffic immediately after presenting the letter.”

  “Do you have any suggestions as to how this last note got into the vase?”

  “Yesterday, we hired four maids from an agency to help take down the draperies. Perhaps one of them.”

  “Have Swifton investigate that possibility. Bring Sir Harry to me as soon as he arrives.”

  Chapter 37

  Elizabeth stood poker straight and glared out the window, but didn’t see the garden flowers. Her rage had cooled to a controlled terror that chilled her inside and out. She jerked, startled, when Harry’s warm hands pried her fingers apart, now stiff and numb from being clenched for so long.

  His deep, melodious voice had a hard edge that sounded so much like Asterly’s that she shivered. “Lizzie, tell me what’s happened.”

  She explained, not bothering to hide the bitter irony. “He calls himself Despard. His real name is Philippe Maturin. He has Asterly. Your brother took so many precautions to protect me. Never thought about his own safety, other than becoming a liability to England should he get caught.”

  Uncertainty flickered in his eyes, something she’d never thought to associate with Harry. His hands tightened around hers, then realizing what he’d done, he relaxed his grip. “This Despard, is he someone from his past? A Napoleon follower?”

  She inhaled and withdrew her hands from his warm clasp. “No, Harry, he’s from my father’s past. I see your confusion and understand. Might we sit by the fire while I explain?”

  He stirred the logs before he sat beside her on the couch. She watched the fluttering flames as she spoke. “Philippe Maturin and my father were competitors in the mill business for many years. Maturin blamed Father for the calamity that resulted when father sold all of his business concerns to go into banking. The downslide of the industry had little to do with father’s sales, even though there were a great many factories involved. Maturin believed Papa caused his financial ruin. To be honest, I wouldn’t have put it past my father to have manipulated some aspects of Maturin’s downfall, after which, Maturin took to bad things. He became known as Despard and made some nasty threats. Father hired Crimm after Despard threatened me. He’s kept track of his dealings for over a decade.”

  “How does Perry fit into this?”

  “Perhaps because Despard couldn’t get to me. I suspect that the Richmond household moved too slowly for your brother and Asterly became impatient. In his weakened state, he would be easier to capture.”

  “There is a ransom request?”

  She waved that off. “He can make all the demands he wants. I’ll have your brother back before he can decide on how to enact the exchange.” She shifted on the couch to face him. “Harry, this must be done swiftly and quietly. No officials.”

  He studied her with a slightly narrowed gaze. “Lizzie, why do I feel as if I’m seeing you clearly for the first time?”

  “I’ve had to be strong and clever to keep my father’s legacy intact. Asterly knew this about me from the first and relied on it. I must warn you that I do not intend to act in any way ladylike when it comes to dealing with Despard. Can you put aside your gentlemanly tendencies long enough to help me with this endeavor?”

  “I don’t understand what you mean by ladylike but will of course help you in any way I can.”

  “We need accomplices who will never speak of what we must do.”

  He hesitated before asking, “How many?”

  “Three to board the ship. One to safeguard our escape.”

  Harry stood and began to pace, reminding her of Asterly. Tears threatened. She pushed down the urge to weep, but couldn’t mask the congested sound of her voice when she added, “One of them must be strong enough to carry your brother.”

  Harry stopped pacing. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “So that’s why I’ve been hurting.”

  “That means he’s still alive. Isn’t he? You’d know.”

  He returned to sit beside her. Taking her hands to calm the strident note in her voice, he said, “He’s alive, Lizzie, but badly injured. I’ve felt this before.”

  She nodded. “I expected as much. Despard is the sort who would torture him to get what he wants.”

  “Torture! Why?”

  “I’d wager he’s trying to get Asterly to sign over some of my holdings, which is useless. Almost all of my worth is held in trust.”

  Harry grimly said, “You said he’s on a ship.”

  “Crimm has a network of ferrets. One found out Asterly’s held on a ship at Docklands, the West India wet dock. It’s not seaworthy and waiting for repairs. Despard paid the owner to live on it until it’s moved to dry-dock. We’ll need three to board. One must be strong enough to carry Asterly, if need be, one to keep watch with Crimm on deck, and another to go with me below
deck.”

  “Lizzie, you can’t be a part of this.”

  She withdrew her hands from his tighter grip and coldly asked, “Harry, do you want to help me or not? The longer we dither about this, the less chance he has to remain alive.”

  His lips flattened into a line. His features took on a look that resembled his brother’s. “Where do we meet?”

  “There is a tavern, the Dog and Boar, on Poplar Street. Crimm has gone to make arrangements for a back room with access to the street. Dress like a commoner. Ask for Shadrack’s card game.”

  “What time?”

  “At sundown. We board when it’s full dark. Can you get the help we need?”

  He nodded and left without the usual kiss farewell, his worry eclipsing everything but the aim to get his brother safely home. Every minute Despard had Asterly dragged her husband closer to death, especially if Despard found out that Asterly had no control of her fortune.

  She abruptly stood, refusing to accept that thought, and searched within for her father’s wiles. Asterly was hers, and she’d do anything and everything to save him.

  Chapter 38

  A fire helped to burn off the stink of seawater mixed with bilge and raw sewage. Years of spilled ale and gin saturated the wooden walls and rotting draperies. Elizabeth waited with Crimm for her cohorts to arrive. She’d been here for hours, plotting and rethinking her plan. It wasn’t much of one, mainly board the ship, get Asterly, and leave.

  Harry came through first, followed by Rave, Freddy and a man she’d never met before. His followers barreled into Harry’s back when he halted on the threshold to gape at her. She didn’t blame him for staring. She wore a black wig, one side of her skirt hitched up to show off her right leg, and a décolletage that showed most of her bosom. Rouge and a bit of dirt added to the theme of wharf prostitute.

  “Lizzie, you can’t—”

  “Harry, come in and close that door. The sun is down. We only have a few minutes to talk through the boarding plan.”