Laurel McKee

by Countess of Scandal

  They all laughed as Mrs. Hardwick tapped her husband’s arm with her folded fan.

  “Papa!” Lydia cried, blushing again. “You will give Major Denton entirely the wrong idea.”

  “Indeed, General, Miss Hardwick has given me the honor of a dance,” Will said. “I daresay a minuet is preferable to rebels, when it is with such a charming partner.”

  Miss Hardwick’s blush flared even pinker, and her father affectionately pinched her cheek. They were the very image of a contented family, and as Will watched them, he felt a pang that felt strangely like… longing.

  His own family was not particularly close, each of them preferring to go their own way—his father to London and his mother to Moreton Manor. If there was any affection, it was for his older brother Henry, but he was always in sunny Italy with his mistress. Will often wondered what a home, a family, of his own would feel like. A place of warmth, welcome, acceptance, and love.

  He thought of Eliza, of her soft smile as she rested in his arms. Of her fingertips tracing lazy patterns on his skin, the two of them bound in the greatest of intimacy. Once, long ago, he thought his true home could be with her. But these dangerous days were no time for peaceful dreams.

  “Run along now, my dears,” General Hardwick said, kissing his wife’s cheek. “I want to have a word with Major Denton.”

  Mrs. Hardwick whispered something in his ear, and he nodded. As the two ladies hurried toward the doors to the state apartments, the general led Will to a bench near the stone wall.

  “Colonel Brandeis tells us you behaved in an exemplary fashion these last few days,” the general said. “You kept your men calm in a very tense situation.”

  “I was only doing my duty, sir,” Will answered.

  “Indeed, and doing it very well. We are in the midst of strange times, Major. We’re threatened with the horrors of civil war, and everyone is on edge, are they not? There have already been some unfortunate actions in the north, I fear. It would only take one foolish movement, one misfired shot, to blow up this whole country. We cannot have things happen in Kildare that we’ve heard of in Queen’s, not so near to Dublin.”

  Will’s jaw tightened. “Pitchcapping and flogging?”

  “Yes, indeed. Terror is not the way to make people disarm and listen to reason. Instead it only drives them closer to those damned United Irishmen and away from what is good for them. Cool heads are what we need now, Major. Like your own.”

  “I hope I can be of service, General. My own family is in Kildare.”

  “Ah, yes. At Moreton Manor, is it not? A fine estate, so I hear. You have been commended, and I am sure you will be again. But we must all be very cautious these days. It would be fatal to trust the wrong people, have the wrong friends.”

  Will frowned. “What do you mean, General Hardwick?”

  “Oh, nothing to concern a fine young man such as you, Major Denton. After so long in the West Indies, you surely know how small societies like to gossip. Lady Mount Clare has long been a favorite topic here in Dublin.”

  So that was it. He had been seen talking with Eliza and was being warned off. “Lady Mount Clare was a childhood friend. Moreton Manor is very near to Killinan.”

  “And Lady Killinan is, of course, above any suspicion. Her daughter, though—she is one to watch. Too clever and independent by half, a most unnatural woman.” General Hardwick glanced toward the doors, where the hum of conversation grew louder. “I have been thinking of sending my wife and daughter to England for a time, merely as a precaution.”

  “Dublin would certainly miss their presence greatly,” Will said absently, still thinking of Eliza.

  “And I fear my Lydia would miss you, Major. She has talked of little else since our theater excursion.”

  Will looked at him, startled. He had been so preoccupied with Eliza, with their blossoming affair, that he had not thought of anyone else at all. Of looking to his future, as he must. “General Hardwick?”

  The older man smiled at him. “A word of advice, if I may. The right wife, a lady who knows the ways of Society and the Army, can be of great value to a young man rising in the world. And a great comfort at home. I have been content with my Hester these twenty years, and it is a blessing I would certainly wish for our dear daughter.”

  The general clapped Will on the shoulder before strolling to the doors. The green-liveried footmen leaped forward to open them, and Will was momentarily alone in the cool stone portico.

  He rubbed his hand over his eyes. This was surely not the time to think of marriage! But if it was, Lydia Hardwick would be perfectly suitable. Young, pretty, well connected. Just what would satisfy his family and aid his career.

  And it would erase any suspicions of a dangerous friendship with the democratical Lady Mount Clare. He could not let his family name down, could not cause a scandal and leave the Army.

  It would be sensible, pragmatic—and entirely out of the question. A moment on the cusp of war was not one for practical betrothals. And he found he could not give up his stolen nights with Eliza. Could not give up the desperate chance to hold her, kiss her, and be near to her, just for a moment longer.

  Eliza made him feel alive, as nothing ever had. Made the colors and light of the world brighter and more intense, made him feel things as he never had before. It was as if he were frozen, until she touched him again, and then winter blazed into burning summer.

  The doors to the courtyard opened on a blast of cold wind, and a laughing group hurried in, wrapped in their cloaks and scarves. One of them was Eliza.

  She did not yet see him as she swirled off her cloak to reveal a gleaming gown of white satin and black velvet with the sparkle of diamonds. She shimmered like a goddess of light, a beacon luring him along a dark, stormy shore. Whether to salvation or doom on the rocky shoals, he did not yet know.

  “I fear my plumes are entirely crushed,” Anna cried. “Why must Queen Charlotte have her birthday in January when we all have to muffle up so tightly just to go out? It ruins our finery.”

  “Oh, Anna,” Eliza said, laughing. “The queen can be blamed for many things, perhaps, but not for when she was born. At least there is no danger of being overheated in these drafty state apartments, yes?”

  Then she turned and saw him, her smile freezing on her lips. She curtsied slowly, her lashes sweeping down to cover any secrets in those dark eyes. “Major Denton. You have returned to Dublin, I see.”

  “Indeed I have, Lady Mount Clare, Lady Anna,” Will said. He moved closer to her, reaching out to take her hand and raise it to his lips. Her fingers trembled in the thin kid gloves.

  Ah-ha, he thought. She had missed him after all.

  “We missed you here in Dublin,” Anna said, her gaze darting between them. “There has been a lack of fine dance partners, I fear.”

  “Then perhaps you would both honor me with a dance this evening,” he said.

  Eliza shook her head, smoothing the lace on her sleeve so she did not look at him. “I do not care to dance at these Castle affairs.”

  Perhaps she was right, he had to admit, despite his disappointment. It would do neither of them any good to have their “friendship” gossiped of even more. She would gather more attention, and he would disgrace his family and the Army. “Then maybe Lady Anna would dance with me.”

  “I am not so choosy as my sister as to where I dance, Major Denton, as long as I do dance,” Anna said.

  “I look forward to it, then.” Will bowed to them once more before leaving them for the now-crowded gathering. He was soon surrounded by fellow officers and acquaintances, yet in his mind he still saw Eliza.

  Eliza made her way through the gallery with her sister, their heeled shoes echoing on the cold floor of green Connemara marble. All the ladies’ satin and silk gowns rustled like a forest of spring leaves, their laughter and chatter as loud as birds.

  She murmured replies to greetings, even laughed at Anna’s wry comments, but she could think of only one thing—Will had returned
. She would have to be very careful in carrying out her plans tonight with him there watching her.

  They emerged into the vast ballroom, which was lit by the blaze of Waterford crystal chandeliers set between the gilt-framed mirrors and the speckled marble pillars. High above, soaring above the musicians’ gallery and the gilded moldings, the ceiling was elaborately painted in incongruous scenes of the coronation of George III and St. Patrick introducing Christianity to Ireland.

  And below was a great, courtly crush of satin, plumes, and pearls, velvet and diamonds, packed together to celebrate a faraway monarchy that cared little for this barbaric colony.

  “Now I know I shall lose my feathers utterly,” Anna said, straightening her tiara.

  “Better that than your foot,” Eliza said, snatching her toes away just before they could be crushed by an officer’s pump. “There are some chairs over there by the wall. Quick, Anna, let’s claim them before someone else does!”

  They rushed toward the last two empty gilt chairs, diving into them just before two other disgruntled ladies.

  “Why ever do you keep coming to these things, Eliza?” Anna said breathlessly, fluffing at her skirts.

  “If you want to find a husband to please Mama,” Eliza answered, “we must come to Dublin Castle.”

  “I do not want to find a husband. Especially not one who comes here.”

  “No? To be sure, there are seldom any Russian princes, but I fear you may have to lower your sights just a hair, my dear. What sort of husband would you like?” Eliza scanned the crowd, seeking out each red coat and moving along when she found it was not Will. He had certainly seemed healthy and whole, but she had to be sure.

  Lud, but she was a fool. He had merely been out on a marching drill. What would happen, how would she feel, when it came to a real battle?

  Anna seemed unaware of her sister’s inner turmoil, fanning herself languidly. “A handsome husband, of course. A man of sensitivity and passion! Of poetry.”

  “Mama would not like you marrying a poet.”

  “He would not have to be an actual poet, I suppose. Merely have poetry in his soul. Be open to life and all its wondrous possibilities.”

  Before Eliza could answer, Lord Lieutenant Camden and his wife made their entrance, a wide pathway cleared for them along the center of the ballroom. His henchmen and generals were in procession behind them as they took their places beneath the portraits of the king and queen, and the musicians launched into “God Save the King.”

  Everyone rose to their feet, Eliza and Anna staying close to their hard-won chairs. When the song was mercifully done, the figures formed for the opening minuet, led by the Camdens.

  That was when Eliza saw the red coat that belonged to Will. Young Miss Hardwick was on his arm, smiling up at him and blushing prettily as he escorted her to their place in the dance. General Hardwick and his wife looked on with approving smiles.

  Eliza froze as she watched them, the whole crowded, glittering room fading to a blur around Will and his dance partner. They were crystalline bright, illuminating one startling realization—what a terrible romantic fool she was.

  “How insipid Miss Hardwick looks,” Anna said. “How horrid for Will that he must do his duty and dance with her.”

  Eliza glanced at her sister, to find Anna frowning as if concerned. She gave her a reassuring smile. “I am sure it cannot be so irksome as all that. Miss Hardwick is said to be quite the belle of Dublin.”

  “Nonetheless, I am quite sure he would much rather be elsewhere. As I would.” Anna vigorously wafted her fan through the miasma of candle smoke and perfume. “I thought the birthday ball would be merry and fun.”

  Eliza laughed, watching as the dancers processed through the last patterns of the stately music. She feared Miss Hardwick did not look “insipid” at all. She looked young and pretty and innocent, while Eliza herself felt a hundred years old with all the tensions of the past months. Had Dublin ever been fun?

  And this was not the night it would start, either. She had her errand to perform and could not be distracted by Will and his pretty dance partners. She had no right to be jealous of anything he did at all.

  Anna was claimed for the next dance, leaving Eliza alone. She abandoned her preciously won chair, making her slow way out of the jammed ballroom and back to the gallery.

  The marble floors and walls and the tall windows made the space cold, but a few people still strolled there for a breath of air or a quiet word. Eliza went to one of the windows, peering out at the courtyard and the grim tower of Kilmainham Gaol.

  That forbidding place was dark tonight, no screams of terror echoing. But in the distance, somewhere near the river, a few sparks like stars flew up into the black sky.

  “Damned United Irish bonfires,” a man across the gallery said, his stern voice echoing on the stone. “They light them out by the river, and if you happen to pass them, they seize you and make you sing French songs—or they slit your throat.”

  “Dreadful,” his companion answered, her tone quavering. “Can’t the patrols stop them?”

  “By the time they get there, the villains have vanished. My sister sees the sparks and is convinced we’ll all be dead before morning. The Lord Lieutenant is a bloody useless fool, I say!”

  Eliza spun around and hurried back toward the doors leading to the ballroom, as if to rejoin the dance. But she veered away at the last moment, turning instead toward a narrow staircase at the end of the corridor.

  Slowly, the hum of the crowd faded behind her, and the shadows grew thicker and darker. This was not one of the grand public corridors, designed to awe and amaze visitors with the grandeur of Anglo Ireland. It was utilitarian, serviceable, and cold, a way to move quickly from one place to another behind the scenes.

  Even with its quiet isolation, though, she had to hurry. Guards surely patrolled everywhere in the Castle, and Anna would notice if she did not return soon.

  Holding her heavy skirts close, Eliza dashed along the carpeted corridor. She listened carefully for any sound, any footfall or cough, but she heard only the excited rush of her own breath.

  Hurry, hurry, she thought. At the end of the hall was the door she sought, locked and guarded. But at least there was only one guard, a young man who looked terribly bored as he leaned back against the wall.

  Eliza pressed her hand to the nervous flutter in her stomach, thinking quickly. How could she get him away from the door just long enough to carry out her task and be on her way?

  “Excuse me!” she called, rushing forward to the doorway. The guard immediately stood up straight, his eyes brightening with interest.

  “I am terribly sorry,” she said, “but there seems to be some sort of trouble in the kitchens. An intruder, I think.” She had no need to feign breathless urgency, for she felt it all too keenly. “I happened to be nearby, so I was sent to ask if you could come right away and assist.”

  “Oh yes, ma’am, at once!” He was so eager to be away from his dull duty that he did not even ask why a lady would be sent with such a message. The kitchens were at a far distance; she would be finished and gone before he came back.

  He ran off down the corridor, leaving Eliza alone in the silence. As soon as he was gone, she drew one of the long, pointed hairpins from her coiffure, kneeling down to slide it into the keyhole. Learning to pick locks was just one of the useful things she had learned from the United Irishmen. She jiggled it around carefully until she fit it in below the mechanism and twisted upward. One of the plumes dropped down over her eye, its black feathery bits tearing.

  “Damn all fashion!” she muttered, shoving it back. “Such a nuisance.”

  At last the lock gave way, and she ducked into the room, shutting the door carefully behind her. The one window let in the torchlight from the courtyard below, illuminating a small office.

  The Lord Lieutenant had his grand office below, where he received guests amid marble and mahogany splendor. This private office was very far from that, a space
set with a simple desk, straight-backed wooden chairs, and bookshelves lined with documents. But glitter certainly wasn’t what was important.

  The papers were neatly stacked on the desk, just where the United Irish agent said they would be.

  Not daring even to breathe, Eliza sifted through them, her jeweled bracelets flashing in the torchlight. Copies of letters from Lord Lieutenant Camden to Prime Minister Pitt begging for more men and more guns. Replies from Pitt—he did not seem so concerned about the situation yet. That was good. They were not about to be overrun with yet more soldiers fresh from England.

  But Eliza knew that good fortune would not hold for long.

  She hastily studied the maps and the orders to move regiments, memorizing the scraps of information. It was quite useful to know where the enemy thought trouble would be—and then give it to them where they least expected it. She would send the information to the United generals tomorrow so they could move their men accordingly.

  As she moved onto another stack of papers, she heard a noise out in the corridor. A mere footstep, just a whisper over the carpet, but her mouth turned dry. Her pulse beat hard, warning of danger. Had she overstayed her time, even when trying to be so very quick?

  She fell to her knees, heedless of the fine satin skirt, and slid under the shelter of the desk. She huddled there, watching through the tiny gap below the edge of the desk as the door opened and a pair of polished shoes appeared. They moved across the floor with steady, measured, silent steps. In the tense quiet, she could hear a man’s soft breath.

  She pressed her hand hard to her mouth to keep from making any sound at all.

  Suddenly, in a heart-poundingly swift move, he knelt on the other side of the desk. His hand shot under the gap, holding a tiny shred of black plume that had fallen from her headdress in the corridor.

  “You can come out, Eliza,” Will said tonelessly.