“Have I your promise that you’ll never mention what you heard Lord Fraughton and the Frenchman speak of, Miss Bromley?”
“Of course I won’t. But I am rather curious about it,” she admitted, her eyes brightening. “The Frenchman spoke too quickly for me. French was never one of my best subjects.”
“I believe that’s just as well,” he said dryly, recalling the man’s fulsome curses. “I have no idea what they spoke of either. Best we forget it, mm?” He turned her again and enjoyed seeing her breath quicken and her cheeks flush as she followed him through the steps. “You have a lovely smile. You should use it. You’ll find the gentlemen queuing up.”
She glared at him. “I find you patronizing, sir.”
“I beg your pardon. I fancy I shan’t see your smile then, Miss Bromley. Pity.”
The dance ended, and he led her back to her aunt. “A pleasure,” he said with a bow and left them.
It must be overwhelming for a young country lass to come to London for the Season. But he was confident that Miss Bromley would soon take, that was the expression used, he believed. Better dressed she would do well. She was tall and slender, and he suspected she had a good deal of saucy charm, which would emerge when she gained confidence. A man could drown in those beautiful brown eyes. It would not be him, however, he had work to do and could safely anticipate that he and the young lady would not cross paths again.
Chapter Four
Letty awoke the next morning and lay thinking of her encounter with Mr. Cartwright. How she’d felt in his strong arms as he’d swept her around the floor in the waltz. It would have been thrilling had she not been struggling to hide her embarrassment at him not only finding her in the cupboard, but discovering the reason she was hiding there. She cringed. Did he pity her? She could almost accept anything but pity. What would happen should they meet again? And more important still, why was he hiding in the library? He’d brushed her off smartly when she’d asked him.
She sat up. It was not to be borne! Never again would she go to a ball wearing that gown. She would have to tackle her aunt. She’d explain how upset she was about the style, because it was different to the other debutante’s, and offer to alter it herself. Surely her aunt, who was not unkind, wouldn’t expect her to continue to feel so uncomfortable!
In the afternoon, they were to embark on a shopping expedition in Bond Street to purchase those things Letty still required. She would be forced to wear her one decent carriage dress, along with her old, chip straw hat. Mrs. Crotchet had yet to make the rest of her clothes, which Letty remained in two minds about. Although they were sorely needed, she dreaded their arrival.
She dressed quickly and went down to the breakfast room. Apart from Mary setting the table, the room was empty, although Aunt Edith was generally an early riser.
“Is my aunt up yet, Mary?”
“No, Miss Bromley. I went in to draw back the curtains, and she asked me to leave them closed. She complained of a headache.”
“Oh, poor Aunt Edith. Can I take something up to her? A tisane? Or a hot drink?”
“I have given her feverfew, and she has gone back to sleep.”
Letty breakfasted alone, her appetite deserting her. After a piece of toast and strawberry jam and a cup of tea, she rose to wander the bookroom. She searched for something interesting to read, but her aunt’s collection had nothing to tempt her. Two hours later, she was sent for.
She entered her aunt’s darkened room. “Are you feeling better, Aunt?”
“No, regrettably. I’ve sent for the physician. I am sorry, Letitia. How dull it must be for you.”
“Please don’t worry. I am happy to read. I only hope the physician can make you feel more the thing.”
“You’re a dear girl, Letitia,” her aunt said in a faint voice. “I think I’ll sleep awhile.”
Letty went downstairs, concerned. How kind of her aunt to think of her when she was so ill.
The physician, Mr. Phillips, a man of middle years with a brisk, confident manner, arrived within the hour and went up to her aunt while Letty waited in the parlor, nervously thumbing through periodicals.
When he came down, she offered him a cup of tea.
“Thank you, Miss Bromley, but I have another patient to see. I’m afraid your aunt has had a relapse of an old ailment.”
“Oh dear! Is it very serious?”
“Not life threatening. Miss Edith will recover given time, but I have advised her to leave the city as soon as she is well enough to travel. The smoky London air is exceedingly bad for her.”
After he left, Letty plunged into despair. It appeared her Season had come to an abrupt end before it even began.
After spending several long, drawn out days where Letty found herself thrust into deep gloom, her aunt was well enough to make preparations for their journey the following Friday to Cumbria, where she would convalesce at the vicarage with Uncle Alford.
There was no alternative, Letty must accompany her. The orders for gowns placed with Mrs. Crotchet were cancelled, and Letty’s shopping list relegated to the wastepaper basket. Letty feared that once her uncle had her back in Cumbria, he would never allow her to return to London.
With a heavy heart, she began to pack her trunk.
On Wednesday morning, Letty took a cup of tea and the post to her aunt.
“Thank you, my dear.” Aunt Edith’s face was a better color as she leaned back against the pillows and opened a letter. “You look despondent, I am so very sorry.” She dropped her gaze to the words on the page. “Oh, this is good news!”
“What is, Aunt?”
“I so regretted not to be able to present you, that I wrote to a distant cousin of your mother’s, Lady Arietta Kendall, on the off chance she might agree to take my place.”
Letty held her breath. “What has she replied, Aunt?”
“She is in London for the Season and will be happy to chaperone you.”
Letty gasped. “Oh my goodness! I’ve heard of her, of course. She married Sir Gareth Kendall.”
“Yes, she is now a widow. Her husband died last year.” Aunt Edith’s hands trembled, and she seemed unsure when she looked up from the page. “I do hope I’ve done the right thing! Arietta is a society lady. She and Kendall were part of the Prince’s smart set, and once the subject of gossip, although I was unable to discover what it was all about. But without her husband’s influence, I can only trust she has sobered in her middle years, and will guide you safely through your Season.” She put down the letter and picked up her teacup. “I hope Alford will not be cross with me for arranging it.”
“Of course, he won’t, Aunt. He will be happy for me,” Letty added hastily. Her letters home would reassure them both as she would do nothing to cause any concern. She had no idea what lay ahead for her under Lady Kendall’s aegis, but how wonderful not to have to leave London.
Her aunt took a sip of tea. “You have yet to acquire a suitable wardrobe, as Mrs. Crotchet has been busy and is behind with her orders.”
“Such a pity,” Letty said, forcing her features into an expression of regret.
“Yes, indeed. But Arietta has promised to oversee it.” She looked worried as she replaced the cup in the saucer and handed them to Letty. “Unless you’d rather return home with me, dear? I am not entirely sure you enjoy London.”
“Oh, but I do! I’ve seen so little, Aunt. There’s the Tower, and the Egyptian Hall in Piccadilly, and well… so many places I have yet to visit! I should like very much to stay for the Season.”
“Very well.” Her aunt moved her shoulders in a nervous gesture. “But you must write to your uncle every week and tell him how you go on. Any sign of trouble, and he will come and get you.”
“I will, Aunt. You are not to worry. You must rest and regain your strength.”
“It is my wish for you to find a decent man to marry, Letitia. Do not be swayed by rakes, I beg of you. I’m not entirely sure that Arietta…well, never mind. I shall rely on your commons
ense.”
“What are rakes like, Aunt? How will I know if I meet one?”
“Mm. They’re excessively charming, often handsome. Have quite a way with words and their manners.” She shook her head with a faint sigh and said, “Are faultless.”
Letty thought they sounded rather nice. Although handsome, apparently Mr. Cartwright was not one. For indeed, he had not been charming, and his manners left much to be desired.
Her aunt narrowed her eyes. “But rakes are intent on something a young lady must never give them.”
“What is that?” Letty asked. “I shouldn’t think I have much to offer. I am hardly an heiress.”
“Your virtue,” Aunt Edith said, firming her lips. “And that’s all I will say on the subject.”
Brandon met Fraser Willard in a coffee house and passed on the information he’d overheard. “So, it concerns this Journal Noir. It appears Fraughton’s interest in seeing Lavalette dead is not entirely related to his Bourbon sympathies.” Brandon sipped his ale. “It certainly is intriguing, is it not? Could this be what Lavalette believes will be of interest to the British government?
His spymaster looked pensive. “We aren’t sure what the comtesse is offering. She approached us for help with the promise we will not be disappointed. Once she has our agreement, she’ll reveal what it is. It could be a ploy on her part to help get her husband safely out of France. But if we can help save him, I’m sure he’ll be eager to show his gratitude. And with Napoleon gone to cool his heels on Saint Helena, he has only his own hide to care about.”
Brandon glanced at the meeting taking place at the next table where three men argued over some venture. “I gather you have accepted her offer?”
“We have. Should the plan be successful, we will send someone to France to furnish Lavalette with a passport and escort him over the Belgian border.”
Brandon put down his coffee cup. “He hopes to escape the Conciergerie? Seems a bit farfetched. How might that come about?”
“His wife has something in mind, but she’s keeping it to herself until she’s sure of us. Let us put that aside for a moment. Our interest must remain on Fraughton. Go to the Anchor Tavern and find out what you can from that pair of conspirators.”
“And if I learn nothing?”
Willard raised his eyebrows. “Is it possible that Lady Fraughton might render assistance?”
“I doubt she knows anything,” Brandon said. “She appears disinterested in her husband’s activities. And he in hers, which is a sore point with her. That might work in our favor. I will pursue it.”
It was past dusk, and the candles were alight when Brandon arrived at his house to change his clothes. His valet, Hove, had ordered a trunk to be brought down from the attic. It now sat on the carpet in Brandon’s bedchamber. Brandon opened the lid and rifled through it.
“Shall you require burnt cork or ash, sir?” Hove inquired.
“Both, I imagine.” Pulling out several items, Brandon began to change his clothes.
When he’d dressed, he stood before the mirror. A shabby shirt open at the neck, a brown coat that had never been of good cloth, breeches, and scuffed boots. Nodding approval, he sat while Hove applied the burnt cork to his whiskered jaw, where he had foregone shaving and his new beard sprouted. Ash was ground into the back of his hands and under his fingernails. He pulled a faded hat low over his expensive haircut.
“Look the part do I, Hove?” Brandon slipped a knife into his boot and pocketed his pistol. Outside the window, the sky was relatively clear of clouds and lit by a mistrustfully serene moon.
“Indeed yes, sir.” The valet grinned. “Would think twice before I gave you any lip.”
Brandon left his townhouse via the mews behind. Keeping to the shadows, he walked to the busy thoroughfare where he hailed a hackney. The jarvey pulled up and eyed him, unsure whether to drive on. Brandon held up a small, fat leather bag of coins. “The Anchor Tavern at London Dock.”
“Don’t go down there at night, guv’nor,” the jarvey said, studying the bag as if to assess the weight of it. “Not worth the risk.”
“Your decision.” Brandon went to place it in his pocket.
“Tell yer what. I’ll drop yer at the top of Pennington Street. It is located near the northern edge of the dock.”
“Agreed.” Brandon opened the bag and tipped out half of it. “You’ll get the other half if you come back for me in two hours.”
“Right you are, sir.”
Brandon opened the door and climbed inside. His soiled clothes might carry a whiff of horse, but the smells emanating from the dirty squabs surpassed him. He sat back in the corner where he was less likely to be noticed as the jarvey urged the horse on.
Chapter Five
Two days before Aunt Edith departed for Cumbria, they received a visitor. Lady Arietta Kendall entered their parlor like a whirlwind, brightening the dreary room. Letty tried not to stare, while her aunt, reclining on the sofa, raised herself from the cushions. “Oh, it is you, Arietta,” she said faintly.
“’Tis I, Edith. And this must be Letitia. How do you do?”
Lady Arietta was lovely with creamy skin and fine features. A dark straw bonnet, adorned with curling feathers, covered her golden locks. She wore a purple velvet spencer which featured cream epaulettes, over a lilac walking dress with an elaborately patterned hem. Extracting a small hand encased in lilac kid from a huge cream muff, she offered it to Letty.
Letty dipped the slightest curtsey as excitement gripped her, and she shook the lady’s hand. “How good of you to sponsor me, Lady Arietta.”
The lady, somewhere close to forty years in age, but might be older, looked Letty over quizzically with intelligent, bright blue eyes. “Mm, we have much to do,” she said with a wave of her hand. She sat on a chair near her aunt. “I am sorry to find you unwell, my dear. I do hope that the long journey north won’t be too fatiguing?”
“I shall endure,” Aunt Edith said. A crease marred her forehead. “I trust you will take very good care of my niece. Letitia is new to London.”
“We must all begin somewhere,” Lady Arietta said. “There is nothing like experience to teach one.”
“I hope it will be an enjoyable experience, but also one where Letitia will learn how to conduct herself in society.” Her aunt plucked at her shawl. “I have no option but to leave her with you, with the hope you will be instrumental in finding Letitia a good husband. I know she is in safe hands,” she added, more out of politeness, Letty felt, rather than a firm conviction.
“I shall do my very best.” Lady Arietta smiled at Letty. “Fortunately, this young lady shows great promise. Best we begin this very afternoon. Are you prepared to leave, Letitia?”
“Yes, all packed, Lady Arietta.” Letty had no idea what her new sponsor had in mind, but she was eager to find out.
“I will send for tea.” Her aunt reached for the small bell on the occasional table beside her.
Lady Arietta stood and shook out her skirts. “No thank you, Edith. We must go.” She bent to kiss Aunt Edith’s cheek. “I’m sure the country air will soon restore you to health. I’ll tell my footman to fetch Letitia’s trunk.”
Letty was grateful to Aunt Edith. She had done her best, but had no understanding of nineteenth century ways. When she bent to hug her aunt, Letty became entangled in the lavender-scented shawl over her shoulders and the lorgnette hanging around her neck. “I promise to write to you and Uncle Alford,” she said, extracting herself. “I pray you will soon feel better.”
She’d barely said her goodbyes, when Lady Arietta ushered her through the door. Outside in the street, a stylish town chaise the color of chocolate, drawn by a pair of grays, awaited them.
They were assisted inside, then Letty’s trunk was strapped to the back by the groom. He leapt up to join the coachman who told the horses to walk on.
“We shall visit my modiste,” Lady Arietta said as they turned toward Piccadilly. “We have no time to lose to fit you out w
ith a proper wardrobe, as the Season will soon be in full swing.” She cocked her head, her observant blue eyes twinkling. “And I suspect there is nothing in that trunk of yours worthy of our consideration. I do look forward to dressing you. I always wished for a daughter, but it was not to be.”
Letty wondered briefly what befell her husband for Aunt Edith had made no mention of it, but she did not like to ask. As the carriage drew up in the street outside the dressmaker’s establishment, Letty had great hopes that any gowns Madame Rochette produced would be a far cry from Mrs. Crotchet’s. After all, the modiste had dressed Lady Arietta, whose outfit was in the first stare of fashion. Letty smiled at her benefactress, hardly able to believe her good fortune.
Some hours later, Letty felt as limp as a wet glove when they left Madame Rochette’s salon. It was as she’d guessed, a far cry from Mrs. Crotchet’s establishment with the reception room walls covered in enormous gilt-framed mirrors and curtained areas in which to change. Seated on velvet couches, they’d sipped coffee while exquisite fabrics, furs, feathers, beading, and braid were brought for their consideration. Both the modiste and Lady Arietta seemed in accord. Their knowledgeable discussion of styles and fabrics made Letty’s head whirl.
Lady Arietta’s carriage deposited them at her London townhouse, an elegant dwelling that overlooked Hyde Park. Footmen assisted them from the carriage before it was whisked away to the stables. Lady Arietta, talking all the time, led her through the impressive entrance hall, across a floor of marble tiles like a checkerboard, and up the sweeping staircase. They sat on a cream and gilt satin sofa in the elegant small salon while a footman brought glasses of madeira and placed a plate of wafer biscuits on the table before them.
“We shall stay in tonight,” Lady Arietta announced. “You must be fatigued, Letitia. It’s been quite a day, hasn’t it, being pulled this way and that?” She lifted her slender shoulders. “Unless you have something suitable to wear to Mrs. Fountain’s musicale?”
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