Mary Blayney

by Traitors Kiss; Lovers Kiss

“But she has children.”

  “They will be kept safe while she is detained.”

  When they were within earshot of her, almost upon them, he could hear Charlotte having the same discussion with her captors.

  “I will not leave my children. They have been separated from their father for years, and now you would deny them their mother?”

  “We want to know your relationship with Lord Gabriel Pennistan—” the man began.

  “Lord Gabriel Pennistan?” She cut him off and laughed. “If I knew a lord, do you think I would be walking to the posting house? No, there would be a carriage waiting here for me, and servants to care for us. My husband was supposed to be here to meet us. Pah.”

  They seemed at an impasse, when the man with the cane stepped forward. “Lord Gabriel, do you know this woman?”

  When he hesitated, the man cast him a murderous look. “Be aware, sir, your life depends on the truth.”

  “You mistake my hesitation,” Gabriel said with a calm that was no sham. “Look at what you are doing to the children. The girl is terrified. The boy will defend his mother with his life. I ask you, what value is there if you win by sacrificing the most innocent?”

  He held Charlotte’s eyes with his own. If he lied for her, it would help the children, but they would be separated. It would be the same as good-bye, for now and possibly forever.

  Yes, he had insisted he was done with lying. But only a fool or a desperate man would swear “never.” Looking her in the eyes, those lovely eyes, he spoke for the children.

  “I did no more than travel from France with this woman. I can only assume she was rescued as I was. She said her husband would be waiting for her, and I am surprised he is not here.”

  It was quite a speech. Gabriel was proud of it. As he had hoped, a small crowd had gathered around them. They were clearly on the side of the woman and her children.

  “Let ’em go, you fools.”

  “What harm could one woman and two tykes do?”

  As if on cue, a man in an officer’s uniform made his way through the crowd. Charlotte’s relief was evident. Gabriel was not at all sure it was an act.

  “Here I am! Here I am!” The man, an army major, stumbled as he reached them. “The colonel would not stop talking.” He grabbed Charlotte and hugged her, unmindful of the public display. “Thank God, thank God, you are safe, you are safe.”

  “No thanks to you, Major,” his wife said. “That is the last time I will follow you anywhere. It is home to Devon. You are on your own until this benighted war ends.”

  “Yes, yes, yes,” the major said, laughing at her annoyance. “Just as you wish, as you wish.”

  He bent down to pick up Claire, but the little girl cringed and wrapped her mama’s cloak around her face.

  “I suppose she does not remember me. I suppose not,” he said, clearly wounded by the rejection.

  What a performance, Gabriel thought. He let himself smile. Everyone would think it was happiness at the reunion. Indeed, the crowd broke out in applause and cheers. Charlotte accepted the compliment with a nod and then gave the major a kiss on the cheek. The crowd cheered even louder.

  As the crowd began to drift off, Charlotte left Pierre with the officer and came up to Gabriel.

  “Thank you for your support.” She curtsied to him and he returned the gesture with a bow.

  “You are most welcome. My apologies for forcing this situation on you.” What else could he say with an audience? Tell me where I can find you? We cannot let it end like this? That was absurd. This was the end. For a dozen reasons.

  She shook her head as if she had heard each of the unspoken words. “This is good-bye.”

  Gabriel watched as she took her supposed husband’s arm and, holding Pierre by the hand, showed Gabriel her back as she was lost in the crowd.

  “MAMA, MAMA, YOU ARE hurting my hand.”

  Without speaking to the boy, Charlotte eased her grip. She did not, would not, turn around. The major was ahead of her now, holding Claire. The child watched her as though a blink would cause her to vanish.

  Gabriel had come to their rescue, every bit as much as Major Shelby had. More, for if he had told the truth, nothing Shelby could have done would have kept her from being separated from the children.

  Shelby fell back and in step beside her.

  “Did you know the officials would be waiting for him?”

  “Yes, Wilton warned me.” She reached up with her free hand and smoothed Claire’s hair. The little girl smiled at her and closed her eyes. “Thank God he did. It gave me time to prepare the children. If you had been there, we would have been away before Pennistan was out of the boat.”

  “Yes, I am sorry, Charlotte. But it would have caused worse problems than what we faced if I had not reported to my superior officer as ordered.”

  What could she say to that? Men would insist on their chain of command. There was discipline, yes, but from her perspective it was too closely akin to pride and power.

  “Why would Pennistan do that for you?”

  “Lie?”

  He nodded.

  “What good would detaining me have done? Nothing more than slow us down. Sidmouth’s office knows precisely who I am and what I am doing. Those two buffoons were no more than petty tyrants.”

  “You are counting on a man most consider a spy and a traitor telling the truth. He could have complicated the situation mightily, compromised your work. It was no small thing allowing you to leave.” He looked back. “Why would Pennistan protect you that way?”

  “He was protecting the children, not me.”

  “Hmm” was the only comment he made. He stopped to shift Claire higher against his chest. Charlotte moved on.

  “Mama, are we lost?” Pierre pulled her to a stop as he asked the question.

  “No, dearest, I know exactly where we are going.”

  He nodded.

  They walked on, and she tried to see the streets through his eyes. Not totally unlike Le Havre; but then, they had not lived there but in Grenoble, inland and much quieter. This world was as alien as the ship had been.

  She could feel the boy’s uncertainty and waited for him to speak. It did not take long.

  “Did the man who pretended to be our papa, did he save us?” Pierre stared back down the way they had come.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “They took him to jail anyway.”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Can we save him?”

  “Pierre, that is noble of you, but I think the best way to help him is to pray for him.”

  “All right, madame. I will pray for him every night.” They walked on for a few more steps. “If you please, Mama, my name is Peter now.”

  He still held on to her hand, but drew himself up as straight as he could. And so it began. A new life. Shelby’s wife would take her in, welcome the children until they were ready to move north and home. The money from the duke would arrive within days. She would have time to fortify herself and prepare the children.

  All that it would cost her was a tiny bit of her soul, a hole in her heart. Once she was home, she could wait for the wound to heal, distract herself with her work and hope that the next trip would be the last. And pray that this trip had done more than deliver a man to his death.

  22

  GABRIEL’S DETENTION BY THE government authorities had turned into weeks, then months of questioning, observation.

  The men who had met him at the dock took him to a house in the country. The accommodations were better than a French prison. There was no physical torture, but there was no contact with his family. No word from Charlotte. That he had hoped for word from her surprised him. Nothing could have been more final than that last rejection. Still, she haunted him, even as the days passed and winter edged toward spring.

  He’d worried that this was his trial, any optimism he had squashed by day after day of being held in secret. Then a letter from Lynford assured him he was using all his influence to
spare him “the indignity.” Indignity of what? Gabriel wondered. A trial? Death by hanging? Prison for life?

  Finally there was action. The questioning began. It was civil enough, but the two men doubted every word he said by gesture and glance. They twisted his answers until even he was confused. He’d raged in private, doing his best to be calm with his questioners.

  “I was recruited by Wellington himself. I reported to a senior aide.”

  When he protested that “Surely you know all of this as well as I do,” he was told to cooperate or “It will not go well for you, my lord.”

  So he cooperated, recounting how often he reported, even the details of what he had learned, feeling compelled to add, “It is ancient history by now.”

  “Yes. We know.” The two men looked at each other and a secretary wrote down notes, if not every word. “Could you identify the men you met?”

  “Possibly.” He wondered if that would count against him.

  Had he taken written notes? they asked.

  “Of course not. Though once or twice I wrote some things down, using a cipher that I developed. Those notes were destroyed as soon as I had no use for them.”

  “Were you paid for your information?”

  “No,” he said, adding to himself, only in detention, beatings, and this pointless interrogation.

  By far the worst was the detailed telling of that last night. How he had arrived at the tavern to see the men under guard. His denial of spying. His refusal to name any as his colleagues. Their death. The fire that destroyed the evidence. Sleep was difficult after those questions. He wondered if his questioners had nightmares as vivid as his.

  The next day he had his most memorable visitor of all. “Seven are dead because of you, you son of a bitch.” The man, who introduced himself as Doncaster, made Gabriel sit in a chair in the middle of the room, circling him as he railed on and on, ending with a demand, which he yelled to the ceiling: “Admit you are a traitor!”

  Gabriel said nothing, watching and waiting for the man to pull out a knife and end Gabriel’s life right there.

  Doncaster came to face him, bending close so they could look eye to eye. “It hardly matters, you worthless spawn of the aristocracy. You do nothing but take, and even when you try to give back you are a failure. For that alone you deserve to die.”

  He sounded more French than English.

  “Studying the stars.” His face was as filled with disdain as his words. “What a useless way to spend a life.”

  Gabriel had an answer for that. He doubted this man wanted to hear it.

  “The life will be squeezed out of you, my lord, while you beg for mercy, for breath, for life, and then finally you will beg for death. I will see to it, I promise you.”

  Gabriel believed him. From that meeting on, his most constant dreams were the dozen variations of his own death. Sometimes his whole family watched, crying. Sometimes they were cheering. Sometimes he was alone except for the hooded executioner. Once Charlotte had been there, her vague curiosity the last of this life he saw. He would wake up from the dreams in the dark, once or twice sure he had died. Once or twice wishing that he had.

  The process continued, covering the period following his detention. He told them all he could, but was careful to tell them only what he had experienced then. He did not mention the story that Charlotte had relayed to him, the suggestion that he was being taken to Paris to be offered a bribe.

  It went on day after day for weeks. During all that time, not once did they ask how he escaped and came to be on the Diplomat. Did they know about Charlotte? Had they been advised not to ask? Odd, he thought. Very odd.

  One morning, while the fog was still low to the ground, they woke him, told him to dress and hurried him into a coach. They would not tell him what awaited him.

  He had only the vague reassurance of his brother’s one letter that there was a chance he could cheat death. Doncaster’s wrath made Lyn’s efforts seem insignificant. Once he was dead, all his brother’s letters would be useless.

  It was less than a day’s travel from the house in Sussex to London. He wished for more time before he was forced to be inside again, and not only because he did not know what awaited him. The flowers were in bloom. Spring was a reminder of what he most treasured about the land, the physical beauty, “the charm of nature’s embrace,” as one of his sister-in-law’s poems described it. The promise of life that each spring brought. He concentrated on two birds chasing an interloper and did his best not to think beyond the moment.

  They took him to London. His cell there was as comfortable as any inn he had ever visited. He was staring out the window, watching nothing more than the tradesmen moving up and down the street, wondering if Charlotte was settled and if the children were comfortable, when the ringing of keys the jailer carried announced a caller.

  Gabriel stayed with his back to the window quite deliberately. It gave him the advantage. He could see the caller quite clearly, and the caller saw only a shadow framed by light.

  It was his brother. Now the Duke of Meryon.

  Gabriel waited to see how he would be received.

  It seemed that Lyn was waiting for the same thing. They watched each other for a moment. Had he aged as much as his brother? There was silver in Lynford’s hair now, lines around his eyes, though the rest of him looked as fit as it ever had. It did not appear as though his new duties kept him from his daily riding and fencing.

  “Whoever thought that I would be so happy to see you that the fact you are in prison does not matter at all.”

  Lynford came to him, and with a hug that was as surprising as it was welcome. Gabriel swallowed the lump in his throat. “I am so sorry, Lyn. So sorry for all of it.”

  “Yes, I am sure you are.” He stepped away, as though the show of affection had taken all the emotion from him. “I will see that you spend your life making up for it.”

  That was more like his brother. One could not tell if it was meant as humor or threat.

  “Sit down, Gabriel, we must find a way out of this mire.” He took a seat at the table near the other window. Gabe followed him.

  “Directly to business.” Gabriel bowed to his brother. “It is one of the things I admire most about you, brother. But first,” he went down on one knee, “you have my fealty and support, Lynford Pennistan, Duke of Meryon.”

  “How medieval,” Lynford said with a smile. “Stand up, Gabe, I never doubted it.”

  “With you in the Meryon seat, the House of Lords might actually find themselves doing something.” He sat down opposite his brother. “Please, Lyn, tell me how everyone does. How father died. I heard there was word that David has been found. My God, Lyn, that is amazing.”

  “Yes, it was. I will tell you it is difficult as well. Your return has accomplished the impossible. He has not yet been to London, but I had word that he will be arriving today. To see you.”

  Gabriel nodded, feeling as excited as a child at news of an unexpected treat.

  “Olivia is as she always has been, perhaps even more so since father died. She and cook spend days concocting new receipts. Some are wonderful and some are good only for the dogs. We are vastly entertained.”

  “Jessup?”

  Lynford shook his head and turned away. “He is staying at his club in town and I have not seen him since Christmas. Though I am sure he too will be here to see you. I believe you owe him some money.”

  Not good, and best left alone for now. “How is the duchess?” Odd that Lyn had not mentioned his wife, that Gabriel had to ask after her.

  “She is well, and with me here in London. The ladies will wait to see you at your welcome, though I expect Olivia will be sending you treats guaranteed to sustain life.”

  “I imagine she could even make bread and cheese appealing.” They both smiled. Would she remember that lemon tarts were his absolute favorite?

  “As for your other question, we are not sure how father died. We found his body and that of his horse at the bottom
of Pencey Gorge. There had been a storm the day before, and we assume the track was muddy. He was missing for near a week.”

  “It must have been a difficult time for all of you.”

  Lynford gave a vague nod.

  They were both silent a moment.

  “We will be out of mourning in another two months.”

  The silence settled again. Were they mourning the man who was their father or the man who had been such a power in the world? Both, he supposed.

  “You will not face this alone, Gabriel,” his brother said. “I and the full force of our name will be with you every step of the way. We know you are innocent and will, by our presence, make that known. If it comes to a trial, you will be as well defended as money will allow. While these preliminary proceedings go forward you will be in my custody. You will still have to stay in your quarters here but will not be taken to the hearings in restraints or accompanied by a guard.”

  “Thank you,” Gabriel said with a relief so profound it made his brother laugh. “But would it not be wise to have counsel now?”

  “You are innocent. To have someone representing you might imply otherwise. One thing Father taught us well is that appearance is as great an ally as wealth and power.”

  “Sometimes more important,” Gabriel agreed, thinking of Charlotte Parnell in all her disguises. As much as he wanted to ask Lyn about her, he held his questions and let his brother take the lead. At least he had learned patience in some things.

  THE DAYS PLAYED OUT much as Meryon had predicted. Their first meeting was with Lord Hasseldine. Lynford described him as “the buffoon in charge of prisoner exchange.”

  Any sensible man would have been chastened or at least apologetic for his failure to negotiate an exchange. Instead, Hasseldine began by implying that hiring Charlotte Parnell had been a waste of money. Lynford withstood the insults for all of a minute, then held up his hand.

  “Madame Parnell came to us highly recommended,” Meryon said. “We hired her, Lord Hasseldine, when it became clear to us that your primary goal was to make use of my brother’s imprisonment to further your own ends.”