Too Hot for a Spy

by Pearl Wolf

  “How awful that must have made you feel.”

  “I was mortified. Especially when the man who professes his love for me just stands there in silence while the noose around my neck tightens. I can never trust a man like that.” The tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Without a word, the duchess held her daughter and let her tears wash away her pain. It was a long time before Olivia found some semblance of peace in her troubled soul and was able to stop crying.

  “It will help me to have Helena with me at Bodmin.”

  Her mother wiped away the last of her tears. “Of course, dear. Bodmin Castle hasn’t been used by the family in years, but I’ll send enough servants along to make you comfortable. I believe we have a man of business in Cornwall. I’ll write to tell him to see to whatever repairs may be necessary. When shall you leave?”

  “The sooner the better. Tomorrow morning, if that’s all right with you?”

  “I think it’s a wise decision. You shall take the brougham, Helena’s abigail Amy, one of the other under maids as an abigail for you, Casper as driver, and two footmen. It’s a long journey to Cornwall, Livy. You’ll have to stop overnight on the way. I’ll ask your father to recommend decent inns.”

  “You may ask him, but I don’t want to see him before I leave.”

  Her mother looked into her eyes. “You think your father had a hand in this odious assignment in the home office?”

  “Yes. Let’s not discuss this tiresome affair any more. I can’t bear it.”

  “He’s still your father, Livy. He loves you very much.”

  “I haven’t forgotten that, Mother. But you must allow me the time to heal our rift.”

  Her mother heaved a deep sigh. “As you wish, dear.”

  “As for my abigail, there is a young lady at the academy I would prefer to hire. She’s an Irish lass named Jenny O’Toole. She’s a scullery maid there, but she has considerable talent as a hairdresser and wants very much to become a lady’s maid. Though she lacks polish, I’d be delighted to have her. With your permission, I shall write to Mrs. Hunnicut at once. If she agrees, and I have no doubt she will, Jenny can travel by mail coach and join me at Bodmin as soon as she is able.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Bodmin Castle, Cornwall—Sunday, The Thirteenth of October

  Heavy rain blurred the carriage window, its gray gloom matching Olivia’s mood when she and Helena reached Bodmin Castle. The rutted roads made the ride uncomfortable, but she took no notice. When Helena’s abigail Amy attempted to complain, her mistress silenced her with a forbidding look. They passed through the first toll-gate and sought refuge for the night at a respectable inn where they were greeted royally by a landlord well acquainted with the duke.

  Helena took charge, for Olivia carried too heavy a burden in her heart to utter more than a few syllables at a time. In short order, arrangements were made with the ostler for their horses, their carriage, and a second carriage carrying their clothing as well as two more under maids. Casper and the two footmen were housed in rooms over the stable, while Amy saw to the needs of her mistress as well as to the needs of Lady Olivia.

  “The innkeeper has arranged dinner, Livy. Would you like to rest until then?”

  Olivia looked up at Helena from her seat in the private parlor where she had taken refuge. “No, dear. I’m not at all weary. You go ahead and lie down for a bit. I’ll just sit here, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind, you ninny. You’re breaking my heart. What can I do to shake you out of your doldrums?”

  “Forgive me, Helena. I didn’t mean to burden you with my sorrows. Perhaps I will lie down until dinnertime.” She rose and linked arms with her sister. “Give me time to heal, dearest. Bodmin Castle may be the answer, I hope. We’ll ride every morning when the weather permits, take long walks across the moors the way we used to when we were children, and visit old friends.”

  “I’ll own that it may help to heal your sore heart, but only if you allow it to do so, Livy. It won’t happen by itself, you know. You must help it along.”

  She sighed. “I wish I knew how. When I find a way, I promise you I’ll try, dearest.”

  The inn was comfortable, but the sisters left early the next morning, for they had a long journey ahead of them. Bodmin Castle was nearly sixty miles from London.

  London—“You have a visitor, Your Grace.” Dunston handed him the visitor’s card.

  When the duke read the name on the card, he said in a sharp tone, “What do you mean by keeping him waiting, you fool? Send him in at once.” Duly chastised, Dunston opened the door wider.

  “Sebastian, my good fellow. Come in, come in,” said the duke, rising to greet him. He shook his hand, led him to a comfortable fireplace chair and sat opposite him.

  “Brandy, Dunston. At once.”

  “It is already here, Your Grace.” Dunston sniffed, insulted by the intimation that he did not know what was expected of him. A footman placed the tray of brandy and two snifters on a table at the duke’s side.

  “I don’t wish to be disturbed. Do I make myself clear?”

  The butler deigned to answer with only a nod and bowed out, allowing himself the satisfaction of shutting the door with a small, yet defiant, bang.

  “Rascal keeps his ear glued to the door. Listens to every word. I’d sack him if I could, but he’s been with us since we married and the duchess won’t hear of it.”

  The duke poured the brandy and handed one snifter to Sebastian. “Truth is, I welcome your company lad, for you find me quite alone. My wife and my daughters are away. How are you faring, son?”

  “Not at all well, Your Grace. I miss your daughter. I write to her every day, but she hasn’t answered any of my letters.”

  “My Livy’s a stubborn puss, lad. She’s furious with me as well, I don’t mind telling you. Wouldn’t even talk to me before she left. She thinks I had a hand in her unhappy assignment, but you know I did not.”

  Sebastian attempted a smile, but there was no joy in it. “The home secretary refused to listen to my plea, Your Grace. I argued in favor of assigning her a vacant post in the ambassador’s office in Italy. I’m sure she would have been pleased with that, but he chose his own path.” Sebastian did not add the words, “as usual,” though they lay on his tongue.

  The duke sipped his brandy. “You are his spymaster, are you not? Why didn’t he take your recommendation?”

  “May I be frank?” The duke nodded in assent. “Viscount Sidmouth has had a long career in government service. He is arrogant. Thinks he is a law unto himself. My suspicion is that he meant this assignment to please you, Your Grace. He knows you to be an influential member of Parliament. And as such, you may one day be in a position to help him achieve passage of some bill, or perhaps assist him when he requests an increase in funds for the home office. In either case, the home secretary would then take pains to remind you that you owe him a favor.”

  The duke nodded in agreement. “You have that right, I believe. Sidmouth might have been a better prime minister if he had paid more attention to the country and less to his damnable manipulations. What’s he want from me now?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea, Your Grace. The home secretary keeps his own counsel. Perhaps he wants nothing more than your good will at the moment. But be on your guard, my lord duke. He’s sure to call in the favor at some future date, I promise you.”

  The duke frowned. “Well, he shan’t curry any favor with me that I don’t want to give, I can tell you.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Your Grace.”

  The duke lapsed into silence for a moment. At last he said, “Let me ask you something. Why do you chafe under his service if you’re so unhappy?”

  Sebastian grinned. “You are most perceptive, Your Grace. I thought it was right for me. When the war was over, I sold out to take the post after the home secretary sold me on it. He promised me a free hand in developing this unique spy training program. Carte blanche, so to speak. I�
�ll own that designing the space, finding outstanding instructors and creating a rigorous curriculum was a challenge I found hard to resist. It seemed the perfect antidote to a battle-weary soldier.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  Sebastian hesitated.

  “You may speak freely, son. You have my word that I shall hold what you tell me in the strictest confidence.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. To be frank, the viscount does not keep his word. He meddles and I find that intolerable. After I had designed the property, employed the instructors, created the program and selected the trainees—with the exception of your daughter—I became nothing more than a clerk writing reports for a man who interfered whenever he had a notion.”

  The duke eyed Sebastian. “I take it my daughter’s selection did not have your approval?”

  “No, Your Grace. I met her briefly for the first time at the Hobbleton Ball last June, before I knew she had been selected by the viscount. At the time, I didn’t believe any woman could withstand the rigors of the program.”

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  “She changed it for me, sir. Your daughter is brave and brilliant and…wonderful.” A wave of pain spread across his face.

  “I’d advise you to wipe that black look from your face, my boy. And leave off that Your Grace business. Call me duke or sir. In time, I trust you will call me father-in-law, for I’m that fond of you. I have not given up hope that you and my daughter will patch things up and get on with your life together, for I suspect that my Livy is still very much in love with you.”

  Sebastian’s smile replaced a bit of the blackness in his heart. “Is she? Then you’ve given me hope to cling to, sir. I wish I may know the way to win your daughter back, but I do not. She thinks I betrayed her, but it was no such thing. I fought for her hard, but I lost. Sidmouth’s as stubborn as a mule. Once he takes a position, right or wrong, he never backs down.”

  The Duke of Heatham knew well that he had more power if it came to a test of wills. A few chosen words in the right ears would bring Sidmouth up sharp. Nothing could be easier to arrange than a set-down to trim the home secretary’s wings.

  Aloud, he said, “Let us put talk of that pompous ass aside for the moment, son. Let us instead put our heads together and discover how best to bring about a reconciliation between you and my daughter. Isn’t that what we both want?”

  Sebastian’s eyes filled with a glimmer of hope. “Devoutly, sir. Share your thoughts with me. I’m prepared to do anything you recommend. I’ll even resign my post if that would help me win her back.”

  “No need to do anything as rash as all that.” The duke sipped his brandy, lost in thought. “Suppose you were to take a leave—a long holiday, perhaps. Could you arrange that?”

  “It won’t be at all difficult, sir.”

  “My daughter has gone to one of my estates. She’s at Bodmin Castle in Cornwall with her sister Helena. My wife and my other three daughters are on their way there as we speak. And I plan to join them when I finish my business in London. Why not spend some time in the neighborhood?”

  “Gladly. I’ll apply for leave at once. But what if she still refuses to see me?”

  “Allow me to let you in on a little secret, son. Young people are often loathe to take advice from their elders, but perhaps this bit of wisdom may do you some good. It has sustained a happy married life for me for twenty-five years.”

  “What is it, sir?”

  “When the weather is stormy, marital discord works havoc, if you take my meaning.”

  “I do, sir, but please. Don’t keep me in suspense. What have you done to overcome the discord? What is this powerful secret?”

  The duke raised his snifter as if in a toast and said, “We married men learn it is always wisest to have the last word in a marital dispute. To end it, we say the two magic words our wives love to hear—‘Yes, dear.’”

  “Yes, dear? I don’t understand, sir.”

  A sly grin accompanied the duke’s chuckle. “Successful married chaps who apologize, right or wrong, are then free to do precisely as they please.”

  Bodmin Castle—The arrival of her mother and her younger sisters lifted Olivia’s spirits. The duchess brought letters for Helena, who retired to her room to read them, for they were all from Chris. But when she handed Olivia her letters, she glanced at the handwriting and threw them into the fireplace without bothering to read them.

  Despite that display of scorn, the family’s presence proved a welcome distraction for her and they settled into a comfortable routine which Olivia found soothing. There were morning rides, afternoon walks and in the evening after an early dinner, her mother plied her needlepoint while Olivia and her sisters played piquet. They were entertained by Mary, whose talent at the pianoforte soothed Olivia’s sore heart.

  The only jarring note in this pleasant reunion was Jane, who persisted in her endless tattling—about the house servants, about the stable boys and about the kitchen maids. In a short space of time, Jane had managed to crawl under everyone’s skin, to the point where complaints to Her Grace became a daily occurrence. The unpleasant situation came to a head when the housekeeper, Mrs. Shaw, begged the duchess to find occupations for Jane other than spying on the staff and reporting their shortcomings.

  Her Grace turned to Olivia to resolve this domestic crisis, and she undertook the task of persuading Jane to leave off plaguing the staff. “Mind you, Jane. It’s not the thing at all to spy on the servants,” she began. “They won’t like you very much and it will not help you win their friendship. You don’t want that, do you?”

  A tear rolled down the child’s chubby cheek. “There’s nobody for me to play with and not much to do around here,” she said fretfully. She reached for another scone, her fourth.

  Olivia refrained from curtailing the child’s robust appetite. Cure one fault at a time, she thought. Surely Jane would outgrow her penchant for overeating as she grew older.

  She wiped the extra cream off the corner of her sister’s lips and said, “Let’s put our heads together, darling, and find some new ways to entertain you. What is the thing you think you would most like to do?”

  Jane tore her eyes from the sweets tray. “Well,” she said, pondering the question with care. “Maybe if I could learn how to ride a horse…”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bodmin, Cornwall—Friday, The Eighteenth of October

  Sebastian engaged two chambers and a private parlor at the Pig and Whistle Inn in Bodmin, a short ride from the duke’s castle. He paid the landlord a month in advance, informing him that he didn’t know how long he’d be staying, at the same time extracting his promise that he would not let the rooms to anyone else for the following month.

  Sebastian had always turned to his friend Darlington in times of trouble, but Chris was no longer in England. Instead, he appealed to his aide Hugh Denville, the only other man ever admitted into his confidence, to accompany him to Bodmin.

  The young man, a Dover lad, having never been to Cornwall, seized the opportunity to travel with his mentor. For his part, Sebastian was grateful for the distraction Hugh’s company provided.

  When they reached the inn that afternoon, Denville ordered dinner to be served at seven o’clock, unpacked Sebastian’s clothing, arranged for a bath for the spymaster and prepared a change of clothing for him before attending to his own needs. Preparations well in hand, the two men strolled outside to stretch their legs, necessary after the long, tedious journey from London.

  “I imagine I ought to call at Bodmin Castle in the morning, Hugh.”

  “Think a minute, sir. What if Fairchild refuses to see you there, the way she refused to see you in London?”

  Sebastian’s eyes radiated intense sadness. “I won’t give up, Hugh. If I have to, I’ll call every day until she relents and grants me an audience.”

  Hugh stopped walking. He placed a restraining hand on his mentor’s shoulder. “I have a suggestion, if you’d care to
listen.”

  “She won’t talk to you either, I’m sure. She knows how close we are.”

  “Don’t try to outguess me, my friend. First hear me out.”

  “What, then?”

  “Allow me to ride out to Bodmin Castle early tomorrow. Alone. I’m willing to bet Fairchild rides. I’ll chat up the stable boys. Grease their grubby fists. I’ve never met a stable hand willing to turn down a few extra bob. Let me try to discover when she rides, if her direction is always the same and whether she rides alone or with someone else.”

  “I need to see her alone, Hugh. To explain…”

  “Not a good idea, sir. Better for you if there’s someone with her. She won’t be uncivil in front of a footman or a companion. She’ll have to talk to you. And for heaven’s sake, don’t try to explain anything. Just be pleasant.”

  Sebastian barked a laugh. “Are you suggesting I have a tendency to be unpleasant?”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Nothing less.”

  Denville took the plunge, along with a deep breath. “If you must know, you’ve become so accustomed to giving orders, you sometimes forget there are those of us who dislike snapping to attention when you do, especially when we were already prepared to carry out that very order without your heavy-handedness. You’re not in the army any longer, sir.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t go over too well, does it? Does Fairchild feel the same way, do you suppose?”

  “She’s no fool, sir. I’m sure she does.”

  “I wonder. Fairchild thinks I betrayed her. How am I to convince her it was no such thing?”

  Denville threw up his hands. “Bloody hell, sir! Now you’re behaving like a fool. Any lovesick schoolboy knows that he must do his damnedest to convince the lass that he loves her. Don’t beg Fairchild for her forgiveness, for if you do, she’ll despise you all the more and you’ll lose her for good.”

  “Since when have you become so full of worldly wisdom? Have you ever been in love?”