“The document is safe, Mr. Neville.”
“But where is it? I must know!”
“The admiral has asked me to keep it safe and so I shall.”
“Is it in this study?” Mr. Neville glanced around at the mahogany paneled walls and scarlet brocade curtains until his eyes came to rest on the large mahogany desk. “At least assure me that it is kept locked.”
Marchford sighed. The man would never let him be until he got the information he wanted. He was irritated, but he understood the concern. The stakes were high, Napoleon was on the move, and so far he appeared unstoppable. Information about their enemies’ movements and plans could make the difference between success and defeat.
“The code is safe.” Marchford showed Neville a picture on the wall of a landscape and removed it. Behind the picture was a hole in the wall in which a metal box was kept.
“But what keeps a thief from simply removing the box?”
“Give it a try.” Marchford stepped back to allow Neville access to the box.
Neville cautiously gave the box a tug, but it did not move. He pulled with more force, but the box did not budge.
“Bolted to the wall,” said Marchford. “Designed it myself.”
“And the key? Where is it kept?” Neville examined the lock on the box.
“I keep it on my person at all times.”
“Even when you are entertaining a certain opera singer?” asked Neville.
“At all times. Anything more than that is not your concern.”
“Marchford, you are in the service of the Crown. I appreciate that you have done your best to protect them, but I must insist that the codes be handed over to me immediately.”
Marchford stiffened at the familiarity of the man’s address and the imperialist demands. He stood still, looking down at the man without speaking until the government agent squirmed in his oversized coat.
“I thank you, Mr. Neville, for your service. If I am in need of any further assistance, I will not hesitate to ask.” Marchford walked to the door of his study and opened it.
Mr. Neville gritted his teeth but had no choice but to exit the room. “Your Grace,” he muttered with a substandard bow.
***
Penelope Rose spent the morning with the dowager going over every step of the ball. Miss Talbot had been introduced to many eligible men, and Pen had taken detailed notes on their reactions. Many men appeared attracted to her beauty, but none showed a tendency to make her an object of particular regard. Genie’s reputation had indeed preceded her, and despite Grant’s attempt at diffusing the gossip, few people felt confident enough in their social credit to risk making her a favorite.
Mr. Grant did appear to be the one exception, dancing with her and engaging in conversation several times. Unfortunately, Pen knew all too well Mr. Grant’s intentions did not run toward marriage.
“Was there anyone else who showed particular interest?” asked the dowager.
Penelope reviewed her notes once more. “I fear not. Mr. Blakely did engage in brief conversation, but it was so stilted I could not see any interest. They did dance one set. There were several young bucks who took notice of her and a few made conversation, but none stayed long.”
“It is a shame her presentation was so poor. She could have made a dash through society. Her manner is pleasing, her face pretty, she has a natural grace, and she has nice teeth.”
“Teeth?” Penelope looked up in surprise.
“I am an old woman, Penelope. I know the value in things you have not yet learned to appreciate.”
Penelope smiled. “I am sure you are right, Your Grace.”
“What of this Blakely fellow? What do you know of him?”
“Not much. He has come to London recently. It is agreed he is a gentleman, but no one seems to know much about him.”
“So he is a countryman?”
“Yes, that is my understanding. He appears to have lived a quiet, respectable life and is at an age when men think of marriage. Perhaps he is looking for a dowered wife.”
“Sounds like a match made in heaven,” declared the duchess. “His reserve will balance her natural liveliness.”
“His manner did not reveal any tendency to be smitten with Miss Talbot.”
“He does not need to be smitten, now does he? He simply needs to get married. What would it take to get him to come up to scratch?”
Pen shook her head. “After four sisters on the marriage market, I’ve learned not to take bets on that question. Men are rather odd when it comes to a proposal. They seem to be most likely to ask for a lady’s hand if they are assured the answer will be no.”
“But of course, it gives the man an opportunity to appear gallant without costing him a thing.” The dowager stood, leaning on her cane. “All we need to do is get that chit married. We need to keep her in the company of young men until Mr. Blakely or one of those young bucks falls for her. It’s more than one young man who has made a match based on a pretty face.”
“Not to mention the teeth,” commented Pen with a smile.
“None of your cheek now. I will take my afternoon rest. You continue our work. And enjoy the sitting room. The one in the dowager house is not nearly so nice.” With that warning, the dowager made her way to take her rest, and Penelope was left for the afternoon to puzzle out how to marry off Genie.
“Excuse me, are you Miss Rose?”
Pen looked up with surprise. She had not heard the man enter. He was a youngish man with a serious face. He gave her a smile and his face creased awkwardly, like it was unaccustomed to such an expression.
“Yes, I am Miss Rose,” replied Pen. She was conscious that this was an unusual introduction and felt it odd he was so informal in the duke’s house.
“Allow me to make my introduction. I am Mr. Neville, in the service of his majesty, King George. The Duke of Marchford has told me a lot about you. I understand you are to be the companion to the duchess.”
“Yes,” replied Pen. She wondered what kind of picture the duke had painted of her. She doubted it could be flattering. Besides, if the duke wanted Mr. Neville known to her, why didn’t he introduce the man himself? Still, Mr. Neville seemed nice enough, and it was courteous to engage her in conversation rather than ignore her like most people of the male persuasion. “Won’t you sit down?”
Mr. Neville sat in a chair across from her. “I do believe today will be a welcome change from yesterday’s rain.”
“Yes, quite. I caught a glimpse of blue sky earlier today,” agreed Pen, feeling guilty for being suspicious of a man who merely wished to comment on the weather. He appeared benign enough, though not of the same polish as the majority of the duke’s acquaintances. “Did you say you were in the service of the King?”
“Yes, I have the honor of serving as a diplomat for the Foreign Office. With the threat of Napoleon, we all must do our part.”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed Penelope. “I have one brother in the Navy and one serving under Wellington.”
“Our country needs more dedicated families such as yours, Miss Rose. Such loyal hearts are hard to find in these troubled times.”
“I should hope that is not true, Mr. Neville. Perhaps not everyone is committed to serve such as yourself, but I do put my trust in the faithfulness of an Englishman.”
“I wish I had your confidence. Unfortunately, in my work, I have seen too many who were not as committed such as yourself.” Mr. Neville leaned forward and lowered his voice. “There are many who would trade their honor for their own gain.”
“Say it is not so!”
“Indeed, I fear it is. In fact, even today in my conversation with the duke, I have been thwarted in my object to protect the empire from the invading armies of France. Can you imagine a world in which a French dictator rules over England? Why, none of us would be safe. It would be the Terror all over again, and this time the blood of the English aristocracy would run in the streets.” Mr. Neville spoke with a fervor Penelope found dis
tressing.
“Mr. Neville, you must not pursue this line of distressing imaginings. Please let us put your creative energy toward greater use.”
“Yes, yes, you are right, Miss Rose. It is just that I fear…” Mr. Neville sat back in his chair and shook his head. “I should not speak of it.”
“You must do what you feel is right,” agreed Penelope. After his gruesome prediction, she was not sure she wanted to hear more.
“It would not be fair to you to ask you to serve your country in this way. I would not wish to make you feel inconvenienced. I am just so concerned.” Mr. Neville brought out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes.
“Mr. Neville, if there is a way in which I can serve my country, of course I am willing. What is distressing you?”
“The Duke of Marchford and I have worked together for many years. He was a diplomat and spy in Cadiz, but I assume you already knew that.”
Penelope shook her head.
“It is not a secret,” said the man with a wave of his hand. “He has been a loyal servant to the Crown, but lately I fear he has grown proud. He feels he should be the one to hold information, codes to communications from spies abroad.”
“Is that what was stolen at the ball?”
“Yes, you are quite clever. The letters were stolen, but the codes were not. Marchford holds these codes. If they should fall into enemy hands, all could be lost. Troop movements could be known. Our fighting lads, such as your brother, could be killed because of it.”
Penelope sat in stunned silence.
“Forgive me, I should not be so forthcoming with you, but I have always trusted my intuition, and I know in my heart that you are a loyal subject to the King. You would never do anything to betray secrets to the enemy, not when it could mean your brothers’ lives.”
“Of course not,” breathed Penelope.
“You would do whatever was needed to protect your countrymen.”
Penelope nodded.
“I knew you were a lady of strong understanding.”
“What is it you need me to do?”
Mr. Neville moved to sit next to her on the settee and, although no one was around, lowered his voice further. “The duke has an envelope that contains information crucial to the war effort. I know he feels he can handle the situation himself, but the information is critical. If it should fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be dire.”
“But how can I help? Do you want for me to speak with him?”
“Speak? No! I have already tried that; he absolutely refuses to see reason.”
“But how am I to help?”
“It is simple. I need you to bring me that envelope.”
Genie gasped. “You are asking me to steal from the duke?”
“No, of course not. I am asking you to return the envelope to its rightful owner. It is in the study, behind a picture. There is a box for which you will need a key, the key Marchford keeps with him at all times. Do not take anything of value. You must only bring me the envelope.”
“But, Mr. Neville, I would not feel comfortable…”
“I understand, I do. Think no more on the subject. I shall try to find another who may help me.” Mr. Neville stood and gave her a bow to take his leave.
“I am sorry I could not be of more help,” said Penelope, also rising from her seat.
“I would ask that you hold this conversation in strictest confidence, Miss Rose.”
“Yes, of course.”
“And if you know anyone who may be able to help, please let me know. The Foreign Office would be quite grateful and, naturally, a reward would be provided.”
“A reward?”
“It is standard procedure, did I not tell you? For items such as this, the reward would be substantial, about ten thousand pounds.”
“Ten thousand?” It was a shocking amount of money.
“It would be enough to change a person’s life forever,” said Neville. “Think on it, Miss Talbot. You would get ten thousand pounds in addition to knowing you acted in the service of your King.”
Penelope could only stare at the man in response. “Think on it,” repeated Mr. Neville with a bow and was gone.
Ten thousand pounds. Ten thousand pounds! It was a fortune. All her life, Penelope had been compared to her sisters and watched as they made brilliant matches while she played a supporting role. She could not fault them for being beautiful, but she had wondered why her Creator had seen fit to make her the only plain girl in a flock of beauties. Their looks had propelled them into advantageous marriages. Without the face or the fortune, Penelope watched as her sisters began lives with their husbands, started families, and glided beyond the place where Penelope would no doubt spend the rest of her life. Unmarried. A spinster. In all the world, there could not be a more useless person than the gently bred spinster.
Unmarried, Penelope had no place in society. But ten thousand pounds could change everything. First of all, she could set up her own household. With wise investments in the nine percents, she could net nine hundred pounds per annum, more than enough to live quite comfortably.
Perhaps she could, after a few years, move to Bath and invent a deceased husband to present herself as a widow. A comfortably stationed widow was the best positioned in society. She may move freely in society, without the burden of a husband governing her movements, or the censure of never having wed. A wealthy widow—yes, that would be something quite grand. She might even take a lover.
Lover? A flood of emotions rushed through her, making her oddly hot and sweaty in unmentionable places. What madness was this? She stood up and walked out of the room. She needed fresh air. She needed to leave these odd thoughts behind.
“Mr. Neville, are you still here?” Marchford’s calm voice rang through the great hall like a restorative. “I thought you had left.”
“I must have taken a wrong turn and accidently took myself on a tour of the house.” Neville walked down the stairs to the foyer.
“Is that so?” asked Marchford.
No, it was not so. It was a lie. Beware men who want you to keep secrets. Advice from her grandmother rang in her head.
“Mr. Neville, wait a moment, sir.” Penelope walked down the stairs to where the men stood in the foyer.
“Miss Rose, are you acquainted with Mr. Neville?” Marchford raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea.”
“He introduced himself to me just now.”
“Part of your tour of the house?” asked Marchford with a sardonic drawl.
“Mr. Neville, I have no need to think on your offer. I cannot accept it,” said Penelope before she could change her mind.
“Mr. Neville, have you been propositioning my grandmother’s companion?” Marchford raised an eyebrow. “How enterprising of you.”
“He offered a reward of ten thousand pounds for the return of a certain envelope you keep in a locked box beneath a picture frame.”
Everything went silent. Marchford’s features hardened into stone; his eyes drilled on Mr. Neville, who gave a small cough and shot Penelope a dark look. Instinctively, she stepped back.
“Well done, Miss Rose,” said Mr. Neville, his expression turning into an approximation of a smile. “Well done indeed. I hope you will forgive my crude methods, but I needed to discover if you were susceptible to bribery.”
“This was a test?” Penelope flushed with anger. He put her through this emotional turmoil for nothing? “You said I should do this to protect England from Napoleon. You spoke of the blood of English nobility flowing through the streets! All this was to challenge my loyalty?”
“No, no, my dear, the threat is real. You may not appreciate my methods, but I will flush out all traitors to the Crown, and I will see them swing from the highest gallows!”
“Thank you, Mr. Neville, that is quite enough,” said Marchford with a razor edge. “Let me disabuse you of two false notions. First, your inquiries into the loyalty of my staff and guests are no longer required. Second, Miss Rose is not your �
�dear’ nor anything else to you. There is no acquaintance between you; you will forget her name and never speak to her or about her ever again. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
Marchford stepped forward and Neville stepped back.
“Yes, Your Grace. Perfectly clear. You may not appreciate my methods, but I must get results.”
“Perhaps your methods would be best used cleaning your own house. Find your own traitors and leave my household alone.” Marchford backed Mr. Neville to the door as he spoke, the efficient butler being on hand to open the door and remove Mr. Neville from the house, swinging the door shut behind him.
“Thank you, Peters,” said Marchford to the butler. “Mr. Neville is no longer welcome in this home. Please see to it that he is never again granted admission. Miss Rose, a word.” Marchford strode into his study, Pen following behind.
“Have a seat, Miss Rose.”
Penelope sat obediently but bristled at the duke’s brusque manner. If he thought she could be “managed,” he would soon realize his error.
“Please tell me exactly what Mr. Neville said to you,” said Marchford.
Penelope quickly gave him a full report. “Now, I think I deserve to know the truth. Is what Mr. Neville said true?”
Marchford sighed and sat in a chair next to hers. “I do apologize, Miss Rose, for dragging you into this. Mr. Neville had no business speaking to you at all. But yes, it is true. I worked for the Crown in Cadiz, however ‘spy’ is not a word I would use lightly. In fact, it is not a word I would use at all, and I sincerely hope neither will you.”
“You can depend on my discretion.”
Marchford nodded and continued, “Mr. Neville is correct. At the dance, some letters were stolen, letters that could reveal the identity of British spies working on the Continent. These letters are useless, however, without the code, which the admiral asked me to keep safe.”
“Why not turn it over to the Foreign Office or the War Department?”
“Because there have been a series of leaks. Information has been found in the hands of the enemy that only could have come from those offices. Neville may not like to admit to it, but somewhere in his office, there is a traitor.”
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