by Tracy Grant
"Understandable."
"It took a while to realize she'd done something I might have done myself. Though I doubt I could have pulled it off."
"I expect you could have pulled it off. But you'd have had qualms."
Malcolm picked his way through the verbal landscape. Except for a bit with Addison and Raoul, he'd discussed this with no one, save for today with David, in the midst of anger. He was picking his way through feelings he'd barely even sorted out for himself. "Seeing the human element. Carfax always said it was my weakness."
"I think it was your soul's salvation," Harry said in a quiet voice.
Malcolm shot a quick look at him.
"Speaking as one sorely in need of salvation myself," Harry said.
Malcolm held his friend's gaze for a moment, recalling the embittered Davenport letting a young French ensign escape back to the lines in the Peninsula. "You're not bad at seeing the human element yourself, Davenport."
Harry gave a short laugh. "I was detached. That probably saved me from getting too involved. But then, neither of us shared Suzanne's level of commitment."
"She had commitments that went back to before she met me," Malcolm said, gaze on the circle of light the lamp cast on a patch of carpet, gray fading into indigo. "I always prided myself on being a modern husband. I thought the fact that I'd read Mary Wollstonecraft made me enlightened. But when I learned the truth, my first reaction was to think of Suzanne as my wife."
"She is your wife."
"But she has other commitments, other loyalties. We neither us of came into the marriage unencumbered. I didn't know that, of course. I was amazed at how quickly she took to espionage. I counted myself fortunate that she shared my adventures. But they were my adventures."
He half expected a quip from Harry, but his friend nodded. "You're a wiser man than I, Rannoch. If I'd seen earlier that Cordy needed her own life—" He shook his head. "Folly to refine upon it."
Malcolm nodded, started to speak, then hesitated. Some wounds were still too raw. And yet—If anyone understood raw wounds, it was Davenport. "I knew almost from the first that we had to find a way to go on for Colin's and Jessica's sakes. I realized that in—betraying—me she'd been holding fast to other commitments. That given my own actions, I could hardly get on a high horse about betrayal. I even believe—"
Harry gave a faint smile. "She loves you, Rannoch. I've never doubted that."
"Yes, I—" Feelings still had a way of getting bottled up in Malcolm's throat. Suzanne's feelings for him were still difficult for him to articulate. "Whyever she went into the marriage, I don't think she's sorry for it now. But—"
Harry leaned back, arms folded across his chest, and watched him for a moment. "It's probably the worst thing a spy can go through."
"It?"
"Being outwitted."
Malcolm released his breath. "Damn you, Davenport. Right as usual."
"I'll own I'm cursing myself a bit," Harry said. "I knew Suzanne in the Peninsula. I worked with her. I didn't have the muddying effects of being head over heels in love with her to dilute my perspective. I was cynic enough to wonder sometimes at the seeming strength of your marriage. But until six months ago, I never—"
Malcolm could see his friend recalling moments, sifting through the past, turning over memories. "I know," he said. "I did the same thing. She's good."
"And you're too sensible to let your bruised ego stand in the way of your marriage."
"I'm attempting to be." Malcolm moved to the desk. "If you can, there are things I'd appreciate your help with."
"Anything."
Malcolm picked up a stack of letters, most of them long since written, now sealed and franked. "This is for my sister and brother-in-law in Scotland. They're eminently capable of running Dunmykel, thank God, but this will give them further authority should they need it. This is for Rupert. Notes for the next parliamentary session and some advice on strategy. These are for Aunt Frances, and Allie and Geoff, and Paul and Juliette."
Harry took the papers. Questions flickered in his gaze, but he merely said, "You aren't going to try to see any of them?"
"There isn't time. And I don't want to burden them with the risk."
Harry nodded, taking his meaning. If the truth came out, anyone they'd seen tonight might be accused of assisting the escape of traitors.
"I'm burdening you," Malcolm said, "but you're an agent. You'll know best how to handle it."
Harry waved a hand. "Neither Cordy nor I would forgive you if you'd left without seeing us."
Malcolm reached for a letter he had just written and a bank draught. "This is for Sue Kettering. I meant to do more, to try to arrange employment for her—"
Harry took the papers. "I'll arrange it. And tell her what I can about Coventry's death."
"Thank you." Malcolm picked up one last paper from the desk. "This is for you. In case I wasn't able to see you before we left. And to give you and Cordelia power of attorney to handle anything else relating to our affairs or property."
Harry's eyes widened.
"I can't imagine anyone I'd rather trust with it." Malcolm clasped his friend's hand as he gave him the paper.
Harry's gaze met his and his fingers tightened briefly round Malcolm's own. For a moment they were standing on a sunny, rain-drenched ridge on a June morning, the smell of cooking fires and practice shots sharp in the air, the French army drawn up in glittering array across from them. Harry had clasped his arm then, knowing neither of them might live to see the other again.
"It's only just sinking in," Harry said. "You're really going."
"It's barely sunk in on me," Malcolm said. "I imagine we'll be in Italy before I can fully comprehend it."
Harry tucked the papers into his coat. "I'll do everything, I can, of course. I may not have your knack for running large properties, but between us Cordy and I should be able to manage. But don't count on our remaining in Britain indefinitely. Cordy and I've been wanting to take the girls to Italy. This makes it all the more likely we'll plan the journey as soon as possible."
Malcolm swallowed. Even Harry hadn't fully grasped what exposure meant. "Harry, once the truth comes out—"
"If you're going to say association with you may make us ostracized, then I'd cheer the prospect of no longer having social obligations. But I very much doubt it will happen. More's the pity."
Malcolm knew he should protest further, but he knew with Davenport it would be of little use. And he found there were some things he couldn't bear to give up. He felt his face relax into a smile. "You're the best of friends, Harry."
"I don't make friends easily. You'll pardon me for trying to hold on to those I have."
Malcolm studied his friend. Harry was many things. A brilliant scholar, a loving father, a man desperately in love with his wife, a loyal friend beneath the caustic tongue. He was also one of the best agents Malcolm had ever encountered. "I knew at the start of this investigation that we might cross swords with Carfax. I just didn't realize how. Yesterday I was rather glad Oliver and Maria and St. Juste and the others had broken free of Carfax. I still am. But I've never been more aware of how ruthless Carfax is. For all his offer to let us escape, he may try to find us. So may others."
Harry nodded. "To own the truth, I rather relish the prospect of the battle."
"I don't doubt you're equal to it. But neither of us quite has experience of having Carfax turn his full powers against us."
Harry nodded, with the hard gaze of an agent assessing a mission. "I still have friends in the army. That should help. Often the disagreements between different intelligence branches are tiresome. But sometimes they can be put to good use."
Colquhoun Grant, who had been head of Wellington's intelligence in the Peninsula and the Waterloo campaign, had a great deal of respect for Harry. He'd support Harry and perhaps even Malcolm himself. But—"If Wellington learns the truth—"
Harry gave a wry smile. "Hookey's a lot of things, but he's not precisely b
road-minded when it comes to divided loyalties or the rights of the dispossessed, is he? On the other hand, there's not much love lost between him and Carfax. I can put that to good use."
Malcolm nodded. It was what he would have done himself, but he wasn't used to leaving such decisions in the hands of others. He saw Wellington, brows drawn as he ordered Malcolm on a mission, thrusting a dispatch into Malcolm's hand in the smoke and chaos of Waterloo, smiling with rare approval.
"Malcolm." Harry's face had gone serious. "Wellington values you. He knows your worth. This won't change that."
Malcolm gave a smile that he could feel twist his mouth. "You're a master at deception, Davenport, but not quite masterful enough to make me believe that. It's all right. Difficult to get through a day, let alone a lifetime, without incurring Hookey's disapproval."
"As we both have cause to know." Harry watched Malcolm for a moment, then gripped his arm again. "But I think his approval matters more to you than it does to me."
"My dear Davenport. I'm the last man to be sentimental when it comes to Wellington."
"But you take your duty more seriously than just about anyone I know. You were loyal enough to Wellington, and to Castlereagh, that you went on serving them long after the conflict between the positions they advocated and your own became untenable. It can't but be difficult to have them both see you as—"
"A traitor?"
"They won't see it that way."
"No? I rather think that's precisely what they'll think. They'll give me too much credit and Suzanne not enough, and think she couldn't have deceived me all these years. At the very least, they'll always wonder. It's all right, because they're right, in a way. My loyalty to my wife comes first."
Though the question flickered in his gaze, Harry didn't ask the obvious corollary. What would Malcolm have done if he'd learned his wife was a Bonapartist agent while she was still actively spying?
Which was a good thing, because Malcolm didn't have the least idea how he would answer it.
Chapter 43
Cordelia dropped down on the edge of the bed. "Dear God. And yet in some ways, I feel as though I should have known."
"I don't see how you could have envisioned this level of deception," Suzanne said.
"I knew—"
"That I wasn't what I seemed?"
"Yes. But I never imagined." Cordelia rubbed her arms. "In a way, I'm relieved."
"Relieved?"
"I was afraid it was something between you and Malcolm."
Suzanne gave a short laugh. "This is definitely between me and Malcolm."
"Yes, but it's—work, I suppose. Not a personal betrayal, if that makes any sense. Malcolm is a spy. I think he'd understand."
"He does, in a way. More than I ever thought possible. But it's still a betrayal."
Cordelia's gaze moved over her face. Suzanne knew that look. Recasting the past. "Waterloo must have been unspeakably awful for you."
Suzanne saw them, raindrenched in the street, bent over the wounded, the flounces of their gowns stained with dirt and blood. Bent over the pallets of the injured men who lined their hall. Hunched over cups of tea in the kitchen, sharing their raw fears for their husbands. "You're kind to put it that way. You'd be pardoned for seeing it as my worst betrayal."
Cordelia shrugged. "I'm the last person to blame anyone else for betrayal. To own the truth, I think it's all the more remarkable that you did what you did supporting the other side."
"Would you have refused to tend French soldiers?"
Cordelia shook her head. "Anyone who was wounded deserved attention. At that point I don't think I cared much who they were fighting for. I don't see how one could look at any fellow creature in that state and not feel compassion."
"You're a remarkable woman, Cordy."
"I was going to say the same to you. I always knew you had a sense of purpose greater than mine. I never realized to what an extent."
"Cordy—" Suzanne hesitated. But Cordelia was going to think of it at some point. Better now than when they were apart. "It was the people I was working for who wounded Harry."
Cordelia's gaze froze on her face for a moment. "Of course. That's obvious, isn't it? Though I didn't think of it that way. I suppose—" She fingered a knot of ribbon on her sleeve. "I can't say how I'd feel if Harry had died. But he didn't. I saw you nurse him. He would have died if it hadn't been for Malcolm. He might well have died if it hadn't been for your care. If it weren't for you and Malcolm, I don't know where Harry and I would be today."
Suzanne released her breath. In a sense, she felt as though she'd been holding it since Waterloo.
"What did you think I'd do?" Cordelia asked. "Say I never wanted to see you again?"
"I thought it was a possibility. You could certainly be pardoned for doing so."
"How could I?" Cordelia said. "After what we've shared? How could you think I'd be anything but concerned for you?" She swallowed hard. "How soon are you leaving?"
"Tonight."
"So soon?"
"We can't afford to delay. We don't know—"
"You think you'd be arrested?"
"It's possible. I have information people would like to get their hands on. Malcolm has people who would like to bring him down. We can't risk what would happen if we were detained."
"No, of course you'd have to leave at once." Cordelia gave a brisk nod and smoothed her skirt. "The consolation is we've always wanted to go to Italy. Harry's been itching to get a look at real Roman ruins instead of the bits and pieces left in Britain. It's just the thing he needs to turn his monographs into a book. And the girls are a good age to travel now. It will take us a few weeks to make arrangements, but you've given us the perfect excuse for a long journey abroad. You can tell me what you want me to bring, because I'm sure you won't be able to manage all of it tonight."
Suzanne swallowed. "Cordy—"
"I promise we won't descend on you until you're ready for us. And we can find our own lodgings."
"It's not that."
"Livia and Dru are going to miss Colin and Jessica and Emily dreadfully. Damn it, Harry and I are going to miss all of you."
"Cordy, you have to consider—if this becomes public, associating with us—"
"Do you think I give a damn about that? With my reputation? It's not as though Harry would be blackballed by other classical scholars. Or even care if he was."
"You have two daughters."
"Whom I want to grow up understanding that one stands by one's friends."
Suzanne put a hand to her cheek. It was damp. "I don't deserve you, Cordy."
"That's nonsense." Cordelia pushed herself to her feet. "I've always thought you were harder on yourself than I am on myself. Well, the truth is, if I really dwelt on my own actions, I don't suppose I could go on at all. But you acted out of a commitment. To something that mattered to you before you ever met Malcolm. I married a very decent man who loved me, and threw that love back in his face."
Suzanne looked into her friend's troubled blue eyes. Odd, tonight of all nights, to find herself the one offering comfort. "You acted out of a commitment to George."
Cordelia gave a short laugh. "I can only hope your ideals are less tarnished than mine. Even the most disillusioned revolutionary could scarcely feel as betrayed as I do by George."
"I wouldn't say I'm disillusioned. More of a realist perhaps, though I went into this with my eyes fairly open. But disillusionment doesn't change the reality of the commitment one feels at the start. And you didn't marry Harry planning to betray him."
"No, I married Harry without giving much consideration to his feelings at all."
"I did much the same with Malcolm. I was almost entirely focused on tactics."
"You didn't consider your own feelings, so why consider anyone else's?"
"I suppose so, in a way." She'd never talked about her deception of Malcolm in this way before. She'd never, she realized, talked to anyone about it, save Malcolm and Raoul, to both of who
m there was obviously a great deal she couldn't say, and a bit to Blanca, though she always feared that if she expressed too much guilt she would stir Blanca's own. "I'm not sure I acknowledged the power of feelings at all at the time."
"I was doing my best to numb my own," Cordelia said. "I either thought other people should do the same or I was completely blind to the fact that they had feelings at all. It's a bit of a muddle, looking back, but there's no way I come out of it seeming halfway decent."
"Malcolm was a means to an end for me." She wouldn't have been able to admit that to anyone else.
"So was Harry. I needed to be married. I didn't want to fall in love again. I was sure I never could fall in love again. He was there, offering me marriage, and not completely boring."
"And yet, look where you are now."
"I could say the same to you."
Suzanne pushed her fingers into her hair. "Nothing you did could ruin Harry if it became public knowledge."
"No, that's true. Embarrass him, perhaps."
"I haven't really been able to think about it," Suzanne said. "What it's going to do to Malcolm to give up the House of Commons. Dunmykel. The people he's known all his life. There's more than I ever dreamed possible that I'll miss in Britain, but for him—"
"Darling, you've only had a few hours. Don't try to think about it now. You'll have plenty of time in Italy—"
"For us both to realize the full implications, and the bitterness to set in?" She meant the words to sound ironic, but she couldn't keep the bite from her voice.
"Suzanne! Malcolm adores you."
Suzanne checked the retort that she would have used to deflect the conversation. She sank down on the dressing table bench, arms hugged over her chest. "I didn't believe in love when I married Malcolm. Or if I did"—she thought of Raoul for a moment and her tangled feelings for him—"I didn't believe in it as something one could build a life on. That's not true anymore. But I don't believe that it lasts invariably. Even steel has a breaking point."
"If what Harry felt for me could endure—"