“I’m fairly new to Maidenhead, but my wife, the Lady Cecilia, has known Miss Winter for years. My wife’s father, Lord Babbage, owned the property we now live in, and Miss Winter lived nearby.”
That caught Frederick’s attention. “I heard Lord Babbage emigrated to France.”
Mr. Montlake nodded. “For his wife’s health. He wanted to take her away from England’s damp weather.”
As he recalled, Lady Babbage had contracted consumption. “Leaving one’s homeland is a bold and drastic move. He must be a devoted husband. Has the change in location helped?” Frederick’s valet gently wrapped a length of cotton bandage around the poultice.
Mr. Montlake nodded. “When my wife and I visited them in December, Lady Babbage looked much improved. My wife was greatly relieved to see her thus.”
“Did they emigrate recently?”
“Yes. They moved shortly after our wedding, which was when my wife and I first took up residence in Maidenhead. I met Miss Winter’s parents shortly before the tragic train accident that took their lives. When her uncle claimed her inheritance as his own, I served as the barrister for the Winter sisters. Everyone who knew them thought the court’s decision in favor of her uncle was a grave miscarriage of justice, but the law was on Mr. Winter’s side.”
“We hope you can help us rectify that error.” Frederick gave his valet a nod of dismissal. As the man cleaned up the poultice supplies and tucked them away in a basket, Frederick caught sight of the bit of celadon-blue cloth tucked inside. Josephine’s favorite shade. He didn’t catch a glimpse of the unusual color often, but when he did, he always thought of her.
Why hadn’t she stopped by today as she’d promised? He’d advised her to have her housekeeper deliver the supplies. Had Josephine finally given up on him? The idea made his chest ache.
As he watched, Herbert tucked the blue cloth into the basket on top of the poultice-making supplies and then slipped from the room.
“Do you think there’s a strong likelihood the judge will hear the case tomorrow?”
With reluctance, Frederick turned his attention back to Mr. Montlake and gathered up the threads of their conversation. “I’m certain he’ll want to do so without delay. The church register is a complicating factor. Once the trial is complete, Miss Winter plans to surrender the book to the crown. The Queen will not be patient in this matter. If the judge agrees to hear the case, he’ll need to make a decision within a day.”
Mr. Montlake’s eyebrows rose. “You are aware that’s highly unusual, are you not? What judge would agree to that?”
“We have reason to believe Lord Tidmore can be persuaded.”
Mr. Montlake nodded slowly. “I haven't appeared in his court, but his reputation precedes him. He might be the only judge who can do what you’re suggesting.”
“Then we must begin preparations immediately to go before him.” Frederick rose to his feet. “Join me in my brother’s study. You and I can examine the church register there while we wait for Miss Winter’s return.”
As he moved down the hallway toward the foyer, he thought he caught a glimpse of that shade of robin’s egg blue again— Josephine— but it was just a glimmer of light reflected through one of the stained-glass window panels at the end of the corridor. He felt a pang of something. Disappointment that he hadn’t seen her today? No. Not that. He didn’t have time for that.
He showed Mr. Montlake to Robert's study, where the barrister quickly settled in. Mr. Montlake pulled out the notes and files he’d brought along and then glanced at Frederick. “Give me time to review these, then we can talk.”
Frederick nodded and left. As he crossed through the foyer, the front door swung open. His brother and Antonia swept inside, bringing a cold winter wind with them.
“Good, you’re back,” Frederick said. “You’ll be pleased to learn that Mr. Montlake arrived and is in the study preparing for court.”
“That’s excellent news,” Robert said as he closed the door.
“Did Lord Tidmore agree to hear your case?” Frederick asked.
Antonia smiled broadly. “Yes. Tomorrow morning at nine.”
“It’s a good thing Mr. Montlake arrived promptly.” Frederick rubbed at his chin. “Have you thought of anything else we need to do to prepare?”
Antonia frowned “Perhaps you can help me with a bothersome problem. I still need to prove my uncle was the man who stole the book from the Russian Orthodox church. The thief’s hand was severely burned that night. You’re a clever fellow. Can you think of a way to get my uncle to remove his gloves? He wears them all the time, and I need to know if he conceals his hands because he was burned.”
Frederick nearly smiled. Gloves to hide burns. He was much too familiar with that concept.
Teasing out a solution to this problem would provide the perfect distraction from the thoughts of Josephine that continued to plague him. “You’ve given me an interesting challenge. Gloves, eh?” He considered the dilemma a moment longer and then gave her a curt nod. “Rest assured, I’ll find a way.”
Antonia’s smile was full of relief, but Frederick barely noticed. He was already concentrating on this new puzzle. He just needed a quiet place to think.
No one would be in the plant conservatory now that evening was approaching. The gardeners would be done with their work, and it was unlikely anyone else would enter his mother’s former domain. The spot would be perfect.
A heavy floral scent filled the warm room from the blossoms the gardeners managed to force into bloom in the dead of winter. Underlying it was the aroma of rich, dense decay rising from the soil.
He let the room’s warmth and solitude envelop and soothe him, letting it work its spell, just as it always did, and drive away troubling thoughts.
But today, the room’s magic shifted. Changed. Rather than peace, thoughts of Josephine filled his mind.
He imagined her smile— when that woman smiled, she smiled with her entire body. Her entire soul. There was no artifice in her. Every emotion was written clearly upon her face.
He paused, stroking the leaf of a nearby rosebush with the thumb and forefinger of his good hand. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t open to everyone. She didn’t divulge her thoughts and feelings to the world. Only when they’d been alone together had she truly revealed herself to him. Only when they’d spoken in private. Only when he’d slipped into her bedroom at the country house. Only when she’d given herself to him. When she was in public, her countenance displayed precisely what she wanted others to see.
She’d only let him see her, truly, those two nights they’d spent together. Let him see into her essence. He couldn’t banish those images of her from his mind. They were seared into his very soul. Josephine with her lips parted as she leaned in to kiss him. Josephine as she smiled at him in delight. Josephine with her head tossed back in the throes of ecstasy— ecstasy he’d evoked in her.
Try as he might, he couldn’t stand against those memories. He couldn’t prevent them from surging into the forefront of his consciousness and distracting him. Having to exert so much effort to control his wayward thoughts was a new experience for him. Focus normally came to him as easily as breathing.
He pulled his hand away from the rosebush and accidentally brushed against a large thorn. It dug into his skin, catching on the back of his knuckle. He froze and carefully detached his hand from the plant before it could dig any deeper into him.
This was exactly what he’d been doing with Josephine this past week. Extracting her from his life.
He examined the spot and found a scratch, but the thorn hadn’t drawn blood. The same couldn’t be said for Josephine. When had she become an integral part of him? When had she invaded him so deeply that her absence now caused him pain?
He cupped his other hand— the more severely burned one. The fire had changed everything that night, leaving him distracted and careless. If not for his injuries, he would have noted Josephine’s presence and successfully avoid
ed her. Antonia would not have had the opportunity to steal the book. Everything would have been different.
But that hadn’t been his fate. Instead, he’d offended Josephine, spurned her, and widened the gap between them.
He let out a heavy sigh. As the sun set over the homes surrounding Woolsy House, the vibrant colors of the conservatory’s blooms faded.
In the darkening gloom, he had to face the truth. Josephine had taken his advice and decided not to deliver the poultice supplies.
He’d gotten what he’d asked for. She’d moved on.
So why did that leave him feeling so empty?
§
Later that evening following dinner, Frederick and Mr. Montlake returned to Robert’s study to continue working. They quickly became engrossed in translating the church register. Not only did Montlake want information from the pertinent page where Antonia’s parents’ wedding was recorded, but he also wanted some sample entries from other pages to check them for consistency.
“I want no surprises,” Mr. Montlake said.
Despite the pain in Frederick’s hand, he found himself completely immersed in the translation when Robert and Antonia entered the room. He glanced up from his spot behind Robert’s desk, vaguely surprised by their arrival.
“How are the burns?” Robert asked as he crossed the room to stand in front of his desk. He looked relaxed and refreshed.
“Painful.” He aimed an irritated glare at his brother. He struggled not to take Robert’s smiling good humor as an insult. Frederick glanced down at the pen he held in his left hand. “A bit better, I suppose. I can manage to hold this in my off-hand.” He tossed it on the table and flexed his fingers.
“Should I prepare the poultice again?” Robert asked.
Frederick shook his head. “All the herbs are gone. Lady Harrington must have finally taken me at my word and decided to stay away.”
Antonia gave him a sharp glance. “That’s odd. She arrived just as we were leaving for Lord Tidmore’s house. She brought the poultice supplies with her.”
Frederick stiffened. She’d been here? Why had no one told him? He shot his brother an accusatory gaze, but Robert seemed not to notice.
“Maybe she grew tired of waiting for you,” his brother said. “I believe that was the gist of her complaint at the ball as well.”
Frederick recalled Josephine’s criticism two nights ago that he hadn’t contacted her in days. He felt his face redden as he opened his mouth for a retort, but then Mr. Montlake pushed himself up from the seat next to him, interrupting him.
Devin Montlake shuffled some papers into a tidy stack. “I think the best way I can finish my preparations for tomorrow is to sleep for a few hours.”
“Certainly.” Frederick rose to his feet. “I’ll direct you to your room. I could do with some rest as well.”
Without saying another word to his brother, Frederick hurried from the study. After closing Mr. Montlake’s door, Frederick continued on to his own room. He looked around. If Josephine truly had stopped by with poultice supplies— yes. He saw her basket now, sitting on his mahogany dressing table.
He crossed the room, flipped open the basket’s lid, and found a cloth of robin’s-egg blue draped over the contents. He nudged it aside with his finger and found the fresh poultice supplies nestled beneath.
He held the cloth gently, unaccountably pleased to know she’d come by as she’d promised. But she hadn’t stayed, nor had she left a message. Why? Josephine did nothing without a reason.
Frederick rang for his valet.
When Herbert entered the room, Frederick gestured toward the basket. “Lady Harrington dropped off poultice supplies after all. Did you see her?”
Herbert looked surprised. “No, my lord. I’ll ask the other servants. One of them must have put the basket in here.”
“Please do, and find out if she left a message.”
Herbert left, but he wasn’t gone long.
“Did you learn anything?”
“Yes, sir. Lady Harrington was here earlier and met briefly with Lord Huntley. When he left, he asked one of the upstairs maids to leave the basket in your bedroom. She apologizes for not passing along the message that came with it.”
Frederick’s heart heaved. “A message?”
“Yes, sir. Lady Harrington said to tell you she was tired of waiting, and goodbye.”
Frederick stiffened. “That’s it? Nothing more?”
“Nothing more, sir. Perhaps Lord Huntley could provide a more detailed account.”
Frederick let out a grunt. “Perhaps.” A sense of overwhelming numbness consumed him. He turned his back on Herbert as he tried to process this information.
Goodbye? What did that mean?
A moment later, the sharp, fresh scent of crushed plants filled the room, piercing his momentarily dazed state. He glanced over his shoulder to see Herbert mashing the leaves for his poultice.
Frederick let out a heavy sigh and proceeded to shed his jacket and trousers. He wrapped himself in a robe and dropped into the chair next to the fireplace to let Herbert tend to his burns.
He willed his body to relax and let his valet’s careful ministrations soothe him. Once Frederick washed away the remnants of the old poultice, he examined his fingertips. The raised blisters were much smaller, but the skin around them was still tender.
“Your hand appears to be improving.” Herbert passed him a fresh cloth.
“Once I use up these supplies, I won’t need to replace them.” The thought left Frederick with a sharp pang of loss.
This wasn’t what he wanted. He’d been fooling himself— trying to convince himself he didn’t care about Josephine, even when a moment couldn’t pass without him thinking of her.
Goodbye. The word pierced him.
He was obsessed with the woman. The look of her, the smell of her, the taste of her. Her amazing blue eyes and her lustrous blond hair. He couldn’t get enough of her.
Herbert put the supplies back in the basket and left. As soon as the door closed, Frederick sprang from his chair and began pacing the room.
It was ridiculous to think he could simply shut Josephine out of his life and continue on as before. Being with her had changed him, and he didn’t want to go back to the way things had been before.
He stopped in front of the fireplace and braced the heels of his hands against the mantel, gazing down into the crackling flames.
He didn’t want to live without her.
He pushed himself upright and spun around to face the room.
Enough. He’d come to a decision.
He wanted Josephine.
A heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He could breathe again— for the first time in days. He threw his shoulders back and straightened his spine.
All it took was to make the right decision.
The next question was, how would he and Josephine meld their lives together?
If he became the new spymaster, he would be in London most of the time. His life would be more orderly. More conducive to being a husband. That would help tremendously. And with the church register in hand, the biggest obstacle to becoming spymaster was gone. But when it came to the issues preventing him and Josephine from being together, one significant problem still remained.
His father’s secret.
In all good conscience, he couldn’t continue to conceal it from her. He refused to put her at risk while selfishly indulging in his desire to have her— not when he wanted more from her. Not when he wanted everything from her.
It was time to take a chance. Time to be as open with Josephine as she’d been with him.
It was time to tell her about his father’s treason.
§
The next morning, Frederick woke filled with renewed determination. In less than two hours, Antonia’s case would be heard, and the moment they left the courtroom, he’d deliver the church register to Queen Victoria. Once he’d washed his hands of that mess, he’d head directly to see Josephine. He’
d tell her about the changes he planned to make in his life— changes he hoped would bring them closer together. And he’d tell her about his father.
Yes— that was a solid plan.
He went to the breakfast room, his mind buzzing with millions of possibilities for how events might transpire. As was his habit when preparing for any mission, he ran through every foreseeable scenario, searching for potential problems. This was a delicate situation. He didn’t want to manipulate Josephine, nor did he want to lose her.
Brisk footsteps approached the door of the breakfast room, and a moment later Robert appeared in the doorway. “We need to talk,” Robert said as he strode forward. He paused and stood with his hand resting on the back of a chair, but didn’t take a seat at the table. “I made a disturbing discovery last night.” Robert stopped speaking and dragged his hand through his hair, leaving deep furrows.
Frederick tensed. Last night when he’d gone upstairs, he’d left Robert and Antonia alone with the church register. Had they made some new discovery?
Robert took a step toward the door as he beckoned Frederick. “Come to my study,” he said curtly.
Frederick tossed his napkin on the table and followed his brother. Upon entering the study, Robert turned back to brush past him and locked the door behind them. He paused, met Frederick’s gaze, opened his mouth— but then stopped. “It’s better if I show you,” he muttered.
Frederick was surprised when his brother turned away, crossed to a bookcase, and began fiddling with something at the top of one shelf. With a click, the bookcase shifted ever so slightly. Robert gave it a yank, and the entire structure swung into the room.
“The staircase?” Frederick asked, stunned. Years ago, their younger sister Emily had discovered the disused hidden staircase and become fascinated with it, forever sneaking up and down the stairs so she could creep up on Father and surprise him. Their parents had finally blocked off the end leading to an upstairs bedroom by putting the bedstead in front of the concealed door. After Father’s suicide here in the study, Mother had closed off the entire room. Frederick hadn’t thought about the dark, narrow staircase in years.
My Lady, My Spy (Secrets and Seduction Book 4) Page 10