My Gentleman Spy (The Duke of Strathmore Book 5)

by Sasha Cottman

  “But you discovered the true connection?”

  “Yes, I used my uncle's name as Bishop of London to make my introductions. It didn’t take long for my connections to uncover the rest of your family history. My cousin the Earl of Shale found out about this house being available for lease. I broke in through a rear door the night before I signed the lease. I even stood outside your bedroom. And yes, once I moved in I went to your room and read all your letters.”

  The coincidence of Will taking the lease on the house was as Hattie suspected, no coincidence at all. She stood silent for a little while.

  All the time she had thought her careful movements about town had gone undetected she had been under Will's secret gaze. She had never truly escaped him.

  “Does Edgar know I am in London?” she finally asked.

  Now that Will had enlightened her as to the truth of her situation, there was little point in dancing around the issue of her brother.

  “Not at this particular juncture. Or if he does, he did not hear it from me. After watching you at St. Paul’s and then putting two and two together, I guessed that there were serious difficulties between the pair of you. I determined to find out more about the both of you before confronting him. The last thing I would ever want to do would be to help save you from one heartless family member, to then place you under the protection of another who did not have your best interests at heart. Until I can be certain of Edgar and his motives toward you, your secret will remain safe.”

  And to hear your side of the story. He did not need to give voice to the notion. Hattie understood the inference. She would have to furnish Will with some very good reasons as to why he should not be putting her into the care of her older brother.

  Most other men would have done so already.

  He is not like other men.

  A knock at the door interrupted the conversation. Mrs. Little appeared carrying a tray with two cups of hot chocolate upon it. She set it down on a small table to one side of the door.

  “I brought up some ginger biscuits as well. I thought you might like them,” she said.

  She stood back, hands clasped gently together and fell silent. How much Mrs. Little had overhead upon her arrival Hattie was not certain, but it was apparent she was in no hurry to leave Hattie and Will alone again.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Little. Miss Wright and I were just catching up on developments since last, we were together. It appears she has quite a few things to tell,” he said.

  Hattie and Mrs. Little looked at one another. As Will held all the cards, there was little they could do other than wait for him to decide how the rest of the evening would play out.

  He picked up one of the cups of hot chocolate and handed it to Hattie.

  “Please go and check that all is in order in Miss Wright's room. I am sure by the time you return, she will have finished her drink. Thank you, Mrs. Little.”

  After Mrs. Little took her leave, Will ushered Hattie to a chair by the fireside. Taking a seat in one of Will’s new arm chairs, she felt ill at ease. She had spent many happy afternoons in this room standing beside her father's chair as she read passages of her favorite books to him. Much of her education had taken place in this very room.

  Will took the chair opposite. Not only had he taken possession of the house, but now he was inexorably moving the memory of Aldred Wright to the background. Her family home was undergoing a metamorphosis she had not anticipated.

  The day before she had left the house with her parents and Peter, she had walked into every room and tried to paint a mental picture of what it looked like. She had not thought to be present in the house when the new tenant began to make changes.

  “So, what did you do with my father’s rug?” she asked.

  Will sipped his hot chocolate and relaxed back in the chair. It was time to put aside his questions and for them to concentrate on smaller matters. Tomorrow was another day, one in which she suspected he intended to press ahead with his enquiries.

  “I had it rolled up in a dust cover and placed in the attic. While I might consider your father's taste in furnishings to be very different from mine, I do not have the right to destroy his property. Rest assured Hattie that when your parents do return from Africa the house will be put to order once more,” he replied.

  Trust Will Saunders to be an honorable man unwilling to let anything befall her father's things.

  “Somehow, I knew you would say that, though I would be prepared to turn a blind eye if you did happen to lose one or two items. I could give you a list,” she offered.

  If Will broke her father's collection of puzzle jugs she was certain she could see her way to forgiving him. She could even be trusted to hide the pieces. Her own mother had developed the gift for accidentally swiping one or two of them from the side board onto the floor. The last two jugs her father purchased had been stored on the top shelf of a high cupboard, safely out of harm's way.

  A yawn escaped her lips and Will followed suit. He set his cup down.

  “It's late, I suggest we defer our discussion to the morning. Though when we do continue our discussion, there are one or two things I will ask of you Hattie,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I need you to start being honest with me. I am sticking my neck out for you by allowing you to remain under my roof. Your honesty in dealing with me is a fair price to ask. You may not hold a lot of value to your reputation, but I do. I also have my own reputation and that of my family to consider. My Uncle Ewan is the Duke of Strathmore and my Uncle Hugh is the Bishop of London. They are both powerful and well- respected men. I would never wish to lose their good opinion of me.”

  He left her with little choice. Her agreement was already a foregone conclusion.

  “And the other thing?”

  “A promise that when we have managed to sort through things you reconsider my marriage proposal.”

  After making as elegant a retreat as she could, Hattie headed to her old room. Mrs. Little soon joined her.

  “Well that turned out so much better than expected. I tell you I was certain he was going to throw us all out at one point,” she said.

  Hattie picked up her nightgown from off the bed. It had been neatly folded. She gave a glance at Mrs. Little who was busying herself with arranging Hattie's hairbrush and mirror on the top of the dressing table.

  Will’s words continued to rattle around in her head. She was now at his mercy. There were no more ships for her to leap over the side of, he had her right where he wanted her.

  “Nice man that Mr. Saunders. So, he is the one who rescued you in Gibraltar. Funny how things worked out and that he was the one who took the house. I wonder what his family is like.”

  Mrs. Little was kind in her gentle rebuke. She had been with the family long enough for Hattie to feel terrible about lying to her. For someone who constantly protested about falsehoods and mistruths she had become far too ready to use them when she felt the need.

  Mrs. Little came to her side and gently prised the gown from out of Hattie's fingers.

  “It’s alright my dear, I understand why you felt you couldn’t tell me the truth. You are back home safely, and that is what matters. I am sure Mr. Saunders was the perfect gentleman while he brought you home.”

  Hattie felt her cheeks burn. If Mrs. Little had any inkling as to what she and Will had done during the long afternoons and nights on the boat, the housekeeper would be out of the house and knocking on Edgar’s front door demanding an audience.

  She quickly changed into her nightgown and bade Mrs. Little good night. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pondered this unexpected turn of events. She had expected at some point to encounter Will once more. What she had not expected was for him to be living in the very same house. And for him to still be insistent on his demand for them to marry.

  Placing a fingertip on her lips, she remembered the fierce way he had kissed her. Will still lusted for her. His kiss also held the promise of something else. He cared
deeply about her.

  When he held her in his arms, her hunger for him had stirred within once more. She longed to be naked in his bed as his skillful fingers worked their magic on her heated body. She ached for him to be deep within her once more, claiming her body as he brought her to the pinnacle of sexual pleasure.

  But to have him once more as her lover, she would have to agree to his demand for them to marry. Marriage meant Will having a major say in her life, and her work. London society wives did not walk the streets of St. Giles unchaperoned and they most certainly did not spend their days cleaning churches.

  As she slid beneath the warmth of the blankets, Hattie allowed her mind to drift once more to Will and the kiss they had shared. When her mind began to touch on the point of examining her feelings for him, she pushed away. Allowing her heart to give itself over to Will was folly. Heartbreak could only follow.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Hattie left the house just before sunrise the following morning. It had come to the notice of the rest of the household that Will was not an early riser. Most days he would not come down for breakfast until well after nine.

  “Continental hours, he calls them,” Mr. Little noted.

  Whatever they were, Will's desire to remain abed late each day meant Hattie had the run of the house to herself in the morning. It also meant she could slip out of the house without him asking her where she was going.

  As part of her need to make amends not only with Will, but with the world, she knew the time would come when she would have to face returning to St. John’s parish church. As she dressed this morning she knew that time was now.

  One of the unexpected outcomes of her work at St. John’s parish was her parent’s acceptance of Hattie moving freely between their home and the church without an escort. This decision had been the cause of the first of many rows between her father and Edgar.

  “I know these streets better than either of them,” she muttered.

  Rugged up against the chill of a mid-Autumn morning Hattie set out. She made good time along Long Acre Street and up Drury Lane until she reached Holborn.

  When she got to Holborn she stopped on the opposite side of the street from St. John’s. She had spent many days inside the simple stone church, helping London's poor and needy.

  The plain watery broth she prepared in the church kitchen when she was able to source ingredients, was often the only meal the church’s parishioners got.

  She pushed back her shoulders, then crossed the street and climbed the steps to the front door. In a matter of minutes, she would know whether she was welcome to return or not.

  Closing the door behind her, she stood in the dimly lit church and breathed in. Placing a hand over her heart, she whispered. “Home.”

  As expected, nothing had changed since the last time she had set foot inside the plainly decorated nave. It had only been a matter of a month or so, but it felt like half a lifetime.

  There were no beautiful lead decorative windows in St. John’s, only glass. The floor was a functional grey tile. The little money the parish had, was spent on charitable works. Two vases either side of the altar were the only concessions to color. Filled with red and white roses from the bequest of a deceased benefactor, they gave heart to the soul of the building.

  The hacking cough which was the signature tune of Father Retribution Brown announced his arrival.

  “Here I go,” she whispered.

  As the minister slowly made his way through the side door entrance, Hattie waited.

  “Father Brown?”

  He turned and screwed his eyes tight as he tried to focus on her face. His initial look of recognition, was swiftly replaced with shock.

  “Hattie? Good lord child where did you come from?” he exclaimed.

  He looked to one side of her. Hattie shook her head.

  Her, “Only me,” was met with a frown. Father Brown shuffled closer and took a hold of Hattie’s hand.

  “So where are your parents and Peter? Has something terrible befallen them?”

  It was the question to which she had spent most of the morning constructing a suitable response.

  “My parents and your nephew are likely still at sea and somewhere off the coast of West Africa. They should be in Freetown by the end of the month. I chose not to go with them,” she replied.

  Hattie waited. She had agreed with Will that the lies were to cease. The truth was, she was here in London and the others were not. There was not much else to say.

  Father Brown’s aged weathered hand squeezed hers gently. He sucked air loudly into his lungs and then began to laugh.

  By the time he let go of Hattie's hand, he was well into a rough cackle. She stood watching him, dumbfounded.

  It was not the reception she had been expecting. Anger perhaps, even open dismissal would not have come as a surprise, but laughter was most certainly not something she had entertained in her thoughts. She found it rather unsettling.

  Retribution Brown was a man Hattie had never been able to see clearly. He was more softly spoken than his nephew, but she had never felt at ease in his company. His name had always given her reason for pause.

  “I don't understand,” she finally said.

  Father Brown's laughter dimmed to a smile.

  “That's because you have not fully accepted God's purpose for you. Though the fact that you are here, and not on your way to becoming a missionary’s wife, tells me he has spoken to your heart,” he replied.

  Her parents were black and white when it came to their role in the church, Peter even more so. They had a calling to preach and convert, so therefore must she. Her role was well defined as far as they were concerned.

  “I told that thick headed nephew of mine he had no right to force you into marrying him. He of course in his usual stubborn way would not listen. Your parents should never have encouraged him. I told your father the very same thing the week you left.”

  She was taken aback by his words. Someone had seen her despair and she had been blind to it. Father Brown of all people had pleaded her case. If only she had known, so much of the pain which had followed could have been avoided.

  “You grew a spine Hattie Wright, and I am certain that our heavenly father had a hand in it. He needed you for the church’s work here in London. Come,” he said.

  Hattie followed him back through the door from which he had come. Soon they were in the small stone cottage adjacent to the church.

  “The lighting of the candles can wait. No one will be at prayer this early in the day,” he said.

  While Hattie took a seat at the kitchen table, Father Brown pulled two cups from the shelf and busied himself about the place. Once a week one of the parishioners would come to clean the house and restock the small larder, but other than that Father Brown was content to take care of himself.

  “Has your brother taken you in?” he asked.

  At her lowest point, Hattie knew she would never have lied to a priest. She was glad to be back on the road to being her old open book self.

  “I have made other arrangements for the short-term. My brother does not know I am returned to England, but I shall seek him out when I am ready,” she replied.

  Father Brown handed her a cup of pale, weak tea. The tea leaves were reused many times before being thrown out onto the small kitchen garden patch at the back of the vicarage.

  “I see. So, my dear. Have you come back to continue your work with me?”

  “Yes please. I would love to come home,” replied Hattie.

  Father Brown scratched the scraggly strands of white beard on his chin. He pointed to a small wooden pail sitting in the corner. Hattie had carried that very same pail to and from the market more times that she could recall.

  “Well I suggest you get to work on the measly carrots I managed to get from Covent Garden this morning. The traders are not as generous with me as they were with you. I think some of them might be angry with me for letting you go. Once you are done with them, I would
be happy to hear your confession.”

  Hattie wiped a tear away. There was nowhere else in the world that she would rather be than seated on the broken step outside the church peeling carrots.

  She would take her time with the carrots. She had a long list of sins to compile for confession.

  Hattie’s happy mood at being back at St. John’s and receiving Father Brown’s blessing lasted until she arrived back at Newport Street. Will's reaction to discovering she had ventured unaccompanied from the house was not so pleasant.

  “I thought we had agreed you would be honest with me,” he said.

  His words while delivered in an even tone, contrasted with his right hand which was tapping loudly on the breakfast room table.

  “I didn't lie to you. I simply went out without telling you. You cannot expect me to wait around the house until you rise. Half the morning would be gone,” she replied.

  After the unexpected joy of discovering Retribution Brown was more than happy to welcome her back into the fold, Hattie refused to allow Will's bad temper to get the better of her. He was welcome to be as angry as he liked.

  It was not as if it was the first time she had made the trek across to Holborn on her own. And it wouldn't be the last if she had any say in the matter.

  The thought did however give her pause. She pulled a chair out and took a seat at the table, unwilling to argue her case like a recalcitrant child made to stand before its displeased parent.

  “I am sorry you were not aware of the arrangement which existed in this house before you took possession. I regularly make my way on foot to St. John’s and St. Giles,” she explained.

  “Unaccompanied?” he replied.

  And there it was, the reason for his wrath. He feared for her safety. As she wracked her brain for a suitable response, one which would not further invite his ire, Hattie observed Will. It was intriguing to watch a man such as Will work to control his emotions.