by Regina Scott
Fool! She’d once counseled Patience Ramsey that life was too uncertain to leave important things undone. What could be more important than telling the man she loved her feelings? Who would have thought she, who had been so fearless, would hesitate to take a risk on love?
“I hope you try escaping again,” Claude said with a sniff to keep the blood from falling. “I promised myself I would return you to the Emperor, but you would save me some trouble if you break your neck falling from the coach.”
He glanced at the door as if wondering whether he should throw her out himself, and she chilled. So long as she lived, there was a chance for escape, a chance for rescue. She could not let him take that from her. She made her eyes as soulful as possible, allowed her limbs to tremble, and gazed up at him with no evidence of her true feelings. Prayer was as easy as breathing. She counted off the seconds, hoping.
Her cousin laughed. “How frightened you look. Good. Give me no trouble, and you will live to see France. But once I have returned you to the Emperor, I make no promises for your future.”
She could. Somehow, she would return to Gregory. She had to believe that.
~~~
A long night and day later, Gregory crouched in the darkness, the marsh grasses sighing around him. Dressed in dark clothing like him, Sir Harry Orwell reached out and tugged him lower. Gregory smiled in thanks, though he doubted his friend could see his expression in the fitful moonlight. He wasn’t even sure he was in the right place. A cove near Foulness Manor, Harry’s home in Essex, Gregory’s mother had said. Thanks to Julian’s quick response to Gregory’s request, Lord Hastings’s men were stationed in every cove within ten miles of Harry’s ancestral pile. Claude de Maupassant could be heading for any of them.
Harry nudged his shoulder, and Gregory’s gaze went out across the sand to the Channel waters beyond. Something flashed. A lantern, quickly hooded? Who did the sailor think would answer?
Harry rose and returned the sign with his own lantern, then sank back down.
“Ours, then?” Gregory murmured.
“Doubtful,” Harry answered. “But most of the smugglers along the coast follow a similar pattern. I may have told him all was clear or called his mother a tortoise. Either should bring him ashore soon enough.”
That was Harry—always the wit. His reputation for charm made many believe he was carrying on illicit affairs with any number of women. The rumors made excellent excuses for being out at night in the wrong places as he spied for England. His men were hidden about the cove now, standing vigil for a French spy who might never materialize.
Gregory shook the thought away. Somewhere tonight, Yvette would be rescued. The reverse was too much to contemplate.
His legs were cramping, his toes numb inside his boots, when he heard the crunch of wood on sand. A dark shape bobbed on the edge of the tide, shadows spilling from it to pull it higher.
He started to rise, and Harry tugged him down again.
“Wait,” he whispered, voice no louder than the sigh of the grass.
He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to act, to rush down the sand and seize a Frenchman, demanding that he be taken to Yvette’s side. But they likely didn’t know where Yvette was either. If they had put ashore for her cousin, they must wait too.
But not for long.
A call came from the hill to their right. Lit by the lantern he carried, a man descended, rope in the other hand. Behind him stumbled a figure, the rope disappearing into the hooded cloak. He’d tied the noose around her neck. If she fell, if he pushed her, she’d strangle before Gregory could reach her.
Anger shoved him to his feet, and this time not even Harry’s iron grip could stop him. He hurled himself from their hiding place, barreled up the path, and slammed his fist into Claude de Maupassant’s startled face. The lantern tumbled to the grass, and flames leaped up. With a cry, Claude rolled away.
As Harry’s men converged on the boat and the man beside Gregory, he grasped the hooded figure in one hand and tore back the hood with the other. Eyes shadowed, Yvette stared at him over a gag. He was vaguely aware of shouts, shots below him as he pulled the sodden material away.
“Good evening, my lord,” she said, voice raspy. “Thank you for coming for me and forgive me for putting you to such trouble. You were right. It is not easy to be a companion.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Yvette sat in the elegant blue and white withdrawing room of Foulness Manor, a cup of tea cradled in both hands. If those hands shook a little, no one would blame her. It had been a close-run thing.
“Drink it,” Patience said kindly on her chair across from the sofa, pink skirts arranged about her slender form. “And try to eat a little.”
The tray on the table before Yvette was loaded with delicacies—smoked salmon, pickled asparagus, strawberry tarts. The lumpy bun was probably the cook’s attempt at a French pastry.
“Merci,” Yvette murmured. “It seems I was expected.”
“The moment Lord Carrolton alerted Mr. Mayes that you had been taken, riders went out to inform Lord Hastings’s network,” the pretty blonde assured her. “You have many friends in England, Yvette.”
So it seemed. She could scarcely credit it.
“We weren’t certain we’d be fortunate enough to find you,” Patience continued, shifting the tray a little closer to her, “but we wanted to be prepared. I know Gussie and Lydia wanted to be here when you were found. Harry advised them to stay in London.”
Yvette nodded. She raised the cup to her mouth and took a sip. The warm liquid soothed her throat.
The noose. Her cousin. France.
She shuddered and set down the cup. “Where is Lord Carrolton?”
“Here,” he said from the doorway. There was something solid, something strong and right about those broad shoulders in the tweed coat. He strode to her side and only paused a moment before seating himself on Gussie’s fine sofa, which protested just a little.
“Your cousin is on his way to prison,” he reported. “He confessed he came on his own after his man failed to bring you back the first time. Of course, he hadn’t been satisfied since his men allowed you to escape with Harry and Julian. I gather they have been dealt with. No one else in France is aware you spied for us. He was ashamed to let them know until he had dealt with the problem. Your old friend Lord Trevithan has put it about that you decided to join friends in England after Empress Josephine left court. You are safe, Yvette.”
She drew in a breath. “C’est fini.”
He smiled. “Yes, it’s finished. When you are ready, we can go home.”
Home.
Light pushed back darkness, hope crowded out fear, love leaped up so strong she nearly swayed with it.
“Harry had hoped Yvette might stay with us for a while,” Patience ventured, warm brown gaze moving from Gregory to Yvette. “You would be most welcome.”
“Non,” Yvette said, gaze on Gregory. “I must be where my heart lies.” She glanced at Patience. “Would you leave us a moment, Patience? Lord Carrolton and I are betrothed, so there should be no impropriety.”
Patience’s golden brows rose, but she climbed to her feet and slipped from the room.
“Another secret to confess?” Gregory teased.
“Non, mon coeur. I suspect anyone looking at me must see the truth. But I wished you to hear it first.” She set down the cup and took one of his hands—so large, so strong, so capable—and gazed into his open face.
“Je t’aime. I love you. You who cannot, will not, lie; who raises his hand only to rescue. You are everything I could have dreamed of in a husband. Thank you for showing me what love could mean.”
Were those tears in his eyes? Only her earl would be so strong as to share them.
“And I love you. Je t’aime.” The French, mangled a bit, was still the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard. “You are everything I ever dreamed of in a wife.”
Yvette laughed through her own tears. “Oui, opinionated…”
“Int
elligent.”
“Stubborn.”
“Determined.”
“Manipulative.”
“Dedicated to those she loves. You cannot fool me, Yvette. I see you for who you are.”
She did not correct him, but she knew he was wrong. He saw not who she was, but who she might be, the woman she hoped to become.
“Then let us go home,” Yvette said, “to Carrolton Park. We will ask the vicar to read the banns.”
“Forget the banns,” Gregory said. “We’ll ride to London, obtain a special license, and be married before the week is out.”
Yvette laughed again. “My lord, how impetuous! I love it. Vien!”
He pulled her up, held her close a moment, and kissed her. To think she had envied him, then pitied him his life. Now she would share it with him—in sickness and in health, in tragedy and triumph. She could imagine nothing finer.
She truly was coming home.
~~~
In London, Meredith looked up as her butler, Mr. Cowls, made his way into the room. The silver-haired fellow always moved with stately grace, even though he was well beyond retirement. She felt far less graceful at the moment. She hadn’t been able to settle since Gussie had sent word that Yvette had been captured three days ago. Worry for her friend was bad enough, but she couldn’t help worrying for Julian as well, as he had gone out with the others to rescue her.
Fortune must have sensed Meredith’s agitation, for she prowled around the room as if hoping to pounce on a fat mouse. Not that Meredith’s competent staff would have allowed rodents to take up residence.
“News?” Meredith demanded.
“Miss de Maupassant has been rescued and will shortly be marrying Lord Carrolton,” Cowls intoned, gaze on the distance as if he were peering into a crystal ball like a gypsy fortune teller at Bartholomew Fair. “Mr. Mayes is on his way back to London.”
She did not ask how he knew. Her butler had an uncanny way of learning the truth, about any number of people. His connections were more impeccable than the prince’s. He was quite the asset to her profession.
Still, Meredith leaned back on the sofa, sending thanksgiving heavenward. “Wonderful.”
“And Miss Villers is here to see you.”
She straightened. Come to provide more details, perhaps? It was now common knowledge that Lydia’s brother was marrying the earl’s sister. Surely she would be among those to know what Yvette and Lord Carrolton planned.
“Show her in,” Meredith said, sitting higher and arranging her lavender skirts.
Lydia dashed in with her usual enthusiasm, pink velvet spencer topping her frilly white muslin gown. Fortune scampered to meet her. She scooped up the cat before Fortune could do more than wind around her ankles and crooned nonsense as she came to sit next to Meredith. When her fawning attention did not appear to be ending soon, Meredith cleared her throat.
Lydia glanced up with a smile. “Thank you for seeing me. I came on business.”
Disappointment was swiftly replaced by interest. “Business?”
“Yes,” she said, hand continuing to stroke Fortune’s soft grey fur. “I wondered if you would be willing to take me on as a client. I have some money put aside from my work with Gussie.”
Meredith waved a hand. “The house into which I place my clients pays my fee. But I thought you were happy with Gussie. What happened?”
She drew back from Fortune, who promptly slipped to the floor. As if she had to do something with her hands, Lydia knit her fingers together in her lap.
“Gussie is a dear,” she said with a fond smile. “I might never have discovered the depth of my affection for scientific endeavors if she hadn’t encouraged me. And I’ve learned so much from her. But she’s done.”
Meredith frowned. “Done? Do you mean she gave up?”
“No,” Lydia said, smile broadening until it lit her green eyes. “When that French agent was pretending to be Lady Carrolton’s physician, he made up a list of ingredients for a potion he claimed would heal. Lord Carrolton shared the list with us. Gussie later realized that one of the ingredients—Aloe vera—was what she needed for her formulation. She has complete faith in this latest batch. She sold the recipe to an apothecary who will be distributing the ointment in London. She is trying to determine her next goal. And I am left with no greater purpose than to wait.”
“And you refuse to be patient?” Meredith asked. “It has only been a day or so.”
Lydia shrugged. “I have had enough time with Gussie to know that, whatever she decides to pursue next, it will be with full enthusiasm and determination.”
Not unlike the woman sitting across from her. “You are well matched,” Meredith pointed out.
Lydia spread her hands. “We are indeed. I should be content. I’m well paid by a conscientious employer to do nothing. I find I want more.” She dropped her hands. “I want to make a difference, develop something of import to others. Surely this knowledge was meant to be shared more widely than for skin cream.”
Fortune hopped back up onto the sofa, put her paws on Meredith’s thigh, and gazed up at her.
“So, you think I should take this commission, then?” Meredith asked.
Fortune rubbed against her arm.
From the first time Lydia had met Fortune at a house party a few weeks ago, the girl had always accepted Meredith and Fortune’s unusual relationship. It was one thing in her favor. She brightened now, as if knowing Meredith would be swayed by her pet’s optimism.
“Very well,” Meredith said, and Lydia clapped her hands with glee.
Meredith shook her head. “You may not be so eager when you hear what I have in mind. It won’t be easy to find a position where a woman can use her scientific skills. Our leading scientists are still remarkably medieval in their attitudes in some areas.”
Lydia nodded as she lowered her hands. “I know the challenge I present. But surely with your connections, you know someone.”
“I do,” Meredith said. “But taking on the work will require you to find an inner strength, to hold your head high through adversity to win the prize.”
Lydia raised her head as if ready. “I will do what I must to persevere at my craft.”
“Even if it means you must work for the man who refused you?”
Lydia’s eager smile and color faded. “Him?”
As Fortune leaped across the space and transferred her affections to Lydia’s skirts instead, Meredith made her look stern. “You know his reputation, the regard to which he is held among the other scientists in the Royal Society. He has in the last year built a team of talented women to share his work, led by his sister Charlotte. I understand she’s looking to add another member. I can think of nowhere better to place you.”
Lydia hung her head. “He’ll never agree. He despises me.”
“But he needs someone with your skills to achieve his goals. We have an opportunity. We must seize it.”
Meredith rose, reaching out to take Fortune up into her arms. “Never fear, Lydia. Fortune will have to approve of Lord Worthington before I allow you to work for him. Now, gather your composure. We’ll begin the opening discussions today, and, by tomorrow, you will be on your way to your future with the viscount.”
~~~~~~
Dear Reader
Thank you for choosing Yvette and Gregory’s story. When Yvette appeared in Harry’s withdrawing room in Never Borrow a Baronet, I knew I had to tell her story. Hers was a tragic beginning, but a happy ending. If you missed how Gregory’s friend the Duke of Wey met his Jane, look for Never Doubt a Duke.
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Turn the page for a s
neak peek of the fourth book in the Fortune’s Brides series, Never Vie for a Viscount, in which Lydia Villers finds herself facing her greatest challenge—contributing to science while battling the doubts of the scientific elite, the women who are angling to marry her viscount employer, and the longings of her own heart, which say that she and the viscount might just make the perfect chemistry.
Blessings!
Regina Scott
Sneak Peek: Never Vie for a Viscount, Book 4 in the Fortune’s Brides Series by Regina Scott
London, England, late April, 1812
A townhouse had never looked so daunting.
Lydia Villers stood on the pavement looking up at the four-story white row house situated on fashionable Clarendon Square. Her muslin dress had seemed light and airy when she’d donned it that morning; her pink velvet Spencer hardly needed for the warm day. Now she felt perspiration trickled down her back.
“It is the best situation for your goals,” Meredith Thorn reminded her.
Lydia glanced at her companion. Oh, for an ounce of that confidence! Meredith, owner of the Fortune Employment Agency, always looked in complete control of herself. Perhaps it was the sleek black hair, so unlike Lydia’s pale ringlets. Or the depth of her lavender eyes, the color so much more compelling than Lydia’s misty green.
Or maybe it was the grey cat in her arms, gazing serenely at Lydia as if she didn’t doubt Lydia was capable of winning over anyone who stood against her.
Lydia drew in a breath. Her family and friends had consistently commented on her sunny smile, her optimism and enthusiasm. She should not allow the fear of one man to dim her light.
“You’re right,” she told Meredith. “Let’s go.”
Meredith nodded in satisfaction. Her cat Fortune’s tail swung like a cavalry flag as they moved forward.
A man answered their knock on the green-lacquered door, and Lydia could only marvel at his size in his sturdy brown coat and breeches. He took the card Meredith held out in one massive ungloved fist.