She remembered their own wedding. How differently she had felt toward him then. As her thoughts wandered thus, he caught her eye, and she smiled at him.
But he turned his glance away quickly.
The Duke of Blassingame attended, balancing his thin frame on a silver-handled cane. There was no sign of Lady Jane, and no announcement of their forthcoming nuptials had yet appeared in the newspapers. But Anna knew that Kate knew.
Following the ceremony, a wedding breakfast was served at Haverstock House. By this time Kate had quit crying and graciously met with each guest, including the duke’s five middle-aged daughters—his progeny from his now-deceased wife.
But it was Lydia who drew the most praise on Kate’s wedding day. For this was the first time she had worn one of the dresses fashioned by Madam Devreaux. The gown was of the palest violet, its neckline plunging extremely low, the soft gathering of the slender dress making her appear statuesque, almost slender.
Colette had arranged her hair in the Grecian style, and a lavender ostrich plume swept from her black locks.
Morgie could not take his eyes off her.
Anna detected that he was intimidated by the woman with whom he had always enjoyed an easy intimacy. Under normal circumstances, he would be sitting beside Lydia at this moment, the two of them delivering tongue lashings over some of the pompous guests.
But today, he stood alone, swallowing hard as he watched Squire Ainsley devote himself to Lydia.
Anna walked up to Morgie. “Despite that he cannot play whist, how did you find Squire Ainsley?”
“Dull witted.”
“But you must admit he is very amiable, and quite devoted to Lydia.”
“He will bore her to death.”
“But he does enjoy riding, and I am told his stable is well equipped. That should make Lydia happy.”
“It’s not right, you know, asking her to come in as mother to six children who are not her own.”
“Lydia loves children.”
“Deserves her own.”
“The squire will most likely be happy to oblige in that.”
Morgie heaved an impatient sigh.
Anna changed the subject. “How does little Andy do?”
“Happy as a lark. My housekeeper bathed the lad and found some clean clothes that aren’t too big on his skinny little frame. We’ll have him fattened up in no time. Wonderfully good appetite he’s got.” He looked around. “Mary did not come?”
“Did you not know she is about to present the dowager with her first grandchild?”
“None of you ever tell me anything anymore,” he snapped.
“What do we never tell you?” Haverstock asked Morgie, walking up and slipping an arm around Anna’s waist, causing her knees to feel cottony.
“First, not a word about the squire fellow dancing attendance on Lyddie. Then, no one tells me Mary is increasing. And you always said I was like one of the family.”
“You must perceive that you are the only person here who is not related to the happy couple,” Haverstock said, clasping a firm hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Actually, I find you quite superior to most members of my family. Come, let us find the champagne.”
They left Anna alone. She wondered if she were one of the members of her husband’s family whom he found lacking. Of course she was. If only she were more like Lady Jane, Anna thought.
TWENTY-THREE
‘THESE LADIES bloody well need her,” Morgie said crossly, flicking his ribbons on the way to the East End. “Don’t know why Lyddie has to gallivant ’round with that squire fellow this afternoon. He sees her every blasted night.”
Anna laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s just for this one afternoon. The poor man has scarcely had a moment alone with his fiancé their betrothal. Besides, I am particularly desirous of speaking to you today on a very private matter.”
He lowered his eyes. “Your most obedient servant, my lady.”
Though she knew they were quite alone, save the tiger at the rear, Anna glanced around the darkened, narrow street they traveled to assure herself no one could hear. No other carriage was near. Not even Colette had come today, so Anna’s conversation would reach only Morgie’s ears.
“I know how close you are to Charles,” she began. “He shares with you what he shares with no one else. I am aware—though not from him—that you accompanied him to France. What I do not know is if Charles is working for or against England.”
“How could you doubt him?” Morgie snapped, cracking his whip against the horse and casting a suspicious glance at Anna.
“In my heart, I know he’s good. However, a man I fear may be working against Britain persuaded me that Charles was a traitor.”
Morgie nearly collided with a passing hay cart. “Tis insanity, I vow! There’s no finer man than Haverstock.”
“I very much want to believe that,” Anna assured. “I want you, too, to believe that I have absolutely no sympathies for the French. That’s part of what makes everything so terribly difficult for me. If I had to choose between my country or my husband, I don’t know which I’d choose. For I care for Charles very much.”
Morgie’s eyes softened and he lowered his voice. “You shouldn’t have to choose. Haverstock’s as English as the king.”
“Then I need you to help me prove it.”
“How do I do that?”
“I’m not quite sure.” Anna felt a refreshing burst of cool air off the Thames as Morgie’s curricle plunged on to the wider Strand. “I thought perhaps you could help me trap the man I suspect.”
“And, pray, who is this man?”
“Sir Henry Vinson.”
“Never cared for the worm.”
“Neither do I, if the truth be known.”
“Tell me about him,” Morgie commanded, rounding the next corner at a brisk pace.
Anna disclosed that Sir Henry had used her to spy against Haverstock by convincing her Haverstock was a French loyalist. “He has been scheming to learn the identity of Charles’s contact in France—the one you two visited.”
Morgie nodded but said nothing.
By the time they reached the old building that housed the sewing school, he turned to Anna, a stern look on his narrow face. “Leave it to me. I know how to smoke out varmint.”
~ ~ ~
“ALLOW ME to buy you a drink, Almshouse,” Morgie said, settling in a leather chair in a darkened corner of White’s and getting the attention of a passing waiter.
Theodore Almshouse, whose once-fine coat was now well worn, sat next to him. “Good of you, old chap, considering I still owe you that five-hundred quid. Regret to say it will be the next quarter before I can pay up. My luck’s been devilishly bad of late.”
Morgie leveled his gaze at his old school chum, displaying neither satisfaction nor scorn, but a controlled power. “You may not have to pay up,” Morgie announced cheerfully. “I have a proposal for you.”
Almshouse leaned closer, his ears perked.
The waiter brought a full bottle of port with two glasses. Morgie watched as Almshouse took his glass with shaking hand. “What with your rotten luck and all,” Morgie said, “it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to actually play to lose.”
“You are proposing to pay me to lose?”
Morgie nodded.
“To whom, pray tell?”
“To Sir Henry Vinson.”
~ ~ ~
AS SHE DEMONSTRATED a daisy stitch to a middle-aged woman who stunk of onions, Anna sensed someone standing over her shoulder and turned to face Mr. Hogart.
He wore an impish smile, which she affectionately returned.
“I suspected I would find you here,” he said, bowing.
Anna gave him her hand. “How did you know?”
“I happen to spend a good deal of time in this neighborhood myself. It took no great intellect to surmise the fine lady who had set up the sewing school was none other than the Marchioness of Haverstock. Tell me, does his lordship know
about this?”
Anna nodded as she led him away from the students.
“And he has no objections?”
“His only objection is to our safety. I’m not even sure he fully trusts Mr. Morgan.”
“He should have no worries about you. You’re worshipped as a saint here. No hand will be ever be raised against you.”
“You know these people well.”
“I do, and I know I’m doing good. Not just spiritually.” His voice held hope, his eyes excitement. Then, he sighed and lowered his voice. “But Haverstock could not be expected to welcome the idea of his lovely sister spending her life toiling for the ignorant masses. She deserves a life of privilege and ease.”
Their feet struck the stone floors as they moved further away from the students. So this visit was not just a social call, Anna realized. The pulls of prospective matrimony must be tugging quite firmly at Mr. Hogart’s heart. “You underestimate both Charlotte and my husband. Charles has a very generous heart. And he’s not given to feeling superior to others. Take his choice of a wife. You know of my background?”
Mr. Hogart nodded, averting his gaze from her.
“Charlotte tells me the two of you wish to marry.”
“More than anything.”
“Then you must seek permission.”
“I cannot do that. I have no money. No home to offer.”
“I have set aside dowries for all of Charles’s sisters. Charlotte’s is a modest one, but you should be able to have a little home and an income of two-hundred a year. And it’s not as if you won’t come into money of your own one day.”
“I cannot accept your generosity.”
“Oh, but it’s not for you. The dowries were set up before I ever knew of your existence.”
His face cleared. His eyes shone. “I could kiss you, Lady Haverstock!”
“Save that for Lady Charlotte.”
~ ~ ~
THERE WAS NO PLEASURE in winning from Almshouse, Sir Henry thought. The man was no more skilled at hazard than at handling his liquor. And now Sir Henry would pocket another worthless IOU from the blasted man. Almshouse owed everyone in town.
“Just one more hand,” Almshouse said, his words slurred from brandy. “I feel my luck is changing.”
Sir Henry went to rise. “You’ve no more money.”
“Sit down, my good man,” Almshouse said, his eyes casting about the opulent room at Mrs. Chambers’ establishment. None of the other players in the large parlor were within hearing distance, but Almshouse still lowered his voice and leaned toward Sir Henry. “I have information which is worth a goodly sum.”
“I cannot imagine myself being interested in purchasing information.”
“Are you not associated with the Foreign Office?” Almshouse asked.
Sir Henry raised a brow and moved his chair somewhat closer to Almshouse.
“There is a certain high-ranking Frenchman who can be useful to you, I understand.” Almshouse lifted his glass and slowly took a drink, his eyes watching Sir Henry. “That is, if you knew his identity.”
Though his heart leapt at the prospect of learning who the Frenchman was, Sir Henry attempted to remain calm. He must not appear too interested. His only sign of eagerness was a slow swallow that accentuated his prominent Adam’s apple. “I may have heard something about the fellow,” Sir Henry said casually. “But how is it you know of the man?”
“My friend Ralph Morgan—when in his cups one night—was talking about meeting the chap in France.”
Morgie’s trip to France had been secret. Almshouse really knew what he was talking about. “Tell me, when did this meeting occur?” Sir Henry asked.
Almshouse shrugged. “Maybe three months ago. Maybe six. Around the time Haverstock married.”
Sir Henry nodded. It was all he could do not to burst out smiling. The wildest good fortune had finally smiled upon him. The ten-thousand pounds he received for dispatching Monsieur Chassay would be a paltry sum indeed compared to the fee for revealing France’s highest-ranking traitor. However, Sir Henry knew he must not seem too eager. He pulled out his timepiece and gave it a glance. “Suppose I could manage another game. What say you the stakes?”
“If I win, I get my markers back. If I lose, you receive the Frenchman’s name.”
Sir Henry handed the dice to Almshouse.
~ ~ ~
EXCEPT FOR SPEAKING of the morning nuptial announcement between the Duke of Blassingame and Lady Jane Wyeth, Morgie and Lydia were markedly quiet on the way to the East End. Anna found herself trying to keep up the entire conversation, remarking on how well Kate was taking the duke’s marriage announcement, asking Lydia about her outing with the squire the previous day, commenting on the day’s heat.
Once they arrived at the sewing school, Morgie asked Anna to stay back for a private word.
“I believe our plan has worked, my lady,” he said. “Your suspicions about Sir Henry appear to be completely accurate.”
Her eyes danced. “You can prove it?”
He nodded. “A near do well fr— er, acquaintance of mine played right into Sir Henry’s hand, it seems. In exchange for money, the acquaintance offered Sir Henry the name of the French official.”
“And he positively jumped at the chance to get it, did he not?”
“Quite correct. I knew it wouldn’t do to make up a name, so we furnished Sir Henry with the real name, then I hired Bow Street runners to watch Sir Henry round the clock. They were to indefinitely detain—without Sir Henry’s knowledge—anyone with whom he secretly met.” Morgie rather cockily said, “We now have in custody a certain Mr. Thomas Brouget, who was hastening to Dover after meeting with Sir Henry at St. Paul’s this morning.”
Sweet heaven! Charles was innocent! Anna felt as if she’d been released from a cage. Now she could be rid of the odious Sir Henry Vinson.
~ ~ ~
WHAT ANNA HOPED would be her final assignation with Sir Henry was brought about by a note from Anna requesting Sir Henry meet her at the British Museum.
Anna was quite alone among grim glass cases when Sir Henry entered.
He coolly appraised a mummy. “I have finally realized you can be of no service to me.”
“Then we are of like minds,” Anna said. “I do not trust you. And I believe you, and not my husband, betray England.”
His eyes turned cold. “You don’t know of what you speak.”
“Oh, but I do. I’m just sorry it has taken me so long to see the truth.”
“The truth is that your husband works for the French.”
“You’re a liar.”
“You know he was meeting Pierre Chassay.”
“Because Monsieur Chassay was working with the British, and you couldn’t allow that, could you, Sir Henry?”
He glared at her.
“I bitterly regret I was very stupid to have trusted you, but that will happen no more. If you value your skin, you’ll leave the country before I inform my husband of your activities.”
“How dare you threaten me!”
She shot him a frosty glance before turning on her heel. “I’ll give you two days.”
~ ~ ~
IT WAS DIFFICULT for Haverstock to concentrate on the codes. He kept thinking of Anna’s treachery. Of Pierre’s death. Of that disgusting Harry Churchdowne who was so obviously besotted over Anna. Of Sir Henry Vinson’s role in this business.
He took out the miniature of Anna and gazed at her likeness. Laughter licked at her rich brown eyes and a mischievous smile played at her lovely mouth. He could almost hear her sweet voice and smell her rose water. Even knowing all he knew of her, the sight of that flawless face grabbed at his heart. It was a sign of disgusting weakness. His foolishness over her had cost Pierre his life.
For the first time ever, Haverstock longed to be like his father—not to care for any woman. They only destroyed. He was testament to that.
A knock sounded at his door, and his secretary announced a Mr. Cook.
&nb
sp; Haverstock’s heart quickened. Mr. Cook was one of the Bow Street runners he had hired to follow Anna since he had fired Jimmy.
Haverstock asked the man to sit down. Before Mr. Cook said anything, Haverstock knew Anna had met with Sir Henry.
“You have a report on my wife’s activities?” Haverstock asked.
Mr. Cook nodded grimly, and took a small ledger from his shabby coat. “Lady Haverstock met with a tall, thin bloke, I’d say about fifty years of age, this morning at the British Museum. They spoke for about ten minutes. Then the gent came to this very building—we’ve learned his name is—-”
“Sir Henry Vinson.”
“Just so.”
Now Haverstock knew with certainty Anna was indeed meeting the man who matched the description of Pierre’s killer.
Haverstock pounded his fist against his desk. He wondered if he had the stomach to see Anna’s slender neck with a noose around it.
TWENTY-FOUR
SIR HENRY WOULD BE damned before he would let that scheming female dictate to him! And just when things were going so very well. Thomas was on the way to France with the minister’s name. In all likelihood, Sir Henry would be considerably richer within a fortnight. He had a nice little niche here in London, especially now that he had capital to spare.
If only he had not encouraged Anna to marry the blasted Haverstock. That had been his undoing. He had not counted on their falling in love with one another. It simply wasn’t done. Haverstock had previously been content with any number of mistresses, but he had not taken one since Anna came to his bed. Sir Henry thought of her mother, Annette de Mouchet, and how satisfied Steffington had been with her. Any man could have luxuriated in her loveliness, Sir Henry thought with bittersweet remorse.
Perhaps he should have taken Anna for his own mistress. But he’d grown so bloody tired of demanding females. He had thought he could control Anna without relinquishing his autonomy. In the beginning she had seemed so fertile for his endeavors. Her hatred for the House of Haverstock had been Sir Henry’s leg up. But he had failed to recognize the attraction of a powerfully muscled body, of black eyes that held a woman as powerfully as chains and of a thick head of hair the color of freshly turned earth.
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