After running around the gardens with the children until they flagged, Sibella returned them to their mother and sought Maria, finding her in her bedchamber.
“I subjected Lord Coombe to the usual close inspection,” Maria said, winding a piece of pine-green velvet ribbon around her finger, “as I do all of your beaus.”
“He’s hardly a beau. But what did you make of him?”
“I don’t know,” Maria said thoughtfully. “He’s polite and well-mannered of course, but he gives very little of himself away.”
“Dark brown eyes are inscrutable, aren’t they?”
“You didn’t warm to him then.”
Sibella shrugged. “I neither disliked him nor suffered a strong attraction.”
“Well, we know why that is, do we not?”
The name Strathairn hovered unsaid between them.
As Maria rummaged in her jewelry box, Sibella was tempted to tell her about the kiss. They shared everything, and it seemed disloyal not to, but for some reason she wanted to hold the heady, sensory details of John’s kiss in the moonlight close for a while, not wishing the experience pulled apart in the cold light of day.
When Edward returned to the house, Sibella waylaid him in the front hall. “I’ll thank you not to help mother find me a husband,” she said.
For once, Edward didn’t laugh. He grabbed her hand and pulled her down the corridor and into the library.
She spun around as he shut the door behind her. “What is it?”
“You need to forget Strathairn.”
“I…”
He held up a finger. “There’s a very good reason for it.”
“I know. He doesn’t wish to marry. At least me, anyway,” she said ruefully.
“A spy cannot marry. That is, a spy with any integrity who doesn’t wish to place those he loves in danger.”
“A spy?” Sibella’s chest tightened. “Are you sure you’re not embellishing, Edward?” It did make sense now that she thought of it.
“I had no intention of telling you this, but I sensed your relationship might have taken another step. I trust you’ll be discreet. And for heaven’s sake, don’t tell Maria! She’s the worst at keeping secrets.” Edward folded his arms and leaned against the door. “He works for the military.”
So that was why such mystery surrounds him! “But what if a woman was prepared to marry him anyway and face the risks with him?”
“And subject yourself to a life of fear and heartbreak? You don’t know what you’re saying. Forget him, Sib, please.” He shook a finger at her. “Strathairn appears on the surface of things to be an earl with a passion for breeding horses. But he also inhabits another dark, dangerous world, which is beyond your comprehension. He resists drawing you into that world and exposing you to possible danger. If you set out to seduce him, his resolve may well crumble. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Leave Strathairn alone. There are other more suitable men in the world.”
He leaned forward and brushed a kiss onto her cheek. “Do you understand?”
She nodded mutely as she fought to grasp the truth, the certainty that she and Strathairn would never marry.
Edward opened the door to find a footman standing in the corridor trying not to look intrigued.
*
With a heavy heart, Strathairn left Mrs. Nesbit’s house, having delivered the grim news that she was now a widow. He promised the distraught woman financial aid would be forthcoming, and he would make sure it was.
When he reached Whitehall, a secretary showed him into Lord Parnham’s office, where his lordship sat behind his large desk piled high with files.
Strathairn removed the eagle pin from his waistcoat pocket and tossed it down on the desk.
Lord Parnham picked it up. He poked at the gold cravat pin in his palm. “You think this could belong to Count Forney? Is it possible the intelligence we received about his death is wrong?”
“Possibly. Or this was one of his cohorts.”
Lord Parnham’s eyebrows rose. “We hung them all.” He dropped the pin as if it might bite him. “What is your gut feeling?”
“This was hardly the act of a rational man, but was Forney ever that? He faces the hangman’s noose for his involvement in the assassination conspiracy. The target of which may have been Princess Charlotte. Some other purpose would have brought him here sadly since the princess died in childbirth.”
Thinking of Nesbit lying dead tightened his jaw. “I’ll continue to dig around. Something might turn up.”
“Don’t bother. There’s not enough to go on,” Lord Parnham said. “We’ll move on to other matters.”
Strathairn stared at him, dismayed. “I’d at least like to try to find out who wrote the note that brought us to the dock. And who shot Nesbitt?”
“It might be an enemy of yours. Best you don’t, Strathairn. I can assign someone else—” Parnham paused at a knock at the door.
Strathairn fumed as Parnham’s secretary entered the room and handed the spymaster a letter.
“The Home Office.” Parnham scanned it quickly. “Seems that Sidmouth’s spies have followed a Frenchman to York after he was engaged in stirring up trouble against the government in Manchester. They’ve apparently lost sight of him. It’s drawing a long bow, but we best check it out.” He leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a steeple. “It’s likely York got too hot for him with the men on his tail. Nevertheless, go up there and see what you can find out about him. You might pick up his trail. Leave as soon as you can get away.”
“And if Forney should surface while I’m gone?”
“Rest assured you’ll be contacted.”
Strathairn had to make himself clear. He leaned forward, his knuckles on the desk. “I want to deal personally with whoever killed Nesbit.”
Parnham nodded, sympathy in his eyes. “You’ll get that chance.”
“I’ll leave in a few days. I’ll ride in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon if you wish to contact me.”
His spymaster uttered a displeased grunt. “Cannot such a commitment to friends be deferred? Surely a ride in the park doesn’t compare with your estate, which I’m sure you’ll take the opportunity to visit.”
“It’s business.” He must set things right with Sibella.
A flicker of amusement lightened Parnham’s brow. “I see.”
“I wouldn’t read too much into it.” Strathairn glowered at the impudent man.
Parnham laughed. “Women lie behind most of the irrational things we men do.” His brows snapped into a worried frown. “But watch your back up north. And send word as soon as you can.”
The following afternoon, Strathairn rode his handsome black stallion, Hercules, to the park, wishing he could explain to Sibella how Nesbit’s death had affected him. That he hadn’t been himself.
The late afternoon sun warmed his back as he approached the park where the Beau monde were out in force, driving their carriages along the South Carriage Drive and riding their horses in Rotten Row.
Two women in a brougham laughed and flirted with him from beneath their lacy parasols as they waited to enter the park in the queue of traffic. Both pretty women, he admired their lavender and yellow carriage gowns and their bonnets trimmed with flowers. He pulled his horse up alongside and doffed his hat. “Good afternoon, Lady Bakewell, Mrs. Andrews. You both are the personification of summer.”
“Thank you, Lord Strathairn, we were discussing how well you look,” said Lady Bakewell, the elder of the two. “I must say, you have the finest seat on a horse I’ve seen for many a long year.”
Mrs. Andrews put her gloved hand to her mouth, unsuccessfully hiding her grin, as Strathairn bowed in the saddle and rode on.
A gallop was frowned on in the Row. Some riders cantered, others ambled along at a trot while in conversation with their companions. Strathairn greeted several acquaintances as he searched for Sibella, but he failed to find her among the crowd. She always rode on Wednesdays. Where was she? He suffered an annoying,
disappointed jolt.
He rode the length of the Row and was considering returning home when Sibella’s younger brother Vaughn, appeared atop a bay. Strathairn was on friendly terms with all the Brandreth men. He rode over to greet him.
“The family’s in the country.” Vaughn whipped off his hat and swiped at his coal-black hair. “I’m off to Tunbridge Wells tomorrow. It’s Maria’s birthday. Mother has yet to move to the dower house and will gather us all at Brandreth Park to celebrate every little thing, don’t you know.”
Strathairn laughed. “Please give your mother and Lady Maria my best wishes.”
“I will.” He scowled. “I’d invite you if I could. We’d escape the women and hunt or play billiards. Tedious business, family parties!”
“Thank you for the thought, but I’m heading north in a few days.”
Vaughn sighed. “Off to Linden Hall, eh? Fine property, that.”
“You must visit again as soon as we can arrange it. I’m aware of your interest in my horses.”
He eyed Strathairn’s horse. “I admire the Arabian Turk breed. You promised me one to equal Hercules.”
Strathairn patted the horse’s neck. “I’ve yet to find one of Hercules’ equal. I do have a couple of promising foals bred from the Byerly Turk. Dark brown, but they have the same large eyes, arched neck, and high carriage of the tail.”
“Sounds promising.” Vaughn grinned. “Don’t forget me.” He gathered up the reins. “I enjoyed bagging grouse at Linden Hall last year, but you must come down to Brandreth Park this October. It’s going to be a prime shoot for ducks this year. I’d best be off. Edward wrote me he has a chap picked out for Sibella. All of us are to persuade her to take the leap into matrimony. Sib’s too special to remain an old maid.”
Lord Vaughn rode off.
Strathairn hunched over his horse’s neck. He could only agree with Vaughn, but somehow it didn’t make him feel any better. He’d thought himself resigned to Sibella marrying some fellow. To watch it happen, however, was another thing entirely.
Chapter Three
When the family returned to Brandreth Court, their townhouse in St James’s Square, Sibella and Maria took the opportunity to view the Parthenon sculptures at the British museum before embarking on a dizzying round of social events.
They were returning home in a hackney cab when Maria grabbed her arm. “Look, there’s Lord Strathairn.”
“Strathairn?” Sibella’s heart raced as the tall, fair-haired man crossed the road just as their cab drew up behind a town coach.
Maria opened the window. “Lord Strathairn!”
“Maria!” Sibella hissed as her cheeks began to burn. He turned his head and changed direction, coming to their carriage where they remained stopped in traffic.
With a nod, Strathairn tipped his hat. “Ladies. Have you been shopping in Regent Street?”
“Really, my lord, do you think shopping is all we women do?” Maria asked in a teasing voice.
His smiling gaze sought Sibella’s. “Not at all. But I have two sisters who have made me fully aware of the importance of shopping.”
Maria laughed. “We have been to the museum to view the Elgin Marbles.”
“Ah. Then I apologize. What say you, Lady Sibella? Did you enjoy the museum?”
Strangely divorced from the conversation, Sibella’s mind still dwelled on their last encounter. Startled, she whipped her gaze away when she discovered herself staring at his mouth, recalling the salty-sweet taste of his kiss. “It was most edifying. Such antiquities are awe-inspiring.”
“Indeed. I confess I have yet to see them.”
“Then you are as negligent as we are, my lord,” Maria said. “Elgin brought them from Greece some time ago.”
He laughed. “I have not seen you riding in Hyde Park of late, Lady Sibella.”
“My mare developed shin splints and must rest.”
“Your brother Vaughn tells me the family celebrated Maria’s birthday at Brandreth Park.”
“Yes, we’ve returned because Mama has persuaded the renowned pianist, Maria Szymanowska to perform at our musicale later this week.” Sibella placed a hand to her cheek and felt the warmth through her York tan glove. She hoped he wasn’t able to guess how his presence affected her.
The traffic cleared ahead, and their carriage jerked forward. “I trust we’ll see you again soon, my lord?” Maria cast a quick glance at her. “Although we leave for York next week. Mama intends to visit our brother Bartholomew who is the vicar there.”
“I’m about to travel north myself,” Strathairn said.
“We plan to attend the York assembly on Saturday. I do hope you’ll come. It’s a remarkably dull affair.” Maria stared at Sibella. “Don’t you agree, Sib?”
“Yes, it certainly can be,” Sibella said.
“I look forward to seeing you there,” Strathairn called as the carriage moved forward. At a shout from a drayman, he dodged a wagon and ran to the pavement.
Maria turned to her. “Well!”
Sibella raised her eyebrows, attempting a casual pose. “Well, what?”
“You are in a brown study. I’m sure Strathairn was enthralled by your scintillating repartee.”
“Oh, do stop, Maria.”
“What on earth is the matter with you? You two generally talk for ages. Had you nothing to say to him?”
“He kissed me.”
Maria’s eyes changed from owlish to accusatory. “Why didn’t you tell me? And when was this?”
“I’m sorry, dearest. It was of no consequence. At Lady Gladwin’s ball. You remained at home that night with a sore throat, remember?”
Maria stared at her. “Of no consequence? Are you mad? Where?”
“On the lips.”
Marie huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Where at Lady Gladwin’s, you goose. Surely not in the ballroom.”
“In the garden. We went for a stroll.” She eyed her sister. “Everyone was out that evening, it was so pleasantly warm.”
Maria sniggered. “Well indeed! I’ve long suspected his feelings for you ran deeper than he would admit to.”
Sibella shook her head, heat rushing to every part of her body. “That’s just it. He made light of it afterward. It was just an impulse which meant nothing to him.”
“Oh. The wretch!”
She gave a choked, desperate laugh. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Maria.”
“Many men think they do not. They must be persuaded.”
“As you persuaded Harry?”
Maria stroked her throat with a dreamy smile. “No.”
“Exactly. I shan’t spend my time longing for a man who doesn’t want me.”
Maria sighed. “Oh, Sib. I pray you will find true love as I did with Harry. I do believe you will in time.”
Sibella gazed out the window barely aware of the vehicles and pedestrians in the busy street, fighting against her feelings, her throat tight, tears threatening. Annoyed, she said firmly, “A woman can fall in love more than once, I imagine.”
“I don’t believe I could.”
“Mama has her eye on Lord Coombe,” Sibella said.
“Mama has her eye on any titled, unmarried male under the age of forty-five,” Maria said.
Sibella nodded. “Coombe appears respectable enough.”
Maria rubbed her brow. “Perhaps you might fall in love with him? When you get to know him.”
“Perhaps.” If only she could forget Strathairn’s kiss. As the prospect of seeing him again in York lightened her heart, she sat back, frowned, and crossed her arms. She would not yearn after him anymore.
*
While dressing for a recital her mother was holding, the door opened, and her parent walked in.
“You may leave, Sarah,” Mama said to Sibella’s maid.
The girl bobbed and left the room.
Sibella turned from studying her reflection in the Cheval mirror. She fiddled with a sleeve. “Is there something you wish me to do for you, Mama?” She kn
ew as she asked it there would only be one thing her mother wanted. St James’s Square ran as well as the Swiss Long case clock in the entry hall.
“You’re wearing the muslin?”
“Don’t you approve?”
“Why not the white crepe with the embroidery and gold fringe?”
“It’s a little too decorative for this evening, don’t you think?”
“A lady should always wear what suits her best.” She sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. “But that is not what I wish to discuss with you, Sibella.”
Sibella took the gown from the clothes press and placed it on the bed. She eyed her mother. “Yes?”
“Is it your wish to remain a spinster and comfort me in my dotage?”
She laughed. “Oh, Mama. How dramatic you are. Of course not.”
“Good. Tonight, I wish you to give Lord Coombe your full attention.”
“But…”
Her mother rose and motioned with her hand to silence her. “Please make yourself agreeable to him.” She stepped forward to rest a hand on Sibella’s shoulder. “I gave the man you have a penchant for ample opportunity to declare himself, did I not? I even went against Chaloner’s wishes because I want to see you happy.”
Sibella flushed. “Strathairn and I are merely friends.”
“Fiddlesticks! I have eyes in my head! He chose not to propose marriage to you. That’s the end of it. You might find Lord Coombe quite acceptable if you give him a chance.”
A heavy sigh escaped Sibella’s lips. Her mind seemed to agree with her mother’s good sense, but her heart refused to bend. “Very well. I’ll try.”
“Good.” She touched Sibella’s cheek with a soft glove. “You are more than ready to set up your own household.”
*
The drawing room and dining room doors had been thrown open to enlarge the space for the evening’s entertainment. A visiting Polish composer and pianist, Maria Szymanowska, was to perform several piano concert etudes and nocturnes. What her mother did to entice the woman to Brandreth House was a mystery, for her performances to date were before royalty. But nothing her mother did surprised Sibella, which made her decidedly nervous.
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