“I shall always be honest with my fashion advice. My dear, I meant what I said.”
“That you wish me every happiness?”
“Yes, that too. But no, what I mean is, I meant what I said that night at Shaldon House. I believe we shall be fast friends.” She lowered her voice. “That past arrangement is truly the past, never to be reopened, and must have no impact on your current and future happiness. We can be friends.”
Sirena tried to imagine what her husband would say about that. “I’m not being pert, my lady, but have we anything in common besides Bakeley?”
Lady Arbrough smiled. “I do like your pertness. And you like my fashion sense. That is a good place to start. And so, we can be friends. Perhaps not right away, though. We shall give society a cooling off period.”
Lady Arbrough curtsied. “I wish you great success with your ball.” There was an edge to her voice.
Wistfulness, Sirena decided. Or, perhaps the woman was waggling her way into an invitation, playing to Sirena’s understanding of what it meant to stand outside and look in.
The ball was looking to be a very curious affair. Shaldon had somehow secured the attendance of the Prime Minister, a few cabinet ministers, and a duke or two. Lady Arbrough’s name hadn’t been discussed, but her friends had omitted her, out of consideration to herself, probably.
It took but a second to decide. “You must come. Your invitation has not gone out, but it will. I’ll need every friend I can get at this ball. You may whisper to all of your acquaintances that I’m destined to be a fashion leader.”
Lady Arbrough’s handsome face softened. “You are too kind, Lady Sirena. You may be sure that I’ll tell everyone you have exquisite taste. Adieu.”
She watched the graceful departure, and wondered if Lady Arbrough’s heart still bore a tiny flame for Bakeley. For surely, she hadn’t been talking about Sirena’s taste in fashion.
Sometime later she plopped into the carriage seat beside Lady Perry, head pounding, and arms sore from lifting them for fittings. “Well, Barton? Did you see everything that you needed today?”
“Yes, my lady. I even had a peek at the back workroom.”
“But not the ledgers,” Lady Jane said. “I couldn’t find those in her office.”
Perry’s mouth dropped open. “You looked?” She laughed and shook her head.
“I was trying to fetch a sketch I’d seen on her table,” Lady Jane said.
“Heavens,” Sirena said. “Best not let Madame know. If she wields a dagger like she does a straight pin, we’ll all be poked to a quick death.”
“Oh, but I wanted that sketch for Barton to copy—which reminds me. Will you drop us at the stationers? Barton needs fresh drawing paper. We’ll walk home from there.”
“Why should we not all go?” Perry asked. “I know just the place.” She leaned out and spoke to the groom.
When they arrived at the shop, Sirena begged off going in. She lay her head back against the squab and watched Barton and Lady Jane hurry in. Perry paused at the shop window, studying the paintings displayed there.
No, she was transfixed by one painting, a large pastoral scene of green hills, trees, and a patch of blue lake. Sirena’s lack of training in the fine arts rendered it just pretty, not worthy of stopping an accomplished girl like Perry in her tracks.
Oh, but wasn’t her new sister a bit of an odd one? She closed her eyes. And she would never say that to Perry or anyone. Odd she might be, but she had the makings of a true sister.
Days later, across town, Bakeley took a place across from Shaldon at the dining table at the house in Knightsbridge.
Bink, Charley, Kincaid, and Farnsworth had joined them. Kincaid had planned to bring two of his men, burly Scotsmen he’d brought south to protect Bink two years before and never sent home, but they were shadowing his wife on some other errand related to the upcoming ball.
His plan to keep her home was not working.
The Scottish guards were a small comfort, as was the presence of two additional grooms accompanying Sirena’s town coach. Shaldon’s men were never just normal grooms and footmen. Hell, even some of the maids had been pressed from the families of his operatives, and paid well. Bakeley knew because he’d followed his lordships hiring instructions and seen to the wages these many years.
He’d had to bring in more servants this year, all well screened. But new, and Sirena’s questions a few nights earlier nagged at him.
The newness worried him.
“What of Donegal?” Shaldon interrupted his thoughts.
Farnsworth tapped the table. “He’s not been seen since the O’Brians set the meeting with Lady Sirena.”
“Has he set sail?” Bakeley asked.
“Not under that name, anyway. We’ve checked all the lists. We’ve had our people about in the taverns and gin houses.”
“How did the O’Brians find him the first time?” Bink asked.
“He made the first contact with them,” Kincaid said, “after he heard they were asking about the Glenmorrow traitor.”
“I would bet he was somewhere at the docks when she was attacked, watching for a trap.” Bakeley drummed his fingers on the table. “I wonder if he’s someone she might actually know.”
“A Donegal man? We never settled he was actually from Ireland,” Farnsworth said.
“Did you send the O’Brians to London after Sirena?” Bink asked.
Shaldon looked at Farnsworth, communicating permission to speak in that silent way he had.
“No. The O’Brians were already here. Her meeting them was pure chance. Sometimes, pure chance does happen.”
Bink exchanged a glance with him. “That’s true enough in battle. But where our father is concerned, I’m not a great believer in pure chance.”
Charley smirked. Shaldon’s lips firmed.
“For the love of God,” Kincaid said. “They at first withheld from us their contact with her, did they not, Farnsworth?”
“Yes. She’d been kind to them and their mother. Turned a blind eye to their poaching on the estate, brought them extra food when times were lean. It’s all mixed up when Donegal first made contact with them and how they came to arrange the meeting.”
“And we won’t be talking to them any day soon,” Bink said, sounding smug.
His brother had felt a clear sympathy for the Irishmen.
“Unreliable operatives,” Shaldon said.
The O’Brians had left Little Norwick soon after Bink’s return to London, and whether they feared Shaldon more or Donegal, Bakeley couldn’t guess.
“The fight upon the road unnerved them,” Bink said.
“So, perhaps your man will come to the ball also disguised as a musician or a waiter.” Charley lolled in his chair. A paternal glare brought him up straight in his seat.
“Then we’ll have two rogues to contain,” Kincaid said.
“We’ve sent Hollister the invitation,” Bakeley said. “We haven’t heard from him yet. His injured men slipped away after the apothecary saw to them.” The groom Bakeley had sent, Johnny, had lost sight of them.
“Johnny should have stopped them.” Kincaid sighed. “But aye, it’s easy enough in a busy innyard to be distracted.”
“I spoke to the innkeeper and the apothecary myself,” Bink said. “Their descriptions, and what they said of their injuries, makes me believe it was them who attacked me.”
Charley leaned forward looking suddenly sober. “So if Hollister sent men to attack you and the O’Brians, why? What possible reason could he have?”
A throbbing started up in Bakeley’s head. “He thought Sirena might be on that wagon.”
“Or might he have thought they betrayed Donegal?” Bink said. “Is Donegal tied up with Hollister?”
“It’s possible,” Farnsworth said. “There were four men on that road. One might have been Donegal himself. What came of that business with the sewer, Lord Bakeley? Perhaps it’s related.”
He shook his head. “Routine stoppa
ge, the men say, cleared away.” He was certain of it.
“Now there’s a bill for us to work on, Bink,” Charley said. “New sewer works. Bakeley, we’ll leave it to you to draft for us.”
He sent Charley a withering look.
“An anonymous note has been delivered,” Bakeley said. “It says that the writer stole a list in my possession that I was planning to deliver to the Irish Secretary upon his arrival in London next week. The writer is taking bids from each member on it, or their family members who wish to avoid the scandal. The highest bidder may proceed to destroy it or conduct his own blackmail as he wishes.”
“To recover his own losses.” Charley laughed. “That will appeal to any scoundrel. I’ll try again tonight to run into him.”
“I’ll join you,” Bakeley said. He’d like to size Hollister up before the man showed up on their doorstep.
“Besides Hollister, who are the other names on the list?” Bink asked.
Shaldon blinked. “The list will be fictitious. When it’s written, it will contain only one living man’s name. The rest will be Irish nationals who were uncovered and...thwarted.”
“Excellent.” Charley lolled back again. “And who is Hollister to make contact with?”
“We’re here to decide that today,” Bakeley said. “We’ll send a second missive with instructions. Can we assume he’ll have the delivery man followed?”
Kincaid and Farnsworth nodded.
“Very well,” Bakeley said. “Let’s demand an immediate reply. Then we must decide who’ll be the blackmailer.”
“Not you or Father, obviously,” Charley said. “Not Kincaid—too loyal. No one would believe in his betrayal. Not Farnsworth, since he’s not a bosom beau. Not Bink. He’s too thick-headed and stubborn to engage in blackmail.” Charley’s eyes glittered. “It must be me, the scatterbrained youngest son with an expensive mistress and gambling debts. Both are merely gossip, Father. You know I’m gathering information from the lady, who has plenty of money of her own, and I have been assiduously avoiding the tables.”
The thought of another brother being placed in danger gave Bakeley pause. “It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of us,” he said. “It could be one of Father’s men, posing as a footman or valet, someone who would have access to my rooms.”
“Our footmen are known to be rocks,” Charley said. “He would sniff that out immediately.”
An ache started up in the back of his head. “The new ones—“
“Were screened, were they not?” Charley asked.
Kincaid cleared his throat. “There is another possibility, if she’s willing.”
Chapter 21
Bakeley’s blood roared. “Not my wife. Not Sirena.”
“No, no. I wasn’t thinking of her at all.”
“Kincaid.” Shaldon’s tone was a sharp rebuke, but his fellow campaigner was not standing down.
“You can trust your sons, Ned, haven’t I told you that?”
Charley sat up, and Bink lifted an eyebrow.
Kincaid stood, palms flat on the table. “The foul-up two years ago endangered Paulette, and it was only Gibson’s presence of mind that ensured her safety. Enough. We can trust them.”
Shaldon sent Kincaid a dark look, and the other man returned the glare.
Well. Perhaps the hazards of war had made them more equal than mere social position would allow for. In any case, none of the sons of Shaldon had seen Kincaid step out of rank before.
Both Shaldon and Kincaid turned their gazes on him, and it made his skin ripple.
Hot anger pulsed in him. “Not. My. Wife.”
“Indeed not,” Kincaid said.
Farnsworth followed the discussion, his expression a cipher. Bink frowned. Charley grinned.
A very loud sigh floated across the table from Father.
“We are all men at this table,” Kincaid said. “Bakeley, we don’t have time to coddle sensibilities.”
His every nerve alerted. “Sensibilities?”
Kincaid ignored him. “Some years ago, quite a few actually, there was a suspicion about some of the equipment being supplied to the army. Great profits were being made, and not all of the shipments were arriving intact. We set an agent to see what she could find out about this business.”
The pulse in Bakeley’s ear began to pound louder, sending a pain just above his right eye to join the ache in his neck. He eased in a breath. “Lady Arbrough.”
“Indeed.” Kincaid nodded.
Had his father set her to spy upon his heir? Had all his careful pursuit of the untouchable Lady Arbrough and her unexpected capitulation been a ruse? She’d had no lovers in the two years since her husband’s death.
That question would be asked later. “The whole world knows we’ve broken off. I wouldn’t insult my wife by having anyone believe otherwise. Hollister will do his snooping and discover Lady Arbrough has no access to my bedchamber.”
“He’s making excellent points,” Shaldon said.
Kincaid waved them all away. “The liaison ended around the time your courtship of Sirena began. One might infer that Lady Arbrough might have had access and seen something on your person that you obtained from Lady Sirena.”
“But that something is impossible for her to obtain now. I never entertained her at my townhouse or Shaldon House. Hollister will know she has no access now, not after my marriage.”
Kincaid frowned. “You don’t know then.” He straightened in his chair. “Paulette has said your lady is overwhelmed by the preparations for this ball.”
“Bakeley.”
He turned at Bink’s voice. “Paulette spent the evening yesterday helping the ladies with the final invitations. Sirena insisted on inviting Lady Arbrough to the ball.”
He eased in a breath and picked a spot of lint off of his coat. “Well, then. Lady Sirena knows I feel nothing but friendship toward the lady.”
What a lie that was. He was livid. He would like to throttle Jocelyn for weaseling her way into their wedding ball. “And I would not care to see her life endangered.”
Except by him, while he was throttling her.
“As I recall, she was quite adept,” Farnsworth said. “Do you believe she has retained her skills?”
“The question is, will she be willing?” Kincaid said. “Shall I undertake to speak with her, or will one of you?”
“Not Shaldon,” Farnsworth said. “She hasn’t forgiven you quite yet for accusing her of double-dealing.”
Shaldon cleared his throat and sent a menacing look toward the two men.
So Shaldon wouldn’t have set her upon him, but perhaps she’d set herself in his path so she could wreak revenge on his father.
Much like his wife had done. A tingle crept up his spine.
And anger reared anew in him. Until two years ago he’d been a man, competent, able, and in control of an empire. Now he had tingles and headaches.
Bakeley glared back. “I’ll speak to her. That will support the story, will it not?”
“Can we trust her?” Charley asked.
“Excellent question, Charley. You are not as drunk as I thought you were. Can we, Father?”
Shaldon’s eyes narrowed on him. “Yes, I believe we can.”
“Very well. I’ll engage to speak to her.” And he would speak to his father later, privately, to spare the old man’s sensibilities. “Now, let us get down to the specifics of our plan.”
Later, as they left the meeting, Bink pulled Bakeley aside.
“It’s a bad business, this,” Bink said. “I’ll go with you to talk to her.”
The last person he wanted with him when he talked to Lady Arbrough was one of his brothers. “Not necessary,” he said. “And I’m not visiting her at her home.”
“What about your wife’s feelings?” The steely-eyed glare reminded him of the one Bink had delivered the day they rescued Sirena. Defender of women and children, was his brother.
“What about them? Did you not tell me she insisted on invitin
g my former mistress to her wedding ball?”
Bink shook his head. “It did seem a bit too fashionable.”
Bakeley climbed into the unmarked coach where Shaldon already waited. Perhaps he should rejoice his wife was so open-minded.
Outside the coach, Bink hesitated. Charley and Kincaid had already ridden off on their mounts. “I’ll hail a hackney.”
“We’re going your way,” Shaldon said.
“You’ll want to talk.” He pushed the door closed and the coach drove off.
“Well, Father. We’re alone. If I’m to recruit Lady Arbrough, I’ll need to hear all about her escapades.”
His father sighed expressively.
“If you swoon, do not expect me to catch you.”
“Ungrateful pup.” Shaldon smiled and then laughed.
Sirena woke before dawn to the sound of a door closing. Her second day here, she and the housekeeper had come to terms, and Jenny now had a proper bed. This night, it had been herself falling asleep on her chaise longue, waiting for Bakeley. She sat up, watching the connecting door and anticipating his warmth, her heart sinking lower with each passing minute.
Finally, she rose, dressed in her old work gown, and went below stairs, surprising a yawning maid who was stirring the kitchen fire.
In the mews, a lone stable boy roused at her passing and pulled at his cap. She waved him back to his doze, and looked down the aisle at the empty stalls.
The brickwork looked dry to her. Why was he keeping the horses away?
A familiar snort drew her.
Lightning turned his great gray nose to her and sudden moisture flooded her, along with the memory of the first time she’d seen Bakeley so many years before.
“Sure, and you are Pooka’s,” she whispered, rubbing the spots. “The same markings. The same spark.”
He nosed her skirts and she laughed. “And the same sneaky appetite.”
Selfish of her to not stop for a carrot.
“What then, my fine boy?” she asked, patting his side. “Where was your master last night?”
The Viscount's Seduction: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 2) Page 20