by Georgie Lee
Up ahead, Tyburn turnpike came into view and he spied Moira across the street from the busy landmark. She stood in the shade of her carriage, watching the sea of people passing back and forth, and the carts and conveyances lumbering past. Bart almost ran to reach her and hear again the lightness of her voice and enjoy the warmth of her smile, but he forced himself to slow. The closer he drew, the more apparent her lack of peace became. She’d been a picture of contentment and beauty from a distance, but up close it was clear all was not well. She wasn’t worried, but troubled in a deep way he understood. It was the same look his soldiers often wore after a fight when their best friends or their innocence had been sacrificed to the horrors of war.
‘The wound looks better than it did last night,’ Bart remarked when he reached her. Her dress didn’t hide the ugly red mark and the sight of it infuriated Bart, increasing his desire to make the Rouge Noir suffer.
She touched her neck. ‘None of my tea dresses have a high enough neckline to cover it. I hope your excuse about walking into the sharp edge of a carriage is convincing enough.’
Her smile faded, increasing the unease in her expression.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘It seems this wound isn’t the only one from last night I collected.’ She explained about her row with Freddy and her aunt, and their leaving for the country.
‘I’m sorry.’ Bart bit back a few choice remarks about her brother. At one time he and Freddy had been close and he’d respected the Earl and his dedication to his country. It made hearing what his friend was doing to his sister worse and reignited Bart’s internal battle between allowing her continued participation and his desire to remove her from it. The more embroiled with him and the investigation she became, the more she suffered. ‘This isn’t how I wanted things to be for you.’
‘Don’t be sorry. You were right. They didn’t appreciate all I’d done for them as much as I’d believed.’
‘Some time without you might help them realise how important you are.’
‘Even if it doesn’t, I’m glad I discovered it before they dragged me back to the country, insisting I care for them while neglecting myself and losing all hope of ever getting the things I want in life.’ She offered him a wan smile, trying as always to remain positive, but he could see the hurt in her eyes. What was absent was defeat. ‘Perhaps I should have done more to assert myself sooner instead of hiding away from the world at Fallworth Manor.’
She’d received a strong blow today, but she hadn’t crumpled into a corner in self-pity. Instead, she remained strong and determined to carry on. He admired her spirit, sure this game wouldn’t wreck her as it had Freddy, but would strengthen her like steel dipped in cold water before it is heated again. It was a test of spirit she didn’t need to face, especially after everything she’d already been through in her life. ‘You didn’t hide. You stepped in when you were needed most, just as you’ve done with me, as you’ve always done. I admire your ability to look after those you care about. It isn’t a trait everyone shares, or appreciates.’
* * *
Moira marvelled at his words. He was the first one to see her work on behalf of her family in such a light. She’d discovered this morning how much they took her for granted and it had cut her like the day she’d miscarried, but she refused to allow her pain to consume her. Whether this rift with Freddy would ever be healed remained to be seen, but Bart’s admiration gave her hope. If he appreciated her efforts on behalf of everyone, then perhaps some day there would be another man who could, too, one she would spend the rest of her life with. It was a pity it couldn’t be Bart. It might have been if she’d been a stronger person back then, but there was no point dwelling on the past, not from five years or even five hours ago. ‘Thank you. Your compliments mean a great deal to me, as does my ability to help you. How do you think I should proceed with Lady Camberline today?’
His certainty in her changed to marked reservation and she sensed he was about to say something which, unlike the compliment, she didn’t wish to hear. ‘Do nothing at the tea today to try to gather more information or to work your way into a better acquaintance with the Marchioness. You can no longer be involved in this.’
Moira felt as if the pavement had been ripped out from under her. First Freddy and Aunt Agatha had turned their backs on her. Now Bart was pulling away. ‘I thought you needed me.’
‘I do, but the danger is too great and I promised to keep you safe.’
Moira crossed her arms over her chest, determined to be as stubborn as him. ‘I don’t want to be safe. I’ve been safe for years and dead inside. After so much grief and misery, to feel something other than hopelessness or sadness has given me a greater appreciation for life than anything I’ve experienced in years and I want more of it. Can’t you understand?’
‘I can. It’s why I pursued you the way I did five years ago. After the carnage and fear in France, it was a pleasure to live again.’ His candidness caught them both off guard. He peered across the street, grinding his jaw at his slip, but Moira refused to turn away.
‘Then don’t deny me the same chance.’ She took his hand, not caring who in a passing carriage or on the walk behind them saw it. His admittance revealed the depth of his regard for her, even if it might only be for this investigation. In time, when the Rouge Noir was no longer a threat, they might part, but the desire to hold on to him no matter what was too strong to ignore. She’d lost a great deal this morning, she would not lose this place in Bart’s life, the only thing giving her existence meaning while everything else she loved was being torn from her. ‘Please, Bart, time is passing and I have a tea to attend and a country to help you defend. Please, tell me I can continue to help you and how I should proceed with Lady Camberline.’
She stood still, despite wanting to throw her arms around him and bury her face in his neck until he relented. Even over the smell of the horses and smoke of the city, the spicy scent of him was unmistakable, as was the pressure of his fingers as he gripped her hand. In the heat of them permeating the kidskin of her gloves, she could feel him wavering. This was how he’d appeared the moment before he’d asked her to marry him, as if he were about to take more of a risk than with anything he’d ever done before. She silently urged him to agree. Without this holding them together, she might never see him again and it stung as painfully as being separated from little Nicholas.
‘When you speak with Lady Camberline, do so as you would a friend. Encourage her confidence and ask leading but not overly obvious questions. She won’t suspect what you’re up to,’ he said at last, letting go of her hand.
She allowed this subtle separation, determined not lose her head and make an already tense situation more difficult. He was going to allow her to continue assisting him. At the moment, this mattered the most.
‘And if she doesn’t confide anything in me?’ Lady Camberline didn’t seem like the kind of woman who extended confidences easily. ‘Should I invite her to tea in return and try again?’
‘No, there are two other things you must do. One is to establish some kind of solid connection between Lord Camberline and the Comte de Troyen, perhaps where his valet is concerned.’
‘His valet?’
He explained to her the connection between the Frenchman and Lord Camberline through the man.
‘It will be difficult, as valets are not a subject ladies usually discuss, and I can’t simply ask Lady Camberline to tell me about the affairs of her servants.’
‘You’re a clever woman. You’ll find a way to broach the topic.’
‘I appreciate your faith in me. I wish a few other people possessed as much of it.’
‘If they can’t see it then they are the ones at fault, not you.’
There were no veiled insults like with Aunt Agatha or lack of real thanks as with Freddy, but instead a genuine regard for her and she inten
ded to be worthy of his unwavering faith. ‘What’s the second thing you wish me to do?’
‘Tomorrow night, Lady Camberline is holding a dinner with a number of political men.’
‘Political men? How odd, since the elder Lord Camberline’s death, Lady Camberline hasn’t troubled herself with politics and neither has her son.’
‘Which makes this dinner all the more suspicious and your need to be there important.’
‘Me?’ Moira baulked. ‘I can find a way to discuss valets, but I can’t invite myself to Lady Camberline’s private dinner.’
‘You’ll have to do it because I need someone there who’s free to listen and ask questions, and move through the gathered guests. Talk up your connection to Prince Frederick or profess a desire to be involved in politics, whatever it takes to secure an invitation.’
‘Even if I do, government men aren’t likely to discuss anything nefarious in front of me.’
‘You’d be surprised what men will discuss in front of ladies.’
‘I’m sure I would be.’ Moira didn’t ask for details for she could imagine the secrets whispered across pillows. Many gentlemen thought too little of women’s intelligence to believe they might comprehend or repeat what they’d heard.
Distant church bells rang the quarter-hour and Bart raised his head to listen to their deep chorus. ‘You’d better set off. You won’t work your way into Lady Camberline’s good graces by being late for tea.’
Bart opened the carriage door and held out his hand to help her in. She wanted to stay here with him, to walk in the park as she’d seen many soldiers and their young wives do, but they were not courting. With reluctance, she stepped inside and he closed the door behind her.
She perched one elbow on the window, putting off their parting a touch longer. ‘How shall I send you news of my progress?’
‘Meet me at the British Museum by the sarcophagus in the Egyptian display at five o’clock.’
‘I’ll be there.’ She sat back in the carriage, out of sight of him, and the vehicle set off. As it rolled away from the curb to merge with the traffic, Moira did her best to concentrate on her coming visit to Lady Camberline and what she needed to accomplish instead of Bart, but it was difficult. His nearly removing her from the investigation had startled her more than when the pistol had gone off last night, but she’d changed his mind and for the moment all would be well. He hadn’t been able to let her go and she was beginning to believe it was for more reasons than uncovering plots and traitors. It was an irresponsible thing to imagine, but it was as difficult to shake as her conviction to see this affair through. What the future might bring she couldn’t say and with Lady Camberline’s Mayfair house coming into view the time for considering it was over.
* * *
Bart watched Moira’s carriage disappear into the maze of traffic before it turned a corner and drove out of view. He cursed his weakness where she was concerned. He’d been determined to remove her from this matter, but the moment she’d taken his hand he’d faltered. Her fortitude had been difficult to resist and he’d longed to stoke the fire burning inside her, not only for the chase but for him.
If only she’d demonstrated this much fortitude five years ago.
But it wasn’t fair to hold her previous choices against her. She’d been young and naive, like he’d been in some ways about the ability to cross the imaginary lines separating him from the daughter of an earl. Since then, she’d tasted the frustration of isolation, disappointed hopes and a callous family while learning to better understand her own heart and mind. Instead of it forcing her deeper inside herself, it was forging her into a stronger, more determined woman. It boded well for her future, the one he was beginning to believe he wanted a larger role in.
He took out his pocket watch and checked the time as he laughed at the idea of having a woman in his service, especially one like Moira. She wasn’t made for knives and pistols, but a home and children, and he wouldn’t drag her any further into his world of brandy, plots, snitches and spies. Except it was clear by the mark on her lovely neck how much he’d already tarnished her with it. If only she could work on him the same effect he’d worked on her, to cleanse him of some of the dank and must of his life and make him a better man, one worthy of a woman like her. Maybe then there could be some way of being with her when this affair was over, but he’d learned a long time ago, after his first humiliating loss in court, not to plan the future until he’d achieved victory and not to allow emotion to cloud his judgement.
He slipped his watch back in his pocket and started off for Mr Flint’s office. He and a contingent of men were to visit the pubs around the Surrey Docks that smugglers like Mr Dubois often frequented. They needed to find the Frenchman and force him to reveal whatever he knew about the Rouge Noir. Bart had never before allowed his personal life to interfere with business, not even as a captain in Austria when he’d sent men he cared about into dangerous duties. He couldn’t allow it to happen with Moira. Theirs was a business relationship, not some odd way of courting, and when this was over, he’d return to his work as a barrister while she would return to whatever life still existed for her. They would part as friends and nothing more. During the entire walk to Mr Flint’s office, this thought disturbed him more than the Rouge Noir.
* * *
Moira sat across from Lady Camberline, engaging with her in pleasant small talk about the weather and other mundane subjects. Moira worked to keep up with the conversation, her thoughts fixed on what Bart had asked her to accomplish. If he were here, she was sure he’d have no trouble steering the topic of discussion to the one he wanted. How in the world she would guide the conversation to the valet or secure an invitation to the dinner she didn’t know, but she needed to think of something and soon. With the maid entering to clear away the tea service, Moira’s time for action was running out. Bart had entrusted her with this important task and she wouldn’t fail him.
Then, while the timid maid collected the tea cups, she fumbled one and almost sent it clattering to the floor before she caught it.
‘Watch what you’re doing, you clumsy girl,’ Lady Camberline snapped, making the maid’s hands shake even more than before.
‘Sorry, my lady.’ The maid set the cup on the tray with a rattle, picked up the heavy silver pots and china plates and made a hasty retreat back to the kitchen.
‘My apologies for my poor-quality maid,’ Lady Camberline apologised. ‘But a number of illnesses and staff changes lately have left me scraping the bottom of the barrel for help.’
‘I certainly understand,’ Moira sympathised, seizing on the chance to broach the subject of the valet. ‘We’ve had a number of staffing problems at our house, too. One of which is Freddy’s valet. The man is hopeless when it comes to polishing boots or keeping coats properly brushed. Do you have the same troubles with your son’s man?’
‘He does well enough where Charles’s wardrobe is concerned, but I’m not particularly enamoured of him. He comes and goes at the oddest times and is cagey when I ask him about it. I’ve tried broaching the subject with my son, but he’s devoted to the man. It seems I have as little say in the matter of my son’s servants as I do in so many other aspects of his life.’ Her lips curled in displeasure, altering her graceful looks in an unpleasant manner.
Moira wondered if Lady Camberline would enjoy more influence over her son if she’d taken a greater hand in his upbringing instead of leaving it to paid people, but she didn’t dare suggest it. Even Aunt Agatha had thought it strange for Moira to always take an interest in Nicholas instead of leaving the majority of his care to Miss Kent. Should Moira ever have children of her own, she would make sure they knew they were loved by their mother and father, not foisted off on servants who gave scant thought to their future. It was the love she’d enjoyed from her mother, and her grandmother, the love that had died with both of them along with
her childhood. Moira put the thought aside. She was here for a reason and it wasn’t to question the lady’s parenting decisions.
‘I understand you are quite active in Lord Camberline’s political ambitions.’ Moira’s mouth went dry with her nervousness as she began to venture near the subject of the dinner.
‘Who told you such a thing?’ Lady Camberline appeared taken aback at the suggestion and Moira faltered a touch before shoring up her resolve.
‘Prince Frederick, at your ball, said you’re holding a political dinner.’ She hoped her blushes didn’t betray her lies. She wasn’t sure they didn’t as Lady Camberline tilted her head in scrutiny at Moira.
‘You’re well acquainted with the Prince?’
‘He knew my father. It’d been years since we’ve spoken, but he was quite amiable the other night.’
‘Very interesting,’ Lady Camberline mused, her usual poise returning. ‘It’s the rare person I hear regard him in such terms. He must like you.’
‘I used to sit with him and my father and listen to them discussing politics and state business when I was younger. I very much enjoyed their conversations and the Prince was quite candid with his opinions.’ Moira adjusted the thin necklace resting just below her wound to keep the metal from touching it.
Lady Camberline levelled one alabaster hand at her. ‘What happened to your neck?’
Moira touched the ragged cut. ‘I was playing with my young nephew in the garden when he took hold of a stick and swung it at me. I’m afraid I didn’t move fast enough and he caught me with the edge of it.’
‘Make sure to rub rose oil on it so there isn’t a scar. We can’t allow your lovely skin to be marred by such an awful mark,’ Lady Camberline offered, but there was an edge to her helpful advice, one which made Moira still her hand against her throat. The possibility this woman suspected Moira’s friendliness had other motives crossed her mind before she dismissed it. She’d given her no reason to suspect Moira’s time here was anything other than a social call. More than likely, this titled woman who’d had so little hand in raising her own son didn’t approve of a lady of Moira’s rank playing in the garden with a little boy.