The Spy and his Lady Love
A Seabrook Family Saga, Book Seven
Christine Donovan
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Christine Donovan
Copyright @ 2021 by Christine Donovan
THE SPY AND HIS LADY LOVE
* * *
Cover Design by Wicked Smart Designs
* * *
All rights reserved.
* * *
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduces, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author is an infringement of the copyright law. To obtain permission to except portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected]
This book is a historical work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locals or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.
* * *
Dear Readers,
* * *
Thank you for purchasing THE SPY AND HIS LADY LOVE. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies as they are made solely by the author to better suit the story.
* * *
I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
* * *
This book is dedicated to all my readers. You give me the inspiration to write. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Created with Vellum
Summary
Penelope Hemlock, the natural-born daughter of the deceased 4th Duke of Wentworth, finds herself welcome within the new duke’s family, once they know of her existence. The 5th Duke, Thomas Seabrook, insists she has a season and dares anyone to question the title of Lady before her name. In no time, she’s dining and dancing in the aristocracy's company, especially one mysterious and damaged duke.
Harry Sinclair, the Duke of Newbury, fought alongside Wellington at Waterloo. As he convalesces from his battle injuries, he finds himself thrown into the life of a peer. He never expected to inherit his uncle’s title, nor did he want it. Bored with the leisurely life of a duke, Harry continues serving King and Crown in a new position as a spy. Who would ever suspect a scarred, one eyed, lame legged duke to be a spy? Nor would one believe he was duchess hunting. Since he now held the title of duke, he needed an heir and a spare.
Even with his supposed flaws, Wentworth set his sights on Harry for his illegitimate sister. Harry and his cousin, Henry Sinclair, both pay homage to Penelope. When Penelope uncovers the truth of Harry and Henry’s identity and deceit, can she forgive and allow love to enter her heart? Or will bitterness and hatred tear her heart apart, never to be whole again?
Chapter 1
“Who is the man dancing with Lady Elizabeth Spencer?” Penelope Hemlock asked her brother, Thomas Seabrook, the Duke of Wentworth.
“I’ve never set eyes on the gentleman before,” Wentworth answered with curiosity steeped in his voice. “Isn’t that the point of a masquerade ball? To be unrecognizable.”
“He’s holding Lady Elizabeth rather close and intimately as though he’s quite familiar with her. She’s the sister of one of your close friends. Do something, Thomas, before he causes a scandal.”
Her brother’s eyes pierced hers. “Pray tell, how do you know about intimacy and scandal since you were raised in the country and are only ten and seven?” Shaking his head, he said, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
Thankfully, the waltz had ended. “Excuse me, I’m going to follow them,” Penelope murmured.
“Follow them…”
Penelope didn’t hear the end of her brother’s words as her curiosity, which had gotten her into trouble in the past, got the best of her. Following Elizabeth and the stranger took her out of the ballroom and into the dark shadowy hallways. Squinting into the ebony darkness from her hiding spot behind a potted palm, her face peeking out between the palm leaves, she saw silhouettes of figures while hushed whispers swirled throughout the air. Her eyes and ears strained to no avail. Too dark to recognize anyone, not that she really would, having only been in London a short time. Nor could she hear what secrets were being uttered.
Had that man taken Elizabeth into the shadows to compromise her? As her heart sped up and she prepared to enter the intimidating darkness to seek Elizabeth, a hand grabbed her upper arm roughly. She was spun around until she crashed into an unyielding wall of hard maleness.
“What do you think you are doing? Do you want some reprobate to think you’re a doxy and take advantage of you?” The deep, intimidating voice sent shivers up and down her spine in both panic and awareness.
“I…I…beg your pardon.” She shrugged her shoulder out of his reach. “I’m looking for someone. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He lowered his head. The man towered over her, and right before he breathed into her ear, she caught his sneer. “I believe your brother, the duke, would disagree. Shall we find him?”
Who was this man, and why was he making her his business? “No. I believe I will retreat back into the ballroom. Excuse me.”
“Please, let me escort you. I believe I hear a waltz playing, and I would enjoy your company on the dance floor.”
Before Penelope could protest and refuse the dance, he was leading her into the dimly lit ballroom amongst a crush of bodies. She prayed her recent dance lessons were fortuitous as this was the first time she’d danced a waltz with someone other than her dancing master. She also hoped no one recognized her as it was forbidden to dance a waltz before receiving permission from one of the patronesses of Almacks. And she wasn’t attending Almacks until Wednesday next. Of course she never imagined being accepted into Almacks. But as usual Wentworth’s name and money opened doors.
“Relax, I will not ravish you.” The deep timbre of his voice did strange things to her insides.
“It’s not that. I’m embarrassed to admit this is my first waltz.” Too bad a mask covered most of his face. A face she believed would be handsome.
“You are dancing splendidly. The duke got his money’s worth.”
Penelope frowned. “You have me at a disadvantage. You appear to know who I am, but I don’t know you. Pray, tell me your name?” She waited with bated breath for his answer. And waited and waited.
When she’d nearly given up, he replied, “You may call me Hugh.”
“Hugh…?” Most men flaunted their family name, making her wonder why all the secrecy.
He chuckled. “Your inquisitive nature will get you in trouble. I’m surprised Wentworth has not lectured you about it.”
Heat crept up her cheeks. Not that he could see with her mask coving the top half of her face. “I’ve done my best to hide that part of my personality from him.”
“Well done, my dear. But I expect you won’t be able to for long.”
The more she listened to Hugh speak, the more he sounded familiar, even though she couldn’t have possibly met him before. His name rang no bells or warnings inside her head. Although she had to ask, “Have we met before?”
He cocked his head and studied her eyes as he led her into a twirl. “No. But I’m aware of your family. Wentworth is a powerful and respected duke. And you have only recently com
e under his protection.”
An inferno encompassed her entire body. No doubt this man knew her shame. “’Bastard’. You may say it. It will not be the first or last time someone refers to me as it. I realize I am tarnished goods and will be near impossible to marry off, even with my sizable dowry.” Her stomach tightened and her chest began to ache as she waited for this stranger’s response.
Wentworth believed adopting her into the home of her dead father and renaming her, Lady Penelope Seabrook, would open all avenues for her. Would make up for their father’s indiscretion and the station of her birth. That an overly large dowry would make men ignore what she was. She went along with him. He’d given her no choice. That didn’t make her believe him.
“Forgive me, Lady Penelope if I gave you the impression of disrespect. I meant no such thing by referring to your family and how you came about to be a part of it. Also, you should know, I do not judge people by the circumstances of their birth. Some of the highest born people of the aristocracy are not worth my time.” As the music ended, he asked, “May I escort you back to your brother?”
“That would be lovely.”
Wentworth looked in deep conversation with his duchess, so her dance partner bowed off and made haste, she noticed, in the general direction of the darkness. Had he attended tonight’s masquerade with his mistress? Had she been awaiting his attentions in the shadows while they danced? She refused to acknowledge the slight panic in her heart. She had no interest in the man. Or did she?
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening, Penelope?” Emma, the Duchess of Wentworth, queried during the carriage ride home.
“Yes. Although I didn’t see the point of my being here this evening as I couldn’t tell who anyone was.”
Wentworth, who sat opposite her and beside his wife, said, “Precisely. I wanted your first venture into society to be under the cover of a mask. I wanted you to be at ease. I didn’t want all occupants of the room to stop speaking and stare at you when you entered. Which, I might add, will happen. People will go out of their way to snub you and make you feel inferior. Tonight I wanted you to have fun and dance.”
“Thank you, I think.” She’d been warned about members of the ton and how they would treat her with disdain and cut her direct. She’d yet to witness it. Since Wentworth had rescued her from poverty after her mother passed, she’d attended only intimate dinners held in their home. Or a home of a family friend. Tonight was her first foray into public, and she’d survived intact. Next time she best prepare to be crucified.
Relieved that no one recognized his true identity, Harry Sinclair, left Lady Penelope with her preoccupied brother. No one knew that the Duke of Newbury, Harry Sinclair, didn’t really have a cousin named Hugh. The disguise was a convenient way to do undercover work for the War Office and for Harry to go about town without having to pretend to be the crippled duke. The man all of the ton pitied and stayed away from.
After he left Penelope he continued watching her from the outer fringes where dimly lit ballroom met darkness. He didn’t want to admit how much she intrigued him with her innocence, quick wit, and inquisitive nature. If only he could protect her from members of the aristocracy when Wentworth introduced her out in polite society for the first time. Tonight didn’t count as it involved masks.
He had hoped Mr. Smythe would be in attendance because he had secret business to discuss with the head of the Bow Street Runners—business he didn’t want anyone to know about. This would’ve been the perfect place to conduct such a clandestine meeting. Mr. Smythe had had the good fortune of marrying the granddaughter of a countess and being welcomed into the inner circle of Wentworth’s friends.
Perhaps tomorrow night would bring on the opportunity. Wentworth planned another small gathering at his estate for the evening meal. Another gathering, Harry believed, to find a worthy husband for Penelope. The duke had an excellent head on his shoulders. The sooner he married off the natural-born daughter of the late duke, the better. Harry would hate to see Penelope hurt by the beau monde. He was in the market for a wife. Perhaps he would consider her. After all, she was quite comely.
When the hired hack dropped him off down the block from his home on Park Street, Harry paid the driver, pulled the collar up on his black cloak, and lowered the brim of his hat at the same time he removed the mask. His eyes and ears on high alert, he scanned the street and surrounding homes, looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary. Having two identities, and oftentimes more, made Harry diligent when guarding his secret life. If not, he could find himself dead and his body dumped in the Thames. Icy chills snaked up his spine causing him to shiver. He was mortal, after all, and not above being murdered. He’d had a pleasant life until now, and he intended to keep living it on his own terms.
Having convinced himself no danger lurked in the darkness, he snuck through private yards and gardens, through openings in fences and onto his property. He entered his estate through a hidden door into a secret hallway that led into his private chambers.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” cried Harry’s valet, Edmond, in relief. Edmond may be his valet, but his proper occupation was working for the War Office as a spy under his command. He and Harry served in the army under Wellington and fought alongside each other at Waterloo.
“Thank you, Edmond. You may retire for the night. I’m staying in and no longer need your services this evening.”
Edmond bowed. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
There were times Harry still forgot he’d inherited his uncle’s dukedom. His grandparents must be rolling over in their graves at the turn of events. Their second son and the black sheep of the family had run off and married a peasant’s daughter. Conceived one child, a son, and that son was now the feared and pitied Duke of Newbury. Only several people knew the accurate story. Harry intended keeping it that way.
Chapter 2
“Welcome, Your Grace, to Wentworth Manor.” Harry hid his surprise at being greeted in the great hall by none other than his hostess, the American Duchess.
He bowed as best he could with his leg braced up, not allowing him to bend at the knee. “Your Grace.” She genuinely smiled at him with a warm welcome, and his esteem of her climbed quite high. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”
“You’re very welcome. May I impose upon you to escort me into the drawing room? It appears I’m rather tardy to the festivities.”
“My pleasure, I assure you.” Harry held out his arm, and the duchess didn’t hesitate to place her gloved hand on his forearm. “Before we go, may I inquire of you to allow my valet, Edmond, to join your servants in their evening meal?”
“Not at all.” She addressed Edmond directly. “Down the hall. Go through the kitchen and you will find them.” She turned her beautiful smile on Harry, and he found himself envious of her husband. “Shall we?”
They ascended the staircase. Her slow and graceful and he slow and awkward. If the lame leg wasn’t bad enough, only seeing out of one eye because of his black patch made it even worse. Not to mention the itch from the theater makeup he used to create his hideous scar—something he’d become adept at. She led him into a large burgundy drawing room noisily full of people.
“Here we are.” Her Grace removed her arm from his and curtsied. “I will send my husband along.”
He watched her weave in and around several occupants until she reached Wentworth’s side. Heads close together as they shared private words, Wentworth glanced his way, bowed to his wife, and strolled towards Harry, pausing briefly to speak to one guest or another. Harry recognized most occupants of the room, even if he hadn’t been formally introduced to them. He knew they invited him for only one reason. Wentworth wanted a match between him and Lady Penelope. Although if that were so, why, pray tell, was Viscount Dayton and Mr. Phillip Percy in attendance? Here was the man to ask.
“Newbury.” Wentworth nodded his head in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it this evening. And a lovely evening it is.”
> Nodding his head in return, Harry replied, “Thank you for inviting me. It’s a lovely evening, but my leg tells me it will rain by midnight.” Harry did not know if it would rain by midnight, but it was London and it almost always rained. He had to play the cripple and all that went with it. Such as predicting the rain due to arthritic pain.
“I imagine you are right on that account. I believe my sister, Lady Penelope, will be thrilled to renew your acquaintance this evening. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Wentworth tipped his head forward. “Duty calls.”
As a servant walked by with a round tray covered in champagne flutes, Harry plucked one off the tray and took a large sip, ignoring the bubbles tickling his nose as he scanned the crowd. He was not surprised to see Wentworth’s sister, Lady Northborough, and her husband, Lord Northborough, as strangers called him. But to his friends, Myles. Harry wondered where he would fall once they became acquainted? Friends, he hoped. From what he knew about Myles and his reputation, Harry believed they would indeed become excellent friends. The scandal sheets had not exaggerated his wife, Isabella’s beauty. She could make a man kill himself for want of her. Or so he’d heard.
With the couple stood young Penelope looking lovely and innocent dressed in white. Although once at the mercy of the lecher, Viscount Hadley, Harry wondered how innocent. He’d done his homework. With his spy credentials, nothing or no one was beyond his reach. Viscount Hadley used and abused his servants, both sexually and physically. The man deserved to rot in Newgate. Perhaps Penelope, with his help, would be the one to put him there. He only hoped the viscount hadn’t abused Penelope. No one deserved such a fate.
The Spy and His Lady Love Page 1