He went silent and Penelope could see by the light in his eyes he was thinking on it.
“Perhaps Mr. Sinclair would be willing to marry you. After all, you come with a large dowry. Not that I’ve heard anything good or bad about his finances. He is also next in line to inherit should Newbury croak.” He paused and looked at her with renewed interest.
The idea of marrying Mr. Sinclair had her insides in an uproar. She wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t find him interesting and more than handsome. However, she found Newbury brought out the same thoughts. “Seeing’s how Mr. Sinclair and Newbury are the only relatives each man has; I refuse to cause a rift between them. Marrying Mr. Sinclair is not an option.”
“Fine. But I’m paying a visit to Newbury today nonetheless.”
Holed up in his study for hours awaiting Smythe’s arrival, Harry had ideas and plans jotted down on paper scattered all over his usually impeccably neat desktop. His thoughts kept swinging back and forth between the murders of his colleagues and his postponement of his wedding. After sending a message to Wentworth that morning, he’d heard nothing. He expected a scathing remark from the affable, well-liked and admired, duke.
“Excuse me, Your Grace,” the butler, Greeves, said as he entered the study and bowed. “Mr. Smythe has arrived.”
“Thank you.”
Smythe walked in, clothes and hair mussed and the man’s eyes huge with shock.”
“Sit. You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell, even worse.” He collapsed into a chair and closed his eyes.”
“Here, take this.” Harry had expected his stressful arrival and had a glass of whiskey waiting.
The ex-Runner’s eyes popped open. “Thank you. I believe I need several more of these to numb my brain.” He downed the glass, coughed, and held it out. “Another, please.”
Harry filled the glass to the brim this time and went around his desk and sat. His hand picked up his own glass and took a long sip and enjoyed the heat as it went down his throat and coated his stomach. “Was it that bad?”
Smythe’s entire body shuttered as he wisely sipped his drink. “Worse. The disbelief and then hatred on the faces of those I’ve worked with for years shocked me. I expected some loyalty to me for all I’ve done.”
“How did your wife handle it when you told her what would happen?”
His eyes lowered and focused on the glass clutched in his hand. “She is worried for me. She’s a wise and remarkable woman for someone so young as eight and ten. We agreed she would stay with her sister, the Marchioness of Amesbury, for the foreseeable future.”
Discussing Smythe’s young wife had Harry’s mind conjuring up Penelope’s lovely face. How, when she smiled, it lit up her blue eyes the color of the midday sky. She must be furious with him for postponing their marriage.
“Excuse me again, Your Grace, but the Duke of Wentworth is here to see you. I explained you were not receiving visitors, but he insists upon speaking with you. You must quickly get on your disguise.”
No sooner had the valet finished speaking, did Wentworth barge into the room.
Harry stood and rounded the desk. “See here, Wentworth.”
Wentworth looked from Smythe, who he acknowledged with a nod, and then Newbury. “Sinclair?” He frowned and paused for several long drawn out moments. “Did the valet just call you, Your Grace?” His eyes flew from Smythe to him and back to Smythe. “Who is this man to you?”
Harry knew the two men were friends. They may not have started out that way in the beginning when Wentworth hired the Runner to work for him, but over the years they became close friends. Smythe looked to him with a cocked brow and resigned look. “I’ll let him answer.”
Blue eyes, very close to Penelope’s, pierced into his. Only a violent storm brewed in these. Destined to kill anyone in its path. “I’ll explain all if you’ll please take a seat.”
Wentworth took the seat beside Smythe with a huff, never taking his eyes off Harry. Until Harry broke the contact by turning his back and pouring the duke a nearly full glass of whiskey. It gave him time to arrange in his mind how he would explain the deception.
“Here. I find myself repeating the words I spoke already once today. You will need this.” Harry sat down in his desk chair and faced the two men. “I apologize to you Smythe for having to witness this.”
The Runner looked amused. “I find myself needing a diversion from my own problems. No need to apologize.”
“Yes, well. Here’s goes. What I say to you, Wentworth, is confidential. It will put many peoples’ lives in danger, including Smythe’s, if you repeat anything I’m about to share with you. I work for the War Office. I am a close adviser to the prince. I work undercover, which is why I have two identities. I am the Duke of Newbury. Hugh Sinclair does not exist.”
He waited and watched Wentworth closely. The duke knew how to hide his genuine emotions. Quick as anything he jumped up and swung his fist. Harry saw it coming, reached out and deflected the punch. Wentworth swung with his other arm, landing a punch to his upper cheek. Not with enough force that Newbury’s head snapped back but hard enough that his eye stung and he could feel it swelling.
“For bloody sake, Wentworth, sit down.”
Shockingly, he did. “Damn Newbury. You made a bloody fool of my sister and me. Did you enjoy it? Have a good laugh at our expense? When were you going to reveal your true self to Penelope? After the vows were spoken and the marriage consummated, making her stuck with a liar for life? Do you honestly believe she would have forgiven you for deceiving her? I see the way she looks at you and Sinclair. She has feelings for both of them…you…and no doubt is having terrible guilt over it. You are causing her much stress and anxiety. I’ll not have it last another day. If you wish to wed Lady Penelope, you must end this deception today.” He paused, raked both his hands through his light hair, closed his eyes, and looked resigned. “I can’t believe I debated calling off the wedding and considered betrothing my sister to Sinclair?”
It was hard for Harry not to be stabbed with guilt for his deception. He couldn’t say he hadn’t thought about the repercussions when he finally told Penelope about his double life. He had. And he knew it would cause a rift between them for a time. He only hoped he could win back her favor when she realized they shared a love most married couples never found.
Love? Did he love her? He desired her beyond reason. Dreamed about her. Thought about her during the most inopportune times. Was it love? He believed so. Now, what to do about it?
“Smythe, do you mind giving Wentworth and me some privacy?” Wentworth, the man he thought silly for openly loving his wife, and here was Harry admitting to loving Penelope. Perhaps there was something to marriages based on love.
“No,” Wentworth barked. “I have no secrets from Smythe and trust him with my life and the lives of all those I care for.”
Harry sighed with resolve. “As you wish. But before I continue, you must know something. Smythe now works for the War Office directly under me. You will hear things about him today. About him being fired from the Runners and accused of murder. All false in order to set up his work with me. He left the Runners with an impeccable record and loyalty and is not accused of murdering anyone. Nothing said between us today can be divulged to anyone. Swear it and your elegance to the Crown.”
“I swear it.” He didn’t hesitate. Harry liked a man who knew his mind.
“Thank you.” He held up the decanter of whiskey. “Would either of you care for more drink?”
Smythe shook his head. “I cannot speak for Wentworth, but you have managed to dull my wits.”
“Not mine,” Wentworth said, “continue.”
Harry raised a brow on being ordered, not asked. Wentworth clearly had forgotten they held the same title. Since he didn’t go for formality or title most of the time, he ignored it. “The few who know of my dual personalities, the better. Actually, I have four. But the other two I will not share with you. Only those who work wi
th me closely know them. If I want to live long enough to have a wife and family, it needs to stay that way. Also, no matter what is being said about Smythe, you may say nothing. I know it will be difficult, especially when your close circle of friends get together to discuss the issue.”
“Excuse me?” Wentworth eyed him defensively.
“Please. I know Spencer will seek out Bridgeton, who is his close cousin, and you, Myles and Amesbury for counsel. Spencer will want to kill Smythe with his bare hands, and you will convince him otherwise without giving away his secrets. Can I rely on you to do this?”
Unfortunately, Harry couldn’t get a read on Wentworth. But he knew he could trust him to do what was right.
“You can rely on me. If we have to lock Spencer up, we will to keep him from going after Smythe. Trust me when I say he saw first-hand what Newgate is like and what it did to Bridgeton.” He winced. “Not my proudest moment having Bridgeton thrown in the bowels of hell for attempting to kill my sister, Lady Amelia. Which of course, as we all know, he didn’t do. The blasted brother of his dead sister-in-law did. I’ll remind Spencer that going to prison for life, or worse, being hung for murder, is not worth killing Smythe for. I’ll convince him that within a month Smythe will be dead on the streets, anyway.”
“Jeez. Thanks for your concern, Wentworth,” Smythe drawled. “I thought you were a loyal friend.”
Wentworth chuckled. “You know I am. And I’ll watch your back anytime you need me to. Now that you have successfully diverted the subject away from my sister, Newbury, may we return to what you intend to do about her.”
“I still intend to marry her. There is a dire case I’m working on, which needs to be solved quickly. I can’t leave for even two days to get married.”
“I’ll make a deal,” Wentworth began. “Instead of the vows taking place at Stoney Cross Manor in a fortnight, they take place at Wentworth House in two days.”
“But…”
“Hear me out.” Wentworth held up his hand. “If you agree, I promise to help you smooth over the war, that will happen, when Penelope finds out about your deception.”
“Deal.” It was the best Harry could hope for. His marriage to Penelope would take place. He would worry about the rest when the time came. Saying the vows and consummating those vows were his priority as the Duke of Newbury.
Wentworth stood. “Then I think my time here is concluded.” He turned back to Smythe. “One more thing. Does Mary know? I would hate for her to be kept in the dark and her heart broken.”
“She knows. And we decided the best thing for her was to stay with Elizabeth and Amesbury for a time.”
“Good. Even with her knowing the truth, it won’t be easy for her. People are ruthless. I hope she intends to stay indoors until this settles. Which brings up something else? How will it be settled?”
“Smythe’s name will be cleared and he’ll be offered his position back as the head of the Bow Street Runners, which he will decline. We will give him a fictitious job title working for the Crown. Meanwhile, he will continue working for me under the guise of a new identity. As all spies have.”
“I can see myself out. Good luck to both of you. You will need it.”
“Well, that went better than I thought,” Harry said, not referring to Smythe’s dilemma but to his.
“Yes. Well. Your problems are nothing compared to mine.”
“You are correct. I don’t think it’s wise for you to return to your home. I’ll send one of my men to collect some of your belongings and you will stay here. I have a trusted acquaintance of the theater who will come tomorrow to work on your disguise as a Mr. Walter Temple. Not even your wife will recognize you when he is done. Meanwhile, you will not leave this house. It’s for your protection.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve had rooms prepared for you. My housekeeper, Mrs. Mere, will show you to them.”
“He, what?” It was the second time today she asked that of her brother.
“Since he can’t get away for the wedding as we had planned, he asked if the ceremony could take place here in two days.”
“I refuse.” How dare Newbury keep toying with her emotions by changing things for his convenience? Her insides could not take much more change. What little food she’d consumed today hadn’t settled well as it was. And now!
“You can’t refuse.” Her brother looked at her with compassion. “I already agreed. I have notified a local clergy. Sent word to your seamstress telling her there would be a large bonus if she delivers your dress the day after tomorrow by noon. I’ve sent word to Mother, Sebastian, and Teagan in Scotland, but they can never arrive in time. All our other guests know of the change.”
In two days time, she would become the Duchess of Newbury, whether or not she wanted to. She may as well resign herself to the inevitable. “May I retire to my room?”
“Penelope. Someday I hope you will forgive me and know I did what I thought was best for you.”
Inside her rooms, her maid helped her strip down to her chemise and tucked her into bed. A nap was all she had the energy for. They were due to attend a small intimate dinner at her sister, Bella’s, that evening. Her maid would deliver the hastily penned missive to Wentworth saying she was unwell and to please make her excuses to Bella. The earl and countess of Northborough had a marriage made from love, respect, and admiration. She groaned and hugged her stomach. As with all the Seabrook family members, love came in their marriage, but it came at a price. Bella, at one point, had given up on Myles asking for her hand in marriage and used Stuart Spencer to make Myles jealous.
Thomas and Emma had their differences in the beginning. It was known that Thomas kept secrets from her about her father, Mr. Hamilton. But eventually love won.
Amelia and William Spencer, the Count and Countess of Bridgeton. Amelia’s dead betrothed, and a child born out of wedlock. A murdered brother and sister-in-law of Bridgeton’s, blamed on him but never proven. Time in Newgate for Bridgeton, but ultimately, the two wed and lived in wedded bliss.
Which brought her to her brother, Sebastian. He set out on horseback to Northern England to find her and take her back to London. On his travels, thieves accosted him and left him for dead. Teagan and Lachlan Murray, running for their lives from their father, found him and nursed him back to health. When the Murrays’ father got word they were alive, he sent his men to finish the job. Teagan, Lachlan, and Sebastian fled to London and the safety of Wentworth’s household. By the time they reached London, Teagan and Sebastian were already in love and wed not long after.
Over and over and over her half-siblings married for love. Moans escaped her lips as her stomachache refused to abate. How could she love Newbury when she felt something for Mr. Sinclair? If Mr. Sinclair were out of the picture, and not a temptation, surely her heart would belong to the duke exclusively.
Visions of both of them entered her mind. She closed her eyes tight, hoping to quell the handsome half-face of the duke and the whole face of Mr. Sinclair. They needed to leave her alone. She needed to sleep and pray when she awoke she would be ready to face her future as the Duchess of Newbury. She—a bastard daughter of a duke and his mistress—becoming a duke’s wife. As sleep pulled her under, the last thing she saw was the merging of the two men as they become one.
Chapter 8
Right after luncheon, on the day of her wedding, Penelope found herself dressed in her wedding gown of the palest yellow silk trimmed with cream. It had a shockingly low neckline and a high waist trimmed in cream satin ribbon. The silk skirt draped unadorned to the floor and thankfully her petticoat kept the silk skirt from clinging to her legs. The seamstress was nipping and tucking, making last-minute alterations to the gown. When the seamstress finally declared she was done and forced Penelope to look into the mirror she gasped. As if the gown wasn’t beautiful enough, there was a matching cloak, yellow silk slippers, long gloves made with the same silk fabric. The gown made her look like a princess. And she was the farthest
thing from a princess.
“It’s beautiful. More than beautiful,” Emma said with a smile. “I think it’s the loveliest gown I’ve ever seen.”
Penelope beamed into the mirror. Even without her hair dressed with flowers for adornment, she looked beautiful. It was hard to recognize herself beneath all the finery. “It’s perfect,” she declared to the seamstress who appeared to be waiting anxiously for some reaction.
Once the dressmaker and her assistant left, Penelope’s maid, Clarisse, entered. “Lady Penelope, you look beautiful. Please take a seat at the vanity so I can do your hair? In no time you will descend the staircase to marry your duke.”
Before Penelope sat, Emma gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ve never seen a lovelier bride. Now I need to prepare. Until later.”
Penelope wore her long blonde tresses up with loose curls cascading down across one shoulder. Daisies, which were her favorite flower, in white and yellow were tucked here and there, adding a whimsical look to her. Emma lent her small diamond drop earrings and a matching delicate diamond necklace.
“I declare, Lady Penelope,” Clarisse said as she made last-minute touches to her hair. “No more beautiful bride ever existed. I predict the duke, the one you are marrying, will forget how to breathe when he sets eyes on you. The duke, your brother that is, informed me he would collect you promptly at two.”
“I’d like a few minutes alone.”
Her maid curtsied. “Yes, milady.”
Penelope rose up from her chair at the dressing table, stood in front of the full-length mirror, and peered into the looking glass, trying to find herself in the reflection reflected back at her. If she looked close enough, she could see the girl from the northern country in the depths of her blue eyes. Bright, wide eyes full of wonder and nervous excitement. In an hour I will become the Duke of Newbury’s Duchess. Tonight he will come to my bed and make me his.
A knock on the door startled her. “Come in.”
The Spy and His Lady Love Page 10