My Fair Lord

by Wilma Counts

  Lord Alfred’s expression hardened. “I am willing to forgive a great deal because of how instrumental you were in my recovery from grievous wounds all those years ago. But I cannot—I will not—forgive your treasonous acts perpetrated right here in my home. And murdering an innocent man? That is simply beyond the pale.” He shook his head in sorrow, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes. Jake thought he was fighting off tears.

  The doctor merely shrugged and refused to meet Lord Alfred’s gaze, so Peter went on with his interrogation. Jake had seen Peter question prisoners many times before, and he always marveled at his friend’s ability to elicit more information than prisoners were aware of giving him. It was painstaking work, one question at a time, and each question leading to another, but eventually, Peter had ferreted out the whole story. Little of it was really new, and it fit with what they had already known.

  Morrow—or Moreau—and his sister had been promised the restoration of their titles and property in France for their help in keeping the new French government informed regarding England’s role in the divisions of Napoleon’s empire.

  “I did it for my son,” she sobbed. “He deserves his father’s title and wealth.”

  Further questioning revealed that Lindstrom, aware from Talbot of Morrow’s willingness to help, had then approached Morrow for information about placement and strength of English troops on the continent. The emperor would be very grateful, he was told. Both Lindstrom and Morrow had seen this as a way to hedge their bets and ensure that at least one of these rolls of the dice would pay off. No, none of them knew to what specific uses their information would be put—just that they were paid well now and would reap even further, more meaningful rewards later.

  Peter looked at Jake in silent question of “are we finished?” Jake nodded and Fenton ordered one of his men to accompany Madame Laurent to her chamber to gather a few necessities and to write a note to Lady Georgiana stating that she had decided to spend a few days in the country with her son. When she returned, carrying a small bag, and quietly weeping, her brother berated her again.

  “Do shut up, Celeste. You knew the risks, same as all of us.”

  Unable to put his arms around her because of his bound hands, Lindstrom leaned close to her and glared at Morrow. “Have some consideration, Henry. After all, it was you got her into this mess.” He managed to touch her hands with his and added, “There, there, my love. We will see this through together.”

  Colonel Fenton instructed his men to load the prisoners into the waiting carriage, but lingered behind for a few moments to speak with Lord Alfred.

  “I know this came as a great shock to you, my lord, but I assure you that it will be handled with the utmost discretion.”

  Lord Alfred passed a hand over his eyes and gave Fenton a rather bleak look. “It always comes as a shock when you have trusted people for a certain role in your life, and they show themselves to have betrayed that trust.” He sighed. “What is to happen to them now?”

  “By the time the truth comes out, these three and their accomplice already in custody will, in all likelihood, have been quietly dealt with—probably hustled aboard a transport headed to New South Wales. We do not want to sound the alarm for their contacts, you understand.”

  Lord Alfred rose and extended his hand to Fenton. “’Tis a sad business, but—on behalf of my family and the Commander in Chief—thank you, sir.”

  Jake accompanied Peter to the door. “You handled that very well, Colonel Lord Peter Fenton,” Jake said with a grin.

  “I might add that, you, Major Lord Jacob Bodwyn, had no small role to play and the powers that be will be so informed.”

  “It will not matter. I am selling out, as I told you, but I appreciate the thought.”

  “Well, what will be will be. In any event, I’ll see you at the Lenninger ball tomorrow.”

  Jake returned to the library to find Lord Alfred refilling his and Jake’s glasses.

  “I just assumed you would join me,” the older man said and sat back in his chair.

  “Yes, sir.” Jake sat down, reached for the glass, and raised it to his lordship. “That cannot have been easy for you, my lord.”

  “No, it was not,” Lord Alfred replied. “It will come as a shock to my brother when he finds out. To the rest of the family too. I am guessing that with the defeat of Napoleon and return of the Bourbons to the throne in Paris, Morrow—Moreau—and his sister were counting on their return to French society as well. Apparently over twenty years in this country failed to anglicize them.” The old man sighed, looking older than Jake had ever observed of him before. “It is Lindstrom’s behavior that I find just impossible to understand or condone.”

  “Sir? I understood that he, too, had property in France that was confiscated during the revolution.”

  “Yes, he did. But so did many Englishmen. Perhaps his being elevated to a knighthood for his doctoring the rich and powerful gave him delusions of grandeur. Who knows?” Lord Alfred set his glass down. “Who knows?” he repeated wearily.

  “Will you be sharing this news with Lord Heaton and the rest of the family?” Jake asked, wanting to know what kind of face the family would be putting on at the night’s events.

  Lord Alfred pondered for a moment, then said, “I think not. I shall explain it all to them after Rebecca’s ball. It will not be common gossip for a few days at least. Might as well let them enjoy the ball.” He paused. “It has been one hell of a night, has it not?”

  “That it has, my lord.”

  Chapter 20

  On returning from the theatre, Retta peeped into the library hoping that Jake would be there, as he so often was, playing chess with her uncle. But the neither man was there and the room was dark. Assuming that they had retired earlier than usual, Retta accompanied her aunt up to their sitting room.

  “I am ready to divest myself of this corset,” said Aunt Georgiana, as she rummaged around in the sideboard. “What say you to our getting into our nightclothes and then having a bit of a nightcap? I’m sure the sherry decanter is here somewhere—ah, there it is.”

  “Sounds fine to me,” Retta said absently, still disappointed at not having seen Jake this evening.

  “You needn’t exert yourself on my account,” Aunt Georgiana said a bit caustically.

  “No. No, I did not mean to sound reluctant.”

  Her aunt raised an eyebrow. “You will see him soon enough tomorrow, you know.”

  Retta felt herself blushing at being caught out so. “All right. If you just help me with the fastenings on this gown, I shall do the same for you, and we needn’t disturb our maids. I’m sure they will appreciate our letting them sleep.”

  “By all means.”

  When they had performed those services for each other, they went to their own bedchambers and donned their nightwear. Retta was just reentering the sitting room when her aunt came charging into the room, her own dressing gown agape, and waving a bit of notepaper.

  “Retta, you will not believe this.”

  “What?”

  “Celeste has left us.”

  “What do you mean, ‘left us,’?” Retta asked.

  “I am not at all sure what it means. She writes that she has decided to go into the country to spend a few days with her son.”

  “She could hardly have arranged that and packed adequately in the time we were attending the theatre. Did you check her wardrobe?”

  “No. But I will.” Aunt Georgiana stepped into Madame Laurent’s room and returned almost immediately. “Strange. Very strange. She took almost none of her clothes. Her hairbrush and a jar of cream I know she uses at night are gone. But she left an open book on her nightstand. Why would she not take a book she was reading?”

  “That is strange,” Retta said, then laughed as she filled the sherry glasses. “You don’t suppose she has eloped with Sir Cecil?”
>
  “Do be serious. Not only would that be out of character for Celeste, it would be totally unnecessary. Who would object—at their ages?”

  “Well, I am quite sure I do not know what bee got in her bonnet. Here.” She handed her aunt one of the glasses she had filled.

  “’Tis a puzzle,” Aunt Georgiana murmured, taking a seat in a barrel chair and propping her feet on a matching footstool. “I suppose we will know more in the morning. Maybe she will write a letter explaining beyond these few lines. This just is not like her at all.”

  They sipped silently for a few moments—Retta lost in thoughts of Jake as her aunt seemed to be thinking of the strange behavior of her friend. Then her aunt sighed and dropped that subject. “I thought the play tonight was very entertaining. I have always loved Moliere’s work, but I had never seen this one.”

  * * * *

  Jake greeted the next day with mixed feelings. With the spy mission completed, he no longer had reason to remain at Blakemoor house. The prospect of rejoining his own family was tempered by the thought that he would, for a time at least, see less of Retta. But while still there, he had one last chore to be got through before he could take up his own life again. His own life again. Just what might that be like?

  After a restless night, he rose early and discovered that he was not the only one to find meeting this day head on was preferable to burrowing back under the covers in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. The weather having taken a pleasant turn, he surmised that Retta and Lord Alfred would already be at the stables for what might well be the last ride the three of them would have together.

  And so they were.

  At this hour, and because it was still wintery cold, they encountered little traffic. Nor did they engage in their usual back and forth chatter as they approached the park. He thought Lord Alfred might be preoccupied with the loss of his friend and secretary. Retta seemed in particularly low spirits and Jake was sure they stemmed from thoughts of perhaps losing her horse. She kept patting Moonstar’s neck and murmuring praises to the animal. He felt sorry for her and tried to distract her.

  “My lady,” he called to her, “Blaze and I will give you and Moonstar a count of three and race you to that big overhanging willow down there.” He pointed to the tree about a quarter of a mile distant.

  She immediately perked up. “You’re on!”

  Jake held the eager Blaze back for the three count he had promised, then let the horse go. They finished almost simultaneously, both horses prancing at the end and both riders laughing.

  “I needed that.” Retta leaned forward to pat the neck of her mare. “We needed that, didn’t we, my pretty?” The horse looked around at her rider just as though she agreed. Then Retta looked directly at Jake. “And that is not all I need, as I am sure you are aware.” She pursed her lips.

  “Stop, you wanton hoyden, you! You are wreaking havoc with a certain part of my anatomy with such talk.” He wanted desperately to kiss her. For a moment, desire was almost palpable between them and Jake thought they were both a bit relieved as Lord Alfred joined them.

  “So—who won?” his lordship asked.

  “‘Twas a tie,” Retta said with a laugh.

  Later, at breakfast, Jake noted that Lord Alfred avoided talking of what had taken place the night before. When his sister mentioned her missing companion, he had no comment beyond an absent “Is that so?”

  “You were not aware of her leaving?” Lady Georgiana persisted.

  “Um. No, I don’t think so. I rarely notice any commotion in the entrance hall when Morrow and I are working.”

  She turned to Jake. “What about you, Mr. Bolton? Did you hear anything untoward last evening?”

  Jake looked at Lord Alfred who gave him a slight shake of the head. “Um. No, my lady, I heard nothing. But I’m rather a heavy sleeper.”

  “Are you, indeed?” Lady Georgiana asked with a raised eyebrow, but she went on to note that, “This was most unlike Celeste.”

  Jake did not dare do more than glance at Retta, but he was sure she blushed.

  That evening, he dressed carefully for the ball in the formal trousers and long-tailed coat that someone had supplied—he suspected Lord Heaton, perhaps at Retta’s direction. There was even a polished onyx stickpin for his neckcloth. He joined Lord Alfred and Lord Heaton, dressed much as he was, as they waited in the library for the ladies to join them. Richard in the full dress uniform of a member of the King’s Guard would join the rest of the family at the ball.

  “Are you nervous, Bolton?” asked Gerald, Lord Heaton.

  “Somewhat. I just it want to go well for your sister.”

  “So do I. Most sincerely do I wish just that.”

  Before anyone could add to that, the ladies joined them. Retta was wearing a splendid gown of blue silk with a deep-scooped neck and silver lace trim. Her aunt was outfitted in a maroon silk with touches of ecru lace. Jake raised an eyebrow to show his appreciation of Retta’s appearance. Her hair was arranged in a rather severe French knot, but a few curls dangled at the side of her face to soften the overall image. A sapphire and diamond necklace with matching earbobs completed her outfit that also included a cape of matching silk with a silver lining.

  “Nicely done, ladies,” Lord Alfred said.

  “Thank you, kind sir,” Retta said, linking her arm with her uncle’s. “But I see that we are to be accompanied by the handsomest men at the ball.” Her gaze lingered on Jake.

  Arriving at Lenninger House, they discovered their carriage to be one in a long line of vehicles waiting to disgorge society’s elite, and that there was quite a crowd of people on the opposite sidewalk gawking at all the finery.

  “Can we not just get out here and walk?” Retta asked when they were still seven or eight carriages back. “It has not rained all day,” she added. “In that, Rebecca’s timing has been excellent.”

  They all agreed and the men got out and as they handed the ladies from the carriage, Retta ended up on Jake’s arm. He felt her hand trembling on his arm as they climbed the steps to the ballroom.

  He leaned close to whisper, “No matter how this turns out, I love you and I will stand by you.” Then he mentally kicked himself. That was not how he had intended to make that declaration.

  She looked at him, startled, but whispered back, “And I, you.” He was not entirely sure what that meant, but now was not the time to pursue it, for they were suddenly at the reception line that included Lord and Lady Lenninger, the dowager baroness, and Lady Lenninger’s sister, the Honorable Melinda Parker.

  Jake heard Lady Lenninger greet her aunt and uncle effusively and complain to her brother Gerald that he, along with Richard and Retta, had refused her invitation to join her in the reception line. “I was not surprised when Retta refused a wish of mine, but you?”

  “Reception lines are always such bore, no matter which side one is on,” Gerald said and moved on.

  Rebecca glared at his back, but turned an overly bright smile on her sister. “Ah, Henrietta,” she said in a voice that could be heard even by many who had already gone through the line, “how lovely you look, my dear. And, Mr. Bolton, how very nice to see you. I confess I was not at all sure you would accept our invitation.”

  “I would not have missed your ball for all the world,” he said politely.

  Rebecca lowered her voice. “Both the Countess of Sefton and Countess Cowper are among our guests.”

  “How nice for you,” Retta said, and Jake saw her jaw tighten.

  He was also aware of Melinda’s boldly looking him over and then saying in a stage whisper to Retta, “I told you he would look splendid in formal wear!”

  As soon as they were through the reception line, he asked Retta, “What was that all about?”

  “Which?”

  “Both of them.”

  “Lady Sefton and Lady Cowper are two o
f the patronesses of Almack’s.” Retta sounded a bit nervous to him, but then she grinned and said, “I think Melinda has her eye on you.”

  “Oh, really?” He rolled his eyes and she laughed. At least she sounded more relaxed now.

  Along with Lord Alfred, Lady Georgiana, and Lord Heaton, he and Retta moved beyond the reception line and stood on the edge of the ballroom, as were a number of other small groups. Jake could see that Rebecca had achieved every ton hostess’s dream in producing such a “crush” that he wondered how on earth she expected that many people to dance easily.

  But in the event, after Lord and Lady Lenninger led the first dance, others did move about with a degree of freedom that surprised him. With Jake at her side, instead of taking part in that first dance, Retta moved from group to group, acknowledging acquaintances and always making sure to introduce Mr. Bolton. He could tell that she was searching for someone in particular, then he heard her indrawn breath and she tightened her hold on his arm. “Oh, Lady Sefton and Lady Cowper. How very nice to see you here. My sister is so glad you could come. May I present my friend, Mr. Bolton? He has only just returned to town after several years out of the country.”

  Jake wondered how she had come up with that last bit of information, but it was ironically accurate, was it not? The two ladies were both attractive and at least ten years older than Retta. They were both in very fashionable gowns and each seemed aware of the place she held in society. He bowed politely over the hands of both and he noticed that Retta stood slightly aside as he engaged in small talk with them, discussing what a fine turn-out Lady Lenninger had achieved and how sad that so many of society’s notables were on the continent yet.

  Jake said, “Ah, but it is their loss to have missed such a fine gathering as this with so many beautiful ladies.” He smiled and winked at both of them and they simpered like schoolgirls.

  “When the season has really started in earnest, Mr. Bolton, we hope to see you at Almack’s,” Lady Sefton said a bit coquettishly, “Do we not, Emily?” she added to Lady Cowper.