Fortune Favors the Sparrow

by Rebecca Connolly

  Well, Hawk had felt at times that he may need to prepare various statements regarding his sister’s behavior when it inevitably offended, concerned, or impressed Society.

  “At what point do you anticipate her being finished, anyway?” Nat inquired while Hawk continued to draft imaginary missives in his head. “My sister is five years my senior, I know nothing about the process.”

  “Nor do I,” Hawk admitted without shame. “I believe she is in her final year, but I would not be at all surprised if she has another year.”

  Nat’s brow snapped down. “How old is the girl, Hawk? Sixteen?”

  “Seventeen.” He made a face and exhaled roughly. “I’d keep her at the school forever if I could.”

  “And what is your excuse for Griff?” Nat asked before Hawk could grow in any way sentimental, which was much appreciated. “He’s of an age to mind his own life and concerns, the whelp wouldn’t appreciate your interference.”

  Hawk only shrugged, not entirely certain why he pretended Griff had anything to do with his decisions. Griff would never be induced to settle into the life of tedium Hawk had taken on. He would likely never settle into any sort of life conducive to becoming Hawk’s heir and leaving the freedom of his European tour of a life.

  It wasn’t as though Hawk had intended for his brother to actually be his heir in truth. He just… would have preferred not feeling utterly abandoned to his own responsibilities while his brother had all of the fun.

  More than once, Hawk had found himself wishing that whatever court Griff presently found himself in was full of complete bores and a selection of the most uninteresting people Europe had to offer. Griff was inventive enough to have made any special setting one that worked in his favor, but there was nothing that said he should not have to put in a great deal of effort to do so.

  Hawk had never possessed those skills.

  Oh, he was social enough, and he certainly did his duty when it came to dancing, conversation, and patronage. He was a complete gentleman, well respected, and, he flattered himself, rather an appealing prospect.

  But for all his boasting of being an impeccable catch, he had not yet managed to truly engage in any courtship worth maintaining. Easy flirtations in his youth, yes, but anything of promise? Never.

  And for all Nat’s playacting, he was shockingly devoted to the idea of a marriage for love and nothing else.

  What a pair they were.

  “Perhaps I should have you write to Griff next,” Hawk suggested with a wry smile. “You might have better success in convincing him to come home.”

  “I daresay I would,” Nat retorted. “I actually go to London from time to time, which is likely his only interest in England as a whole.”

  Hawk made a face. “I do what I must in London. I go every year for Parliament and the Season. I simply fail to see the need to remain longer than necessary.”

  “And instead you come out to Wiltshire.” Nat gestured around them, eyes widening. “To Millmond. Where nothing ever happens, and nothing ever will.”

  The statement stung, partially because it was true.

  “It’s the largest estate belonging to the Duke of Kirklin, Nat,” Hawk said with a sigh. “Where else am I supposed to go?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, one of your other four estates?” His friend looked up at the ornate ceiling above them, apparently disgusted with Hawk’s stupidity. “One of the more exciting ones. Or at least a picturesque one.”

  Hawk narrowed his eyes at the impudent man who, he had neglected to point out, had come all the way out to Millmond himself without the provocation of an event. “You only fail to find Millmond picturesque because you’re too occupied trying to keep up on a horse.”

  As he suspected, Nat’s chin lowered as his eyes clashed with his, a familiar smirk crossing his face. “You think so? Poor, deluded fellow, I daresay it is time a reminder was set down in order to regain your sanity and grasp on reality.”

  Hawk rose and gestured for the door. “After you, of course.”

  “Yes, it usually is,” Nat quipped as he started out. “You see? You’re improving already.”

  Hawk chuckled and groaned as they moved through the silent corridors of Millmond towards the stables. “What are you doing here, Nat? Not that I am not pleased to see you, it is always a pleasure, but there isn’t a particular reason I can think of.”

  “There isn’t a reason I can think of, either,” Nat told him without much concern. “Winter is approaching, so London is dull. I’ve no interest in visiting my godfather in York until Christmas, which is the only time I’ve any wish to see York.”

  “York is lovely,” Hawk protested as they exited the house. “I’d sell my estate in Kent for one in York, if given a chance.”

  Nat gave him a derisive look. “I don’t dislike York as a town or Yorkshire as a county. Only the prospect of an extended amount of time with my godfather.”

  The image was a laughable one, and Hawk would not deny it. Nat’s parents had died while he was at school, and his godfather had taken charge of him, which was not an uncommon situation for anyone in England in the same predicament. The only trouble was that Nat’s godfather was a crotchety viscount who grumbled incessantly about the departure of Society from its moral high ground, the ease with which baronies and the like were created, and how disagreeable it was that so much French influence had infiltrated London.

  Nat had to dress very simply, yet very smartly when he visited Lord Rausten, or else he would never hear the end of it.

  Even Hawk would admit that such a visit would be arduous.

  “I never had such an experience when I visited my Uncle Kirklin,” Hawk mused as they neared the stables. “He was a good sort, never quite seemed to me what a duke was supposed to be.”

  “How’s that?” Nat asked, laughing as he loosened his cravat with a quick tug at his throat. “He was the duke, therefore, as he was, a duke was.”

  Hawk shrugged and nodded at the stable master currying one of the other horses while the hands prepared their saddles. “I see that now, obviously, but at the time, he might have been a country squire. He preferred that drafty old estate in Kent to any of the rest and spent nearly all his time there. I’ve been to Kirkleigh, of course, and when I visit Adrianna, I stay there, but once my sister is through with that school, I’ll sell the whole estate.”

  They mounted their horses and started out of the stables at an easy trot. “You do realize the haughtiness of that statement, don’t you?” Nat asked as they rode.

  “Of what?” Hawk couldn’t think how anything had sounded haughty when he had simply mentioned selling off one of his estates that was rarely used…

  One of his estates…

  Hawk muttered incoherently under his breath.

  “There it is,” Nat said cheerily. “I suggest you keep me as a friend, Your Grace, or you might lose anything that ties you to the average man.”

  “I’m not the only man with more than one house, Nat.” Hawk shook his head and nudged his horse a bit faster. “Even considering selling one puts me on the outskirts among men of a similar standing.”

  In truth, it made him quite rare. It wasn’t often that he met with other peers, let alone other dukes, as there weren’t nearly as many as rumors and fanciful whims led anyone to believe, but those he had met seemed to view the idea of several houses and estates as rather commonplace, and seemed to collect more and more of them. Then, when the finances of the estates were strained too far to manage every house to its needs, the peer in question would make a fashionable retrenchment until the fortunes were restored.

  Hawk couldn’t live like that. He’d rather have one house as his main residence and perhaps just one other for the necessary retreat from normalcy. And one in London, of course, for when he was called there.

  Three houses.

  There wasn’t much he could claim different from his present state when he could still say he had three houses, two of which boasted tenant farmers.


  “I’d become a hermit of a duke if I could,” Hawk grumbled to himself as his own hypocrisy irritated him.

  “And how would that help your cause?” Nat asked at once, laughing as his horse began to stretch its legs more, its stride lengthening and pulling ahead of Hawk’s. “It won’t give you an heir, and Griff would have you killed in your sleep if you didn’t even try to create an alternative one.”

  The mention of it in such business-like terms wasn’t particularly palatable, but it was the way of things, and they both knew it.

  But if Hawk hadn’t become duke…

  “Do you think my prospects are impeccable enough to give me leave to choose?” Hawk asked his friend, somehow missing the teasing note he’d intended his words to take on. “I mean really choose.”

  Nat sobered, knowing full well the sincerity behind Hawk’s question. “I think so. Your fortunes are stable, your bloodlines are good, and your title waves a flag that any station would look for. Further than that, I think you could afford to stretch your scope, if you wished to.”

  Hawk raised a brow. “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I think you could marry a poor girl, really.” Nat looked at him in all seriousness. “It might raise a few brows, but if you can ensure your children are born on the right side of the sheets, you’d be a spectacular love match that way. Probably gain you a few more supporters.”

  Heat raced up Hawk’s neck at the mention of legitimate children in such a way and he pretended to scan the horizon. “I’ve no intention of marrying a kitchen maid, Nat.”

  “Now that would be a scandal worth gossiping about!” Nat threw his head back on a laugh, then shook his head. “All I meant was you don’t need to limit yourself where a potential wife is concerned. I think you’re perfectly free, Hawk. Fortunate chap.”

  Nat could think that way, but Hawk knew it wasn’t so simple. He couldn’t marry just anybody, not with the bloodlines he now had to represent. There was some duty to his progenitors and the connections they had ensured in the family. He didn’t want to be discussed over dinner with his hypothetical bride as though their relationship was something worth speculating over. Yes, he wished to marry for affection, but he would settle for the promise of it if he must.

  All he’d intended by the question was to examine expectations of station and bloodlines.

  He didn’t need to be thrown out to pasture and told any mare would do.

  Because the truth of it was, it would not.

  “What about you, Nat?” he asked with far more lightness than he had managed to ask the first question. “What does your peasant status mean for your matrimonial prospects?”

  Nat only shrugged his broad shoulders, his attention now forward. “You know my feelings on the subject. They have not changed.”

  “Still as devoted?” Hawk was impressed, he would not deny it. Nat had always claimed that only a love match would do for him, and, without the same bonds of duty tying him to expectations, his freedom was rather more than Hawk’s.

  Nat’s parents had been the love match of their time and growing up under such influence had clearly shaped the man.

  “Always,” Nat said simply. “I may play the flirt, have my fun, but that will never change.”

  “And do you think you’ll find it?”

  The question surprised them both, it was clear from Nat’s straightening in his saddle and tightening of his jaw. Hawk, for his own shock, felt the question to his toes.

  Why? What had prompted such a frivolous question of sensibilities he had never held for himself? It was something Adrianna would have asked him after a night of too much novel reading, not something that a respectable duke asked his oldest friend on a whim.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to take it back and challenge him to a race or something when Nat surprised him in return.

  “I think so,” his friend said slowly. “I’m fairly certain, in fact. I cannot say why, I certainly have no present prospects, but it feels right.” He shrugged and looked at Hawk with a surprisingly open expression. “Fair enough?”

  Hawk nodded. It was more than fair; it was revealing.

  It was enviable to know something with such certainty. To know that thing with any kind of certainty.

  And Hawk was notably envious.

  For a man who had never truly considered much about marriage and the like, the notion was nearly upsetting in its stunning arrival.

  He had all the time in the world to consider such things, and he certainly wasn’t about to bother with them now.

  “How about a race?” Hawk asked suddenly, flashing a grin. “I win, you have to go back to London and find a winter courtship for yourself. You win, you can come with me on a tour of each of my estates. I have to do so by the end of the year, might as well start now.”

  Nat’s eyes narrowed at the challenge. “Agreed. But I want the lambskin on the carriage for the journey. I’m rather delicate, I must travel in comfort.”

  Hawk rolled his eyes, his smile helpless now. “I’ll send a nursemaid to London with you after I win.”

  They shared the nod of gentlemen, then, on an unspoken cue, dug their heels into their animals and spurred the horses on.

  Chapter Three

  Clara sat on the edge of her bed in silence, staring off at nothing, shawl hanging limply around her.

  Spies. The school was full of spies. The school was founded by spies.

  The school was training spies.

  She should have seen it, now that she knew the truth. There were too many questions that had occurred to her in the last few years that she had simply written off without examination. Too many inconsistencies that she had grown used to ignoring. Too many moments of the most bewildering sort with students that she had chalked up to the imaginations of excitable girls.

  All of them revisited her mind from the vaults of her memory, taunting her with the now obvious reasons for them.

  Poor little Clara, so naïve and blind she couldn’t see what was right in front of her face.

  Could she trust anything she thought she knew about this place? Or anyone?

  Her interview with Pippa and Lord Rothchild had gone well enough, she supposed, and they had been particularly understanding with regards to her shock over the whole thing. She had taken his lordship’s advice and pushed most of her questions back until she had time to consider them, but it had affected the remainder of her day quite strikingly.

  Her afternoon classes had passed in a blur, and she was quite sure her lessons had been pitiful at best. She would have to make up for that tomorrow.

  She would also need to give her answer tomorrow.

  A knock at her door broke her stupor, and Clara blinked, looking at the door in confusion. “Come in?”

  Normally, the statement was an invitation, not an inquiry, but nothing was as it should have been today.

  Her surprise was compounded when one of the most senior teachers entered, smiling at Clara with the concern and understanding a mother would have worn.

  Which meant she knew.

  Clara couldn’t smile about that. “Abby.”

  Abigail Charteris, with her eyes the color of the sky and her hair the color of a rich tea, came over to the bed, her telltale limp hardly noticeable as she did so. “May I sit, Clara?”

  She nodded, limply gesturing to the spot beside her without a word.

  “I know the context of your meeting with Miss Bradford today, Clara,” Abby began without preamble.

  “I thought you might,” Clara muttered before she could help herself.

  Abby, thankfully, ignored her comment. “I know that Lord Rothchild was there, and I know what they told you.”

  “Do you?” Clara asked, remembering belatedly that she had been told not to trust anyone without some proof.

  “I know the world they told you about,” Abby told her simply, “because it is my world, too.” She handed a scrap of paper over to Clara.

  In Pippa’s neat, tidy hand, the words “tru
st her” were written, along with the seal of the ring Pippa wore on her left hand.

  That seemed worthy enough as proof went.

  “I was an operative for Seamstress before Milliner took over,” Abby went on before catching herself with a smile. “I mean Miss Masters before Miss Bradford. I had barely begun my work under Miss Bradford when my injury occurred. I wasn’t able to continue fieldwork when I recovered, my disability prevented me from any action. It was Miss Bradford who gave me the position I have here and allowed me to continue to serve, just in a different capacity.”

  Clara stared at this woman she admired so much, finding it easier to believe her former role in the covert world than Pippa’s. Something about the fire that lived in her eyes but never in her tone, the determination and quiet fortitude she’d always possessed, made the image of her being a spy rather fitting.

  “You said your injury was a riding accident,” Clara murmured, thinking back.

  Abby grinned at her, a soft giggle escaping her. “So it was. A riding injury while making an escape on an assignment and bleeding from several wounds.” She blushed a little, lowering her eyes. “It sounds dashing and daring when I say it like that. The truth of the matter was that I was in a dreadful way, and my partner had to drag me into some nearby brush to hide from our pursuers after my fall from the horse.”

  “Heavens above…” Clara breathed as she tried to picture Abby in such a state, and in such danger, but as believable as Abby might have been as a spy, the scene would not fit. “And you still wanted to go back? After you healed, I mean.”

  “Oh yes.” Abby nodded firmly. “Very much so. I loved my work, and it had given my otherwise tepid life such purpose and meaning… I was so brokenhearted when the doctors told me I could never be an operative in the same way. It had been all I wanted from the moment I began.”