There was a rap on the door.
“The coach ees waiting, Colonel.”
“Very well. I shall take you to meet the men. From now on, you will wear your weapons whenever you leave this house, and I strongly recommend you keep them accessible at all times.”
“Aye, Colonel.” Edward wondered if he would ever shake the macabre chill seeping into his bones.
Chapter 6
Over the next five years, occasional letters addressed to the Ian arrived from Captain Edward Devon, and they were read and reread. He wrote about fighting the French, but would never say quite where, or give any other specifics. Alexandra saved all the letters in a small cedar box she kept stashed in the drawer of her bureau.
One night during dinner at Devonwood Hall, Ashford turned to Alexandra. “My sister, Lady Bertha, has written to me once again about sponsoring your debut. She mentions it is high time, before you are firmly set on the shelf—for good.”
Alexandra scowled, looking at Ian and then Mrs. Stokes, and then back to Ashford. “As I have reiterated on several occasions, I have no wish to come out into society.”
Ashford nodded patiently. “Indeed you have.” He spread butter on a roll and thoughtfully took a bite. Alexandra knew he was biding his time, and held her breath while he chewed and swallowed. “But…” He raised a brow. “It might actually be beneficial for you to get away somewhere new, since you have completed your schooling. Of course, if you’d rather not, I can entreat Mrs. Stokes to prepare some new studies in Latin or Mathematics for you both to continue on with.”
“No!” both Alexandra and Ian exclaimed vehemently.
Seated next to her, Mrs. Stokes huffed in mock offense. “Really, I never realized my lessons were so beastly.”
Ashford chuckled. “I knew that would get a rise out of you two.” He addressed Alexandra once again. “Entering society may not be as wretched as you imagine. New gowns, parties, meeting young people your own age. Truly not so horrid. But you would need to reside in London with Lady Bertha for the season.”
Alexandra bit her lip and exhaled. “I refuse to abandon Ian. His health is still precarious. I won’t have him left behind if I go to London”.
Ashford rubbed his chin and looked at Ian. “I’ve considered that. Obviously we can’t have you staying with Bertha, Ian, lest she’ll have you in a gown making a debut as well.” He shook his head and chuckled at his sad attempt at humor. “No, I thought you might consider volunteering at the War Office. You would only be required to work if you felt up to it. I realize it is a bit unconventional, but it is preferable to gallivanting around London as all the other young bucks do. It could be stimulating and it would offer you an opportunity to be involved in the war effort without actually putting you in the middle of a battlefield. You could live in the Wilmington Square townhouse with Winston and me.”
Ian pursed his lips, but his face lit up. “Indeed?”
Ashford leaned back in his chair. “I happened upon Lord Banks last week and he complained how they are always understaffed. He would be grateful for any time you could contribute, taking your health issues into consideration, naturally. He specifically mentioned an intelligence position at the head office. I trust you’ve kept up with your foreign languages.”
Ian stared at his hands a moment then looked back at Ashford. “Of course, I have kept up, sir.” His chin rose slightly. “I still read and correspond regularly in French, Latin and Spanish.”
Mrs. Stokes smiled proudly at her pupil.
“. . . So what do you think?” Ashford asked.
Ian’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. He gave Alexandra a questioning glance. She nodded slightly in their almost imperceptible twin’s language. Ian turned back to Ashford. “I think I should like that very much, Sir.”
Ashford grinned. “Capital, my boy! You can also keep me posted on news of Edward while you’re there…Now for you, young lady,” Ashford said to Alexandra. “Lady Bertha is hoping you’ll accept her offer. What shall I tell her?”
She peered across the table at Ian and he looked back at her. Uncle Ash was a wily old fox, enticing Ian in this manner. This would be the first time they were separated, yet she bloody well refused to be left behind if Ian was going off to London. “What shall Mrs. Stokes do?”
Mrs. Stokes flicked her hand. “I daresay, you needn’t worry about me, dear. I am quite content to remain at Chesbury Manor for now,” she replied. “Needless to say, if you do find you require me in London, I shall be happy to come, but I am sure Lady Bertha will have everything quite in hand.”
Alexandra hesitated and pursed her lips. She would be without Ian and without Mrs. Stokes too. She drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “Tell Lady Bertha I shall come.”
Ashford leaned back in his chair smiled with satisfaction. “Very well. Now with that settled, I shall arrange for you to relocate to London in a sennight. Your maid, Henrietta, will accompany you. By the bye, Alexandra, you may bring that fine gelding of yours if you like. There are some lovely parks in which to ride nearby I’m sure you’ll enjoy.” Ashford cleared his throat. “But you must ride sidesaddle—in a dress, of course.”
Lady Bertha Devon was the Duke of Ashford’s only sister, nine years the elder. When Ashford realized she would never marry, he bestowed the imposing Mayfair house to her, keeping the Wilmington Square townhouse for himself and Winston. Lady Bertha was considered an eccentric by any standards, but she was also highly respected in London society.
As Alexandra stepped out of the coach, Lady Bertha’s staunch butler opened the grand front door. Alexandra was greeted in the massive foyer by metallic suits of armor lined along the wall beneath a tall gallery of assorted portraits of ancestral Ashfords. Her eyes were immediately drawn to an endearing portrait of Uncle Ashford at ten years old with two black spaniels.
Next to it hung a painting of Uncle Ash and the late duchess, Auntie Jane, with Winston and Edward when the two boys were quite young. Alexandra gazed wistfully at their portrait, remembering how beautiful Jane was, with a soft smile touching her lips. Her wavy chestnut hair was pulled up in a stylish twist with curls softly framing her heart-shaped face.
Alexandra tried to remember her own mother and father, but could not. They died of the influenza when she and Ian were three years old. She always felt a sense of loss and guilt at not being able to recall them. Wonderful stories were told about what a strikingly handsome couple they were, and that the twins so closely resembled their mother. Her parents had been kind and generous, always devoting some of their time and wealth to people in need.
While still in nursery strings, Ian became the sixth Earl of Chesbury, inheriting the earldom and the estate. All in all, Alexandra loved Chesbury Manor. It was an elegant brick structure with lush meadows, forests, ponds and streams. It abutted Devonwood Hall, which was ten times larger, but since the Duke of Ashford was their guardian, she had always felt Devonwood’s grounds were hers to enjoy as well. In her future, Alexandra wondered if she would ever reside anywhere else, and if so, how would she be able to part from it. Even now, coming to London was merely a temporary measure.
A maid showed Alexandra to her new bedchambers, informing her that Lady Devon would expect her in the rose dining room for tea in one hour.
Alexandra crossed to sit at a dainty dressing table. Her elbows leaned on the table and her face rested in her palms. She frowned, studying her own reflection in the gilt-framed mirror. Her toe tapped on the floor. Soon she would be a debutante; what was one supposed to look like? All she saw in the reflection was an awkward girl, more at ease dressed as her brother.
Alexandra hated the restrictions society placed on females: the cumbersome gowns, riding sidesaddle, always needing a chaperone. Instead, she preferred racing across the meadows on her horse, Traveller. Or hunting game with her own pistol. Or fencing with Higgins or Ian. Ian had become amazingly proficient with the sword. She had no desire to go to balls or meet people. Other girls her age bored her with their sil
liness. And…well, Edward was the only man who had ever held her interest and that had been a disaster.
A sinking feeling filled her belly. Why had she agreed to this? Debutantes were much too dainty and delicate. They sewed pretty flowers on handkerchiefs; she was unable to sew a stitch. They played the pianoforte; she was utterly tone-deaf. Alexandra was gawkish like a young colt, all arms and legs. She was impulsive, loud and outspoken.
Besides, at twenty-one, she was too old.
How she would ever learn to be polite was utterly beyond her. Mrs. Stokes had tried her best to educate her in the niceties of society, but it was the one subject at which Alexandra failed miserably. Whoever had time for such trivialities?
Alexandra found her way back down the stairs and crept quietly through the foyer so not to disturb the ancestral portraits glaring down at her. She peered cautiously into the blank helmets of the suits of armor, fearing to see a face inside scowling back at her from behind the metallic visor. Finally, she wandered into a dining room decorated in smothering shades of rose.
Lady Bertha was settled at a cozy table already set up with tea, scones, a generous platter of sliced ham and cheeses, and hearty slices of bread. She was an immense woman with a very imposing demeanor, dressed entirely in canary yellow. Her curly gray hair stuck out beneath the edges of a bright turban.
“Ah, Alexandra, my dear girl! Do come in and allow me to have a look at you.”
Alexandra stepped into the room and eyed Bertha as she appeared to be eying her back.
“My, my, I must say you have grown a foot taller since last I saw you. And such a pretty thing you are.”
Alexandra dipped into a slight curtsy. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
“I am just now pouring. Do sit down, child.”
She slid into a chair and Bertha passed her a cup of tea on a saucer. Oddly, Alexandra’s hand trembled. She prayed she wouldn’t spill her tea on her first day in London.
“So, my dear girl, tell me the news from Devonwood Hall. Has that rascal brother of mine been treating you well?” Bertha’s full cheeks crinkled into a warm smile.
“Of course, Lady Bertha. Ashford is wonderful.”
“I have scheduled an appointment tomorrow with my favorite couturier, Madame Toureau, to get started on your gowns. Although she is French, she despises Bonaparte. She will crow with delight when she lays eyes on you. I do admit, she is terribly expensive.”
Alexandra straightened her spine and nibbled on a piece of cheese. She eyed Bertha’s attire and hoped Madame Toreau did not clothe all the ladies the same as Bertha.
Bertha chuckled and took a hearty bite of her scone. “But Ashford can afford it, bless the dear man. He instructed me to spare no expense in retaining the very best London has to offer for the makings of a proper debutante. Oh, praise the saints, Ashford is as wealthy as Croesus! I do so adore spending his money.”
“Ashford truly said that?” Alexandra asked in tender amazement. She shifted in her seat. “I am quite sure Ian and I have sufficient funds for my gowns.”
Bertha arched her gray brows. “Tut-tut, my dear. Ashford insists on paying. He considers you like a daughter! I daresay, my dear brother will be strutting like a peacock with you on his arm, showing you off to society.”
Bertha continued, “I have also engaged a duenna, Miss Hatfield, to instruct you on the particulars a young debutante needs to know in polite society.”
Alexandra inwardly groaned.
Bertha sipped her tea buttered another scone. “Miss Hatfield is also a passable equestrian. I see you brought along that fine gelding of yours. Unfortunately, there will be no more riding for you without a proper chaperone. Once Miss Hatfield arrives, you may set up a riding schedule with her. No more romping about on your own, my dear. So sorry! But a lady’s reputation is paramount.”
Bertha patted her mouth with her napkin and smacked her lips. “With that being said, I should inform you that I am an independent thinker. Unlike society, I believe a woman’s brain is her greatest asset. At my age, it is not necessary to hide the fact that I practice intelligent thinking. But you, my dear, do not have that luxury. A young lady with a quick mind is considered an undesirable. Therefore, we will need to teach you to become a complete ninnywit!” She let out an abrupt chortle at her own jest.
“I have always been envious of men for their freedoms,” Alexandra said.
“I quite agree, my child. It does seem a cruel twist of fate to be born a woman, even in this modern age. That is why I never married. I could never be subservient to a man. It just wasn’t in my nature. Of course, look at me now. I’m a lonely old woman with no children of my own. My only regret really is not having a daughter, especially if I could have had a free-thinking spirited daughter such as yourself.”
Alexandra looked down at her lap, suddenly flushed. “Thank you, Lady Bertha. You are too kind.”
Lady Bertha pushed back from the table and stood. Her yellow gown billowed like a sea of lemons. “I daresay we are going to get along quite famously! But now I must be off to my transcendent philosophical group. Today we are discussing gravitational levitation—most enlightening! I do apologize that you will need to remain in the house until Miss Hatfield arrives tomorrow, but do make yourself quite at home, my dear.”
Alexandra tried to swallow the large bite of scone stuck in her throat. She coughed violently and pressed her hand to her chest.
Lady Bertha’s brows furrowed with concern. “Are you well, child?”
Alexandra flicked her hand and nodded. She reached for her tea and swallowed heartily. “Please don’t worry about me. I shall be fine. I have some correspondence to attend to and I find I’m rather weary from the journey in the coach.” Normally Alexandra was never tired, but today her brain was exhausted.
Bertha strolled to the door. She turned back to Alexandra and gave a soft matronly smile. She truly seemed happy to have Alexandra in her home. “Dinner is served at seven. The green dining room, dear.”
After the smothering shades of rose, and Lady Bertha’s canary yellow attire, Alexandra wondered how green the dining room would truly be.
Despite her own misgivings, Alexandra found life in London surprisingly stimulating. The gowns soon arrived, along with various pieces of undergarments, night rails, bonnets, and slippers. There were gowns for morning, afternoon and evening. There were costumes for riding. There were several ball gowns in the soft hues appropriate for debutantes. Alexandra allowed herself the girlish delight of becoming rather excited about the new wardrobe.
She found she enjoyed the outings to museums and art galleries. She actually recognized many of the displays and works from her studies with Mrs. Stokes.
Of course, she was forced to learn to walk without bobbing and practice the art of dull conversation with the very proper spinsterly Miss Hatfield. She wore her brown hair in a severe bun and always dressed in gray or brown. A spry elderly gentleman was enlisted to instruct her the various quadrilles, country dances, and the new dance called the waltz.
Ian and the Ashford would come to dinner on Wednesdays. Ian too, was looking more like a dashing London gentleman. He wore sporting fine new clothing. His hair was trimmed short, no longer pulled back in a queue.
The first time Ian arrived with his newly cropped hair, Alexandra realized the days of pretending to be Ian were truly over. There would be no chopping her hair off as short as her brother’s.
Then one Thursday afternoon, Bertha’s butler, Albert, entered the green salon where Alexandra sat at the desk, writing a letter to Mrs. Stokes.
“The Earl of Chesbury is calling, Miss,” he said.
Alexandra looked up and tilted her head. “Ian is here? On a Thursday afternoon?”
The next moment, Ian entered. Alexandra jumped up from her desk. “Ian!” She crossed the room and flung into his arms.
Ian hugged her for a moment and stepped back. Eying her up and down, he smirked. “My, my, Alex, I just saw you last night at dinner.” His eyes
scanned her gown and he gave a tight smile. “I still can’t get used to you in your ladies’ finery.”
“Do I detect a bit too much astonishment in your voice?” Alexandra abruptly punched him in the arm.
“Ouch!” He rubbed his assaulted limb. “It warms my heart to know the real Alexandra is still lurking somewhere beneath all that frippery. Is Lady Bertha at home?”
“She is attending her monthly meeting of the Society of Kinetic Energy.”
Ian raised a quizzical brow.
“Don’t ask,” she replied, rolling her eyes. Then her face sombered. “Aren’t you usually working at the War Office at this time?”
Ian’s expression darkened and his shoulders dropped. He gestured for her to be seated and took a chair beside her. “Have you received any correspondence from Edward?”
Alexandra gave a sardonic snort. “When would I ever receive correspondence from Edward?”
“How about Lady Bertha?” he asked.
Alexandra shook her head. “I don’t recall her ever mentioning that they corresponded, but I shall ask her when she returns.” Her stomach tightened. “What has happened?”
Ian rubbed the side of his neck as if trying to loosen tense muscles. “Nothing. That is the problem. Absolutely nothing has happened. No letters. No reports. No mentioning of him from other agents. It is like he is suddenly a blank slate. Lord Banks is very concerned. We do know Edward was working undercover before he…disappeared.”
Alexandra gulped and stared at him. A dark dread seeped into her heart. “So. He has… disappeared.”
“Yes. It seems he has indeed.” His voice sounded bland, too controlled, which alarmed her more. His face became tight and expressionless
A hard lump filled the back of her throat. “What are we supposed to do—merely wait?”
“It appears we must, I fear.”
Leigh Sparrow Page 5