“Undercover again?” A rush of excitement coursed through him. Although he’d definitely ruined his cover in France, he had the opportunity to prove himself to his new superior.
“Rather. We have suspicions that the opera singer, Madame Abney, may be a French agent, working for Talleyrand. After her acclaim in France, she has become very popular in London and has attracted royal interest. I want you to get close to Madame Abney.”
“In what way?”
“What way? In the standard way a single man gets to know a woman. She is married to a Frenchman and the rumor is that they are not close.”
“But, I’m…”
“She has loads of gentlemen pursuing her, and she is known to take lovers. You need to gain her trust. We also have suspicions about one of her favorite gentleman pursuers; we believe he might be part of a network of spies.”
Before Gabby, he would have relished this assignment. “Aren’t there any other single men who might be available?”
“Not with your title and skills.”
“Sk-skills?” Michael stammered. This was Hen’s husband. Had he heard the rumors? Michael didn’t feel he was much different in his pursuit of women than any of the other unmarried gentlemen. He battled between embarrassment and defensiveness over the fact that women found him appealing and chased him.
Rathbourne laughed again. “Your linguistic skills.”
“My linguistic skills?”
“You speak Italian and German, isn’t that correct?”
“The Romance languages aren’t much of a challenge. Mastering the Middle High German dialects and the Low German dialects was more of a challenge, but it helped my understanding of German, Russian, and the Scandinavian languages. Of course, my first love was the old Saxon tongue.”
His brother-in-law raised his eyebrow.
“I digress. Yes, I have a command of the languages you mentioned. As does my sister.”
“Your sister is not to be involved in this matter.”
“Of course not. I would never want to place Hen at risk…”
Rathbourne raised his eyebrow again in that annoying supercilious manner.
“Again,” Michael added, chastened.
“Exactly. Madame Abney became very close to Josephine Bonaparte during her time in Paris. Madame has spent a great deal of time in both Germany and Italy and made many connections. We believe she has been passing on messages to these contacts for Napoleon. We don’t know how she is passing the messages, but we’ve assumed they are embedded in the music.”
“Codes written in music have been used for centuries. It is a painstakingly slow method, but feasible. You are familiar enough with opera to know that the composer allows total leeway to the diva to sing her arias to showcase her vocal power and skills.”
“I am aware. And it’s exactly why I need someone with both language and musical knowledge. Madame favors Italian opera, but she also sings in German.”
“It means attending all of her performances to detect a change in her arias,” Michael added.
“Precisely.”
“And to get close enough to look at her written music to see if there are any discrepancies.”
“Henrietta has explained that you also studied music.” Rathbourne stared at him.
“That is very generous of my sister. Music, like codes, consists of mathematical patterns, and I see and hear patterns very easily. I lack the passion of an artist to be called a true musician.”
“You are perfect. Your sister wants to help in the analysis of the music, but she has enough work. Abchurch has kept her very busy while you were gone. She needs to rest and must avoid taking on too much.”
“I agree. I’ve offered to move Edward and Uncle Charles back to Kendal House, but she won’t hear of it. Of course, Edward will head off to Eton next year, but I worry about the stress of another change for Uncle Charles.”
“I don’t want your sister worried about your uncle. Please, for your sister’s peace of mind, Uncle Charles must remain at Rathbourne House. You will be a regular visitor with your work for Abchurch. But you will have the freedom to pursue Madame Abney.”
Michael shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Since arriving home, I hadn’t planned on pursuing any liaisons.”
Up went Rathbourne’s eyebrow. The man used his damn eyebrow like a form of punctuation. Maybe Michael should pursue the study of facial movements in different languages. He wondered whether Rathbourne used his eyebrow in his inquisitions of spies. What a weapon! He could be known in spy circles as The English Eyebrow.
“You’re worried about how your liaison with the beautiful opera singer might affect your relationship with Mademoiselle De Valmont?”
“Yes, she’ll get the wrong idea of what sort of man I am if I’m in pursuit of an opera singer.”
“You already have a reputation of pursuing opera…” Rathbourne coughed behind his hand. “The lady is bound to hear of your past once she goes out in society. Women ferret out that type of information readily. Has she made the move to Ashworth House yet?”
Until Rathbourne mentioned Gabby, Michael realized they had been conversing in an easy manner. Rathbourne had even sympathized with the conflict of his assignment but still expected him to do his duty. And Michael acknowledged that he was the best choice to pursue the possibility of coded messages. Amazing. Hen would be pleased. He just wished he could explain everything to Gabby.
“She has arrived safely at your sister’s home. Your aunt accompanied her.” Michael didn’t want to admit to anyone how disappointed he had been by Gabby’s rejection of his help.
She had asked him to find her brother’s solicitor. And once he had accomplished the task, Ashworth had stepped into the role of Gabby’s protector. A single man couldn’t serve as her protector. As if he didn’t understand the rules of propriety, both Aunt Euphemia and Ashworth had explained how he must distance himself from Gabby to stop any rumors about the coincidence of his return from France and her arrival. A plan had been agreed upon. Her new identity was to be that of a family friend of the Rathbourne family.
He wanted to call on her, but he remembered Hen’s words about not pushing her when she was grieving. But he missed her. He wanted to take care of her, comfort her utterly in the way men knew how to offer ease.
“Yes, I understand that Aunt Euphemia and Gwyneth have been helpful. And tomorrow the lady will be meeting her brother’s solicitor?”
“Yes, Gabby and your aunt will be meeting with him. Ashworth has also volunteered to accompany them, but the ladies didn’t feel it was necessary.”
“My aunt has managed her own estate for many years. I’m sure she will be of great assistance.”
Michael leaned forward in his chair. “Gabby has asked me to look into the circumstances of her brother’s duel and where his body is buried. But this is the tricky part. How can I lie to her about something so important?”
“You will be protecting her by lying to her. How will it help the lady to know that her brother was assassinated, possibly by the same men who are pursuing her? The story is that Valmont was killed in a duel with the Duke of Wycliffe.”
Michael sat forward. “I can’t believe Wycliffe was a traitor. By Jove, I encouraged Hen to marry him.”
Rathbourne stroked his chin with his index finger. “Appears he had gambling and opium problems.”
“My mother and I thought it was an excellent match. My God, he was a duke. But thankfully, Hen had more sense.”
“Your sister is a very discerning woman. She did tell me that you supported her decision to refuse him, despite the social pressures.”
Michael raised his eyebrow in the same supercilious manner as his brother-in-law. “And, despite your reputation, she married you.”
Rathbourne stiffened, his manner all taut and pompous, ready to take on the challenge. His brother-in-law really was a prickly sort of chap.
Michael grinned. “And I can see how happy she is.”
Ra
thbourne gave a small smile, his body relaxing slightly. “It took some time convincing her to look past my reputation.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But hell, a lot of it was a cover that I had established to hide my covert activities in France. And what Ash said is correct. If you hadn’t stolen the code book, I’m not sure Henrietta would have had the opportunity to see me in a favorable light.”
“But that’s my point. Gabby will never see me in a favorable light if I am pursuing an opera singer.”
“Your sister got past my reputation once I was able to share my work. Mademoiselle Gabby seems like a very sensible woman. And since my wife has convinced me that mademoiselle is a gently bred woman with no hidden or devious agendas, you will be able to share your work with her in the future. But presently, you must keep your distance from the mademoiselle. It won’t take long for Napoleon’s men to make the connection between you and the lady. And you have a vital role to play in discovering what the French are planning.”
“But if only I could tell Gabby about the mission.”
“Think, man. If you told her of your mission, you’d be putting her at risk.”
“But you agree that…Gabby is not a French spy?”
“What I believe is that she is at risk to either be kidnapped or to be used by the French as a pawn, possibly to spy for them since her brother’s death left her with no protector.”
Michael sat up straight with the tension running up and down his spine. “But what if Napoleon and his men find her?”
“That is what I’m hoping for. We will be observing her very closely to protect her and to also see who makes contact.”
“You’re the one putting Gabby at risk!” Michael jumped up. “I won’t allow it.”
And there was the damn raised eyebrow. Michael was trying to get along with his brother-in-law for his sister’s sake, but how did she tolerate his condescending manner?
Rathbourne spoke calmly. “Mademoiselle Gabby is already at risk. This will give us the opportunity to capture whomever is after her. Do you have the story straight on what happened to her brother?”
He hated to have to admit that Rathbourne might be right. But Michael couldn’t separate logic from his feelings. Not when it came to Gabby and her safety. He should be the one to guard her. He should be the one comforting her. He should be the one she looked to for protection.
Michael couldn’t remain still. He began to pace in the library. “Yes, Hen explained that both men killed each other over their shared mistress. Valmont killed the Duke in revenge for killing Isabelle.”
“The truth is that all three, including a duke of the realm, were French spies. Isabelle was a double agent and worked for me. Valmont was shot by an unknown assassin, not by Wycliffe.”
Michael stopped and looked at Rathbourne. “And what of his body?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what happened to the body. But lie to mademoiselle, say you believe he is buried in Highgate cemetery.”
“I can’t lie to Gabby,” Michael protested.
“This work is based on lies and subterfuge. To safeguard everyone you care about, you’re going to have learn to lie to them.”
“And you lie to my sister?”
“I try not to, but if her life were at stake, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
Chapter Twelve
Grateful to escape Ashworth’s house after two days of long solitary hours with nothing but her grief, Gabby followed Gwyneth into the modiste shop.
“Haloooh, Amelia!” Lady Gwyneth called loudly in a sing-song voice.
The hanging ivory silk on the walls, the vibrant cut roses in Sevres vases, and the gilded ladies’ chairs were exactly like a Parisian shop or a French boudoir. A tinkling of the entry bell flooded Gabby with memories of visiting a lady’s shop with her dear mama. She fought the melancholic feeling bubbling up, along with the bittersweet memory. In her dreams last night, she was with Lucien in France, and everyone spoke in French, not English. She hated waking up this morning to the sound of the harsh English language.
Like the years in the convent, she was marking time, waiting. She must face reality, that there was no going back. She must make a new life in this new country. But how to go about this new life? Living with Lady Gwyneth and Aunt Euphemia was a temporary situation. She didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, including Michael, who seemed to believe he was responsible for her.
A slender, ravishing woman with flame-red hair emerged from behind the curtain. “Gwyneth…and Mademoiselle Gabrielle.”
Gabby had mixed feelings about meeting this lady after Gwyneth’s disclosure that the lady had believed herself to be in love with Michael until she met her fiancé. Gabby wasn’t quite sure if Gwyneth was warning her off Michael or confirming what a rake Michael had been. Or still was? Gwyneth needn’t bother since Gabby still stung with the memory of Michael’s delirious confusion about with whom he was sharing his bed.
Gabby didn’t want to admit that she missed the attractive rake and continued to call him Michael in her thoughts. She told herself over and over that the only reason she missed his company was because he was the most familiar person in all of London with everything and everyone else new. She privately wished that, despite the risk, he would call on her—to have a few moments when she felt hopeful and alive, inspired by his sunny, warm presence.
“Gabby, this is my dearest friend Amelia Bonnington, soon to be Lady Brinsley.”
Gabby curtsied. “Thank you for your willingness to see me on short notice, Miss Bonnington.”
The beauty curtsied. “I would have come to Ashworth House, but Gwyneth insisted that you both needed to get out of the house. Gwyneth does like to stay busy.”
“After the last two dreary days, stuck inside by the rain, Gabby and I needed an adventure. And what can be more fun than seeing fabrics and discussing a new wardrobe,” Lady Gwyneth said.
Gabby’s only break had been with Aunt Euphemia, two days before, to meet with the solicitor. She had become a very wealthy woman in her own right. With great foresight, Lucien had transferred most of his funds to England and had left her a sizable fortune.
“Lady Gwyneth and Lady Henrietta have kindly provided my clothing for the past days. But I am in a need of an entirely new wardrobe,” Gabby said.
“An entirely new wardrobe. Are there any better words spoken by a woman?” Miss Bonnington spread her arms out, encompassing the entire room.
A young woman, with her chestnut-colored hair pulled back into a tight chignon, in a plain muslin dress, entered the anteroom. She carried a small silver tray with flutes of champagne. Her blushing cheeks and round face reminded Gabby of Lisette, her mémé’s daughter, a fresh country miss.
“Mademoiselle Gabrielle, this is Elodie. And this is her shop,” Miss Bonnington said.
Gabby hid her surprise that this young woman was the modiste. In Paris, the dressmakers were highly sophisticated women who attracted customers with their haughty attitude and panache.
The shy woman bowed her head and curtsied. “May I serve you all champagne?”
The ladies sat is a semi-circle on diminutive ladies’ chairs, their gowns overflowing around them.
Miss Bonnington chimed in, “I give advice on color, design, and the choice of fabrics, but it is Elodie who does all the magic, transforming my ideas into beautiful gowns.”
Elodie said in a small voice, “Thank you, my lady,” and curtsied again.
“Champagne would be delightful.” Lady Gwyneth accepted the filled flute. “And, Elodie, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. You are becoming the most stylish modiste in London.”
“Because of patronage from you and Miss Amelia, my lady,” Elodie said.
Gabby experienced another flash of memory of sitting with her mother and her cousin in Madame Beauchamp’s salon, gossiping and being allowed to sip champagne. That had been her first adult woman experience, in a more lighthearted time of her youth…of another lifetime.
Miss Amelia, looking over her glass, caref
ully inspected Gabby. “Gwyneth didn’t exaggerate your beauty. And, no matter what you wear, you’ll look divine.” No wonder Miss Amelia was Lady Gwyneth’s close friend. They both shared an unfettered enthusiasm.
Gabby wasn’t accustomed to such effusive praise. “Thank you. The only dress I possess is the one I travelled in. And after living in a convent and then being disguised… I’m ready to have a new wardrobe.” She didn’t know how much Miss Amelia was aware of her circumstances.
Acquiring a wardrobe was a much easier task than the painful meeting with Lucien’s solicitor. Signing the official documents had made her brother’s death final.
The next decisions were very difficult without her brother’s guidance—where to live, whom to trust, and how to protect herself against Napoleon’s men. She had never lived on her own, but she must now learn quickly.
Lady Amelia leaned closer to Gabby. “Gwyneth shared how you travelled out of France. You can trust me with your secret, but you must not share the information with anyone else. It would be disastrous for your reputation. Now, having given you that sensible and proper advice, Gwyneth and I are very envious of the adventure and want all the details.” Miss Amelia clapped her hands together in anticipation.
“I’m very aware of the censure of society for such an unorthodox method of travelling, but expediency was the priority. And of course, I would never want to embarrass Lord Kendal.”
“Embarrass Michael!” Miss Bonnington laughed, covering her mouth. “You surely must know that Michael is known for getting into all sorts of misadventures and causing havoc.”
“No, he never shared that part of his past.” But Gabby recognized that his appealing, boyish curiosity might lead him into trouble. His high spirits were new and attractive. His genuine manner was refreshing, especially after the affected French men who flaunted their importance. “The first time I met Lord Kendal he fell off the settee, spilled brandy in his boots, and swore in front of Mother Superior.”
“Sounds like Michael. Oh, the stories, I could tell. Did Gwyneth explain that my family estate borders the Harcourt estate? My brothers and I grew up with Michael and Henrietta.”
A Cantata of Love (The Code Breakers 4) Page 7