by Brenda Hiatt
"A popular and controversial writer, I perceive." Noel was not surprised, as the essays were both thoughtful and articulate, forcing one to reexamine long-held beliefs. That would draw both support and condemnation, both likely equally vehement.
"Oh, aye, he is that. Do you have an address where we can send the letters, then?"
Noel shook his head, to Mr. Bell's obvious disappointment. "Not an address. A plan. How if you were to print a notice in this week's Register, saying that Mr. R could retrieve his letters himself?"
"I can't imagine he'd come here and risk anyone knowing who he is," said the young man skeptically.
"No, of course not. That's why the notice will specify a different location —one that Mr. R will choose himself. He can post a note to you, saying where the letters are to be left, and he can then retrieve them at his convenience. That should preserve his anonymity."
The clerk's brows rose with respect. "It's a good plan, sir. I'm sure Mr. Cobbett will approve. Am I right, however, in thinking that you will wish to know the location, once we receive his reply?"
There was no denying the young man was intelligent. But then, Cobbett would never have fools working for him.
"Yes, but no one else. I won't publicize his identity, I promise you."
"You said before that you're concerned with a matter of national security. I assume you don't want me to tell Mr. Cobbett about that part?"
Noel handed the clerk a few gold coins. "Not just yet. But if I am right, you will have done a very patriotic thing, Mr. Bell, believe me."
"I admit I'm a bit more conservative than some of our contributors," the young man confessed. "Certainly, I wouldn't want to see England go the way of France."
"That's precisely what we may be preventing."
Seating himself, Noel jotted down the wording for the notice, subject to Mr. Cobbett's approval. While he wrote, the morning's post came, diverting the clerk's attention until Noel handed him the notice.
He glanced up to take it, then back at the letters in his hand. "Sir!" he exclaimed, just as Noel was turning to go. "You may wish to see this." He held out a sealed envelope.
Curious, Noel took it. Even had it not been addressed in the distinctive disguised hand he had spent yesterday examining, the initials "Mr. R" on the corner of the envelope declared its source. And it had been posted this very morning, right here in London.
"Interesting," he said, handing it back to the clerk. "This makes me even more hopeful that Mr. R will have his letters by the end of the week."
He would make certain inquiries into Richards' activities, and try to discover his whereabouts during the war. If that did not rule him out as a suspect, this trap with the letters should prove that he was indeed the mysterious essayist —and the traitor Noel sought.
Lady Hardwyck had planned an excursion to Green Park this afternoon, he recalled. Though he had intended to keep his distance from Rowena Riverstone for a few days, he could not afford to ignore an opportunity to observe Mr. Richards more closely, nor his obligation to protect others from a possible traitor.
If he should be thrown into Rowena's company in the course of his investigation, it was simply the price of duty —a price he was more than willing to pay.
* * *
The lovely weather, particularly after the unusually dull summer that had cast a pall over England, drew a considerable crowd to assemble in Green Park for the day.
Rowena felt she looked her best in green-sprigged white muslin with matching parasol —fresh, summery, and ready to captivate any man who looked her way. If Noel Paxton was frightened away by the idea of a dalliance, she would simply find her diversions elsewhere.
The rainy summer had rendered the triangular park as green as its name. Situated directly across Picadilly from Hardwyck Hall, it had been easy for Pearl to arrange to have vast quantities of refreshments carted over in baskets and barrows. Chairs were set up and cloths spread on the grass for the comfort of the guests.
Rowena settled herself on a white, lacy coverlet that complemented her gown and gazed about. Though people at any distance faded into a colorful blur, she did not think Noel was in attendance. Mr. Galloway was near enough to identify, however, as were Lord Peter and Mr. Thatcher, all potential "diversions."
Unfortunately, the first man to come her way happened to be her brother.
"Should you not be at the Home Office?" she greeted Nelson as he approached. It did not suit her purposes at all for him to attach himself to her for the day.
He shrugged. "A man must eat. Here, at least, I needn't pay for my own food. I'll return to the Office in an hour or so." Dropping down onto the cloth beside her, he added, "I needed to speak with you, as there was no opportunity last night. Have you talked with Richards?"
Though she did not feel at all like discussing Nelson's problems on such a lovely day, she nodded. "Briefly, but we were interrupted before I could ask him to forgive your debt. I did think he seemed sympathetic, however, and—oh! I know where Mother's jewels are."
"Do you?" he said eagerly, then frowned. "You haven't been visiting pawn shops unaccompanied, have you, Ro?"
"Of course not. As you said, the jewels would have been sold by now— and so they were. To Lord Mountheath, who gave them to his wife. She was wearing them last night."
Nelson puckered his brow. "They're well and truly gone, then, for there is no way to buy them back without an explanation —and we can trust Lady Mountheath to spread the story far and wide, should she get wind of it."
"Yes, I know," Rowena said with a sigh. "Still, I feel better knowing where the pieces are. And it's rather amusing to think of Lady Mountheath flaunting our mother's baubles with no notion that her husband redeemed them from a pawn shop."
"I suppose that's true," Nelson agreed with a chuckle. "But that don't help with the larger problem of the five hundred pounds I still owe Richards."
Rowena gasped. "Five hundred pounds? I had no idea it was so much. How could you possibly—" She broke off. "That is quite a sum to ask Mr. Richards to forgive. No doubt he has plans for it already."
Nelson nodded glumly. "No doubt. Though he's hinted he'd be willing to accept information in exchange for a portion of it."
"Information? What sort of information?"
"From the Home Office. Details about old spy cases, mostly."
Rowena frowned. "But the war is over. What would anyone want with such information?"
"I have no idea. Most of it isn't even secret, though it's not something anyone outside the Home Office would know about."
"He actually asked you for such information? And you're considering giving it to him?" She was struggling to understand both her brother's reasoning and Mr. Richards' motives.
Nelson shrugged. "As I said, it isn't sensitive or secret. Mostly cases that were closed by the Foreign Office and turned over to us. Can't imagine why he'd want such stuff, to be honest."
Rowena was thinking hard. If Mr. Richards, champion of the common man, needed information or even money for his cause, should she attempt to dissuade Nelson from helping him? "Perhaps he intends to write a treatise, or even a book, on such things," she suggested.
"Perhaps. Anyway, what can I do? It's either tell him what he wants to know or pay him money I don't have."
"No," Rowena said firmly. "Let me speak with him again. Today should provide an opportunity. It would be far worse for your superiors to discover you passing along information —even information that seems perfectly innocent —than for Mr. Richards to publicize your debts."
Nelson was clearly skeptical. "I'd prefer neither occur, but perhaps you are right. I'll give you your chance before I tell him anything. Let me know how it falls out."
"Yes, I'll send word, or tell you the next time I see you."
He clambered to his feet. "You are a good sister, Ro! Now, I'm going to go see what it is they're putting out on those tables, before I have to return to Whitehall."
Rowena watched him go with mingl
ed affection and exasperation, wondering if she were really doing him a favor by allowing him to avoid the consequences of his poor judgment. He was her brother, however, so she would do what she could for him.
Half rising, she looked for Mr. Richards, only to discover him approaching her, along with Lucinda and Augusta Melks and Mr. Galloway.
"Miss Riverstone," he greeted her. "I thought you might like some refreshment, as your brother did not think to provide you with a plate." He handed her an assortment of small sandwiches and a glass of lemonade before taking his place beside her.
The others arranged themselves about the white cloth with their own plates and glasses in hand. Rowena glanced at Mr. Richards, then away, wishing he were as young and handsome as Noel Paxton —then immediately despising herself for such a wish.
"Mr. Richards tells me he succeeded where I failed last night," Mr. Galloway commented.
The ladies, Rowena included, regarded him questioningly.
"At the chessboard," he clarified. "Miss Riverstone is quite the whiz at chess, you must know."
"Indeed?" Miss Augusta regarded Rowena quizzically. "You must be very clever, then —but I suppose that is to be expected in Lady Hardwyck's good friend, as she is so clever herself."
Rowena was uncertain that the comment was meant as a compliment, but smiled her thanks. "Mr. Richards defeated me, however," she said to deflect attention.
"Miss Riverstone plays very well," he said in a manner some might have called condescending. "She needs to learn more focus, and to restrain her emotions from interfering with her reason. I have hopes of schooling her into a truly superior player one day."
Her pride severely stung, Rowena had to make an effort to keep her expression pleasant. "I am unused to playing amidst a crowd. I assure you that in quieter surroundings, I am able to focus quite well." And would have beaten you last night, crowd or no, had I chosen to do so, she added silently.
"No doubt, no doubt," he replied placatingly —which only served to irritate her further.
"I should like a chance to prove it to you sometime, sir."
He actually looked surprised —though still complacent. "Of course, my dear. Of course."
"It is a lovely day, is it not?" Miss Melks asked then, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. Her sister quickly agreed.
The others took the hint and conversed on more general topics while enjoying their sandwiches and other dainties. After half an hour, Miss Melks held out her hand to Mr. Galloway. "Sir, you promised to show Augusta and me the swans, did you not?"
"I did indeed." Leaping to his feet, he helped first Lucinda, then Augusta to rise. "Would you care to join us, Miss Riverstone?"
"Perhaps in a few moments," she replied. This might be her best chance to have a private word with Mr. Richards, though in truth she had little desire just now to ask favors of him.
Surprisingly, he broached the subject before she could. "You seemed in rather deep conversation with your brother earlier," he commented as soon as the others were out of earshot.
"Yes, Nelson is concerned about his debt to you," she admitted candidly. "He was asking my advice on the matter."
Mr. Richards frowned. "I am sorry to hear that he has troubled you. I would not have expected a gentleman to run to a lady with his problems, even an exceptional lady like yourself." He did not, Rowena noted, offer to solve the problem himself.
After a slight pause, she said, "Nelson has faith in my intelligence, Mr. Richards —more faith than you seem to show. You have put forth persuasive arguments for the equality of men. Do you not feel women should be accorded the same rights and respect?"
Though he appeared startled, he answered readily enough. "Men have a duty to protect the women under their care. While some, like yourself, possess abilities beyond the norm, you must admit that there are many things women are ill-suited for."
"Like chess?" she asked, a plan beginning to stir. Perhaps she would not have to beg after all.
He smiled. "Like chess— though you do show great potential."
"I am happy to hear it. I was quite serious when I said I should like another chance to demonstrate it. I might surprise you."
"I am at your disposal, of course. You have merely to name the day." The complacency on his face made it perfectly clear he expected no different outcome.
Time to put her plan to the test. "How if we play for stakes next time?" she asked. "That might help me to— focus."
He raised a thin brow. "What stakes did you have in mind?"
"My brother's debt," she responded. "If I win, you will agree to forgive the remainer. If you win, I will see that you are paid twice what he still owes you."
"I see that recklessness runs in your family, Miss Riverstone. How can I, in conscience, accept such stakes, knowing that I am the superior player? I was distressed enough to discover jewelry of undoubted sentimental value to you had been sacrificed to his debt already."
His concern softened her pride enough to allow a genuine smile. "As it was my suggestion, your conscience is clear. I told you I was not at my best last night. I wish an opportunity to show you I can do better."
He sighed, though she imagined that she caught a glint of eagerness in his eyes. "Very well, if you insist —and if your brother agrees. I would prefer not to have a lady indebted to me."
"I will speak to him, of course." Rowena fought to hide the triumph she felt. "Any debt will be in his name, not mine."
Mr. Richards rose. "I have a previous engagement tonight. A . . . personal matter. Perhaps tomorrow evening? What does Lady Hardwyck have planned?"
"A musicale, I believe. But it may be possible to find a quiet corner for a game, away from the crowd."
"I will look forward to it, Miss Riverstone. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to make certain preparations before this evening." He bowed and left her.
Rowena wondered what he might have planned —for he had seemed almost deliberately mysterious. Something to do with his efforts at reform, perhaps? The Spencean societies were under close surveillance by the authorities, she knew. If he were involved with them, it would make sense that he would not broadcast it.
For a moment, she almost regretted what she would do tomorrow night —but then she remembered his patronizing attitude and smiled. It seemed that even a forward thinker like Mr. Richards had a thing or two to learn.
* * *
Noel stood at the edge of Green Park, watching as Mr. Richards took his leave of Rowena. They had spent nearly fifteen minutes tete-a-tete, though of course they were in plain view of the rest of Lady Hardwyck's guests. Still, he could not quite suppress an instinctive urge to protect her.
Though he had promised himself he would keep his distance from her, as soon as Rowena was alone he found himself moving forward. He had a few moments to observe her closely before she saw him —to notice how lovely she looked in her fresh white dress, her coppery curls pulled back with a fetching green ribbon.
"Good afternoon, Rowena." He kept his voice low, not certain whether she would want anyone else to know she had given him permission to use her given name.
She turned quickly, a smile lighting her face for an instant before her expression turned guarded. "Mr. Paxton. I had understood you would not be able to come today."
He shrugged. "I was able to conclude my business early." Though she did not invite him to sit, he lowered himself onto the cloth beside her.
"And what business might that have been?" Her gray gaze was as direct as her question, seeming to see right through him. He found himself oddly distracted by the attractive pattern of the freckles dusting her nose.
"My investigation into the Saint of Seven Dials, of course."
He was not surprised when she looked doubtful. "And that necessitated you leaving Hardwyck Hall like a thief in the night?"
Her phrase startled him. Surely, she couldn't suspect—?
"I did feel I could more effectively follow some new leads from my own lodgings near Bo
w Street, but—no. I admit my precipitousness was prompted by other concerns." Even now, when he should be planning his next move after this morning's inquiries, he found her nearness thoroughly —and pleasantly— distracting.
She lowered her voice. "Last night, I told you not to apologize unless you were truly sorry —and yet you did apologize. I am sorry if I have been a cause for regrets, Mr. Paxton."
"Noel," he reminded her, even though a more formal footing would be wiser. "And my only regret is that I may have distressed you by my actions."
"Yes, I was distressed." Still, she regarded him with that clear, gray gaze. "To learn that you had fled in the night was quite distressing —for a moment or two. I realized, however, that it would be foolish to allow your actions to affect me so."
"I did not flee, precisely," he felt obliged to protest. Then, leaning forward to add weight to his words, he added, "I must confess that your actions affect me, whether the reverse is true or not."
Though her color rose, she did not drop her gaze. "My effect upon you seems inconsistent at best, sir. How am I to interpret that?"
He had no idea how to answer her, so instead he rose and extended his hand. "Would you care to walk with me a bit?"
"Very well." She allowed him to help her to her feet, her small hand warm beneath the thin lace glove she wore. "You did not answer my question," she reminded him as they turned toward the small pond in the center of the park.
"Because I'm not certain of the answer myself," he confessed truthfully. "I can't deny that I am drawn to you. I've never met another woman of your intelligence and candor —and loveliness. But my investigation is at a critical juncture, and I fear I cannot afford the level of distraction you present."
This was also true, though his investigation was not the one she believed it to be.
"I, ah, never intended to distract you, of course," Rowena said after a pause. "Or, at least, perhaps I did— but I never expected it to work."