“My lady, surely you wish for me to fetch a blanket for your fine gown?” Alice eyed Berty warily.
Berty shrugged. “If I sit upon a blanket, how will I enjoy the texture of the grass? Sometimes nature is best unobscured.”
“Very well, miss,” Alice responded with only a hint of uncertainty as she slowly lowered herself onto the grass beside her mistress.
“See, it isn’t as terrible as you might imagine.” Berty didn’t give time for a reply, simply pulled out the small rose figurine of marzipan and handed it to Alice, who took it gratefully and awkwardly since it wasn’t usual for one of the quality to include a maid in anything.
“Have you ever tasted it before?” Berty asked, taking a delicate bite of her own confection. The sweet and almond flavor exploded in her mouth, causing her eyes to flutter closed for a moment in rapture. “No, miss. At least, not of this quality,” Alice replied.
Berty watched with interest as Alice took a tentative bite. Her brown eyes widened as she darted a glance from the treat to Berty then back to the treat. “Why, it’s heavenly!”
“It is indeed,” Berty agreed, pleased that Alice was enjoying the dessert.
To the north of the Crescent came a flash of red, and the sound of a company of horses’ hooves hitting the cobbled stones echoed in the area. A regiment of soldiers led their mounts through the street. Their fine red woolen coats gave Berty a shiver of pride in their recent victory over Napoleon’s forces. A moment later, she found herself glancing about for Mr. Willox. Was he afoot? Was this the regiment in question that could potentially be harboring a double agent for the French? Her gaze studied the soldiers, some old, some barely old enough to be called men. How could one tell if their intentions were pure? It was certainly a difficulty she didn’t wish to take on, yet her curiosity burned as she watched them file down the street and out of sight.
“A soldier always cuts a fine figure on a horse.” Berty made way of conversation to Alice, knowing the maid would have certainly noticed her interest.
“Indeed, miss.” Her tone was slightly higher in pitch, and Berty glanced over to her, noting a blush covering her cheeks.
“Do you have a beau amongst the ranks?” Berty asked in her forthright manner.
“He’s in the Regulars but stationed here in Bath as part of the Brigade.” Alice blushed even deeper, her gaze following the men as they faded from view.
“Ah, no wonder you agree about the red coat,” Berty teased. “Have you known him long?”
“Long enough, miss,” she confided then took the last bite of her marzipan.
“How delightful for you. So he’s offered?” Berty asked, watching as Alice’s eyes widened at her bold questions.
“Well, y-yes. But we are going to wait.” Alice glanced down to her lap, her expression one of disappointment.
“Love is worth the wait, is it not? Tell me of your soldier. What’s his name?” Berty asked, turning to face her maid, utterly engaged in the story.
Alice flushed again then met her gaze. “It is indeed. His name is Captain Brockston. His Christian name is George.”
“Do you get to see him often?” Berty asked, not caring that she was breaching every protocol in asking such personal questions and delighted that Alice seemed comfortable enough to confide her answers.
“Not nearly enough, miss.” Alice grinned, and Berty was pleased to have broken through a bit of the proper exterior of her maid.
Ha, she thought. Of course, she would be the one trespass against propriety in conversing with servants.
“My apologies, miss. I shouldn’t be speaking of such things,” Alice quickly added, her eyes widening as she studied Berty.
“Don’t mistake my moment of silence to think I am not enjoying our conversation! I was simply reflecting on how much it pleased me that you’d share your story.” Berty was quick to rectify any misconceptions. But it was clear by Alice’s averted gaze that the camaraderie was fractured and unlikely to be revived, at least this moment. “Shall we depart? I’m entirely uncertain how long this stretch of sunshine will last and with my brave move to take the curricle, I do not wish to be caught in rain should the weather turn to be fickle,” Berty added a moment later.
“As you wish, miss.” Alice stood and followed Berty to the waiting curricle. As they departed, Berty caught a glimpse of someone familiar. Fixing her gaze, she waited for the person in question to pass by several others, offering a clearer view of his face.
Mr. Willox.
He was dressed in the clothes of a common laborer as he milled about outside a tavern and inn not far from the Crescent. He met her gaze for a moment — disregarding her immediately — but it confirmed his identity.
Straightaway, she glanced about, watching for anything that might give away as to whom he was searching out. Two soldiers walked his direction, an easy manner about them. Berty turned her attention to Alice, whose eyes were bright and quite fixed on one soldier in particular.
“Could that be Captain Brockston?” Berty asked, unable to mask her interest.
Alice’s blush was answer enough, but even so, she answered, “Yes, miss.”
Berty studied the tall gentleman, thankful for the slow progress of the curricle through the streets. Her curiosity was piqued further when Mr. Willox lifted a hand in greeting to the two men, following behind as they walked into the tavern and out of view.
“Interesting,” Berty murmured to herself. Then to cover her reaction, she turned to Alice. “He’s very handsome and dashing!”
“Thank you, miss. I’m of a mind to agree.” She glanced back to the tavern just as they rounded a corner and headed back toward GreenFord Waters.
“Maybe someday I’ll get to meet your Captain Brockston.” Berty mused, considering how he could potentially fit into the issue at hand with Mr. Willox. Certainly, he was not the informant. Surely, he was assisting Mr. Willox?
“Perhaps,” Alice replied in an uncommitted fashion.
Berty considered the options as they rode home.
Mr. Willox didn’t want her part of his mission.
But it looked as if he might not have a choice.
The thought filled her with a wicked sense of delight.
HENRY RUBBED HIS hand down his face and stared at the tankard of ale as if it held the clues he seemed unable to find. He’d spent most of the day speaking with soldiers, surveying their encampment and talking with the people who heard and saw the most — the barkeeps. But to no avail. It was as if the War Office were the only ones aware that there could be a double agent in the field. Of course, this wouldn’t be the first time that the department was the only entity with the information. But it would have been nice to find at least one lead.
Captain Brockston had been particularly helpful and willing to talk, but during the conversation, Henry wasn’t able to uncover anything of note. It was a distressing start to a mission, but he resolved to not be too discouraged. Tomorrow would be a new day after all.
As he took a swallow of his bitter ale, he thought back to earlier today when he’d seen Miss Lamont. He had almost expected her to halt the curricle, march over, and demand… something. The woman was a mystery to him, but he’d been unable to get her early-morning behavior out of his mind. He’d never had a gently bred lady hold him at knifepoint.
That was most certainly a first in his life.
And one he’d never forget. It was hard to take him by surprise, but he had received the shock of his life, and — damn it all — if it hadn’t made him consider her differently from that point on. That was quite clear when he’d had to tear his gaze away from hers earlier. Rather than dismiss her as he’d been inclined to do previously, he’d fought to even glance away. There was so much in one look — it was fascinating. Being from the War Office, one got accustomed to people hiding their intentions, their thoughts, their emotions behind a façade, so it was utterly absorbing that Miss Lamont was the opposite. In the brief moments they made eye contact, he read curiosit
y, frustration, and anxiety in her gaze.
And, damn it all, if it hadn’t distracted him to the point of almost missing the soldiers.
The exasperating woman was either distracting him, holding him a knife point, or annoying the hell out of him.
And this was to be his life for the next month.
He took another long drink of ale.
Damn it all, he needed something stronger — but that wouldn’t help matters.
As much as he wished it would.
Tomorrow he planned to visit the garrison. He’d wear a uniform and play the soldier, moving amongst the ranks and listening to gossip. Yet the bile rose in his throat just thinking of the red wool so associated with the ranks. It should be a symbol of pride, of king and country. Yet, of all the disguises he’d donned, the red coat was the one that he loathed the most.
His skin prickled and itched at the thought.
It wasn’t rational, but the bright red uniform was one of the defining details of each memory of his father.
Red coat, the scent of inexpensive brandy, and a violent temper.
Not to mention a solid left hook.
He’d learned to duck and defend from a young age. Mostly he’d run, but often he didn’t have anywhere to escape, thus the requirement to learn how to dodge the blow. Shadows became his friend, and as he grew older, it was luck — or providence — that found him on the right side of the law when he certainly could have ended up on the darker edge. Yet his ability to blend in and hide gave him a great edge in his profession, many times allowing him to overhear information that had turned the tide in several cases.
But confidence didn’t erase memories. And tomorrow, when he put on the red colors, he’d have to take a deep breath and avoid any mirrors. But he’d done it before; he could do it again.
And he would.
With a final gulp of ale, he slapped down a few coins on the worn counter and strode from the tavern. The sun was setting low in the sky, a humid heat carrying the scent of briny water and lower tide throughout the city as he walked down the cobbled streets. After procuring his horse from the livery, he headed back toward GreenFord Waters. The cadence of his horse’s canter calmed his irritation, and soon he was descending from the saddle and leading the animal into the barn, waving off the stable boy’s aid.
He curried his gelding and made sure he had ample food and water. After patting his rump as the horse greedily devoured his oats, Henry ducked out of the stables. Yet, as he passed through the door, he noticed a carriage pulling up the drive. It was well-sprung and new, based on the high lacquer of the paint. Narrowing his eyes, he turned toward the servant entrance of the manor. He wasn’t aware that they were expecting any other guests at the time, yet the duke certainly could have not included that information in the short briefing, since it didn’t pertain to his mission. Regardless, he’d investigate the newcomer.
The wooden door opened silently as he entered into the cool stone hall. A few crates were set to the side, and a worn stone staircase ascended to the left of the corridor that led to the kitchens. The scent of bread baking and meat roasting filled the air. His stomach rumbled in appreciation. A smile quirked his lips as he took the stairs two at a time. Walking through the front door of the betters always made him slightly uncomfortable. He’d much prefer to enter through the servants’ entrance and be welcomed by the sights and sounds of normal human life. When one entered into the foyer of a peer of the realm or even the untitled, yet very wealthy, a polished luster covered everything in an unauthentic beauty, a beauty that had been made sterile.
Give him the realistic beauty any day over the forced perfection of the elite.
He took the last stair and walked down the hallway that housed the servants’ quarters. After unlocking his room, he strode in and tossed his coat on the wooden chair beside the now-cold fire. He shrugged out of his clothes and quickly washed himself and then donned the livery of the Duke of Clairmont. Soon he was making great strides down the hall and slipping out into the main hall on the first floor of the manor. A woman’s voice echoed in the foyer just beyond, and he moved forward to investigate.
“This kind of behavior I’d expect from Charles, but not you.” The woman’s tone was scolding, condescending almost.
Henry walked out toward the foyer yet remained behind the corner to survey the scene without being noticed. As he peered around the edge, he noted Miss Lamont, her shoulder’s rounded. Clearly, she was the one being scolded.
Who was this Charles that was mentioned? Suitor? Betrothed? Irritation flared within Henry at the prospect, and he fell back behind the corner. Of what consequence was it to him? None! Miss Lamont was not his responsibility, nor was she within his reach should he even be interested.
Which he wasn’t.
“And why did you send no word?” The woman continued. “You’re quite aware of my fondness of this estate.” She clicked her tongue. “Do not try to explain yourself. Charles already tried to give me several excuses. I’ll have the truth, if you don’t mind.” The woman ceased with her set down, but an air of expectation hung about.
“Lady Southridge, I assure you that if I had any choice in the matter, you would have been here awaiting my arrival since I cannot imagine being here without you.”
“Words,” Lady Southridge huffed, and Henry decided that he wasn’t inclined to like this woman.
“The important thing is that you are here now, and we are wasting time arguing. Aren’t there more pleasant activities in which we might engage? Certainly, you’ll be needing tea after your journey?” Miss Lamont steered the conversation to safer territory, and Henry was begrudgingly impressed with her efforts.
“Very well.” Lady Southridge paused. “My apologies for railing you at first sight. I suppose I’m simply a little concerned that you were going to find some great adventure or some grand romance without me around. And I should tell you that it is quite unacceptable to even consider such a thing. I have been instrumental in both of your sisters’ and dear Carlotta’s love lives, and you, my dear, do not get to have amnesty.” Lady Southridge’s tone was softer, a maternal edge to the sound.
Henry considered just who this clearly uninvited stranger was to the Lamont sisters. Based on the conversation, there was clearly a long history of the relationship, yet the part that didn’t make sense was who Charles was, since he was clearly not a suitor.
“Tea?” Miss Lamont suggested again.
“Of course. Certainly, the footmen are addressing my things,” Lady Southridge commented, giving Henry his perfect cue for entry into the foyer.
He kept his eyes averted and walked toward the front entrance, capturing details from the corner of his eye. As he passed the women, he took a few steps and glanced behind him to get a better look.
But rather than absorbing further details, he met a pair of striking green eyes that were far too aware for his comfort.
“You.” Lady Southridge nodded her head toward him.
What could he do but pause and turn to bow? “May I be of service, my lady?”
As he rose from his posture of obeisance, he fought a grimace at Miss Lamont’s obvious amusement from behind Lady Southridge, as the matron walked toward him at a slow pace. “Who are you?”
Henry blinked. “Lester Holloway, ma’am.”
Lady Southridge shook her head. “Try again.”
He opened his mouth but was interrupted by Miss Lamont.
“Perhaps it would be best to carry this conversation to a different venue? Perhaps the gardens? After tea?” Her tone was hopeful, yet rather than detract from his encounter with Lady Southridge, all Miss Lamont did was feed the suspicion that the matron already held.
Lovely.
Bloody lovely.
“How… discerning, my sweet.” Lady Southridge turned to Miss Lamont, arching a ginger brow before darting her gaze back to Henry. “How interesting. I can see I’ve already missed a few details. I’ll be sure to catch up quickly, though. You can r
est assured.” She winked at him, and Henry had the sensation that he was about to encounter a force with which to be reckoned.
As if he had time for more complications.
“If you’ll follow me?” Miss Lamont strode toward the green parlor.
As Lady Southridge turned to follow her, Henry released a sigh of relief.
Yet as he strode out the door, his instincts told him he’d merely postponed the inevitable.
And no more than an hour later, his suspicions were proven accurate when a maid fetched him to accompany the ladies on a walk amongst the gardens.
Delightful.
“Ah, Mr. Holloway.” Lady Southridge nodded a welcome.
He noted her ginger hair was streaked with silver in the sunshine. Though clearly a dowager, she had aged well, and he guessed that in her prime she had been a striking beauty…
With the cunning of a viper.
“My lady.” He bowed, sliding a glance to Miss Lamont who held her hand over her mouth as if restraining her amusement.
He was thankful when Lady Southridge didn’t engage him in any further conversation. Surely, it would seem odd to other servants to have him conversing with the betters as if acquainted with them. Yet as he followed them around the garden and past a hedgerow toward the maze, his luck ran out.
“Now that we are appropriately far from the manor and any listening ears, I’d like to know why you lied to my face.” Lady Southridge confronted him, her expression calm in spite of her challenging words.
He furrowed his brow, arranging his face into the most confused expression. “My lady?”
“Oh, he’s good.” Lady Southridge glanced back to Miss Lamont. “Spy, then. Good. Can’t have enough of you. And it makes more sense. Certainly, that clarifies things with Charles — rather, the Duke of Clairmont — as well. Carry on.” She fluttered her hand and turned on her heel as she made her way through the edge of the maze.
A Hoyden and an Heiress (Greenford Waters Book 4) Page 4