by Aston, Alexa
“I am. The new Lady Covington. My husband assumed the title upon the earl’s death. You want Gemma. Not me.”
Burke felt a sense of relief, hearing this woman wasn’t Gemma Covington.
“You see, my husband was Robert’s cousin. We never thought . . . I mean . . . we are from Lincolnshire . . . well, I’m sure you see . . .” Her voice trailed off as she waved her hands about helplessly.
“I do. I am sorry for the mistake, my lady. Is the dowager countess available to see me?”
“We begged Gemma to remain here but she wanted a place of her own. She’s quite independent, you know. And I’m sure it was . . . hard for her. To have us here and Robert gone. They were so close.”
“Is she still in town?” he asked. “I was with her husband, you see, when he . . . died.”
The countess’ eyes grew round. “Oh, of course. Yes, Gemma is in London.”
“May I have her address?”
She gave it to him and he thanked her, apologizing again for the mistake.
“It was no fault of yours, sir. I wish you well.”
“Thank you for your time, Lady Covington.”
Burke left and hailed a hansom cab. The address he’d been given was further away than he’d expected.
When they arrived, he saw the neighborhood was adequate, but not genteel. Guilt flooded him, thinking he’d taken the life of this woman’s husband and then also stolen her way of life.
He paid the driver and went to the door, hesitating before he knocked. Taking a few deep breaths, Burke steeled himself and then rapped on the door.
It was answered by a man who towered above Burke, who was two inches above six feet himself.
“Yes?” the man asked, almost as if having Burke there was an inconvenience.
“I’d like to speak with Lady Covington,” he said. “I am Lieutenant-Colonel Burke Nicholson. I served with Lord Covington.”
“Come right in.”
*
Gemma hummed under her breath as she worked on the latest project from Sir Paxton. The military veteran and War Office aide had put her to work quickly after her father-in-law’s death. She’d stopped once more when she’d learned of Rob’s death on the battlefield, going again into deep mourning for her best friend, knowing it was a lie. The letter she’d received from his commanding officer told of the valued service her husband had given to his country. She would keep it. Always. Grateful to have the tribute to a wonderful man.
But it was still a lie.
She’d written to Lincolnshire the same day, notifying Rob’s second cousin that he was now the Earl of Covington. The new earl was Rob’s age but looked much younger. His young, blond wife looked straight out of the schoolroom. Though the couple had encouraged her to remain in what had been her home for several years, Gemma had gently turned down their generous offer. It was their life now. Not hers.
Her father had made a lukewarm offer to have her return to his home but the thought of living with him and her aunt sent her into a downward spiral. She’d gained her freedom with Rob’s name and even had become a countess for a brief time. As the dowager countess, she had immense liberty and decided to take a place of her own. That was possible thanks to the family solicitor telling her of funds she didn’t know she’d have access to. The first had been what the elder Lord Covington had bequeathed to her. Perhaps he’d known his son wouldn’t come home from war, so he’d made sure as a widow she would be comfortable. Her dowry was also returned to her since the settlements had agreed if the marriage lasted less than five years it would become hers. Those two items, along with the salary she earned from the War Office, made it possible for Gemma to seek her own quarters without worrying about the expense.
She’d decided to move out of fashionable Mayfair. Though her neighborhood was safe, it was definitely a step down from the residences she’d lived in all her life. She didn’t mind, though. Gemma had learned she had a frugal nature and didn’t need much to get by on. She’d hired a hulking Covington groomsman she’d taken a liking to as her jack-of-all-trades. Mr. Bosley served as butler, footman, driver, and groom. His cousin, Mrs. Pettigrew, was both her cook and housekeeper. Joanie, her favorite maid, came with her and was the housemaid. She also helped Gemma dress and arrange her hair, though in truth, Joanie had not the skills to serve as a true lady’s maid.
It didn’t matter. Gemma had done no socializing in the past two months. She’d only had dinner twice with the Covingtons, once at their townhouse and then she’d returned the favor by inviting them to dine with her. Other than that, she’d seen no one of the ton. The Season had gone on without her, which didn’t trouble her in the least. She doubted she’d even bother to attend next year. Her friends were all married now and had growing families. They didn’t miss her and after receiving condolences from them, they’d moved on. Once her mourning period officially ended, she believed it would go for the rest of her life. She doubted she would ever wed. When the war ended—if it ever did—she planned to retreat to the country. She liked some things about London but she preferred country life. Especially now, the city seemed superficial to her.
As expected, Sir Paxton came calling after allowing her time to grieve for Rob, so once again she was kept busy. She liked having her own home. It was more convenient for her work to be alone. Gemma studied the letters before her and rearranged a few things. Suddenly, what had been missing came to her. She jotted a few notes down. Played with the pieces again. Scribbled some more.
“I’ve got you,” she said triumphantly, knowing she had broken the code.
She would lay out the entire pattern and then send Mr. Bosley over to the War Office to deliver it, as usual, helping her to retain her anonymity regarding her work for the British government. Gemma didn’t mind not receiving credit personally. She merely wanted to help her country to victory.
The door opened and her butler appeared.
“You have a visitor, my lady.”
She frowned, thinking whoever it was would keep her from her task.
“Who is it?” she asked irritably.
“He says he’s Lieutenant-Colonel Burke Nicholson. Should I show him in?”
Gemma immediately recognized the name from Rob’s letters. He’d mentioned the man, though he’d called him Major Nicholson at the time. The officer must have earned a recent promotion. The thought of speaking to someone who’d known Rob far outweighed anything else.
“Send him in, Mr. Bosley.”
“Very good, my lady.”
Gemma rose to greet her guest, folding her hands before her and clasping them.
When Nicholson rounded the corner and came into view, she gripped her hands at his appearance. Rob had described the man as a handsome rogue, one who was very much a ladies’ man. This man looked anything but that. His uniform had seen better days, being worn and wrinkled. It hung on his tall frame. The officer was gaunt, his cheeks hollow and his limbs thin. He wore a haunted look, half-desperation and half-anguish. Moreover, he wore a black eyepatch over his right eye. Whatever he’d been through hadn’t been pleasant.
What if the same had happened to Rob?
Nicholson came toward her, looking slightly unsteady on his feet. She wondered if having sight in only one eye affected his balance in any way.
He reached her and she offered her hand. He took it and something sparked between them. She felt her eyes widen and saw his eye did the same, though he looked more confused than anything.
Releasing her hand, he said, “I had to see you, my lady. I hope you understand. I am Burke Nicholson.”
“Please, have a seat.” Gemma indicated a chair and she took one nearby.
He sat, looking uncomfortable.
“I assume you served with Rob.”
“Yes. Lieutenant Smythe spoke of you fondly, Lady Covington. He missed you a great deal.”
She smiled wistfully. “I missed him, as well. We were together since childhood.”
“Yes, he told me of some of the mis
chief you’d gotten into.”
Gemma chuckled. “Most of it was my own making. Rob went along bravely, usually taking the blame when the outcome went astray. He was always my protector.” She paused. “I can’t imagine the rest of my life without him. Sometimes, I pretend I’ll see him when I turn a corner.”
She fell silent and Nicholson respected that.
Finally, Gemma said, “Were you also under Lieutenant-Colonel Reid Baker?”
“Yes, Reid was not only my commanding officer but one of my two childhood friends, similar to you and your husband. Reid, Danforth Grayson, and I met when we were schoolboys our first year away from home and have remained fast friends ever since.”
This time, it was her guest who fell quiet for a few moments. Then he gazed at her intently, as if he had something to reveal and didn’t know how to do it.
She sucked in a quick breath as she realized exactly why he was so reluctant.
“You were an agent with Rob.”
“You knew?” he asked, surprise on his face and in his voice. “The Don told you?”
“Who?”
Nicholson shook his head. “It’s just a silly nickname I gave him. It’s of no consequence.”
Gemma thought a moment. “Like a Cambridge don?”
He smiled and, for a moment, she could see the handsome man Rob had referred to.
“I thought the same,” she said, reminiscing for a moment. “Rob loved books as much as he did people. He treasured reading a good poem with a glass of wine in his hand.”
Then Gemma stared hard at her uninvited visitor. The time for niceties had ended and she bluntly said, “Tell me everything. I know he was an agent for the crown.”
“I must insist. How did you know? Did he write of it to you?”
“No, of course not. Rob would never do anything to endanger whatever he worked on.”
“Then how do you know?” he demanded.
“Rob’s father, Lord Covington, worked in the War Office until his death.”
“Covington told you?” the officer asked angrily, color spotting his cheeks. “He had no right. Why the bloody hell did he tell you, especially since The Don didn’t write to you of it?”
Gemma stared at him coolly. “I guessed—and he confirmed it. It wasn’t until his final moments that Lord C told me. As he lay dying, he insisted Rob not be brought home, even though he would now be the new earl. Lord C said the work Rob did was too important for national security.”
She didn’t add that what she did on a daily basis also held great importance.
Her eyes narrowed. “Were you with Rob at the end?”
“Yes. We served for a time together. Then Wellesley asked us to partner in order to establish a network of spies in Spain and Portugal.”
“Bloody Wellesley, getting my husband killed,” she muttered, angry at the war hero who’d deliberately sent Rob into danger, even more than on the battlefield.
Nicholson winced. The haunted look returned to his eye.
“No, Lady Covington. I’m the one who did that. And I have to live with the guilt every day.” He rose. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I only wish that I had been the one who died instead.”
With that, Lieutenant-Colonel Nicholson strode from the room.
Chapter Five
March 1810
Burke angled his horse from the main road, turning off and heading up the lane toward Gray Manor. He was eager to see Gray—and his new wife. During his months in the field as he and Smythe established their spy network, Burke hadn’t known his friend had wed. He’d only briefly seen Reid to pass along vital information, having no time to exchange small talk. It was only after he was convalescing that Burke learned of Gray’s marriage. Reid had saved the letters Gray wrote to Burke and he had savored going through them.
He hadn’t written to Gray. With his right hand immobilized, he’d taught himself to sign his name with his left. In the eight months since he’d returned to England, staying at the hunting lodge, Burke had practiced writing with both his left and right hands. The right, his dominant one, had been sore and stiff from disuse. He’d spent long hours using his left, teaching himself to write with it. Surprisingly, his penmanship was better with it. He still used the right in order to help the muscles recover but he was comfortable writing with either of them now, though his signature looked wildly different, given the hand he chose to use. He wished he would have written to Gray but hoped he’d be forgiven during today’s visit. He only hoped Gray was home. The Season started in two weeks. Though Gray didn’t seem a person to enjoy the social activities surrounding it, Burke had no idea if Lady Crampton liked that kind of thing. If Burke didn’t find Gray at home, he would see him in London.
It was hard to think of his friend as the Earl of Crampton but Reid had also told Burke that Gray had inherited the title upon his young nephew’s death. Gray confirmed it in a letter to Burke, as well. He wondered how his friend did, having an instant family and a wife.
At least Burke had stopped to call on his parents before he headed to see Gray. He’d let them think he was fighting in Spain this whole time. Reid had forwarded his mother’s letters to him. Burke had decided never to tell his family what had really occurred. Naturally, his mother had wailed and then fussed over him, while his father gave him sympathetic looks without ever bringing up the eyepatch his son wore. The visit had been short but good and Burke let them know he was headed toward London.
His time alone had helped him to heal as much as he could, both physically and emotionally. He’d spent long hours chopping wood. Riding. Reading. Finally, he’d come to accept what happened to him. The guilt for causing The Don’s death would never leave him but Burke had forgiven himself enough to know he must atone for it. After seeing Gray, he would ride to London—and offer his services to Sir Paxton Morris.
If the spymaster still thought Burke would be of some use.
He would also seek out Lady Covington once he returned to London. He regretted storming out in anger when his sole intention had been to tell her of The Don’s final words. It gnawed at him that he hadn’t shared with the woman that her husband’s last thoughts had been of her and that Smythe wanted his wife to know how very sorry he was. Burke would call upon the dowager countess and hoped she would be gracious enough to receive him after their last meeting ended on such an awkward note. He owed it to his trusted companion and hoped The Don’s words would bring his widow some comfort.
He arrived at the stables and handed his horse off to a groom before coming around to present himself at the front door. He knocked and was pleased when Masters, the longtime Grayson butler, answered the door.
The old servant’s eyes widened. “Master Burke! How good to see you. Do come in.”
He entered and saw the foyer looked much the same since his last visit there many years ago.
“His lordship will be delighted to see you,” Masters said.
Movement caught Burke’s eye and he looked to the stairs, where a woman sailed gracefully down them. As she came closer, he saw what a stunning beauty she was, with dark masses of rich, brown hair and sparkling green eyes that drew a person in.
“Burke!” she called happily and surprised him, throwing her arms around him.
He slipped his arms about her, reveling in the warmth of human contact. That had been sorely lacking during his self-imposed exile in the country.
She stepped back but didn’t release him, her fingers lightly holding his biceps.
“Forgive me for being so forward but I feel as if I know you so well. Gray has shared so many stories about you and Reid. Oh, I’m Charlotte, by the way. Gray’s wife.” She let go and took a step back.
Burke bowed. “Lady Crampton.”
She frowned. “No, that won’t do at all. I’m Charlotte and you’re to be Burke to me. Oh, Gray will be ecstatic to see you. He’s in the library.”
Slipping her arm through his, she said, “Mr. Masters, please have tea brought to the drawing room.�
�� She then led Burke up the stairs.
They reached the first landing when two girls and a woman arrived there, coming from the opposite direction.
“Hello, Mama,” said the taller one. “Who’s this?”
Stopping, Charlotte made introductions. “Mr. Nicholson, I’d like you to meet Lady Harriet and Lady Jane Grayson and their governess, Miss Wight. Mr. Nicholson is one of Uncle Gray’s closest friends.”
Both girls curtseyed to him and said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Nicholson.”
He saw they both looked at him in curiosity.
Harriet bluntly asked, “Why are you wearing an eyepatch?”
“Harriet!” scolded Charlotte. “You’re not to bring up anything personal in conversation, especially with someone you’ve just met. Allow them to tell you what they wish you to know.”
“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized. “But I’ve never seen one before.”
Burke knelt so he was on their level. “It’s quite all right, Lady Harriet. I was wounded in the war and must always wear it now. And healthy curiosity is an important trait in a girl or boy. I don’t mind you asking me about it.”
Jane stared at him sadly. “Did it hurt, Mr. Nicholson?”
“It did at the time, Lady Jane. It no longer does.”
“Will you take it off? I’d rather like to see you without it. Do you still have an eye?” Harriet inquired.
Charlotte huffed. “Harriet. You’ll be the death of me.” She looked to Burke. “Harriet has a fascination with all kinds of things. Her latest is watching the chickens have their necks wrung and seeing them plucked.”
He laughed. “You have a stronger stomach than I did at your age, my lady.”
She glowed at his praise.
“We’re going to the kitchen, Mr. Nicholson,” Jane told him. “Miss Wight is going to teach us maths using a pie. And if we learn it, we get to eat a slice!”
“Fractions,” Miss Wight said. “That’s what it’s called, Lady Jane.”
Burke rose. “Then you better be off. Pie shouldn’t be kept waiting.”
Both girls giggled and Charlotte said, “I’ll give you your music lesson once you’ve finished.”
