Enclosed correspondence was intercepted from the Continent.
Arrangements for you have been made at Bloomington Inn.
They will be expecting your arrival.
Please advise upon your return to London.
Lucy threw the letter into the fire and watched as the last of it turned to ash. She rolled the missives, lifted her skirts, and securely tucked the papers into her breeches. Smoothing out her attire, she walked calmly out of the inn and toward her contingent, who were patiently awaiting direction.
“John, we are headed for Bloomington Inn.”
“My lady, that is at least another half day’s ride, longer mayhap with the coach.”
Lucy searched the sky. The position of the sun indicated it was a little past midday. They still had several hours of daylight to travel by.
With no time to spare, Lucy commanded, “Let’s be off.”
Both footmen grimaced but followed her orders nonetheless. Bloomington Inn was a fair way from London. Why hadn’t Archbroke made arrangements for her to remain at the Lone Dove? She should cease questioning her superior. After all, she trusted the man with her safety. If he weren’t such a pompous ass, she might actually like him.
Perched on the edge of the forward-facing seat, she reached under her skirts to retrieve the missives. She passed them to Carrington, who promptly stored them safely in Lucy’s satchel. What information would they contain?
Her contingent couldn’t have been on the road for more than an hour, but Lucy had already become intensely restless. She eyed Carrington, who sat reading what looked to be one of the novels Lucy had recently finished. She loved discussing the various characters and scenes with her maid, but she wasn’t one to read in a coach. The jostling and effort to focus made her feel ill. “What chapter are you reading?”
“Nine.”
“Oooh, that is when…”
Carrington’s glare halted Lucy’s speech. “Only events through Chapter Eight, my lady.”
The emphasis on the honorific was not lost on Lucy. Not in the mood to spar with her maid, she pulled back the curtain to look out the window. Deciding they had traveled far enough for her to escape the confines of the coach, Lucy rapped three times.
Immediately, the driver yelled, “Whoa!”
“Already? You could at least warn me!” Carrington snapped the book shut and hurriedly moved to assist Lucy out of her riding habit, exposing her breeches and lawn shirt.
Carrington magically produced a fine riding jacket that had been explicitly made for warmth. The two of them were jostled about the small, confined space. Carrington fell to her knees as the coach came to a complete stop.
Lucy waited patiently for the door to open. Evan appeared, and the corner of his lips turned up as he caught a glimpse of Carrington on all fours.
Not waiting for assistance, Lucy jumped down from the coach and marched over to Evan’s mount. She was about to reach for the reins when broad hands wrapped about her waist and lifted her. Once seated, she glanced down at Evan with a mischievous grin and kicked her heels, spurring the horse to take off. Lucy loved riding astride, but she reined in her mount to a trot, allowing the coach that now housed Carrington and Evan to catch up.
Now that they were beyond the city limits, the air was cleaner. Lucy breathed deeply—not a trace of ash or the acerbic smell of waste. She considered renting a room for the night at an inn. In the end, she reasoned in order to return to London on time, they would have to continue forward through the evening. John and Evan were going to be displeased with her decision. She would have to use some of her savings and pay the pair a little extra this month.
John and Lucy rode side by side, leading the coach. As customary, John had begun to share tales of his eight siblings’ most recent escapades.
Lucy giggled as John continued, “…and Lotty fell face-first into the mud as she dove for the piglet.”
John’s family resided in the village near Halestone Hall. Lucy wondered if he would send the extra funds she planned to give him along with his monthly salary to his parents. How should she reward John? He was a selfless man. She would have to devise a way for him to personally derive a benefit. He certainly deserved it. She continued to ponder the dilemma, and John continued to share stories.
After luncheon, Evan and John switched places. Lucy was not as comfortable on John’s steed since it was at least a hand taller, but she still preferred being out in the open. Evan did not have any family Lucy was aware of. None he told stories about, anyway. To pass the time when they rode together, they had formed the habit of creating bawdy melodies and poetry that would never be uttered in a drawing room.
Lucy was laughing so hard she nearly slid off her mount, but Evan was there to catch her and assist her to regain her seat. As he was removing his arm from around Lucy, she caught Carrington peeking from the coach window. The confusion on her maid’s face caused Lucy to take a closer look at Evan. Perhaps some might call him handsome in a roguish way. He was always lighthearted but extremely diligent in his duties. She glanced back at the coach once more.
“She didn’t see you falling, my lady.” Evan’s eyes scanned their surroundings, on the lookout for bandits or highwaymen.
His comment made no sense to Lucy—unless there was more to their relationship than both being in her employ, as she had suspected earlier.
Confirming her suspicions, Evan added, “I’ve been saving, but I fear she is running out of patience with me.”
Lucy broke out into a genuine smile. The best reward for Evan would be to assist him in attaining a beautiful ring for Carrington. She made a mental note to send word to Mr. Rutherford, the jeweler her family had used for generations. Lucy was momentarily pleased with herself. That was before she remembered she had yet to determine what John’s reward would be.
As they ventured farther north, the temperature dropped significantly. John and Evan’s pleas for her to join Carrington in the coach fell on deaf ears. Lucy remained mounted through most of the night. Finally, about two hours from their destination, an exhausted Lucy accepted her fate and rode in the coach. In the quiet her thoughts were haunted once again by Blake; his image was the last she remembered before her eyes closed.
On the final leg of their journey to Bloomington Inn, Carrington woke Lucy to change into a thick traveling dress made of velvet. The soft material brushed against Lucy’s goose-bumped skin. Lucy rubbed her eyes as the dawn of light peeked through the coach window. “How much longer?”
“Not long.” Carrington’s lips twitched right before she added, “If you catch a cold as a result of your stubbornness, I will not play nursemaid.”
Lucy slumped back and propped her feet next to Carrington. “You know how hale and hearty I am. I doubt my actions will result in a sniffle.”
Giving her mistress a knowing look, Carrington said, “We will just have to wait and see.”
Chapter Six
The coach rattled into the Bloomington Inn courtyard. Lucy had not ventured here in the past, but she had heard tales of its beginnings from fellow agents. The inn had initially belonged to a Scottish lord but had been seized and gifted to an English one. After several generations of neglect, the large manor had been abandoned and left to rot. That is, until entrepreneurial Mr. Bloomington found, purchased, and refurbished it. Upon first sight, he decided to modernize the manor to accommodate and attract the ton. Agents had expounded ad nauseam on how spacious the rooms were, how there were even a few with adjacent sitting areas, and had compared the inn to the king’s palace.
Lucy alighted from the coach. Stepping back, she took in the sight of the inn; early morning rays of light glinted off the two rows of windows. Taking the steps up to the entrance, Lucy’s mouth fell open. Large double doors were of Viking proportions. Blake would be able to easily walk through without hunching to enter. Why had she brought Blake to mind? Doormen swung the doors open for her. She smiled at each of them as she entered. Slowly turning in the foyer, she was ast
ounded by the sheer size and grandeur of the reception area.
“Miss Jones?” a clerk inquired.
Closing her mouth, she nodded and approached the desk.
“We were not expecting you until much later. You and your party must have traveled throughout the night and be exhausted.”
She rapidly initialed the register. The clerk motioned for a footman, who escorted her and Carrington up to her room. Over the years, her dealings with the Home Office had taught her to never underestimate her intuition. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was amiss. Entering the lavish chamber, Lucy ignored the beautiful decorations, the rich textured wallpaper, the plush carpets under her feet, and the inviting bed covered in silk pillows and soft cashmere throws. She walked through the two adjoining rooms and assessed the doorways, windows, and overall layout. Why had Archbroke sent her to this luxurious location? Knowing the man, it couldn’t have been out of consideration for her comfort. Or was it?
Carrington entered from the adjoining room and spun around in wonder. “My lady, this is perfect for your needs. I shall go belowstairs and bring up a tray. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. I’d like to begin working as soon as possible.” Lucy stopped Carrington with one more request: “And please keep your ears open.”
In a tone that indicated Carrington was offended, she stated, “As always.”
Lucy had best reward Evan as soon as practical. Carrington’s quick changes in disposition were leaving her flummoxed, and she did not care for the feeling one little bit.
She approached an extraordinarily elegant desk near the window. Settling into the chair, she retrieved the missives from her satchel and arranged the papers to her liking. Grateful for the sunlight streaming in, she began to study the words carefully. Without thought, Lucy reached for her writing instruments, which Carrington had already arranged. The girl was going to receive a beautiful ring indeed.
Lucy’s head rested in the crook of her arm on top of the desk that she had occupied for the past two days. Wisps of hair had long ago escaped her chignon. A stray strand moved back and forth with each breath, tickling her nose. But it was the warmth streaming through the window that brought Lucy out of a deep sleep. She rubbed her eyes. Despite having worked through the night, she still had not broken the code.
Conflicted, she was frustrated at her progress while simultaneously thrilled to be challenged. The complexity of the missives led her to believe the content must be significant, for no one went to such lengths otherwise. The frequency patterns used were elaborate and unfamiliar to her. Lucy was curious as to who could have designed the code, for the French had a terrible habit of being somewhat lax in their use of cryptography. These seemed to be using numerals not only to represent words or phrases but also something Lucy was just not able to determine.
She found herself questioning what Blake would think of this or that. The man had interrupted her peace of mind, and she needed to rid him from her thoughts.
Stretching her arms out caught Carrington’s attention. “My lady, you are awake. I’ll ring for a bath.”
Lucy sniffed and agreed a bath would be a grand idea and would do wonders to relax her sore and tired muscles. “Carrington, a light repast and a bath would be nice.”
Carrington flashed her a quick smile and then abandoned her project of organizing the discarded notes.
It wasn’t long before Lucy was soaking in a warm bath. Mr. Bloomington had devised a system where hot water was now accessible on the upper floors, allowing maids to prepare baths for patrons efficiently without the assistance of footmen to bring up buckets of hot water.
Closing her eyes, she rested her head back, picturing the contents of the missives. She had already ruled out keys she had successfully used in the past. There was a familiarity in the design, yet she was unable to definitively identify the missing link. She distractedly took the sandwich Carrington placed in her hand, sloshing water as she began to eat.
Carrington broke the silence. “My lady, I have a new riddle for you. What is flat and round, has two eyes, but cannot see?”
Lucy loved solving Carrington’s often wayward word puzzles. Grinning, she mulled over this latest as her maid rinsed the soap from her hair.
Carrington splashed soap and water into Lucy’s eyes. “How am I to figure out the answer if you keep blinding me?”
“My lady, I’ve never known you to make excuses,” Carrington was trying her best to stifle a giggle but failed.
Hearing Carrington’s giggle, Lucy decided to tease her more. “Is it a… pie?”
“A pie? No, my lady, it’s not a pie.” Carrington was now drying Lucy and trying desperately not to laugh.
Stepping out of the tub, she pretended to be deep in concentration. A smirk appeared as Lucy tightened her lips to prevent the chuckle from escaping. “Alas, it has to be a… button!”
Carrington inhaled deeply and swallowed her laughter. Shaking her head, she said, “Yes! I’ll have to try harder to befuddle you.”
Seated, Lucy’s mind began to refocus on her task while Carrington tugged and combed her hair. The riddle had given her an idea. The code contained an item she could not see.
“Carrington, I must return to work.” Lucy turned to face her maid. “Thank you.”
With a fresh perspective, she was close to deciphering the missive. She could feel it in her bones. Lucy walked back to the antique desk and began to review the pile of notes she had made.
Blurry-eyed, Lucy asked. “What time is it?”
“It will be time for supper soon, my lady.”
Had she been working all day without interruption? Blinking, she tried to focus her weary eyes. Carrington was on her hands and knees, surrounded by papers. Had she caused that mess?
“What are you doing?”
Carrington huffed her reply. “I’m trying to put these papers in order.”
Lucy should help clean up. Scrapping the chair back, she stood. But her legs buckled, and she had to lean on the desk for support.
“Carrington, you can cease organizing. I’ve figured it out. Certain numerals and combinations are blanks, disrupting the flow of the pattern.”
“Did you not devise something similar for the Home Office, my lady?”
“Yes, and I should have recognized it days ago, but I was unaware the French had used that method in the past.” Lucy was questioning the source of the missives.
“Well, what does it say?”
Lucy leaned closer to the lamp and read aloud the decoded message:
“Imperative. Apprehend and disarm. Target: Lord D. Ensure he is not harmed. Must be in good health. Deliver on June 19. Lone Dove.”
Odd that the rendezvous point would be the Lone Dove. It was not known as a locale where French operatives convened. She suspected the Home Office was in search of a traitor.
Further, the recipient of the missive must already know the identity of the target, for it only stated Lord D. There were multiple Lord Ds among the ton.
Lucy’s frown deepened as she considered whether Blake, the only Lord D she was acquainted with, could be the target. Nauseated at the notion he might be at risk, she determined to find out for sure.
The missive had a target date of June 19. That gave her a month to figure out who Lord D was and formulate a plan to ensure his safety. She prayed it would not turn out to be Blake. Why she had such strong feelings for the man, she did not understand. But there was a bond that had been established when he had held her in his arms.
Chapter Seven
While Harrington pored over correspondence, Blake lounged in one of the two wingback chairs positioned near the window in the well-organized study. It had become routine for him to arrive each morn to join Harrington and his family to break their fast. At first, Blake had been disappointed to find that Lucy had decided to adjourn to the country. However, as each day passed, his intuition grew stronger that her departure was somehow related to him. Harrington had explained that his sister
was visiting a friend in mourning, but he was rather vague about the details.
Blake had been waiting for days for the right opportunity to bring up the topic of Lucy. Should he disclose his longtime infatuation with his best friend’s sister? His inability to forget a face was considered a boon by most. However, there were times he considered it a curse.
Lucy’s image had remained at the forefront of his thoughts since the day he laid eyes on her. Every night for nearly a decade, she came to him as soon as he closed his eyes to sleep. For years he had tried to banish the vision of her, especially after Harrington had informed him of her attachment to Lord Taylor. His errant mind stubbornly held on to her features, specifically her ever-changing gray-blue eyes.
Blinking to release the image of Lucy, Blake focused his gaze on his surroundings. In stark contrast to his own cold and sparsely filled town house, this room was a mix of comfort and practicality.
Blake commented, “Your household runs extremely efficiently, Harrington.”
“Now. But when I first inherited, wasn’t it the same year as yourself? How old were we?”
Blake recalled the year vividly—his parents had been taken in a carriage accident. “I was sixteen, which would have made you fourteen.”
Harrington’s eyes darted to meet Blake’s. “Well, my papa had many talents, but the management of the estates was not one of them. I tried my best, but being away at Eton made it difficult. When Lucy offered to take over, I didn’t hesitate, for she has a brilliant mind. By the time we graduated Oxford, she had everything in order, which made it all the easier for me to resume my responsibilities, although I have to say it is mighty time-consuming. How have you fared while away on the Continent?”
Blake turned to gaze out the window. He didn’t care to speak of his family, despite the passage of time; it was still painful to think of and refer to his parents.
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