The general nearly choked on his drink at that. "Yes, you are a ray of sunshine on a dreary day, St. Clair." His demeanor shifted from general to friend. "I am sorry to impose this task upon you," he said. "But, as you are known to be the best at these matters, the order has come down from the highest levels that you, and only you, are to carry out this task."
Damn him.
I was intrigued. Instead of storming out of the room and demanding a proper send off as was my due, I leaned back in my seat. "On with it," I said. "Give me the details. The sooner you tell me, the sooner I will be able to be done and on my way to civilian life."
General Fitzwilliam laughed. "Civilian life? You will not last a fortnight with polite society."
"I lived amongst polite society for many years before taking my commission. I have not turned to a complete chawbacon, have I?"
"No, I am sure you shall clean up quite nicely and no one will be the wiser. I am sure it will only be a matter of time before you are leg shackled and commanding a houseful of children."
I rolled my eyes at the general’s attempt at sarcasm.
I had joined the army in my youth in response to a dramatic disappointment in love. I was not the first young man to do so and would assuredly not be the last. I had been fortunate; however, army life had suited me quite well, much better than I had ever expected. I had always envisioned myself with a family, a fine home, children and a wife.
Ah, a wife.
The pain jabbed my heart, even after so many years. Numerous battles and travels to several continents had dulled the ache, but it continued, just beneath the surface.
Still, it was none of General Fitzwilliam’s business. Despite our close professional and personal connection, the intimate yearnings of my heart were my own private torture.
General Fitzwilliam continued. "As a matter of fact, I am counting on you to make a smooth transition to civilian life, as that will enhance your ability to carry out your final duties to the army."
"Ah, yes," I said, placing my empty glass on the desk and declining the general’s offer to refill it. "Do tell."
"We have reason to believe a spy ring is operating within the highest circles of society."
"And you would like me to infiltrate Almack’s? Has someone been spiking the punch?"
General Fitzwilliam glared at me over the top of his glasses.
"As you know, there was an attempt on the life of the Prince Regent a few months ago. Evidence suggests a conspiracy to assassinate him continues."
I sat up straight in my chair. This was serious, indeed. I had no great personal opinion of the Prince Regent. His father had been declared incompetent to rule and the Regent now performed those duties in his stead. I supposed he was better than an insane man, but there were many who held him in low regard due to his profligate lifestyle, particularly in light of the large number of his subjects living in poverty.
Nonetheless, my personal opinions mattered not. I had sworn an oath to protect the crown and protect it, with my life if necessary, I would.
"Assassination? That is a serious accusation."
"Yes," the general said. "There are many who voice their discontent with the current monarch. The complication comes in proving some act beyond the mere expression of opinion. That is where you come in."
"How so?"
The general paused and then looked me directly in the eye. "Rumors about you have been spread to a few suspects."
"What?" I lurched from my seat and planted my hands on the general’s desk.
"I apologize, it was not my decision.” Even a general sometimes has to follow orders.
"What sort of rumors?" My blood pulsed. What was a man without his reputation?
"A few words have been mentioned to those we believe would find them of interest. The expectation is they will contact you very soon."
Now that the conversation had moved to official business, the general was once again operating as the distinguished officer he was. "A residence has been set up for you in Mayfair with a full staff. All of the male servants, down to the stable boy and footmen, are soldiers. Not only will they be able to protect you, should the need arise, they will also be eyes and ears for you in the neighborhood and throughout your home."
"What of the female servants?"
"A housekeeper and cook have been retained. Both have previously served high ranking officers and understand the expectations for their discretion. This is a short-term assignment. The Season ends in a few weeks and it is imperative you ferret out the leaders of this ring before all of the potential suspects scatter to their respective country estates as the privileged do to avoid the London heat. I would dare say you would prefer to interact with the ton en masse in London rather than a few at a time in a series of house parties throughout the summer and autumn."
Despite my decades of military service staring down all manner of evil, a shudder ran through me at the thought of sitting rooms filled with card games and charades.
"Agreed," I said.
"You will be contacted by others who are working undercover. For security reasons, I do not know their identities. Each aspect of this task has been separated from the others. No one person knows all of the details. It is safest for everyone that way."
I nodded, my mind still whirling at the implications. My reputation drug through the mud in the name of duty. Had I not given enough in service to my country?
"For all intents and purposes, you are a recently retired colonel taking up a comfortable life in London, relying on family connections and your own charm," thereupon the general paused to smirk at me, "to infiltrate the inner circle of high society."
"I see. And how am I to report my findings?"
"I expect Gibson will take care of those matters and get the information to the proper channels."
I could not help but smile. Lieutenant Gibson had been my right-hand man for several years and the depth of his capabilities astounded me on a regular basis.
The general poured us each another drink. Much as I wished to be angry at this disruption to my plans, I had to admit I looked forward to the challenge.
The general raised his glass to me. "Cheers."
William
General Fitzwilliam was full of surprises. I had seen him organize battalions of troops, strike and set up entire camps in a matter of hours, but never would I have imagined him capable of organizing a proper household in an exclusive section of London.
And yet, he had.
The study was well-stocked with books and liquor. I perused the titles on the shelves and imagined what it might be like to actually read a book from start to finish without the interruption of duty, or worse, war.
I pulled a leather-bound volume down and thumbed through the contents. Taking a seat, I began to read. Caught up in the story, I lost track of time until there was a gentle tap on the door followed by the entrance of Lieutenant Gibson, my faithful assistant, who now served as my valet.
"A letter arrived for you, sir." He held forth a silver salver with the missive upon it. As I retrieved it, he added, "A messenger is downstairs awaiting a response."
We shared a look, both assuming this was the first communication from one of my mysterious contacts. They were not wasting any time and I appreciated their swiftness of mission.
Dear Sir,
I would be most pleased if you would join me tonight for dinner. I am sure you will find it most enlightening.
Yours ever so sincerely,
Lady Ambrosia Anaconda Algonquin
The handwriting was large and loopy, not the sort to make it past any writing master worth his salt, and most certainly unacceptable in a military setting, but it was not my job to evaluate the sender. Finding a ready supply of paper and ink, I dashed off a reply stating I would be honored to attend and handed it back to Gibson.
Glancing at the clock on the mantle, I decided I still had time to read another chapter before preparing to meet the mysterious Lady Ambrosia Anaconda Algonq
uin. Should not my contacts be doing their best to blend in with society? With a name like that, subtlety had not been considered.
Several hours later, I arrived at the home where I had been invited to dine. Gibson, never far from my side, stayed with the carriage and kept a lookout from the exterior of the building. I would be entering unknown territory on my own. Though I assumed the invitation had come from another undercover agent, it was equally possible the rumors about me had circulated to the conspirators and someone had taken the bait.
The front door was bright red, and a sign proclaimed the occupant to be a matchmaker. I rolled my eyes heavenward. What sort of discrete cover was this for a top-secret assignment?
I would speak to General Fitzwilliam about it at my earliest opportunity, though there was nothing to be done at the moment. Determined to keep my wits about me, I raised my hand to the knocker, but the door opened before my fingers made contact.
"Oh," said the woman who stood on the other side of the threshold. Her gaze took in my stiff new civilian attire. "I was expecting Colonel St. Clair."
"I am he." If she was surprised by my appearance, the feeling was mutual. Clearly not a servant, her attire consisted of a voluminous pale green skirt embroidered with small flowers which got larger as they moved upward until those around her bodice were the size of dinner plates.
Our eyes met, she smiled and stepped back, allowing me entrance. "I beg your pardon, will you not come in?"
I bowed and crossed into her home. "Thank you for the invitation to dinner, Lady Algonquin."
She laughed. "Please, call me Lady Ambrosia. Everyone does. Lady Algonquin is much too formal."
A servant appeared and took my coat and hat. My well-trained eyes gazed about the room, gathering as much insight into the occupant as I could. Though there was much to consider, I had a difficult time deciphering any meaning which the various items might hold. I did my best to catalogue the information and determined to give it all serious consideration after I had spent more time with Lady Ambrosia.
My hostess led me to a solarium filled with flowers. It was a decidedly feminine room and caused me more than a little discomfort. It was distressing enough that I felt nearly naked walking around in civilian clothes rather than my uniform, but now I was seated upon a ruffled chair in a hothouse of flowers.
A servant brought in a tray containing a brandy decanter and glasses. I could certainly use a drink but reminded myself to be cautious. I had no idea if Lady Ambrosia, as she called herself, was friend or foe.
"I know it is more traditional to have brandy after dinner," she said, pouring us each a glass, "but I like to have a little nip before meals too. I hope you will indulge me in my eccentric ways."
"I would be loathe to disappoint a lady," I said, taking the glass she held out to me.
"I was so pleased to find you were in London," she said.
"I only arrived this morning, so your timing is perfect."
"How serendipitous, indeed. It seems all is in alignment for my plan." She took a sip of brandy. "I do so enjoy it when I can arrange things just so, do you not agree?"
"Yes, though I have found not everything goes according to plan. People are often not what they appear," I said, pointedly, studying her to gauge her reaction to my subtle challenge.
"I have often heard it said people are not what they appear to be," she replied, "but it is my experience all people, no matter their station in life, wish for just a few things: good health, loyal friends and…" she paused to emphasis her next word, "love."
If this was some sort of code, I was unfamiliar with it. I searched my memory for any underlying meaning which the word love might have, but could think of nothing. It certainly was not a word I had used often.
Ah, yes. Love was the opposite of war. Perhaps there was some significance there.
"Of course," I said, dangling a bit of line to lure her in, "love is quite important."
She smiled. "I had hoped you would agree." Though she had been genial during our limited acquaintanceship, I could see now she had relaxed a small amount. I had the feeling I had somehow passed a test, despite being unaware of one being administered.
I watched as she finished her brandy. I had certainly been in more difficult and dangerous situations, but something about this lady in the wildly patterned dress had me at sixes and sevens. I decided to remain quiet and see what more she would reveal about herself.
My patience was rewarded when she rose and announced we were going to another part of the house. I stood as well and offered her my arm. The moment she laid her gloved hand upon my forearm, an odd tingle shot upward to my shoulder.
Had I been poisoned? It was an accusation I dared not make without further evidence. If she had expected me to react to whatever she might have done to me, Lady Ambrosia gave no indication by her demeanor. She continued to chatter as we moved through the cluttered house.
A most unusual and unexpected thing happened. Whether Lady Ambrosia had injected me with some type of potion or poison, I had no proof, but my mind was suddenly filled with visions and memories from many years before. My heart began to race, and my mind’s eye was overwhelmed by an image of Callie.
Callie—Lady Calliope Winterbourne—who had stolen my heart years ago and who, if I were completely honest, had retained at least a part of it for the decades since. She had been only a child when I first met her but had grown into a beautiful young lady, full of light and laughter. More than anything in my short life, I had wanted her for my own.
And through my own foolish behavior, I had scared her directly into the arms of Lord Thomas Knox who had the pleasure of being her husband while I had gone off to join the army and live in a tent. Alone.
I had used my military training to rid myself of every trace of feeling related to her. It had been difficult, particularly in the early years, but I had managed the feat.
Or so I had told myself. It would be a lie to say I had not thought of her, not felt my heart thud in my chest on those rare occasions when I heard a laugh similar to hers and caught myself gaping about, hoping against hope, for a glimpse of my fair Callie.
Years ago, while visiting London, I could have sworn I saw her go into a shop. Without thinking, I followed. Despite my military training which had conditioned me to be alert to my surroundings at all times, I had blindly traipsed after a woman whose laugh convinced me she was Lady Calliope. By the time I realized my many errors, I was standing in the middle of a ladies’ dress shop gaping at a woman who, though pleasant seeming and attractive, was most assuredly not my Callie. I managed to make my excuses and exit the building without creating too much of a hullabaloo, but I left the city immediately.
I rarely visited London after that bit of foolishness. Perhaps I simply could not be trusted to act in any sort of mature or dignified manner when it came to Callie. However, I could hardly tell my superiors I was afraid to visit London, so when ordered I appeared in the city but made sure to keep a rigid schedule. Gibson was tasked with staying next to me at all times when I was outside of my quarters. Being the discreet man he was, he had not questioned my instructions, strange though they were.
It was fortunate I had put a stop gap in place as during one such required visit to London I happened to see a death notice for Lord Thomas Knox in a newspaper. I had no ill will toward Lord Knox, my ire had all been self-directed over the years, but with his passing, I felt a small glimmer of hope. I had even put pen to paper one ill-advised, brandy-filled evening, pouring out my longing and regret for several pages. When I passed the missive along to Gibson, instructing him to put it in the post forthwith, he wisely held onto it until the following morning and quietly asked if I was certain I wished for it to be sent. I tossed it into the fire and went about my duties, vowing never to think of Calliope again.
And now, with the simple touch of her hand, Lady Ambrosia had vanquished those years of rigid self-control and my mind and body yearned for the long-lost Callie.
I gav
e myself a mental shake. ‘Twas preposterous. How could Lady Ambrosia know anything about my past, about Callie or my emotions?
And what part did any of that play in the plot against the Regent?
My brain had become a muddle and I failed to follow all of Lady Ambrosia’s chatter, but when she opened the door to her drawing room, my heart nearly stopped dead in my chest.
Callie
I could barely contain my nerves. Dared I believe it? Would I really meet my future husband this evening? Would he be all Lady Ambrosia had promised?
What if he did not care for me? Or I him?
No, I would not allow myself to contemplate such dour notions. Lady Ambrosia had made a brilliant match for my son, and she would do the same for me.
I had been unable to hold still or rest all afternoon. My poor maid, Franny, was nearly worn out after I changed my gown five times and then decided to go back to the original selection. I had thought to explain the situation to her, but decided—against my character, I might add—not to mention my pending nuptials to anyone until I had met the man who was to be my spouse.
Whether I wished not to tempt fate or was simply skeptical, I do not know. Besides, though my staff was accustomed to my eccentricities, even I could see announcing a betrothal to an as of yet unknown and unnamed man stretched the limits of eccentric.
Now, I waited in Lady Ambrosia’s sitting room, though I could not hold still to actually sit. I had checked myself in the mirror over the fireplace more times than I cared to count. The clock chimed eight and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
When I started at the sound of the hour, the flowers—I believe Lady Ambrosia called them forget-me-nots—which I had placed in my hair earlier, fell to the floor. As I stooped to pick them up, their scent wafted to my nose. Just as Lady Ambrosia had said, though the flower had almost no aroma during the day, now that it was evening, the floral essence was quite heady indeed. I held the blue buds to my face and inhaled deeply.
Immediately, my anxiety disappeared, and my limbs felt most languid, indeed. I made my way to a sofa before darkness overtook my vision and I fell into a deep, deep sleep.
His Mischievous Bride (Regency Matchmaker Book 2) Page 4
