by Tracy Grant
Malcolm thought of Carfax and his comments lately about Julien. And Kitty. "Kitty knows who you are, doesn't she?"
Julien raised a brow. "What makes you think so?"
"I can accept coincidence, but if she doesn't know, her naming her daughter Guenevere strains belief."
A reluctant smile curved Julien's mouth. "I still can't quite believe she did that."
"It says a lot about her feelings for you." Malcolm watched Julien in the shifting light. "Just as your telling her the truth says a lot about your feelings for her."
"Don't romanticize, Rannoch. You don't know under what circumstances I told her."
"I can't imagine your telling her without trust."
"Mmm." Julien looked away. "There are still slaves in Argentina. It was the first place I'd lived where I'd confronted the reality head on. One could say I should have understood it well enough before then."
"There's a difference between understanding intellectually and observing firsthand."
Julien shot a look at him. "Perhaps. Perhaps I'm letting myself off the hook. But in any case, the stark reality struck me, and I was shaken. Shaken enough that I wanted to talk. And I couldn't talk about my mother without talking about myself. Though I wouldn't have talked to almost anyone else." He gave a reluctant grin. "Kitty's important to me. I think you already knew that."
"I had a glimmering."
Julien watched Malcolm for a moment. "She warned me you'd work it out."
"And she probably thought I'd do so sooner as well. How does she feel about being Lady Carfax?"
Julien looked away. "I haven't asked her."
"To marry you, or to become Lady Carfax?"
Julien smoothed a shirt cuff. "Neither, actually. One, at least, seems beyond the realm of possibility."
"Don't underrate yourself, St. Juste."
"With Kitty or with Carfax?"
"Either."
"My uncle is a formidable enemy. And of course there's Kitty's aversion to marriage in general."
"I once had the same aversion."
"I'm not Mélanie."
"Probably a good thing, in this case. Kitty and Mel are better friends than I ever thought possible, but I think Kitty would much prefer you as a romantic partner."
Julien grinned and clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "You're a good fellow, Rannoch."
"There are those of us who'd back you if you took on Carfax."
"Thank you." Julien drew a breath. "I don't say that as lightly as I usually do. But you're assuming I want to be Lord Carfax."
"I'm not assuming anything. I can understand your being conflicted. I can understand Kitty's being conflicted. But it doesn't change the fact that you could push Carfax out." As he said the words, the reality settled over Malcolm. The easily spoken words could represent an irrevocable shift in their world.
"My dear Malcolm. Do you imagine losing the title would really push Carfax out? Or do anything close to it? He was a force in military intelligence long before he became earl."
"This could destroy him." Somehow for all he was used to thinking of Carfax as a man without limits, this made Malcolm grow cold.
"Nothing's going to destroy my uncle."
"It could save David."
Julien's face went unexpectedly still. "David's situation complicates things. Mind you, he'd make a much better earl than I would."
"He doesn't want it. He never did. I was there when he first learned he was the heir. It was like a physical weight."
"And you think I could wear it more lightly? Aren't you concerned for all the Mallinson tenants?"
"Oddly, I don't think you'd neglect them."
"You always had ridiculous faith in human nature, Malcolm. I suppose it's good it's still intact."
"If you think that's good, it speaks volumes."
Julien swung his head towards Malcolm. His face was in shadow, but Malcolm could feel the pure force of his gaze. "I won't let Carfax destroy David. My word on it. Though for what it's worth, I think David is a deal stronger than anyone credits."
"Yes," Malcolm said. "So do I. It doesn't mean he wouldn't be happier away from the earldom."
"You, of course, could now render any choice I might be said to have in the matter rather superfluous."
Malcolm held the gaze of his boyhood friend. "I wouldn't do that. It's your life. And God knows I know about living undercover. Part of me didn't want to come back from Italy. I hate to think of Carfax's getting away with this, though."
"My dear Malcolm. Surely this is far from the worst thing you've seen Carfax get away with."
"A point. That doesn't make it any better."
"I haven't suffered."
"You've made a remarkable life. But exile isn't easy on anyone."
"Speaking as someone who still loves Britain."
"And you don't?"
Julien adjusted the brim of his hat. "I don't believe I've ever admitted to loving anything or anyone."
"Oh, admitting's a different story. I was prepared to walk away myself."
"But you're glad you didn't."
A hackney rattled by. Two boys ran along the far side of the square, their governess hurrying after them. A chestnut seller pushed a barrow along the pavement. Malcolm breathed in the smell of chestnuts, the soot and grime, the damp air and gray skies, the clatter and energy of London. "I could have been happy abroad. I think I could be happy anywhere with my family. And as I said, a part of me didn't want to leave what we'd found in Italy. But yes, I'm glad we came back." He hesitated. "I don't think it was coincidence that Carfax mentioned your father last night."
Julien's gaze narrowed. "You think he wanted you to put the pieces together? I wouldn't be surprised if he did. It's possible this will come down not to whether or not I can push Carfax out, but whether or not I can keep him from dragging me back in."
"Has he said anything?"
"He's hinted at it. I think he thinks it may be necessary to outplay the League."
Malcolm paused for a moment, more pieces falling together in his mind. "This is part of why the League have wanted you at least since Italy, isn't it? They want to use you against Carfax. Which means at least someone in the League knows who you are."
"I think so, on both counts. And no, I don't know who in the League knows my identity. Or even which faction it is, though I think it's the group trying to wrest control. The same group that tried to destroy Glenister. I wouldn't be surprised if they turned on Beverston too. Carfax told me at the theatre the night of Mélanie's pantomime that it might be necessary for me to destroy him. A bit dramatic. But I think he's decided that at some point my reemergence might be a way to outwit the League by taking away a weapon they could use against him."
"He has a point. And of course if he could control how you reemerged, it might not destroy him at all."
"Precisely."
"Could he cover up the evidence against you?"
"Oh, yes. He's the one who gathered it in the first place. And once I recovered the papers a year and a half ago, the written proof was gone." Julien frowned at a mud puddle on the gravel. There was something pared back about him, as though external layers had been stripped away.
"I won't do anything with the information until you ask me to," Malcolm said. "Though I don't know that my keeping it secret can contain the secret. But I'll try to make sure it plays out as you wish. I'll try to help you get what you want. Assuming you know what that is."
Julien gave a faint smile. "Funny. Kitty said something similar to me a few months ago."
"Do you know what you want?"
"I didn't then." Julien paused and drew a breath. The wind had whipped up again, bringing a sting of damp that was unmistakably London. "I think now perhaps I do."
Chapter 27
Laura refilled her coffee cup and then Raoul's. "Any luck?" she asked, glancing at the sheets of paper before him on the breakfast table. Kitty had sent round a copy of the notes of Carfax's meetings with Spanish and Italian authorit
ies, and Raoul was looking through them for anything that might explain last night's attacks and Thornsby's interest in the matter.
"Nothing so far that would make these more urgent than they seemed from what Kitty and Simon and the others told us last night." Raoul stretched out a hand for the coffee with a grateful smile. They were, unusually, alone in the breakfast parlor. Malcolm had left early to see Beverston and then to update Harry and Cordy (who were going to be very upset at having missed out on the previous night's adventures). Mélanie had just left for the Tavistock, and Blanca had taken the children to the square garden, while Addison was out making inquiries himself. Ben and Nerezza hadn't come down yet. It was still early for everyone, but the tension was making them early risers.
"Do you know the Spaniards and Italians who were at the meeting?" Laura asked, leaning against the arm of her husband's chair.
"I know the Spaniards by name." Raoul reached up and caught hold of her hand. "I suppose it's possible one of them or one of the Italians could find the release of the notes threatening enough to have taken severe action. Perhaps not on the grounds of what the release would do politically so much as because of what it might do to their careers. The only other named person is an aide Carfax had with him." Raoul looked back down at the papers. "A Toby Wilton."
"Wilton?" Laura set down her coffee cup.
"Yes, does it mean anything to do you?"
"No. That is—Wilton is the name of the family Edith Simmons is governess to. She's the young classical scholar whom Lewis Thornsby's elder brother is in love with. But Wilton's hardly an uncommon name. I don't suppose—"
She broke off as the breakfast parlor door opened to admit Nerezza and Benedict.
"Do come in," Laura said as they hesitated on the threshold. "Valentin just brought fresh coffee."
Nerezza gave a quick, almost shy smile. For all her hardened, brash demeanor at times, she reminded Laura of the teenage girls she had once been governess to, trying out their adult skin and still not quite comfortable in it.
Benedict pulled a chair out for Nerezza while Laura poured coffee for both of them. "I'm trying to convince Ben we needn't run back to the country immediately," Nerezza said. "We met Mr. Rannoch on the stairs earlier this morning, and he said that he didn't think Carfax was a threat."
"It's not Carfax, it's the League." Ben sat beside her. A month ago, he hadn't heard of the League, but now he spoke with the air of one who knew full well what they were capable of.
"If Carfax knew where we were, don't you think the League did too?" Nerezza accepted a cup of coffee from Laura and took a grateful sip. "Rupert and Bertrand have been prepared all month for the League to try something, and they haven't."
"They might be biding their time," Ben said.
"Well, I'm not proposing to go running about London, but I do think we're safe enough here for a bit."
Laura exchanged a quick look with Raoul, because a year ago the Berkeley Square house had proved anything but safe.
"We've had our share of dangers even here," Raoul said. "But I think you're right, it doesn't seem likely the League will try anything immediate, and we'll be prepared if they do."
Nerezza set her coffee down. "Are you worried about the children?" Her gaze went to Clara, who was sleeping in a basket beside the table. "I should have thought—"
"No." Raoul touched her arm with a quick smile. "We're used to protecting the children. Just as Rupert and Bertrand knew they could protect Stephen when they took you to the country. Besides, selfishly, you may have more information to offer. You're the only one who's actually met the person who is apparently trying to wrest away control of the League."
"I wish I could remember something else that might help," Nerezza said. She blew on her coffee, then glanced at Ben. "Just because I can't leave the house doesn't mean you shouldn't. Perhaps you should call on Lady Shroppington?"
Ben grimaced. "To offer my condolences about Lewis, you mean?"
"Yes, and because she might admit something to you."
Ben took a drink of coffee. "I can't help but feel for her. I mean, I think she was as fond of Lewis as she was of anyone. He knew how to talk her round his finger. I always thought she was a bit of a gorgon as a boy. I hadn't seen her much in recent years, what with being at Oxford and going to the Continent. But I did see her in December—just a few days before the pantomime." He smiled at Nerezza in memory of the night they had reunited, but then his brows drew together. "It was a bit odd. I was in Green Park and I saw her across the park with a younger lady. She was wearing a hat with a veil—Lady Shroppington, that is—and I almost didn't recognize her at first, but there's something about the way she holds her shoulders that's unmistakable. I thought I should stop and pay my respects, but she didn't look best pleased when I did. Didn't even present me to her companion."
"What did the companion look like?" Raoul asked.
"Tall. Almost as tall as me, I think. Pretty, but not in a conventional way, if you know what I mean." He flushed. "That is—"
"It's all right, Ben," Nerezza said with a smile. "I don't mind your thinking other girls pretty."
"No, that's not it. I mean—nothing could compare with you and you know it. But there was something arresting about this girl. She had sort of tawny hair that looked as if she couldn't ever keep it pinned up."
Laura set down her coffee, her fingers suddenly numb. "What was she wearing?"
"Wearing? Oh, nothing much. That is, she was wearing clothes, of course. A pelisse, I think. It was dark. Black or gray. Maybe dark blue. Not what you'd call fashionable. In fact—I mean, one doesn't like to stare, but I remember noticing that the hem was quite caked with mud."
Laura pushed her chair back. "You're on child duty for the next hour, sweetheart," she told Raoul. "We can't leave Blanca on her own with all of them."
"Certainly," he replied. "May I ask why?"
Laura bent to tuck the blanket round Clara. "Because the young lady Ben saw with Lady Shroppington sounds very much like Edith Simmons, the woman Lewis's brother Thomas is in love with. Edith told me she'd never met Lady Shroppington. And her employers are named Wilton."
"Very interesting indeed," Raoul said. "You should talk to her at once."
Benedict looked between them. "Are you going alone?"
"Miss Simmons is far more likely to talk to a former fellow governess she already knows than to a Spanish-Irish Radical she's never met before," Raoul pointed out.
"Aren't you worried?" Ben asked.
Raoul settled back in his chair. "No more than Laura would be about me. Have a care, sweetheart."
"Where are you going, Mummy?" Emily asked, as Laura stopped by the square garden.
"To pay a call. I won't be long."
"Is it part of the Investigation?" Colin asked.
Laura tugged on a glove. She'd been in such a hurry she'd left the house without putting them on. "I think so. When the two of you were playing with the Wilton children, did they happen to mention their parents' names?"
Colin and Emily exchanged glances. "The father's starts with a T," Emily said. "Tony or—Toby, that's it. The little boy told us his full name is Winston Eustace Toby Wilton for his grandfather, his uncle, and his father."
"Splendid, darling." Laura pulled on the second glove. "Do you remember anything else in particular the children said about their parents?"
Colin frowned. "Their father was a diplomat, like Daddy. They lived in France for a while, like we did. Oh and—" Colin looked at Emily, frowned again. "I'm not sure about the parents' marriage. Winston told me there was a letter delivered for his father and Miss Simmons moved it, because she said she didn't want their mother to see it. I don't think Winston understood what that might mean." Colin looked up at Laura with grave eyes. "Should I have said that sooner? I told Mummy a lot of things Winston and Sally told us, but I didn't say that."
Because he didn't like talking about trouble between parents. "I understand perfectly," Laura said. "And yes, it
may be important, though we wouldn't have understood how until now." She bent to kiss them both. "You're both splendid investigators."
She waved to Blanca, Jessica, and Pedro, and set off to look for Edith Simmons.
Chapter 28
Julien came back into their rooms sooner than Kitty had expected. The boys were sprawled on the sitting room carpet, acting out their own version of the Battle of Waterloo with their toy soldiers. Kitty was building a block tower with Genny and attempting to keep her from running into the battlefield. All the while, Kitty kept sorting through the events of the previous night and what they might mean. The attack, the revelations. Who now knew what. And Julien's reaction both to the revelations and to her being attacked. Not to mention what Malcolm might be saying to Julien even now.
She was remembering—probably rather unnecessarily, given how many urgent matters she had to consider—the way he had held her through the night, when light footsteps and the opening of the door signaled her lover's return. Genny crawled over and grabbed his boots.
"Didn't Uncle Malcolm come back with you?" Timothy asked, a British infantryman and a French cavalry officer in one hand and a cannon in the other.
"No, though I'm sure you'll see him soon. He had things to do for the investigation."
"Don't you?" Leo said.
"Not just now." Julien swung Genny up. "What do you say we go to the park? The sky's clearing and there's no sign of rain for a bit."
The boys let out whoops of excitement.
Kitty regarded her lover as the boys ran to snatch up jackets and boots with admirable speed. "Are you going to suggest I stay home and rest?"
"No, I was thinking fresh air would do you good."
She watched him for a moment, as he settled Genny on his shoulders. "It might, at that. I need to clear my head." With everything going on, even a morning in the lodgings felt too confining. But she was still suspicious of Julien's motives. When did he ever do anything without an ulterior motive? Of course, if her suspicions about Malcolm's visit were correct, he could well have reason to talk.
