by Tracy Grant
Roger leaned forwards and extended his hand across the desk. "Thank you for your trust, Rannoch."
Malcolm clasped Roger's hand. "We need people like you. Both in Parliament and against the League."
He saw Roger from the house himself. They met Raoul in the hall. He had just finished seeing Carfax out.
"Carfax talked to you?" Malcolm asked as he and his father returned to the study.
"Yes." Raoul's expression was oddly bemused. "I hadn't told you yet—I haven't even told Laura because of everything that happened yesterday and because I didn't want to get her hopes up—but when I saw Margaret yesterday I learned that she's with child as well. Which has changed her views on divorce."
"That's wonderful." Malcolm returned to his chair at the desk.
"Yes." Raoul advanced into the room and dropped into the wingback chair Carfax had occupied an hour before. "Though I wasn't at all sure it would be possible before May. Which is partly why I haven't told Laura yet. But Carfax has just offered to push the divorce through Parliament."
"Carfax offered—Good God."
"Yes, that was my reaction. Then I thanked him. Most sincerely. I think it's a very sincere offer." Raoul settled back in the chair and crossed his legs, gaze on the toes of his boots. "Partly, I think, to thank you for your role in getting him out of prison. But I also had a sense learning the truth about Gisèle has been making him think about what it means to be a parent."
Malcolm studied his own father. It was one of those moments when he felt they had switched places and he had become the parent. Or at least the one to offer comfort. "It has to have been a shock. Learning about Carfax and Arabella."
Raoul looked up, as though aware of his gaze, and gave a crooked smile. At once vulnerable and defensive. Funny how hard it had once been to read him. Not that Malcolm would precisely call it easy now, but he knew the cues to look for. "I don't know why I'm surprised," Raoul said. "I knew she had lovers she—disagreed with. To put it mildly. Not that shared beliefs or even liking each other necessarily have anything to do with attraction."
"I don't know that this was about attraction." Malcolm swallowed. He was, after all, talking about his mother. "That is, I don't think that's what started it, on either side."
"No." Raoul dug a hand through his hair. "If she did it because of Ireland—"
"You can't say you wouldn't have done the same to save her."
"No," Raoul said again, after a pause that more or less confirmed Malcolm's suspicions that he had in fact done so. "But one doesn't like—"
Malcolm shut his mind to speculation on what Mélanie might or might not do under what circumstances. "It's part of being a spy. Isn't that what you'd say?"
"Possibly. In case you haven't realized it yet, I often say things that don't quite agree with what I feel."
"I have begun to suspect as much." Malcolm smiled despite the topic.
Raoul echoed the smile with a twisted one of his own. "I think perhaps as much as anything it's a shock that I didn't suspect anything, at the time or in the two decades since."
Malcolm watched Raoul for a long moment. However matter-of-fact he might be about Arabella, Malcolm was coming to realize just what she had meant to him. "You can't tell me you'd be so sanguine—"
"If it was Laura?" As often happened Raoul read his thoughts. "God help me, no. But then, Laura and I've made promises to each other that your mother and I never did. I wouldn't do things myself now that I once wouldn't have thought twice about. I never expected that sort of a relationship with Arabella. At least not after the early months, when I was more a lovestruck schoolboy than anything. I won't say I was free of illusions where Arabella was concerned, but at least I was reasonably free of those sorts of illusions. I already knew I wasn't Gisèle's father, after all." He drew a breath. "I didn't get to see much of her before she left. How has she taken learning about Carfax?"
"Difficult to tell. Defenses rather run in the family. I think there are things driving her that she isn't telling us about, but I don't think it's to do with Carfax."
It was Raoul's turn to watch him. "You had to let her go. To do anything else would have been dishonest and disastrous for your relationship with your sister. Not to mention that given what we saw of Gisèle yesterday I don't think it would be humanly possible."
"Quite, on all counts. Perhaps especially the last." Malcolm shifted his pen on the ink blotter. "I'm worried about Andrew. And I'm afraid she's ruined her marriage, though I don't think she wants to do so."
"It's a decision you have to let her make."
Malcolm looked up at his father. "Says the man who's gone to great lengths to manipulate the people he loves."
"I'm trying to learn from my past actions."
"If you'd left Mel and me to our own devices, I doubt we'd be as happy as we are today."
"If I'd tried to manipulate Laura into doing what I thought was right for her six months ago, she might be less happy."
"You know damn well she would be. So would you. But Gelly's doing what I was afraid you'd do six months ago. Pushing away the person she loves for the sake of what she sees as duty."
"Not quite the same. I thought I was denying Laura the life she could have. In point of fact, I was. Am. I don't think Gisèle thinks that about Thirle."
"No. She thinks, with the optimism of twenty, that emotional damage can be repaired later." Malcolm adjusted the pen again. "Reading between the lines, I think she's going to the Continent with Tommy. It's as well we're going back to Italy."
Raoul nodded, "Most of the divorce can be done quietly, but I'll need to come back here for some of it. No need for Laura to be present, though. In fact, much better if she's not. It will be a relief to know she's in Italy."
Now that the immediate crises were resolved, Malcolm felt the insistent tug to be out of the country "Nowhere is really safe, I suppose, but it does feel more of a haven than most places we could be."
"Carfax is even less likely to move against Mélanie now."
"Carfax is grateful to us for the moment, but he's also determined to bring down the League. And we're in the middle of it."
"We're going to be in the middle of it regardless," Raoul said.
"Quite. But we'll have more freedom to act if we don't have to worry about Mel being arrested. Or you."
Andrew stared down at Gisèle's letter. He seemed to have read it through twice, but Malcolm wasn't sure he had fully made sense of it.
"How much danger is she in?" he said at last.
"The League can be ruthless." Malcolm wasn't going to sugarcoat it. "Though I don't think they'd lightly move against someone with Gelly's connections. That's assuming they realize what she's doing. They're likely to underestimate a woman, particularly a very young woman. And Gelly's shown herself well able to take care of herself. She's agreed to a system where she checks in with us regularly. We'll be able to pull her out if we need to."
Andrew stared at Malcolm across the paper-strewn desk as though he were looking at a stranger. "You're talking about her as though she's one of your agents."
"I wouldn't call her one of my agents, but she is an agent, Andrew. She's made herself one. With training from St. Juste, who's a formidable agent himself."
Andrew shook his head. "It's always had a pull on all of you."
"Adventure?"
"That too. But I was going to say duty." Andrew looked down at the letter again. "What can I do to help her?"
"Act the bewildered husband for any League members watching."
"That scarcely requires acting." Andrew's fingers tightened on the letter. "I want to do more. Tell me what I can do without adding to the risks. Train me if you have to."
"Andrew—"
"This is my fight now too. If it matters this much to Gelly, it matters to me. And the sooner it's resolved, the sooner I get my wife back."
Still mulling what role he could find for Andrew, Malcolm went into the drawing room. Laura, Cordelia, and Harry were on the fl
oor playing with the children. Harry looked up from rolling a ball to meet Malcolm's gaze. Malcolm gave his friend a brief smile. Given the circumstances, his talk with Andrew had gone about as well as it could.
He met Mélanie's gaze across the room. She and Raoul were standing by the windows. For a horrible instant he was reminded of the moment he had told the two of them and Laura that they had to leave London. He crossed to join them. "It could have been worse," he said, meeting Mélanie's gaze. "Andrew understands. As well as it's possible to understand. He wants to help. We're going to have to figure out something he can do."
"I'm so glad." Mélanie's gaze showed relief, but also a question. Malcolm realized she was holding a sheet of hot-pressed notepaper. "This just came from Frances," she said. "She wants the three of us in South Audley Street this evening at nine. You and me and Raoul."
"Just the three of us?" Malcolm asked.
"Yes, she's most specific." Mélanie held out the note. "She says it's not a social visit, she'll have someone there we need to speak with."
Malcolm studied the note. "Unusually secretive for Frances. Given the events of the past twenty-four hours—not to mention the past few weeks—I don't know whether to say I'm prepared for anything or that I can't imagine what she can have in mind that will surprise us. We'll go, of course. But all in all, it will be a distinct relief to get back to Italy."
Frances's footman conducted Mélanie, Malcolm, and Raoul to a sitting room at the back of the house on the ground floor. It had a door that opened onto the garden. Mélanie and Malcolm had made use of it for slipping in and out of the house unobserved on more than one occasion. The footman opened the door, withdrew, and closed the door without announcing them.
The lamps were turned low. A brace of candles burned on the mantel. Frances came forwards to greet them with a rustle of silk and a waft of her lilac scent. Her hair was carefully dressed and sapphires glittered at her throat and ears. Though unsure of the reason for the visit, Mélanie had dressed in an evening gown of midnight blue silk trimmed with gold braid, pinned her hair up in loose curls, and added a pair of cameo earrings Malcolm had given her in Italy. Apparently she had chosen correctly.
Four men were by the fireplace, three standing—Archie, Carfax, and Lord Castlereagh. A third man was sitting in a carved walnut armchair drawn close to the fire. A heavy man whose girth overflowed the chair and whose diamond cravat pin and watch fob and numerous rings glinted in the firelight.
For a moment, shock held Mélanie motionless. Then instinct took over and she sank into a curtsey, even as Malcolm and Raoul bowed.
Chapter 46
The prince regent stretched out his hand, indicating they should rise. "Mrs. Rannoch. Rannoch. O'Roarke. Lady Frances tells us that, thanks to you, we have a averted a crisis that could have threatened the security of the realm."
"My aunt is a brilliant woman, but in this I think she exaggerates." Malcolm scarcely moved a muscle, but Mélanie felt him draw closer to her. "However, I can assure Your Royal Highness that you need have no further fears about the threat in question."
"Never known Fanny to exaggerate," the regent said. "And Carfax and Castlereagh confirm what she says."
Malcolm's gaze shifted to the two men who had played such key roles in his life, who could so easily destroy them and all they held dear. "That's very good of them."
"Believe me," Castlereagh said, his voice taut and precise, "we know precisely what was at stake. There's no question that the situation could have been dire indeed. And that you averted it."
The regent stretched out a hand. Castlereagh put a box into it. Gilt glinted on the red tooled leather of the cover as the regent flipped open the lid of the box. Two aquamarine cravat pins glittered on either side of an aquamarine pendant. "I pray you will accept these small tokens of our gratitude," the regent said. "Not the finest stones, but the color struck me as very close to the color of Mrs. Rannoch's eyes."
"You are too kind, Your Highness." Mélanie stepped forwards and took the box, because it seemed one of them was required to do so. "We will treasure them as a memory of your kindness."
She hesitated a moment, then took the pendant from the box. Malcolm moved behind her and clasped it round her throat. For a moment, the smile the regent gave her was frankly appreciative. Then he held out another hand without looking at Castlereagh. Castlereagh put two sealed papers into the prince's hand. The prince held the papers out. "I understand from Fanny that certain past incidents could cause trouble for Mrs Rannoch and O'Roarke should they come to light. Of course, I know something of O'Roarke's history in Ireland. I don't need to know further details about his activities or Mrs. Rannoch's. But I have no wish for either of you to live in fear. These documents give you each a pardon for all past actions involving the British crown, should questions ever be raised. Which I profoundly hope they will not be. Again, I don't understand the details, but Castlereagh assures me the documents are sufficient to protect you."
The silence in the room echoed in Mélanie's ears, as though she were underwater. Malcolm touched her arm. She realized she needed to take one of the papers. She felt as though she were moving in a dream world.
Raoul took the other paper from the hand of the man whose government he had spent much of his life fighting. "This is extraordinarily generous, Your Highness."
"We have no wish to see any of you leave Britain again. Particularly Mrs. Rannoch. Or the pretty Lady Tarrington. Or Fanny. She's been threatening to decamp herself."
Raoul's gaze shifted to Castlereagh, and then to Carfax
"Those papers," Castlereagh said, "can spare all of us a great deal of unpleasantness."
"And we need Malcolm in Britain." Carfax spoke up for the first time. "And Mrs. Rannoch. And possibly even you, O'Roarke."
Malcolm looked at his aunt across her sitting room. The rattle of the carriage wheels carrying the regent, Castlereagh, and Carfax had faded away, but the sound, the words spoken, still hung in the air. "Aunt Frances—"
"I didn't tell him anything, my dear. Save that you had done a great service and that he was better off not knowing the details. And though Prinny may not have a great deal of wit, he did have the wit to know I was right about that."
Raoul was turning the paper the regent had given him over in his hands, a bemused expression on his face. "You're a wonder, Fanny."
"I don't think it would have worked if Castlereagh and Carfax hadn't backed me up. Carfax knows he over played his hand six months ago. He knows he needs Malcolm. And he may realize this is the only way he's going to get his son back."
"And Castlereagh?" Mélanie asked. "He knows about Raoul and me?"
"He knows something," Malcolm said. "I'm not sure the whole truth. But he knows enough to know he doesn't want to know more, I think."
"He's quite fond of both of you," Archie said. "And it would hardly redound well on him if it came out that his former favorite aide had been married to a French agent."
Raoul looked at his friend. "Archie—"
"I know," Frances said. "But I don't think any of them suspects anything about Archie. So I couldn't ask for a pardon for him without rousing their suspicions. If anyone has to go back to Italy permanently, it will be Archie and I. But I don't think we will."
Archie took her hand and carried it to his lips.
"You can go get our other guest now," Frances said to him.
Malcolm raised a brow at his aunt.
"Someone else who helped us," Frances said.
A few moments later, Archie returned to the room with Prince Talleyrand.
"I must say I'm surprised, sir," Malcolm said. "When you vanished from Beverston's villa I made sure you'd gone straight to a boat for France."
"I would have done did I not see a need to see this other business to the close. Officially I'm not here. But then now that I'm a private citizen, it's really no one's business where I go. Dorothée is waiting for me on a yacht off the coast. We sailed down from Scotland. After all, ensu
ring you could safely return to your old life is what brought us to Britain in the first place."
"Don't tell me this was your plan to checkmate Carfax," Malcolm said. "You're a master strategist, but I don't see how you could have foreseen all the turns that got us to this point."
"No." Talleyrand moved to an armchair and lowered himself into it. "My original plan was to use Carfax's actions surrounding the Wanderer to force him to assist you in returning safely to Britain."
"That would have entailed considerable risk to yourself."
Talleyrand shrugged. "I'm out of power, and Carfax was the one giving orders to St. Juste, so he was more at risk. But I was bargaining on his determination to keep the story of the Wanderer secret at all costs. Thank you." Talleyrand accepted a glass of calvados from Archie, who then went to pour whisky for the others. "You'd still have been at risk from the League, though," Talleyrand continued, "as you rightly pointed out in Scotland. Getting Mélanie and O'Roarke pardons was a much neater solution, and entirely Fanny's idea. I merely encouraged her when I called this afternoon and she told me her plan."
Mélanie looked at Malcolm. "Darling. We can go home."
"The League are still a threat," Malcolm said.
"But they can't use the truth of Mélanie's past against her." Raoul took a drink of the whisky Archie had given him. "Even should the truth come out, she's protected."
"So are you," Frances said. "For your past actions. Not for anything you may do going forwards. Though I don't expect that will deter you."
"I'm not working against Britain at present," Raoul said. "Contrary to what some think, it's never been my aim to foment a revolution here. Britain actually offers more intriguing ways to work for change."
Talleyrand settled back in his chair and sipped his calvados. "Carfax can't blackmail you over Mélanie's past or O'Roarke's. The League can't."
"And now that you've been issued the pardons, Carfax and Castlereagh have their own incentive to keep the secret," Archie said.
