by Jane Feather
Aurelia took the chair Greville held for her and surveyed with comical dismay the mountain of food placed before her. Greville flicked an eyebrow in amused comprehension and sat down in front of his own laden platter.
“Now, there’s a dish of buttered cabbage an’ some braised onions, as well as the spuds,” Mary said, gesturing to each dish in turn. “You ’elp yourselves now. We’ve ’ad ours in the kitchen, so there’s no need to save a mouthful. Eat hearty now.” She cast one last glance over the table to satisfy herself that all was in order, then bustled out, sweeping little Bessie before her.
“I couldn’t possibly eat all this,” Aurelia said. “It smells wonderful…oh, and it tastes even better,” she declared, after a forkful.
“Don’t worry, I’ll eat what you can’t,” Greville said, piling potatoes onto his plate and mashing them into the gravy with his fork. “I have a hearty appetite.”
“Well, there’s rather a lot of you to feed,” Aurelia observed, spearing cabbage on her fork.
“Certainly more than there is of you.” His eyes darted at her, lingering for a minute on her bosom.
She felt her cheeks warm. Could he be imagining her naked? What an absurd thought. But her nipples hardened beneath the dark gray gaze and hastily she reached for her wineglass. “So what are some of these things I need to learn?” she asked with an attempt at insouciance.
His white smile flashed, then he seemed to compose his features, turn his mind inward, almost to become someone else. “Yes, it’s time to get to work,” he said rather briskly. “Tomorrow we shall look at some of the methods of communication…fairly basic for the most part, I doubt we’ll need to become too arcane. But you should know about plain code, and we’ll need to develop some simple body signals that will convey information in a crowd.”
Aurelia was fascinated. She leaned forward, her food forgotten. “Do you mean at a party, a social event of some kind? What kind of information?”
“Certainly in a public place. Have you finished…shall I help you out?” He reached for her plate, and impatiently she pushed it across to him.
“I don’t understand why it might be necessary to communicate something secretly to you in public.”
He finished transferring the contents of her plate to his own, then added more potatoes and cabbage before saying, “If, for instance, you’re talking to someone who is of interest, shall we say, I might need to know if he’s getting ready to leave the party, or theater, or wherever. And you may well be in a position to give me that information.”
“Oh, I see.” Aurelia considered this. “So we’ll be operating, if that’s the word, most of the time?”
“All the time.” He leaned across to refill her glass before refilling his own. “Once we begin, my dear Aurelia, you will never not be working.” He looked hard at her. “I have no intention of making this sound easy. It is not. All the time you will be on your guard. All the time you will be listening, absorbing, choosing and discarding snippets of conversation as relevant or not. And you will be looking over your shoulder always.”
Aurelia felt another chill of apprehension, of doubt. Could she do this? Really, could she do this? Frederick had done it…but Frederick had not had a child to worry about. Frederick had gone swanning on his merry way, knowing that she would take care of their child.
Greville continued with his supper, but he was aware almost physically of her thoughts, the doubt that jumped at him across the space separating them. He said nothing. Aurelia had to overcome this herself.
Aurelia waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, she spoke. “I won’t do anything that will put Franny in danger. Can you guarantee that won’t happen?”
He put down his knife and fork. “I can guarantee nothing, Aurelia. But can you guarantee that one day a hackney won’t ride up on the pavement and run you down? Can you guarantee that you won’t fall ill?” He reached a hand across the table and laid it over hers. “My dear, there are no guarantees in this world. I can promise, as I already have done, that I will do everything possible to keep you away from danger. And as far as I can see, the work I’ll require of you won’t bring you anywhere near danger.”
“Except that I’ll be inextricably associated with you,” she pointed out, letting her hand rest beneath his, somehow comforted by the warm but undemanding pressure. “You must be known, somewhere, somehow, in the shadows.”
He nodded. “Unfortunately that’s always a possibility. But I’m fairly confident that Greville Falconer, a colonel in one of His Majesty’s cavalry regiments, is not associated with any of my many aliases. My identity changes with every mission, and no one’s exposed me yet, to my knowledge. But I will promise you this one thing…on my life and my honor. I will protect Franny.”
“Even if something happens to me?”
“It won’t…but, yes, even if anything happens to you, whether it’s connected to our business or not. I will take responsibility for Franny’s welfare.” His smile was somber. “I owe it to Frederick, too.”
The door opened and without fuss he withdrew his hand from hers as Mary and the little girl came in. “Finished?” Mary asked as she surveyed the dishes on the table. “I hope you ate something, m’dear. I know Master Greville, he’ll ’ave the last morsel off your plate if you looks the other way for a minute.”
Mary shook her head reminiscently as she piled the dirty dishes on her tray, handing some to the girl. “Now, there’s a good apple crumble to follow. Tasty winter apples what Tom’s been a-keepin’ in the apple loft, an’ a good pitcher of cream from old Bluebell…best milk cow we got,” she added to Aurelia. “Set you up nicely, it will.”
“Yes, I’m sure…thank you, Mary,” Aurelia responded, wondering how huge the apple crumble would be.
But then Greville would eat what she couldn’t, she remembered. Strange that he didn’t seem to have any fat on him, his powerful frame was all muscle and long limb. And what would he look like in the skin? Dear God, what was happening to her? Where in the name of all that was good had that thought come from?
Greville said nothing further until the apple crumble and a big bowl of rich, yellow cream was set upon the table, then he refilled their wineglasses and said, “Have you ever fired a gun?”
Aurelia, serving the crumble, dropped the serving spoon back into the dish. “A gun? Of course not…why on earth would I?”
He shrugged. “You grew up in the country, it’s not impossible that you learned how to shoot pheasant or starlings or some such.”
“I’m not a farmer’s daughter,” she said a shade tartly, passing him a laden plate. “I wasn’t taught to wring the necks of chickens either.”
“The question wasn’t intended as an insult,” he protested mildly, ladling cream onto his pudding. “I’ve known many women who are adept with a firing piece.”
“In your line of work, maybe,” she said, remembering Frederick’s letter. “Derring-do is not a feature of life in the New Forest. I can sail a boat, though, and ride a horse with more than competence. If that’s of any use.”
“Frederick was a good sailor. Was it a pastime you enjoyed together?”
“As children we all learned, Nell, Stephen, Frederick, Livia, and I, how to sail on the Keyhaven River. Once we were old enough to put up our hair, however, it was pronounced a forbidden pastime for the girls. Most unfair, we thought it.” Her eyes were suddenly unaccountably misty, and she blinked hard. They had been happy times, those long, carefree summer days on the river.
“Well, I doubt you’ll have a use for the talent in our present enterprise,” Greville said, reaching to help himself from the dish of apple crumble.
“But I will have a use for the ability to fire a pistol?”
“I hope not, but it’s a precaution, so we’ll have a few lessons while we’re here.”
That chill of apprehension once again lifted the fine hairs on her nape. She took a sip of her wine and pushed aside her half-eaten pudding.
“I�
��m tired,” she said abruptly, getting to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go up to bed.”
“Of course. It’s been a long day.” He rose politely and went to open the door for her. As she passed him, he laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.
A shiver ran down her spine at the touch. She stopped and looked up at him. His face seemed to waver before her eyes, to lose its sharp, defining contours. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth, that crookedly sensual curve, and when he lowered his head and kissed her mouth, she knew she had been expecting it. His mouth tasted sweet and spicy, as apples and wine mingled on his tongue, and her belly lurched, her blood surged.
Then it was over. He raised his head, let his hand fall from her shoulder as he moved aside, and with a mute nod, she slipped past him through the door.
Greville closed the door on her departure and returned to the table. He took up his wineglass and stood gazing down into the ruby depths of his goblet. He had made love to many women, in the field and out of it, at work and at play. But he had never once lost his objectivity, however seductive the woman. Except of course for Dorothea, but he had been a mere stripling in the throes of calf love in those heady days. And damn it all, Aurelia Farnham reminded him more and more of Dorothea.
He found her as alluring, exciting, and challenging as he had found his long-ago mistress. But since Dorothea, he had found many other women all those things and still maintained an objective distance. There was one cardinal rule in his trade, trust no one. Never let down your guard.
And yet he could feel that guard slipping a little when he was with Aurelia. As if his emotions were in danger of dictating the course rather than his head. He could not allow himself to get too close to her.
He drained the contents of his glass and went to a corner cupboard, where he knew he would find a bottle of apple brandy.
Chapter Nine
AURELIA ENTERED HER BEDCHAMBER and closed the door firmly behind her. She leaned against it, gazing around the welcoming firelit chamber. Someone had turned down the quilt and plumped up the pillows, and she could see the shape of a warming pan beneath the covers. Her nightgown had been removed from the cloakbag and was lying across the end of the bed, her slippers ready and waiting on the floor below.
An overwhelming fatigue washed through her. All she wanted to do was curl up in that warm, deep feather bed and close her eyes on everything. Time enough in the morning when she was rested and refreshed to wonder what that kiss had meant, if indeed it had meant anything. It was probably simply intended to underscore the nature of their mission. The world had to be convinced of a romantic attachment between them, and a little practice seemed entirely in keeping with the reason for this clandestine retreat. That was surely all he intended. Or was that all?
She pushed herself away from the door with an effort and turned to lock it.
• • •
She awoke to a firm tapping on the door and for a moment lay half-awake, disoriented. Then she heard Greville’s voice from the hall outside. “Are you awake, Aurelia? We need to make an early start.”
She groaned and struggled up against the pillows, blinking in the pale light of early morning. The grandfather clock in the corner of the bedchamber said six o’clock.
“Aurelia,” he called again. “Let me know you’re awake.”
“I’m awake,” she muttered, then said louder, “All right, I’m awake.”
“Good. Unlock the door now, Mary wants to see to your fire.” His tone was light, and enviably energetic. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast in half an hour.”
Aurelia lay back against the pillows again, trying to summon up the necessary will to swing her feet to the floor. Finally she did so and padded to the window. A rime of frost clouded the glass, but she unlatched the window nevertheless. It creaked open reluctantly and she shivered in the blast of crisp air. It was a lot colder in the countryside than in the city.
She went to the door and turned the key, opening it a crack. Mary stood outside, patiently waiting. “I tried the door, ma’am, not wanting to wake you when I saw to the fire. It was locked so I was going to leave you to your sleep, but Master Greville said as ’ow you needed to be up and about,” she explained apologetically as she entered the room. “Eh, good ’eavens, ma’am, what’re you doin’?” she exclaimed, scandalized. “You be lettin’ all that good warm air out. Close the window, now.”
Aurelia obeyed, pulling the window shut with another shiver. “Forgive me, Mary. It looked so pretty outside, I didn’t realize how cold it is.” She came over to the fire where Mary was piling kindling on the ashy embers. “It’s almost spring.”
“Not ’ereabouts,” Mary declared, lighting a taper and putting it to the kindling. “Not until April, at least not this year. Uncommon harsh winter we ’ad.” She pushed back on her knees and stood up with a creak and groan. “’Ard on the joints it is, ’n’ all. Right glad I’ll be when the summer’s ’ere.”
“Yes, I’m sure it must be,” Aurelia agreed with quick sympathy.
“An’ you needs t’ be careful, m’dear,” Mary stated. “Master Greville told me as ’ow you’ve not been too chipper.”
“Oh, it was nothing much. Just a touch of fever.”
“Well, you’d best keep in the warm.”
“Yes, yes, I will.” Then, after an instant’s hesitation, Aurelia said, “I understand you knew Sir Greville well as a child, Mary.”
The woman’s gaze softened. “Oh, aye, that I did, m’dear. Poor little mite.”
Aurelia’s attention sharpened. “How so?”
“Oh, he was left on ’is own to make shift as he could.” Mary shook her head. “Roamin’ the estate at all hours, ’angin’ around Bert an’ me whenever we had a moment to spare, while ’is mother…” She stopped, closing her lips firmly. “I’ll not say ill of the dead.”
She went to the door. “There’s tea on the tray an’ I’ll send Bessie up with some hot water. Breakfast in the front parlor. Master Greville likes to break his fast early.”
Absently Aurelia murmured her agreement, her mind occupied with what little insight Mary had given her into the child Greville had been. Neglected, lonely, it appeared. And what was it about his mother that had silenced Mary so suddenly? Interesting questions, but Aurelia was certain she needed to probe slowly and carefully if she was to discover more from Greville himself.
Bessie appeared with hot water and shyly offered her services to help miss dress. Aurelia declined the offer with a smile of thanks. Somehow she didn’t think Bessie would be too adept with a curling iron. Alone, she stripped off her nightgown and sponged herself from head to toe. She dressed in one of the two linen gowns she’d brought with her. The muslin seemed a little flimsy for shooting pistols, or whatever the colonel had in store for her.
She hadn’t known what to pack when she’d received the cryptic summons to Cheapside, but it had occurred to her that since they were going somewhere unknown to anyone in her circle, silks and satins would be surplus to requirement.
She drank her tea as she dressed, wrapped herself warmly in the paisley shawl she’d had the foresight to bring, and went downstairs as the long-case clock in the hall at the foot of the stairs struck six thirty.
Greville was already in the front parlor, where the fire blazed. Weak sunlight showed through the bay window and the candles were still lit. He was standing at the window when she came in and turned immediately, his gaze running down her in one all-encompassing sweep. He offered a small bow. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Good morning.” She came over to him, standing beside him to look out of the window. “A cold one, it seems.”
“Yes. But it will warm up soon enough.”
He was standing so close to her she could feel his body heat, smell the soap on his skin. The memory of that kiss flooded back, the sweet, salt taste, the feel of his mouth on hers. Surely it had meant more than a simple practice run? It had certainly felt like it.
“Here’s b
reakfast then.” Mary’s cheerful voice brought her back to earth. She stepped swiftly away from Greville and went to the table, taking dishes from the woman’s tray and placing them on the table.
“This is a feast, Mary,” she said, hoping that she was not blushing, that she’d given no indication to Greville of that moment of arousing memory.
“Aye, it should do you.” Mary gave a satisfied nod as she surveyed the laden table, then took the empty tray and left.
“So what are we doing today?” Aurelia sat down and reached for the toast.
Greville glanced at the window, where the sun was shining with more strength. “Some outdoor exercise, I think. We might as well take advantage of the good weather, it’s bound to rain one of these days, it always does. We’ll save the indoor lessons for then.”
“What kind of exercise?”
“A little target practice to start, then I want to show you how to recognize if you’re being followed, and some avoidance techniques.”
• • •
It was the strangest day she had ever spent, Aurelia thought in the waning light of late afternoon. She was standing in a narrow country lane, quite alone. Or so she believed. Had she managed to lose Greville in the little village behind her? He’d been following her. Although she hadn’t seen him, she’d felt his presence. But now she couldn’t sense him at all.
A little smile played over her lips. It had been an inspiration to climb into the back of the carter’s wagon tethered outside the village inn. She’d buried herself among sacks of cabbages, and not even the carter, who admittedly was somewhat the worse for his sojourn in the inn’s taproom, had known about his passenger. Once safely through the village and into the lane, she’d slid from the back of the wagon undetected. Fortunately the carter had been dozing on the driver’s seat and the horse had been plodding along slowly, heading for home on his own instincts.
Her goal was to dodge Greville and reach Mistress Masham’s farm alone. The farm was on the outskirts of the next village, easily reached by the lane. But she stood out like a sore thumb on the well-traveled road. She looked around, chewing her lip. A stile gave access between high bramble hedges onto a field. It was a matter of a minute to climb over. If she followed the hedge running parallel with the lane, she would surely find the farm.
