The Trouble with Love (The Mason Siblings Series Book 2)

by Cheri Champagne

  “You’re not sorry,” Charles grumbled.

  Jones let out a barked laugh. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  Charles lifted himself to a seated position, ensuring his blanket still covered his nakedness below the waist. His gaze flicked to the fire in the hearth. It was still blazing high; it must still be early in the night.

  “What are you doing here, Jones? Has something happened?”

  The mirth fled Jones’ expression, as he glanced down at his clasped hands, then back at Charles. “As a matter of fact, yes. It’s that bastard that stole into your study. Billy.”

  Charles’ brow drew together in a frown. “What about him?”

  “He’s dead.”

  Chapter 3

  Charles rubbed a hand over his face and stifled a yawn as the hack rumbled over the cobblestoned streets of London. He dearly wished that he could remain sleeping in his comfortable bed, but he was ever doomed to disappointment.

  Unable to handle the silence any longer, and desirous to understand the situation, Charles spoke. “Tell me, Jones, what the devil happened?”

  His comrade’s thin lips flattened into a grim line. “Thomson and Stevens sent for me to assist them in another round of questioning with Billy. I departed immediately and rode directly for the Home Office, as Billy had not yet been brought to gaol. Upon my arrival, the three of us entered together to see Billy sprawled on the floor. I do not know if they have yet determined the cause of death, as I was immediately sent to retrieve you.”

  Charles sighed. So Billy had still been at the Home Office. “Thank you.”

  Billy’s death certainly complicated matters. During Charles’ discussion with his fellow intelligence agents early in the evening, he had enlightened them of the threats made to Bridget. He, of course, did not tell them of his feelings for the woman; they did not need to know the intimate details of his heart.

  He must speak with Bridget’s brother, Lane. He deserved to be made privy to the recent development. This posed a danger to not only Bridget, but the entire household, Lane’s wife—Charles’ sister—Annabel, included.

  “You don’t suppose someone was trying to prevent him from revealing something, do you?” Jones brushed aside a lock of his collar-length dark hair, then tugged on the black sleeve of his pristine livery.

  “That is precisely what I believe,” Charles growled. “We were not successful in our first attempt to question Billy; he was frustratingly tight-lipped.” He ran a hand through his hair. “The information we had attempted to glean was of great importance. Clearly there was someone with an invested interest in Billy’s ability to keep a secret. Someone who knew where he was being kept and had access to him.”

  Jones sat straighter in his seat across from Charles, alarm tightening his sharp features. “You think someone within the Home Office is working for the French?”

  “What other scenario do you find plausible?”

  Jones sighed, shaking his head, dislodging another lock of hair. “Do you suppose this mole is connected to The Boss?”

  Charles pursed his lips. “I have no reason to believe otherwise. The Boss knows my identity, where I live, and where my heart lies. How else would they garner such information if not for their connection to a traitor at the Home Office?”

  “What should we do? How do we know who we can trust?”

  “It is simple,” Charles grinned, a plan forming in his mind. “We set a trap.”

  * * *

  Charles covered a yawn with the back of his hand as he strode through the Home Office’s foyer. The muffled thuds of his and Jones’ boot heels on the cream and gold brocade rug were scarcely audible over the loud muttering of the front secretary, Banes.

  “…this ungodly hour. And naturally, I do—Oh.” The thin man pushed his spectacles up his nose, his gaze assessing, as he stepped sideways, blocking their path and forcing them to halt. “What might I do for you?”

  Charles bit back a curse. “I’m in no mood for this now, Banes. You know very well why we have come.”

  The small man clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid his lordship is at home this even—”

  “The body,” Jones interjected. “We’re here to see the body.”

  Banes’ back stiffened, his gaze scathing. “There are enough of you in holding at the moment. The others can handle this.”

  “Damn it, man!” Jones stepped forward with threatening intent, but Charles put a hand to his friend’s chest.

  “Stand down,” Charles murmured, banking his own irritation.

  Banes sniffed in derision, the tips of his ears growing pink. “You and your malefactor fellows do not intimidate me with your tactics of excessive violence.”

  “Please step aside, Banes,” Charles urged. “We are all tired and tensions are running high. The quicker we can conduct our investigation, the sooner you can return home and sleep.”

  The young man deflated, stepping aside. “Very well.”

  Charles and Jones moved to step past, but Banes pointed his finger at them, his bluster abruptly returning. “The Prime Minister, Liverpool, expects reports from both you and Gilley in the morning. We’ve had enough incidents to call undue attention to the Secret Service; any more could be detrimental.”

  Relieved, Jones and Charles mumbled, “Understood,” and continued past the foyer’s desks, Banes’ muttering about idiot spies giving him the headache following them down the hall.

  “Do you truly think the plan will work?” Jones asked in an undertone as they stepped out of hearing.

  Charles inclined his head. “I do.”

  They passed the hall leading to the offices for petitions and addresses sent to the king, then the one for Royal grants, warrants, and commissions. Their footfalls were muted by the wide hall’s runner as they made their way to the back of the building.

  Jones broke their brief silence. “I can’t help but wonder—”

  “Who asked you to wonder?” Charles cut over him.

  “—if this is a wise decision, your lying to and spying on Lady Bridget.”

  Charles halted, turning to face Jones with narrowed eyes. “It is none of your damned business.”

  Jones raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his expressive brown eyes dimmed with concern. “All I’m saying is that you’ve tried the lying and spying before, and it’s obviously failed.”

  Charles’ gut sank at his friend’s words. “What right have you to tell me—”

  “I am your friend, Charles. We’ve seen each other nearly every damned day for years; I know the goings-on in your life, just as you do mine. Your plan to distance yourself from loved ones collapsed, and I have no wish to see this one fail as well.”

  Turning his gaze to the hideously floral wallpaper behind his friend, Charles’ lips twisted in thought. He’d spent countless hours considering his options in this venture, and this was the only one that was feasible. “No. This plan will work. Her knowledge of our plot might very well put her life in further danger. I must…” His hands balled into fists at his sides. “I must prove to myself that I can protect her.”

  Jones tilted his head, understanding dawning on his features. With nary a blink, he switched to fluent Spanish. “You did your best with P—”

  “Don’t say his name,” Charles warned, the language easily rolling off his tongue. “Don’t you ever say his name.”

  * * *

  “Did you not sleep well, my lady? Your eyes appear tired,” Helen remarked as she twisted loops into Bridget’s hair.

  Bridget touched a hand to the puffiness beneath her eyes, meeting her maid’s gaze in the looking glass. “I had another nightmare,” she confessed.

  Helen nodded sagely. “Men. Nonsensical and foolish, yet we love them all the same.”

  The low-burning, flickering firelight joined the sunlight from the opened windows, lending Bridget’s bedchamber a bright, warm glow.

  “Have you ever been in love?” Bridget asked.

  Helen lowered her str
iking green gaze to Bridget’s hair. “No, my lady. I’d thought myself in love, once, but the man eloped with another maid.”

  “The scoundrel,” Bridget muttered, outraged on Helen’s behalf.

  “Indeed he was, my lady.” She put a pin in Bridget’s hair, then placed four between her own teeth.

  Helen was a handsome woman. Her dark hair and green eyes stood out against her porcelain skin. She was of average height—no taller than Bridget, herself—and was slight of build. Bridget guessed her to be no older than Emaline at two-and-twenty, but more probably Katherine’s age of one-and-twenty.

  Bridget was so fortunate to have Helen in her life. She did not know what she would have done if the woman hadn’t come into her life two years ago.

  Helen braided a lock of Bridget’s hair and wrapped it beneath the loops.

  “I have some exciting news.” Bridget could scarcely wait to tell someone.

  Helen’s eyes squinted pleasingly, her lips curving upward around the pins. “I love exciting news, my lady,” she said with half her mouth.

  Bridget clasped her hands on her lap. “I have decided to seek a position as a governess.”

  “What a splendid idea!”

  Joy spread through Bridget’s chest. “Do you truly think so?”

  “Of course!” She put another pin in Bridget’s hair. “You are of an age, and certainly qualified. I think you would make a wonderful governess.”

  Bridget spun in her seat and clasped her maid’s hands. “You do not know what that means to me, Helen. Thank you.”

  Helen pulled one of her hands free to cup Bridget’s cheek. “You are most welcome.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  A small frown crossed the woman’s thin, dark brow. “But governesses do not customarily have maids.”

  Bridget gave a little shake of her head. “My brother would never let me go without you. I could put it in the advertisement as a requirement, but I would state that you would be employed by me, not the master of the house.” She gently squeezed Helen’s hand. “Please say yes?”

  The maid tilted her head with a fond smile. “Of course, Lady Bridget. I would follow you anywhere.”

  Anticipation burst through Bridget’s chest and she beamed at Helen.

  “Now,” the maid scolded. “Turn around so I can finish your chignon.”

  Bridget did as she was told, her smile remaining firmly in place.

  * * *

  Bridget entered the breakfast room with newfound buoyancy to her step. She smiled brightly at the footmen standing to the side of the room and filled her plate at the sideboard. This morning’s good mood called for a full plate. She scooped some coddled eggs, a piece of toast, several pieces of ham, and an apple onto her plate, then sat down at her place at the table. She ate in silence for several minutes before her new sister by marriage entered.

  “Good morning, Bridget.” Annabel absently rubbed her protruding belly and eyed the sideboard.

  Bridget quickly squelched a surge of jealousy. She dearly wished for children of her own, but sadly, it would not happen for her.

  Bridget smiled. “Good morning, Anna.”

  Anna filled a plate and sat across the table from Bridget. “I’m famished. It seems that this baby has me in a constant state of hunger. Once the sickness wore off, I have not been able to eat enough!”

  “You are creating another person, Anna,” Bridget’s grin grew. “I would not be surprised that such an amount of work would create a great appetite.”

  Anna’s blue eyes lit up as she smiled in response.

  “You’re positively glowing, Annabel. Pregnancy certainly agrees with you.”

  “Thank you, Bridget.” She eyed Bridget with her assessing gaze. “You look rather well yourself this morning. Has something happened?”

  “In a matter of speaking.” Bridget was positively bursting to tell someone of her new plans for her future. She opened her mouth to explain, but snapped it shut when Lane entered the breakfast room.

  “Good morning, Bridget,” he greeted warmly, before bending to buss Anna on the forehead. “Darling. I trust everyone had a pleasant sleep?”

  Bridget nodded, piling food on her fork.

  Anna winked slyly at Lane. “Yes, as you well know.” She turned her attention back to Bridget. “Your dear sister was about to tell me why she is in such an agreeable mood this morning.”

  Lane chuckled. “My apologies for interrupting, then. Continue on as you were.” He went to the sideboard and gathered his plate of food.

  A nervous tingling wound its way into a tight knot in Bridget’s stomach. Lane would not approve of her decision and she wished there was some way of discussing this matter without the fear of having her hopes dashed.

  She cleared her throat. “Actually, I am glad that you are here, Lane, because you should hear what I have to say as well.”

  He sat down at the head of the table, motioning for the footman to pour him a cup of coffee and watching her with what appeared to be concerned curiosity.

  Bridget forced an anxious smile. “I have decided to become a governess.”

  Anna paused to stare at her in wide-eyed shock, while Lane frowned and opened his mouth, no doubt to protest. Bridget continued before he could speak, “I assure you, I take this decision very seriously. I am educated, I am patient, I adore children, and it will allow me to have a previously undiscovered sense of independence. As I am sure you have surmised, I have no interest in marrying.” And should you ever discover why, I would surely end up with a murder on my conscience, she thought privately. She cleared her throat and continued, “I am past the age that a female normally marries,” she looked at Annabel, “present company excluded, of course.”

  Anna nodded and smiled. “I felt the same way before I married, that was why I had decided to settle on the next suitor that proposed.” She looked fondly at Lane. “Until Lane came to his senses, that is.”

  Bridget squelched the unnecessary and inappropriate pang of envy that burst through her. How Bridget wished that she could have such a bond with someone again.

  She shook herself. “But I have no suitors. I have no interest in marrying anyone,” she lied.

  Lane sat forward in his seat. “What of children? Have you no wish to produce any? And what of love? Surely you would like to fall in love with some fellow, Bridget.”

  Bridget’s heart skipped several beats as her chest tightened with pain. She shook her head to reaffirm her newfound resolve. “I had once thought that I would have love, marriage, and children, but that dream has passed. I am now ready to embrace my future for what it is. I am,” she insisted as Lane gazed at her sceptically. “I shall be content with having passels of nieces and nephews, and I will earn my way in life by being governess to others’ children. I will continue to accept my allowance from you and save my earnings as a governess. One day, I will have saved enough that I can set myself up in a cottage somewhere.”

  Both Anna and Lane eyed her with pity, concern, and what looked like a hint of anger. “Do not look at me like that.” She resisted the urge to squirm under their intense scrutiny. “I assure you I am quite decided on this. I am not to be dissuaded.”

  Lane sighed. “Very well, Bridget. I am not going to interfere with your decision. However, I will not keep my opinions quiet.” He captured her gaze intently, his brown eyes glinting. “I think you’ve gone daft.”

  Bridget’s mouth dropped open, but she quickly caught herself and snapped it shut. “Whyever would you think I am daft?”

  “You are a beautiful young woman with many options in life. You may have had your heart broken once, but by no means does that suggest that you are unworthy of another man’s affections. You are perfectly capable of attracting any gentleman, should you desire to leave the house occasionally. I firmly believe that should you set your sights higher for yourself, you will achieve all that you desire.”

  Bridget felt the sting of tears begin at the backs of her eyes, but she re
fused to give them credence.

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, brother, but I believe that this is the path that I should pursue.”

  She would not trap a hapless man into matrimony. Nor would she become a courtesan or a lonely spinster. Those were the only options that Bridget saw open to her.

  “Pardon me, my lord.” Their family butler, Geoffrey, entered the breakfast room holding out a silver tray. “You have a guest. I have put him in the front parlour.”

  Lane picked the card off the tray, a small frown of confusion on his brow.

  Who would be calling on them at their estate? They rarely, if ever received callers, unless they’d received a formal invitation—much unlike their house in town.

  “Thank you, Geoffrey.” He glanced down at the name on the card and his eyebrows rose. “Charles? What could he want at this hour?”

  Bridget’s heart picked up speed at the name, but she kept her eyes on her plate. Shame on her heart for both its foolish hopefulness and romantic notions.

  Anna blinked at Geoffrey. “Are you positive that he did not wish to see me, but his Lordship?”

  The butler inclined his head. “I am certain, my lady. He specifically requested the company of Lord Devon. He said it was most urgent.”

  “This cannot be good.” Lane stood, tugging on his fine brown coat. “Particularly after last evening’s episode.” He excused himself and left the room.

  Bridget’s curiosity piqued.

  The moment his retreating form was no longer in view, Bridget turned eagerly to Anna. “What did Lane mean when he said ‘last evening’s episode’?”

  “Oh, it was nothing, I am sure.” Anna quickly took a sip of her hot chocolate. “When we arrived, Charles was standing on the front drive with blood splattered over the front of him. He assured us that it was not his own, but the Dowager Countess fainted before we could hear any more of an explanation. Charles had gone in to change while the footmen showed us in to see my Mama and Papa. By the time Charles had returned, the topic had been pushed aside, and we heard nothing more of it.”