by Anne Mallory
James had quit the table and headed straight for Stephen’s townhouse. The butler had reported that Stephen had left at noon and had not returned. James then headed to Stephen’s second townhouse, the one currently inhabited by that exasperating girl. The frantic look on her features had inflamed his own alarm.
James examined Stephen’s note. Unlike his usual small, neat script, the handwriting was large and appeared hastily scrawled:
Come to the house. Matter of utmost urgency.
It was common for Stephen to disappear into the night; as one of England’s best spies he was often called to action. But never like this. Not after leaving a note calling to meet. James was worried. The two of them had fought back-to-back day after day as new recruits in the Peninsular Campaign, saved one another on several occasions and developed a sixth sense when something wasn’t quite right with the other. Although the last few years had seen them in separate assignments, the sense had never faltered.
Where did the girl fit into this mess? An image of her with her hands on her hips, staring at him defiantly in naught but her shift flashed in his mind. His body responded and he ruthlessly pushed the image aside.
She had shown up with Stephen right after he returned from his last mission. James knew she had haunted the ton as a lady’s companion, but why? What secrets did she possess? What did she know?
And where in hell was Stephen?
He hadn’t talked to Stephen as much as usual in the past few weeks because of the girl. He was alternately trying to avoid and nettle her and it was hard to do either when Stephen was around. It was a damn inconvenient time to need information from him.
The girl appeared as concerned and agitated as he. She was a hell of an actress if she was directly involved. His instincts told him her distress was real.
James had left Finn with her as much for her protection as to make sure she didn’t escape.
Tomorrow he would have answers.
Chapter 5
Calliope woke at daybreak. Gray light sifted around the drapery panels, casting ghostly patterns on the floor and walls. She pulled the heavy damask fabric aside, and peered across the manicured lawn and into the street. The neighborhood was silent. No birds chirped. The street seemed ominously empty.
Determined to reverse the uneasiness of the gloomy morning and her lingering thoughts from the night before, Calliope donned a bright morning dress and warm shawl. She arranged her wig, applied makeup and finished her toilette.
She headed downstairs to check on her new guard. Finn was in the sitting room to the left of the front door, his posture upright and alert, just as she had left him. Somehow Calliope wasn’t surprised.
"Good morning, Mr. Finn. Must have been tiring to maintain that position all night."
"Good morning, miss. You’re up rather early. "
"I don’t require much sleep and rather enjoy puttering around in the morning. You look like you could use something with a bit of a warm bite." Calliope nodded to him and left to fix breakfast. The servants had trickled in throughout the late evening and early morning hours, but they had taken her offer to sleep late.
Calliope rubbed her cold hands together. Baking was a treat for her, one she hadn’t been able to indulge in since moving into Stephen’s townhouse. The servants were suspicious enough without her usurping their duties.
She made her selections easily from the well-stocked larder. She laid a fire in the oven, brightening the room, but as she worked with the dough, an uncomfortable silence permeated the kitchen. Every sound echoed and was magnified.
Calliope forced a whistle, but it was nothing like the melodic tunes that came readily when the sun was shining and the air a cheery temperature.
She wished she had invited Finn to join her. She finished quickly. Relieved to vacate the empty kitchen, she carried a tray of warm scones, jam and hot tea into the sitting room. Finn helped himself. His greedy consumption left little doubt her fare was satisfactory.
"What is your position in the Marquess of Angelford’s household, Mr. Finn?"
Finn popped another piece of scone in his mouth and washed it down with some tea. He was stalling.
"Just the odd job here and there, ma’am."
"What type of odd job?"
"Oh, this and that." He started in on a third scone.
"Your explanation is somewhat vague."
Finn winked. The gesture was odd and softened his scarred and forbidding face. "So are my duties."
The back door opened to the sound of thumping feet and soft voices. Finn set down his cup, rose and stood behind one of Stephen’s large plants near the door. There was a rap on the panel.
"Yes?" Calliope asked.
The door slowly opened and Grimmond appeared.
"The staff have returned to their posts, miss. I trust everything went well in our absence? Cook noticed someone had warmed the ovens, and may I say the smell is divine." His gaze encompassed the tray on the table. "Would you care for anything more?"
"Everything is fine, Grimmond, much as I said it would be."
"Very well, miss. I will be in the front parlor should you need me. I will have one of the maids come in a bit later to clear the dishes."
He had seen the two plates but hadn’t flickered as much as an eyelash in response. Stephen had confessed their ruse to Grimmond and she was suddenly glad. "Thank you, Grimmond."
He retreated, closing the door behind him.
Finn emerged from behind the door and snatched the last scone. "I will leave as soon as I have a last look around the property, miss."
He patted her on the shoulder before exiting the room. It was an unexpected but reassuring gesture.
The bustle of the servants sounded through the house and Calliope walked to the library, her sanctuary. Soft, luxurious sofas were placed on either side of the fireplace and small tables and comfortable upholstered chairs in deep crimson and green velvet were drawn into the room to accommodate conversation circles. Stephen’s multitude of plants enhanced the ambience.
A ray of sunshine peeked through the diamond-paned windows. The street had begun to fill with vendors and early strollers. Soft rays stroked Calliope’s cheek as she pressed it against the cool glass. The world once again seemed normal.
Calliope shook her head, feeling foolish about her frightened thoughts from the previous night.
Grimmond appeared in the open doorway. "A card for you, miss."
Calliope accepted the card. "Grimmond, were things well at the other townhouse? Did you speak with Stephen?"
"The house was not up to its usual standard, but the staff has promised to do better. I was unable to speak with Mr. Chalmers."
"He was in residence?"
"Not while I was present. However, he had been there earlier in the day. "
Calliope nodded and Grimmond shut the door. She opened the note.
Calliope,
I apologize for missing you last night. I will make it up to you this eve.
Stephen
The words were written in a careless script. He must have been in a hurry.
She didn’t know what had occupied him last night, but at the masquerade tonight they would share a good laugh at her misgivings. She smiled softly yet couldn’t shrug the lingering unease.
Calliope had been looking forward to the masquerade. The affair was bound to provide countless opportunities for her pen to fly.
Stephen had suggested they attend separately, and in the spirit of the event attempt to discern each other’s identity.
Perhaps she would even see Angelford. An image of him pulling her into his arms popped into her head. Her skin tingled. Calliope shook her head to clear the thought and sternly reminded herself that she didn’t even like the man.
James was ushered into Holt’s townhouse as Mr. Ronald Ternberry was exiting.
"Good morning, Angelford," Ternberry said, "I wasn’t aware you had scheduled an appointment with Lord Holt today."
"I wasn’t under the i
mpression I was required to go through you to visit. "
James stepped past Holt’s banal secretary, not waiting for a response. Ternberry had an exaggerated notion of his own importance and probably assumed James would consult him next time.
Holt was seated at his desk and rose when James entered his study. The older man didn’t appear surprised to see James, although his words belied it.
"Angelford, didn’t expect to see you here until our meeting next week."
"Thought I’d stop by to see how the debriefing went yesterday."
"Nothing out of the ordinary. Chalmers said he filled you in on the details this past week."
"Yes, we discussed it the other night, although I would like to have been present at the meeting."
Holt stroked his chin and sat. "I figured as much, but needed you to look into the trouble we are having in the north with the smugglers. Ternberry will send you the notes from Chalmers’s debrief."
"Have you put Stephen onto something new?"
Holt nodded. "Chalmers is doing some extended work and Roth is nosing into another matter for me. Otherwise, we’re in a bit of a lull."
Lull? If there were ever a lull, Holt would probably shoot himself like Castlereagh had. The man thrived on intrigue and titanic schemes, and where there were none, he created them.
"Stephen didn’t mention he was leaving again so soon," James said.
"He wasn’t supposed to." Holt smiled.
Holt had been in charge of the unit for fifteen years and was a tight-lipped soul. James was the same way, but found it an annoying trait in others. He didn’t expect Holt to elaborate, although if he pushed, Holt would probably relent. But something still didn’t feel right. The hesitation held him back from mentioning Stephen’s note or pushing the matter.
"Well, then, good day. I will see you next week."
Holt nodded, returning his attention to the papers on his desk as James let himself out.
"How invigorating. I swear the new play has made me a hermit. It’s time I had a little fun."
Calliope smiled. Deirdre had been chattering for the past hour.
"I’m glad you are going, Dee. Someday I will l get you to quit the stage and collaborate with me."
"La, if it means being squired about by men who look and act like Stephen, count me in."
Calliope chuckled as she slid the final pin into the mass of raven hair piled on top of Deirdre’s head.
Stephen had procured an invitation for Deirdre to attend the masquerade as well. Only Robert would be missing from their foursome. Regrettably, he had accepted an invitation to the country for two days of hunting.
It was a shame Robert would not be present. A masquerade made it easy to conceal one’s identity, and the four of them would have been able to converse and gallivant quite freely with no one the wiser.
"Mother met Father at a masquerade, you know. It was love at first sight. Or first masked sight, at least. " Dee laughed. "He swept her out of there before any of the young bucks claimed her. It was quite a daring feat too." Deirdre’s voice rose excitedly as the tale progressed. "Why, he . . ."
Her voice became a pleasant hum in Calliope’s head. Calliope didn’t need to listen to recite the story back in detail. She had heard it many times. In an acting family, storytelling was a beloved pastime. The more theatrical the yarn, the better.
Calliope’s own adventure at the Killroys’ ball had proven a hit with the family. The story was deemed a "classic" directly after its first telling. She had been asked to retell it more than once in the last few weeks. The seal of approval, which was given when someone else in the family retold a story, had come just last week when the youngest Daly boy decided to embellish the tale.
". . . and then she slapped him for taking liberties. Ah, but she was really hoping he would take them again. And so he . . ." Deirdre blithely continued.
Calliope arranged Deirdre’s mask and perched a jaunty feather in her upswept hair. She glanced critically in the mirror, trying to see if she had missed anything. Deirdre was gowned in green and gold, a devastating combination with her dark hair, dark eyes and fair skin. She looked gorgeous. Calliope couldn’t wait for the reaction.
Her own outfit consisted of a smartly cut black and red costume with a domino. Deirdre and she had dressed differently, but with the goal to attract attention together. She was confident they would succeed.
Deirdre heaved a dramatic sigh. Always the performer, she placed a hand upon her chest. ". . . And then they were married. Such a splendid ending to a wonderful tale."
"Marriage is always a nice way to end such tales."
Deirdre tried to hide her face in a powder puff, but Calliope saw the abashed look spread on her face and was immediately contrite. It wasn’t Deirdre’s fault that Calliope’s parents had never married.
She put her arm around Dee. "That was peckish. And it’s not a night for peckishness. Let’s go set the gentlemen on their ears."
Dee responded with a quick squeeze as they gathered their props and headed downstairs.
"Have a good night, miss. Miss." Grimmond nodded to both of them as they were bustled into the small coach Stephen had provided for when he was unavailable.
Deirdre revived her earlier gaiety and chattered excitedly as the coach swayed over the cobblestones. Her mood was contagious and Calliope felt a curl of anticipation.
They arrived to a flourish of color and noise, waiting excitedly for each carriage to unload its passengers and move on. In turn, they breezed up to the door, handing their invitations to the door attendants, who ushered them into a brightly lit foyer. Tonight there were no grand announcements enumerating the names of the guests. Identities were to remain secret until the moment of revelation much later in the evening. Calliope and Deirdre were encompassed in the din.
They descended the staircase slowly and absorbed the raucous scene. The room was warm and smelled faintly of wine and perfume. Revelers in every shape and size littered the floor. A small group of brightly plumed ladies paraded at the bottom of the steps to the left. A cluster of gaily attired gentlemen leered at them on the right. Couples danced in the center and their bright kaleidoscopes of hues were dazzling as they twirled in rhythmic circles. Across the ballroom, near the patio, huddles of people conversed and drank refreshments while groups of men fondled ladies who were indiscreetly flaunting their wares.
Since tonight’s masquerade was being hosted by a group of gentlemen, Calliope thought it should prove to be a lively night. She knew many of the demimonde and some of the more notorious women of the ton were supposed to attend. If the current display was any indication of later events, her pen would fill countless sheets and have a mind of its own in the morning.
Off to the side, James perused the masked guests passively. A few frolickers had discarded their masks, abandoning pretense for drinking and carousing. Others continued their flirtations in disguise. At one time he had loved these debaucheries, but tonight he was on a mission.
The woman in black and red caught his attention. She and another lady in green and gold were chatting with three gentlemen. The pair was striking. They appeared to be good friends and shared glances passed between them.
It was Miss Stafford. He would know her anywhere. She wore a classic gown with a lowered waistline. It was a style she preferred. Evocative without baring anything. The mere hint of her skin was more enticing and provocative than the frilly gowns the women wore that barely kept their assets concealed. If he concentrated, perhaps he could smell her perfume from here.
The other lady took to the dance floor, leaving Miss Stafford with the remaining two admirers. There was still no word from Stephen. Where in the devil was he?
One of the admirers appeared to be getting a bit too free with his hands and James frowned. He found himself walking toward the trio. "Dear lady, would you honor me with this dance?"
She paused and studied him for a moment before acquiescing. He twirled her onto the dance floor. She fit perfec
tly in his arms, soft yet strong. In all the times he had seen her at routs, he had never seen her dance. But as he reflected back, no one at those starchy ballrooms would have invited the dowdy Miss Stafford, lady’s companion with a cane, to dance.
Her light perfume wrapped around him and squeezed. The thought of anything of hers wrapped around him made his heart beat faster. She relaxed as he pulled her to him and made a circuit about the room.
Calliope was breathless. Angelford twirled her about, and she let herself melt into the movements. She had spotted him across the room earlier, instinctively knowing he would seek her out. The lights in the room became a blur as everything but Angelford receded from view.
