Then she turned to look across the room, and a small expulsion of air left him – he would not dignify it with the appellation of ‘gasp’ – for it was Lady Farnsworth – but transformed.
For the last four years, he had seen her, spoken to her, even danced with her, and she had always been attired in almost drab colours – sometimes, admittedly, due to mourning. But always drab, and, of late, less than well fitted.
Yet here she stood, as if magic had been performed, turning back time. She seemed far younger, only the slight streaking of grey in her hair revealing her age, the rich red silk falling, clinging just enough to demonstrate the shape of the figure beneath it – she was the picture of everything a man might desire in a woman.
Setford sank onto one of the chairs, simply watching, drinking her in, delighted, yet also curious – what had caused this wondrous transformation? He would have to find out – such a puzzle was beyond him to leave alone.
But… how would he ever speak to her, as they had in the past, with the utter distraction of that transformation before him?
Chapter Two
Anna watched the enthusiastic young people dancing, and wondered if, with her new gown and new attitude, she would be asked to dance. She hoped so. She also scanned the room every so often, looking for one man in particular. She was, perhaps, being optimistic to think that he might attend – still given that the Ball was at Hunter’s residence, there was at least some possibility that he would appear.
Lord Setford was not a very social man, by reason of his role in life, she supposed. But that role, of spymaster for the Crown, was exactly why she wished to see him. She had made, over recent months, some disturbing discoveries. She had information which she was quite certain he would wish to receive. If only she could discover an opportunity to speak with him quietly. A Ball like this was the best chance – she simply had to hope that he appeared for the evening.
She turned back to the conversation.
“My dear Anna, that is quite the most beautiful gown I have ever seen you wear!”
Sylvia Stafford, Duchess of Windemere, was one of Anna’s closest friends, and her partner in an extensive charitable endeavour. She was one of the few people who Anna could trust to be utterly honest in her comments. Lord Setford was another.
“Why thank you Sylvia. I decided that it was past time for me to refresh my wardrobe. There was almost nothing left in there which was not either ill-fitting, mourning colours, or both.”
“Well, that gown is most definitely not a mourning colour! And it suits you so well. I am quite sure that half the women here, of any age, are envious.”
Anna laughed, a light sound with a slight self-deprecating edge to it.
“If so, I am most flattered. But I suspect that the young things barely notice, for they would assume anything that might suit an older woman could not possibly suit one of them. And perhaps they are right – I doubt that many of them could carry off a colour like this.”
“True. But you must enjoy it – I am quite certain that you will find many a gentleman willing to dance, and to attempt to entertain you with his conversation.”
Anna gave her friend a sidelong look, emitting a most unladylike little snort of amusement.
“Are you implying, my dear, that there are gentlemen here, beyond our host, your son, and your dear husband, who are capable of witty and entertaining conversation? I fear that you are an optimist, doomed to disappointment.”
“Perhaps I am. Or perhaps you will be proved wrong in your assumption.”
Sylvia’s eyes were wide, and sparkled with amusement. They seemed focused past Anna’s shoulder. Anna turned. Lord Setford stood before her. He bowed to her, most elegantly, immaculate as always, his piercing grey eyes meeting hers with a spark of amusement in them to match that in Sylvia’s.
“Good evening, Lady Farnsworth. I could not help but overhear your last exchange. May I present myself, as, I hope, an example to fulfil Her Grace’s optimism?”
Anna smiled, finding herself caught in those eyes, which seemed somehow to hold a greater warmth than was common for him. Suddenly, the room felt overheated. Still, her rather cynical view of the world reasserted itself.
“Why Lord Setford, I should know better than to speak of anything in the same building as you. Your sharpness of hearing is legendary. Still, perhaps I will permit you the opportunity to prove your ability to entertain.”
He bowed again, an elegant motion, worthy of court, and Anna’s heart beat faster. It was, she told herself, because circumstance was playing so nicely into her need to speak with him. There was nothing more to it.
“At your service, my Lady. Perhaps we might start with a dance – if you are not already spoken for, for every set this evening?”
“You flatter, my Lord. But I will choose to forgive you for it. A dance would be delightful, thank you.”
He offered his arm, and they moved away from the others, towards the area set aside for dancing, just as the orchestra began to play a waltz.
As they walked away, Charlton Edgeworth, Viscount Pendholm, raised his eyebrow at his wife enquiringly. Odette Edgeworth, Lady Pendholm, was Anna’s niece, and might as well have been her daughter, for Anna had raised her from when she was eleven.
Odette gifted him with a considering expression, and simply said, “Perhaps. We will see.”
~~~~~
Cecil had surprised himself. He rarely danced, although, in the last few years, he seemed to have done so a disproportionate amount with this particular woman. Yet he had found the challenge irresistible when he had overheard the Duchess’ words. He fully intended to entertain her, for her wit was sharp, and she was quite capable of subtle conversation.
They moved towards where couples were assembling, as the orchestra began to play a waltz. He was pleased – a waltz made conversation so much easier than the back and forth, in and out pattern of steps of so many of the other dances. Lady Farnsworth danced well, and he found himself enjoying the sensation. Of course, it was just the chance to indulge in such an ordinary social activity, with no ulterior motive, that made his heart beat faster, not the feel of her in his arms, or the sight of her in that spectacular gown.
He discovered, however, that he had become caught by her deep blue eyes, and had failed to start the conversation that he had promised. Those eyes sparkled at him with amusement – she was quite aware of his distraction! In the moment, he felt rather like a green boy again, entranced, and inarticulate.
He shook himself out of it, and spoke.
“My Lady, you look, if I may say so, exceedingly well in that colour. To what do we owe this transformation of wardrobe style?”
She smiled, considering her words carefully, it seemed.
“Why Lord Setford, I do believe that you are still pursuing a course of flattery. But perhaps you hope to please me enough that I might assist you in some way?”
Her expression was guileless, yet he knew that she understood his role, and the sort of things that he had asked of others, over the years. It amused him – most women took flattery as their due, and looked for nothing beyond the words – this woman immediately looked further, considering the purpose of every word spoken. He chose to dissemble, fully expecting her to be completely aware that he did, and to find it entertaining.
“Why my Lady, I am devastated that you could believe me so self-serving! I flatter you simply because you are worthy of admiration – is that such a remarkable thing that you cannot accept it as truth?”
Her soft laugh rewarded his expectations.
“Shall I be brutally blunt? I think I shall. My Lord, for the last many years, I most definitely did not appear in any manner which warranted flattery. But I am glad that you believe I do now. To answer your earlier question – I came to the realisation that I was beyond tired of living in mourning colours. And half my clothes no longer fitted. So I chose dramatic change – why indulge in half measures?”
It was his turn to laugh, delighted by he
r frankness, and her self-awareness.
“I can only applaud your choice, my Lady.”
“Thank you. Lord Setford… even though you disclaim any intent to ask something of me, I can perhaps, actually do something for you. I had hoped to see you this evening, for that very reason.”
He was startled. What was she suggesting? Surely not something of a very… personal… nature? Although, whispered the small voice in his mind, that would not be an unpleasant idea.
“Oh? I am intrigued, my Lady. What is it that you have in mind?”
“Something requiring more time and privacy to discuss than a single waltz can provide. I have information that you will likely find of value, in your… activities….”
He narrowed his eyes, meeting the calm certainty in her expression. Their eyes caught again, and he nodded slowly.
“I see. Indeed, not a conversation for a light-hearted occasion like a Ball. Perhaps, my dear Lady, you would permit me to call upon you tomorrow? A morning visit would be, I think, unexceptionable, not worthy of notice from society?”
“I believe that you have the right of it, Lord Setford. No one will see anything out of the ordinary in a gentleman calling upon a respectable widow, whom he has known for some years.” Her eyes lit with mischief for a moment. “That is, if they even notice your movements at all – you are, my Lord, rather exceptionally talented at going unnoticed.”
She had made him laugh again, and he realised, with some surprise, that he was enjoying himself. He had not, it came to him, actually enjoyed himself in a purely social context for a very long time – he had felt satisfaction in his work for the Crown, in his achievements, but not simple enjoyment in daily life – not, truly, since the year that he had been recruited to serve. The year that had seen him discover love, and give it up for duty. It had been the right choice, for he had, years later, discovered that the woman he had loved had been false. His work had been a good reason never to venture into unconstrained social enjoyment again.
Yet here he was, discovering that pleasure, all because of the woman in his arms. It was as if he saw the world differently, as if she somehow cast a warmer, gentler light on everything, simply by being there. Or had he, he thought cynically, finally grown up – was twenty years long enough to allow one bad experience to distort his view of love? If he had watched any of his operatives behave as he had, he would have told them, years ago, to let it go, and get on with having a full life.
He decided, right then, that it was time to take his own advice, time for change. Far more change than he had already been making.
“I am? But if that is the case, how did you manage to notice that I am generally unnoticed?”
She laughed that lovely laugh again.
“Because I am more observant than most, and because… I have always found you a man worth noticing?”
It was almost coquettish, yet he knew her for a woman who did not dissemble. Warmth filled him.
“Perhaps it is you who flatters now, my Lady. But I thank you for the compliment. I will, most definitely, call upon you tomorrow – will 2 of the afternoon suit?”
“Yes, my Lord, it will.”
They settled into silence, comfortable with each other, appreciating the pleasure of simply dancing, each sure of the other, in a way that neither was ready to admit yet.
~~~~~
That night, Anna lay awake, the evening replaying itself in her mind. She had not, truly, known how much of a success the dress was, until she had seen the look in Lord Setford’s eyes. She had teased him about flattering, yet she knew that he was a man who was honest to a fault, with anyone he cared about in any way. He had meant what he had said. It made her feel all giddy and girlish – no man had looked at her quite that way since the early days of her courtship with her now deceased husband.
Just remembering the evening made her feel flushed, and the thought that she would get to spend time alone with him on the morrow, albeit conversing about rather serious matters, made her feel warm throughout. The morning could not come soon enough. Even if he dismissed the matters she would lay before him, just the opportunity for private converse was to be treasured.
She finally drifted into sleep, dreaming of the warmth she had seen in his piercing grey eyes as they danced.
Chapter Three
By the time that Cecil slipped out of the front door of Bigglesworth’s Books, a parcel under his arm, he had completed three very satisfactory meetings that morning. Things were well in place to defuse the latest group of hotheads set on assassinating the Prince Regent, and, with a little more evidence, they might be brought to justice, not simply prevented from carrying out their plans. He walked the few blocks to where his carriage waited, unassuming and inconspicuous amongst the many vehicles on the streets. The sun was warm on his back, and the day was bright.
The next thing on his itinerary for the day was his call upon Lady Farnsworth. He wondered what it was she wished to tell him. If she thought it important enough to report to him, then he would listen – much of his success as spymaster was due to the vast network of sources from which information reached him. He treated everything as important, however small, for, over time, many small things would connect together, to reveal a far more significant picture.
It had taken him some time in his life to realise that his ability to see and integrate all of those small pieces into something more was not common. It was an ability he had only seen in one other man. Hunter Barrington, the Duke of Melton. He hoped that, in due course, Hunter might succeed him in the role of spymaster to the Crown. He had, however, yet to discuss that concept with Hunter. Eventually, the time would be right to do so.
For now, he consciously chose to relax, leaning back in the seat and watching the streets of London pass by outside his carriage window. The memory of Lady Farnsworth the previous evening came back to him. She had felt good in his arms. She was just a little shorter than he, although her presence always filled a room – she was bright, and unafraid, her sharp wit always more than enough to deal with boorish people. She had, once he held her, felt almost slight, the shapeliness of her figure made obvious by that remarkable dress.
He was eager to see her, full of an almost rash hopefulness. Last night, he had resolved to change, to take back the one part of his life that he had left in abeyance for near twenty years. By the light of the post midday sun, he had come to realise that he had no idea how to do so. So, as he approached everything in life, he would proceed in small steps, and allow the pattern of things to present itself to him. If he trusted himself to go forward, he would find the right path.
The carriage drew up at her door, and he stepped down, the parcel still in hand. As he approached the door, a footman opened it, smiling.
“Good day, Jenks, isn’t it? I am here to see Lady Farnsworth. I believe that she is expecting me.” He proffered his calling card.
The footman looked startled, and Cecil repressed the urge to laugh. In his business, it paid to know the details. He knew the name of every staff member, in every house belonging to any person he valued. Jenks looked down at the card he had been handed.
“Very good, Lord Setford, do come in. I will just show you to the parlour, and let Lady Farnsworth know that you have arrived.”
Cecil stepped in, handed off his hat, and followed the man to a pleasant parlour. The room was furnished in rich burgundy and mahogany shades, lightened by touches of cream. On the walls hung a set of paintings in the chinoiserie style – birds and branches, and flowers – he suspected them to have actually come from China, probably through Raphael Morton’s import business.
He settled onto the couch, placing the parcel beside him, and waited. Stillness came naturally to him. In surroundings such as these, elegant, peaceful, and comfortable, he had no need to move, to fuss, or to do anything but appreciate. Soon, the door opened. He rose, and went forward to bow over her hand.
“Lady Farnsworth. Again, I applaud your transformation. That dress is just as fla
ttering as the one you wore last night.”
It was a delightful day gown, well suited to receiving visitors – fashionable, without being extreme in any way, elegant and well fitted to the shape of her. The rich blue shade echoed that of her eyes, and the whole effect was enhanced by a delicate decoration of sparkling gems in an intricate shape at the hem.
She laughed.
“Again, Lord Setford, you flatter. But I will confess to being vain enough to be pleased that you do. Shall I call for refreshments?”
“Thank you, that would be delightful.”
Lady Farnsworth rang, and in moments a maid appeared.
“Hetty, please bring some tea and… oh…” she turned to Cecil, and smiled, “that should be coffee, shouldn’t it?” At his nod, she turned back to the maid. “Please bring coffee and cakes. And make quite certain that it is the best coffee that this house has ever produced.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey, looking at Cecil curiously, and went.
“You will have to forgive my staff if the coffee does not live up to your exacting standards, my Lord. For I have been told by Charlton, and the others, of your propensity for coffee. They assure me that you can produce perfect coffee, anywhere, in a manner which leads them to suspect you of employing magic.”
He burst into laughter, startled, and somehow pleased that she had bothered to take note of what was said about his habits. Once the laughter subsided, he bowed in acknowledgement.
“Thank you, my Lady. I will do my best to be pleasantly surprised by their best efforts.”
“Let us be seated, my Lord.”
They settled on the couch and, by unspoken consent, simply waited.
As he sat, Cecil, brushed his hand against the parcel he had abandoned on the couch. Really, for a moment he had forgotten its existence – the effect that this woman could have on him was remarkable. He lifted it, and offered it to her.
Attracting the Spymaster: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 15) Page 2
