by Shana Galen
Lady Ravensgate’s chin jerked. So she’d known. Why had she kept the information to herself?
“If he did hope to glean information by coming here, he gathered none today,” Collette said tightly. “I managed to keep him from perusing the desk. From now on, I shall make certain to take all of my correspondence to my bedchamber.”
“That is very wise of you, my dear, but not necessary.” Collette had not been allowed paper or pen in her private chamber, and Lady Ravensgate did not seem inclined to make any exceptions. “In the meantime, we shall keep our eye on Mr. Beaumont. If we are fortunate, we will not see him again.”
“On the contrary, I hope very much we do see him again. He could prove useful.”
“Only if you do not allow him to seduce every last secret out of you,” Lady Ravensgate bit out.
Ah, so that was why the lady had not mentioned Beaumont’s connection to Draven. She worried Collette would succumb to his charms. “He will not seduce me.”
Lady Ravensgate snorted. “We shall see.”
Collette looked down at the hand Beaumont had held. It still tingled from his touch. What had he meant when he said he would remedy the situation with Montjoy? And why could she not stop imagining what it would be like to dance with him?
* * *
A family dinner at the Earl of Haddington’s town house was no small, intimate affair. Rafe had stepped into the fray little more than a quarter hour ago and his coat was already sticky from little fingers and his ears ringing from children’s shrieks. Hell’s teeth but his siblings were a fertile lot.
The monthly dinners were a staple from March until late fall, when the earl and countess retired to the country for several months. The earl’s property was not large and he did not have many tenants to oversee. The land was quite rich in minerals, and the income from those provided Haddington with a comfortable lifestyle and the ability to ensure his children were also well taken care of.
Tonight, six of the eight children attended the dinner. John, Viscount Beaumont and the earl’s heir, always attended. His wife and their five children were also present. George, Rafe’s second eldest brother, and his wife and brood were also present. They only had three children, but his wife looked to be expecting again, although a formal announcement had not been made. Rafe’s two other brothers were in the navy and presumably away at sea. But his three sisters more than made up for Harold’s and Cyril’s absences. Rosamund, Helen, and Mary had ten children between them. Mary was the closest in age to Rafe, only three years his senior, and her children were the youngest and loudest. Rafe could also admit—if only to himself—that three-year-old James and eighteen-month-old Sophia were adorable. Sophia had the prettiest dimpled smile, which she bestowed quite liberally. James had the same violet eyes as his uncle, and he babbled about horses nonstop. Rafe hardly even minded when the lad smeared an unidentified substance on his lapel.
“Admit it,” his stepmother said as she made the rounds in the drawing room, while the brood waited to be called to dinner.
“Admit what, madam?” he asked, still nodding to James who prattled on.
“You love children.”
“I do,” he agreed. “I love to send them home with their parents, preferably far, far away.”
She thumped him lightly on the head, an action that caused Sophia to giggle.
“Ouch!” she scolded. “No, no, no!”
“That’s right,” Lady Haddington said. “No hitting. Ouch!”
“And what was that for?” Rafe asked.
“Because I don’t believe a word you say, dear boy. I think, deep down, you want children of your own.” She scooped up her youngest grandchild and kissed her cheeks, making the little girl shriek with laughter. Rafe winced.
“Yes, why wouldn’t I want to surround myself with squealing children rather than beautiful actresses or a talented opera singer?”
His mother sighed. “One day, you will have to settle down and marry.”
Rafe looked shocked. “Why?” He gestured to the overflowing drawing room. “Surely the family line is secure without my assistance. Presumably that is why there was no objection when I joined the army to fight against Napoleon. You could afford to lose a son or two with the heir and spare safely at home.”
“We would never wish to lose you, dear boy,” his stepmother said. “Then we would have no one to read about in the gossip section of the papers.”
“Speaking of which,” his sister Mary said, leaning over to intrude in their conversation. “I read you are smitten with a young Frenchwoman in Town.”
Rafe wished that if his sister was determined to stick her nose into his business—something she had been doing since he was born—that she would at least keep the information to herself. Either that or blackmail him with it as she had when they were children. “Well, you know the papers are full of lies,” Rafe said easily. “I smitten with a Frenchwoman? What rubbish.”
“Is it?” his stepmother asked. “Whatever gave the papers that idea, Mary?”
“Apparently, Rafe begged an introduction to the lady at a salon a few days ago.”
His stepmother’s brows rose.
“And then he called on her at home.”
His stepmother’s brows reached new heights.
“With flowers!”
“Aha!” Rafe pointed at Mary. “Lies, I tell you. There were no flowers. None.”
“But you called on her,” Mary accused. “Why would you do that if you were not interested in her? Romantically interested.”
Rosamund and Helen, always with an ear tuned for gossip, moved closer.
“What is this?” Helen asked. “Rafe is in love?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Rafe said, standing and depositing his nephew in Mary’s lap.
“Then why did you call on her?” Mary asked.
Helen, Rosamund, Mary, and even John peered at him, waiting for an answer.
“Because…” But what was he to say? He couldn’t exactly admit he was gathering intelligence on her for the Foreign Office. Even if that revelation would not endanger his mission, his family would never believe it. He hadn’t told them his role in Draven’s troop. How did one tell one’s parents the other men called him the Seducer because he charmed wives and daughters out of information? How did one tell one’s brothers that he rarely even saw battle and did not even need to carry a weapon? While his friends fought for their lives, Rafe fought to divest a lady of her corset. Of course, his role was necessary. The intelligence he’d gathered had saved all of their lives time and time again. But it always annoyed him that he usually had to sit out the dangerous aspects of the missions.
And while Rafe hadn’t lied to his family, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the truth. And he’d substantially embellished the few stories he had where he had been involved in actual fighting.
“Because?” Mary prompted.
Rafe gritted his teeth. “Because…I thought we had a prior acquaintance. I thought we had met when I was in France.”
“I thought you were too busy thrashing the French to meet gentlewomen and form acquaintances,” John said, arching a brow. Rafe wanted to hit his eldest brother. As the heir, John had grown up with a smug sense of entitlement and a hearty dose of arrogance.
Rafe gave his brother a serene smile. “I don’t expect you to know this, as you have never defended the country, but we did occasionally encounter men and women sympathetic to our cause. Kind families who offered us shelter or a meal.” This was true enough.
“Thank God for their generous hearts,” his stepmother said.
The door to the drawing room opened, and Rafe had never been so relieved to see his father’s butler. “Dinner is served,” the man announced.
Everyone began to gather up children and spouses. Lady Haddington spoke quietly to Rafe. “Will you call on Miss Fournay aga
in, dear boy?”
“I might,” he said cautiously.
“Good. If you do, make sure to bring flowers.” And she thumped him lightly on the head again. “You should know better,” she muttered as she walked away, taking her husband’s arm and leading the family into the dining room.
Four
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Collette asked Lady Ravensgate for what must have been the third time that evening. They were in the lady’s carriage on their way to Lord Montjoy’s ball. An invitation had arrived just the day before, much to Lady Ravensgate’s surprise and pleasure.
She’d fluttered it in front of Collette. “This is Mr. Beaumont’s doing, I presume.”
Collette had agreed, but she had not agreed they should accept the invitation. There was a dinner party that same evening, and Collette had it on good authority Draven would be there. But Lady Ravensgate had wanted to attend this more prestigious affair. She’d ignored Collette’s objections, just as she did now in the carriage, and accepted the invitation to the ball.
“It is an excellent idea. I have been discussing Mr. Beaumont with some of my most particular friends.” By the phrase most particular friends, she meant the others she knew who gathered information for France and the restored king. During their exile, the Bourbons had spent quite some time in England, and Lady Ravensgate had become well acquainted with the daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. To Collette’s knowledge, her sponsor maintained a faithful correspondence with Marie-Thérèse, who was married to her cousin, the heir to the French throne, the duc d’Angoulême.
“And what do your particular friends have to say about Mr. Beaumont?” Collette attempted to keep the resentment from her voice when she mentioned the royalists. She had never had a reason to hate the Bourbons or the monarchy before they were overthrown. She had disliked Napoleon immensely because he had forced her father to do unspeakable acts. But now that the royalists held her father captive, she despised them as well. And though she made every effort to hide her feelings, she loathed Lady Ravensgate for her association with them.
“No one is entirely certain what his role under Lieutenant Colonel Draven might have been. But there is no doubt he was part of the troop and that the troop was assigned the most dangerous, most impossible missions of the war. Only twelve of the original thirty men came back, and that in itself was a miracle. The Survivors are considered heroes. Mr. Beaumont is not to be underestimated.”
What a font of information Lady Ravensgate had become. “You think his association with Lieutenant Colonel Draven might be useful?”
“It is possible. And that, my dear, is exactly the kind of connection you need in order to help your father. Poor man. Have you heard from him lately?”
Lady Ravensgate certainly knew the answer to that question. Collette received no letters. All were addressed to Lady Ravensgate, who passed the correspondence to Collette after she read it herself. “No,” Collette answered.
“I am certain you will hear from him soon.” She patted Collette’s hand. Collette stiffly drew her hand away. She detested her sponsor’s pretense that she cared a whit about Pierre Fortier’s life. For her, this was a game to entertain herself, a wealthy widow whose children had grown and no longer needed her. Collette did not know if Lady Ravensgate bore her father any ill will—after all, he had killed many nobles—but neither did she believe Lady Ravensgate wished her father well. To her, and to those who held him captive, Fortier was simply a means to an end.
“In the meantime, you should enjoy yourself tonight.” Lady Ravensgate sounded bright and cheery, as though Collette could possibly wish to attend a ball when her father was suffering across the Channel. “And do not forget to save the supper dance for Mr. Beaumont. If he follows protocol and sits with you at dinner, you may be able to discover what he knows about the Foreign Office. Men do so love to brag about their perceived importance.”
“And what if he is working for the Foreign Office, and he is gathering information on me?”
“Then you smile and dance and flirt and give the man nothing. On this point, you must be vigilant.”
Collette nodded. Lady Ravensgate suddenly seemed far more confident in Collette’s ability to rebuff Beaumont’s advances. She was naturally somewhat reserved, even shy. She had never enjoyed these sorts of social affairs, and she was not very good at talking with people she did not know well. She had not needed to be very skilled until now because she had mainly been listening to other people talk and drawing out information. But if this ball was anything like the last she’d attended, it would be full of important people. It would be more difficult to listen in on conversations with the orchestra playing and men asking her to dance.
Or not asking her to dance.
As a wallflower, she might overhear interesting information, but she would probably hear more if she were able to move about freely and question men with ties to the Foreign Office. Once the dancing began, that would be difficult. As a young, unmarried woman, she was expected to be dancing or waiting to be asked to dance.
Finally, the carriage arrived at Montjoy’s town house. It had taken far longer than Collette had expected, but then she had not anticipated so many carriages all traveling to the same place. When the stifling air in the carriage gave way to fresh air, Collette was loath to follow Lady Ravensgate into the town house and the crush of guests.
But she kept her thoughts on her father and did as she was expected.
The town house was as lovely on the inside as the outer facade promised. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and expensive furnishings were everywhere she looked. Collette had known wealthy families in France, mostly the inner circle of Napoleon. Those men and women had money and power but not nearly as much taste. And it was generally new wealth. What antiques they possessed had been stolen from the ousted ancien régime. But Collette had been a baby during the revolution and had never seen the homes of the French nobility. She wondered if those homes had been as rich and opulent as Lord Montjoy’s. If so, she could hardly blame the starving French people for revolting.
Once she and Lady Ravensgate were inside, Collette stayed close to her sponsor, smiling at the men and women she spoke to and listening—always listening—for any information that might be useful in securing the codes and thus her father’s release. And as much as she wanted to forget him, she could not keep from looking over her shoulder or around the room in search of Lord Beaumont. But as the hours dragged on and still she did not see him, she began to worry that he would not attend.
Lady Ravensgate seemed to share her fears. “I do hope Mr. Beaumont will arrive in time for the supper dance.”
Collette smiled and tried to appear unconcerned. But inside she was torn. On the one hand, she would be glad not to battle her attraction to him tonight, especially in the close physical quarters a dance would mandate. On the other hand, if he gave her some piece of information that might help her father, then she could not afford to miss an opportunity to spend time with him.
As the evening progressed, Collette accepted several invitations to dance from various men. They were all quite polite, but they were not men who might give her the information she needed. Nor did she particularly enjoy dancing with them. She found the conversations difficult and awkward, and blushed continually. And then as the supper dance approached, men attempted to engage her for that dance. Collette had to decline, saying she had already reserved it. When pressed, she had to admit Mr. Beaumont had asked her to dance. She could not have anticipated the excitement that information caused. It seemed the news had spread through the ballroom in mere moments.
“Why is everyone looking at me?” Collette asked Lady Ravensgate as she sipped champagne after a dance.
“Oh, do not be silly!” Lady Ravensgate said, waving a hand. “No one is looking at you.”
Collette inclined her head toward a group of ladies staring at her just a few fe
et away. “They are.” She pointed to a mixed group—the ladies glaring and the men peering at her with interest. “And they are.”
“I am certain you are imagining it,” Lady Ravensgate said.
“Could it have something to do with my dance with Mr. Beaumont?”
“I very much doubt anyone at the ball is interested in that.”
“Lady Ravensgate!” A woman with dark hair and pretty blue eyes approached them. She wore a green silk gown with emeralds at her throat and ears.
“Why, Lady Birtwistle. How are you?”
“Very good.” She turned and smiled at Collette. Collette would have sworn she had never met the woman before, but there was something familiar in the way she smiled and in her face. “I came to meet your friend. It seems everyone at the ball is talking about her.”
Collette gave Lady Ravensgate a meaningful look. Lady Ravensgate went on as though the interest in Collette was to be expected.
“Oh, this darling creature is my cousin Collette Fournay. She is from the French side of the family and visiting London for a few weeks. So sweet of her mama to send her. You know I am all alone now, and it has been so pleasant to have company. Collette, this is Lady Birtwistle. She came out with my middle daughter, and the two have always been good friends.”
“Yes, we have. In fact, I plan to go to the country after Eugenie is delivered of her baby.”
Collette raised her brows, not having known that one of Lady Ravensgate’s daughters was expecting a child soon.
“She will appreciate that, I am certain.” Lady Ravensgate made a point of looking about the room. “And where is your dear brother this evening? He rarely misses an opportunity to sip champagne and flirt.”
Lady Birtwistle grinned. “I thought perhaps you might have the answer. After all, I hear he has engaged Miss Fournay for the supper dance.”
Collette’s eyes widened. Lady Birtwistle must have been Mr. Beaumont’s sister. No wonder her smile and her face had looked familiar. Her features were similar to her brother’s, though they were softened in Lady Birtwistle’s face.
