Or so she had believed.
Wrongly.
“It was for your own safety,” Jane said, and there was a pleading note in her voice.
“I’d thought I was your chaperone,” said Gwen belligerently. “Not the other way around.”
“In our ordinary lives, yes. But when it comes to the League, I couldn’t have any of my agents knowing everything. Not even you.”
There was something terribly sad in the way she said those last words. Sad and more than a little bit forlorn.
But that wasn’t the part that caught Gwen’s attention.
“Any of your agents?” Gwen repeated flatly. Her voice rose. “Any of your agents?”
Jane had missed the warning signs. She twisted her hands together in her lap. “It’s safest for everyone if I don’t share too much.”
As if Gwen were just another subagent! Just someone paid to deliver secrets. Gwen’s pride stung, pride and something else.
You love her, said William’s voice in her head.
Shut up, she told it.
It wasn’t about love; it was about justice. It wasn’t because she had known Jane since she was a tiny little girl, chasing butterflies. It was because she had helped Jane out of more tight corners than either of them could remember. She had helped her pick the blasted name of the League, for heaven’s sake.
And Jane called her just another agent?
“Fine,” said Gwen furiously. “Maybe that’s the case with all your other agents, but I’m not just another agent. I’m your chaperone. We founded this League together! Or don’t you remember that?”
“Yes,” said Jane hesitantly, “yes, but that was a very long time ago, before we knew . . .”
“Before we knew what?” Gwen bit out.
“Before we knew the real dangers of what we were doing.” Jane looked seriously at her chaperone, and Gwen was struck by how young she looked, how young and frail. “It’s not a game anymore.”
Gwen was immediately on the defensive. “I never said it was.”
“All this swinging through windows and jumping off balconies—”
“Was necessary!” Just because she enjoyed it didn’t mean it wasn’t useful. “Would we have known about Talleyrand and Fiorila otherwise? No, I thought not.”
“I’m not criticizing your methods.” Jane took a deep breath. “I’m just saying that we need to be doubly careful. Triply careful. I’ve tried to take extra precautions. This affair with Agnes—”
“Isn’t about Agnes at all! Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me? It’s Lizzy Reid and her ill-gotten brother.” Even as she said it, Gwen felt a pang of guilt. Foolish. It was just an expression, ill-gotten. She wasn’t betraying William’s confidence.
Fortunately, Jane didn’t seem to notice. “But it might have been Agnes,” she said earnestly. “It might have been Amy. It might have been any of my family. What happens next time?”
“Fine,” said Gwen shortly. “We’ll be more careful. It would be easier to be careful if you would condescend to tell me what I might need to know!”
This was the point where Jane was meant to make soothing noises. Not apologize, per se; Jane wasn’t the apologizing kind. A terse “all right” would do. Then they could get back to work and everything could be just as it was.
Rising from the settee, Jane picked up the candle. “It’s late,” she said. “We should get some rest.”
No. This wasn’t right. Gwen followed Jane towards the stairs. “What else aren’t you telling me?”
“It’s late,” Jane repeated.
She lifted her trailing hem to start up the stairs, leaving Gwen standing below, bewildered and frightened.
Late? Or too late?
She had been cut off and cut out, without even realizing it was happening.
Who needed Jane, anyway? If Jane didn’t want her, she would form her own league. She could be the Invincible Orchid. She’d always thought that was the better name, but she’d let herself be voted down by Jane and her cousin, the one who’d run off with the Purple Gentian. The Invincible Orchid would rise from the ashes of the Pink Carnation like a floral phoenix.
Even as the thoughts swirled through her mind, she knew them to be an impossibility, nothing more than the phantasms of anger and indignation. Even if she had the skill, she hadn’t the resources. It was the Wooliston fortune, husbanded over generations of innovative sheep breeding, that had funded their work in Paris. One needed money, not just to live, but to pay for those networks of informers who were an agent’s bread and butter.
Gwen had assumed that she had known at least fifty percent of Jane’s shadowy network: the stable boys, the seamstresses, the footmen. Now she wondered if it might not have been an even smaller fraction, if Jane might have kept more of her work from Gwen than she knew. There was no way she could assemble anything similar on her own, even if she were mad enough to try. The Pink Carnation’s league had been two years and thousands of pounds in the making.
She didn’t know where she was to go or what she was to do. The obvious solution was to go home to Shropshire, to the house in which she had been raised, that monument to too much money and too little taste, to her sister-in-law’s carping, to her brother’s thick-throated idiocy.
The thought wasn’t to be borne. She might have slunk home with her tail between her legs once, but not this time. She wasn’t twenty-four anymore, friendless and penniless.
No. She was forty-five, friendless and penniless.
Not entirely friendless. I like you, William had said. I don’t want to lose you. But what did that mean? The man had enough troubles of his own; she could hardly heap her own on top of them. He had two daughters to support and a son who was a French spy gone rogue.
No, she couldn’t turn to him for solace, no matter how tempting it might be.
There was no need to panic. Gwen forced the air back into her lungs. She was overthinking, overreacting. It was late, and she was tired and perhaps not altogether herself. She had overlooked one crucial point. Jane was young, unmarried. She couldn’t go back to France without a chaperone. She needed Gwen for appearances, if nothing else.
Unless, of course, she married.
The thought cut through Gwen like a cold wind. As a married woman, Jane wouldn’t need a chaperone. She could go anywhere she pleased. Gwen thought of those two handsome heads together in the box in the opera, with her parents drowsing nearby.
Madame de la Tour d’Argent, the Comtesse de Brissac, would have immediate entry into the highest and most intimate circles of Bonaparte’s imperial court. She would be above suspicion.
Gwen stared at Jane’s slender figure, so calmly ascending the stairs. While she was off clinging to an exposed beam above Fiorila’s dressing room, while she had been nursing William in Bristol, what exactly had Jane been planning?
An hour ago, she wouldn’t have even considered such a notion. An hour ago, she had been living in a fool’s paradise.
“One last thing.” Gwen’s voice cut like a lash.
Jane stopped, halfway up the stairs. “Yes?”
The words stuck in Gwen’s throat. She didn’t want to know the answer. Or, even worse, receive no answer at all.
In a harsh, flat voice, Gwen said, “I never relayed tonight’s report. You probably know this already too, but Fiorila has a daughter. An illegitimate daughter. Talleyrand is holding the child as assurance for her good behavior.”
The wariness turned to speculation. “So that’s why Fiorila switched—”
Gwen cut her off. “I saw the letter and the picture. A little girl. She is being held somewhere in the French countryside.”
“Do you know where?”
“No, but it would be easy enough to find out.” Easy enough for Jane, with her resources. Hers. Not theirs. Never theirs. Gwen lifted her chin. “Fiorila has never acted against us before. She does this only under coercion.”
“Are you suggesting we rescue the child?”
“We?” Gwen
couldn’t hide the pain in her voice. “There is no we. You’ve made that quite clear. But if I were you, I would see to it.”
Without waiting for Jane’s reply, she turned and walked away, back to the darkened morning room.
“We’ll talk in the morning,” she heard Jane say behind her.
But by the morning, everything had changed.
Gwen woke on the settee in the morning room. She felt as though someone had gone over each of her limbs with a hammer.
She dragged herself painfully into her room, discarding last night’s much-abused dress. It still smelled faintly of smoke. She dredged cold water over her face, trying to wash off the grime of the Hellfire caverns. Her eyes felt sore and crusted, her cheeks sticky with tears she didn’t remember having shed. She must have been crying in her sleep.
She had dreamed herself back twenty years ago, dreamed herself on the doorstep of Tim’s house, that moment when she had tripped and fallen, unable to catch herself, cartwheeling down, down, down . . .
She raked a brush through her tangled hair, welcoming the pain. It made a distraction from everything she didn’t want to think about.
When Gwen came down, Jane was at the table in the dining room, sitting beside a china pot of chocolate, her glossy head bent over a letter.
She looked so normal in her sprigged muslin gown, with her pot of chocolate. It might have been any morning, on either side of the Channel. Gwen moved stiffly forward, not sure how to begin, whether to maintain an aggrieved silence or just go back to things as they were and hope that the world would follow suit.
Jane looked up, her eyes lighting on Gwen. “I’ve sent someone to deal with Fiorila,” she said.
Gwen wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a peace offering.
“And?” she said brusquely.
“If we can get her daughter out, Fiorila will break her ties with Talleyrand and abandon the search for the jewels,” Jane said promptly, and then ruined it by adding contemplatively, “Not that that matters. Now.”
“It matters to Fiorila,” said Gwen tartly. She’d had enough of Jane’s omniscience. She could feel her voice rising with her emotions. “These are not just chess pawns; they’re people. People.”
Jane looked up at her over her chocolate, quizzically. “I know,” she said. Before Gwen could say anything else, she said quickly, “The girls have been found.”
“What?” Gwen’s throat was dry. “Where?”
“I’ve had a letter from Amy.” Jane tapped the piece of paper in front of her. “They’re at Selwick Hall.”
“They ran, then.” Gwen’s mind was moving very, very slowly. Outside, the sky threatened rain. “They weren’t taken.”
“Yet. If they have those jewels, they won’t be safe, not even at Selwick Hall.” Jane rose and rang a bell. “I’m having the chaise brought round immediately. We leave at noon.”
“We?” Gwen didn’t move from her place in the doorway. “Do I have the honor of being part of your plans?”
“You don’t think I’d go without you?” said Jane.
Gwen didn’t know what to think. “I didn’t think you would keep information from me either,” said Gwen, “but look what’s become of that.”
Jane looked as though she meant to say something more, but the butler entered and she looked at him with something like relief. “Oh, Gudgeon. We’ll need the chaise brought around and our trunks brought down.”
“You’d best send a note to the Colonel,” said Gwen gruffly, following Jane out into the hall. “He’ll want to know.”
He would be overjoyed. He would be reunited with his daughters, and Gwen—Gwen wasn’t entirely sure what she would do. Last night’s conversation with Jane had left her deeply shaken.
Jane looked back at her over her shoulder. “Don’t you think he’d rather hear it from you?”
“I’ll see to the trunks,” said Gwen, and did.
She was just supervising their removal to the front hall when a knock sounded. It was William at the door, a rather wilted bouquet of purple flowers in one hand.
“Who may I say is calling?” Gudgeon asked grandly.
William thrust the bouquet at the butler and stepped around him, cutting between Gwen and a pile of trunks. “Are you going somewhere?”
Unlike her, he had managed to have a bath somewhere along the line. His hair was clean and well brushed and his cravat was neatly, if plainly, tied. Gwen was very aware of her own greasy hair and the circles under her eyes that came from a night sleeping in an unnatural position on the settee.
William’s voice softened. “I’d come to ask you if you’d come to Bristol with me.” He switched to wheedling. “If anyone can get Kat to see sense, you can. She’ll not listen to me.”
“I can’t. I was just about to send you a note—”
“Colonel Reid!” Jane was on the stairs. She trailed down in the best hostess manner. “And Monsieur de la Tour d’Argent. What a happy surprise.”
Gwen hadn’t even noticed the Chevalier standing there. He must have snuck in behind William. Not that it required much sneaking. Her attention had been elsewhere.
The Chevalier proffered his own floral offering, an alarmingly large bouquet of pink roses. “I hope you shall take this small offering—”
Gwen sniffed.
Next to her, William swallowed a grin. “Not much of an idea of scale, has he?” he whispered.
The Chevalier was still talking, the rolling phrases rolling on. “—token of my esteem and regret. I have come to take my leave. The Prince of Wales bids me to Brighton, undoubtedly on so pressing a matter as a new pattern of wall hanging.” He pressed a hand to his heart. “But believe me when I say that I shall never have regretted a leave-taking so much as this one.”
“What an odd coincidence,” said Jane brightly, dropping the bouquet onto the top of a pile of trunks. “We leave for Sussex as well.”
“You do?” It was absurd to feel quite so pleased by the distress in William’s face, but Gwen did. It was nice to know that someone valued her presence. “You are going away, then. It’s not because—” He broke off, flushing to his ears.
Gwen felt her cheeks turn an answering red. “No,” she said shortly.
Jane was watching them with interest. “Colonel,” she said, “you stayed me in the happy act of writing you a note.”
“The happy act . . . ?”
Gwen broke in. “The girls have been found.”
Chapter 18
No matter how Plumeria and Sir Magnifico pled, Amarantha remained obdurate. The Knight of the Silver Tower held her in his thrall. So intent were they upon their pleas that neither noticed the darkening of the shadows as the dread knight’s minions closed in behind them.
—From The Convent of Orsino by A Lady
“Lizzy? You’ve found Lizzy? And . . . and . . .” William couldn’t remember the other girl’s name.
“Agnes,” said Miss Wooliston soothingly. “Yes, both of them. They are safe and well and with my cousin.”
“All this time?” Relief surged through him, a relief so intense it made him light-headed. “Are you quite sure?”
“Yes,” said Miss Wooliston. “I had a letter from my cousin this morning. They have been taking an unauthorized holiday.”
William found himself laughing, laughing out loud, the sound echoing off the plaster ceiling, the gilded mirrors. “I’ll be damned! Those little imps!” The laugh turned rough around the edges, just short of a sob. He sat down abruptly on a small gilded bench. “Thank the Lord, they’ve been found.”
“Yes,” said Gwen, and there was an odd note to her voice. “The mystery is solved.”
The Chevalier broke in, his teeth flashing in a smile. “May I have your permission to relay the news to my cousin? She will be overjoyed. She has been blaming herself.”
“Please send her our apologies,” said Miss Wooliston gently. “It was very wrong of the girls to worry her.”
The Chevalier raised his brows. “Wh
at is seventeen if not for causing the heads of one’s elders to ache?” He paused before saying delicately, “Since we travel in the same direction, I would offer my escort—but one does not like to keep the Prince waiting.”
“Oh, no,” said Miss Wooliston. “Most certainly not!”
“Especially not in such matters as wall hangings,” muttered Gwen. “The last time he was left to his own devices, he built that wretched pavilion.”
Miss Wooliston gave her chaperone a quelling look. “You mustn’t let us keep you. We shan’t leave for at least another day and probably more. There is no hurry—now that we know the girls are safe and well. It will do them good to have to cool their heels.”
Wait? William was ready to set out right now. He wanted Lizzy where he could see her, safe and sound, and he’d be damned if he’d leave her in the care of others again.
“But of course,” said the Chevalier. “The chaise outside . . . ?”
“For my parents,” said Miss Wooliston promptly. “They return to Shropshire. My father does not like to be so long away from his sheep.”
“Lucky sheep to be so loved,” said the Chevalier. He tipped his hat. “Perhaps we shall see one another in Sussex.”
“Perhaps.” Miss Wooliston’s voice was all sweetness. “Safe travels, sir.”
William turned to Gwen. “All this about not leaving for another day—I’d rather have my Lizzy where I can see her.”
“Trust me, sir,” said Gwen, and he noticed that there was something celebratory missing from her manner, “you are not the only one.”
The door closed behind the Chevalier. Miss Wooliston watched through the window as he swung up into his curricle. The Chevalier slapped the reins. Miss Wooliston let the drape drop back into place.
“He goes to Sussex, does he?” said Gwen, looking at Miss Wooliston with narrowed eyes.
Miss Wooliston inclined her head, saying lightly, “I believe he has an interest in gardening and thinks to find the soil in Sussex particularly fertile. In our time together, it became clear that he was well versed in horticulture.” Turning to the butler, she said rapidly, “Gudgeon, lash the trunks to the chaise. The special trunk on top. We leave in an hour.”
The Passion of the Purple Plumeria Page 24
