“How does this connect with their deaths?” Locke asked with impatience.
“Humor us,” Lord Matthew said. “Communications from all of us took a similar route, arriving in packages sent—at first—to Lady Katherine, to give them the look of family correspondence. Inside the packages were either smaller ones or letters addressed to each of us—you excepted, of course; would have raised too many questions—which we would collect when we visited. Your correspondence was sent in the same envelope with mine or Mr. Nicolas’s and we routed it to you.”
“Yes, but as to Lady Katherine, I remember her opening something she wasn’t supposed to open and saying too much about it with a few friends,” Locke noted.
“That’s when we began funneling the parcels through Lady Bethany, of course. We knew she was trustworthy,” Mr. Nicolas said. “But we all worried when Mr. Collin stopped writing.”
“I didn’t learn about it until later,” Locke said. “I was busy sneaking around Spain and France. If I remember correctly, Lord Whitton was certain something was wrong and was livid it was taking too long to organize a rescue mission. Then he received a letter from Mr. Collin in mid-March, which set him at ease. That’s when the proposal came from Belgium from the Leclerqcs, inviting Lord Whitton and Lord Christian to discuss a possible arrangement with Lady Elizabeth Leclercq. And where both met with fate in the carriage accident.”
“Entirely fictitious,” Lord Hannaford said, sighing. “London’s sealed documents reported there was no such correspondence from Mr. Collin and that the accident happened in Portugal.”
“What?” Locke said again. “What were they doing in….” He paused, considering the meaning. “There was never a parley with the Leclerqcs.”
“No. Lord Leclercq verified that fact during the investigation after the ‘accident.’”
“Which means Whitton and his heir had gone to find and rescue Mr. Collin themselves.”
“Yes, well after a fashion,” said Lord Matthew. “The supposed invitation had to be extended to Lord Christian, of course, a ruse that required his going to the Continent. Lord Whitton’s joining him would be a mere formality our aunt wouldn’t question. Uncle wasn’t daft enough to risk his heir unnecessarily, especially when he was about to place himself in harm’s way.
“According to the report in the file, during the inquiry after the accident, the investigators found an encrypted journal, stitched into Lord Whitton’s jacket, which told the story better than anyone but Whitton himself could have. After secluding Lord Christian in an inn in Lisbon, he set out to the area from which we’d last received correspondence from Mr. Collin.”
Mr. Nicolas chimed in. “Collin was supposed to have been positioned near Torres Vedras, Portugal, and although nothing we do is safe, the area was as safe from any actual military conflict in war as possible. Uncle, who was good at what he did, apparently located Collin near Tolosa, Spain, where the Allied army had preparations underway to drive the French out of Spain.”
“The beginning of the War of the Sixth Coalition,” said Locke.
“Yes. It appears Mr. Collin was tracking three French spies and collecting intelligence on their activities when they caught him.”
Lord Matthew then added, “Whitton rescued Mr. Collin and returned with him to Lisbon. Mr. Collin revealed to him and Lord Christian what he’d discovered, the truth about a conspiracy of some sort and a secret code that went with it. It was apparently important enough he did not reveal that information in the journal. Whitton did admit that Mr. Collin had devised a most ingenious way to get the information to us—and to the prince. It appears they accomplished their task, but then—”
“An unexpected carriage accident happened and killed them all,” Locke surmised. “Was it our agency that chose to continue the deception about the Leclercq’s offer and to lie about where all three bodies were found, to avoid anyone here in England making the connection?”
“Yes. It also bought our agents time to locate the other two French spies and eradicate them, supposedly before any harm was done.”
“But they were wrong,” Locke said. “There was harm done. At least one of them sent word to his superior. Which is why someone is after Lady Bethany.” He scrubbed his face roughly in frustration. “What I don’t understand is why Lord Whitton, who adored Lady Bethany, would risk her life by sending her something so terribly important someone would hunt her down for it. And if enemies suspected Whitton’s wife and daughter knew anything, why didn’t they pursue both women immediately? It’s been near a year and a half, for heaven’s sakes.”
Dread drew deep lines in Lord Hannaford’s cheeks and lowered his thick, graying brows. The twins stood stiff and pale. Locke glared at them, his lips pressed together in mounting anger.
“Out with it,” he demanded. “You’ve kept it from me long enough.”
Lord Matthew sighed his capitulation. “They didn’t wait. It appears Lady Katherine never came into their sights—we’ve no idea why—but they sought Lady Bethany even before we knew Uncle and the boys had died.”
“You’re joking! More than a year ago? And you withheld this information because…?” He wanted to break Lord Matthew’s jaw. Surely this had something to do with Lady Bethany’s fears.
“Because they hurt our dear cousin. Badly enough she can’t remember all of it. And she’s forbidden us to discuss it with anyone, including her. Marc, you insisted without fail, like most of us in the Service, that you have neither time nor capacity for matters of the heart. We assumed she’d be safer with you than anywhere else on earth because you would never expect anything from her.”
“I feared something like this might be at the root of it. I want the details.”
“We can’t. She forbade us,” Lord Matthew insisted. “Besides, there are other matters afoot. We all agree that our deepest concern is of a leak, a traitor somewhere in our network.”
“We do,” Locke conceded. Then suddenly a light dawned. “Lady Bethany has information about who the real traitor is! That’s what you suspect, isn’t it? That she just doesn’t remember it? But if they failed to get what they wanted from her before, why would these schemers think they can get it now?”
Hannaford shrugged. “Perhaps something’s convinced them that she’s finally remembered? Maybe they believed they were safe and now realize they’re not? Perhaps they’re running out of time, just as we are, and have returned to where they started?”
“We must keep in mind that a mastermind fuels his coterie,” Lord Matthew interjected. “The zealots we’ve managed to intercept have spouted volumes of rubbish surrounding a new regime on the horizon and the failings of Britain. A few consider it a travesty to have Napoleon wasting away on his island kingdom of Elba; everything would resolve if he ruled the world. Not once, however, have we found any proof that this particular group is connected to a plan to free that madman. We’re convinced they have a different agenda, but we may not discover what it is until we unveil the architect of the scheme himself.”
“And Lady Bethany’s life is in danger until then,” Locke growled. “I sent a missive your way regarding the fiasco we endured over the weekend. Did you receive it?”
Lord Hannaford’s brows rose high. “Didn’t make it to us before we left home. What happened?”
Locke outlined the events at the Fair, subconsciously touching the knot on his head. It was better but still bruised and tender.
“This isn’t good,” said Lord Hannaford, alarmed.
Finally Lord Matthew said, “The major purpose of a uniform is to make a man stand out in a crowd. Why would men up to no good want to become obvious to others?”
“I think perhaps they didn’t know each other,” Locke suggested. “The uniform would help identify them. The outfits were quite subtle, and they expected to move quickly enough to not leave an impression.”
Mr. Nicolas’s expression softened. “Brilliant. Once they’d accomplished whatever they’d come to do and then separated, tossing asid
e the waistcoats would erase the uniform and allow them to blend into the crowd in a heartbeat.”
“But their plans fell flat,” Locke continued, sorting through his memories of that afternoon. The first man led him a merry chase and the other knocked him senseless. Lady Bethany had not only seen both of them but two others as well. Thankfully she’d managed to evade them. He still believed it was her they’d wanted, just as with the attempted shooting, which also convinced him they were merely trying to keep Locke out of the way. The idea chilled him to the core.
“We’ve left the ladies longer than we should,” Lord Hannaford remarked, checking his pocket watch.
“A little forewarning before we join them,” Locke told them. “Scarbreigh’s invited us to supper at his place tonight. I’d cry off, but I’m afraid the marquess intends to bid for Lady Camille’s hand at the gathering.”
Lord Hannaford’s brows rose high. “Without talking to me first? Cheeky boy, but he always has been. Perhaps you’d send a message to his place, Locke, to inform him we’re in town. If he’s half the man my daughter deserves, he’ll want my permission.”
Locke smiled wryly. “I doubt you’ll have a problem there. Scarbreigh’s an impulsive sort, but he won’t defy convention if he doesn’t have to.”
“Mmm.” Hannaford nodded. “I hope Lady Eva feels up to it. Her health is so delicate. We’ve tried everything, trips to the mainland, to Bath, to dozens of physicians. I wish I believed planning a wedding would perk her up, but it will assuredly exhaust her.”
“Let Aunt Katherine take care of it, Father,” Lord Matthew suggested. “She would have loved having longer to plan Lady Bethany’s nuptials. Taking care of Lady Camille would make up for it, and as her sister, she understands Mum better than anyone.”
Hannaford agreed. “And it would entertain my sister-in-law enough she won’t realize what the four of us are about. Shall we join the women?”
“Yes.” Mr. Nicolas discarded his glass. “And from now on, we mustn’t leave Lady Bethany alone for long, no matter where she is, until we’ve put an end to this.”
CHAPTER 20
Bethany’s heart pounded at what she was hearing—and at the risk of being caught out. She scuttled back to the morning room, schooling her face against the emotions that nearly overwhelmed her. Followers of Napoleon might be after her? Mr. Collin’s commission was a fraud, Lord Christian’s trip to Belgium was a ruse, and everyone believed Lord Whitton had sent Bethany information that might reveal a traitor?
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
In her absence, the ladies’ conversation had changed to Aunt Eva’s health. Her aunt had pulled a throw around her shoulders, and Lady Camille now doted over her.
“It’s a tiring drive,” Lady Katherine scolded her sister. “You probably should have stayed home. You’d just removed from Bath.”
“I’m not on death’s door,” Bethany’s aunt scoffed. “I’ll do well with my feet up and pleasant conversation. Oh, here you are, Beth. We’d begun to think you disliked our company.”
“No, of course not, Aunt Eva,” said Bethany, hating the lie she must now perpetuate. “Melissa’s still on an errand I gave her earlier and I had to find my kerchief on my own. I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well. Did your bevy of physicians not help you?”
Lady Eva rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m convinced I’ll die from smothering before I succumb to any known malady. Here, sit down and tell me every detail about your wedding. I was crestfallen at not being able to attend.”
Bethany perched on the high-backed chair beside her aunt, and with the help of her mother and Lady Camille, began an accounting of the affair. They hadn’t gotten far, however, before the men joined them.
They were completely changed when they walked into the room, still as subdued as they had been by the news delivered on this day, but not as if the four of them had so recently discussed matters that reeked of intrigue and peril.
Bethany ought to confront them, to demand they explain themselves. But they’d agreed her life was in danger and that she must know something that she was equally sure she didn’t. She’d faced such accusations before. She couldn’t do so now.
For better or worse, she was grateful to have her uncle guide the discussion towards Lord Scarbreigh and his intentions regarding Lady Camille. Her cousin flushed at the revelation, and Lady Eva seemed undaunted when faced with the excitement of the mini-fête at the marquess’s townhouse that night.
* * *
Scarbreigh’s invitation to Lady Camille’s parents and brothers was extended almost immediately, and he greeted them all warmly when they arrived on his doorstep. Welcoming his guests alongside him was the Dowager Lady Scarbreigh. Her unexpected presence flustered Lady Camille and generated meaningful looks between her parents and brothers.
After settling his guests with refreshments, Lord Scarbreigh nervously requested Lord Hannaford’s company in his study. The rest of them chattered while Lady Camille fussed about what was taking so long. When the men did return, Scarbreigh’s blue eyes twinkled with pleasure, although he revealed nothing of what he and Hannaford had discussed.
Supper was excellent, but the entire evening transformed for Bethany when she caught Scarbreigh watching her, more than once. She might have thought it coincidental if not for the wistfulness she saw reflected in his eyes.
Enlightenment mingled with dismay when she overheard the Dowager Lady Scarbreigh discussing with Lady Katherine her continued amusement at how Lord and Lady Locke’s unexpected marriage had taken the ton by storm. Scarbreigh heard it, too, and envy radiated from his eyes as he turned his gaze on Locke.
More troubling, Locke mirrored his expression, the rancor passing between the two men almost palpable.
Then Lord Hannaford cleared his throat and the atmosphere changed. Scarbreigh gave the earl a smile and a nod and rose to address his guests.
“Mum. Dearest friends,” he said, “Thank you for coming tonight. I hope everyone will remember it fondly.”
“Hear, hear,” said Lord Hannaford, offering a belly laugh that made everyone chuckle.
Scarbreigh smiled down at Lady Camille and extended his hand to her. Cheeks aflame, she clutched that hand and came to her feet.
“You are a wonder, my darling,” he murmured, pressing her fingers to his lips. “I’m still amazed that you can put up with me. I’ve told you often I love you, although I haven’t spoken it in front of witnesses.” He turned a cocky grin on the rest of them. “But I have now. And not one of you can say otherwise. I have two gifts for you, dearest Lady Camille. I hope you like them.”
He pulled a wrapped gift from his jacket pocket and handed it to Lady Camille, who trembled when she opened it. She gasped at the sight of the diamond-studded necklace he withdrew from the box nestled within the wrapping. He fastened the chain around her neck and beamed at Lady Camille’s obvious delight.
Scarbreigh’s grin faded and his eyes darkened with affection. “I do love you, Lady Camille. And I have reason to imagine you feel the same.”
Lady Camille granted him a nod, a tear glistening in her eye. Scarbreigh now removed the wooden box from his pocket Bethany had seen at the fair. This time he opened it easily, as if he'd practiced, and showed its contents to Lady Camille. Lady Camille gasped again and held still as Scarbreigh dropped to his knee, his face raised to hers.
“Then marry me, my love. Be my wife.”
Lady Camille gasped, hands to her cheeks, and cried out, “Oh, dear Scarbreigh! Yes. Yes!”
The marquess surged to his feet and kissed Lady Camille with nothing less than the fervor anyone would expect of a man in love. After he set the ring on her finger, Lord Hannaford offered a toast.
Bethany gave little heed to the words of the toast. Seeing her cousin so happy drew the main part of her attention, despite Lady Camille draining her glass too quickly. But she did not mistake Scarbreigh’s look in Bethany’s direction or the feeling of sickness when the truth, a
nd his disappointment, slammed into her.
Bethany loved Scarbreigh dearly, as a friend. True, he could ruffle her feathers and enjoyed doing so, often worse than her own brothers. But he’d provided the merriest entertainment all her life and she’d had no doubt he was fond of her.
But now Bethany knew the worst. The man loved her. He’d truly wanted to marry her. Now, seeing the truth so blatantly spread before her, she realized that the marquess had been subtly courting her for most of the last year, even during her mourning. Why had she not realized it before? She’d always seen him as a friend. She’d never considered he wanted more, not even when he proposed to her. He must have been devastated that she’d not only refused him but immediately afterward accepted Locke’s proposal.
Scarbreigh had declared his love for Lady Camille, but Bethany feared his heart wasn’t as true as it should be. Could he give Lady Camille everything she needed? Everything she deserved? Bethany wanted more than anything for her cousin’s life as Scarbreigh’s marchioness to be sweet for her.
She pushed the thought aside when the others jumped to their feet to cheer and to congratulate the couple and, afterwards, she joined the games and comfortable banter and the never-ending drinks and refreshments, even if her heart wasn’t in it.
Near the end of the evening, Bethany tensed when Scarbreigh came to sit in a chair beside her. She offered him tentative congratulations.
“Mmm, thank you, cousin-in-law-to-be. Should have done it long ago. I’m enjoying making Lady Camille happy. Oh, my,” he said glancing at the bracelet on Bethany’s wrist. “Lovely piece,” he commented, gently fingering it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.”
Bethany frowned in surprise. “I was wearing it the morning you—” She paused, uncomfortable with dredging up the past. When he raised a brow at her, she finished with “the morning you asked me to marry you.”
“Really? I’m embarrassed. How obtuse of me. Didn’t notice it. It’s truly remarkable. How did you get it?”
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