A Lady's Secret Weapon

by Tracey Devlyn

  “I see.” A note of disappointment tinged the marquess’s words. “Then you may forget the favor.”

  “Do you need to contact someone there?” Ethan asked, despite his better judgment. After what they went through to bring Cora home, he had an aversion to all things French.

  Shev waved a negligent hand in the air. “It’s nothing. An idle curiosity that will be forgotten within the hour.”

  “You’re sure?” Ethan studied the pensive expression his friend could not quite mask.

  “Quite. Now let us get on with the excessively bad news.”

  “I thought we had decided to save the best for last.”

  “And have you dread our entire conversation?” Shev asked in mock indignation. “I am not so callous as that, Danforth.”

  “Spill it.”

  “Mother is having a dinner party tonight, and one of her gentlemen guests can no longer attend. Her table now has an uneven number of ladies versus gentlemen. You have come through for her before, and she’s hoping you would be willing to do so again.”

  Ethan adored Shev’s mother. Spending time in Lady Shevington’s company was both a blessing and a curse. In many ways, she reminded him of the mother he had lost years ago. A strong, intelligent woman dedicated to her family and generous to others. “You know I would do anything for your mother,” Ethan said. “But the timing is not convenient.”

  “I was afraid that might be the case. Normally, I would not press the issue, but this evening is special to her and I would like to ease her mind.”

  “What is so special about this dinner?”

  “You might recall that my mother did not come from aristocratic stock,” Shev said. “She has invited many of her childhood friends and their families to dine tonight. Some of them she has not seen in years.”

  “Is there no one else you can ask?” The question was irrelevant, for Ethan could never say no to Lady Shevington. She had been far too good to him over the years, asking nothing in return—except the occasional evening of the numbers.

  “No one other than Helsford, and I have not seen him about town for some time.”

  That’s because he’s too busy assuming his new role as Chief of the Nexus. “I’ll be there, Shev. What time?”

  “Eight.”

  Ethan glanced ahead and noted that they were only a few houses away from his destination. A familiar churning began in the pit of his stomach. What were the odds of him striding inside, snatching up Sophie, and escaping to the park without coming face-to-face with Somerton?

  Zero. None. Naught.

  They paused beside Shev’s carriage. “See there.” Ethan strove for a bit of levity. “You walked briskly for nearly a quarter hour and didn’t have to stop once because of a stitch in your side.”

  A footman jumped off the back of the marquess’s carriage, scrambling to open the door and set the steps down. Shev placed a foot on the bottom step. “I bravely ignored the horrible cramp in my right calf.” His brows drew together. “What the devil is that atrocious noise?”

  Ethan cocked his head and listened. “It’s a bird, Shev.”

  “Well, make it stop.” His friend rubbed his temple. “All this walking and squinting against the sun has given me a megrim. One more piercing tweet from that feathered beast and my head will splinter in two.”

  Waving the marquess inside, Ethan said, “You’ve been upright too long. Go home and get some sleep before your mother’s dinner party. She won’t be pleased if you arrive looking like a dissipated sot.”

  After Ethan closed the carriage door, Shev nodded toward Somerton House. “There’s a ginger-haired creature bouncing in the window. Good day, Danforth.”

  Sure enough, Ethan turned his back on his departing friend and found Sophie Ashcroft jumping up and down and waving at him. Before he knew what was happening, his lips curled into an answering smile and he waved back, which then prompted her to dash off. His smile faded and he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed him acting the fool. The moment his gaze completed its sweep of the area, shame crept into his cheeks. What did he care if Somerton’s neighbors saw him waving like a schoolboy to the girl? Few could withstand such an enthusiastic welcome.

  Despite her father’s frequent and long absences prior to his murder, Sophie appeared to be a joyful child, always nattering on about inconsequential things and flitting from one interesting object to the next. She reminded him of a butterfly, but without the delicacy. Ethan wondered if she would ever learn the reason behind her deceased father’s sacrifices and, as a consequence, her sacrifices. He shrugged off the thought. Whatever Catherine Ashcroft and Somerton decided to tell the child about her father’s role in the conflict with France would no doubt be the right thing for Sophie.

  The entrance door swept open. “Ethan, you made it.” Sophie barreled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tilted her head up, revealing pretty blue eyes. “Guinevere will be so happy.”

  He tapped her nose. “And what of you?”

  She sent him a broad grin. “Mama said the park will be full of horses.”

  “Yes, indeed. In all the various shades and sizes.” Ethan motioned to the entrance hall. “Shall we collect your nurse?”

  “I need a new one.”

  Ethan blinked. “A new what?”

  “Nurse,” Sophie said. “Mrs. Denton retired. Mama said it’s time for me to have a governess, anyway.”

  “Good morning, Lord Danforth,” Catherine Ashcroft said. “You received Sophie’s invitation, I see.” Her warm smile broadened in much the same way as her daughter’s.

  “She could not have timed its arrival any better,” he said. The girl in question beamed with delight at his praise. “Sophie mentioned that she has no nurse to join us.”

  “True,” Catherine said. “Now that things have settled down into a normal rhythm, I’ll begin the search for a governess.” She hugged her daughter to her side. “My little girl is growing up.”

  Unbidden, an image of Miss Hunt materialized in his mind. He wondered if her services extended to governesses.

  “If you’re amenable, my lord,” Catherine said, “I thought I would join you and Sophie.”

  “What of Somerton?”

  “He left a little while ago to attend some business at the Foreign Office.”

  Relief swept through Ethan. Not only would he not have to entertain Sophie for an hour by himself, he was saved from an awkward meeting with Somerton. His mood improved by volumes. He glanced down at Sophie, who vibrated with the need to be off. Not unlike a thoroughbred at the starting gate.

  “Then let us dally no longer,” Ethan said. “I’m sure Guinevere is more than ready to stretch her legs.”

  “Splendid!” Sophie bolted for the door, leaving her mama and Ethan to follow at a more sedate pace.

  “Thank you, Ethan,” Catherine said, pulling on her gloves.

  “You’re welcome. I think. What have I done to deserve your thanks?”

  Catherine paused on the entrance landing. “Sophie adores all the attention you and Sebastian shower on her, and I appreciate the patience you’ve shown her. But you must tell me when she becomes too much.”

  “She’s a sweet, good-natured child, Catherine, and deserves all the happiness we can provide. I only wish my experience with children was greater. Perhaps I might be able to do more if I understood them better.”

  “One would never know you lack experience. You appear quite natural in her company.”

  “Hmm. I wonder what that says about my manhood.”

  She smiled. “An indicator of great talent and depth of character, sir.”

  Every moment he spent in Catherine’s presence helped solidify how this widow from the country stole Somerton’s well-protected heart. He leaned close to her ear. “You’re too kind, madam. If I had no care for my present good health, I wo
uld attempt to snatch you away from Somerton. Since I like my head attached to my shoulders, I will have to content myself with longing for you from afar.”

  Catherine laughed. “I think you enjoy your bachelorhood far more than your good health.”

  He winked at her. “You may be right. Shall we?”

  “Indeed. I’m surprised Sophie allowed us to linger so long. She appears quite ready.”

  Ethan led their small group to Hyde Park without incident. Sophie was so awestruck by the various sights he pointed out that she did little more than stare and make excited noises. He found himself enjoying his role as guide and set out to make the girl’s first promenade memorable. Much to his surprise, Sophie’s equestrian knowledge far surpassed his own on the subject. She knew all the various breeds and their history. From deep in her mind’s well, she plucked unusual bits of trivia to share. Ethan even learned another way to treat colic.

  When they reached the halfway point of their circuit, a familiar face caught Ethan’s attention. Miss Hunt, along with her assistant, Mrs. Cartwright, sat in an open carriage at the side of the gravel walk. Her ever-present footmen were also in attendance—one acting as driver and the other sitting astride a horse at the back of the carriage.

  The sight of his black-haired beauty sent tingling warmth shooting through his veins, brightening his day even more. As he neared her location, he realized with some astonishment that he had missed her, even though he had seen her only yesterday.

  Then his gaze moved to the quartet of well-dressed gentlemen surrounding her and the murderous expression on Mac’s face. The tingling warmth became scalding and altogether unpleasant. What were the men doing in the park at this hour? A time normally reserved for children and servants.

  “Is something wrong, Ethan?” Catherine asked, halting a few feet ahead of him.

  During his study of the proprietress and her entourage, his grip on his reins had slackened and his mount decided to indulge in a short respite—in the middle of the walk. He grasped the reins tighter and squeezed his knees, forcing his mount into motion again. “No,” he said. “I merely caught sight of a new acquaintance. Allow me to introduce you.”

  Ethan did not wait for Catherine’s consent, for it suddenly seemed imperative that he reach Miss Hunt’s side. More specifically, insert himself between her and the young bucks staring at her bosom. “Good morning, Miss Hunt. Mrs. Cartwright. Gentlemen.”

  The proprietress angled her head to the side for a better view of him. “Lord Danforth,” she said. “This is a pleasant surprise.” Her gaze settled on Catherine and then Sophie, whose attention darted from one person to the next, as if she would miss something exciting.

  “May I introduce Mrs. Ashcroft and her daughter, Sophie. Catherine, Sophie, this is Miss Hunt and her assistant, Mrs. Cartwright.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hunt.”

  “Hello,” Sophie chirped.

  Miss Hunt swept her hand in a wide arc. “And these gentlemen are known as Mr. Buckley, Mr. Kirby, Mr. Talman, and Mr. Pyne.”

  Each man tipped their hats in Ethan and Catherine’s direction, murmuring their greeting.

  Pyne’s assessing gaze swept over Ethan.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Mr. Buckley said, “shall we leave Miss Hunt to her new visitors?”

  “Seems a shame,” Mr. Talman said. “But I have an appointment to view a prime bit of horseflesh in a half hour.”

  “Good day, Sydney. Mrs. Cartwright,” Pyne said, nodding to Catherine and holding Ethan’s gaze for a challenging moment before following his friends.

  Ethan turned back to the proprietress’s carriage in time to see Mrs. Cartwright slide a comforting hand over Miss Hunt’s. The proprietress patted her assistant’s arm and lifted her chin.

  “Miss Sophie,” Miss Hunt said, “that’s a fine horse you have there.”

  Sophie beamed. “Thank you. Her name is Guinevere. Bastian brought her to town for me.”

  “Lord Somerton, dear,” Catherine admonished her daughter.

  “Sorry, Mama.” Sophie turned her big blue eyes on Miss Hunt. “I’m only supposed to call him Bastian at home.”

  Miss Hunt smiled at the girl’s conspiratorial tone. “You must be a very special girl if the fierce Lord Somerton gave you leave to call him Bastian.”

  Sophie nodded her head at a rate of speed that made Ethan dizzy. “He’s going to be my new papa,” she whispered.

  Miss Hunt’s gaze swept over Catherine’s mourning attire, prompting Catherine to add, “When I’m out of mourning, of course.”

  Not an ounce of judgment crossed the proprietress’s face. To Sophie, she said, “Then we have something in common. When I was about your age, I got a new papa, too.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly, Sophie,” Miss Hunt said. “And I grew to love him more than any words could ever express.”

  “Brilliant,” Sophie said, wiggling in her saddle. “Did you hear that, Mama? I can love Bastian the same as Papa.”

  “Of course, you can,” Catherine said, concerned. “Whatever gave you the impression you could not?” No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than she brushed a hand over her daughter’s mop of curls. “Never mind, dear. We can discuss this later.”

  Ethan interjected, “Miss Hunt owns and operates an employment agency, Catherine. Perhaps she can help you locate a new governess for Sophie.”

  “Do you, indeed?” Catherine asked.

  Miss Hunt sent Ethan a warm look before answering. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I confess to dreading the process. Sophie deserves the best, and I have no notion of where to start in London.”

  “Mrs. Cartwright, do you have an agency card for Mrs. Ashcroft?” Miss Hunt asked.

  “Certainly.” The assistant fished out a white card from her reticule and stood to descend from the carriage. Only Mac dismounted in time to pluck the card from Amelia’s hand and then offered it to Catherine.

  “Thank you—”

  “Mac, ma’am.”

  “Feel free to contact us whenever you’re ready, Mrs. Ashcroft,” Amelia said. “We would be happy to discuss the depth of our services at whatever time is convenient for you.”

  Catherine tucked the card into a pocket of her voluminous riding habit. “You will hear from me very soon.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan saw Sophie lean forward in her saddle, staring hard at Mac, who had returned to the rear of the carriage, before transferring her attention to Mick in the driver’s seat. “If he’s Mac, who are you?”

  “Sophia Adele,” her mother scolded, “you are being rude.”

  “Sorry, Mama,” Sophie said, though her gaze did not falter.

  The merry footman’s lips turned up into a broad rogue’s smile. He pointed his thumb at his chest. “I’m Mick.”

  “How do I know you’re not Mac and he’s Mick?” Sophie asked.

  Catherine started to admonish Sophie again, but Mick shook his head, apparently delighted by the girl’s question. “That’s an easy question, pet. You see, I’m the more handsome brother. Mac there, he has a terrible scar on the left side of his chin. The ladies take one look at his hideous disfigurement and run straight into my arms.”

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed on Mac, suspicion marring her smooth brow. “I don’t see a scar.”

  Mac angled his head a little and tapped his chin. Coming from the footman who never smiled, the playful gesture was one part menacing and one part charming. Like Sophie, Ethan tried to locate the disfigurement but could only discern a small pale line about an inch in length. Hardly hideous. If anything, the old wound gave the footman an air of danger, making him even more attractive to the ladies. He wondered if Sydney found the scar appealing.

  “That’s not scary at all,” Sophie proclaimed. “The scar on my knee is far uglier.”

  Laughi
ng, Mick slapped his leg and shook his head, conceding defeat.

  “Come along, Sophie,” Catherine said. “I believe you have tortured our new friends more than enough for one day.”

  In nearly an exact replica of Mick’s rogue’s grin, Sophie’s toothy smile revealed her delight in having tortured someone. She waved her hand. “Good-bye.”

  While everyone murmured their farewells, Ethan caught Miss Hunt’s eye. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  She sent him a bland, resigned smile. “Of course, my lord.”

  As he and the two Ashcroft ladies guided their horses away from the carriage, Ethan could feel Catherine’s frequent glances. He understood her curiosity, but he had no desire to assuage it. Because he didn’t know how. His reaction to the gentlemen’s attention to Miss Hunt, especially Pyne’s, had felt a great deal like jealousy, an emotion he had thus far avoided.

  Until today.

  Until Sydney.

  Ten

  As he did most nights, William Townsend observed the illuminated windows of Abbingale Home from the shadows of a rented room across the street. Searching. Always searching.

  His fingers curled into the faded, mud-colored drapery. Fury, helplessness, and recrimination warred inside him. None would free him from this untenable situation.

  Inside Abbingale’s walls brewed a nightmare he’d helped create and was now incapable of stopping. And it did not end there. More homes like Abbingale had been enfolded into LaRouche’s new scheme. The thought nauseated him. How had this happened? For months, he had strategized and then executed a plan that would garner him enormous wealth. Enough to leave England and his heritage behind and start afresh in America, where they did not look down on certain choices a man made.

  But the foreigners he aided were no longer content to communicate from afar. They had invaded England’s shores one threat at a time, with no one the wiser. Émigrés they called themselves; wealthy noblemen and merchants fleeing Bonaparte’s wrath. A decade before, during the great Revolution, such immigration had happened en masse, and the government had been forced to put protective measures in place, such as the Foreign Letter Office, to ensure England was not harboring enemies within.