The Peacock Throne

by Lisa Karon Richardson

  Mr Harting interrupted her with his palms outstretched, as if fending off an attack. “Not at all, Miss Garrett. I would never make light of such a matter. All I ask is that you stay close to him and if you find anything suspicious, pass it along to me.”

  Again Lydia shook her head and opened her mouth to speak.

  “Miss Garrett, you must know that I was thorough in my investigation of your situation. I understand the loss of your parents and your many struggles.”

  How dare he? A scalding flush swept up Lydia’s neck until it burned her cheeks. She clenched her jaw to hold back the torrent of abuse she wished to heap on his head.

  He placed a finger under her chin and raised it until her gaze met his. He stared hard into her eyes as if trying to read something in their depths. “I only mention it because this type of service to the country is rewarded handsomely.”

  No doubt this sort of offer had worked well for him in the past, but he had miscalculated with her. She desperately needed some sort of income, but she hadn’t fallen so low as to spy on a friend for it. Jerking her chin free, Lydia controlled her voice with difficulty. “His Lordship has been nothing but kind to me. I will not betray his trust.”

  This time Harting took her hands. She tried to pull free, but though it seemed effortless he retained his grip until she looked him in the face. Earnestness emanated from him like a cloud of cologne. “There is no betrayal. If he is not guilty you will be doing him a good turn by eliminating him from my consideration. If he is guilty then he has already betrayed you. He’s betrayed us all. You will be the hand of justice.”

  Conflicting loyalties tugged at Lydia. Lord Danbury had fought for her and provided for her, asking little in return. He had treated her with kindness. The faces of the women she knew from Brant Street floated in her mind’s eye: mothers, wives, and sweethearts—so many had lost men to the incessant fighting on the continent. Didn’t she owe Le Faucon’s victims some consideration? What if she could prevent further losses? If Harting was correct, the traitor had been responsible for many deaths, including Mr Wolfe’s. And she had vowed to bring her cousin’s murderer to justice. A vow that gave no consideration to the possibility that she might not like the answer. Now that the issue had been raised, she could not ignore the potential that Lord Danbury had some involvement in the murders.

  Lydia scowled at Harting, loathing him for putting her in this position. She pulled her hands free and lowered her eyes. She did not want him to see the tears welling in them. “I will do as you ask…” Defiance flared again. “But only to prove you wrong.”

  “Agreed.” Harting again took one of her hands, this time raising it to his lips. She could almost see the force of his personality fade as he assumed a mantle of foppishness. “Until we meet again.”

  Anthony paused as he caught sight of Harting and Miss Garrett engaged in conversation down in the mews. Spurred by curiosity his eyes remained fixed to the scene. Resting an arm against the wall, he leaned close to the window, straining to hear.

  What could Harting want with her? Perhaps he wished to discuss his investigations into her past? Anthony drew aside the drapery a bit. She blushed and looked flustered, angry even. Blood pounded in his ears. Was Harting propositioning the girl? He wanted to fly down the stairs and flatten the cad. He could yell down to the stable hands to seize the louse and hold him until he reached them.

  Restraint, he cautioned himself. Restraint. Miss Garrett could handle the advances of a would-be roué like Harting. Though if the bounder tried anything more, Anthony promised himself, he would have the pleasure of teaching Harting a lesson.

  If only he was close enough to hear what they were saying. Anthony flexed his fingers.

  Harting raised the girl’s chin and Anthony ground his teeth. When he took her hands in his, Anthony started down the stairs. One simply did not manhandle a young lady in such a way.

  Would he have thought it so grossly improper if he had not known of her heritage? He pushed the thought away. She was under the protection of his household and she obviously needed someone to help her handle the scoundrel.

  Barrelling through the door, he almost collided with one of the maids carrying a coal scuttle.

  “Pardon me, yer Lordship.” The girl bent her knees in an imitation curtsy and promptly stepped to the side, smack in his way again. They both stepped to the other side. They performed the uncomfortable dance until Anthony stopped, gripped her arms and shifted her out of his way.

  He was breathless when he threw the door open and entered the courtyard. Harting was gone. Miss Garrett turned in surprise at his abrupt arrival. Her eyes were red-rimmed and slightly damp.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, my Lord.” Her brow furrowed and she gazed at him as if perplexed.

  Anthony ran a hand through his hair, no doubt disarranging it further. “Ah, well. Harting is gone then?” Babbling like an idiot was becoming a positive habit.

  “Did you need something? I can fetch one of the footmen to go after him. He passed by not long ago.”

  She did not mention their conversation. Of course, such an experience must have been trying, and recounting it would be distressing. Anthony sought a way to retreat.

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll send a note around to him later. Are—”

  Mrs Malloy bustled up in her Sunday finery. “Do you need anything, sir?”

  “Not at all, Mrs Malloy; not at all. Going to church? I hope you enjoy the holy offices. Perhaps, Miss Garrett, you would stop by my study when you return? There is something I wish to discuss.” Anthony backed towards the door as if trying to escape a pack of wolves, rather than two mildly confused women.

  “Of course, Lord Danbury. I can stay and begin going through the diary. I was not aware that you had awakened.”

  “No. Uh, no. That can wait. We will get to it when you return. I do appreciate the offer. I was unable to make much sense of it myself.” He clasped his hands behind his back and managed a smile. “Ah, thanks then. I will see you…thanks.” Darting inside, he shut the door firmly.

  Lydia returned from Mrs Malloy’s church with more than enough food for thought. The ritual and reflection of the service had calmed the worst of the turbulence in her emotions.

  “Lord Danbury is waiting for you in his study,” one of the footmen said as Lydia handed her borrowed wrap to its owner.

  She nodded her thanks, and turned as if facing a firing squad. All that Mr Harting had said that morning rushed back. What would Lord Danbury say? Should she confess that she had been press ganged into becoming a spy against him?

  The idea that Lord Danbury was some sort of agent for the French could not be borne. The whole notion was simply ridiculous. She would write a note and, with regret, decline Mr Harting’s request after all.

  Mind made up, Lydia hesitated at the door to the study. A servant would just go in. Should she act as a servant, or a guest, or…? Lydia exhaled hard through pursed lips, causing the hair that framed her face to flutter in the sudden breeze. Finally she rapped the door sharply with her knuckles, and entered before any response was forthcoming.

  Lord Danbury looked up at her arrival and flushed.

  “You asked for me?”

  “Yes, Miss Garrett.” He rummaged amongst the papers on his desk for a moment, before retrieving a small package.

  “This was delivered for you.”

  Lydia accepted the proffered package.

  “It’s from Mr Harting?” A note of inquiry shaded his statement.

  Lydia’s gaze snapped up in surprise to meet his. Her brow furrowed. Harting was making more than a nuisance of himself. What could he possibly want now? Her fingers itched to rip into the parcel.

  “Are you ready for me to begin on the diary, my Lord?”

  “Please, be seated and open your package. I can wait a few moments.”

  “Certainly.” Lydia took a chair and tore into the wrapping paper. A gasp escaped her lips as a stack of prist
ine Bank of England notes was revealed. Her hands trembled as she plucked out the letter that accompanied them.

  Dear Miss Garrett,

  Please find the enclosed per our discussion of this morning. Excuse my presumption but I have arranged for an appointment with Madame D’Arcy for you tomorrow afternoon. I shall come for you after luncheon. You must be properly outfitted.

  May I suggest that you inform Lord Danbury that I have uncovered some holdings of your father’s and have advanced you these funds based on the strength of your expectations. I will of course corroborate this statement.

  Your humble servant,

  Harting

  Lydia could feel the blood draining from her face. Had he been there, she would have flung the letter and money at him. Which was, no doubt, why he had not personally delivered the package.

  “I trust it is not distressing news?”

  Dragging her gaze from the missive, Lydia tried to meet Lord Danbury’s eyes. His glance strayed from her face to the pound notes protruding from the wrapping.

  “He… I…” Drat the man. He had offered the only plausible explanation for the funds. How she would have liked to come up with something brilliant, or to spill the whole story out to Lord Danbury. “Mr Harting learned of some investments of my father’s whilst investigating my background,” she said. “Knowing I am at low water he was kind enough to advance me funds on the strength of my expectations.”

  “It looks as if you will be well provided for, for quite some time.” He sounded as if his cravat were too tight.

  Lydia could not prevent the blush that heated her cheeks. She had never been good at telling tales. At least now she had acknowledged her background, if in a round about way. She braced for more questions but none were forthcoming.

  When she gathered the courage to look up, Lord Danbury had returned his attention to the papers before him.

  He had requested her presence, and now he acted as if she did not exist. Her cheeks burned and she cleared her throat. “I hope that you will still abide by our agreement. This… inheritance improves my situation, but it will not provide for my needs forever. I must still find employment.”

  His Lordship looked up with a scowl. “I’m known as a man who keeps his bargains.”

  “I’m sure that those who know you well hold many favourable opinions, but I know you very little and I simply wish to know that the change in my circumstances has not affected our agreement.”

  “You have my word, Miss Garrett.” He turned his attention to the papers on his desk, dismissing her as if she were a servant.

  “Thank you.” Her tone was as tart as he deserved. “Well, I do not wish to trouble you any more than necessary. I will certainly find other lodgings so that I am no longer trespassing on your kindness. Of course, I will still decipher the diary. And you did request my presence. Did you have need of something else?”

  “It had to do with the preparations for the journey. You may not wish to pursue such things now, however, since you have come into this unexpected inheritance.”

  Lydia could not maintain her hauteur. Not when she had committed to spy on this man who had done her no wrong. She gripped the package so hard her fingers ached. “My Lord, I beg you not to shut me out. I am as committed to catching my cousin’s murderer now as I was before. No amount of money would ever change that.”

  He regarded her as if trying to see into her soul. Lydia swallowed hard and blinked rapidly. Even if he tossed her out on her ear, she would find a way to catch Mr Wolfe’s murderer. And she was keeping the money too. That would serve Harting right.

  Relenting at last, Lord Danbury sat back in his chair. “No, of course not, Miss Garrett. I know you cared for your cousin a great deal. Please forgive me.”

  “There is no need.”

  Lord Danbury waved a hand as if pushing their ill-tempered words into the past. “With murderers and spies abroad I would sleep better if you would continue to stay under the protection of my roof.”

  Guilt dug into Lydia’s heart like the talons of an angry bird. “You have been more than kind, but I cannot continue to impose upon your hospitality.”

  He flung down his papers, and pushed away from the desk, turning his back to her. “You misunderstand. It would be a kindness to me if you would stay. I… with all that…” He rubbed at his temple. “It is possible there is danger. Our investigation is bearing fruit, and I—I cannot change the fact that I was not there for my father when he needed me. I would appreciate it if you would stay.” He turned back to face her. “Besides, it would be more convenient. I am in great need of your assistance in this matter. Oh, and I’ve asked Mrs Malloy to move your things into the guest room at the top of the stairs.”

  Shocked, Lydia protested. “My Lord, such a move is not necessary. I was more than comfortable.” In fact, the cosy little nook she occupied was the pleasantest place she had lived in for many years.

  “If Lord Glenford ever discovered that I housed his granddaughter in the maids’ quarters, he would suffer apoplexy.”

  Another kind of ache tore at Lydia’s heart. “The chances of that are slim indeed.” She rested a hand on the desk. With any luck he would hand her the papers he had been poring over and change the topic of conversation.

  “How did you end up as a servant at the Green Peacock?”

  This was not the change she had been hoping for. “I was not a servant… precisely. I simply was sensible of what I owed Mr Wolfe for providing me with a home. I truly did not mind the work. It helped him to keep the coffee house going. Mrs Wolfe and Fenn were never much use in that regard.” Lydia looked away. Discomfiture made her fingers itch to be busy with something.

  “And Fenn kept you sensible of your position of dependence.” Lord Danbury’s grip cracked the nib of the pen he held. He thrust it into the pen stand and wiped his hand on his handkerchief.

  “Mr Wolfe kept Fenn’s behaviour in check. It was only after his death that the situation became intolerable.”

  Danbury reached an ink-stained hand across the desk to cover hers. Their gazes met with an intensity that made her chest compress as if her stays had been pulled too tight. It was impressed upon her again how handsome he was. How his midnight dark eyes could nevertheless seem bright and shining.

  “I know you are still convalescing, but Mrs Malloy tells me you have a gift for organizing things, handling accounts and so on. I’ll need a great deal of assistance as I arrange this expedition, if I’m to leave as soon as possible.”

  That was better. Relieved, Lydia set aside the packet of notes. “Tell me what you require. I will help in any way I can.”

  Throughout the afternoon and into the evening, Anthony worked steadily. But his concentration was unsteady. His gaze kept drifting from his documents to the composed form of Lydia Garrett across the desk from him. She was painstakingly copying the incomprehensible scrawl into legible script. He suspected that she represented a mystery as deep as the one they now pursued.

  He could not rid himself of the image of her opening Harting’s parcel. The shock had been writ plain on her face. Had she been surprised to receive money? Or simply by the amount? The way she shied from his questions like a nervous foal was certainly curious. Had Harting found an inheritance for her as she claimed, or was he paying for some other service he wished her to render?

  Tension throbbed behind his eyes. He rested his head against his forefingers and thrust his thumbs against his temples. It was best if he did not think along those lines. He forced his attention back to the letter he was composing. Captain Campbell would be surprised to hear from him so urgently.

  Some hours later, Anthony glanced up from the victualling list he perused to catch her rubbing her eyes. Drat it all. He was working the poor girl like a galley slave. “We’d best put these aside for the time being.”

  Miss Garrett shook her head. “That’s not necessary. I only needed to rest my eyes for a moment. Mr Wolfe’s penmanship was dreadful, wasn’t it?”


  “My eyes are all but crossing from my own handwriting. I cannot bear to think what they might be doing had I spent the afternoon staring at his wretched scrawlings. We’ll come back to these this evening, and perhaps the words won’t blur and jump about.”

  Miss Garrett set aside the papers, though perhaps a touch reluctantly. In truth, he was loathe to put them aside as well. Every moment’s delay meant that their enemies were that much further ahead of them.

  CHAPTER 11

  Lydia was waiting when Mr Harting arrived for her shortly after luncheon the next day. She had loitered in front of the house for some fifteen minutes in the hopes of making as little a scene as possible. True, she had no reputation to think of—but even so she hated to draw more adverse comment to herself than necessary. She was already a nine-day wonder in the servants’ hall. They didn’t know what to make of her, and in truth, she no longer knew what to make of herself.

  “Miss Garrett, you are looking well this afternoon.”

  He was probably relieved she wasn’t wearing the borrowed maid’s uniform. Her own clothes were worse quality, but at least they didn’t scream servant quite so loudly. Poor, perhaps, but not servant.

  He presented his arm and after an instant Lydia accepted. She gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to think well of him. He was a manipulative rogue. But apparently he did not mind being seen squiring a lady of no consequence such as herself about Mayfair.

  His smile hinted that he had the power to read her mind. “I’m glad you received my package. I half feared you would send it back.”

  “I was going to, but Lord Danbury was present when I opened it and I had no explanation for the contents other than the one you so thoughtfully penned.” Lydia did not bother to keep the acerbity from her tone.

  Harting chuckled. “I could not have planned it better had I tried.”

  From under her lashes, Lydia sent him a glance that could pierce armour. She forbore from commenting. Anything else would undoubtedly only add to his enjoyment of her predicament.