Sophia watched curiously as her mother slumped into her father's arms. “I hope it works,” she mumbled into the front of his waistcoat.
Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Sophia cleared her throat and asked, “You hope what works?”
Both of her parents startled as they became aware of her presence for the first time. Her mother stepped back from her father's embrace and wiped at the lone tear in the corner of her eye. “Nothing, dearest. Come, partake of your meal before the food grows cold.”
Ignoring her mother, she turned to her father and asked, “Why have you sent a missive to Reverend Balfour? How can he be expected to make our situation any better?”
Her father's face was impassive as he quipped, “You will know soon enough. In the meantime, I have business to attend to.” Without further explanation, he quit the room.
Sophia, turned to her mother, feeling angry that neither of them would take her into their confidence. “How can Reverend Balfour help us, mother?” she nearly begged.
“Truthfully, I'm not sure he can, but we will cling to the hope anyway.”
“Mother, you're speaking in riddles. Explain yourself.”
“I will not go against your father's wishes. You heard him, Sophia, you will know soon enough.”
With great frustration, Sophia watched her mother flee from the room also. Stomping her kid boot angrily against the wooden floor, Sophia groaned before moving to the sideboard and filling up a plate with food. A servant quietly entered and began clearing her parent's dishes and discarded food from the table while Sophia half-heartedly picked at her plate.
She finally had to admit that she had no appetite and quietly pushed the plate away from her and rose. Shrugging into her pelisse, she decided her walk in the gardens sounded more invigorating than eating.
She wasn't entirely sure why, but Sophia felt like crying the moment she broke free from the oppressive walls of Goldborne Hall. She fortified herself against the chilly air and headed towards the gardens, swallowing several times past the lump in her throat, trying to convince herself that there was no need to get emotional.
It was amazing how quickly one's life could change. When she'd been offered the assignment to spy on her brother, Sophia had taken little thought for the consequences. She'd been flattered by the proposal and eager to begin her first real assignment. She loved adventure, and she loved living a double life. It was easy for her to get caught up in the glamour of such a thing and forget that the results of her investigation would have dire consequences for her entire family.
Of course, Lord Coldwell, as well as other agents, had assured her that her family would be protected, though that was not her real concern. They may be able to offer them physical protection from potential harm, but they could not protect them from their damaged reputation, which was proving to be a far worse consequence.
Often, Sophia was consumed with guilt. Her life would look very different right now if she'd never agreed to take the assignment. Gilbert would not be in Newgate awaiting execution. Her parents would not find the need to argue at every turn, and she wouldn't be looking at a future that was bleaker than the overcast sky above.
Making her way to the rosebushes, Sophia took a seat on the stone bench and inhaled deeply. Her lower lip trembled and she at once reached up to tap it, as if she could somehow distract it from its plight. It was no use. Hot tears welled up in her eyes and at once began spilling down her cheeks. She reached for the handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve and began wiping furiously at the steady stream of tears.
Not only did she feel guilty for her family's current predicament, she felt inordinately guilty for thinking of their miserable situation instead of thinking of the bigger picture. How could she forget the countless women who were abducted and being sold as slaves? How could she feel guilty that she stopped her brother from destroying the lives of so many innocent girls? How could she feel guilty for saving Miss Phelps’ life, even though the revelation of her own father's wickedness had caused great sorrow and shame to befall them as well?
The weight of the world seemed to be pressing on her shoulders as she thought of all the misery that she'd become privy to as a result of her mission. For a brief moment, she thought of Lord Coldwell. He'd been a spy a lot longer than she had, and she couldn't help but wonder if he ever felt such conflicting emotions from his work.
With a mirthless laugh, she dispelled the idea. Of course, Lord Coldwell didn't! Men were somehow able to compartmentalize their emotions, differentiate between their work and their personal life. Besides, Lord Coldwell would never be foolish enough to allow his emotions to overcome him. The thought of him sitting on a bench crying made her want to laugh.
With that humorous image in her mind, Sophia was finally able to stop crying. With one final swipe of her handkerchief, she dried her cheeks and stood. Walking towards the rosebushes, she tugged off her gloves then reached forth and gently stroked the silky petals of a rosebud. Leaning forward she inhaled sharply before plucking the bud from the bush and tucking it into her hair.
She was just about to turn and leave when she heard a crunching sound behind her and stiffened. “Curtis, is that you?” she called out, expecting to see the gardener step into view.
A familiar chill ran down her spine when she got no response. It was her body's way of warning her something was not right. With all of her senses on high alert, she began walking towards where the sound had come from, her eyes scanning her surroundings the entire time. She knew she wasn't alone in the garden and the thought bothered her. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time the feeling plagued her. She often felt as if she were being watched and it was very unsettling.
She drifted further into the gardens, keeping her breath still so she could listen for further noises. She saw a shadow to her right and instantly whipped her head in that direction. “Who's there?”
Her heart was beating swiftly as she waited for a response. Finally, through the rustling of the hedges, came the intruder. A fat, peach cat bounded towards her, and she laughed.
“Fraidy cat,” she mocked herself as she bent and scooped up the cat, who nuzzled into her arms.
Turning back towards the house, she tried to convince herself her feelings that she was being watched were unwarranted as she rubbed the cat's soft fur to provide a distraction.
Little did she know, her instincts were right.
Samuel stood as still as a statue, despite the fact that his nose was itching like mad as he furiously tried to repress a sneeze. There was an obnoxious, fat cat that had come out of nowhere and refused to leave him alone. It was currently rubbing itself against his leg until he gave it a gentle kick. Unfortunately, this also caused a loud crunching noise when the dratted cat landed in an unceremonious heap a short distance away.
Cringing, Samuel watched as Sophia stiffened at the intrusive noise. Turning, she called out, “Curtis, is that you?”
Soon, the cat was right back at his leg, causing him to think murderous thoughts. He'd never been particularly fond of the creatures, especially since they made his eyes itch and caused him to sneeze. He had to force himself to remain still when all he wanted to do was shoo the thing away. He couldn't allow Sophia to catch him spying on her.
Finally, when he was certain he'd explode from the sneeze he was so desperately trying to hold in, a miracle occurred; the cat responded to Sophia's familiar voice by running towards her. A short time later, both the cat and Sophia disappeared back towards the house.
The minute she was out of his sight, Samuel let out a loud sneeze, spittle flying in all directions. Grabbing his handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped furiously at his nose before letting out two more sneezes in rapid succession.
Satisfied that he was finished, he shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and turned on his heel advancing towards the outer edge of the Whitworth's property. He'd discovered a woodsman's cottage in a sorry state of disrepair hidden in a copse of trees. It was there that he
tied up his horse before sneaking towards the house to spy on Lady Sophia.
Mounting his horse, Samuel sagged in the saddle. This assignment was wearing him out. Not only did he have to make excuses every day to his father and step-mother about where he ran off to, he also had to witness the nearly daily occurrence of Sophia crying in the gardens. Her misery was painful for him to watch. He knew that society's rejection of her family was taxing on her and it pained him greatly to see her sadness. Her normally bright and lively eyes had become dull during the several months she'd been at Goldborne Hall.
By the time he reached Tisdale Manor, an idea had formed in his head. Feeling decidedly more buoyant than he did when leaving Goldborne, he galloped to the stables where he left his horse in the care of a stable boy before jogging towards the house.
Just like he predicted, he found his step-mother, Alexandra, in the drawing room. He knew that soon his father would join her for afternoon tea before returning to his business.
Upon his entrance, Alexandra looked up at him, a startled expression on her face. “Samuel! I thought you would be absent for the remainder of the day.”
“Yes, I had planned to be, but things have changed.”
Without an invitation, he went and folded himself into a wing-backed chair and glanced at his step-mother. She was in the early stages of her confinement, but recently it seemed that her belly had begun to bulge. Her shoulders were erect as she lovingly stroked the rounded mound with one hand.
“How are Lady Phelps and the new Duchess of Ludington fairing?”
Alexandra looked thoughtful before responding. “I think they are doing as well as can be expected, considering the awful tragedy that has befallen their family.”
Alexandra was referring to the death of Lord Phelps and the knowledge that he was a vile man and had been involved in many sinister activities. All of this had come to light when he'd arranged for his daughter, Lydia, to be kidnapped and held in an abandoned warehouse.
It was there that Samuel and Lady Sophia had discovered her, as well as Lord Phelps’s intentions of harming his daughter as a means to keep her silent. Samuel had ended up having to take Lord Phelps’s life when he turned his pistol on Lady Sophia, threatening to kill her.
“I'm grateful that the Duke of Ludington was willing to take them both in. It will make it easier for society to accept them after the stain that has befallen their family name.”
“Indeed, it will. Levi is a good man, and he loves Lydia very much. I daresay they will fair splendidly in time.”
Samuel fell silent for a moment before asking, “Why don't you invite them to Tisdale Manor? I know how much you enjoy the Duchess of Ludington's friendship. While they are here, we can also invite the Whitworth's, make a house party of it. I'm certain they have been lacking social invitations and would much appreciate the invite.”
He hurriedly finished his suggestion and noticed Alexandra was looking at him curiously. “What?” he asked defensively. “Is that such a strange suggestion?”
Two dark, perfectly winged brows were arched delicately on her forehead as she replied curiously, “Why the sudden interest in entertaining? Your presence has been scarce the entire time we've been back at Tisdale Manor.”
Samuel tugged at his cravat, “Perhaps I would be more present if we had company.”
Alexandra continued as if he hadn't spoken, “Not to mention, you were hardly in attendance at any social event during the season. Have you always been such a recluse? How do you expect to find yourself a wife with that sort of behavior?”
“A wife?” he blurted, nearly choking. “I'm in no need of a wife.”
“Oh, but you are. Have you forgotten you are your father's heir?”
Leaning forward, Samuel thrust his head into his hands and groaned. “Do not lecture me on my responsibilities. I can't stomach it at the moment.”
In all truthfulness, Samuel felt entirely weighted down with his responsibilities to The Crown. He hadn't the time, or desire, to consider his own responsibilities at home.
“Then if you wish not to speak of it, I will let it be. I presume your father will put the pressure on you if he feels the need to do so. In the meantime, let's discuss this house party. I think it's a splendid idea, and very considerate of you to wish to extend an invitation to the Whitworth's. I hadn't realized you were so fond of them.”
He wasn't fond of them, not entirely. Sophia he could tolerate, but he held little regard for the rest of them. He couldn't tell Alexandra, but his motives were truly selfish. If Sophia were at Tisdale Manor, he'd be able to keep an eye on her easier, saving himself the many exhausting trips to Goldborne Hall.
“I simply thought it would be polite, is all.”
“I agree. I will begin working on invitations this very afternoon. We will invite them to join us at Tisdale Manor in a fortnight, but only if you promise me one thing?”
“What is that?”
“You will be present the entire time. No sneaking off to do who-knows-what, leaving me to entertain everyone on my own.”
Samuel grinned. “Deal.”
He was just leaving the drawing room as his father was arriving. The two exchanged a quick greeting before going their separate ways. Feeling suddenly very exhausted, Samuel had the desire to retire to his bedchamber to rest but was interrupted by a chambermaid before he'd even made it halfway down the hall.
“Pardon, milord.”
He turned to see the young girl he'd hired to be a go-between between him and his contact at Whitehall. Periodically they needed to send word to him, and to be discreet; he'd arranged for them to do so through her.
“Martha, what is it?” he asked as his eyes darted about the hall to make sure they were alone.
Lowering herself into a curtsy, she whispered, “It's hidden beneath your bed pillows.”
She didn't have to offer further explanation, for he knew exactly what she was referring to. “Thank you.” Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a few coins and slipped them into her hand. The grateful smile she gave him made him feel pleased he'd hired her to aide him. He knew their arrangement was beneficial to them both. Without another word between them, Samuel turned and quickened his pace towards his bedchamber. He was curious to know what the Main Office needed now.
Carefully locking the door behind him, Samuel rushed to his bed and threw back the thick, navy velvet curtains and slid his hand beneath the stack of neatly arranged pillows until he found what he was looking for.
He quickly broke the seal on the missive and began reading:
Lord Coldwell,
We regret to inform you that we have made no progress concerning your charge. We have sent men to Cornwall in search of Caroline Whitworth in the hopes of interrogating her concerning the accusations against Lady Sophia. So far, we've been unable to track her down. It's as if she has suddenly disappeared into thin air. She's made no contact with the Main Office in months. This does not bode well for Lady Sophia, as it does appear rather incriminating. Have you discovered anything that could aid the investigation? If so, we insist you report to the Main Office at once.
Best regards.
Samuel finished reading the missive and at once crumpled it in his hand before throwing it into the low burning fire in the grate. Sighing, he slumped down onto his bed and ran one hand through his hair. He had nothing, absolutely nothing to report to the Main Office. He'd been watching Lady Sophia like a hawk for weeks, yet could find nothing suspicious about her behavior.
Pulling open the drawer of the table sitting next to his bed, he removed a book which exposed a secret compartment hidden in the bottom of the drawer. Using a small, brass key he kept on his person always, he opened the compartment and rummaged through the meager belongings until he found a small leather-bound book and held it up close to his face.
He flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for, the one where he'd jotted down notes regarding his latest assignment involving Lady Sophia. He read
through the information for what seemed like the hundredth time:
-According to an informant, Lady Sophia Whitworth may be a traitor to The Crown.
-The anonymous informant has given the Main Office reason to believe that she may be responsible for passing important war documents to the enemy.
-Must prove whether the charges of treason are just and true or merely libelous claims.
-The anonymous informant is from Cornwall, as the missive received regarding Lady Sophia's betrayal was posted from there.
Samuel flipped the notebook shut and growled lowly. The claims against Lady Sophia were enormous and of such a serious nature, yet the information he'd been given was vague. The latest missive from Whitehall made him wonder if Caroline could be the mysterious informant that had indicted Lady Sophia.
He thought on the possibility for a moment, but could not make sense of it in his mind. Why would her aunt, the very one who'd introduced her into the world of spying turn against her? No, it didn't make sense. What did make possible sense, however, was that Caroline and Lady Sophia were in collusion.
Samuel returned his notebook to the secret compartment before propping his back against the headboard of his bed. He extended his long legs before him as he gazed up at the blue velvet canopy above.
For the last two months, he'd been spying on Lady Sophia. During that time, she'd not left Goldborne Hall even once, nor did it appear as if she'd make any attempt to do so. Also, during that time, she'd barely received any correspondence and none from Cornwall. He knew because he'd paid a servant at Goldborne handsomely to intercept the post before it was given to the master of the house.
Exhausted and frustrated, Samuel groaned aloud. In his mind's eye, there was no way Lady Sophia could be a traitor to The Crown, though he'd yet to figure out how to prove, without a doubt, that she was innocent.
Feeling as if the case against her was growing stale, Samuel rested his head against his pillows and allowed his eyes to drift closed. Within minutes he was asleep.
The Earl's Dangerous Assignment Page 2
