Why would the lass seek to conceal her gender and position? There were few conclusions to draw, and none were satisfactory. Hamish had to agree with Ewan; not only was Aster smart and independent, she was strategically placed next to Sir John at a time when he was working on a pivotal, and secretive, project. Was it mere coincidence, or had Napoleon placed the perfect agent right under their noses? He sighed and took a sip from his glass, letting the whisky warm his insides while he contemplated their next move.
7
Aster
* * *
The captain strode into Aster’s office as though he owned it, with top hat in his hand and mischief in his hazel gaze. “Fancy a day trip to London?”
Aster tried to scowl as she laid down her pencil, but his good mood was infectious. Really, though, could the man not appreciate that there were people in the world who worked for a living? He might be on leave, but she wasn’t. Nor was she sitting in a parlour with needlework on her knee, just waiting on a gentleman caller to alleviate the boredom. “I have work to do so no, thank you, Captain.”
Dougal trotted over as usual to have his ears ruffled, and she could have sworn she saw Hamish slip a treat from his pocket for the dog. Head down, his gaze flicked back and forth, then, with something hidden in his jowls, the dog trotted back to his basket and curled up. With his back to Aster, he began to chew on his prize, which he hid between his paws.
Not only was the captain disrupting her workday, he was also corrupting her dog. “Are you bribing Dougal?”
Lord Logan clutched at his chest melodramatically. “Me? Bribe an innocent canine? Certainly not, Miss Simmons, I’m merely sharing with a fellow pack member. Dougal is an honorary Wolf after all.”
Dougal would grow fat if the Wolves kept feeding him treats. She glanced at Hamish from behind her darkened spectacles and picked up her pencil again. Perhaps if she ignored him he would simply go away. Not that she could ignore him, as he prowled her office and ran a fingertip along her neatly aligned books. Glancing at his hands made her breath seem to come a little faster and her skin tingle as though a cool breeze washed over her. When her gaze roamed over the broad expanse of his shoulders under his jacket, the tingle shot lower. She stared at her paper, but couldn’t remember what exactly she’d been writing. Nor could she determine if the page was coded or not, for the words no longer made any sense. It was as if she had written them on a mage’s cryptographic paper. Everything had become jumbled in her mind.
Hamish made a noise in his throat and strode through the open doors to Sir John’s office. “Tell me, Sir John, could I possibly steal Miss Simmons away for the day?”
Now that wasn’t on. He couldn’t go to her superior just because he wanted company on a jaunt. He had three capable men who could ride alongside him. She rose from her desk and moved to the other office. “Really, Captain, this is most unseemly.”
Sir John took off his glasses and looked up. “Actually, a trip to London may be of some assistance, Aster.”
“Pardon?” Aster frowned. A roiling in her stomach told her that her neatly planned day was about to be turned upside down.
“We have two orders waiting in London for delivery. Nothing large, just the new requisition cards and the button samples for the captain to approve. Unfortunately we languish at the bottom of the courier’s priority list, and no one has had the time to fetch them yet. It would be most convenient if you could collect them.” Sir John flicked through the contents of the basket on his desk. He drew out two sheets of paper. “Ah, here we are. The order details.” He smiled and held the paperwork out to Aster.
She wondered about refusing; she had heard tantrums could be most productive in this sort of instance. What good could come of spending an entire day in the company of the handsome and dashing cavalry officer? A whole day to sit next to the captain, to talk with him… perhaps he would take her hand as they walked. A long sigh, quite at odds with her initial thoughts, escaped her chest.
Sir John waved the documents, and she shoved aside thoughts of protesting and took them. Very well, they could conspire together and force her to London for the day, but they could not make her enjoy it!
Hamish raised his eyebrows and smirked. “It would seem you have a task to undertake in London, Miss Simmons. May I have the pleasure of escorting you?”
She tried to be angry with him. She even managed a scowl as she walked past him to claim her bonnet and spencer. Her resolve to be indifferent to the outing only lasted several paces. The butterflies in her stomach betrayed her, and one escaped as a tiny smile that she recaptured before he saw. She folded up the papers and tucked them into her reticule.
Hamish popped his top hat on his head and offered his arm to her. “Shall we?”
“It appears I must.” She slid her hand around his forearm, and the butterflies rioted.
The fine wool of his jacket concealed hard muscle, and she wondered what kind of life the Highland Wolves led in Scotland. They might not be deployed on active duty, but neither were they growing fat and lazy. In her mind she imagined them as powerful predators, hunting over steep hills to alleviate the boredom.
The captain leaned closer to her and whispered, “Try not to smile. It gives away that you might not find the prospect of my company quite so hideous as you would have me believe.”
Oh blast. She glanced at him and bit her tongue. Did she wear her emotions so plainly? She had little experience in hiding her thoughts from a man, and no experience at all in feigning indifference to his touch. She had quite reconciled herself to life as a spinster, quietly working alongside Sir John, and then this wolf appeared and upset her plans. Perhaps she just needed to keep that lonely future firmly planted in her mind, to save her from making a fool of herself.
Dougal trotted behind and Aster tried to shoo him back to his basket. The dog ignored her and scampered along the hallway and out the door.
“I’m so sorry, Captain. Dougal does insist on accompanying me everywhere.”
“I don’t mind the pup. He shall be your chaperone.” He winked as he lifted the dog up onto the seat of his curricle before handing her up.
Aster suspected Dougal would be particularly useless as a chaperone—not that there was anyone to worry about her reputation.
Hamish’s men accompanied them, riding beside the carriage. They talked and laughed the whole way, such that she wondered they didn’t have parched throats by the time they reached London. Not that she minded; there was something about the easy camaraderie of their conversation. They spoke like brothers as they chided and teased each other over past mistakes and adventures. For the first time in her life, Aster had an inkling of what it would be like to have a large family, and she delighted in their raucous company.
As they approached London Bridge, Hamish drew the carriage to a halt and turned to Aster. “Would you mind terribly if I entrusted your care to Quinn and Alick? Ewan and I have a meeting to attend elsewhere, and if we split up, we will have an hour or two free afterward before we must start our homeward journey.”
She glanced at the men behind. Mr Muir seemed affable, but the imposing Mr Ferguson struck a sliver of fear into her heart. Her hands tightened on her reticule, and her paperwork crunched under the fabric. How she would love an hour or two free to see the sights and perhaps look in the shop windows.
“Very well; I’m sure the gentlemen will be most suitable substitutes. I doubt Mr Ferguson will attempt to fatten my dog with secret treats.” She dared a glance at the fierce Scotsman with his scarred face as he barked in laughter.
“Always knew Hamish had a hankering for a lapdog,” Alick said.
“I’ll drive,” Quinn said, dismounting from his horse. “Alick can stay behind where he won’t frighten the horses.”
Quinn and Hamish swapped places, and Aster found a great deal of reassurance in the younger man’s cheerful disposition. Not that he was that much younger; in fact, he seemed to be of a comparable age to her.
“Why don�
�t we meet in Hyde Park in two hours’ time?” Quinn said, then winked at Aster. “At Rotten Row, so we can critique the horses. It is quite the pastime for us.”
Hamish nodded. “That will give us time to conclude our meeting. But will that be sufficient, Miss Simmons, to collect your packages?”
“Yes. That would be suitable, and I would so like to see the ladies out riding.” Since her day was planned, she may as well enjoy it. She had heard how the society ladies rode out to be seen and dearly wanted to see the sight for herself, especially in such company as the cavalry men.
Quinn snapped the reins and the matched pair of chestnuts moved off. “Where to first, Miss Simmons?”
“Buttons first, I think. The factory is over the river on the east end, by the Tower.” She waved her hand at the bustling riverside activity as Quinn guided the horses and little carriage over the busy bridge and through the throng of traffic. Alick kept his distance, letting them chat in private as he rode wrapped in his own thoughts.
One thing preyed on her mind, and she turned it over, trying to determine what to do, as Quinn chatted about his childhood in Scotland and the friendships he had made in the army. Perhaps it was his easy manner and the closeness of their ages that made her blurt it out. “Oh, Mr Quinn, I must ask for your advice. The businesses we are to call on do not know I am Sir John’s secretary. They will expect a man to collect the packages. I do not know why he didn't think of it.”
A frown crossed his face for an instant. “Why is that a problem? You told Hamish of your role.”
Well, Hamish was quite the exception. When he had wrapped his arms around her, she had confessed to things she would never utter to another living soul. This was terrible, and Sir John had warned about such an eventuality. Not about the dangers of a handsome man stealing her secrets, specifically, but about being cautious as to who knew of her true role. “When Sir John hired me, he hypothesised that there would be those who would not approve of a woman working as a secretary, especially at the Royal Arsenal. We thought it would be better if his secretary, A. Simmons, was believed by the world to be a man. I did not mean to tell Captain Logan, but he caught me off-guard, and he is a regular visitor at the office so it would have been difficult to convince him I was just the maid. I do not wish to cause trouble, but I also cannot afford to lose my position if word gets out. It is all I have.”
She couldn’t believe the moisture that sprung to her eyes. She looked away, blinking back the tears before he saw. What a terrible mess. The day she fell she should have told the captain she was merely a maid, dusting. What idiocy had driven her to try and appear more than she was in his eyes? Because it felt so sublime to have his regard.
A few loose words from her lips could cost so much. Sir John’s concern ran deeper than others not approving of her position. No one knew of the puzzles she decoded for him. They were a country at war and decoding enemy communiqués was dangerous work. Keeping up the façade that A. Simmons was a man gave her an additional layer of protection from any prying eyes. When Sir John urged her to take the trip, perhaps he had assumed that Captain Logan would act as courier?
Quinn pulled the horses to a halt and a rare serious look settled over his face. “Might I also share a confession, Miss Simmons?”
She couldn’t see how her predicament could get any worse. She might as well hear what he had to add. “Of course.”
“I have four older brothers and no sisters. I have often wondered what that would be like, to have a sister. Someone of a similar age, whom I might be of assistance to, or who would come to me with her worries. Perhaps you would allow me to play that role for you today.” His hands tightened around the reins, and his brown gaze was as solemn as Dougal’s after a telling-off.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr Muir.” She grasped the meaning in his words, but wasn’t certain she had the right one. It was simply too much to hope.
“For today, I will be Albert Simmons, secretary to Sir John and sent to collect his packages, if you would do me the great honour of being my sister, Miss Aster Simmons.” A shy smile spread over his face, as if he was, for once, not quite so sure of himself.
Her eyes moistened and she swallowed a lump in her throat. His offer was perfect and would allow her to continue her work in obscurity. “I don’t wish to land you in any trouble.”
He laughed. “I have four older brothers. I assure you I am no stranger to trouble.”
Relief swept through her limbs. This wonderful man, who hardly knew her, offered such gallant assistance. “I cannot thank you enough. It must seem foolish to you, but I would prefer to labour unknown. I would be honoured to have a brother for the day. I grew up alone and I have always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling.” She picked at her skirts as she confessed that tiny portion of her loneliness.
He grinned, something so canine she expected his tongue to loll. “The pleasure is all mine. Feel free to find some mischief to drop me in. Siblings usually do that to one another.”
She smiled at the thought. She didn’t have any idea how one found mischief. It sounded like a learned skill and one missing from her upbringing. “I assure you I plan to be a most agreeable and mischief-free sister.”
Quinn snapped the reins for the horses to walk on. “I am glad to alleviate your concern, I cannot imagine how you face the world when so few avenues to support yourself are available to you. I am a fifth son and far down the line to inherit anything. I must make my own way in the world, but at least I have the good fortune to be a man.”
* * *
Aster thought about her previous occupations and laughed. “I’m afraid I was not best suited to being either a governess or a companion. I am a slave to my mind, which leads me in a different direction.”
“There are things about this world that I wish were different. You shouldn’t have to hide that you are an intelligent woman. Just as the Unnaturals amongst us shouldn’t be looked down on for what has befallen them.” He guided the pair of equines with skill, and they soon turned down a lane that led to the factories, all lined up and jostling for space as they rubbed against one another. Chimneys poured forth black smoke, which curled and drifted skyward.
She stared at Quinn with a new appreciation, wondering how many people saw a handsome young exterior and never expected to find anything of substance behind it. “You’re very philosophical, Mr Muir. There are those who consider both women and Unnaturals as a different class of citizen, ones without any rights or voice.”
“Quinn, please, since we are now brother and sister.” He smiled broadly at her. “I believe people should be judged by their actions, not for the form they take. Besides, I quite delight in knowing my ‘sister’ is smarter than most men.”
“Quinn, then. And you must call me Aster.” The idea of having a brother warmed her insides. Even if they only pretended for the day, what a day it would be. “At least you have a career with the Highland Wolves. Women are not expected to seek careers unless they are either born as mages or have the taint of mage blood. Even then, employment is only to tide us over until a man takes control.”
He threw a sideways glance at her. “Did you not consider marriage? I’m sure there are men who would have sought your hand.”
She laughed at the idea. “You are too generous, but no. Quite apart from the fact I have no dowry to sweeten my plain appearance, I couldn’t trade my person for a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I can’t imagine sharing my life with someone I did not love.”
“Ah. Who is the philosopher now?” He laughed as the horses walked down the lane. People pressed closer here, slowing their progress. Carts laden high with goods headed away from the river and back into the city.
Aster gazed at the multitude of faces around them, most working-class in rougher linens and woollens of subdued colour. Here and there a noble rode, distinctive in their finer cloth and richer hues. “I pity the nobles, who must marry to preserve titles and estates. How cold their marriages m
ust be, without full affection for their chosen partner.”
Quinn turned and grinned as his hand dropped to Dougal’s head. The terrier sat tall and happy in the middle of the seat. “Poor dogs like us have nothing of value to give except our hearts. Which perhaps is also our greatest treasure: that we can marry for love, should we be so lucky to find it.”
“Quite.” The more she conversed with him, the more at ease she became. He played the fool as though that was what people expected of him, yet he exhibited wisdom beyond his age when he let it through his boyish exterior.
“I believe this is the place.” She pointed to a warehouse with the name Smith & Sons painted over the side. She pulled the paper from her reticule. “This is where we will find your buttons.”
He drew the curricle to a halt and helped her down. Aster handed Quinn the invoice, and he slipped it into his jacket pocket. Then they walked arm in arm to the office, stuck at the front of the main building. Banging and hammering came from the factory beyond, overlaid with the yelled orders and chatter of men. Inside the office, the sound was muted somewhat. The thick glass in the windows was coated in decades of grime, so that only a dingy brown light permeated the room, like a premature twilight. At least the floor looked as though it had seen a broom in the last year or two. Aster’s hands itched to don an apron and grab a bucket of hot water to wash the place out.
Quinn winked as he leaned on the counter. Aster hoped he didn’t ruin the sleeve of his jacket. Her pretend brother dinged a large brass bell, despite the fact that a man was sitting just behind the desk. The ding was loud enough that Aster winced, and yet the employee carried on scratching at his ledger. Quinn frowned and banged the bell again, with enough enthusiasm that it bounced off the counter and roused a puff of dust from the floor.
Aster stifled a giggle. Quinn picked the bell up and placed it with exaggerated care back on the counter. The clerk finally looked up.
Secrets to Reveal Page 7
