“I understand, my lord. Tomorrow, then.”
As Adrian gave the captain directions to the Abbey, Elinor assisted the children into the carriage. The captain waved a farewell salute and they were off.
Four
The next day Captain Olmstead was shown into the library just as Adrian finished meeting with his steward. Olmstead was a tall man with black hair and gray eyes. He had even, pleasant features that narrowly missed being downright handsome. He held a packet in his hand as he took the seat offered.
“Well, Nate,” the marquis said, “what was all that pretense about yesterday? What are you doing here, really? The War Office does not waste men of your talents on petty smugglers of the occasional barrel of brandy. Should you not be in Vienna sorting out cloak-and-dagger intrigues?”
Captain Olmstead laughed. “I was trying to establish for the men with me, and for any onlookers, that you and I are relative strangers. Don’t want to compromise your credit with the locals, you know, by having them think you are so intimate with the chief excise man in the area.”
“Why should that matter?” Adrian raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Chief excise man?”
“For the time being. Perhaps it does not matter at all. But I could not be sure, so I chose the way of caution. Take a look at this before we talk any farther.”
Olmstead drew a document out of his packet and handed Adrian a memorandum marked “Urgent and Confidential.”
“Why was this not sent with the regular courier?” Adrian asked as he started to read. Then he turned startled eyes to his visitor. “I see why now. Damn!”
The captain nodded. “Just so. Somehow some very delicate information is still making its way to the French and our negotiators in Vienna are having a devil of a time. That wily Talleyrand always seems to know what he has no business knowing at all.”
“The man is inordinately clever.”
“It has become worse recently, for the sort of information he is obtaining now is more detailed and more accurate.”
“I thought we nipped the problem with the arrest of Henri Pierre. That and changing the code on a frequent basis.” Adrian’s tone was impatient.
“Clever fellow, our Monsieur Pierre, was he not? Unobtrusive little fellow establishes himself as the lover of Lord Farrington’s wife and voila! he has an excellent conduit for information from one pillow to another.”
“Are we bringing charges against her?”
“No. Seems not. Canning and Castlereagh would like to do so, mind you. But to prosecute her would bring more information out in the open than anyone deems prudent. Farrington’s career is ruined, of course. He has been advised to take his wife on an extended tour of Italy and then retire to the country.”
“Perhaps that is just punishment for a woman who loved London society as much as she seemed to,” Adrian said. “But, getting back to the current problem ...”
“Yes. Well. Seems Monsieur Pierre was not alone in providing information to his countrymen. He was useful to them—devilishly so, in fact. But either we missed another source at the time, or they have managed to establish a new one in record time.”
“I was so sure we had plugged that leak.”
“We know that the information is not getting out of England by conventional means,” Olmstead continued. “It almost has to be traveling from some small harbor on our coast, probably along avenues established by smugglers. Hence, my presence in your domain. In some cases, locals involved in the ‘free trade’ probably have no idea they are also dealing in espionage.”
“Good grief! That makes looking for a needle in a haystack seem like child’s play.”
“True. But this particular spy appears to be someone close to one of the people presently in England with regular access to information being sent to our team in Vienna.”
“Are you suggesting my courier or someone in my household is passing along information to the French?” Adrian asked flatly.
“Not necessarily. We have narrowed it down to someone close to you—or to Dennington, or Morton, or Canning—Castlereagh being out of the country.”
“Narrowed it down?” Adrian’s tone was rich with irony.
“You are right. That is overstating the case mightily. All of you have very large staffs spread over half of England. And two of you, you and Dennington, have major properties right on the coast.”
Adrian sighed. “Dennington and I also both have close contacts with French émigrés. Dennington’s wife is French. My sister-in-law still has relatives in Brittany. Her companion is French, too. So, where do we start in sorting this out? I assume you have something in mind or you would not be here in Devon.”
“We start by looking at any new members of your staff. Have you hired new people in the last three or four months?”
“Yes. Several. The London housekeeper is fairly new—had to pension off her predecessor. Also, two of the footmen there as well as an upstairs maid. Perhaps others—the butler usually handles such hiring, you know. My coachman came to me in April. There is a groom in the stables who is new. And the children’s governess came to us only a few weeks ago.” Adrian was not sure why he hesitated slightly in mentioning the governess. “I can have a list drawn up.”
“That would be helpful. As I said, we can start with new staff, but it could just as easily be someone that one of you has known for a long time. Who knows why a person would turn traitor? Greed? Fear? Blackmail?”
“It should be easy enough to rule out some of them. After all, it is highly unlikely this spy could be illiterate. Not many servants read and write.”
“True. And while we are more apt to think of ‘it’ as a man, it could just as easily be a female. What about this new governess?”
“She came to us with excellent references. She is better educated than many a governess and she is exceptionally good with the children. Even my mother says she is a real find.”
“She was with you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Not bad looking, either.”
For some reason this comment annoyed Adrian, but he remained silent.
Perhaps Nate’s interest in Miss Palmer was not entirely professional. After all, some might consider them a suitable match. She seemed to come from impoverished gentry and, as the third son of a viscount, Nathan Olmstead could not be thought prime goods on the marriage mart—even if he was one of those people who move with ease in any social circle. Reasonable as this conjecture seemed, it did not sit well with his lordship, though he would have been at a loss to explain precisely why.
Olmstead had bought his commission soon after he and Trenville came down from Oxford and had quickly proved himself invaluable in gathering intelligence. The two men had seen little of each other in recent years, though their friendship went back to those school days. Their paths had crossed now and then if only via papers, for Adrian’s office often acted upon intelligence gathered by Olmstead and others in the field.
The captain accepted Trenville’s invitation to dinner, but turned down the suggestion that he stay at the Abbey. The pretense of their having only slight acquaintance might yet prove useful.
Having taken tea with the children, Elinor did not meet Captain Olmstead until she joined the family for dinner that evening. He was very pleasant to her and made every effort to be sure she, too, was included in the conversation. However, it was the beautiful Gabrielle who commanded most of his attention. This came as no surprise to Elinor. After all, she and Madame Giroux were the only other women present and neither of them could claim the degree of regard a member of a marquis’s family could. In all honesty, Elinor admitted to herself, Gabrielle truly was charming as well as beautiful and tonight she seemed to be exerting herself to be all the more charming to a newcomer. It almost seemed an instinctive reaction for her, Elinor mused, unaware that the idea had brought a slight smile to her mouth.
“Are you going to share the fun, Miss Palmer?” the marquis asked.
She started. “I
beg your pardon? Oh. I ... I was just thinking of something the children said earlier. It was nothing. Really.” She could not control the faint blush that crept upward.
He gave her an amused glance as much as to say “have it your way” and did not pursue the matter.
Gabrielle appropriated the captain’s arm to take her in to dinner, leaving Adrian to escort the governess with Huntington and the companion close behind. Later, the women retired to the drawing room while the men finished their port and pursued such topics as occupied men at the end of a meal. The marchioness was all that was proper and polite in speaking with her companions, but she quite obviously was less than fully comfortable. She became increasingly impatient for the return of the gentlemen, glancing often at the door through which they would come. When the men did rejoin them, Gabrielle affected surprise that they were so prompt.
As the men took their seats, Huntington turned to the marchioness. “My lady, may we prevail upon you for some music this evening?” he asked.
“I should love to play for you dear gentlemen.” She fairly simpered. “But my daughter tells me that Miss Palmer plays exceptionally well, and I think we should hear for ourselves.”
Elinor was taken aback, for she had not played for the adults in this household. She glanced at the marquis who regarded her with an enigmatic expression. Did he think her out of her element with such a demand? And why was Gabrielle so willing to give up the opportunity to show off her feminine accomplishments? Did she think to show up an impertinent nobody with her own performance later?
“Well, then, Miss Palmer?” Huntington seemed a bit uncertain, but apparently saw no alternative.
“If it is the general wish, of course,” she said, acceding to the situation. She rose and seated herself at the pianoforte.
“The music is under the seat, Miss Palmer,” Gabrielle called.
“Thank you, my lady, but I think I shall not need it.”
She saw Trenville’s eyebrows rise at this. Huntington’s concern that she would embarrass herself was writ plain on his face. Gabrielle exhibited one of her expressive little Gallic shrugs and exchanged a glance with Madame Giroux.
Elinor paused for a moment, thinking what to play. The instrument was placed at an angle in the room that allowed her to see her audience clearly. They waited expectantly.
“Ah. This one seems appropriate for the season,” she said and set her fingers to the keys. As soon as the first chords were struck, any sense of nervousness or apprehension left her and she gave herself up to the music.
Huntington looked at his companions questioningly.
Trenville nodded after a few bars and said, “Of course. Vivaldi’s ‘Autumn.’ Good choice, Miss Palmer.”
She was pleased to see him clearly settle himself to enjoying her presentation. Gabrielle chose to engage the captain in conversation, occasionally drawing Huntington’s attention also. When she finished the piece, Trenville applauded enthusiastically and the others politely echoed his praise.
“Do give us another, Miss Palmer,” Huntington said.
“Something lighter this time,” Gabrielle suggested.
Feeling thoroughly at ease now, Elinor said, “All right. Here is a medley of some of my brother’s favorites.” She proceeded to play several popular Scottish airs, skillfully blending one tune into the next.
Gabrielle had rung for tea before Elinor finished playing, and now as the tray was brought in, Trenville rose to return the governess to her seat.
“Thank you, Miss Palmer. I had no idea we were graced with such talent in our midst. You must play for us again.”
“By all means,” Gabrielle said graciously. “I vow I shall be too embarrassed ever to play again.” She gave a light laugh as though to show she was not serious in this “vow.”
“I am sure the lady exaggerates,” Olmstead said politely.
They each savored the tea and thereafter the group broke up, with the captain having to return to his lodgings. When his horse was brought around, Adrian showed him to the door, the two men murmuring together for a few minutes.
“Does this newfound friendship with the excise man have anything to do with your plans regarding the locals in smuggling?” Huntington asked as Adrian returned to the drawing room.
“Not necessarily,” Adrian replied. “I met the man in London some weeks ago. We attended Oxford at the same time.”
“Old school ties, eh? Knew each other well, did you?”
“Not well.” Adrian sounded indifferent. “I imagine the captain is rather at loose ends in his new position. Now that Bonaparte is safely put away on Elba, the government cannot seem to make up its mind what to do with the militia.”
“He tells me his father is Viscount Hartford,” Gabrielle said.
“Yes. He is the second—no, third—son,” Adrian said with a shrug. “Good family. The father is not very active now, but he was once quite close to Pitt the younger and the Whigs.”
“Becoming an excise man, chasing hooligans through the marshes, has to be quite a comedown for a Peninsula soldier,” Huntington observed.
“I suppose it is,” Adrian said, barely stifling a yawn. “I want to thank you again, Miss Palmer, for providing such enjoyable entertainment.”
“It was my pleasure, my lord,” she murmured, aware that his own pleasure made this more than merely a polite rejoinder.
The next morning, Adrian was still at breakfast when Miss Palmer came in from her morning walk.
“Good morning, Miss Palmer.”
“And it truly is a good morning, my lord,” she said, her cheeks aglow from the brisk autumn air. “The breeze from the sea is sure to waken all one’s senses!”
“A great day for a gallop along the beach, I daresay,” he responded, admiring what the elements had done to heighten her color. “By the by, do you ride, Miss Palmer?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, my lord, though Anne informs me that riding is not quite the thing for a governess.”
“ ’Tis somewhat unusual for the position. How does it happen that you do so?” He was genuinely curious.
She seemed to hesitate for a moment in answering. “It was another skill my father thought equally important for a daughter as well as a son.” She turned then, busy with the items on the sideboard.
He was thoughtful for a time. How did the daughter of such a father end up a governess? “Would you rather be riding of a morning instead of walking, then?”
“Well ... frankly, yes. But I am not discontent with matters as they are, my lord.” She slid into her usual seat.
“Nevertheless, we shall have to see if you are as talented on horseback as you are at the pianoforte. If Anne is to have a pony, Bess and Geoffrey will have to ride as well. Perhaps you will be willing to supervise their riding when I am absent. You may dispense with the lessons this morning and join me.” His tone was polite, but it was a command all the same.
“Oh, but that would be impossible, my lord.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“Nonsense. It will not hurt to cancel lessons for one morning. The children will probably welcome the holiday.”
“No, you do not understand. I haven’t proper attire to go riding. I do not possess a habit.”
“Oh.” He felt chagrined. “Hmph. That should not be a problem. Surely there is a riding habit in this household you could wear. I will speak to Gabrielle about it and you will be prepared to ride with me tomorrow then.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Trenville’s plan to test the riding skills of the governess were delayed. The afternoon following their discussion turned cloudy, with the storm arriving that night. Wind-driven sheets of rain hammered against the exposed windows all the next day. By late afternoon of the second day, the storm had reduced itself to an annoying drizzle.
Tempers were strained by the forced indoor stay. The marchioness was bored, for she could neither make calls nor receive visitors. Apparently preferring male attention to the company of her companion, s
he demanded that Huntington spend time reading to her. The secretary was clearly torn between this pleasurable task and the more onerous one that his employer had set him to doing, namely, reorganizing and cataloguing the Abbey’s vast library. The children were fussy and hard to please, but Elinor managed to keep them occupied, even engaging a footman and two maids to join in a hilarious game of musical chairs the second afternoon.
Drawn by the sounds of laughter and the thumping of feet marching to music played with great gusto, the marquis stood in the doorway of the music room for a few minutes taking in the scene before him. Geoffrey and Bess and Anne seemed to be having the time of their lives and the three servants, though obviously mindful of their positions, entered into the game enthusiastically. He could not recall when there had last been such pure fun in the household. Not for several years, at least. Presently, Gabrielle and Huntington were at his side.
“What is going on here?” Gabrielle was merely curious.
“I believe they are playing musical chairs,” Trenville said unnecessarily.
Elinor looked up then with an expression of alarm. The music stopped abruptly, but there was no scramble for the seats as the players had also caught sight of their audience.
“Oh! I am so sorry if we disturbed you,” Elinor said. “I did not realize ... We can find something else to do, my lord.” She rose and started to close the instrument.
“No. No. Carry on. You seem to be having a good time.” His smile included the three servants who, he noticed, seemed uncertain of themselves with him.
“Come, Papa,” Bess said, dashing to his side and tugging at his hand. “This is a game big people can play, too.”
“It is, is it?” The question was directed as much to Miss Palmer as to the child.
“Oh, yes,” Bess said seriously. “Dick and Betsy and Gertie are playing and they are big.” She had named the three servants.
Gabrielle pushed into the room. “Let us do so, Adrian. I played this game as a child and surely you and Alex did as well.”
My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 5
