“Her ladyship does not seem particularly interested in politics.”
“Only as they relate to fashions and balls and provide entertaining gossip,” Adrian said disdainfully. “And Madame Giroux, pleasant as she is, probably has not the depth of understanding for this sort of thing.”
“A bit dense?”
“In some areas. She took very little interest in the war. Of course, she comes from the north of France and most of the fighting took place farther south. And her sympathies, when she has expressed them, seem to lie with the Royalists.”
“Hmm. She might bear watching, though. What about the chef?”
“I’ve no reason to suspect him, though it may be of some significance that Thompkins hangs around the kitchen when he makes his runs.”
“Who does that leave? Your secretary?”
“No. Huntington is rather an ambitious fellow. He would not stoop to espionage.”
“You are sure?”
“I have known the man all his life.”
“All right ... the housekeeper?”
“I doubt it. Possible, though. Mrs. Hoskins would do anything for her son. Dotes on him. And if he were in some kind of trouble ...”
“Well, what about the governess?” Something in Olmstead’s tone suggested he was reluctant to bring up this possibility to Adrian.
Adrian ran his hand through his hair, utterly destroying the earlier efforts of his valet. “I cannot say” He hesitated, hating to bring Elinor’s name into such sordidness. But, given the circumstances, it was important that Olmstead know everything. He informed the captain of happening on her in the library, apparently in the act of going through papers on his desk.
“Anything missing?”
“Yes. A sheet on the relative strengths of the Dutch, German, and British forces in the occupation of Belgium. But it was in code.”
“And you think she took it?”
“God, I hope not.”
“But she did have opportunity?”
“As much as others we have mentioned.” Why did he feel it so necessary to offer alternatives? And why did he now doubt her at all? Was it because she had been blatantly anxious to remain in Devon when he had announced the move to London?
“Nate, keep an eye on things while I am gone, will you?”
“Certainly. Probably not much going on with you away, though.”
As Adrian settled into the carriage for the long journey to London, he felt faintly guilty, as though he had broken a sacred trust. After all, was that not what friendship was—a sacred trust? And had he not come to view Elinor—he rarely thought of her now as merely Miss Palmer—as a friend? Indeed, perhaps his dearest friend ever?
Now, where had that idea come from?
What had she been doing in the library that day? Was her presence as innocent as he wanted to believe? And what had happened to the coded page? Indeed, what were those papers doing on the desk at all? He was certain he had locked them in a desk drawer.
And why did she really want to remain in Devon?
Aside from his unwelcome suspicions and his inexplicable need to explain them away, the journey to London was uneventful. He conferred with Canning who still insisted on sending Trenville to Paris to consult personally with the ambassador there.
“This is just too important, Trenville, to entrust to a courier. You must take it yourself.”
“Yes, sir. I agree.”
“And I expect the ambassador will have important information for the commander of our occupation forces in Belgium, so you will stop there on your return.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And be careful, Trenville. I doubt you will find yourself in any personal danger, but we never know, do we?”
“Right. The Belgiques have been so close to France for so long—no telling where their sympathies really lie.”
The journey to Paris went well. Adrian delivered his messages and received replies to be conveyed to Belgium and London. And, he attended several elegant social soirees. Nevertheless, he found the atmosphere in the French capital less hospitable than on his previous trips. Initially, on the defeat of Napoleon, the restoration of a Bourbon to the throne had been welcomed by the French people. Now, there seemed to be open friction between the Royalists and the pro-Bonapartists who agitated for Napoleon’s restoration. Trust the French to be unable to make up their minds, Adrian thought.
After delivering his report to the commander of the British occupation forces in Belgium, Adrian visited an old friend on the commander’s staff. Colonel Simpson was a younger son of an earl and, like Olmstead, an old chum of the Marquis of Trenville.
“Margery is planning a bit of a ball in two days’ time,” the colonel said. “She will never forgive me if you do not attend.”
“Far be it for me to become the cause of a marital rift,” Adrian replied.
Thus it was that two nights later, he found himself being introduced to a number of officers and their ladies, and other notables of this English community in exile. Among the people brought to his attention was an older gentleman, Sir Cecil Spenser, and his wife who were on an extended visit with their son.
Spenser. Why was that name so familiar? Adrian prided himself on rarely forgetting persons he had met previously. It was a valuable skill for a diplomat. But he was sure he had never met the Spensers. Then it came to him.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir, madam.” He bowed slightly. “We have a mutual acquaintance, I believe.”
“Oh?” the Spensers intoned simultaneously.
“Miss Palmer is governess to my children. I am sure one of her references came from you.”
“Indeed?”
“It cannot be.”
The Spensers again spoke in unison.
“Oh, yes,” Adrian said. “And a rare find she is, too. So talented in music—and an excellent horsewoman.”
The Spensers looked at each other in obvious consternation.
“My lord, you must be mistaken. Our Miss Palmer meant to retire when she left our employ,” Sir Cecil said.
“And she was only so-so in music,” his wife added. “We had to hire a special music master for our Penelope.”
“I thought Harry was afraid of horses,” the husband said. “Cannot be the same woman.”
“Miss Harriet E. Palmer,” Adrian said. “Was she not in your employ?”
“The name is correct,” the wife said. “But how old is your governess, my lord?”
“Three or four and twenty, I would guess.”
“Well, there you are,” Sir Cecil said with smug assurance. “Not the same woman at all. Our Harry is in her sixties, at least.”
“Strange coincidence,” his wife murmured as the two drifted away.
“Yes. Strange, indeed”, Adrian said grimly to himself. With a huge knot forming in the pit of his stomach, he knew instinctively the Spensers were right. His Miss Palmer was not the woman for whom they had written a glowing recommendation.
So, who was this woman who had charge of his children? And why had she insinuated herself into his household?
Eleven
In accordance with Trenville’s orders, key members of his household removed to London during his sojourn in France and Belgium. The caravan consisted of three carriages to convey four adults—Gabrielle, Madame Giroux, Huntington, and Elinor—plus three children, three female servants, his lordship’s French chef, and luggage. With coachmen and their assistants, including outriders for protection, the group numbered over twenty people. Overnight stays and changing horses en route had been arranged in advance. Elinor found the sheer logistics required to be mind-boggling.
Apprehensive about going back to the city, she forced herself into cautious optimism. True, there were many in the ton who would recognize and welcome Lady Elinor Richards, but she reasoned that most would never even notice a governess. Besides, it was unlikely there would be any occasion for her to be thrown into the company of anyone she had known previously. Having satisfied her
self on this score, she sat back in the carriage to enjoy the countryside as her companions anticipated the marvels of returning to the city.
The Marquis of Trenville’s town house operated with the same relaxed efficiency as the Abbey. As soon as they had rested from the journey, the travelers transferred their routine to the metropolis. Lessons for the children were to be enhanced by outings to the Tower and museums. The beloved ponies had been left in the country, but trips to the park to feed the birds and sail toy boats in the Serpentine were welcomed.
Somehow Geoffrey had learned that the menagerie at the Tower of London included a real live “ephalent.”
“Please, Miss Palmer, please, may we go see it?” he begged.
“I want to see the efl’nt, too,” Bess said.
“The animal is an elephant,” Anne said in a precise schoolmistress tone to the twins, then added her plea to theirs. “ ’Tis quite an exotic beast and I should like to see it, too, Miss Palmer, if we may.”
“All right.” Elinor laughed. “We shall see the elephant, but first we must know something about such an animal and the others we may see there.” She was pleased with herself for thus steering them into a science lesson.
On the day of the excursion, the children were in the entry awaiting Miss Palmer’s arrival and excitedly discussing the strange sights they would see. Just as Elinor came down the stairs, Melton, the London butler, was admitting a guest.
“Lady Barbara Harrington to see the marchioness,” the woman intoned in a dignified voice.
Elinor froze, momentarily in shock. No. Not now. Please. Lady Barbara had attended Miss Pritchard’s Select School for Girls with Lady Elinor Richards. If she recognizes me, it is all over, Elinor thought. She continued down the stairs and avoided looking directly at the visitor.
Lady Barbara looked up and seemed to pause a moment, then looking through Elinor, she ascended the stairs behind the butler.
There. You see? Elinor congratulated herself. Dowdy clothes, a plain bonnet, and spectacles had done the trick. She quickly turned her back on her former classmate and herded her charges away. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut behind them.
Another occasion was much more frightening. This time she had taken the children for an outing in the park. Since it was far too early in the day for the fashionable ton to be parading themselves along the bridle paths, she felt relatively safe.
When the three youngsters had expended some of their energy, and much of hers, in a lively game of tag, Elinor sat on a bench to watch as they fed bread crumbs to the ducks and geese at the edge of the pond. She was relaxed and amused at the giggles and squeals coming from Geoffrey, Bess, and Anne. It occurred to her that Anne seemed of late to have lost some of her officiousness and was enjoying her childhood more than she had previously.
A footpath lay between the bench and the narrow strip of grass near the pond. Out of the corner of her eye, Elinor perceived movement on the path and she glanced that way to see two gentlemen approaching in earnest conversation. Sheer terror tore at her, for strolling casually in her direction were her uncle and Baron Pennington. She sat very still, trying to look at ease, and kept her head down.
“Don’t worry,” her uncle was saying as they neared the bench. “She will turn up soon. I’m sure of it.”
“You could set the Runners to looking for her,” Pennington suggested.
“No. Not yet, anyway. There’s already too much talk about her. No need to stir up more.”
“Look here, Brompton. I am a patient man, but this situation is beginning to pall.”
The two paused directly in front of Elinor and she felt her heart give a heavy lurch. She raised her eyes in a quick glance. They stood with their backs to her, looking out over the pond. She wanted to jump up and run, but forced herself to remain seated.
“It should not be too much longer,” her uncle said in a placating tone. “I’m working on a new lead now. Her brother will be home for a school holiday soon. She will probably try to contact the brat—or he will contact her. We will have him here in Town where he can be watched carefully.”
“You’ll not have another farthing from me until you’ve handled this, Brompton. Enough is enough.”
“Never mind,” Brompton said with hearty bravado that Elinor hated. “You will have the chit in your bed by midsummer—or sooner.” He laughed and the two started to walk on.
“You just see that I do.”
When they had gone, Elinor sat there shaking. Dear God. What if they had really looked at her? Two narrow escapes in only a few days. How on earth was she going to keep up this charade for several more months?
Shaken, and with a tremulous note in her voice, she called the children and they left the park rather more hurriedly than usual.
On the sloop from Ostend to Dover, the Marquis of Trenville paced the deck, often stopping at the rail to gaze unseeing out to sea. On the coach journey from Dover to London, he fidgeted, unable to find a comfortable position. He thought long and hard about the deception the woman calling herself Elinor Palmer had perpetrated on him. His first impulse was to call the governess into the library, give her a proper dressing down, and send her packing.
The nerve of the woman—inveigling her way into his home to create a base for treason! And not just into his home. Geoffrey and Bess, even Anne in her reluctant way, were inordinately fond of their Miss Palmer. The children would be devastated when she left. She was equally fond of them, he was sure. Something more than mere duty had been involved in her care of Bess during the Christmas season and of Geoffrey later. So why would she betray that affection by spying for a foreign power? What strange hold did someone have on her?
He had absolutely no doubt about trusting her with the children. No. He just could not trust her to keep her nose out of his government business. Had he not caught her red-handed going through papers on his desk? And he had been so ready—eager, even—to believe that taradiddle about the wind.
Hell. Bloody hell! Admit it, Whitson. Not only had she made a place for herself in his home and the children’s hearts, she had also begun to break through those iron bands around his own heart. Almost. For the first time since before his marriage he had given himself up to the sheer pleasure of a woman’s company—this woman’s company.
Elinor had none of the practiced charm and fashionable mannerisms that had deluded the new marquis several years ago. Beatrice had set her cap for the most eligible prospect on the marriage mart, using every trick in the book to win her prize—including his mother’s not-so-subtle aid. Besotted with her pretty face and winsome airs, Adrian was anxious to bed her, to carry her off to the Abbey to claim her as his own.
Within weeks, the charm that had captivated in London drawing rooms seemed trivial and foolish. The musical voice now seemed whiny. The harshest blow had been his discovery that behind those blue eyes, sparkling gaily in flirtation, there was not a serious thought to be had. The lovely Beatrice, charming and accomplished as befitted the season’s Incomparable, was totally unsuited to be his wife.
Oh, yes. Adrian Whitson’s judgment of a woman had been profoundly wrong in the past. And now it appeared it was wrong again. This time, however, his mistake would have wider ramifications.
This time it hurt more, too. He had himself misread his wife’s character. Beatrice was what she was, not what he had wanted her to be. Elinor, however, had deliberately deceived him for some deep and dark reason of her own—or someone else’s.
Someone else. Discovering that someone else was vital to the security of the English negotiations in Vienna. There was an accomplice, in fact, there had to be several involved. Eliminating Miss Palmer as a source of English secrets would slow the spies temporarily. Catching the lot of them was a far better goal.
He decided to say nothing to her about her treachery, but shortly after his return, two new employees were added to the staff in the London town house of the Marquis of Trenville. If they were less adept at their domestic d
uties than others in that efficient group, only those belowstairs were aware of it.
Adrian had arrived home in the late afternoon. Their lessons finished for the day, the children were playing in their quarters under the supervision of a nursery maid. They had exciting tales to tell of sailing paper boats on the Serpentine and seeing strange animals at the Tower.
That evening the woman calling herself Miss Palmer did not seem surprised to see him—someone had probably told her of his arrival—but she did seem genuinely pleased. She flashed him a brilliant smile when he joined the others in the drawing room before dinner. For a single moment there were only the two of them in the room. Then he tore his gaze from hers and greeted his sister-in-law.
Elinor had been overjoyed to hear one of the maids speak of his lordship’s return. Later, when he entered the drawing room, she could not suppress her pleasure at seeing him. He greeted her with the same friendly deference as before, but she sensed some reluctance, some indefinable hesitancy in him.
In the days following, he was coolly polite, conversing easily on topics of general interest. However, he held himself somewhat aloof There were no shared morning rides here in the city. His interest in the children’s lessons continued unabated, but he no longer branched out into political observations, court affairs, or opinions about books or art. Elinor decided the high-ranking marquis had reconsidered his dalliance with a mere governess. Well, so be it. She knew her place.
The evenings sometimes weighed heavily on Elinor. Often when the children were abed and their parents engaged in social affairs, the governess would avail herself of the offerings in his lordship’s library. Infrequently, she encountered Huntington there completing some task of the day, though in general the secretary was often engaged of an evening with his own social affairs.
On one occasion, she found Huntington seated at Adrian’s desk, muttering darkly to himself.
“Anything I can help you with?” she offered.
“What? Oh. No. It’s just that Trenville wanted several copies of a certain document—said it was in the desk. But he’s gone and locked every drawer in the infernal thing. Most unusual.”
My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) Page 13
