by Georgie Lee
Freddy and Aunt Agatha exchanged a conspiratorial glance, before Freddy sat back in his chair the way their father used to do whenever he gave his progeny dictates at the breakfast table. ‘You didn’t arrive home from Lady Windfall’s until one o’clock in the morning.’
‘What were you doing up at such an hour?’ Since Helena’s death, Freddy seldom indulged in late nights. It meant something, or someone, had kept him awake. It increased her suspicions about her brother and the comely nurse.
‘I had trouble sleeping.’ Freddy fiddled with his knife. ‘I was worried about you.’
She didn’t believe his being up had anything to do with concern for her and she would have said so if Aunt Agatha hadn’t spoken first.
‘It’s a good thing he did stay up. He saw you come home in Mr Dyer’s carriage,’ Aunt Agatha spat. ‘How could you lie to us about where you were and who you were with, and with Mr Dyer of all people?’
‘Would you prefer I insult him to his face like you did?’ Moira shot back, making her aunt’s mouth drop open in surprise. She’d never been one to cause problems, but to settle arguments and make sure all was right between them. It was a role she could not maintain today.
‘We discussed the matter of Mr Dyer,’ Freddy said in an even voice, trying to sooth the tension between her and Aunt Agatha. ‘I thought you understood what I’d asked of you.’
‘You weren’t supposed to see him again,’ Aunt Agatha exclaimed, dousing the rising fire with lamp oil.
‘It isn’t your place to tell me what to do and who not to see. I don’t chastise Freddy for his interest in Miss Kent.’
Aunt Agatha sucked in a sharp breath and Moira wasn’t certain if it was because Moira had dared to air a family secret within the hearing of servants or if it was because she’d failed to notice the illicit liaison taking place under her nose. She turned her hard eyes on her nephew. ‘Is that who had you up so late last night?’
‘What I do with Miss Kent is my own business,’ he snapped.
‘And what I do with Mr Dyer is not yours,’ Moira challenged in a soft and shaking voice. Let them rail at her. It might be scraping out the inside of her stomach, but it was necessary. She wouldn’t allow them to separate her from Bart again.
With sad eyes, Freddy turned to her and dropped his voice, aware Aunt Agatha was still listening. ‘You know the dangers involved in what you’re doing.’
‘I do.’ Moira touched her neck. She’d been all too aware of them even before last night. Now she must pay the price for her decision to ignore them.
‘And you still wish to carry on with him.’
‘I will, just as you’ll continue to carry on with Miss Kent despite the risk to her reputation. Will you marry her if you get her with child?’ He could do what he liked, but she had to ensure Miss Kent would be protected. She’d been entrusted to the family by her father and Moira didn’t want to betray his trust.
‘He can’t marry a nurse. Think of the scandal,’ Aunt Agatha screeched.
‘Is he to leave her to ruin, then?’ Moira pressed, stunned once again by her aunt’s callousness.
‘Enough of this.’ Freddy folded his linen napkin and laid it down beside his plate with a deep sigh. ‘Nicholas and I and Miss Kent are returning to the country this morning.’
‘Freddy, how can you possibly think to take Miss Kent to the country after, well, after what Moira has suggested?’ Aunt Agatha’s voice rose with each word. ‘Surely if Moira has imagined it, others have, too. Moira, as soon as we are home, you must do something about this.’
‘I’d prefer it if Moira didn’t come back with us,’ Freddy almost whispered, but the words were loud enough to hit Moira like a slap.
‘What?’
He glanced at her before he focused again on his plate. ‘I can’t have you placing your desire for Mr Dyer over Nicholas’s welfare.’
‘You know very well that’s not what this is about.’
‘Isn’t it?’ he challenged.
Bart’s hand in hers last night on the sidewalk, the tilt of his head and low voice made her doubt her comment as much as Freddy. ‘No, and even if it were, how many times have I placed your needs over mine? How many times have I sacrificed to help you? Did I not come to you after Walter’s death and do everything I could to support you and Nicholas? Can you not stand by my decision now? I would stand beside you and Miss Kent if you asked me to, as long as your intentions were honourable.’
Aunt Agatha let out a sharp squeak, but the siblings ignored her.
Freddy fidgeted with the end of the napkin dangling over the edge of the table, refusing to meet her eyes. ‘It’s not the same thing, Moira.’
‘You know perfectly well that it is, and if you’d allow me to explain, you’d see how the things you’re worried about won’t happen. I’m only going to—’
‘I don’t want to hear any more about it.’ Freddy stopped playing with the napkin and raised his eyes to meet hers at last, his expression stony. ‘You will regret this, Moira, maybe not today, but you will, as I learned the hard way.’
Freddy rose and strode into the hallway, calling to the footmen to hurry up with the packing so they could leave at once. He then called for Miss Kent, wanting to know if Nicholas was ready.
Moira’s heart constricted. She understood his concerns, but he hadn’t even bothered to listen to hers or to allow her to reassure him all would be well like the many times she had during those first days after Helena’s death. After all she’d done for him, returning to Fallworth Manor two years ago wearing her weeks-old mourning dress, her paltry widow’s portion in trunks in the cart along with the papers outlining the expected meagre payments each quarter, ready to help him and Nicholas, he’d cast her aside like some slatternly maid the moment she’d defied him.
Bart had been right. Freddy didn’t appreciate every sacrifice she’d made for him and Nicholas.
Nicholas. He’s taking him away from me. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. How could he be so cruel?
‘I hope you’re happy.’ Aunt Agatha shoved back her chair and stood, the spite in her words drying Moira’s tears. ‘Look at all the trouble you’ve caused.’
‘After everything I’ve done for this family, you sneer at me? What will you do in the country even supposing you keep Freddy from ruining Miss Kent? Run Fallworth Manor? You’ve never taken control before, not even when I was fourteen and mourning the passing of Mother and you were more than capable of stepping in. I have a difficult time imagining you’ll accomplish it now with enough success to ensure it remains profitable.’
Aunt Agatha opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words before she recovered herself. ‘I’m sure Freddy is more than capable of assuming management of the estate.’
‘If not, then your security will suffer along with his. Are you willing to take such a risk?’
‘As willing as you are to stake your reputation and future on a man like Mr Dyer. Don’t come crawling back to us when your good name is in tatters because of your association with him. He might be revered for his skill in the courtroom, but it doesn’t extend beyond there.’
Aunt Agatha turned on her dainty feet and stormed out of the dining room. The footman remained by the door, pretending he’d heard nothing.
Moira’s hands trembled where she clasped them tightly in her lap. She wanted to run after Aunt Agatha and Freddy and beg for their forgiveness, to apologise for causing trouble and secure once more her place of importance in their lives, but she forced herself to sit still. They were turning their backs on her, making it clear how unnecessary she was to them even though they’d relied on her so heavily before. If they didn’t need her, then no one did. If she didn’t have Fallworth Manor and all the people there, she had nothing.
No, Bart needed her, and for more important reasons than to ensu
re the silverware was polished.
Except it wouldn’t last. At any moment he might catch the Rouge Noir and her assistance would no longer be necessary to him either. It would make all her sacrifices to help him meaningless, like Walter’s death and his failure to give her a child had made her father’s ambitions for the marriage, and her secure future, worthless in the end.
She unclenched her hands, rose and went to the sideboard, ignoring the painted faces of her parents watching her while she helped herself to breakfast. She could imagine what they’d have to say about this if they were here, but they weren’t, and part of her was glad. She didn’t want to endure anyone else criticising her decisions or trying to talk or force her out of making them.
She returned to the table and sat down, the emptiness of the room engulfing her. It would be like this tomorrow when it was only her here and no one else and then what would she do?
Exactly what I’m doing now.
She tucked into her breakfast, more hungry than she’d realised. If she could face a musket ball and not be destroyed then she could face this, even if she longed for the day when she no longer had to endure her troubles but could defy them and thrive.
* * *
‘Any news on the man you were following who met with the Comte de Troyen in Rotten Row?’ Bart asked Joseph from where he sat in a leather chair across from his solicitor partner, Mr Steed, in their Temple Bar office. Mr Steed knew about Bart’s work for the Government, but had no place in it. His purpose was to serve their clients, especially those who came to them in search of protection against fraudsters, forgers and thieves.
‘He isn’t a beggar, but he isn’t working for Mr Dubois either,’ Joseph informed them from where he stood by the window. ‘He’s Lord Camberline’s valet and he’s been carrying a lot of message back and forth between his lordship and the Frenchman.’
‘What’s in those letters?’
‘Can’t say yet. The valet is one of the most faithful servants I’ve ever seen outside your employ and one of those teetotallers. I can’t load him up with ale at the pub like I normally do and I’ve had my fill of the drinks at the chocolate house.’ Joseph placed a hand over his stomach and stuck out his tongue to emphasise his distaste for the overly sweet beverage.
‘I appreciate your sacrifices in the name of service to the King,’ Bart acknowledged with a smile.
‘I suppose it’s better than when you sent me into that brothel and I had to watch all those men meeting while ignoring everything else going on around me.’
‘I’m sure you had a little fun there.’
‘I’m not saying I didn’t, but there are some things a man sees that he can’t forget and they’re almost as horrible as what I witnessed in war.’ Joseph laughed, then sobered. ‘To be honest, my gut says whatever the two men are using the valet to communicate, it doesn’t have to do with France. Whenever I bring up the topic of France or Napoleon, the valet doesn’t become shifty as you’d expect a guilty man to do.’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know what’s in the messages he’s passing between the men,’ Steed suggested.
‘It’s a poor valet who doesn’t know everything his master is up to.’
‘Or a simpleton with a little too much admiration for his lord,’ Bart mused.
‘He’s devoted to Lord Camberline, so it’s possible. Also, he told me Lady Camberline is holding a dinner tomorrow night. He’s upset about it because he might have to act as a footman since many of the staff are sick. It isn’t the usual society dinner either, but one with a lot of high-ranking guests, including the Prime Minister.’
‘The Camberlines aren’t a political family.’ Steed stated exactly what Bart was thinking. ‘Unless Lord Camberline, in the midst of preparing to take his seat in the House of Lords, is building support and his mother is doing what she can to help him.’
Bart rubbed his chin as he stared at the scuffed toe of his boot. ‘It’s possible.’
‘If Lady Rexford can secure an invitation then you might find out. Even toffs have limits as to how free they’ll be in the presence of servants, but they aren’t so cautious around woman of their class, especially attractive ones,’ Steed suggested.
The idea of Moira becoming even more embroiled in this affair knotted Bart’s stomach, but Steed was right. She was the best person to find a way to attend and see what this political party entailed and if it had anything to do with the plot.
‘I’ll speak to Lady Rexford and ask her to secure an invitation. Joseph, pick a few men to try to obtain positions with the Camberlines. I also need your best and most discreet man to keep an eye on Lady Rexford.’ Bart told them about Mr Dubois and the incident in the alley, working hard to keep his personal feelings out of the tale. ‘We can’t make the same mistake with her as we did with Lady Fallworth.’
‘Awful deal, that,’ Joseph shook his head with regret. ‘I’ll put Mr Smith on it right away.’
‘And keep on the valet. I want to know what Lord Camberline and the Comte are up to.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Joseph left Bart and Steed to see to his duties.
Bart crossed to the bookcase and the selection of liquor on top of it. He poured himself a healthy measure of brandy and took a hearty sip, the guilt he’d endured after Lady Fallworth’s death burning his insides as much as the drink. He’d stepped back from spying in the months afterward and thrown himself into his barrister duties, trying to make up for his failings by helping others. It hadn’t worked. He gripped the empty glass tightly, praying he wasn’t making the same mistake with Moira. ‘I shouldn’t have dragged Lady Rexford into this.’
‘With your men watching her, she’s well protected,’ Steed reassured. ‘What I wonder is, who’s going to protect you?’
Bart took in the office with its dark wood desk and the leather furniture, and the bookcases and paintings of horses and hunting dogs adorning the walls. The masculine air of it contrasted sharply with what he remembered of the inside of Lady Rexford’s feminine home. The difference was evident throughout his life. Every since he’d gone to war, there’d been nothing to ease the hardness growing inside him and he wondered how long it would be until it closed him off from anything of beauty and charm until he became as craggy as his old bachelor uncle. It didn’t matter, nothing did except the task before him. ‘I’ve dealt with worse men than the Rouge Noir.’
‘I don’t mean from pistols, but more womanly charms.’
Bart swirled the brandy in his glass, then drained it. Steed was coming closer to the truth than Bart cared to admit. He’d been there the first time Bart had been involved with Moira and beside him when he’d done a fair amount of cursing and drinking after it had all gone wrong. It was back before Bart had learned to master his thoughts and emotions thanks to his years of arguing before the bar. His lack of discipline had led him to rush into a relationship with Moira, but after coming close to death in France so many times, he’d wanted to enjoy life, especially with her.
He rubbed his forehead with his fingers, understanding Steed’s concern. Here he was considering Moira and his own situation instead of focusing on this new information and what it meant to his investigation. She was here to help him bring down the Rouge Noir, not to change his past or his future. ‘Unlike some of our clients who never learn when it comes to women, I know better.’
‘Sure you do. What’s the old saying? Pride goeth before a fall.’
‘The pride these Rouge Noir members have in their ability to bring about Napoleon’s reign in England is the only thing about to fall.’ The clock on the wall above Steed chimed the time. ‘I have to go. I have an appointment with Lady Rexford.’
‘Take care, Bart, not just with her safety, but yours.’
Bart descended the stairs with Steed’s warning ringing in his ears. He wasn’t as confident in his control over his emotions as he’d led his pa
rtner to believe. More than once last night, when Moira had been so close to him he could have pressed his lips to hers, he’d been tempted to cross the imaginary boundary between them. Whatever had drawn them together five years ago still existed between them. It was incredibly difficult when they were alone together to ignore it, but he must. He refused to trifle with Moira, or place her in a situation where she had to choose between her family and him. He had enough troubles with his father to not wish the same kind of difficulties on her, but her ability to get close to the Camberlines was too essential to the investigation for him to stop meeting her.
Bart stopped in the middle of the pavement, his reasoning too much like the one he’d used to keep Freddy involved in the Scottish Corresponding Society plot. If he’d ended Freddy’s involvement sooner, they wouldn’t have discovered it and murdered his wife. If Bart pushed Moira into securing an invitation to the dinner party, and the Camberlines were involved in the Rouge Noir, it might place her in the same danger.
Bart walked faster, his need to protect England at odds with Moira’s safety. This was his battle and he wouldn’t sacrifice Moira to ensure he won, but it was a fight he couldn’t lose either. The stakes were too high. He’d marched through the cities Napoleon’s cannons had levelled and seen the villages wiped out by the typhoid Napoleon’s army had carried with them. He’d endured the desperation in the survivors’ eyes as they’d pleaded with him for help he couldn’t give. He refused to see it mar the faces of his fellow countrymen, but he didn’t want to ensure their safety at the risk of Moira’s. This cause was greater than the two of them, but she wasn’t a proper agent trained to deal in deception and capable of protecting herself. She was relying on him and he’d already let her down last night. He couldn’t bear the thought of doing so again.
