Espionage and the Earl

by Win Hollows

  Her jaw ground painfully as she clenched it. She didn’t give a rat’s arse if her parents were tossed out into the street. But she could never do such a thing to Celise. She couldn’t renege if her sister were to have any semblance of a debut or respectable marriage prospects. Celise didn’t deserve to suffer for her or her parents’ choices. Above all, she couldn’t let the duke have any reason to pursue her younger sibling. She had no doubt he would do it if she didn’t follow through with their marriage, having firsthand knowledge of how patient the man could be in getting what he wanted.

  Her parents could go stuff themselves, she decided. Striding into the hallway, Elorie watched the three of them stop speaking immediately to look at her. She went up to the doctor, who was only the tiniest bit taller than she, and said in a soft voice, “If you ever touch me again, with or without the duke’s say-so, I will rip you limb from limb until there aren’t pieces of you big enough for the fish to feed on after I toss you into the Thames. Is that clear?”

  The man blinked and cleared his throat, but couldn’t quite manage a response.

  She dismissed him to turn to her parents. “I’m taking Celise out, and we won’t be back for some time. Her lessons are over for the day.”

  Both her mother’s and father’s eyes were alarmingly round, but neither said a word as she turned her back and walked away. She found Celise with her governess upstairs, collecting her without giving a reason.

  “What’s going on?” Celise asked as she let Elorie pull her by the hand out of the room.

  “You’re getting what you want, that’s what’s going on,” she answered.

  “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Trust me, Mother won’t object. Not today,” she said grimly.

  When they arrived at the Society for Unclaimed Animals a half an hour later, none other than Lady Delilah Hayworth came to greet them. The tall, raven-haired woman addressed them with warmth. Lilah had always been warm and inviting in the short time Elorie had known her, but one wouldn’t think it to look at her. She had the type of beauty queens were supposed to possess, coldly pale with waving ebony hair and statuesque bearing. Perfect crescents of rose crowned her cheekbones, lending life to her flawless complexion. Elorie had heard people say she had been the jewel of the season when she came out, but had withdrawn from society after only a few weeks. She was now rarely seen at large social functions, keeping to the company of her few friends.

  Lilah led them to a wing of the old building so Celise could see some of the many abandoned cats in need of a home.

  “That one.” Celise immediately pointed to a gray cat.

  Lilah hesitated. The cat curled on the opposite side of the pen didn’t move at all. It was gray and short-haired with mats throughout its fur, making it hard to tell how well-fed he actually was. The cat’s face had a white, pear-shaped patch of fur extending from his nose down to encompass his mouth, yet that wasn’t his most distinctive feature. The cat’s eyes were missing altogether, and its ears folded down over his head like they were trying to cover the seams where his eyes should have been out of shame. “He’s not as friendly as the black one over there. And he’s completely blind.”

  Celise shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Lilah met Elorie’s eyes over Celise’s head and smiled. “I thought that might be the case.”

  “He’s perfect,” Elorie declared. Her mother would certainly hate him, and that was enough for her. “Or is it a girl cat?”

  “He’s a boy,” Lilah told them. “He doesn’t have a name. You’ll have to do the honors.” She nudged Celise. When Lilah went to go pick up the cat, he didn’t resist at all, staying limp as a rag doll as she carried him out. Elorie wasn’t certain the blind feline would flourish, but she knew Celise would do everything in her power to make sure he was well cared for. If anyone could love such a pitiful creature, it was Celise.

  Elorie thanked Lilah and made plans to meet her and Raquel for tea on the morrow. As they bundled themselves into the carriage again with the gray cat on Celise’s lap, Elorie noticed the cat still hadn’t moved a muscle, seeming to melt all over her sister’s lap like he didn’t care either way what happened to him. That was what a loss of hope did to someone, Elorie knew. She understood the cat’s indifference, a resolve to not let anything, good or bad, affect him. Her heart sometimes felt the same way, and she feared slipping into the numbing embrace of resignation as much as she welcomed it.

  Celise smiled down at the lumpy mass and began to stroke its folded ears, cooing softly to it. Elorie’s chest swelled. At least she could do this small thing for her sister. And the floppy cat. As the coach trundled along, eventually, faint purring could be heard over horses’ gaits. “I think he likes you,” Elorie said softly. “What will you name him?”

  “Wilber,” she stated.

  “Wilber?” Elorie cocked her head and smiled at the soft pewter animal. “He looks like a Wilber. Why that?”

  “He’s named after William Wilberforce, a man who didn’t give up and lived a long life full of meaning.”

  Elorie’s throat constricted. Celise would be all right, she realized. As long as that little flame didn’t go out, as long as Elorie made sure her sister had the best chance possible to marry a kind man who could provide for her, she would consider everything she had done, and would still do, worth every moment.

  “You know, Celise,” she started, then stopped, needing to clear her throat. “You don’t have to listen to everything Mama tells you.”

  Celise’s emerald green eyes looked up from Wilber.

  “Mama is… She can be wrapped up in herself and doesn’t always see things clearly. I want you to know that I made the mistake of letting her choose certain things for me—things that I regret. And when I stood up for myself, the one time I did something for me … I was the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  She could feel tears beginning to well in her eyes. “There are so many things and places and people—” She choked on the words as Max’s face rose in her mind. “People who will allow you to figure out who you really are. Pleasing Mama won’t get you that. So no matter what, be yourself, and don’t fret over what she thinks of you. Don’t let her dictate who you will become.”

  Celise had listened with close attention throughout, not a single expression passing over her face. The ability to mask one’s thoughts must have been an inherited trait, Elorie thought. Then, suddenly, she smiled. “I know.”

  Elorie blinked. “You do?”

  Celise nodded. “That’s why I’m leaving as soon as I come of age. I’m going to be a writer.” She went back to petting Wilber.

  Elorie bit her lip as she smiled. “That’s wonderful. You’ll be brilliant.” She didn’t mention to her sister that writers, especially female ones, usually didn’t make enough money to support themselves, let alone in the style Celise was accustomed to. But that was all right for now. Elorie was just happy that Celise wasn’t under their mother’s spell the way she had been at that age.

  “Did Mama make you agree to marry the duke?” Celise asked, her wide eyes on Elorie again. “I know you’ve been betrothed a long time.”

  Her younger sister’s perceptiveness was much greater than she had realized. “In a way, yes,” she confessed. “Although I could have said no. I just didn’t understand my choices at the time.”

  “Why don’t you say no now?”

  Elorie looked away out the carriage window. “Because I made a promise. It’s complicated.”

  Celise shrugged. “Maybe you’re making the same mistake again. You can always say no.”

  Elorie tried not to let her voice wobble as she looked back at her sister. “That’s true, love. You can always say no. Remember that.”

  Celise nodded. “I’m going to say no to Mama when she tells me to throw Wilber out.”

  Elorie grinned. “I’d love to see that.”

  She really did want to see Celise stand up to Cosette. And with Elorie there, Cosette might just fin
d herself outgunned, so to speak. For if there was one thing Elorie knew how to handle, it was what she had over her mother: leverage. She might not hold all the cards in the game of her life, but, by God, she would play the hand she was dealt to the fullest. Even if it was as small as stopping her mother from bullying a little girl and a blind cat.

  Some things just weren’t meant to be borne.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I like him,” Camille announced, as if she’d decided to adopt him as a pet.

  “You can’t keep him,” Max told her, steering his sister out of the room.

  “Wait! I want to stay!” She squirmed, trying not to let Max shut the door to the parlor on her.

  “I know. That’s why you’re getting the boot,” Max explained, his sister’s efforts having no effect on him whatsoever as she shoved back with skinny arms.

  “So nice to meet you!” Losif called from his spot in the armchair.

  Max finally shut the door without pinching any of Camille’s fingers in it, to her muffled protests. Camille had taken up the better part of an hour asking Losif all kinds of questions as if the portly man was sitting for a school exam, but he had answered every one like an overenthusiastic textbook of world facts. Bringing the monk home with him until they left for France had probably been a mistake, but his mother and Camille hadn’t even blinked. He’d told them Losif was a consultant for a chapel he was building at one of the northern family estates, and they’d immediately settled him in with all the comforts women could think of. It occurred to Max that they most likely hadn’t had very many guests at the house due to the mourning observances in the past two years.

  “Now where were we?” he said to the monk, coming to sit across from him once more.

  “I believe you were plotting to commit treason,” Losif reminded him cheerfully.

  “Ah yes, of course.” Max rubbed his chin. “Do you think it will work?”

  Losif had already stuffed another tea cake into his mouth. “I fud fink fo.”

  “Very helpful, Losif. How do you manage to be so eloquent?”

  The monk swallowed. “It’s not every day one is offered peach bourbon pound cakes, you know. How are you not fat?” he asked Max suspiciously.

  “I stay away, mostly.”

  Losif’s eyes turned curious. “From your own family?”

  Max cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, yes. My work for the Crown has necessitated it.”

  “Do you think you used that to escape your grief over your father’s death?”

  Max threw his hands up. “I don’t know, Losif! How do you know all these things? What did Camille tell you?”

  “Oh, just about everything,” he said matter-of-factly, grabbing another tiny pound cake from the tiered tray on the table.

  Max sighed. “Wonderful.”

  “It is, isn’t it? How wonderful to have such a family,” the monk mused before stuffing the cake in his mouth.

  He wasn’t wrong, Max knew. He had always cared about his family and enjoyed spending time with them. Perhaps he had run from the grief that had permeated their home by taking more and more assignments. And the more assignments he took, the further away from them, and their world, he felt. He knew he avoided coming home for extended lengths because he felt like he didn’t quite belong anymore.

  Yet the grief that had hung over them had dissipated greatly. Now, this house felt almost like it had before his father’s passing, full of life and people who just wanted to love him. Perhaps he would never be like his peers, but he realized he wanted to be a part of his family rather than shy away from them as he had unconsciously done these last few years.

  But he had one more mission to complete first.

  “So it’s settled, then,” Max stated. “Tomorrow night, I’m going to force the Viper out of retirement.”

  Losif looked up from the tea tray, which he was poring over, likely deciding which pastry to select next. “I think it’s a terrible plan. Truly awful. She’ll hate you. But you should certainly do it. True love and all that.”

  Max groaned. “Do me a favor, Losif.”

  “What is that?”

  “Don’t talk the entire way to St. Raphael.”

  Losif blinked and then smiled. “My Lord, I think we both know that’s an act only God could achieve.”

  Max shook his head and slumped miserably in his chair. It was going to be a long journey.

  ****

  The peculiar shade of white that Lilah’s face bore as the footman in deep-green livery finished delivering the news was not a good look for her.

  Then again, hearing your cousin had died wasn’t good either.

  Elorie hadn’t met Lilah’s cousin, Grant Hayworth, or, as he was known outside of close family, the Viscount Bastion, but she didn’t have to know him to understand the incredible shock that now wracked Lilah Hayworth’s frame as the dark-haired woman sat on the piano’s bench in the music salon of her family’s home. The footman had interrupted her playful experimentation with Bach that Elorie had been rather enjoying and had bent down to mumble something in her ear before giving her a folded note with the Bastion crest on it. The viscount’s footman bowed and left the room, clearly not wanting to stay for the awkward aftermath of his pronouncement.

  The blood had drained from Lilah’s face, and her mouth hung open like a broken nutcracker before she finally stated in a distant tone, “Grant is dead.”

  No one said anything for what felt like a very long moment, the silence like that of one in the wake of a gunshot.

  “What?” Raquel said faintly, her teacup rattling in its saucer as she lowered it to the table.

  “Lost,” Lilah whispered, her eyes staring blankly ahead. “At sea. The ship—his ship went down.”

  Elorie set her teacup down as well and rose to walk toward Lilah. She put a hand on her shoulder, and Lilah looked up at her wide-eyed, as if she just knew Elorie was going to negate what the footman had told her a moment ago.

  “I’m so very sorry,” she said simply, knowing there was nothing else to say in such a time. Lilah looked down at the floor and began to take in noisy gulps of air, putting her hand to her chest.

  Raquel braced a shaking hand on the edge of the armrest beside her and struggled not to fall off the sofa. “Not Grant. That … that can’t be right.”

  Lilah swallowed, and Elorie saw that her hands had begun to tremble, the piece of damning vellum in them fluttering like a white flag of defeat.

  Crouching low, a movement no lady was supposed to do in public, Elorie took Lilah’s hands in her own and held them tightly as she pried the paper out from between Lilah’s cold fingers. Elorie continued to hold Lady Hayworth’s hands until a chilled teardrop splashed onto the knuckle of her forefinger.

  “A-are you sure?” Raquel pleaded from her seat a little ways away.

  Lilah’s head twisted unnaturally as she turned to look at the note that Elorie had set on the piano’s shining black hood. Elorie stood and took the note, saving Lilah from having to read it for now.

  April 19, 1843

  Dear Niece,

  This is difficult to pen, but I must inform you that my son Grant has been declared dead as news of his ship’s demise was confirmed by word of another vessel’s sailor. It seems there was a fire on board, and the other vessel did not reach Grant’s in time to save anyone before it went down. We only hope he did not suffer and is now at peace. Please be advised that your brother is now the heir presumptive to the Viscountcy. Your parents have been notified of the situation as well and will be returning from Brighton to attend a service in my son’s honor, to be held at the manor in Guildford on Tuesday. As I know you were close, my heart is with yours.

  Love,

  Aunt Abigail

  Elorie closed her eyes and felt a tear slip between her eyelashes. The poor Hayworths. And Raquel had known him from childhood as well, as she understood it, the three having grown up like brothers and sisters.

  Elorie shook her head and look
ed at first Raquel and then Lilah. “It is certain.”

  Lilah let out a cry and buried her face in her hands, shoulders heaving with her sobs. “Why?” she ground out, rocking back and forth. Similarly, Raquel had put a hand to her own cheek as moisture ran down in rivulets.

  Elorie sat on the bench behind Lilah and held her shoulders tightly, as if she could keep her friend from falling apart with physical force alone. She wished Ivy were here too, as she was closer to them than Elorie was. However, Ivy was with her husband at their country estate by now and wouldn’t even know of the news for days.

  Everything had been going swimmingly, and Elorie had actually been enjoying the lively women’s conversation. It was probably something to do with the fact that she was not in a dither about meeting Max, and so other things didn’t seem near as grating or distracting.

  Until the note had come.

  This was what having friends was like, then, she mused, as she leaned her head on Delilah’s shoulder blade while the woman cried even harder. Perversely, she liked it. Not the fact that Grant Hayworth had died, but that there was someone, or even two someones, who wanted her comfort and her presence during a time like this. She felt part of something, even if the something was horrible. It had been a long time in which she had felt that way, and she had thought she would never belong anywhere. Yet here she was, rubbing gentle circles on another woman’s back as if she had never been the Viper at all.

  Elorie eventually helped Lilah over to the sofa on which Raquel sat, and the two cried together, their shared memories of the Viscount Bastion wringing from them a depth of feeling that Elorie had rarely seen so viscerally displayed.

  By the time the Duke of Scythemore arrived an hour later to collect Raquel, Delilah had retired to her room. Elorie was sitting with Raquel as she sniffled vacantly, trying to convince her to drink some tea, when His Grace was shown into the room. Even at a time like this, Elorie knew etiquette must be observed, so she stood and curtsied as he approached.

  Raquel’s brother, Dominic Tierney, was tall and quite handsome, his black hair and sea-green eyes commanding attention. Elorie could admit her heart skipped a beat when she met his arresting gaze, which seemed to pierce into the depths of her soul with one look. He was what every duke wished they were, she thought, the quiet air of authority and intensity needing no title to validate it.