by Anne Ireland
“I took a slight detour,” Paul replied and frowned. “You know my mission. I was told that I might find a clue to the riddle I seek to solve at a certain estate not too far distant.”
“And did you?”
“I learned that the Earl expects his grandson home in the near future—but of the rest, nothing.”
Josh Farnham nodded. “You may find the trail has gone cold now. It was more than a year past, Paul. Perhaps it is time to let it go.”
“Six men died in that blast,” Paul said. “And there were others whose deaths I did not witness personally, good soldiers who died from the same cause. Those six were men who had served with me on the Peninsular before this last engagement. You don’t simply let go of something like that, Josh.”
Josh was the younger by several years than his friend. He was also the slighter of the two, though he was above average height, but Paul was a large man, muscular and authoritative. Josh was also the more attractive of the two, his hair as fair as Paul’s was dark, his eyes a merry blue that twinkled when he had cause. There were other differences, for though Paul was a seasoned soldier, the campaign in France had been Josh’s first and, he fervently hoped, his last. He had seen enough of shattered bodies and men dying of terrible wounds. Their cries haunted his dreams even now.
But the worst thing was that some of the deaths had not been inflicted by the enemy, but by faulty cannon. A senior officer on Wellington’s staff, Paul had been in charge of the munitions supplies for a while, and it was he who had ordered the new cannon from a firm based in the north of England. They had been splendid pieces to look at and allegedly capable of firing more accurately and at longer distances than those they had been accustomed to. Unfortunately, of the twenty pieces delivered, nine had been damaged goods, exploding and killing or maiming the men who had fired them. Paul had taken the outrage personally, vowing to trace the person who had sold the faulty cannon to the army and see him punished.
“I know how you feel,” Josh said after a moment’s reflection. “But life moves on. You have a home to go to and an estate to run.”
“My mother’s words exactly,” Paul said and grinned at his friend in his lazy, good-natured way. Sometimes Josh thought he resembled a sleepy bear, but there was nothing sleepy about him when he went into action, either on the field of battle or off it. “I have been told that it is my duty to the family to marry and get myself an heir.”
“Yes, well, at your age, there isn’t much time left,” Josh said and ducked the playful blow aimed at his head. “You are seven-and-thirty, Paul, and in direct line for the title. It is little wonder that the marchioness thinks you should settle down now that Boney is back in his cage.”
“I can’t see the old boy popping off just yet,” Paul said, though he frowned at the idea. “God forbid! No, my father is good for a few more years yet, thank goodness. And I have this business to sort out. I made myself a promise, Josh. We were sold faulty goods, and I think it was a deliberate fraud. It might even have been more than that.”
Josh stared at in him silence for a moment, then said, “You think that those cannon could have been spiked to cause confusion and mayhem in our ranks?”
“If we had not withdrawn the remainder of the batch and reassured the men, who knows what might have happened? Lesser things have started a mutiny, and even doubt or confusion at the wrong time could have lost us valuable ground. You know as well as I do that Wellington’s skill as a commander and the sheer guts on the part of officers and men won us the day out there. Anything could have tipped the balance in Bonaparte’s favor. If we had not tested those cannon before we went into battle, they might well have caused mayhem amongst the ranks.”
“But surely the man who sold us the cannon was an Englishman? What was his name? I forget now, though you have spoken of him by name before.”
“Jonathan Hanwell, he called himself, and he was undoubtedly an Englishman. An Englishman who, by the deep bronze of his skin, looked as if he had spent some years abroad,” Paul said. “A man who disappeared after the contract was signed and the gold handed over—a man who might be a traitor to his country . . .”
“Good grief!” Josh was astounded, feeling a growing sense of outrage now. This alters things considerably, Crawford. A fault in manufacturing is one thing, an act of sabotage by a traitor quite another. The fellow deserves to be brought to justice.”
“My feelings exactly,” Paul agreed. “Of course, the name he gave was quite false. Jonathan Hanwell of the Hanwell Manufacturing Company of Sheffield. The company is genuine enough, but the cannon did not come from there, though it bore their stamp. Apparently, they had a robbery some months earlier and believe that the tool may have been stolen at that time.
“Mr. Edward Hanwell was most disturbed that this impostor used his family name to sell faulty goods to the army. He believes that the cannon came from an inferior firm, and has promised to make his own inquiries as to where they might have originated, though the two that were originally demonstrated to us were undoubtedly from Hanwell’s company. However, he denied having been given the order and showed me his records of all manufacturing during that period, and I believed him honest.”
“This is a serious business,” Josh said, his brow creasing in thought. “We have Boney clapped up right and tight. He shouldn’t cause us more trouble, but a traitor is a traitor.”
“I intend to trace him and do my best to bring him to justice.”
“If I can be of help to you, Crawford, you have only to say.”
Paul nodded, his expression grim as he looked at his friend. “I shall ask but only if it is really necessary. This is a dangerous business, Josh. I have some stalwart friends, men who served with me out there, and they are as anxious to bring the traitor to justice as we are, perhaps more so, for they know any of them could have died. I daresay I shall need them for I believe someone took a pot shot at me on my way here.”
“Good grief!” Josh looked at him in concern. “Then things are even worse than I imagined.”
“It missed me fortunately,” Paul said with a slight smile, his blue eyes warm with amusement. “I daresay I have a charmed life—or a sixth sense, more like. It comes from all those reconnaissance forays for Old Hookey. You had to know when someone was likely to be waiting to ambush you. However, the incident on my way here has made me more wary, and I shall make sure that I do not travel alone in future. But I came here for reasons other than this foul business, my friend. What is this I hear from my mother? Are you indeed thinking of taking the plunge?”
“If you mean am I in the petticoat line,” Josh said with a grimace. “It looks as if I may be. Lucinda is a beauty, Paul, and a honeypot. Not only that, she is an heiress and my mother likes her.”
“Then I shall wish you happy and hope to dance at your wedding.”
“I fear you will all too soon,” Josh said with a gloomy sigh. “So much for my plans to enjoy myself on the town for a few years. Between them, my mother and Lucinda will have me bound hand and foot to the estate before you can spit.”
Paul laughed for he knew his friend’s humor of old and was aware that nothing would make Josh do something he did not wish to do. Clearly, he had fallen hard for the young woman in question.
“I shall look forward to meeting the young lady,” he said. “Indeed, I envy you for finding a lady you can contemplate marrying with equanimity. I have never yet met one that made me feel I should enjoy living with her in quiet domesticity, though I shall have to think of finding a wife once this other business is done. My mother is quite right. It is time I got myself an heir—but I shall look for a widow I think. A woman with a sensible mind who does not look for romantic love but who is willing to oblige me for the sake of a comfortable life.”
“Good grief,” Josh said, blenching at the thought. “You will be so bored, Paul. You can’t possibly mean it?”
“I’ve had my fill of tempestuous beauties,” Paul told him with a wry smile. “Isabella and
Madame Desmoullins . . .”
“Veronique!” Josh said and rolled his eyes. “We all envied you her, Crawford. She was matchless—those eyes and that figure!”
“And a temper to match,” Paul said and chuckled. “She was a bloodsucker, Josh, never satisfied, always wanting more—both in the matter of gifts and in bed. A woman like that wears a man out. No, no, give me a nice little widow of quiet, decent habits, and I shall be satisfied.”
“For six months perhaps,” Josh retorted, but he could see the smile in his friend’s eyes. “But you are bamming me, of course. I dare say you have another high flyer up your sleeve already.”
“I promise you there is no one,” Paul said with his lazy smile, a smile that hid a keen, intelligent mind and a slightly wicked humor. And yet, even as he spoke, he remembered the woman who had directed him on his way. She had looked a bit startled when he spoke to her, nervous even, but when she smiled he had seen a very different person. He did not know why she had lingered in his thoughts for she was certainly not beautiful, attractive in a quiet way perhaps—but that smile had lit her face up from inside. “Do you know a woman by the name of Miss Weston?”
“Hester? Yes, of course,” Josh replied and frowned. “She is an odd sort of creature, used to be good fun when she was younger—but then something changed. I don’t know the details, but I think there was some kind of scandal a few years back. It was all hushed up, and I was away at Cambridge at the time, but when we met again, after a period of some four years when she didn’t go into company at all. From what I’ve gathered, she was different.”
“What do you mean different?”
Josh wrinkled his brow. “It isn’t easy to put a finger on it. When I left home, she was not quite seventeen, not really pretty but a sweet face, innocent, if you know what I mean. And she used to laugh a lot, talk to anyone. But when I saw her again, she avoided me. She would say hello in company, but if I came upon her alone, she would just shake her head and run off, almost as if she were afraid to speak to me. We used to play together as children, and I considered her to be another sister.”
“It sounds as if she grew up,” Paul said. “Could it not simply be that she had put her childhood behind her?”
“Yes, certainly,” Josh agreed. “But . . . she was chastened, Paul. It seemed to me as if someone had attempted to crush her spirit. They had not succeeded, for she still has the same sense of humor, though she tries to hide it. But sometimes she can’t quite manage, and her eyes betray her. She has rather expressive eyes.”
“Yes, her eyes are remarkable, a deep, warm brown, and her smile lights up her face.” Paul wrinkled his brow in thought. “I had believed when I saw her that she was older, but you speak of her as being a contemporary—and unmarried?”
Josh frowned as a thought occurred to him. “But why do you ask, Paul? She isn’t the kind of woman you usually notice.”
“It was merely curiosity,” Paul replied but looked thoughtful. “She sounds interesting, as if she might have had some secret sorrow in her past.”
Josh gave him a speaking look. “All the more reason not to hurt her. I’ve always liked Hester. Told you, she’s like a sister to me. Take care, Crawford, I shouldn’t like to see her hurt.”
“Indeed? Your sentiments do you credit, my friend.” Paul’s brows rose in amused query. “What makes you think I would hurt her?”
“I don’t think you would do it deliberately,” Josh said, his frown deepening. “But I think she is vulnerable. She wouldn’t know how to behave with a man like you.”
“Well, I daresay we shan’t meet again,” Paul said and felt slightly wistful though he did not see why he should. “Something about her lingers, but I have other, more important things on my mind for the moment.”
“This business of the traitor? Do you think it could have been Mortimer’s grandson? He was a bad sort so they say. The earl banished him years ago, but I suppose he will be forced to bring him back now that Simon is dead. Richard is the heir now. Any word spoken against him would cause a fearful scandal.”
“He may be the heir to an earldom,” Paul said with a grim look. “But that will not save him if I discover that he was in league with the enemy.”
A little shiver ran down Josh’s spine as he looked into the cold blue eyes, and for a moment, he felt sorry for the traitor. Captain Paul Crawford was a man of his word. If he were convinced that Mortimer was the traitor, a little scandal would not prevent him from making sure that justice was done.
You will have to have proof,” Josh said. “Faulty cannon is one thing—and could have been the fault of the manufacturer—but the rest of it is a more serious charge.”
“Had I traced him while we were out there I would have had him shot, but now it is a matter for the courts,” Paul said. “If he is found guilty, it is a hanging offence.”
Chapter Two
Hester dressed that evening in the new deep blue silk gown that her cousin had insisted on buying for her as soon as they arrived in Bath. Charlotte had sent her personal maid to dress Hester’s hair in a softer style, giving her a more fashionable look. In the glow of the candle, her hair seemed to have reddish tones, which were not always noticeable in daylight.
“Charming, my dear,” Charlotte said when Hester came downstairs. “I was sure that my Maudie would know what to do. She has given you a new touch, Hester.”
“My hair looks very nice, but I am not sure that Mama would approve of my gown. I know it is all the rage, but do you not think it a little revealing?” The expensive silk clung to her like another skin, moulding her curves in a way that was both fashionable and revealing.
Charlotte laughed affectionately. “We are in Bath now, my love, and not the wilds of Norfolk. You would not have everyone think you a dowdy. No, no, do not blush. You look delightful, and you have perfect manners. You will do me credit this evening, Hester.”
“Thank you, cousin. I fear I am just a little nervous.”
“Which is only to be expected in the circumstances. You have been treated shamefully these past years. Your father was too harsh, and Araminta let him have his own way.”
“Father was very forceful,” Hester said, a flicker of pain in her eyes. In fact, he had been a harsh bully who had treated his wife as if she were a featherhead. “Mama was not strong enough to stand up to him. None of us were. Even Robert was afraid of him.” Yet, despite knowing his faults, she had cared for her father, had longed for the forgiveness that never came. It was like a shadow that hung over her, haunting her thoughts both waking and sleeping.
“Well, he is no longer with us,” Charlotte said. “And I believe you deserve a little happiness. So shall we forget the past and look to the future?” She gathered up her fan and reticule, smiling at her protégée. “Come along, Hester. I believe the carriage is waiting.”
Hester followed obediently in her wake. Believing she was actually here in Bath and on her way to a dance at the Assembly Rooms was almost impossible. She had long given up all expectation of such pleasures, but now that her cousin had taken charge of her life, it seemed that anything was possible.
The light from the chandeliers were dazzling as it picked out the fabulous jewels worn by both the ladies and some of the gentlemen. Diamonds, rubies, emeralds, and sapphires flashed in the light of a myriad of candles, and long mirrors set at intervals along the wall reflected the peacock colors of the rich fabrics worn by the wealthy gathered to pleasure themselves that night.
That Charlotte had many friends present was obvious. Their progress through the congested rooms was slow, for they were accosted by both ladies and gentlemen at every step. Hester was an object of curiosity, for she had been so long absent from polite company that no one remembered the friendly, pretty and talkative girl of seventeen she had once been. And the woman she was now, a little reserved, serious, but prone to smile suddenly, provoked more than usual interest.
“Lady Blackwater.” Charlotte smiled at a woman of middle years gowned i
n crimson and purple and wearing a fearful turban on her head, which had a large white feather stemming from a diamond clip. “Have you met my cousin Miss Hester Weston? She has kindly agreed to bear me company for a while.”
“Miss Weston,” the lady said, offering the tips of her fingers and looking down her long nose. “I do not believe we have met before?”
“No, indeed, ma’am, for I should have recalled it,” Hester said politely. “I have been living very quietly at home with Mama.”
“Hester’s health was not all it might have been, but she is perfectly well now, are you not, my love?” Charlotte said, thinking Hester’s statement needed some explanation.
“Yes, perfectly well.” A glint of reproof flickered in Hester’s eyes for the briefest time. She had always been well, but people would wonder why she had not been given at least one season in London unless some such excuse was made. Yet, it went against the grain with her to lie.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Lady Blackwater said “I do enjoy meeting new people. You will discover that I have a lively curiosity, my dear. She smiled at Hester who realized she was trying to discover her secret. “You must both come to my card party next week. I shall send you an invitation, Charlotte.”
It was a good beginning, but not the exception. The Countess of Danbury held a leading position in society and was well liked for both her good nature and her generosity. Her cousin must be acceptable and invitations were offered continuously throughout the evening, though many an ambitious mama thought it prudent to make some inquiries about the gel.
Hester attracted the attention of several gentlemen. While she could not claim to be the sensation of the evening or to have the largest number of admirers queuing up for a dance with her, she was not forced to sit out above twice before supper.
The young lady attracting most attention was Miss Geraldine Holbeach, the youngest daughter of Lady Holbeach, a matron of advanced years who had given her husband four sons and five daughters.
