The Spy and His Lady Love

by Christine Donovan

  “My friend is honored that I thought of him. He knows how much you mean to me, and he is eager to make your acquaintance so you two can start your lives together. I believe in my heart you will come to love him and he you. Please agree to meet him and give this a chance?”

  Rose had known she could not remain with Harry forever. Not once he became a duke. She’d spent most of her life around him. Her mother had been a maid in his father’s house. She’d been born there, educated there, and then served Harry’s father after her mother passed. When Harry’s father died, she’d traveled to Harry and begged for employment. As a youthful girl and a young woman, she’d had a secret crush on him.

  It pained her heart to leave him. She loved him. When they first came together in the bedroom, there’d been passion. That passion eventually turned to a deep abiding love of friendship and a comfortability of intimacy. She knew one day they would part. As much as she loved him, she knew he would marry another. Him becoming a duke only solidified that for her. However, if he hadn’t planned to ever send her away, she would have stayed until death separated them. She owed him everything. He was marrying a lady of dubious birth, even though she was the half-sister of a duke, she was still a bastard. As Rose was. They had that in common. Her mother went to her grave pretending to be a widow, but Rose knew the truth. And so did Harry. He never cared. As far as it concerned her, there would never be a more honorable man than Harry. Lady Penelope was the luckiest woman in the world. And she was second.

  His warm, large hands still cupped her face and his beautiful blue eyes, laced with concern, never looked away from her green ones. “I knew one day we would part,” she said. “Please don’t feel bad for me. I look forward to meeting Mr. Heatherford. If you sing his praises, they should be sung. I need not think about marrying him. I will.” There was no stopping as a new flood of tears dripped down her cheeks only to be absorbed by his hands. “Never feel guilty about this. I am happy for you and as much as it breaks my heart to move on, I will. Knowing we are both doing the right thing makes it easier.” She pushed his hands away and forced herself to be strong. “I will see you to the door.” Once there, she handed him his greatcoat and hat. “Please tell Mr. Heatherford when he arrives that I am packed and ready to travel to his home.” She gulped in air around the blockage in her raw throat. “I think it’s best if we say goodbye now. I pray Penelope understands what a good man you are. And can love you for your strengths as well as your weaknesses.” She rose on her toes for one last kiss.

  The door closed behind Harry and she slid to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest, and sobbed.

  “I’m sorry, child.” Mrs. Dinmore, her companion, a kind, plump woman in her forties with no family to speak of, joined her on the ground and hugged her tightly. “I know saying goodbye wasn’t easy. He is one of the finest men. Forgive me for eavesdropping, but this Mr. Heatherford sounds like a right fine man himself. I always worried about your future when the duke took a wife. I can worry no more.”

  After Rose’s sobs quieted down and she found her voice, she asked, “Will you come with me? I don’t think I can manage without you?”

  “Nonsense, child, you will manage fine. The splendid news is you won’t have to manage alone. If it’s agreeable with Mr. Heatherford, I will stay in your employ, or rather your soon-to-be husband’s employ until you no longer need me.”

  “I’ll always need you, Mrs. Dinmore, always.”

  “Now that that’s settled, let’s get you into bed. You’ll catch your death here on the icy floor. We have much to do in the next few days. What with packing and then traveling to your new home.” Mrs. Dinmore helped her stand up. “I have pleasant feelings about this new chapter in your life. Yes, indeed, good feelings.”

  Chapter 5

  After he arrived home, Harry sat in a comfortable chair, his feet on an ottoman in the library with a brandy cradled in his hand. After the time he spent at the ball with Penelope, and then with Rose, sleep would never come to him tonight. So why bother trying. Two things plagued him. First, Penelope. He’d not meant to get her alone and nearly pull her into an embrace and kiss her. Oh, he wanted to. But as Harry, not Hugh. He didn’t want to confuse her and cause her any undo guilt. It would take all of his strength not to act on his emotions.

  When he looked deep into her eyes out on the veranda, he found himself lost in her silvery blue ones. It was as though she’d cast a spell on him since the very first night they met at Mr. Stuart Spencer’s home. He’d known Spencer hadn’t invited him there for his sister, Mary. Spencer had invited him so Wentworth could introduce him to Penelope. Deduce whether he would make a favorable match with her. And, no doubt, to find out for himself if the rumors about his disfigurement were true. From that very night, he thought about her. What her lips would taste and feel like. Soft and sweet, no doubt. What her body would feel like beneath his roaming hands. Warm and supple, most definitely.

  What her laughter would sound like. What little noises would she make when he made love to her and brought her pleasure. And what it would feel like to be inside her, taking them both to unimaginable pleasures and beyond.

  Instead, now that he was home, he realized what a mistake he made with her this evening. Because when she found out the truth about him, she would hate him and never trust him again. She would feel like he made a fool of her. Which was never his intentions. Never that. He’d not been thinking beyond spending time with her. Private time so she would let her emotions and personality out instead of trying to be a good lady of the ton. Neither of them grew up within the confines of the ton’s rules. When they married, he hoped she would be her true self. When out in society, he expected her to act as a proper duchess, but in the privacy of their bedchamber and home, he wanted the real Penelope. The genuine girl behind the mask her brother made her wear at all times. That girl intrigued him, not that he didn’t like the refined Penelope, he just thought he’d like the unrefined one just as well, or even more. God knew, he wasn’t all that refined himself. Spending time in the army in battle had one realizing Society’s rules and following them didn’t make you a better person. One could be the best person in the world and not have a title, money, or lands. Being a member of the ton didn’t keep one safe from the enemy. A bullet fell a member of the aristocracy as easily as it fell a man of the lower classes.

  Harry continued to work for the War Office, not because he had to, because he wanted to. Felt compelled to. Had this ingrained need to do the right thing. To find those responsible for injustices and make them pay. Not out of vengeance—out of honor. Men like the Baron Littleton who cost many soldiers and civilians, women and children their lives needed to pay for his crimes. Even now he was plotting the death of King George III and the Prince Regent. The man had no conscience. And it was up to Harry and the rest of the loyal people he worked with to protect the crown and innocent people from those wanting to do harm.

  His hand rubbed his chest, hoping to ease the pain. He put his untouched glass of brandy down on the table beside his chair and stretched out, trying to ease the stiffness in his joints. The war had done damage to his body. Having been shot several times, he still had fragments of bullets lodged inside his thigh and shoulder. Nothing the surgeons could do about it. He wasn’t complaining, not when he witnessed bloody carnage all around him, leaving the ground littered with dead bodies as far as the eye could see. No. He would never complain. Actually, living in constant pain reminded him how lucky he was to be alive, and that kept him moving forward.

  After the Napoleonic Wars, reading and meditation and Rose had kept him sane. If it wasn’t for those three, he would’ve given up on life and humanity. You can’t go to war and return without your perspective on life being altered.

  Before the war, he never gave much thought to food, shelter, medicine, or physicians. All readily available to him in the country growing up with his father. Not always during fighting. He had not been a duke during the war. If he had, he would’ve had certain
accommodations and privileges. Being a member of the peerage gave one privileges, not so if you weren’t. Sometimes the supplies didn’t reach them, and they went hungry and cold. And always tired and weary to the bone. But when the enemy came calling, you mustered up the energy and courage to fight. Fight for your country and king. Fight to live.

  When he returned, his staff helped him adjust to being a duke. His meditation and reading helped him heal inside and out. He had no choice but to heal. He had people relying on him. He had that in the army with those who served under him. He had it now, only different, but still the goal was to stay alive and prosper.

  There was no denying the progress of time and change. Not with the end of the war. Not with industrial changes. Not with Parliament. His eyes closed, and he sighed with a weary heart and overtired mind. He needed several hours of sleep. Fortunately for him, he got them.

  Morning found Penelope curled up on her chaise, shivering as her maid, Clarisse, came in to open the drapes and assist her in dressing. Even though the fire had been stoked earlier, the room held a chill, and she burrowed beneath the throw. How could it be morning when she was more exhausted now than last night?

  “Will the moss green day dress be to your liking, milady?”

  “Yes.” Penelope dragged herself up and behind the privacy screen to perform her morning ablutions.

  Dressed and her hair done up, Penelope made her way down the stairs and into the warm, yellow breakfast room. The sun shined unusually bright today, and she leaned against one of the tall windows and basked in the warmth from the rays.

  “Good morning, Penelope,” Emma said as she entered the room, yawning and looking slightly mussed—no doubt having come from the nursery and dealing with her two adorable boys. An heir and a spare. Even with her hair falling out of its coiffeur and her clothes wrinkled, Emma was truly beautiful. Her blonde hair, thick and wavy, her eyes a bright blue and her skin, creamy and smooth. They made a striking couple as Wentworth had similar blue eyes and blond hair. And the love they shared had her envious and wondering if she would have that with Harry? Then she remembered what had transpired between, or had not transpired between, Mr. Sinclair and her. Last evening had her stomach spinning and her cheeks heating with mortification.

  She needed to speak with Emma more about it. About what a horrible person she was. Just as she spoke, Wentworth swept into the room dressed in brown riding clothes and bringing the chill from the outside with him. “Morning. The sun is shining. Myles and I went for a ride in Hyde Park. Nothing like a fast ride through the park to get one’s blood flowing.” He kissed Emma on the forehead. “How is my duchess this morning? You were fast asleep when I left.”

  “I’m well. The boys were up early and I spent time with them while they ate breakfast.” She patted her hair. “Although I think some of their oats and mashed apples ended up in my hair.” She laughed. “Now I’m going to enjoy my food and chocolate.” She heaped her plate to overflowing from the sideboard, and a footman assisted her in sitting.

  Wentworth made himself a plate and took the seat at the opposite end of the table. “Are you going to stand at the window all morning?”

  Inhaling and exhaling, Penelope made her way to the sideboard and added coddled eggs, sausages, fruit, and pastry to her plate and waved off the footman. She could seat herself. He quickly came over with warm chocolate, and Penelope cradled the china cup in her hands.

  “I received a missive this morning from Newbury asking permission to take you for a turn around the park this afternoon at four.”

  Four. The “to see and be seen” hour. Taking a sip of chocolate, she willed her insides to remain calm. It wouldn’t do to cast up her accounts at the breakfast table. Was she ready for all of London to know about her and Newbury? Was she ready to be in his company alone, but in public? With all eyes of the ton on them? No time like today to get used to spending time with him. After all, they would be married soon enough. And she would spend all eternity with him.

  “I’ll go. The sooner people know about us, the easier it will be next week when the banns are posted. It’s just…”

  “What?” Both Wentworth and Emma said in unison.

  What indeed? “It’s just that I’ve only been living here a short time. I feel as though I’ve only just gotten to know you both and soon I’ll be wed to the Duke of Newbury and gone.” She really fought hard not to cry, but those infernal tears came anyway. Embarrassed by them, she used her hand to wipe them off her cheeks, only it proved useless as more tears kept replacing them. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to cry. I’ve never been a watering pot, but lately…”

  Emma reached out and placed her hand on Penelope’s. “It’s quite all right, Penelope. In some ways I know how you feel. When my papa died and Wentworth came to Boston and took me across the Atlantic Ocean to England and thrust me into his family, I too felt unsettled, lost, and remember crying myself to sleep many nights. It certainly didn’t help when Sebastian and Wentworth fought over me. Sebastian stormed out of the house, and we didn’t see him for nearly two years. I believed it was my fault and feared his mother and sisters would hate me.

  “Thankfully, they didn’t and were pleased when Thomas and I wed. However, all the changes occurring in my life at the time left me sad. My papa had died, I lived in a foreign country, and it appalled most of the ton when Thomas married me, his American ward. You, my dear, are still grieving for your mother and settling in with your new family. But I promise you, we will see each other often. The duke’s London townhome is within walking distance. Getting married will not take you away from us.”

  As Emma spoke, Penelope realized their situations were similar. The kind and compassionate words had more tears pooling in her eyes. For the first of many times since she arrived in London, Penelope was very thankful for the tolerance and kindness of her natural father’s family. God knew her father had no kindness for her or her mother. How such a horrible man sired such wonderful people proved a mystery. Until her dying breath, she would be forever grateful. “Thank you.” Between the tears clogging her throat and the heaviness in her heart, no other words would come through her lips. “If you’ll excuse me, I will retire to the drawing room and work on my embroidery.”

  The rest of the day passed quickly. Penelope, dressed in a navy-blue walking dress with cream spencer and half-kid boots, sat clutching a reticle that matched the cream of her spencer perfectly and waited in the drawing room for Newbury to arrive. Oh, and one must not forget her hat. A wide-brimmed affair in cream with navy ribbon tied beneath her chin in a perfect bow, thanks to her maid.

  She looked and felt like a doll she’d seen in a store window on Bond Street recently. All dressed up with nowhere to go. Only Penelope had somewhere to go. And by the voices traveling down the hallway from the front foyer and the click of a cane on the wood floors, followed by a shuffle and step and repeat, her duke had arrived.

  Emma whispered from her seat beside her on the settee, “Try to relax and get to know the duke. I have heard good things about the man.”

  “I will try.” She shivered even though the drawing room was warm.

  After greetings, bows, and curtsies were made, Newbury stood before her. “Shall we?”

  She forced herself to smile. “We shall.” After standing, she wrapped her arm around his and let him lead her down the hall, out the door, and down the stairs to an open phaeton.

  Newbury assisted her into the high two-seater carriage she’d heard was dangerous.

  After taking his seat beside her, he took the reins and set the phaeton in motion onto Park Ave as they made their way to Hyde Park. “You look worried. Don’t be. I’ve been driving carriages for years. You’ve, no doubt, heard of the phaeton’s reputation for being dangerous and easily tipping over. Only when a gentleman is hell bent on racing. You, my dear, are safe with me.”

  Safe with him? Was she really? She was marrying a stranger who behind closed doors could be a monster that had nothing to do with his dam
aged face and body. Growing up and then working for the vile viscount, she’d seen how bad humanity could be. Outwardly, Viscount Hadley appeared normal enough. The man had a wife and five children. Once you no longer looked inside the windows, but lived there, you met the demon inside the man. He beat his wife and children. Took liberties with most of the female staff. Used her mother repeatedly. Although Penelope knew she offered up herself so he would leave her alone. The viscount first touched her when she was around twelve. Nearly raped her. Did everything but take her maidenhead. After that one encounter, her mother stepped in and kept the reprobate occupied. Kept him away from her…mostly.

  Even at that age Penelope wasn’t naïve when it came to men and women and matters of the flesh.

  “You are still looking worried. You don’t trust me to keep you safe?”

  Harry didn’t like that Penelope looked frightened. Being with him out in the open, surrounded by a crush of carriages and both men and women on horseback, now that they’d entered the park, should have her at ease. What could he possibly do to her with all eyes on them? It would be remiss of him not to notice all the stares and whispers swirling around them. Because of his covert career, he was always aware of his surroundings. Just in case.

  Hence, why he had two loaded pistols in his greatcoat pockets. The metal lion’s head of his cane unscrewed and became the handle of a sword. Beneath the seat held several rifles, loaded and ready to fire.