She didn’t say anything more, but she knew he understood her words. She saw it in the way his face softened, the corners of his eyes relaxing into the familiar wrinkles she loved to trace with her fingertips.
“I hate being right,” he finally said. “We shall go to the War Office, my lady, to make you a spy.”
Jane smiled, a brilliant smile that almost hurt her face, a smile unlike any she had felt in years. Richard’s eyes widened as he, too, likely realized the same thing. Jane was returning to a life interrupted.
“Is this what it takes to make you happy? Espionage?” he asked.
She nodded, but said, “Espionage and eggs.”
Richard smiled now, his grin almost as big as hers.
“And I suppose your reasons for this sudden decision include a plan to secure a confession from Lady Straughton?”
Jane blinked, her sense of euphoria quickly replaced with one of confusion.
“How do you know that?”
Richard still grinned.
“I know you, Jane, whether you like it or not. And the boys tell me things.”
Her face reddened. She felt the burn as the blush crept up her cheeks.
“Tell you what?”
Now Richard smiled at her devilishly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Oh, they tell me plenty. That is how I know becoming a spy to accomplish something you see being possible is not an obstacle you would give worthy credit to.”
Jane frowned.
“I swore those boys to secrecy.”
“They’re boys, and they think you’re quite the thing. Of course, they’re going to tell.”
She scrunched her mouth into a pout.
“That’s the last time I let them try to fly by jumping off the roof.”
Richard’s face fell, his eyes growing wide with concern. Jane was quick to smile in reassurance.
“Just sporting you, Your Grace.”
She stood up with a flourish of shirttails.
“I’d like a bath if possible,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the pile of her discarded clothes. She picked up the underthings and held them to her nose. They would just have to do as she had not seen any clean ones with her gown.
“A bath is certainly possible,” Richard said as he, too, rose and made his way to the bell pull in the corner. “I’m sure the boys will have awaken Nurse by now. I’ll get dressed and see to them. Will you come down for breakfast then?”
Jane finished investigating her petticoats and turned to him.
“Of course. I like eggs, remember?”
His eyes sparkled again.
“It’s not as if you let me forget it,” he said, but then his face turned serious. “Jane, do you indeed have a plan for getting a confession from Lady Straughton?”
Jane set her underthings on the chair by the dressing room and turned, putting her hands on her hips.
“I do, Your Grace, but I’m not sure you would understand it entirely. It involves a rather improper practice.”
“Improper?”
“Yes,” she took a step closer to him, “How do you feel about ladies gambling at cards?”
CHAPTER SIX
“I cannot believe I am letting you do this,” Richard grumbled, peering out the window of the carriage at the largely dull house on Piccadilly.
“I cannot believe you are allowing me to do this, but as you are, I should be on my way.”
Jane moved to exit the carriage, but Richard placed his hand on her arm.
“Are you certain about this?” he asked, and Jane studied his face in the dim light of the carriage.
She had been an agent for the War Office of the British Empire for all of six hours, thirty two minutes and several seconds, and Richard had been questioning her resolve for six hours thirty one minutes and several seconds. It was becoming wearisome.
“I assure you, Your Grace, that I am more than ready for this.”
When her words had no visible effect on him, Jane reached up and with her gloved hand, cupped the side of his face. The touch had him softening noticeably.
“What were you just saying about my courage, Richard?”
This drew out a smile, and she let her hand fall away from his face. She smiled in return and went over their plan again, as if speaking of the facts would settle his nerves.
“I am to engage Lady Straughton in a game of Pharo, and I am to pressure her through the game into confessing.”
Richard raised an eyebrow.
“Do you really believe me so inept at cards that I will not be able to do this?” she responded to his expression.
Richard shrugged.
“I’ve never seen you even show interest in cards before today, and I really have no way to judge the success of this endeavor.”
Jane raised an eyebrow back at him.
“There appears to be several things you were not aware of before today, Your Grace. You should be taking notes perhaps.”
Richard frowned but said, “The room will be filled with agents. The banker at the table will also be an agent, so if you do get Lady Straughton-“
“When I get Lady Straughton,” Jane corrected.
Richard nodded in acknowledgment.
“When you get Lady Straughton to confess, there will be more than one agent within hearing to observe the confession. Is that clear?”
Jane nodded, looking out the window once more at the house on Piccadilly. Richard followed her gaze and said, “And how is it that no one in the Office knew about this establishment?”
Jane turned her head swiftly toward him.
“Why on Earth would Viscount Fitzsimmons proclaim the existence of his little gambling establishment to members of a government body? What Fitzsimmons is doing here is not exactly legal. He has opened a portion of his home as a gambling establishment for genteel ladies. Such an action is not entirely on the up and up, Your Grace. I would hope you knew nothing of this.”
“And you are certain that Lady Straughton makes frequent visits?”
Jane nodded.
“It is one of the few things I do know about her. She’s rather legendary at Pharo.”
“Lady Folton was unable to confirm your suspicions,” Richard said, referring to their meeting earlier that day with the young girl.
Jane frowned, unable to stop the sudden feeling of sadness at the mention of the child.
“I should hope not. It’s an unsavory topic for children to be aware of,” she said.
Richard continued to look out the window, and Jane noticed the way the moonlight slid off the angles of his face. He looked even more handsome in that moment, and she felt her heart hurt with the joy of it, her feelings a sliding spectrum of emotion.
“But I will not be able to do anything if you do not let me out,” she said then, pushing away all the other feelings that threatened to overwhelm her.
Six hours ago she had taken an oath. An oath she meant to uphold, and thoughts of the man she loved would not help her in this endeavor. She needed to be clear headed and objective. She needed to do this. And not just for Richard or for country or the monarch, she needed to do this for her.
Richard had been right all along. She had been scared and frightened and weak. Her body may have been able to get up every time Winton had knocked it down, but her mind had hid away somewhere she did not know. It had not gone far though for she was able to retrieve it with alacrity when the time had come, but it had been hiding none the less. Her conscious thoughts had fled at the first sign of abnormality, of resistance, of the things that would make her different. Her husband had abused her, but as far as she knew, many husbands did the like, although she hoped not as severely or with such frequency as Winton had taken to it.
No, it was the other matter that had made her mind flee, her thoughts to go elsewhere, her conscience to resist acknowledging it.
She couldn’t be a mother.
Her body did not seem to be equipped with all the proper and functioning
parts. There was something wrong with her. That’s what Winton had said. There was something innately wrong with her to not be able to produce an heir. It had not been noticed at first. It had all just been a game. The making of the new little earl. Only the game had gone on too long, and no one ever won. And then Winton beat her. She had honestly not expected it, and when it was all over, she forgave him for it. For she had carried the hurt in her as well. She knew what it felt like, knew the pain of it, knew the persistence of it. And yet, when Winton had reacted in the most objectionable way possible, she had forgiven him.
And it was this that had driven her to be sitting in front of a quasi-illegal gambling establishment for ladies on Piccadilly Street in London. This was what had driven her to the War Office six hours ago to make an oath she felt down to her bones. She was no longer going to forgive. She was no longer going to let her mind tell her she was unnatural and unworthy and deserving of something less. She was Lady Jane Haven, and she was about to thrash a woman at Pharo for the good of her country.
No apology necessary.
“Richard,” she prompted when he did not move.
He looked at her, his face grim, and she leaned forward, pressing her lips to his.
“Richard,” she said again, but this time her tone was thoughtful and coaxing.
Richard moved away from the door, tucking himself into the shadows at the opposite end of the coach.
“I’ll be right here,” he said.
She nodded, her hand brushing over his knee as she opened the door of the coach. The tiger jumped down immediately helping her to step down in front of the Piccadilly house. The carriage door shut with a snap behind her.
“Good luck, my lady,” said a voice behind her, and she looked up to the seat to see Daniels peering down at her. His eyes glittered in the lamplight, and standing there on the street in front of a known gambling establishment in the dark of a November night, staring up at a man who had helped her through more than one clandestine operation, Jane suddenly felt everything right itself. She drew a breath, shot Daniels a smile and approached the house.
The door opened before she got to the last step of the stoop, and a butler dressed in silk brocade and fine leather, gold-buckled shoes stood just inside the foyer.
“Lady Haven,” he said with a bow, and Jane knew enough to not be surprised that the butler had called her by name or at least not show it if she were. “Welcome,” he said when he straightened, gesturing for her to enter.
She did so naturally, impressing even herself with her casual movements. As soon as she stepped inside the house, the smell of tobacco smoke hit her followed shortly by the tinkling laughter of too many ladies in too small a space. The room was lavishly decorated. Too lavish by Jane’s standards, but as it was a gentleman who had mustered the courage to operate such an establishment, she let it slip. As the butler took her wrap, a footman appeared extending a tray of champagne, which Jane automatically helped herself to but did not partake. It would look odd if she did not imbibe, but she was here with a duty to accomplish. She needed a clear head, and although her heart remained unusually steady, she knew the alcohol would be unwise.
The butler escorted her into one of the drawing rooms found off of the main floor corridor. The room was bursting with ladies garbed in the most outrageous costumes Jane had ever witnessed. She laid a hand to her own skirts in a sudden feeling of discomfort. She had clearly underdressed for the occasion. A night at Fitzsimmons apparently not only included improper card playing but also an excuse to rediscover one’s gaudiest ensemble.
The butler bowed to her before leaving and upon straightening, casually slipped a hand over her elbow. The touch was so brief she thought she had imagined it, but surely, such a touch was strictly forbidden by society’s standards. She looked at the butler to find him watching her.
“The name is Hobbs, my lady, should you need anything.”
The last word carried with it a weight of unspeakable proportions, and Jane suddenly realized why the butler knew her name. He was an agent with the Office.
She nodded in understanding and said, “Indeed,” before turning away.
Jane immediately encountered several acquaintances that she was not surprised to find frequenting such an establishment. It was not as if Fitzsimmons was considered taboo. It was simply a rather daring endeavor for any woman to undertake. But nonetheless, society’s ladies appeared to flock to the place for a bit of respite from everyday boredom. Jane knew she certainly would if it were not for the lectures at College.
She made her way from the front rooms that contained innocuous games of whist toward the back of the house. As she passed from room to room, the stakes raised precipitously until she reached the furthest drawing room, where all out gambling seemed to be taking place. This room was not as well attended as the front ones, and there was room to move from table to table. The space appeared to have been a small ballroom at one time, but it did not seem to have been used for such purposes for quite some time. Beneath her feet, the marble floors were scuffed with use, and the gilded framework about the doorways was dull with age. The entire grandeur of the room although fine was somehow muted, and it left Jane feeling a need for fresh air.
It was obvious that the occupants of the room did not feel in the least as Jane did. These were serious card players in here, focused intently on the cards in their hands or in the roll of the dice. Jane circulated the room until she spotted Lady Straughton standing beside a Pharo table as if waiting for a chance at play. Jane also recognized the banker at the table, one Mr. Grayson Mathers, a reliable agent at the War Office, that she had had the pleasure of meeting just that afternoon.
She placed her untouched champagne on the tray of a passing footman and approached the opposite side of the table at which Lady Straughton perched. Jane did not speak or in anyway attempt to get Lady Straughton’s attention. She let the game play on and quietly observed as did Straughton. It wasn’t until the deck ended, and the ladies playing stood to open the table to other players that Lady Straughton saw her.
The other woman instantly put a hand to her throat, her red satin gloves a startling contrast to her pale skin.
“Good evening, Lady Straughton,” Jane said as she took one of the seats at the table.
She did not bother with preamble as it was clear that the matters between them were perfectly obvious. Lady Straughton had hired a man to kill Jane, and the man had not succeeded. Jane settled into her seat and waited to see if Lady Straughton would take the bait. If Straughton was any kind of player that Jane had heard her rumored to be, there was not a chance that she could resist such a temptation.
There was also not a chance that the woman would risk exposure by creating a scene.
It was true that the room was filled with ladies of a certain age that would no longer have a care for anything other than the planning of the week’s dinner menus, but Straughton could not be too careful, regardless of her poor choice in leisure activities.
Straughton took the seat next to her, fanning out her skirts in careful arrangement.
“Lady Haven, what a pleasant surprise.”
Her voice carried the practice lilt of a well-born French woman. She also smelled like toilet water, an indication that the woman used scents to cover up her smell from lack of bathing. Jane moved slightly away from the woman, adjusting her skirts so they did not touch hers. She placed her hands in her lap as she waited for the game to start. There was no reason to engage Lady Straughton in idle chatter. There was only the need to beat her at Pharo.
Technically, it would be the banker that would be winning or losing in this game, but if Jane could apply enough pressure by winning more than Lady Straughton, she believed the pressure would be enough to get the woman to break and confess her crimes. Jane just had to hope luck was on her side that evening.
“Good evening, ladies,” Mathers bowed to both of them. “Are you both familiar with the rules of Pharo?”
Straughton was quick
to nod, and Jane noticed the way her hands shook as she laid them on the edge of the table. The movement was imprecise, but Jane heard the way the satin of her gloves skittered over the green baize of the table. Jane took this as a good sign that her presence was stirring the pressure she needed to secure the confession.
Jane placed a sum of money on the table, and Mathers quietly exchanged it for checks. Lady Straughton repeated the gesture but with noticeably less grace. Jane glanced slightly at the other woman, surprised to find her already flustered. It was not possible that this would turn out to be easier than she had believed, could it?
Mathers shuffled the deck of cards and placed it in front of Jane to split the deck. She did so, and Mathers returned the cards to his side to begin the game. The casekeeper had been reset from the previous game, and Jane looked at it, making note of each marker as if it determined precisely how long she had to see this scheme off. Each marker represented a card to be played in the game, a card that she could bet on turning up in the player’s pile. If her card did in fact end up in that pile, she would win. If it ended up in the banker’s pile, Mathers would. Jane only had to hope her card ended up in the correct pile.
“Place your bets, ladies.”
Lady Straughton hastily placed a check on the seven card enameled into the green baize in the layout. Jane carefully set a check on the four. Mathers burned the first card from the pile and dealt the next two. The bets remained unsettled as neither card was drawn. Mathers continued to deal. The cards came fast, and the bets moved quickly. Jane watched as the markers on the casekeeper representing the cards played moved, each ticking off another chance for Jane to push Lady Straughton to the edge. She watched Straughton’s movements carefully. Her gestures became more abrupt and hasty with each play, and with each play, Jane gained more confidence for Jane continued to win.
She wondered briefly if Richard had somehow rigged the deck, but she had seen Mathers shuffle it as she had sat at the table. Straughton had seen it, too, for that matter. But no matter how Jane placed her bet, her card always seemed to come up in the winning pile. Just as Straughton’s always seemed to appear in the banker’s pile. Jane studied the casekeeper, noting which cards were left and placed her bets carefully. The deck was quickly disappearing, and when Straughton placed her bet on a card that had been exhausted, Jane knew she had the woman exactly where she wished her to be.
Inevitably a Duchess Page 9
