Nicole curtsied for both the Countess and the Earl, who stood like a distant mountain looked over his wife’s fatigued shoulder.
“The Earl and I cannot express our appreciation for your having brought our son home to us.” The countess smiled and the earl continued to stare, making Nicole decidedly uneasy. “We are told that the ship’s physician did an excellent job in caring for the viscount and that we have you to thank his safe return to England.”
“I merely booked passage for the viscount,” Nicole said, too ashamed to admit any further involvement. “His health should be credited entirely to the ship’s physician.”
The countess smiled pleasantly and a thunderous voice, asked, “We would very much like for you to stay fer dinner, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” from beneath a bushy, brown beard.
“How kind of you to offer,” Nicole looked up at the Earl of DunDonell and blinked, unable to hold the intensity of his hazel eyes. “However, I regret that I have a previous engagement at Whitehall that cannot be missed.”
The fair countess looked up at her husband and asked, “The man with Viscount DunDonell is from Whitehall, is he not?”
“Aye,” the Earl nodded once.
“Perhaps,” the countess said, smiling. “You would be able to speak with this gentleman and save yourself a trip across town?”
“I,” Nicole began, hardly able to explain to the Earl and Countess of DunDonell that she was going to Whitehall to turn herself in for the murder of her husband.
“I’ll just take you to him, shall I?” The countess swept forward and guided Nicole toward the drawing room door before she had a chance to protest.
Nicole followed politely, eager to see Daniel before she was escorted back Newgate prison, eager to see with her own eyes that he was alright. Every step down the elegantly decorated corridors of the Earl of DunDonell’s home confirmed her belief that Daniel was destine for more than she could provide. The viscount had been raised to marry a lady of prominence, a woman with a reputation deserving of the man Nicole had come so desperately to love.
“Here we are.” The countess opened the door, sweeping in. Nicole searched the bedchamber looking for Daniel, verifying that his was well as he sat up in the enormous canopy bed.
“Viscount DunDonell.” She curtsied to show her respect for Daniel and then Nicole turned, stunned to meet the old man’s eye. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
“Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” Falcon said. “It has been so very long since last we met.”
Nicole’s chin quivered, but she held it with considerable effort. “Yes, it has been a very long time, my lord. Two years if I recall correctly.”
“Yes, two years.” Falcon nodded.
They stared at one another, but Nicole refused to shed a tear or feel a moment of regret. “As a representative of the Foreign Office, I believe it is my duty to inform you of my return—“
“I’m afraid, Mademoiselle Beauvoire that I am not on duty this afternoon.” The old man’s brandy colored eyes warmed and he spoke to the room in general as he continued to convey his thoughts. “You see, I have come to the home of the Earl of DunDonell as a guest.” He glanced at the earl. “A very close friend, if you will, of the McCurren family.”
“Oh,” Nicole turned to Daniel, tears blurring her vision.
“If you will excuse me Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” Falcon said, walking out of the room and leaving Nicole in utter confusion.
Daniel smiled and sat up, wincing at the pain in his side. “Our Lord Falcon has proved quite the gentleman.”
“Has he?” Nicole asked, tamping down the insistent hope that swelled in her breast.
“Yes,” the viscount said, his turquoise eyes holding firmly to hers. “It seems that Lord Falcon had never meet Lady Stratton.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Daniel nodded. “I, myself, heard that the woman was dead, that Lady Stratton had been hanged two years ago.” Nicole could not breathe, but he continued to talk. “However, Mademoiselle Beauvoire, the gentleman had heard of.”
They stared at one another.
“Lord Falcon had heard tell of the lady’s courage and of her heroism.” Nicole buried her face in his chest and sobbed. “He had heard of her service to the crown.” His hand stroked her hair as he continued to talk. “Lord Falcon was sure, certain in fact, that Mademoiselle Beauvoire would be given a full clemency in light of her service loyalty to England… and to me.”
Daniel gave her a moment to cry before Nicole felt his turning away from her. She sniffed and lifted her head only to find a large box sitting across his lap.
“Nicole Beauvoire?”
“Yes.” She swiped at her eyes, confused.
“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Nicole’s heart shattered and she reached out for perhaps the last time, caressing his cheek. “Daniel, you know that I can’t marry—“
“Open it,” he interrupted.
Nicole looked down at the rectangular box and lifted the lid. She stared for a moment and then reached out to touch the pearls that shimmered on the bodice of the most beautiful wedding dress that she had ever seen.
“Do you like it, lass?”
Her tears fell freely as she looked at the enchanting gown, noticing that the bodice had been fashioned with a high collar to cover the horrible scars on her back.
“It’s perfect,” Nicole whispered, unable to say more.
“Excellent!” He was grinning from ear to ear, pleased with himself. “We’ll be married—“
“Daniel, I can’t marry you.”
“Why not?” He stared at her as though she were about to reject him. “No one need know who you are.” He shook his head, correcting himself. “Who you were.”
“I would know, Daniel.” She lifted her head to look at him. “Your parent’s would know.”
“Is that all that troubles you, lass?” Daniel laughed as he stroked her cheek. He lifted the dress and stared into her eyes as he said, “Who do ya think gave me the weddin’ dress?”
Nicole’ mouth fell open and Daniel laughed harder.
“I’ve already spoken with my parents. The Earl and Countess remembered you as a child and have always thought that what happened to you…” Daniel shook his head. “It wasna right, what happened to you, lass.”
“No.” Nicole laughed, crying. “It wasna right,” she mimicked his glorious brogue, but was unable to capture the rich tones of the man that spoke them.
“So, Mademoiselle Beauvoire. Will ya marry me?”
The question was asked with humor, but Nicole could see the anxiety in his stunning eyes. “Oui, Daniel McCurren, I would be honored to be your lucky bride.”
Daniel grinned from eye to ear and then pulled her toward him for a searing kiss.
“It ‘twas my kiss, wasn’t it.” He teased. “You could not resist my kiss.”
“Yes, Daniel.” Nicole rolled her eyes. “I married you because you kiss so well.” Her husband nodded with masculine pride, so Nicole lied, “’Tis your lovemaking that needs improving.”
“Well, get to teaching, lass.” Daniel flipped the counterpane down so that she might lie next to him, both of them knowing that he was too weak to make love.
Nicole laid in his arms, avoiding his injuries and said, “How about we just lie here for the rest of the afternoon and ‘snuggle’?”
Daniel laughed, wrapping his arm around her so that she would not leave the moment he fell asleep.
“Very well, lass, I shall give in to your constant demands for snugglin’ for after the wedding.” Her future husband grinned. “You’ll be the most ‘wail woman’ in all of Scotland.”
Epilogue
London, England
December 1, 1811
The wedding banquet was everything Nicole had ever dreamed and she took a moment to appreciate every winter rose and every chord of music pulled in unison across the strings of the twenty piece orchestra.
Nicole could not stop he
rself from smiling as she stood at the edge of the ballroom floor gawking at her stunningly handsome husband as he spun is mother about the room. Daniel caught her staring and winked like the rake that he was and Nicole pretended to ignore him, sipping her champagne.
However, the moment the Austrian crystal touched her lips she felt a tiny tug on the voluminous silk skirts of her elaborate wedding gown.
Nicole smiled as she looked down at an ebony haired child with bright blue eyes.
“Hello, Jonathan.” Nicole grinned as an elegant woman of middle years scooped him up so that they could speak eye to eye. “I was so pleased that you could come to my wedding. I don’t think that I could have gotten married without you here.”
“Because I holded the rings?”
The two women grinned at one another and the baroness, corrected, “Held the rings, darling.”
“Held the rings.”
“Exactly so.”
“Oh,” the cherub said, his little red lips forming an adorable circle.
“And because I was a friend of your mother’s.” The baroness stiffened and Nicole hastened to add, looking up to meet her eye. “Your mother is a very kind woman and I do so hope that we shall always be friends.”
The baroness held Nicole’s eye, her chin quivering before she recovered, saying, “Shall we invite Lady DunDonell to visit us, Jonathan?” The boy nodded. “Now give her the letter, darling.”
The child held out his little arm. “Granpa gived this to you.”
“Gave, darling.”
“Gave.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.”
“Welcome.” The child turned his dark head toward the banquet table. “Mummy, I want cake.”
Nicole laughed as did the boy’s mother. “Well, you had better hurry, Jonathan. The McCurren clan is rather large.”
“Congratulations, Lady DunDonell.”
“Thank you.” Nicole paused, meaningfully. “For everything.”
The baroness squeezed her hand, nodding and then went to claim a cake for her adorable son.
“He’s a bonnie lad.” Nicole heard as her husband joined her.
“Aye, Jonathan is quite a bonnie lad.”
“Are you mockin’ me, lass?” His turquoise eyes shone with feigned indignation. “Because it I don’t think it very kind to mock a man. Particularly the man you just married.”
Nicole laughed and then turned her attention to the note in her hand.
“Who’s that from?”
“Falcon.” Daniel scanned the room and aided him, adding as she broke the seal to the correspondence, “He is in the corner speaking to Seamus.”
Lady DunDonell,
I was so pleased to hear of your impending nuptials and I wanted to be the first offer my congratulations. There is no one more deserving of happiness and it brings me great peace to know that you have found it. I realize that it has been a very long time, but I wanted you to know that you will always been welcome in my home.
Sincerely,
Lord Stratton
Nicole was so shocked that she looked toward Falcon with tears in her eyes. The old man had been watching her and lifted his champagne glass in her direction.
“What’s the matter?” Nicole smiled at the concern in her husband's voice.
Nicole turned to her husband and smiled, saying in all honest. “Nothing, darling, everything is absolutely perfect.”
Seamus McCurren dragged himself into the Foreign Office at ten o’clock having never gone to bed.
He had spent the entire evening gaming at Dante’s Inferno and in the end he had still come out losing. Not much blunt, but it was vexing nonetheless. He had wandered home at sunup to be shaved and to change his attire, but his external appearance was merely a palatable façade covering deep fatigue.
“Morning, James,” he mumbled to his assistant.
“Good morning, Mister McCurren.” The man eyed him suspiciously, prompting Seamus to raise his brows.
“What?”
“Are you feeling well?”
“Why?” Seamus asked evasively.
“Your eyes?” His secretary pointed toward Seamus’s face, making small circles with his index finger as he said, “Are all . . . They look as though a sheet of glass is covering them.”
“Just get me some coffee, will you?” Seamus’s brogue was extracted by his irritation. But the man’s brows were drawn together in concern and Seamus thought to ease his anxiety. “I’m just tired, James. I had a very late night last night.”
The married father of five smiled, envying Seamus’s bachelor lifestyle.
“I see.” What his assistant saw, he had no notion, but the man must have thought Seamus needed reviving because he dashed out the door, saying, “I shall just go and retrieve a strong cup of coffee for you.” His secretary was half way out the door when he stopped and turned, saying, “Oh, you’ve just received a report, and I’ve left it on your desk.”
Seamus nodded, too tired to respond, and then opened the door to his large office and settled in his comfortable desk chair. He sighed heavily and reached for the report, leaning his chair back and propping his feet on the corner of his desk as he read.
The report was from the Naval Office, giving a detailed account of the sinking of a British supply frigate just west of Bordeaux. However, it was not the loss of the ship that landed this report upon his desk, but the manner in which the ship had been sunk.
The vessel had been ambushed, by all accounts, by three French ships which appeared to have been lying in wait in the port city of La Rochelle. And while this information could easily be disputed as a coincidental encounter, it was the attack within the two week time frame of the E anomaly appearing in the Gazette that made the attack suspect.
“Damn.”
Seamus was rereading the report when James knocked on the inner office door.
“Yes,” Seamus said, continuing to read.
However, when no coffee was produced his brows furrowed and he was just going to look up after finishing this last paragraph when Falcon said from the doorway, “Good morning.”
Seamus dropped the front two legs of his chair to the floor as his head snapped round to meet the astute eyes of his employer.
“Morning,” he greeted politely, but upon seeing a woman at the old man’s side, Seamus dragged his boots off the abused desk and rose to his feet. “Good morning,” he said to the lady and bowed with as much elegance as he had remaining, before he focused his attention on the small woman’s face.
“May I introduce to you, Lady Pervill,” Falcon offered.
“That is not necessary, my lord.” The girl’s astonishingly blue eyes met his as she held out her hand in his direction, adding, “Mister McCurren introduced himself three nights ago at the Spencer ball.”
Seamus kissed the back of her hand, taking her bait . . .and a bit more. “Aye, but I’m astonished that you remember, Lady Pervill, as I recall you to be rather occupied at the time.”
“Oh, no, speaking with my father never requires more than half of my mind,” the lady said, calling him out.
Seamus hid his amusement behind a polite smile and offered to his guests, “Please, do have a seat.”
The lady sat in Seamus’s leather chair while the old man found a wooden chair tucked in the corner of the spacious office.
Falcon looked up at Seamus who remained standing and said, “Lady Pervill will be assisting the Foreign Office with our inquiries, and I have determined the best use of her skills would be in this department.”
The thought of a woman running underfoot stiffened his smile, and Seamus stared at Falcon and then glanced at Lady Pervill. A knock at the door broke the awkward moment, and when James Habernathy entered with his coffee, Seamus could have embraced the man.
“That is a very generous offer, Lady Pervill. However, I already have a secretary. Thank you, James,” Seamus said, overly appreciative as he took his warm cup of coffee from the man’s dutiful hands.
S
eamus took a long sip to prove his assistant’s usefulness and Lady Pervill raised a brow and then turned, irritated, toward Falcon.
The old man rose, saying, “You may go, Mister Habernathy.” When the door closed, Falcon’s brandy colored eyes met his. “I’m afraid you are misunderstanding the situation entirely, Mister McCurren. Lady Pervill will not be your subordinate. She will be your colleague.”
Seamus waited for the end of the jest, and when none came he laughed, saying in a thick brogue, “Pardon me?”
“I will be moving a second desk into this office and you will be working hand in hand with Lady Pervill to decipher French communiqués intercepted in Britain.”
Seamus glanced at the woman glaring back at him and then turned to Falcon, “Perhaps, my lord, it might be more appropriate if we discuss this matter at another time.”
“This matter is not up for discussion, Mister McCurren. You have done excellent work thus far, but you need help, and Lady Pervill is eminently qualified to provide you that much needed assistance.”
“Or guidance.” The lady smiled caustically, eliciting a turn of the head from the old man as he looked directly at her.
“Or guidance”—Falcon nodded—“in untangling this latest code. Lady Pervill has been briefed and her clearance is of equal status as your own.”
It was a slap in the face and Seamus was set back on his heels. The petite woman made a great show of evaluating him from the tips of his boots to the top of his less than academically adequate head.
“Well,” she said to Falcon as if Seamus was not standing in the middle of the bloody room. “It appears as though it will take a day or two for the man to adjust. I can certainly see why his intransigence of thinking might prove ineffectual in decoding French communications.”
“Thankfully, we were fortunate enough to acquire your services, Lady Pervill,” Falcon said with a nod of respect. “I shall have your desk ready by tomorrow morning and all pertinent papers will be awaiting you.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Lady Pervill rose and the two small people walked around Seamus as if he were a lamppost. “I shall look forward to working with you.”
England's Assassin Page 28
