A Code of Love (The Code Breakers 1)

by Jacki Delecki

  “And when I wasn’t home you sought other company?” She tried to control her bewildered feelings. Why was she so angry?

  “Isabelle isn’t anything to me. Is that why you’re allowing that French fool to follow you? Make no mistake, I’ve little patience with the game you’re playing.”

  “You think I’m playing a game?” Aware of the looks they were receiving, she tried to control the rage rising in her chest, giving her the sensation that she was a hot air balloon about to burst.

  “If you would give me the opportunity, a private moment to explain, I’m not the man you met four years ago.” He stepped closer, his large frame towering over her.

  Henrietta backed away from his intimidating posture. She couldn’t think when he was near her, her feelings got all befuddled.

  “I admit to a certain recklessness when I was younger, but De Valmont…he’s of another ilk. He’s…”

  He was warning her away from De Valmont, as if she was the same naïve girl he’d met four years ago. “I’m quite capable of judging gentlemen and their worth.”

  She turned and walked away from the exasperating gentleman.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cord rejoined Gwyneth, forcing a smile toward her and some young pup.

  Gwyneth gently touched his arm. “Cord, are you ill?”

  “It’s insufferably hot in here. Excuse me.”

  He walked to the open French doors, avoided the gaze of the sophisticated women who sent him subtle and not so subtle messages. Outdoors, he inhaled the warm spring air. Above the din inside, he could hear Henrietta’s hearty laugh, so unlike the proper ladies, who tittered at best.

  He had lost control again. He, who never lost control, a man admired for his logical demeanor, unflappable under duress. Because of his rampant jealousy, he’d acted like an idiot accusing her of playing games.

  Couldn’t she see he was a grown man with sincere intentions toward her? She viewed him as the young man he had been, struggling with remorse over his brother’s death, numb to all emotions.

  Her laughter as she pressed against him in the mud, their limbs intertwined, revived him as if he had been asleep for the last four years. He had been too long without any genuine happiness in his life. When Henrietta was near, his world became a brighter place.

  He had attended the soiree to arrange a time when he could speak with her. He had felt a rush of anticipation when he saw her across the room but then realized she was trying to escape him. It amused him at first to see her darting through the crowd, as if she could hide from him. He understood her avoidance. She wanted to deny the magnetism, the sexual tension that flared between them, ready to combust. It was a rare occurrence to feel a deep connection with another person, and he wasn’t going to let her deny what lay between them.

  The thrill of her lush body under his kept him awake last night. He envisioned removing the wet, molded dress clinging to her abundant curves to expose the soft, sensual woman. Under the prim exterior, Henrietta was a fiery, passionate woman, just waiting for him.

  * * *

  Henrietta laughed too loudly at Amelia’s joke, but her latest altercation with Lord Rathbourne was taking its toll. The man was impossible. He had the nerve to accuse her of playing games. He had the ability to upset her equanimity each time they met. She moved toward another of her mother’s friends, Baroness Lemieux.

  An unknown matron in an outrageous outfit approached her. The beaming lady’s entire ensemble was a clash of purples and greens. The lady must’ve walked into her dressmaker’s establishment and blindly selected the brightest colors possible.

  “Lady Henrietta, I presume?” The lady’s eyes twinkled in amusement. Her face creased with laugh lines from years of happiness.

  “I’m Lady Henrietta Harcourt, my lady.” In deference to the older woman, she curtsied.

  Breaking all manner of propriety, the woman embraced Henrietta, pulling her against her billowy bosom. “I’m pleased to meet you, my dear. I’m Cordelier’s Aunt Euphemia.”

  Aunt Euphemia smelled of roses. The mauve feather topping the lady’s shocking headdress tickled Henrietta’s cheek. Lady Beaumont, like her impossible nephew, obviously didn’t bother with decorum.

  “And I to meet you, Lady Beaumont.” There was something familiar about the lady, her posture, her horrendous fashion style. Lady Beaumont was the woman in the alley who accosted the man with her umbrella. Henrietta was speechless and shocked.

  “The pleasure is all mine. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in ages. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment, to see my nephew abandon his self-possession. I hope you won’t mind me calling you Henrietta and you must call me Euphemia.”

  “I’d be honored, my lady.” Henrietta was perplexed by the lady’s implications.

  “How’s dear Charles? Aunt Euphemia asked. “I’d like so much to have you both for tea.”

  Henrietta’s heartbeat missed a beat or two or three. “You know my uncle?”

  “I’ve known Charles since my debut a few years back.” She guffawed in a very unladylike manner.

  Henrietta twisted the cords of her reticule. “My uncle isn’t able to do the social rounds. He’s been battling a head cold. I don’t think it is advisable for him go out.” She hated to lie to one of her uncle’s acquaintances.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I’d love to visit with him.” Lady Beaumont’s pointed look made Henrietta’s stomach twirl with anxiety.

  “You must bring your uncle to Rathbourne House when he’s feeling better. We’ll have many occasions to be together.”

  Henrietta placed her hand on her chest, trying to soothe her racing heart.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to shock you, but I’ve seen today the way my nephew behaves around you,” Aunt Euphemia said.

  There was an awkward silence as Henrietta grasped Lady Beaumont implications. “My lady, you’re mistaken. Lord Rathbourne extended his assistance to me and my brother. I’m grateful for his help, but there is nothing more.”

  Lady Beaumont’s eyes flashed in keen intelligence. “My nephew isn’t the man he presents to society. I knew when the time came for him to settle down, he’d show good sense. I’ll look forward to our next chat.” With that shocking pronouncement, the stout lady swept past Henrietta.

  Henrietta took several slow breaths, trying to calm herself and her galloping heart. She wasn’t sure if her heart galloped with fear because of Uncle Charles or the idea that Lord Rathbourne was serious about her.

  Lady Beaumont and Lord Ashworth-both had implied that Lord Rathbourne planned to court her. It was reminiscent of Chillington’s Ball when Lord Rathbourne had disappeared with Lady Atherton, courting a respectful lady while dallying with a mistress. She clenched the strings of her reticule.

  She would never consider such a man for a husband. Her short courtship by the Duke of Wycliffe had been enough for a lifetime. Her father had died two years before, leaving a young Michael to make family decisions. The duke, sophisticated and powerful, was able to convince all of them, including her mother and herself, that he would make a wonderful husband.

  She hated to recall her own naiveté at the age of eighteen when she had been enthralled with the striking duke’s presence and flattered by his attentions. She believed he wanted an intelligent, strong woman as his duchess. How shocked she had been to learn he had no interest in sharing his life with a woman with independent thoughts or feelings. He wanted a woman of the correct bloodline to bear his children.

  His words would always be burned in her memory. He saw “no need to change his life or his mistress” upon marriage. He didn’t need a companion; he needed a wife to provide him with heirs.

  Cord’s aunt was most ill-informed. She would never contemplate another match with a man who wanted a lady for heirs and a mistress for his pleasure.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Henrietta gazed up at the darkening sky and picked up her pace, hoping to miss the imminent downpour. She usually didn’t mind
the circuitous conversations at the Society of Ladies of Classic Greece meetings but today she had little patience for the usual social patter. She was wound tight with worry and with the slightest provocation, she might shatter.

  It had been two days since she had sent the letter to request an appointment with Sir Ramston and she still hadn’t received a response. The large drops began to fall on her bonnet when she climbed the steps of Kendal House. With each passing day, her fear for her brother’s safety grew unrestrained.

  Before Henrietta had reached the top step, Mrs. Brompton opened the door. Her hair hung out of its usual tight chignon—testimony to her distress.

  Possible news from France. Henrietta’s heart galloped in apprehension.

  “Brompton couldn’t stop her. She sailed right past him into the library for tea with Lord Harcourt.”

  “There’s a woman having tea with Uncle Charles?” Henrietta asked.

  “No, she sent Lord Charles up for a rest and is awaiting your return.”

  Confounded by the shocking news, Henrietta pointed to herself. “Waiting for me?”

  Mrs. Brompton shook her head. “Like the Queen of England, she awaits your pleasure in the library.”

  Henrietta’s heart rate sped up in her chest and into her eardrums, beating with a relentless boom.

  Mrs. Brompton spoke in a heated voice behind Henrietta who walked briskly toward the library. “I tried to stop her from visiting with Uncle Charles, but she said they were old friends.”

  Lady Beaumont plowed forward from the library, encased in an asparagus green gown with her bosom barely covered by a fichu of lace. The lady wore a matching putrid green turban with a purple feather. “I’m glad you’ve arrived before the rain.”

  The years of training by Miss Hartshaw didn’t fail her. Henrietta curtsied. “Lady Beaumont, what a pleasure.”

  Had Lady Beaumont discovered Uncle Charles’ difficulty? The lady spoke, but the pounding beat in Henrietta’s ears prevented her from registering the words.

  “As I said at Lady Chadwick’s, you must call me Euphemia or Aunt Euphemia.” Lady Beaumont took Henrietta’s arm and began to steer her into the library. “You look a bit fagged out, my dear. A spot of tea will bring you around. Let us retire and have a cozy chat.”

  Mrs. Brompton muttered under her breath, “Of all the nerve.”

  Henrietta allowed herself to be taken to the library. It was easier to be led than to fight against the tidal current of Aunt Euphemia.

  The older woman guided Henrietta to the settee next to the roaring fire. “Please sit down. I pace and move about when I’ve things to say.”

  The rain pelted at the windows, beating a steady soothing rhythm. The candles flickered, spreading shadows on the high, vaulted ceiling and the endless shelves teeming with books. Everything in the library appeared the same, but nothing was the same. Had Lady Beaumont discovered Henrietta’s deception?

  Henrietta fingered the pleat in her muslin dress, avoiding Lady Beaumont’s gaze to hide her fear. This exceptional lady wouldn’t be easily fooled.

  Lady Beaumont stood over Henrietta. “My dear, I can see you’re shocked by my presence.”

  The biscuit Henrietta had ingested at the ladies’ meeting twisted and turned in her stomach. She adjusted her position on the settee, hoping the unbearable rolling sensation would cease.

  “Let us be frank, shall we?”

  Alarm as ponderous as a boulder sunk to the bottom of Henrietta’s stomach.

  “How long have you been deciphering the codes for your uncle?” Lady Beaumont’s tone was relaxed, as if she asked Henrietta whether she wanted sugar in her tea.

  The question Henrietta had dreaded for years had been asked aloud and the gates of hell didn’t open, the world didn’t stop spinning. She had never imagined the question would come from a woman, a woman she barely knew. She had always thought Sir Ramston would eventually discover the deception.

  “I respect your loyalty to your uncle, but Charles isn’t the man he used to be and clearly has been declining for a while.”

  The pain of hiding her uncle’s worsening condition was palpable, making it hard to swallow or speak. “The change has been gradual.” She had never spoken with anyone outside the household about her uncle. “I’ve been assisting my uncle for several years.”

  Lady Beaumont settled next to Henrietta and enfolded Henrietta’s trembling hands in her own. “My poor child, you’ve been carrying this burden far too long.” The older woman’s voice filled with warmth and compassion

  Henrietta fought the burning ache gathering behind her eyes. “It hasn’t been a burden. It’s the least I could do for my uncle.”

  “Of course, of course. You wanted to protect him.”

  “He’s a gentle, sweet man.” Her voice broke. “He’s taught me so much.”

  Lady Beaumont’s only response was to tighten the hold she had on Henrietta’s hands.

  The sympathetic gesture made Henrietta want to throw herself into the arms of the older woman and confide all her worries for the Harcourt men, especially her pressing fear for Michael. She realized how long it had been since someone comforted her. She had been alone for so very long.

  “You’ve done an excellent job assisting your uncle.”

  She was barely able to get the words out, to ask the feared question. “Are you going to inform Sir Ramston?”

  Lady Beaumont patted Henrietta’s hands. “We need to think this through.”

  “I need to continue to do this work,” Henrietta said. “The pressure to decipher and analyze anything coming out of France has intensified during this lull with the Treaty of Amiens. No one believes Napoleon has slowed his plans for world domination. We must continue to monitor France and Napoleon’s activities.”

  The shrewdness in Lady Beaumont’s eyes sharpened. “Go on.”

  Henrietta wondered how Cord’s aunt had known her uncle assisted the Abchurch offices. She looked directly at the older woman. “I’d like to continue to decipher codes in my uncle’s name. The office will continue to get what they need and Uncle Charles’ world won’t be torn apart.”

  “We need to use all of our resources at this critical time to protect England,” Lady Beaumont agreed.

  Lady Beaumont seemed to have a keen grasp of the war strategy.

  “I couldn’t bear to see my uncle suffer the embarrassment of…” Henrietta swallowed the quiver in her voice.

  Lady Beaumont pulled a handkerchief out of her reticule and handed it to Henrietta. “I’m close friends with Sir Ramston and know he’d never want Charles to suffer any public embarrassment or to have our enemies discover that our greatest code breaker is incapacitated. My nephew is associated with Sir Ramston but he can be a bit of a stickler for rules.”

  Henrietta wiped her nose and eyes. “I’m not convinced your nephew would be supportive if he became aware of my role.”

  Lady Beaumont guffawed, causing her fichu to flutter. “Henrietta, you underestimate your power to influence my nephew. Although quite controlling, Cord’s still a man.”

  Henrietta, who never thought of herself as a blushing woman, felt the heat move into her cheeks. In her recent dealings with the Beaumont family, her face was red more often than not, especially in her interactions with the exasperating earl.

  Lady Beaumont patted Henrietta’s hand. “You remind me of myself in my younger days, trying to take care of everyone. I see no reason why you can’t continue as you are. I’ll keep your secret, but we must agree you’ll inform me if you’ve any concerns or the burden becomes too great.”

  “Thank you.” Henrietta wanted to hug the older woman but instead patted her eyes with the handkerchief. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”

  Lady Beaumont jumped from the settee. “Now that we’ve got that settled, I must be getting on with my calls. I still expect you to bring Charles for tea. You don’t have to continue with the story of his head cold. You’re both welcome at Rathbourne House and bring your
younger brother. I had the pleasure of meeting him this afternoon.”

  With Lady Beaumont’s abrupt exit, Henrietta stared at the closed door. Lady Beaumont descended upon Kendal house like a fiery crashing comet and then disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived—leaving only a trail of unanswered questions behind.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two hours and Cord had barely made a dent in the pile of estate papers stacked on his desk. Unlike his usual work mode, he couldn’t stay focused, all because of one woman. Again and again he flashed to the events of the last weeks—Henrietta trying to save her brother in the Serpentine, Henrietta furious in the mud, her green eyes aflame, Henrietta trying to elude him at the Chadwick Soiree.

  He tossed the document down and threw open the French doors from his library to the garden. The sun shone on the spring flowers. The fresh scent of new grass and budding flowers filled his senses. He inhaled deeply. If he didn’t know better, he would think he had spring fever.

  Returning indoors, he moved across the gold and crimson Aubusson rug to open the library door and achieve a cross breeze. His aunt and sister were out on their social calls, giving him a chance to work on estate business. He moved back to the pile of papers and began to read the next document but was distracted by the distant sound of Sloane admitting someone into the house.

  He couldn’t hear the conversation, but the visitor was a lady seeking his aunt. Something in the woman’s voice sounded familiar. He rose and crossed to the doorway, peering down the hallway to see the visitor.

  Henrietta, in a yellow and green ensemble, stood in a swash of sunlight from the opened door. Her surprise arrival suffused the darkened hallways with the promise of spring, like the budding daffodils in the garden.

  “It’s vital that I see Lady Beaumont.” Her voice was insistent. “Please if she is truly home, can you tell her it is I, Lady Henrietta, with an important message.”

  Sloane, in his usual frosty manner, ignored the desperation in the lady’s voice. “Lady Beaumont isn’t at home.”