by Laura Landon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
Published by Kindle Press, Seattle, 2017
Amazon, the Amazon logo, Kindle Scout, and Kindle Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN 978-1-937216-76-4
Contact [email protected]
www.prairiemuse.com
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
EPILOGUE
ABOUT LAURA LANDON
CHAPTER 1
Captain Fordham Remington remained alert while he stayed hidden in the shadows.
As a former spy in Her Majesty’s Dragoons, waiting was something he was used to. Impatience was the surest way to get yourself killed. He and the three other officers—who had learned the same lesson as he—had stuck together like coal tar after the war, making a club of sorts out of their grisly common bond. As spies, they’d made a veritable study of patience. And not once had they hesitated to use any means at their disposal to achieve success. Now, as then, their number one rule on any mission was patience.
But the Crimean War had been over for nearly a year, and Ford wasn’t as practiced at being patient as he’d once been.
The former army spy looked in both directions as he waited for the carriage to arrive. An anxious burst of anticipation caused his breath to catch. This was the first time since he’d returned home that he’d been summoned by the commanding officer who had inspired him so immensely. Ford was eager to discover why Major William Thrush had sent word for them to meet at midnight on the corner of one of London’s quieter streets.
Ford looked to the east, then to the west, and paused. A carriage turned the corner and slowly came to a halt a short distance from him. When the door opened, Ford stepped out of the shadows and into the conveyance.
“It’s been a long time, Captain Remington,” Major Thrush said as Ford sank back against the squabs and the carriage lurched forward.
“Yes, Major. Nearly a year.”
“I trust you’re adjusting to postwar life better than some in your company.”
“Yes, Major. Unlike a number of my comrades, I was fortunate to come home with arms and legs intact, as well as my sight and hearing. Many I served with weren’t so blessed.”
“Right you are, Captain. It pains me more than I can say to see so many of England’s best reduced to begging in the streets. Or lying in hospital beds from which they’ll never rise.”
“If you’ll excuse me for my outspokenness, sir, England’s best deserved better. Parliament should have considered the plight of our soldiers long before now.”
Ford heard Major Thrush release a labored sigh. “It doesn’t surprise me that you look at things the way you do, Remington. There was always a compassionate streak in you.”
“It’s not compassion that makes me think as I do, sir. It’s the desire to do what’s only right for the thousands of soldiers who risked their lives for their country yet find they’ve been abandoned once they return.”
Ford didn’t like to think about the compassionate streak the major spoke of. To some it might be considered a weakness—a weakness that had nearly gotten him killed on more than one occasion.
The leather squabs groaned when the major sat back in the carriage. “It might help you to know that there are steps being taken in the House to improve the lives of those who returned from the war.”
“Well I’m glad. I’m glad, sir. But I doubt it’s enough for the twenty-five thousand blokes whose widows and orphans are left without a man to provide for them.”
“No,” the major answered. “The need will always be greater than the purse can provide.”
Major Thrush turned his head to look out the window at the lamps that lighted the street, leaving the carriage awash with silence. At last he cleared his throat, shifted his shoulders, and spoke. “I don’t doubt you wonder why I’ve asked to see you.”
“I knew that in time you’d get around to telling me.”
“Yes. Well.” Major Thrush paused. “This is quite confidential.”
Ford didn’t reply. The confidential bit was already obvious. A clandestine meeting in a nondescript carriage at midnight was more than a hint.
“I’ve been sent by Her Majesty. She has an assignment she’d like you to undertake.”
Ford couldn’t stop the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “You’ll excuse me if I take my time in considering Her Majesty’s offer. The last assignment I accepted in her name nearly got me killed.”
Major Thrush’s booming laughter echoed in the closed carriage. “I assure you that this assignment won’t take you behind enemy lines. Nor will it contain any of the elements of danger you confronted during the war. All this requires is that you play the part of the scoundrel Her Majesty is convinced you are.”
Ford winced.
“Are you sure Her Majesty doesn’t have me confused with one of my mates? There were four of us, after all.”
The major laughed again. “Yes, but you proved the most scandalous of them. Especially where the ladies are concerned.”
“I’m not sure if that is a compliment or—”
“It means you were damnably good at what you did, which is why Her Majesty chose you for this mission.”
“No thank you, sir,” Ford answered before he allowed the major to explain the mission. He was done taking risks. He wanted to do something that would benefit the thousands of soldiers who weren’t as fortunate as he was. Those who returned with no viable future.
“You haven’t heard what the mission is,” Major Thrush countered.
“I don’t care what it is. I’m no longer in the 6th Dragoons. And you’re no longer my spymaster.” Ford forced a slow breath, hoping to dispel the anger that crept into his voice. “I don’t wish to risk my reputation. Pretending I was a traitor was something I did in my past. It’s not something I want to repeat in my future.”
A long, uncomfortable silence stretched between Ford and his former commander.
“What if I told you that the reward for successfully completing this mission would earn you half interest in a very profitable shipping business? What if I guaranteed that you could—with the money you earned—help and support many of those fellow dragoons you are so concerned over?”
Ford considered the offer. The moment Thrush mentioned a continued source of income, Ford knew he didn’t have a choice. On a deep sigh, he sat back against the leather cushion and prepared to listen.
“During the war with Napoleon, a certain naval captain played a fundamental role in keeping supplies from reaching French troops. As a reward, the Crown gifted him with half interest in a shipping company.”
“What is this shipping company called?”
“The Crown’s Shipping Company. It owns three ships—the Argos, the Night’s Lady, and the Wayward. The Night’s Lady and the Wayward are clipper ships.”
> Ford whistled under his breath. “Clippers. Beautiful ships. Nothing faster.”
“Yes, and the profits their cargoes yield are also remarkable.”
“Are you talking about the tea trade?”
“Yes.”
“I take it that there’s a matter of concern over the profits accrued by Crown’s Shipping,” Ford said.
“Yes. Over the past eighteen months, the profits have decreased significantly. A little at first, then more and more as time passed.”
Ford’s interest had been piqued. “And Her Majesty is interested in the profits accrued by Crown’s because . . . ?”
“Her Majesty happens to be the owner of the other half of Crown’s.”
“I see,” Ford answered. “And does Her Majesty believe foul play is involved in this loss?”
“Her Majesty would like you to quietly investigate this matter.”
“Why quietly?”
“Several reasons. The first is that we are speaking of a naval hero who is getting along in years and who has never had a hint of scandal associated with his name. And because the admiral is not the main person in charge of running Crown’s any longer.”
“Who is?”
“The admiral’s granddaughter.”
“A female?”
“A very qualified female. And one whose involvement in the company has until now been beyond reproach.” Major Thrush turned a hard look in Ford’s direction. “Do you have an objection to a female running a company?”
“No, of course not. It’s just that I see now why Her Majesty chose someone she considers a scoundrel to handle this matter.”
Major Thrush smiled. “Her Majesty thought your reputation with the ladies might work to our advantage in this particular instance.”
Ford rolled his eyes heavenward. He wasn’t sure he agreed with Her Majesty. Or with Major Thrush. “What else can you tell me? What is this admiral’s name? Who is his granddaughter?”
“It’s Admiral Wendell Barclave, and his granddaughter’s name is—”
“Admiral Barclave. The Admiral Barclave? The admiral who not only kept more supplies from reaching the French troops during our war with Napoleon than any other officer, but who helped to overwhelmingly defeat the French alongside Lord Nelson at the Battle of Trafalgar?”
“I see you’ve heard of Admiral Barclave.”
“What British schoolboy hasn’t? He was a hero to many of us.”
“I’m glad. Because you’re going to have the opportunity to meet him.”
Ford liked this assignment more and more, until… “Surely you don’t think Admiral Barclave is behind the theft.” The thought that his onetime idol could be a thief ate at his gut. Or worse yet, the thought that he would be the bastard to throw a national hero into disgrace was a spike through his heart.
“As I mentioned, Admiral Barclave is getting along in years. He has given over the running of the shipping company to his granddaughter, but the conditions of the contract allowing the admiral half interest are valid only until he is no longer able to run the shipping company.”
“What happens at that time?”
“If you are successful in discovering who is behind the theft, Her Majesty intends to hand the reins of the shipping company over to you.”
Ford’s heartbeat escalated. The possibilities of what he could do with the profits from a shipping company were boundless. The number of injured soldiers he could help was beyond imagining. This was the answer to everything he’d yearned for. Everything he’d hoped to accomplish.
“Does this granddaughter have a name?”
“She’s the daughter of the Earl of Dunhurst.”
“Bloody hell,” Ford said in a soft curse.
“Are you acquainted with Lord Dunhurst?”
“I am. And his son, Viscount Carmody, heir to the earldom. We attended Eton together.”
“And his sister, Lady Calinda?”
Ford shook his head. “We’ve never met.”
“That will change.” Major Thrush reached for a leather packet that lay on the seat beside him. “This contains the information we have on Crown’s. You’ll also find a schedule of the events the lady is committed to attend for the next several weeks. Events you will also wish to attend.”
“What exactly is it that you want me to do?”
“Investigate the shipping company’s records. Find out what you can that might explain why the profits have taken such a dive. And who is behind the loss.”
“And if it’s the admiral’s granddaughter?”
“Her Majesty will make that decision.”
Ford tucked the folder beneath his arm, then exited the carriage when it stopped. This assignment wouldn’t be dangerous. That was obvious. But it might force him to take actions he’d rather not consider.
Ford walked back into the shadows with the folder safely tucked. He was eager to accept a project where there was no chance of him being attacked or shot. It would be a welcome change.
He realized he didn’t have a choice. He had to accept this mission. He had to use the profits from the shipping company to feed and clothe the men he’d promised to help. His heart swelled with pride at the thought that he was being useful again.
He thought of the other three who had risked as much as he had spying for the 6th Dragoons—the ones who’d jokingly referred to their little group of “alumni” as “Her Majesty’s Scoundrels”—and wondered what they would think of him running a shipping company.
But he knew them too well. Lieutenant Jeb Danvers would laugh, Lieutenant Hugh Wythers would slap him on the back and utter some horrid profanity, and Captain Caleb Parker would hold his tongue waiting for the other shoe to drop.
CHAPTER 2
Lady Calinda Barclave stared out onto the dance floor where her sister Nora whirled about with another admirer. This was the fourth ball in half as many weeks that Calinda had been forced to attend, and Nora’s dance card was filled at each event. Hopefully, one of the many beaux who’d courted Nora was serious enough to ask for her hand in marriage. Calinda could return to her quiet life and avoid the round of balls and soirees she’d been forced to attend while Nora was enjoying her come-out.
“Who’s Nora dancing with now?” Calinda’s brother Frank, Viscount Carmody, asked. He stopped at her side and handed her a glass of champagne he’d retrieved from a passing servant.
“I think this is the Earl of Rushley. Or maybe he was the fellow she danced the last set with.” Calinda paused while she thought. “Yes, Rushley was the set before. This should be Viscount Clapton.”
Frank tried to stifle a laugh but failed. “You really are having a miserable time, aren’t you, Callie?”
“Of course I am,” Callie answered. “Mother doesn’t have a headache any more than I have two noses. And Father doesn’t have an important meeting at the Home Office any more than you have three tails. They feigned their excuses so I’d be obligated to look after Nora. They think if they force me to attend every social event of the Season, I’ll meet my Prince Charming and live the happy ever after.”
“It’s only because they think you’ve been in mourning long enough and want you to rejoin the living.” Frank lifted his glass in salute. “Who knows?” he said after he’d taken a swallow. “You just might.”
Callie gave her brother a look of bitter frustration. He knew that wasn’t possible. And he knew why.
She’d already met her charming prince. He’d been handsome beyond compare in his captain’s uniform, and she’d agreed they’d marry as soon as he returned from the war. Except he didn’t return. And before she could properly mourn him even a month, she discovered there were at least two other women who mourned him alongside her.
No, she would never play the fool again. She’d learned in the most painfully pathetic way that men with handsome faces and engaging smiles could never be trusted.
Callie turned her gaze away from Frank. Her brother was the only person in her family who knew the truth behind h
er failed past. The only one who knew why she would never again give her heart away. She refused to look at him and see the pity she knew would be on his face. Instead, she looked back to the dance floor.
Nora was still dancing, and Callie found her sister gazing at the handsome gentleman partnering her with a starry-eyed look. Frank would have to make an inquiry about this one, too, Callie thought.
She was about to turn to tell Frank her thoughts when she heard her brother’s booming voice.
“Remington, by Jove, is that you?”
“Carmody?” a second voice answered.
“Good God, man, I haven’t seen you since you returned from the war! You came home a captain, if I remember correctly. Congratulations! Glad to see you survived the ordeal.”
Callie slowly turned. She wasn’t anxious to be introduced to yet another soldier. Especially one who bore the rank of captain. She’d had enough to do with captains. But to ignore a friend of Frank’s would be the height of rudeness.
“Callie, allow me to present Captain Ford Remington. Ford, my sister, Lady Calinda Barclave.”
The man facing her brother turned to give her his full attention.
Callie’s heart shifted in her chest. Captain Remington was handsome in a way that stole her breath. Even more handsome than . . .
He was tall and broad shouldered and had hair the color of roasted chestnuts. It wasn’t cropped short, like so many men wore their hair these days, but hung a little longer to allow the ends to wave enticingly.
Her palms tingled with the urge to lift her hand and rake her fingers through the silky-looking curls at the nape of his neck. She clenched her fingers in the folds of her gown lest she be foolish enough to follow her thoughts with actions.
“Lady Calinda,” the captain said, bowing in acknowledgment.
“Captain,” she answered, taking note of his large brown eyes that danced with merriment. If it were possible to drown in such deep, tempting pools, Callie knew she surely would. That is, if she were a defenseless female. But betrayal had driven her to shore up her defenses in the most ironclad fashion, and she wasted not a moment summoning all her resources.
And then he smiled.
