The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  She wasn’t laughing at him, she was enjoying the moment.

  He chuckled, then laughed. Out loud. And couldn’t stop. He kissed her soundly. ‘God, do you have any idea how much I love you?’

  He froze. Had he really spoken those words? And meant them? He gazed up at her face, and she looked down at him, her expression clear in the cold moonlight.

  She blinked.

  He stroked her cheek. ‘I love you,’ he whispered, knowing it for a truth, and kissed her lips tenderly with his heart so high in his throat it felt like tears.

  She inhaled a shaky breath and he held his, hoping, like the idiot he was, that she just might—

  ‘For Heaven’s sake!’ a voice said in a low whisper. ‘What are you doing?’

  Shocked back into the present by that hissing tone, he struggled to his feet and helped Minette to hers. He brushed them both off, trying to regain his balance, physically and mentally. ‘Mother. What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Me?’ she shrilled. She looked over her shoulder. ‘Half of our guests are up there, watching you cavort like a fool. Have you no shame?’

  Beside him, Minette twitched at her skirts. ‘I was teaching His Grace a new dance.’

  ‘I don’t know what sort of manners pertain in your family but I can assure you—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Freddy bit out.

  ‘It is nowhere near enough. Do you think I do not know what the pair of you were doing the other evening? Dinner in your rooms.’ Her voice, though little more than a whisper, shook with rage. ‘Have you forgotten the vow you made on your brother’s grave?’

  His stomach churned. He gripped Minette’s arm, intending to walk her away. This was not a conversation they were going to have.

  Minette resisted his tug on her arm. ‘What vow?’

  ‘Mother,’ he warned.

  ‘The vow he swore on his brother’s grave to never marry.’

  ‘Why would he do that?’ Minette asked, looking at him.

  ‘He got want he wanted,’ Mother said, her tone venomous. ‘He stole the title from his brother. He doesn’t deserve—’

  Damn Mother, bringing this out now. ‘I will not profit from my brother’s death. No child of mine will inherit. My cousin and his son are my heirs.’

  ‘You never spoke of this,’ Minette said.

  The triumph on his mother’s face came as no surprise, but the shock on Minette’s face struck him hard. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  Yes, he should have. But she really hadn’t given him a lot of options. ‘But for your little games, I would not be getting married.’ No, no. That was not what he’d meant to say.

  The hurt on her face paid him back a hundredfold.

  Damn it all. He had not meant to be cruel, it was just that... They could not have this conversation now. He glanced up at the veranda. There were only two heads. Those of his cousin and his wife. They must have gone to tell his mother about their foolish dancing. ‘It is time to go back inside. We have made enough of an exhibition of ourselves for one night.’

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It had been wonderful. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so young or so carefree. Never had he been to a ball where he had actually enjoyed himself. He held out his arm, and she placed her hand upon it. In frigid silence they followed his mother across the lawn to the terrace steps.

  The emptiness inside him grew deeper as he recalled her dismay—and that she hadn’t said she loved him back.

  He felt just as small inside as he had as a child when picked last for every game of cricket, or left behind when his peers had gone off on mischief. No one wanted a cripple along.

  * * *

  Astonishing as it seemed to Minette, Her Grace was in the dining room, playing the charming hostess at breakfast. Perhaps knowing Freddy intended to keep his vow to remain childless had cheered her up. But Freddy was nowhere in evidence. The man had said he loved her and in that shocking, astonishing moment she had realised she loved him, too. Desperately.

  And she desperately wished she had said something out there on the lawn, instead of staring at him like a moon calf.

  Yes, it was disappointing that he didn’t want children. But after a night of tossing and turning she had decided that children were not necessary to her happiness. They would have each other. Now she was searching through the public rooms of the house, trying to find him. To tell him what had been becoming more and more apparent to her over these past few days. His declaration had taken her by surprise, left her momentarily wordless. And if she was honest, fearful that he might regret his declaration in the light of the morning. Still, she’d been cowardly. She should have told him what was in her heart.

  And then his horrid mother had arrived and she’d lost her chance.

  Both the billiard room and the gun room were empty. She headed for the library, where a footman had told her several gentlemen had gathered. As she approached, male laughter sailed out of the open door. One voice lasting a little longer than the others. A deep, rich chuckle she would know anywhere.

  Moreau? She froze. Moreau was in the house? In the library? How was it possible? A footman stationed outside the library door was pretending not to notice her standing as still as a statue in the middle of the corridor. With a quick breath, she set her shoulders and started walking towards the door. He was in library. She would know that laugh anywhere. How was it possible he had entered the house without anyone noticing? She had greeted everyone at the door the previous evening.

  The rumble of male voices died out.

  Back straight, she entered the room, took in its occupants with a swift glance. There were three men—Freddy’s cousin Arthur, a thin young man with a head of cherubic mousy curls and one older man with a large lumpy red nose and a huge belly. None of them were Moreau. All rose to their feet, the fat one creaking loudly as if his corset was about to give way. He must be a friend of the Prince Regent, who also creaked when he moved.

  She must have been mistaken about that laugh. Hearing things. ‘Good morning, gentlemen.’ She dipped a curtsey, hoping it was of the correct depth for while she remembered the other two vaguely from the introductions the previous evening she did not recall names or ranks.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rideau,’ Freddy’s cousin said. He had a hearty cheerful voice and a patently false beaming smile. ‘I am surprised to see you up so early. Most of the other ladies are still in their chambers after such a rackety evening.’

  Was that a sly dig she heard in his voice? Had he seen her dancing with Freddy on the lawn? Seen him fall?

  The other men seemed to be waiting for her to say something. They probably wanted her to go so they could get back to their newspapers.

  ‘Have you seen Falconwood this morning?’

  ‘I gather he rode out early,’ his cousin said. He smiled genially but there was something oily about his expression. ‘You don’t have to worry about my cousin, my dear Miss Rideau. He really is an excellent horseman.’

  ‘I am not worried. I simply wanted to speak with him.’

  He tugged at his neckcloth. ‘I thought you might be concerned for his safety. His foot, you know. Not quite right. But he manages admirably, don’t you know.’

  Minette wanted to hit him for the insincerity on his face. What with his mother and this idiot, it was no wonder Freddy had withdrawn into himself. And no wonder he risked his life given the future he’d committed himself to. His admission last night of the vow he had made had given her a much greater understanding of the man he was. ‘I’m not at all worried. His Grace is one of the most athletic men I know.’ She glanced pointedly at the other man’s small paunch.

  The other two men chuckled and she heard it again. Moreau’s voice. Coming from the elderly fat man. It wasn’t possible. Could two so very different men have the same laugh?

  She wanted to inspect him, walk around him, look at him from every angle, but she had to continue as if she had noticed
nothing. She glanced at his face, trying to appear casual. While nothing else about the man looked right, his eyes were Moreau’s.

  Her heart lurched. With a struggle she maintained her outward calm—at least, she hoped she hadn’t given her shock away—and smiled sweetly at Freddy’s cousin. ‘Thank you for the information. Have you gentlemen had breakfast? It is being served in the dining room.’

  ‘Ate earlier,’ the cherub said with a bow. ‘Thank you for asking.’

  ‘Feeling a little peckish myself,’ Moreau said.

  She gave them a vague smile. ‘Excellent. Hopefully I will see you this afternoon out on the lawn? Her Grace has planned an al fresco tea, provided the weather holds, and we have some games for your entertainment. Shuttlecock. Croquet. Archery.’ She accepted their bows with an inclination of her head and strolled out.

  That man was Moreau. She was sure of it, though he had disguised everything—his face, his body. He had even managed to look shorter. But that deep, low chuckle was his. The man had ever been bold. But this? What on earth was his purpose? Had he guessed she was onto him? He must certainly recognise her. Her blood ran cold at the thought of the damage the man could do with so many important people inside the house. How could they have missed him last night when the guest list had been checked and rechecked?

  Freddy. She had to talk to Freddy. Dash it all, why did he have to choose now to go riding? Perhaps she should talk to Gabe. Nicky would know of his whereabouts. She headed for their chamber on the second floor.

  Halfway up the stairs the idea hit her like a bolt of lightning. If Moreau was an overnight guest, why would she not sneak into his room and take back the damning evidence of her past so she and Nicky would no longer have anything to fear?

  Freddy would arrest him, and there would be no damage done to anyone.

  Blast. Why could she not remember the name he had given when they had been introduced? Mr Patterson, the butler, would know, though she would have to be very careful with her enquiries. It would not do to alert Moreau she’d seen through his disguise.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Freddy left his horse with a groom and strode into the taproom of the Bull and Bear, where he found Barker downing a tankard of heavy wet. He nodded to the barman to pour him the same. They took their drinks to a table in the corner.

  ‘Well done,’ Freddy said. ‘What do they have to say for themselves?’

  ‘They know nothing. Not who they were working for or why. They were following orders.’

  Freddy finished his drink. ‘I think I will have a word.’

  Barker signalled to the innkeeper behind the bar. ‘We’ll be going down to the cellar. No interruptions, mind.’

  The man touched his forelock.

  ‘How much did you pay him?’ Freddy asked as they made their way down the stone steps.

  ‘Enough for a day or so.’

  The underground space reeked of stale beer and damp. Barker lifted a trapdoor in the floor. ‘Hidey-hole for contraband. Luckily there isn’t any right now.’ He lowered a wooden ladder into the darkness below their feet and grabbed a lantern from the wall. At the bottom there was yet another locked door. When he opened it and shone the light inside, three men blinked like sleepy owls.

  ‘You can’t keep us here,’ one of the men said, thrusting his chin in their direction. It was the only move he could make as his hands and feet were tied. ‘It ain’t right. We’ve done nothing wrong. Report you for kidnapping.’

  ‘That’s Herb,’ Barker said.

  ‘I am sure the authorities will be delighted to make your acquaintance, Herb,’ Freddy said.

  ‘Ho, is that your game?’ the same man said, obviously the leader of this little gang. ‘We was asked to deliver a carriage to a farm and then to make our way back to Lunnon. Which is just what we were doing.’

  ‘You were asked to act as a decoy for a French spy. In other words, you are traitors.’

  The man cursed.

  ‘Tell me about the man who hired you. What did he look like?’

  ‘A proper good ’un,’ Herb said. ‘Paid half up front. I figured that even if we never got the other half we’d done very well out of the arrangement.’

  ‘Where and when were you to collect the other half?’

  ‘We were to see the cove in charge of the Fools’ Paradise. A hell in Whitechapel.’

  Barker cracked a laugh. Freddy glowered at him. ‘I know it.’

  ‘That’s it. In a nutshell.’

  ‘What did he look like? This man who hired you?’

  ‘Not much to look at. Ordinary. Dressed like a cit. Not a nob, but not down at heel. Sat in the shadows so it was hard to see his face.’

  ‘How tall was he?’

  ‘He never stood up. We left first.’

  Freddy cursed inwardly. ‘And he gave you no hint as to why he wanted you to undertake this delivery?’

  ‘I asked ’im, but he said weren’t none of my business if I wanted the money. I got mouths to feed, I ’ave. There ain’t no crime in delivering a carriage, now, is there?’

  ‘It is a crime to help a French spy.’

  ‘I didn’t know that then, did I? Wouldn’t have done it else. I’m as loyal to my country as the next man. He never sounded like a Frenchie.’

  ‘So there is nothing more you can tell us that will help us find him. Listen well. If I find out you lied, that you knew even a smidgeon more of information, I’ll have you clapped in irons and off to Newgate quicker than a cat can lick her ear.’

  One of his companions squeaked like a mouse and wriggled.

  Freddy lifted the lantern to shine on his face. ‘Well?’

  ‘I did ’ear somefink,’ the fellow said.

  Their leader made a growling noise. ‘Ratty, I told you not to follow ’em.’

  Freddy could quite see why he was called Ratty. His sharp nose and large yellow front teeth gave him a rodent-like appearance.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Ratty said. ‘Honest. I just ’appened upon ’em on my way ’ome.’

  The leader made a sound of disgust.

  ‘What did you hear?’ Freddy asked.

  ‘Promise you’ll let us go?’ Ratty pleaded.

  Freddy shrugged. ‘No promises. But if the information is useful...’

  ‘Tell ’im, you nodcock,’ Herb said. ‘If you knowed one of ’em was French then you shoulda said.’

  Not that Freddy thought it would have made a bit of difference to Herb, but he would give him the benefit of the doubt. This time.

  ‘’E met another cove outside the tavern,’ Ratty said. ‘Said as how some bird in a forest would never look right under his nose and to have a ship standing ready.’ He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t make any sense of it. Then they started talking foreign like.’

  ‘Who did he meet?’ Barker rapped out.

  Another shrug. ‘’E was a Frenchie. Or I think he was. Spoke foreign when he answered. No idea what he was sayin’.’

  ‘Some bird in a forest wouldn’t happen to be Falconwood, would it?’ Freddy asked.

  ‘Yerst. ’Ow did you know?’

  ‘Not your concern, my lad,’ Barker said.

  A chill slithered down Freddy’s spine. ‘Right under my nose.’ He started for the door, Barker following.

  ‘Hey!’ Herb yelled. ‘You said—’

  Barker locked the door behind them. ‘I’ll be back for you lot later.’

  ‘What is it?’ Barker asked as the climbed the steps to the taproom.

  The man had a nose for trouble. ‘If I’m right, though I hope to God I’m not, he is in my house.’ And everyone he cared about—Nicky, Gabe, Minette—was in there with him.

  * * *

  Heart high in her throat, her pulse racing, Minette stole into the room assigned to the man the butler had identified as a Lord Peckridge. He’d been on the guest list as a distant relation of Freddy’s cousin’s wife, Liz. The chamber was one of the smaller guests rooms on the third floor in the oldest wing in the house, as far fro
m the public rooms as it was possible to be without entering the servants’ quarters. Peckridge was clearly considered one of Falconwood’s least important guests.

  The room had a bed, a nightstand, a desk, an armchair beside the fire and a wooden chair beside the desk. Against one wall was a clothes press. There was no dressing room for the man’s valet—he would be quartered up in the attic with the other servants.

  Where to look? She must not linger long. Even though he had expressed the intention of going to breakfast, his servant might return. Or the man himself. Peckridge indeed. Her blood ran cold. But for his laugh she would not have seen through his disguise. And he had been walking among them for hours.

  It was not a disguise he had used when she had travelled with him. Then he had usually been a displaced aristocrat or a rebel peasant. It was not important now. Not until she had the portrait in her hands. Then she would reveal him to Freddy.

  She started with the desk. There was nothing in its drawers but the obligatory writing paper, pens and ink. The clothes press held linens. The nightstand held a candlestick and a book. Rousseau. Suitable reading material for an English gentleman. Even more suitable for a French revolutionary. The washstand, the usual gentleman’s toiletries.

  And that was it. Where were his personal papers? Jewellery? Could the valet have them locked away somewhere?

  She took a deep breath, tried to calm her rapid breathing. Think. Where would he hide items he wanted no one to find? She slipped a hand under the pillows. Cold metal. She lifted it to reveal a pistol. It wasn’t loaded, but the ball and shot were in a small leather pouch alongside. Clearly he was so sure of his disguise he didn’t expect to be discovered or it would have been loaded and ready to fire. Useful as it was to know he had a weapon in his room, it wasn’t what she had come to find. Carefully she returned the pillow to its original place, smoothing the creases.

  She got down on her hands and knees and peered under the bed.

  Nothing but a pair of slippers set side by side.

  Old memories careened through her mind. Times she’d tried not to remember. She used the pattern on the carpet to establish their exact location, then carefully lifted the slippers clear. With her fingernails she scraped the surface of the carpet around where the slippers had sat until she found an edge. Slowly she lifted a square patch of carpet free and the board beneath it. In a hollow between the floor joists, she discovered a small leather satchel.