Visions of Lady Mary

by Rachel Ann Smith

  Mary hesitated to vocalize her thoughts, but for his safety, she said, “Lord Hadfield, perhaps these occurrences mean something.”

  After tying a rather intricate knot securing Gilbert’s mask, Lord Hadfield turned to face her. “Beg pardon?”

  “Could it be your subconscious is trying to tell you something?”

  “That I made a mistake in letting my dear cousin, Theo, marry a dandy?”

  “No. Everyone knows it was no mistake. Could it be that for you to be successful tonight, you need to recall something of import related to Lord Archbroke?”

  Talk of Lord Archbroke, was a reminder that she had yet to share with Gilbert the danger Lord Burke posed to the home secretary and Lady Grace.

  “Ma chérie, you are aware of how dangerous it is to tempt fate.” Valois’s tone was serious and ominous. “Come, or we will be late.”

  Lord Hadfield’s eyebrows disappeared behind his mask, but his frown of confusion was clear for all to see. “Ready?”

  Mary placed a hand on Gilbert’s winged his arm and went on her tiptoes to whisper, “I must speak with you. Privately.”

  Gilbert asked, “What is the matter?”

  Mary glanced at Lord Hadfield, who was staring.

  She leaned a closer to Gilbert. “The comtesse shared with me that Lord Burke is planning a scheme that will place Lady Grace and Lord Archbroke in danger. I sent missives under the disguise of correspondence to Lady Theo, to warn them. But I don’t understand why Lord Burke would want to harm Lady Grace.”

  Lord Hadfield came to stand in front of them. “I believe Lady Grace might have had a hand in Lady Cecilia assisting us to disrupt Burke’s plans for Harrington and the others.” He tapped his forefinger upon his closed lips. “When did you dispatch these letters?”

  “The night before last.” Mary searched Gilbert’s features for reassurance.

  Gilbert patted her hand that rested on his arm. “That was very clever of you to address them to Archbroke’s wife.”

  Lord Hadfield and Valois said in unison, “We leave at first light.” Without further discussion, the men led their party through the maze of hallways.

  Slowing his gait as they approached the door to the ballroom, Gilbert whispered, “Be very cautious this eve. As soon as Hadfield and I have obtained the information we seek, I’ll find you.”

  “I’ll be careful.”

  Mary’s stomach knotted. She would carry out her assignment, but she had yet to devise a plan that did not carry a mountain of risk.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As they entered the ballroom, Gilbert could feel the tension radiating off Mary. Her normally regal posture was replaced with a rigid stance, and the slight tilt of her nose in defiance was a sure sign she was not as confident as she appeared. He didn’t want to leave her side. In light of the threat Mary had shared, they desperately needed the details of Comte Boucher’s plans.

  Gilbert squeezed Mary’s hand one last time. “Let us escort you over to our host.”

  Both comte and comtesse were surrounded by elegantly garbed guests. Mary’s eyes went wide as she took in their hostess’s gown and mask. While Comtesse Boucher’s dress was not an exact replica of Mary’s, it was fashioned out of a similar dark blue material, and her ruby-red mask was adorned with sparkling diamonds compared to Mary’s, which had pearls. The woman was even wearing a wig created from hair comparable to Mary’s mahogany tresses.

  Mary’s nails bit into Gilbert’s arm. “That wench has gone too far.”

  “Lass, do not let her make you lose focus.”

  “It is your focus that I’m worried about.”

  Gilbert leaned in closer and whispered, “Valois has promised to take care of the comtesse for us this eve.”

  Mary tilted her head and blinked. “You have engaged the help of my cousin? I thought you didn’t trust the man.”

  He didn’t trust Valois entirely, but without other reliable agents available, Gilbert was resolved to the fact that he had no other choice. “I’ve come to better understand your cousin.”

  They took another step closer to their hosts.

  Hadfield fell into place next to Mary. “Waterford, we will need to move quickly. Valois heard it rumored Boucher has instructed his son to depart after this evening’s festivities. We need to obtain the lists and set out tomorrow.”

  Mary nodded and said, “I agree the sooner we leave, the better.”

  “I’m in favor of not dallying here any longer than necessary. What about Valois? Is he returning too?”

  “Yes. Valois suggested we all return to his estate since it is on the way.”

  Mary shuddered.

  “Lass, are you cold?”

  “No. I’m well. Do not worry about me.”

  But he did worry. He too experienced an intense tingling along his spine at the mention of returning to Valois’s estate. A clear sign that trouble awaited them.

  Gilbert and Hadfield marched toward the doors. The skin on the back of Gilbert’s neck prickled. He swiveled once more and rose on his tiptoes to catch a glimpse of Mary, who happily chatted away with a small group of women that had formed next to the comte and his wife.

  “Waterford, please lead the way and stop worrying over Mary. You said you trusted the woman. Now is the time to prove it.”

  “I have an awful feeling about this evening and our plans to return with Valois.”

  “Without the assistance of Valois, we will not be able to beat Boucher’s son back to England. We need his help.”

  “I understand it is our only choice, but it still doesn’t dispel the knot growing in my stomach.”

  He marched in front of Hadfield, and they silently made their way to the private wing that housed the Boucher family chambers. They would search those first and then proceed to search their host’s private study and library and every other room on the estate if need be.

  As they reached the comte’s chamber, Waterford checked the door handle. Locked. He had expected as much but was hard-pressed not to complain at the delay. Reaching into his breast pocket, he withdrew his tools and turned to find Hadfield already down on one knee and working the lock.

  Click.

  Hadfield entered the room, leaving Gilbert alone in the hallway to stand guard.

  The sound of women giggling alerted Gilbert to a group approaching. He tapped on the door with his knuckle three times. He reached for the handle behind him, but all his hand came into contact with was air. Rotating at the waist, he came face-to-face with Hadfield.

  Gilbert whispered, “Did you find what we need?”

  “It isn’t here. But I will say the comte has some rather peculiar hobbies and instruments stored in his room.”

  Gilbert recognized a male voice to belong to André, Boucher’s son. “Ladies, let’s experiment with some of the new toys mon père has recently acquired.”

  The women replied in unison. “Yes, master.”

  They needed to move quickly.

  Gilbert whispered, “The room across the hall.”

  Hadfield nodded and closed the door to the comte’s chamber. He made quick work again of resetting the lock.

  Backing into the room as André came into sight, Gilbert carefully closed the door but left it slightly ajar, spying on the young man as he made his way to his papa’s chambers.

  In a harsh whisper, he asked, “Are you certain it wasn’t inside his chamber?”

  “Waterford, are you questioning my abilities now? It is a little too late for that. Can we make our way to the comte’s study or not?”

  Gilbert had hoped the information had been hidden in his host’s chamber; otherwise, it might very well be a long night searching each room. He shook his head. The young pup had left his papa’s door ajar. They’d have to wait until the trio was well occupied before leaving.

  “Whose room do you think we are in?”

  Gilbert turned to take in his surroundings. The room was sparse compared to the lavishly decorated ones he and Hadfield
had been assigned to. There was no bed. A simple pallet lay on the floor in the corner.

  No pillows.

  No wardrobe.

  No adjoining changing chamber.

  Whose room indeed.

  A small desk and chair placed under the window were the only pieces of furniture. Hadfield made his way over to the desk with a stealth that Gilbert likened to a ghost floating across the room. Silent, effortless, and quick. Hadfield ran his hand along the edge of the desk and then the underside. Crouching, he then inspected the underside of the chair. The sound of rustling paper caught Gilbert’s attention.

  “What did you find?”

  Hadfield ignored him and carefully turned the chair over to inspect the seat. After prying a folded parchment held by a few drops of wax from the chair, Hadfield lifted it to his nose and sniffed.

  What was the man doing?

  Hadfield ran a finger along the crisp fold with reverence. Turning his back to Gilbert, he stepped closer to the uncovered window where only a sliver of light peeked through the cloudy night sky.

  In a harsh whisper, Gilbert asked, “What does it say?”

  The obtuse man ignored him, swiveled, pocketed the paper, and walked over to the overturned chair to return it to its original position. With glazed eyes, Hadfield said, “Let’s be off.”

  The man’s inexperience wore on Gilbert’s patience. “We should check under the pallet before leaving.” He would have to return to the comte’s chambers to ensure Hadfield had not missed any clues. Gilbert growled. The additional task would delay him further from seeking out Mary.

  Frowning at Hadfield, who remained unmoving, Gilbert walked over to the straw mattress and turned it over.

  Nothing.

  Wanting to be done with their search, Gilbert asked, “Did the note contain the information we seek or not?”

  Hadfield shook his head. “It did not.”

  Gilbert scanned the room to ensure they left it as it was when they entered. “Which should we attempt to search next, the study or the library?”

  “Neither. I want to inspect Valois’s chambers.”

  Gilbert frowned. “Are you certain?”

  Hadfield opened the door and slid out to the hallway.

  Gilbert clenched his fists. If the man continued to refuse to answer any of his questions, Gilbert would simply beat the information out of him. To hell with Archbroke’s orders to protect Hadfield.

  Slipping into the empty hallway, Gilbert jogged to catch up. He almost ran into Hadfield as the man slowed and placed a hand along the wainscoting of the wall.

  It was apparent that Hadfield had paid a great deal of attention to the goings-on of the household while he had been preoccupied with a lady who was now entertaining another man. The thought of Mary alone with Boucher had Gilbert clenching his jaw.

  “Come along, Waterford. We don’t have all evening.” Hadfield waved him into what looked to be an old servants’ entrance. “Peculiar that the comte didn’t board up the old passageways.”

  “Unless he still has a use for them.” Gilbert squeezed past Hadfield to lead and walked directly into a spiderweb. “Although it appears it hasn’t been used recently.”

  “Or used by someone a lot shorter than you.”

  The comte and his son were of similar height. “Who are you referring to?”

  “No one in particular. Simply an observation.”

  Gilbert had underestimated the man before him. He wouldn’t do that again.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Seated at the card table, Mary rolled her head forward to stretch her neck. She had been playing faro with the comte for hours. If she never engaged in another game of faro in her life, she would be a happy woman. Mary pushed the mounting stack of coins in front of her slightly to the side to rake in another round of winnings. The darkening of Comte Boucher’s features did not bode well. While her host’s frustration at her besting him at cards increased, her bravado was beginning to wane.

  She was at a loss. She had calculated the odds, and despite placing her wager on what she believed to be the highest risk of losing, the outcome still came out in her favor. As the comte’s stack had dwindled, one by one, the other players had made excuses and left the table. Only the two of them remained.

  Comte Boucher glanced at the discarded pile, and then he shoved the remainder of his stack upon the three of diamonds and commanded, “Deal.”

  Steadying her hand, Mary counted out coins to match the comte’s wager. His calculations had been meticulous all night, but luck had not been on his side. She placed her own coins next to his.

  Her heart pounded. Mary prayed that the dealer would turn any card over but a three to bolster the comte’s stack. If the three appeared, the comte would be bankrupt, and then what would she do to retain his attention? Gilbert had instructed her to not let Comte Boucher out of her sight until he came and found her. There was no sign of Gilbert or Hadfield magically appearing. She sat silently, wishing she had the assistance of Lady Frances or any of the others to gauge how long she must keep up fawning over her overbearing host.

  Mary squeezed her eyes shut as the dealer turned over a three of hearts. They had both lost. She slumped forward and closed her eyes in disbelief, then opened one eye only to find the comte staring. Not at her face but rather at her décolletage, which had slipped lower as she pressed up against the table.

  Turning to face the comte, Mary gave him a weak smile and said, “You have been such a gracious host. I must thank you for a lovely evening.”

  The man’s gaze remained upon her chest as he replied, “Au contraire, the pleasure is for me. Let us move to another room.”

  Mary’s hand stalled upon the table at Comte Boucher’s words. The man was not as fluent in English as his wife. Perhaps she had misinterpreted his meaning. Surely he wasn’t implying they should retire to his rooms.

  With a nervous laugh, Mary asked, “Do you have a billiards room?”

  “You play?”

  Releasing a sigh of relief, she grinned and said, “I must warn you, Comte, I grew up with three brothers who never played simply for fun.”

  The comte’s eyes blazed with interest. “And the stakes?”

  Looking down at her pile of coin, Mary said, “Double or nothing.”

  With a loud bark of laughter, the comte nodded. “Oui, double or nothing.”

  He pushed back his chair and rose and gallantly held out a hand to assist her. Mary stared at the comte’s sweaty palm and debated if she genuinely wished to be touched by the man. She searched the room once more for a glimpse of Gilbert.

  Blast.

  Lightly placing her hand upon the comte’s, she rose quickly. Blood rushed to her legs, and she faltered. She squeezed the man’s hand, but he pulled her closer. An impish grin appeared upon the comte’s face as he looked down at her. His eyes were glued to her bosom, specifically the spot his hand had brushed up against. Mary’s nose twitched and burned with the overpowering scent of cologne, which masked the putrid smell of stale sweat.

  Regaining her footing, she stepped away from the gaming tables and allowed the comte to lead her through the crowded cardroom. Entering the cooler corridor, Mary spotted a couple in a rather intimate embrace. She inhaled sharply as she spied the dark blue gown similar to her own, and fake long brown tresses wrapped about the man fingers.

  The comtesse had a man pressed up against the wall, and her hands roamed freely over his form. There was a familiarity about the man, but in the dark, Mary couldn’t be sure who he was. When the comtesse pulled back from her victim’s lips, his head fell to rest on her shoulder, and she turned, catching Mary’s gaze. The witch winked.

  Sliding a quick look at the comte beside her, Mary saw that the man’s eyes were affixed to her chest, and when she looked down the hall once more, the couple had mysteriously disappeared. While the man hadn’t pushed the comtesse away, he didn’t appear to be fully engaged in the assignation.

  Mary’s gut clenched. She didn’
t want to believe it was Gilbert. But the man was known to do whatever necessary to carry out his duties. If that meant distracting the comtesse to allow Hadfield more time to conduct his search, without a doubt, Gilbert would carry out his assignment.

  The swoosh of air as the footman opened the double doors in front of them brought the repugnant stench back to Mary’s nose. Wrapping her arm about her stomach, she followed Comte Boucher as he strode into the extraordinary large room.

  The footman raced about the room lighting more candles, illuminating a billiards table. Mary squinted. The solid wood legs were intricately engraved with layers of garden scenes. Some even had couples in them. She glided a hand over the table. The exquisitely fine wool was similar in texture to that of the plaids found in Scotland. An image of Gilbert dressed in a lawn shirt and kilt transformed into the gentleman she had spied moments before in the hall. Mary gave her head a shake. She needed to focus upon her assignment—Comte Boucher.

  She clasped her hands behind her as she turned to admire the walls filled from floor to ceiling with paintings ranging in size and subject matter. The frames were varied, varying from simple wood to ornately designed metal casings. A narrow picture of a young maiden kneeling in a clearing caught Mary’s eye. She stopped to examine it closely and took a quick step back. The fresh-faced lady in the painting was Lady Frances! It was a sign. But what did it mean? Was Mary to use caution, or was it an indication that the comte was a friend, not foe?

  Shuffling forward, Mary blankly stared at the paintings until her gaze fell upon a large portrait in the center. It depicted the comtesse naked with a white sheet draped over one shoulder.

  Comte Boucher chuckled behind her. “At the time, I believed my wife— une belle âme.”

  Mary swirled to face the comte. “A beautiful soul?”

  “Oui.”

  “Your wife has been a very gracious hostess.”

  The comte sniggered and walked to stand before the painting with his hands on his hips. “Non. She is a devil. But mine.” He continued to speak to the canvas. “We live in accord.”