Archbroke came to stand next to him. Footmen scurried about unloading the numerous trunks both Mary and Bronwyn deemed necessary. Long gone were the days of traveling with a single travel bag and one other. Bronwyn was well worth the tradeoff.
Landon asked, “Where were you when we arrived?”
Archbroke wiped a bead of sweat from his temple. “Out running.”
“Running where?”
“Nowhere in particular; about the estate.” Archbroke turned to mount the steps leading up to the front doors. “Theo’s been hounding me to inform you that Cadby declined my invitation to attend the house party and has summoned Bronwyn to come home.”
His father-in-law’s rejection of a request by a PORF stunned him despite Bronwyn’s forewarning. But it was the notoriously difficult man’s demand that his daughter return home that rocked Landon to his heels. “Whatever for?”
“As your wife, she must receive the mark. Cadby insists it be done sooner rather than later, and he will not recognize your union until it is done.”
Archbroke entered the manor, glanced at a door down the hall, and then to the staircase. It was the first time Landon had ever witnessed the man hesitate.
“Are there any other matters that I should be aware of?” Landon asked.
“No.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“I want to greet your new wife and see mine, but I know I need to bathe first. I’m trying to decide which action would please Theo more. She’s probably already miffed I didn’t return before you arrived.”
Landon grinned. Married over a year, and Theo still was Archbroke’s number one priority. Now that he was married, he sympathized with the man, for Landon couldn’t imagine a day in which Bronwyn's happiness wouldn’t come before his own.
Waterford exited the room Archbroke had just been eying. As he approached, it became apparent the man had fled. His hair was in disarray, and he tugged at his neatly tied cravat. Walking right past them, Waterford said, “I need a drink.”
Archbroke bounded up the stairs, and Landon followed Waterford to the library.
“What the devil is the matter?” Landon asked as Waterford poured a healthy finger of brandy into a glass.
“More etiquette lessons, except now Lady Theo is in charge.”
Landon groaned. He’d have his work cut out for him tonight, for Bronwyn would likely take Theo’s word as gospel.
Chapter Eighteen
Marching back and forth in Theo’s lavish bedchamber, temporarily reassigned to her, Bronwyn counted backward from one hundred to calm her nerves. Her ability to recall facts and dates rarely failed her but remembering to whom she had and had not been formally introduced to was daunting. As a member of the Network, she was expected to memorize the names and faces of those that interacted with PORFs for years. She prayed she wouldn’t get confused and inadvertently cut a member of the ton.
Fustian!
Stopping in front of a full-length looking glass, Bronwyn practiced what she hoped was a graceful ballroom curtsy since that was where she anticipated most of her introductions to occur. The slightest difference in how far she bent at the knee dictated if she performed the curtsy correctly or not. She’d never considered herself graceful. Her strides were purposeful and firm despite having practiced ad nauseum.
Under the tutelage of Mary, Theo, and her warm, loving mother-in-law, who had arrived two days prior, Bronwyn had managed to master the act of nodding. She’d never given thought to the speed or angle of her nods, but according to her mentors, that gesture could communicate displeasure, urgency, or pleasure all dependent upon the situation and execution. Despite her progress, Bronwyn was no more confident she would be accepted by Landon’s peers and their wives than when she began. No matter how many times Mary, Theo, or her mother-in-law reassured her she was ready, the niggling fear of being found lacking plagued Bronwyn.
In addition, Landon’s nightly reassurances she should behave as she pleased, and that everyone would simply fall in love with her as he had, didn’t ring true. Granted, it hadn’t taken her long to gain her cousin-by-marriage’s full support or Mary’s, but Mary was sworn by duty to assist her, and Theo never discriminated against anyone. She unconditionally gave her love and guidance to all.
The noise of houseguests out on the lawn wafted through the window. Guests had begun to arrive two days ago, but in a desperate play for time, Bronwyn had convinced Theo that it would be best she remained unseen, unannounced until the last guest arrived. She was still uncertain exactly how she had managed such a feat. When Landon learned of the plan, a heated debate ensued between the two cousins. They volleyed opinions at each other quicker than a blink. In the end, Theo ended all discussion by stating, “It’s your wife’s wish.”
When Landon looked to Bronwyn for confirmation, she had nodded. A flash of disappointment crossed his features, and then he announced, “Very well. We will introduce my wife to everyone on the evening the last guest arrives. We shall have a celebratory dinner.”
For the last two nights, Landon had joined her for supper. The first night, Landon discussed his investments with the other lords and sought her opinion on several matters that impacted the running of the Hadfield estate. On the second, he revealed his concerns over the shift in power within the Royal Court which could have significant impact on the Network. He didn’t badger her into agreeing with him. Instead, Landon always gave thanks for her views and informed her they were important to him. It gave her hope that she might become as valuable to him as her mum was to her dad. Regardless of the topics discussed over their meal, Landon ensured neither of them fell asleep until they were both delightfully sated and physically exhausted.
Peyton rushed into their chambers and pulled back the curtains, exposing bright rays of sunlight. “My lady. The Earl and Countess of Devonton will be arriving today. That means no more hiding!”
Bronwyn swirled away from the mirror and strode over to the window to catch a glimpse of the renowned Lady Lucy. But there was no sign of the Devonton coach.
Visualizing the guest list she had memorized, her palms began to sweat. The Network monitored the activities of many, and while Bronwyn was privy to the extensive reports, she’d never had reason to meet any of the individuals mentioned in them—until now.
Mary had provided entertaining commentary on each person and at least one distinct trait for each to assist Bronwyn in identifying them. However, she found it easier to recall details when she compartmentalized information. Bronwyn mentally grouped the guests into three categories: those associated with the Home Office, Foreign Office, and the Network. However, two couples didn’t fall neatly into a single category.
Matthew Stanford, Marquis of Harrington, formally a dual agent of the Home and Foreign Offices, and his wife, Lady Grace, who was the acting head of the Foreign Office. Both had recently pledged allegiance and were now members of the Network. Bronwyn decided it best to place the couple along with Waterford and Mary in the Network set.
Blake Gower, Earl of Devonton, agent of the Foreign Office. His wife, Lucille Stanford Gower, Countess Devonton, worked for the Home Office. Neither husband nor wife were directly associated with the Network, which left Bronwyn undecided how to best assign the couple—they were in a category of their own.
Mary had described Lady Lucy as a short, blonde beauty with a sweet smile and a razor-sharp mind, while her husband Lord Devonton was tall and deceptively handsome, with the uncanny ability to recall the minutest of details. Lord and Lady Devonton were the last couple to arrive and intrigued her the most. And their arrival meant she must reveal her presence.
Bronwyn released the window coverings, padded over to the enormous bed, and let herself flop backward onto the soft mattress. Inhaling deeply, she sat up and found herself face to face with a striking pink silk gown.
“Emma’s creations are divine.” Peyton’s smile was infectious, and Bronwyn found her own lips curling at the corners.
She adm
ired the modest lace trimmed square décolleté with matching lace on the edges of the puffed sleeves. Her best friend had not failed to deliver on her promise. The elegant yet uncomplicated dress suited Bronwyn perfectly. And the shimmering pink silk—a material any woman would be mad not to covet. She bounded up from the bed, her confidence bolstered by the prospect of wearing the gown. Peyton lifted the garment, lining up the cap sleeves with Bronwyn’s shoulders.
If I look like a lady and act like a lady, surely no one will care I am a shopkeeper's daughter at heart.
Her heart faltered. She’d never been ashamed of her lineage before. Why was she attempting to be someone she was not? No dress would mask her true nature, Bronwyn sidestepped around Peyton and headed for the washbowl in the corner of the room. “I think I might like a bath before donning the gown. Can you arrange it?”
“Yes, my lady.” Peyton bobbed and headed for the door. “I shall take the dress and have it pressed…again.”
The door clicked closed. Bronwyn rested her hands on either side of the porcelain basin and inhaled a steadying breath. The dark smudges under her eyes rippled in her reflection. She needed a few more hours of rest before being paraded in front of the guests. Crawling into the bed, she pulled the pillow over her head and blocked out the sounds of the house party.
* * *
Hidden beneath the bed linens, Bronwyn kept her eyes closed as the sound of water being poured into what she hoped was to be her bath filled the room. Her head still felt heavy, but she was no longer sleepy.
“The footmen have left, my lady; you can come out now.” Peyton’s words reminded Bronwyn of the days when the two of them used to play hide and go seek as children. It was time she grew up and faced facts—she was a lady now. Best to start acting like one.
Pushing back the covers, Bronwyn rolled out of bed. “How long have I been asleep?”
“It’s nearly time for tea. You’ve slept all day, my lady.” Peyton lathered up soap in a washcloth and held it at the ready. She looked at the soapy material and then back to Bronwyn. “Oh, do you need help getting…”
Bronwyn awkwardly bent her arm behind her back and tried to reach for the row of buttons of her day dress. “I’m not a babe. I’m fully capable of undressing and bathing myself.”
Peyton's chin fell to her chest. Blast. She hadn’t meant to take out her frustration on her friend. That was not well done. Hadn’t Theo said a lady was always kind to all, no matter their station or role within a household?
Bronwyn crept up to her maid. “I’m sorry, Willa. I should not have lashed out at you. I would really appreciate your help.”
Spinning Bronwyn about by the shoulders, Peyton said, “It’s a good thing I’ve known ye long enough to know that ye hate relying on others. But ye are a lady now and these…” Peyton deftly released the row of buttons and then tugged at the laces on Bronwyn’s corset. “Ye need me to get ye in and out of these contraptions.”
“Aye, Peyton, I need you.” Stepping out of her dress and into the tub, Bronwyn said, “I’ve always been self-sufficient. Having everyone on hand…waiting on me…watching to see what error I’ll make next…” A jug of water fell over her head and face. Spluttering, Bronwyn turned to glare at her maid.
“Ye are a fool if ye really believe anyone in the Network would be thinking like that. Open yer eyes. Ye’re surrounded by us, those ye have led within the Network. If we are over attentive, it is because we want to see ye happy and succeed. We believe in ye, Bronwyn Cadby Neale, and we couldn’t be prouder to serve ye as Countess of Hadfield.”
Bronwyn’s eyes welled with tears.
Peyton handed her a washcloth. “Ye know, it’s an adjustment for me too. It’s the first time I’ve ever had to sleep in a bed all to meself.” Peyton’s family had lived next door to Bronwyn’s. Four years Bronwyn’s junior, Peyton was one of five children.
“That must be scary, sleeping all alone.”
“Oh, no. It’s not scary. It’s wonderful.” Peyton smiled. “I like not waking up to a foot or an elbow in my ribs.”
They both let out a giggle.
Peyton sobered and said, “Ye know…” Her maid ran the soapy cloth over Bronwyn’s shoulders. “If I didn’t believe in ye, I’d never have applied to be yer maid. Ye are an inspiration to many of us girls. Ye was the first to convince the Network elders that unmarried female members could be contributors and not merely procreators. And ye did so before Lady Theo inherited and proved to all ye were right.”
It was true. Bronwyn had waged war with her dad in order to gain permission to work at Landon’s legal firm. If she could win over the Network elders, certainly she could do the same with the dozen or so guests under Archbroke’s roof.
The clack of heels came to a halt outside Bronwyn's door. As Peyton scurried to see who it was, a note appeared at the base of the door and slid through the small opening.
Her maid picked it up and read it. “Lord Hadfield is awaiting you in Lord Archbroke’s study.”
“Guess I best not make him wait.” Bronwyn placed a hand on the sides of the tub and began to stand.
Peyton shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m going to wash, dry, and brush that hair until it shines. And you are going to scrub your skin clean like we were taught.”
An hour later, Bronwyn stared at the woman in the looking glass. Peyton peeked over her shoulder and winked. The pink silk dress fell perfectly to the ground in simple, elegant lines. Her hands began to sweat in her white elbow-length gloves.
With a deep sigh, Bronwyn said, “Wish me luck.”
“It’s not luck ye will be needing.” Peyton gave her a push toward the door. “A steel will to resist that husband of yours and ensure he doesn’t muss up your coiffure before dinner.”
Over her shoulder, Bronwyn answered, “I’ll be sure to tell his lordship it was you who ordered him to keep his hands to himself.” With a wink, she shut the door.
Practically skipping down the hall, she rounded the corner and quickly checked to make sure no one was about. She shifted a painting of Lord Archbroke’s great-great grandfather and stuck her finger in what appeared to be a knot in the wood paneling, but was in reality access to the latch of the secret passageway. Carefully repositioning the painting, Bronwyn slid into the narrow passageway and closed the entrance door. Thank goodness she wasn’t afraid of confined spaces or the dark. Theo had shown her how to access all the secret passages built into the mansion, informing her that the ones at Hadfield Hall were all similarly located and connected the same rooms. As a child, Theo had loved discovering the false walls and intricate latches, only to be disappointed when she married Lord Archbroke and learned all three PORF family country estates were built in the same fashion. It was all new to Bronwyn, and she reveled in the clandestine nature of the designs.
She pushed on the door that led to the study. As she stepped through the exit, an arm wrapped about her waist, and her back came into contact with the warm, hard chest of her husband.
Landon’s lips landed softly on the crook of her neck slightly below her ear. “I was about to give up waiting and come get you.”
“You—give in? Never.”
Landon chucked and placed another kiss upon her sensitive skin. Bronwyn tilted her neck to allow him better access, but then Peyton’s parting words floated through her mind, and she stiffened and pulled out of his embrace. “Impatient to parade me before the piranhas?”
“I wouldn’t allow any such creatures near you.” Landon’s eyebrows knit together as he moved past her toward the door. “I don’t claim they don’t exist, and we will come in contact with them when we return to London, but here, tonight, you will meet those I consider friends.”
Landon’s cool tone left no doubt she had disappointed and offended her husband. Bronwyn was about to apologize when the door swung open. An attractive lady with dark mahogany hair barreled into Landon. Since it wasn’t Theo nor Mary, Bronwyn ducked behind her husband to avoid detection.
Landon’s
hands shot out to steady the stranger, who he greeted. “Lady Grace.”
Ah. The elusive Foreign Secretary.
Slightly out of breath, Lady Grace said, “Lord Hadfield, I apologize.”
Unexpectedly Landon shifted to his right, and Bronwyn quickly drew her skirts closer about her, but she wasn’t sure if she had succeeded in hiding her presence.
Lady Grace said, “I was looking for Matthew.”
Landon moved again, this time back to his left, his heel landing on her toes.
“Ow!” Bronwyn slapped her hand over her mouth. Blast! Hiding behind her husband was not the first impression Bronwyn wanted to make on Lady Grace.
A giggle escaped Lady Grace before she asked, “Aren’t you going to make the proper introductions?”
Bronwyn and Landon simultaneously answered, “No.” Their adamant reply hung in the air.
Apparently, her husband was content to remain silent. Bronwyn cleared her throat and said, “I apologize, Lady Grace. Landon and I didn’t mean to raise our voices.”
Landon added, “Harrington is currently elsewhere.”
“If you should see my husband, would you be so kind as to inform him I would like to have a word with him?”
Interesting. Lady Grace had employed the same approach with Landon that Theo often utilized in order to obtain the cooperation of another. She had phrased a command in the form of a question. Bronwyn made a mental note to remember the strategy, for it must be reasonably effective if both ladies employed it.
Landon answered, “I’m not one of your agents you can order about.”
Her husband’s curt reply was not what Lady Grace deserved. Bronwyn poked him hard in the middle of his back, causing Landon to roll forward onto his toes and take a half step forward. “Landon, don’t be daft!”
Theo’s voice came flooding to the forefront of her mind. Men are partial to honey and highly averse to vinegar.
Revealing a Rogue Page 12
