Vivian’s brows rose. “I don’t understand.”
“Your brother Lancelot followed his father down a path of espionage.”
“I take it he didn’t die in battle?”
Ducksworth shook his head. “He was captured and, well, the details are unimportant. He died protecting his country’s secrets. Your mother did not want you involved.”
Vivian glanced between the two men, and wondered how they could have put up with all of this for so many years.
“I will never be so happy to have this nonsense put behind me,” Vivian stated. “The whole lot of it is unbearable.” But then something else occurred to her. “Does my Aunt Dorothea know?”
Ducksworth laughed. “If she knew, the whole of London would know.”
“She made a comment about our meeting with you that, given all this, sounded as though she knew something.”
“Dorothea has been unpleasant since childhood. She married the younger son of a viscount, bore him four daughters and no sons, and has desperately tried to marry those girls off for years. That you married Luke before she could pair him up with one of her daughters she takes as a great offense. She expects me to condemn this marriage and not offer my blessing. Nothing could be further from the truth.”
Luke stood. “Where is Redley now?”
Ducksworth sighed. “I do not know. Hiding in the blackest of holes, I would hope. Likely trying to sniff out the third person in this conspiracy, against my warnings. He came to me after he fled Canterbury, caught me up on what had happened. I sent a note to your house in London, to come here. Your valet must have intercepted and done as instructed.”
“Quan knew we were coming to Salisbury anyway,” Vivian noted. “We’ve followed Redley’s notes on a wild goose chase across England. But to what end? Why could he not hand Luke a note that said ‘Go find the Duke of Ducksworth, by the way he’s Templar and Vivian’s uncle’?”
“For two reasons,” Ducksworth explained. “Redley feared he was being watched. The coded messages and hunting for clues was an effort to keep the real traitors occupied while he searched for the third conspirator. He needed time to figure out the last pieces.”
“And the second?” Vivian asked.
It was Luke who answered, looking at Vivian. “Redley knew you and I needed time together. The two of us needed time to form some sort of trust, to find a way to work together, because by the end of this, I suspect we will both have a role to play.”
His eyes were gentle, affectionate even, as he spoke and Vivian felt the truth in his words, despite not quite knowing where they stood. Through everything, she trusted Luke, and he her.
She looked away from Luke. “What is this whole thing about?”
Ducksworth sighed. “I don’t know.”
Vivian and Luke stared at him in disbelief.
“No, really, what is all this for?” Vivian asked again.
“I know it involves two men Redley believes are French spies,” Ducksworth explained. “The remaining details he refused to share.”
Luke ran his hand down this face in frustration. “Does he plan to share them with anyone? Ever?”
Without hesitation, Ducksworth replied, “Of course. Look in your bible.”
Luke didn’t move for a long moment, but when he did it was swift and determined as he crossed the room again to the bookshelf, in search of another volume on the shelves.
Vivian leveled a disapproving look at her uncle before she crossed the room to help her husband.
She knew the book they searched for, though he had never revealed the name to her, not directly. It was in the way he’d held it at Bradstone Park, surprised to see it on the shelves. Or the copy he kept carefully wrapped in his own traveling trunks. Or his strange obsession with Canterbury Cathedral and Thomas Beckett.
“Here,” she said softly and pulled the nearly pristine copy of Canterbury Tales from the shelf.
With a grateful glance, he flipped the cover open. The pages inside had been hollowed out to house a red leather notebook, wrapped in twine.
Redley’s journal. The same one he’d had at Halcourt’s house in Bath. He’d used it to write what he could not say out loud. The journal they’d found in Canterbury was brown—this is the one Poppins had been looking for originally.
“Was the one in Canterbury a decoy?” Luke asked, pulling the journal from the book.
“No, it was merely a copy. That is the original. The last copy of whatever it has Redley found.”
Luke unwrapped the twine from the leather cover, and flipped the book open. Pages and pages of scribbled notes, most in Redley’s nearly illegible scrawl. The jagged edges of the page he’d torn out and given her in Bath. And finally, page upon page of gibberish, written in code.
Luke snapped the journal shut. “Excuse us. We will take our leave.”
“Stay for a bit,” Ducksworth called to him as they crossed the room.
“I will be able to resolve this better in London. But your hospitality is appreciated.”
“If you choose to return to London, that is your choice, but it truly is a lovely party my wife has organized. You might enjoy the fresh air. Such an interesting assortment of guests. Lord and Lady Castlereagh even made the trip from London.”
Slowly, Luke turned to regard the duke. “I beg your pardon?”
Ducksworth rose from the chair and straightened his coat and waistcoat. “I suggested Lord Castlereagh might need a reprieve from London for a bit, and Lady Castlereagh is such lovely company. They are here for the next two days, should you find need to speak with him.”
Vivian glanced from her uncle to her husband.
Luke frowned. “I thought this was not to be discussed with anyone else.”
“That is Redley’s intent. He may not trust Castlereagh, but I do. It is your information now. You choose what to do with it.”
Vivian did not understand the implications.
“That is good to know.” Luke bent his head in a bow. “Good afternoon, your grace.”
He turned and quit the room, Vivian at his heels. She didn’t speak or ask any of the million questions that pierced her thoughts, but they were there nonetheless. Once they’d been shown to their rooms, he turned to her, the red notebook clutched tightly in his hands.
“Luke, why is it important that Lord Castlereagh is here? Why would you need to meet with the Foreign Minister?” she asked, pulling at the easiest bit of thread that needed to be unraveled.
“If what is written in this journal is credible, and needs to be reported, it should be reported to the Foreign Minister,” Luke explained. “Should we choose to trust the Foreign Minister.”
“So, if you choose to report whatever Redley has found, the man you would report to is at my uncle’s house party?”
“Precisely.”
Chapter Twenty Two
“Vivian, go to the ball without me.”
Luke sat in a chair beside the desk set up in their rooms, books open before him, pages of notes scattered across the work space. He’d been buried in the translations of the notebook for hours and Vivian hoped he would take a moment’s break. Ducksworth’s country party was in full swing and there was a ball downstairs. Normally a ball was not something Vivian would choose as a distraction. With Luke’s bleary, bloodshot eyes, and the copious amounts of coffee he had consumed, he needed out of this room. His mind would need a break, if not his spirit. From what she could see, it was still riddles and code, even though it had been decoded twice. Triple-coded seemed a bit extreme to Vivian, but she kept her comments to herself.
“You look as though you haven’t slept in days,” she chided. His hair was unruly, his curls stuck up at odd ends. His hair was always tousled in a purposefully careless way, but she knew this dishevelment was not with purpose.
“I haven’t slept in days,” he reminded her. “Not much at least.”
“Then at the very least take a nap.” She tugged her white gloves onto her fingers. “Though, you tr
uly need a break from this room. Won’t you come down with me?”
He sighed and shook his head, his gaze focused on the pages of notations he’d made throughout the day. His mind just wouldn’t let it go, even for the length of one conversation.
He pulled a sheet of paper towards him. “I think I’ve almost cracked it.”
“You’ve been saying that for hours.”
His response was delayed, but when he did look at her, she knew her argument was lost. He was not going to let this rest, not until the mystery was solved. Not until Redley was proved innocent and the treachery unearthed.
Vivian sighed. “At least allow me to ring for a bath. You can spare fifteen minutes to soak in the warm water. It might clear your head, permit you to see what you’ve been missing.”
His brows pulled together as he regarded the paper again, his gaze narrowed to a glare. She knew he was frustrated with the translations, with the difficulty of it. For something so important, Redley should have made it easier to decipher. At this point it was just nonsense.
“I will be downstairs for barely an hour.”
He didn’t give any indication he heard her, bent over his work again. He pulled Canterbury Tales towards him, comparing a page of the same number as the architecture tome they’d used before. Luke and Redley’s bible, combined with Uncle Ducky and her father’s bible.
Bending, she brushed the dark curls from his forehead and kissed the lines that formed across his brow in concentration. She didn’t mind that his focus was not on her, and she admired his dedication. She was simply weary of this espionage nonsense. The sooner Redley’s journal was deciphered the better.
She spent the better part of an hour enjoying what she could from the ball. Her Aunt Dorothea was there, as was Uncle Ducky’s young bride. Though he was of a similar age to her parents, the Duchess of Ducksworth was only a few years older than Vivian. And when not attached to their mother, her cousins Marianne and Annabelle were enjoyable as well.
On the arm of their hostess, the lovely young Duchess of Ducksworth, Vivian was introduced to everyone as the Countess of Kenswick, the Duke of Ducksworth’s goddaughter, which gave Vivian a tiny amount of glee. It was probably spiteful of her, but she didn’t care. She’d fled society on the tails of that horrid moniker. To return in such glory was thrilling. So what if it was ill tempered of her. She was allowed a small amount of pleasure from the surprise that raced across the face of each person she was introduced to.
She danced and smiled politely, the appearance of effortless grace. She brushed off questions of Luke’s whereabouts with ease, laughed lightly as each inquisitor found the idea of Luke working simply delightful.
After having spent a full two weeks with Luke, she found she missed him. She longed for the side glances he would send her when someone said something funny, or the way his eyes would crinkle when he found her amusing.
Her little bubble of joy burst suddenly as she heard the shrill laughter of the one person she was keen to never see again.
Lord Catford’s voice cut through all the others, as if her ears were attuned to hear only him. She dared not turn to look at him, hoping she could pass through without capturing his notice. How she had once thought him attractive was beyond comprehension.
Her escape was not possible, as he was before her the moment she was away from their hostess. He took her in his arms and pulled her indelicately into the waltz as it began. She was effectively trapped.
His face twisted into a sneer. “Well, hello there.”
Vivian pursed her lips, though she knew he wanted more response from her. She would not give him the satisfaction of riling her up. She tried, and failed, to tug her hand out of his, but his grip tightened like a vice, and did not allow her a means of escape. There were other tactics she could employ, things her father had taught her sprung to mind, but that would cause a scene. And despite her unwillingness to remain in Catford’s arms for longer than necessary, she did not want to cause a scene.
“It seems our paths keep crossing,” he said to her with a wink. He no doubt thought himself charming.
Vivian avoided his gaze.
“Now, don’t be such an icicle. There can only be one reason you keep popping up wherever I am.”
Vivian didn’t answer and scanned the room for an exit. They were in the middle of the ballroom, each exit equally far away. She was stuck till at least the end of the dance.
“You’re stalking me, Vivian,” he stated with a grin.
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugged. “You tell me. You approached me last year… perhaps…”
“That was a long time ago.” She was careful to keep her tone even. Unaffected.
“And yet… here you are. Without a husband, I might add.”
Her gaze snapped to him and she narrowed her eyes. “Last year you made it perfectly clear what you thought of me.”
He shrugged again. “If Macalister thinks you worthy, there must be something else you can offer a man. Some talent I didn’t get to see.”
“My husband is the Earl of Kenswick. You should not be so informal.”
“I will call him whatever I want to.” He pulled her a touch closer and Vivian tensed. “Besides, he is not here, is he? Whatever you did to lose his interest, I’d gladly keep you entertained.”
Bile rose in her throat, but she forced herself to remain calm. A few minutes more and the dance would be over. She could leave, retreat to her rooms. To the comfort of Luke’s arms.
“I assure you, were you the only man available to me, I would die a wrinkled shrew.”
Catford’s eyes gleamed. “Where was this passion last year? Had I known you were such a siren beneath all these layers, I could have overlooked the lesser parts of you.”
She looked away again. The insult still hurt, as much as she tried for it not to.
“I admit, Macalister’s interest in you has resurrected mine,” he continued, his grip unrelenting. “And it’s made me curious. I’d be willing to take you back, as it were, though all our entertainments would have to be done in the dark. One look at those grotesque hands of yours and I might be unable to finish.”
How her brother had ever been friends with this idiot she could never understand.
“You will have to make it up to me.”
Her head snapped up and she blanched at his words. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve made a right spectacle out of driving me mad.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You married Macalister simply to get back at me.”
“I assure you I did no such thing.”
“On your wedding night you attended the same ball I just happened to be at?” His brows popped up in question, his tone almost condescending. “Flaunting your new title and family under my nose. You simply had to apologize if you wanted my attention again. No need to go the long way about.”
She thought her confusion should have been apparent, but Catford took it as something else and pulled her closer to whisper in her ear. “I’d take you as my mistress, but I won’t share, so it’s fortunate your lordly husband didn’t deem you worthy enough to escort you to this ball. If he is even here at all.” He pulled away a fraction to capture her stare. “Has he found something else to entertain him? Has someone else captured his interest?”
Vivian turned her head away from him, not wanting him to see the truth to his words, though he couldn’t know what occupied Luke had nothing to do with another someone.
It is only temporary, she told herself. She understood Luke’s desire to decipher the notebook, but a tiny part of her wished he would have set it aside. For one hour she’d wanted none of this business with Redley or spies or potential threats to the Crown to overtake her life. For one hour, she just wanted to be here, and to dance with her husband.
The dance ended, finally, and Vivian hurried away from Catford as soon as he released her. Her hand ached from the tightness of his grip, but s
he was grateful to be out of his arms.
“Whenever you decide you’re not worth what you’ve been given, Revolting Vivian, you know where I am.”
Tears burned the back of her eyes, scratching her throat, and she turned away from the sneering face of Lord Catford. Fleeing the ball was the only thing she wanted at this point, but someone caught her arm as she moved to flee.
Her gaze snagged on lavender-blue eyes and shock rippled through her.
Luke’s gaze was hard as he gripped her arm above her elbow. The feel of his warmth, despite the gloves he wore, sent a wave of comfort through her. His touch was centering, and her thoughts and emotions cleared. His gaze was full of determination and expectation, as if he dared her to run away.
Vivian was not one to run away from unpleasantness. Not anymore.
She’d confronted highwaymen. Saved them both from a raging fire. Outsmarted spies and assailants sent to hunt them down. She’d solved coded messages that even stumped her spy husband.
She could hear Luke’s voice tell her all this in her head, though barely a second had passed. Her confidence surged. Part of it came from the man who held her attention like no other, but it had been inside her all along. She’d known she was strong; she’d known she was capable of extraordinary things. She’d only needed reminding.
She turned back to Catford and swiftly took his hand in her own. She twisted as she applied pressure to the joint below his thumb.
“My name is Vivian Macalister.” Her voice was barely above a whisper but hard as stone. “I am the Countess of Kenswick. You will address me as such, if you ever dare to address me again.” She twisted a little more, applied a little more pressure, and Catford’s eyes bulged. “If you utter that insulting moniker ever again, I will dislocate your fingers from your hand. I know how useful your hand must be to you, when you haven’t anyone else to serve your needs.” She leaned away from him to stare him squarely in the eyes. “Are we clear?”
“Yes,” he gasped out.
She applied a little more pressure, a pleasant smile crossing her face. “Yes what?”
The Spy’s Convenient Bride: The Macalisters, Book Five Page 28
