Chapter 22: Chapter 22
Caroline lifted her chin, reminding herself that as the
eldest, the welfare of her family rested on her shoulders, and she gladly accepted the responsibility. Everyone was doing their part, but their best hope was for her to make a good match. God had blessed her with her mother’s fine bone structure, blonde hair, and alabaster skin along with her
father’s jade green eyes.
Using those gifts to attract a wealthy husband was something done by ladies every day. Never mind that doing so made her feel like a pretty shell waiting to be found on the beach, easily tossed aside once the beauty faded.
“I am hopeful the Southby ball tomorrow evening might be when he’ll propose. I have it on good authority he’ll be in attendance.”
“How exciting.” Her mother’s dark eyes lit with relief, making Caroline aware of how much her mother was counting on Caroline making a good match—or rather, this match.
“Isn’t it?” She smiled broadly at her mother and sisters, ignoring the doubt in her heart. Her happiness was of little
concern. The duke was truly quite nice from what she knew of him.
“I will have the pale green silk complete,” Margaret said. “You’ll look stunning in it. That ought to encourage him.”
“Thank you, Margaret.”
Margaret had reworked last Season’s dresses, giving each an updated look with no one the wiser. The less others knew of their reduced circumstances, the better. Caroline didn’t want
any of them to gain the reputation as fortune hunters.
They’d gone to great lengths to conceal her father’s poor health. Revealing his failing mental competence could hurt his business—something they couldn’t risk.
As the conversation drifted to less serious matters, Caroline pondered what more she could do to encourage a proposal from the duke.
“Do not worry so, Caroline,” her mother said quietly with a pat on her hand. “You only need be yourself. You are perfect as you are.”
She turned her hand to squeeze her mother’s. “Thank you.”
Why didn’t it feel like enough?
~*~
Richard Walker, the Earl of Aberland, entered the Southby ball through the garden entrance, emerging from the shadows but remaining out of the light. He preferred to avoid drawing
attention at social functions.
Besides, his arrival was hardly noteworthy. Not when the
ton believed him a rogue with barely a farthing to his name. Keeping matchmaking mamas and their daughters at arm’s length was vital for his position.
He nearly smiled at the memory of the investment summary he’d received from his man of business that morning. His wealth had grown steadily due to some excellent decisions he’d made, including investments in raw silk imports and because of his rather frugal lifestyle. He couldn’t spend money when Society believed him poor.
Secrets were difficult to keep amidst the ton, but that was something he counted on in his line of work. As a spy for the Crown, he preferred to keep his own secrets while unveiling others’.
He paused, greeting several acquaintances, listening here and there for bits of gossip that might aid his diplomatic service for Whitehall.
These were troubled times in his country. England was
rife with spies, both from France and America. Bonaparte had
abdicated but continued to gather support and funds where he could, including in England.
Richard did his best to find those individuals with sympathies toward France. Many of the French aristocrats had fled to England at the start of the war, becoming English gentry. But not all of them had severed ties with France despite pledging allegiance to England. Added to that were those Englishmen who supported Bonaparte and his cause.
Regardless of what type of support they gave Bonaparte— money or information—it was still treason. Identifying them
was no easy task, but he’d spent years honing his skills.
A deep sense of loss filled him at the memory of Charles Dumond, the friend who’d lured him into this ridiculous life.
And it was ridiculous.
Searching out spies had seemed like a mad chess game when Dumond first dragged him into it after their years at Oxford. He and Dumond believed themselves invincible despite the risks they faced. No wonder the government
recruited young men for this terrible work. Older and wiser ones lived longer but accomplished less as they weren’t
willing to take the risks the position often required.
That was the challenge of this life. Rushes of fear
followed by long days of boredom as one watched and waited for something of interest to occur.
Much like this evening, which promised to be as tedious as so many other nights. But members of the ton were often the best source of information. The guests this evening were influential, including diplomats, ambassadors, and titled lords and ladies with relatives in France.
His reputation as a rogue gave him reason to move from brothels, gaming hells, and taverns where information was
also abundant to events such as the Southby ball. Most people overlooked the fact that his boots were well worn, that he had only one carriage, and his stable was half empty. They thought him harmless, that he was merely taking what pleasure he
could from life before convincing a wealthy debutante to marry him.
But marriage was not in his future plans.
He had something far more important on his mind: revenge.
After nearly a year of long days and nights, he’d narrowed the list of suspects to three who fit the identity of a French spy who called himself Le Sournois—The Sly One.
Thus far, Richard knew he was an English lord with
relatives in France whose loyalties remained with Bonaparte. He’d brutally murdered Dumond outside a French tavern,
along with Maria, the woman who’d betrayed them, before shooting Richard and leaving him for dead.
Richard had caught only a glimpse of the jeweled dagger
Le Sournois had used to kill Dumond. Its distinctive handle
was burned in his mind forever. Tracing that dagger along with other clues had led him to the three men, one of whom would be in attendance tonight.
This ball was no different than countless others Richard had endured. He told himself he found it amusing to be a voyeur, observing all facets of Society. But often he found the antics of both the ladies and the lords appalling. The innuendos hid little if one watched closely.
What made their behavior any different than the thieves
and prostitutes in the rough parts of the city? Better clothes for one, but beyond that, it was difficult to say.
With a mental shake of his head, he pushed aside his
cynicism and reminded himself to focus on the task at hand. He nodded at a lady who smiled prettily but moved on.
Distractions of any sort were dangerous in his work, especially women. He’d made the deadly mistake of trusting a woman once but never again. Not after Maria.
He lingered behind the Marchioness of Danbun, who was currently having an affair with the Spanish ambassador, but she said little of interest. He continued around the room,
catching interesting comments here and there. Gathering intelligence sounded far more exciting than it was.
As the music for a cotillion ended, couples cleared the dance floor and others took their place. He rarely danced. Few of the ladies were truly skilled at it, and conversation during most dances was nearly impossible, unless one indulged in a
rare but scandalous waltz.
With surprise, he realized he was lonely this evening.
Ironic, given the fact that he stood in the company of over a hundred others. Loneliness was an emotion he rarely allowed himself. Doing so meant thinking of Dumond, and despite the fact that he’d been gone nearly a year, Richard still missed him deeply. Social events had been far more amusing with his
friend at his side.
A French diplomat paused in his conversation with a lady to glance at Richard as though sensing he should be careful
with his words. Richard didn’t immediately move away, enjoying the man’s discomfort.
His mood wasn’t conducive to gathering intelligence this evening. In truth, he was tired—a weary-to-the-bone kind of tiredness that told him to take a few days away from this business. He had to guard against cynicism, lest it drag him into despair.
But he couldn’t take time away yet.
The Duke of Wayfair was one of three lords on his short list of suspects for Le Sournois, and he was supposed to be
among the guests this evening. Richard didn’t often come
across the duke, who tended to only partake in select events. Any opportunity to watch and hopefully listen to what he said couldn’t be wasted.
Keeping an eye on the growing crowd for his quarry, he continued moving along the room at a snail’s pace, observing, filing away the random comments he heard to be examined more closely later.
“Did you see with whom she danced?”
“Why would she choose to wear such a color?”
“Rumor says he lost a fortune on a ship from the Caribbean.”
On and on the gossip went, some interesting but much of it petty and cruel.
“From my research, I understand there’s money to be made in the spy business.” That comment had him pausing.
He wanted to turn to face the woman who’d said it, tempted to correct her assumption. The paltry amount he
received for his services barely covered his expenses. Spying was a dirty business and frowned upon, though a requirement in times of war.
“How much?” The intensity of the other lady’s tone had him listening closer.
“Well, the exact amount wasn’t mentioned, but it’s supposed to be quite lucrative.”
“Then I shall make inquiries.”
Richard couldn’t help but turn as subtly as possible, pretending to search the crowd so he could identify the two speaking, though he didn’t know who had said what. Did they not realize what a deadly game they played by speaking of spying?
One was a young lady he didn’t recognize. The other who’d sounded so interested at the idea of spying was Miss Caroline Gold. He’d noticed her on more than one occasion
simply because she was beautiful. Though he had no intention of marrying, ladies still occasionally caught his interest. Her blonde hair and green eyes combined with her cool demeanor had drawn his attention the previous year.
Those unusual eyes met his, the intelligent awareness in their depths surprising him. How had he not noticed that before?
The woman was truly stunning, making it difficult not to stare. Rather than preening as so many debutantes did, she
shifted as though uncomfortable under his regard. As if she knew her appearance was nature’s doing rather than her own, and she couldn’t take credit for the result.
When she raised a brow askance, he realized how rude he was being.
Halting his fanciful thoughts, he turned away, hoping the two would continue speaking on the topic of spying, but their conversation turned to other matters.
As he skimmed over the crowd once more, a ripple of satisfaction filled him at the sight of the Duke of Wayfair
approaching. But when Richard realized he walked directly toward him, his heart rate surged. Only once he was near did Richard realize the duke’s focus was on Miss Gold rather than himself.
While Richard wouldn’t mind a confrontation with the man, he did not yet have proof. Confronting him would only alert him to Richard’s suspicions.
As the duke greeted Miss Gold then escorted her to the dance floor, Richard watched them closely.
He didn’t care for the duke, regardless of whether he was Le Sournois, but Miss Gold seemed to, based on her bright smile. Richard couldn’t help but feel a twinge of regret that the intriguing lady was involved with Wayfair. Yet as he
considered it further, her comments about spying made perfect sense if she worked with the duke. It never failed to amaze him that people spoke so freely about their supposed secrets in public. He’d encountered that with surprising frequency over the years.
Perhaps he’d inadvertently found another link in the chain that connected the network of French spies living in London.
The pair bore watching and the night was young.
Richard trailed behind them, realizing the evening had just gotten much more interesting.