Educating Elizabeth (29 page)

Nicholas whistled as Elizabeth continued. "I thought that the code mentioned June, but it was so well disguised that I almost discounted it." She leaned forward. "It would be the perfect opportunity for a French assassin to kill the Prince Regent."

"Or any of the other heads of state for that matter." Nicholas said with a frown. "That is only a week away. How will we know exactly where the assassin plans to attack? The route through London is bound to be a circuitous one and the crowds will be huge."

Elizabeth rose. "I suspect the code contains this information." She picked up the duke's note and put it carefully into her reticule.

"Do you still wish to visit your mother today, Mrs. Waterstone? I'm at your service."

Elizabeth flashed him a distracted smile. "I'll see how I progress with the code. If I feel that even visiting my mother would be less stressful, I will let you know."

*** *** ***

Elizabeth used the tip of her gloved finger to clean a space on the smeared windowpane and look down into the street. There was still no sign of her mother and Mary and she had been waiting for a quarter of an hour.

The maid had told her they had gone for a walk and were expected back shortly. Having nothing better to occupy her time, Elizabeth set to cleaning the cluttered drawing room.

She gathered up the crockery and the empty vases and dispatched them down to the kitchen. When she returned, breathless from climbing the three flights of stairs, she started to sort out the books. Most of them appeared to be the lurid gothic romances from the Minerva Press her mother loved but some belonged to Mr. Forester. She separated them out and decided to take them through to his study, which occupied a small room along the hall.

She tapped lightly on the door but no one answered. As usual, Mr. Forester's study was far tidier than the rest of the house. Elizabeth dropped the pile of books onto the desk and then began to reshelve them. Just as she finished, a small red-covered book, which lay half under the desk blotter, caught her attention. With a strange pang of unease, she closed her fingers around it.

She flipped open a page at random and found herself staring at Sir John's neat handwriting. She shut her eyes in an effort to replace Sir John's well-known script with an unknown hand, but she couldn't. She almost dropped the book as she read the fragment of code and its translation, which Sir John had transcribed from the originals in her possession.

She clutched the book to her bosom and stared unseeingly at the wall of books behind the desk. What was Sir John's precious book doing in Mr. Forester's hands? He had assured her that it never left his possession.

A dry cough sounded in the stairwell and Elizabeth hurriedly replaced the book under the blotter and moved toward the bookshelves.

Moments later, her stepfather intruded on her solitude. "Elizabeth? Did you come to see your mother?"

Elizabeth replaced the atlas she had been pretending to consult and swung around to smile at her stepfather. "Good afternoon, Mr. Forester, I hope that you are having a pleasant day?" She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking as she walked confidently toward the door, hoping Mr. Forester wouldn't notice the rapidity of her breathing. He remained in the doorway, preventing her from leaving. She gestured to his bookcases as she attempted to slide past him.

"I was tidying up the drawing room whilst I waited for mother and I brought a selection of your books through to reshelve."

Mr. Forester's gaze remained on her. "Old habits die hard, eh? You were always the one who made sure we lived respectably, weren't you?" He winked at her and pinched her cheek. "Not enough tidying up to do at the duke's, I suppose, apart from the rumpled sheets on your bed."

"I've little to do with the housework, sir," she agreed politely. "The duke has an excellent staff."

"So I hear."

A babble of noise alerted Elizabeth to the return of her mother and sister. Mr. Forester straightened and she took the opportunity to bob him a hurried curtsey and sweep past him.

"I must go and bid my mother good afternoon. Will you be joining us for tea?"

Mr. Forester sauntered over to his desk and shook his head. "I've too much to do today, but please go ahead and enjoy yourself."

As she turned to leave, Elizabeth caught Mr. Forester's frown as he located the red-covered book on his desk. With a curse, he pulled open his desk drawer and dropped the book inside. The last sound Elizabeth heard before she fled was the key being turned in the lock.

Her mother was as unenthusiastic as usual about Elizabeth's appearance. She immediately settled into a litany of complaints, which covered Mary's expenses, the boorishness of Jack Llewelyn, and the financial exigencies of existing in a fashionable world.

For once, Elizabeth was glad her mother didn't require her participation in her familiar tirade. She only had to nod, sip at her tea, and nibble at a stale macaroon to be considered useful. Her mind roamed endlessly through the frightening possibilities of her discovery. Was Sir John in league with her stepfather? She almost choked on her cake as another more appalling thought surfaced. And was Mr. Forester involved with the French?

When the door flew open, Elizabeth almost threw her teacup in the air, but it was only Mary. Elizabeth smiled at her sister, who looked enchanting in a blue sprigged muslin walking dress that matched her eyes.

Mary sank into the seat next to Elizabeth's in a rustle of petticoats and gave a deep sigh. "Oh, Lizzie, I'm so pleased you have come. I was just talking about you to on my walk with Mama."

Mrs. Forester snorted as Mary clasped Elizabeth's hand. Something glinted on Mary's wrist and Elizabeth leaned forward to see what it could be. Mary gave an excited squeak and proudly stuck out her hand until it was under Elizabeth's nose.

"Look at what Papa gave me. Isn't it beautiful?"

Elizabeth stared at the gold bracelet, which was adorned with a cascade of diamonds and heart-shaped rubies. For some reason, it seemed vaguely familiar.

"Your father bought it for you?"

"There is no need to take that contrary tone with Mary, Elizabeth." Mrs. Forester sniffed. "Is it so difficult for you to believe that a father might choose to bestow a gift on his daughter for her first Season?"

Elizabeth bit back a sharp retort as she watched Mary's face fall. She patted her hand. "It is indeed a wonderful gift, Mary and it suits you admirably."

She replaced her cup on the table, endured Mary's chatter for a further ten minutes, and then rose. "Thank you for the tea, mother. I will just pop along and see Michael and then I must be going."

Her mother waved a disinterested hand and Elizabeth escaped down the back staircase, which was the quickest route to Michael's area of the house. She had to pause outside his door in an effort to regain her composure. Michael was capable of detecting the slightest nuance in her expression and she needed his help, not his protection.

She knocked and Jack Llewelyn's melodious voice bade her enter. She had to smile as she studied the two occupants of the room. They were playing cards and the room was thick and hazy with the smell of Spanish cigars and a hint of brandy.

Jack Llewelyn immediately got to his feet. "Miss Waterstone, what a pleasant surprise. I thought you might be an emissary of your mother's reminding me not to use the front entrance of the house again." He shrugged and glanced at Michael. "Apparently, I keep forgetting to use the servant's entrance."

Michael laughed and held out his hand to Elizabeth. "Come and sit down, Lizzie. Jack will open a window and get rid of all this smoke and then, if I ask him nicely enough, he might even make us some tea."

"I don't want any tea."

Michael's grip tightened and he brought Elizabeth's fingers to his lips. "Good God, woman, your hands are like ice!"

Elizabeth swallowed as Jack Llewelyn abandoned the window and came around to look at her.

"Is there something wrong, Miss Waterstone?"

His reassuring tone and air of quiet competence helped her gain some much-needed courage.

"I'm not sure," she confessed as he helped her to a seat. She studied their faces as she mentally practiced her request and prayed they wouldn't think she had run insane.

"If I asked you to hold onto some valuable information for me, without being able to explain exactly why or where I got it, would you help me?"

Michael half-frowned and glanced at Jack Llewelyn. "Of course I would and I think I can vouch for Jack's integrity."

"It might not come to anything, but I need to be sure you would not betray me to anyone. Not even our own family or the duke."

"Have you stolen something, Elizabeth?" Michael's voice was calm, but Elizabeth could detect the drive of his iron will behind the question.

"No, and before you ask, I haven't inherited the family curse and run up huge gambling debts either." She hesitated for a moment and scanned their faces. "I just need you to trust me."

Jack Llewelyn nodded. "That's good enough for me. I will be glad to help in any way I can."

"I can only second what Jack said. But you must promise me to be careful."

Elizabeth smiled gratefully at them both. "Thank you. I will feel much better, if things go awry, knowing I've some allies." Determined to change the subject, she clapped her hands. "Now may I join you in a hand of cards? I haven't had the pleasure of playing against Mr. Llewelyn before."

Elizabeth took in the appraising glance Jack Llewelyn gave her and winked at Michael behind his back. A few winning hands of cards might help to settle her nerves and ready her for the problems that surely awaited her back at Delamere House.

After reducing her brother and Jack Llewelyn to imaginary penury, she allowed Jack to escort her to the carriage, where Nicholas awaited her. By the time the carriage reached the duke's residence, several things had become clear. She had no real proof against Sir John and her stepfather to show the duke, only her word.

She knew how the duke liked to double-check every piece of information. How could she make sure Sir John's book was not in his possession?

For all she knew, Sir John could be working under the duke's orders and she might inadvertently spoil his plans. But why hadn't the duke told her of his suspicions about Mr. Forester? She could have helped him if only she had known.

As she descended from the carriage it occurred to her, with a dull sense of shock, that the duke might believe he had a very good reason not to tell her or trust her. She was, of course, Mr. Forester's stepdaughter. Did the duke think she was involved with the French as well?

Elizabeth dressed for dinner in her simplest gown, without calling for her maid. She left her hair in its uncompromising braided style and placed her spectacles on the end of her nose.

If she had to confront the duke, she would do so in her plainest garb. She would not be accused of trying to tempt him. If he chose to keep their relationship on a more business-like setting, she was more than happy to oblige him. Plus, she was too concerned with her plan to ascertain the whereabouts of Sir John's book to worry about the duke.

She followed Sir John and Nicholas into the dining room. Succulent smells arose from the covered silver dishes Standish had placed on the table. Elizabeth swallowed and remembered she had scarcely eaten all day.

To her secret relief, and to the delight of her appetite, the duke was absent. She was so intent on eating as quickly as possible that she scarcely remembered to reply to Nicholas's light banter. Was it her own heightened sense of awareness that made Nicholas seem a little distracted himself?

She waited until the servants withdrew and leaned forward to pick up her glass of wine. She gave a cry of distress as the heavy glass slipped from her fingers and toppled over onto Sir John's side of the table, catching his glass in its path.

With a curse, Sir John shot to his feet as red wine cascaded over his lap.

"Oh, Sir John, I do beg your pardon, that was unforgivably clumsy of me," Elizabeth gasped. She came around the table and patted energetically at the lurid crimson stains that splattered his coat, waistcoat and breeches.

"If you remove your coat, I will take it down to the kitchen and soak it in salt water. It is such a fine garment that I would hate for it to be ruined."

She twirled a bemused Sir John around like a maypole, stripping his coat from his lean shoulders. For once, she was grateful that he didn't wear coats as closely molded to his figure as the duke's. Before Sir John could protest, she headed for the door, almost running in her efforts to be gone.

She paused in the gloom of the backstairs and carefully checked through all the pockets. Sir John's little red book was not there. She had already ascertained it wasn't concealed in his waistcoat or his breeches pocket whilst she had patted him with her napkin. She let out a frustrated breath and hurried down to the kitchens where she begged some sea salt from the cook and covered the splashed coat in it.

To her relief, the redness began to seep into the salt, turning the white crystals a brilliant ruby. Luckily, Sir John's coat was brown, which helped to disguise the stain. After a while, she scraped off the sodden salt and gently sponged cold water over the remaining blotches. In a vain attempt to stop her turbulent thoughts from overwhelming her, she took an inordinate amount of care over her task.

When she was sufficiently composed, she went back up the stairs, Sir John's coat over one arm. Standish had restored perfect order to the dining table and a fresh glass of wine sat to the right of her plate. Unfortunately, so did the duke. He rose and bowed when she appeared.

"Mrs. Waterstone."

She managed a distracted smile to the duke, but her attention was all on Sir John. He didn't bother to rise, but waited for her to come to him as though she were a scullery maid.

"You took your time."

"I'm sorry, Sir John. I was just trying to make sure the stain had gone." She shook out the coat and showed it to him. "You see? It is almost as good as new."