Eloquence and Espionage (15 page)

“But why?” Daphne asked as she and Ariadne
walked the short distance from their family’s home to Emily’s. “You
know very well that I’m normally riding this time of the morning.
I’ll miss the best fellows on Rotten Row.”

Ariadne reached up to adjust the tall velvet
shako bonnet. It was sunny today, the sky a delicate shade of blue
that matched the spencers covering the top of her and Daphne’s
white muslin gowns. She knew the time had come to confess all to
her sister, but for once she doubted she had the words to
adequately describe the situation.

“Forgive me for interrupting your favorite
pastime,” she said as they lifted their embroidered skirts to cross
the street, mindful of the lacquered carriage rattling past. “But I
need your help and theirs on a mission of some delicacy.” She drew
in a breath. “You see, I’m not truly engaged to Sinclair.”

Daphne frowned as she strode along the
pavement. “I was certain Mother said you were.”

“Mother believes I am, as does most of the
ton
. But it’s a ruse. He is pretending to be engaged to me
so that no one will guess our true purpose for spending time
together. We are intelligence agents.”

“Certainly you are intelligent,” Daphne
argued as they started up the stairs to Emily’s town house. “No one
would argue that. But an agent? An agent of what?”

Ariadne put a hand on her arm to quiet her
as Warburton let them in and directed them upstairs. She had always
felt there was far more going on behind those bright blue eyes than
the butler let on. Now, he merely smiled at her and assured them
they would not be disturbed.

They found Priscilla ensconced in a chair in
the blue-and-white withdrawing room, a pot of tea at her elbow,
with Emily opposite on the sofa. Both friends wore white, though
only Priscilla looked comfortable in the frilly muslin. Emily kept
tugging at the tucker under her chin as if she felt choked.

“Lady Minerva told Father I was attempting
to remain on the shelf by dressing in dark colors,” she explained
when Ariadne looked her askance. “He insisted on several new gowns,
three white and one pink.” She shuddered.

“There’s always the rag man,” Ariadne told
her, knowing Emily’s antipathy for the color.

“Or a day painting with no smock,” Emily
agreed, rebel glint in her eyes, as Ariadne sat beside her and
Daphne took up the chair near Priscilla.

“And what was so urgent we must gather now?”
Priscilla asked, pouring a cup of tea for each of them.

“Apparently Ariadne is an agent of some
sort,” Daphne said, accepting hers.

Ariadne raised her head. “I cannot divulge
details, but suffice it to say that a leader in government has
entrusted me with a delicate mission. A French spy will stalk the
halls at Almack’s next Wednesday, and he must be stopped.”

She waited for the gasps, the questions.
Priscilla and Emily merely nodded, and Daphne took a sip of her
tea.

“An admirable goal,” Priscilla said, “save
for one thing. One of us has not managed to procure vouchers.” She
eyed Ariadne.

“Mother is working on it,” Daphne assured
her. “She was discussing the matter with friends when we left.
Though I’m not sure she knew about the spy.” She glanced at Ariadne
for confirmation.

“Certainly not,” Ariadne agreed. “I told
Mother that Sinclair had expressed concerns his betrothed had not
been granted admittance, implying that he was beginning to wonder
about the advisability of marrying me after all. I have every hope
she will find a way to rectify matters.”

Emily nodded again. “Very wise. It shouldn’t
be difficult. Lady Cowper was persuaded to allow Jamie in. He will
be in attendance next Wednesday, as will Father, who is coming in a
show of support.”

Ariadne beamed. “Excellent! By all means,
inform Mr. Cropper of our plans. I will feel all the more confident
knowing Bow Street is at our sides.”

Emily’s smile was proud. Priscilla pointed a
pinky finger around her tea cup. “Should we share this secret so
widely? I’m a bit surprised you confided in us.”

“I considered keeping the matter quiet,”
Ariadne promised. “But then I realized that the more people were
looking for the villain, the less likely he’d be to put his
dastardly plan into action.”

“So of course Lord Hawksbury is aware of all
this,” Priscilla mused.

Ariadne’s face warmed. “He will be. I’ll
explain everything to him when next we meet.”

And think of him every moment until then. In
fact, she hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he’d kissed her
yesterday. The sweetness, the fire, the way she wanted to remain in
his embrace forever, the sheer emotion rising through her, was
quite without description.

She knew. She’d tried without success to
describe it in her journal.

Daphne leaned forward, tea cup precariously
balanced in one hand. “I still don’t understand. Who is this French
spy? What does he want at Almack’s?”

“I wasn’t made privy,” Ariadne admitted.
“But surely it must be something horrid. If he wished to steal
someone’s secrets or belongings, he’d do so at their home, wouldn’t
he? No, I imagine he’s there for an assassination.”

At last they all looked properly
horrified.

“At Almack’s?” Daphne cried. “Is nothing
sacred?”

Emily leaned back in her seat, fingers idly
brushing at her soft skirts as if she wished to wipe them away like
extra paint from her brush. “He’ll be after someone important,
count on it. Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary, perhaps. He’s
rather unpopular, on both sides of the Channel.”

Priscilla made a face. “But he rarely
attends Almack’s. What of the Prime Minister or Wellington?”

“Neither will be in town that night from
what I can tell from
The Times
,” Ariadne reported.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter, so long as we
catch him before he has a chance to act,” Daphne said. “Or they
start serving those wretched refreshments.” She shuddered.

They spent the next bit stitching up the
details of their plan, then Ariadne and Daphne took their
leave.

“So now that makes three secrets you felt
you could not tell me,” Daphne said.

Was that hurt simmering under the curious
tone? “Three?” Ariadne hedged.

“The fact that you are Lord Snedley,” Daphne
said, ticking the omissions off on her gloved fingers. “The fact
that you are pretending a betrothal with Lord Sinclair, and the
fact that you are somehow involved in messy government matters.”
She dropped her hand with a frown. “Did Father ask that of you?
Because I would have thought I’d be much better behind enemy
lines.”

“I am not behind enemy lines,” Ariadne
reminded her as they started up the steps to their home. “And no,
it wasn’t Father. Forgive me, Daphne, but I thought it wisest at
the time. I suppose I just wanted something of my own, something no
one else could do.”

Daphne squeezed her hand before reaching for
the latch. “You already do many things none of us can. You won’t
catch me writing novels or plays. But I do hope you confide in me
in the future. I miss you.”

Ariadne’s heart warmed. But the moment they
stepped through the front door, she knew something was wrong.

“Miss Ariadne.” Pattison stood ramrod
straight in front of them as if refusing to move until she
acknowledged him. “You have callers. I put them in the front
sitting room.”

And that meant he was none too pleased with
them, as if the stiffness of his manner would have given her reason
to doubt.

“Do I require a chaperone?” Ariadne
asked.

His nostrils flared. “If your mother was
here, she would have refused them entrance. As it is, I have both
footmen stationed in the room, and I have locked up the
silver.”

Goodness! Who could possibly have come
calling that warranted such precautions?

“I’ll come with you,” Daphne offered.

Though having her stalwart sister beside her
would have been comforting, there was the possibility that this
visit was associated with Lord Hastings. Until Ariadne knew for
sure, she could not chance Daphne’s involvement.

“No, I’ll deal with it,” Ariadne said. “Just
stay close in case I need you.”

“I’ll be in the library,” Daphne promised
with a nod. “I should be able to find something there to amuse me.”
She started down the corridor.

Ariadne squared her shoulders and approached
the door to the sitting room. Whoever was inside, she resolved to
do a better job of teasing out their secrets than she had with
Sinclair or the French spy.

An older couple rose as she entered the
room. Both were gray haired, their faces well lined. Their
clothing, though simple, was of good material, their bearing
proud.

The lady held out her hand in greeting as
Ariadne approached. “Miss Courdebas, such a pleasure to meet
you.”

The gentleman nodded. “A great honor.” His
voice hinted of a Scottish moor. He sat on a chair as Ariadne
perched on the sofa beside the lady. “Thank you for receiving us,”
he said. “I’m Andrew MacDougall, and this is my wife Sally.”

Ariadne inclined her head. “A pleasure to
meet you. Is there a reason you sought me out?”

Mr. and Mrs. MacDougall exchanged glances.
“Well, dearie,” Mr. MacDougall said, returning his gaze to hers,
“we thought you might like an explanation.”

Ariadne could not help her frown. “Of what,
precisely?”

Again they exchanged glances.

Mrs. MacDougall sighed. “He hasn’t told you,
has he? You’ve never heard of the family MacDougall.”

He. Did she mean Lord Hastings? Ariadne’s
father?

Sinclair?

“I’m afraid not,” she said, heart starting
to pound harder. “Please enlighten me.”

They sat taller, pressing the wool of the
coats Pattison must have refused to take against the back of the
furnishings. “Very well,” Mr. MacDougall said. “Our daughter was
Lord Hawksbury’s mother.”

Ariadne stifled a gasp. “You’re Sinclair’s
grandparents?”

Mrs. MacDougall’s blue eyes filled with
tears. “Aye, for all we’re allowed to see him.”

Her husband reached out to press his hand on
hers in obvious sympathy. “We saw that you were engaged to be
married to him.”

Mrs. MacDougall sniffed, pulling a dainty
lace-edged handkerchief from her reticule. “Can you imagine?
Finding out something so important in the gossip sheets?”

“I’m sure he simply hasn’t had time to tell
you,” Ariadne said, guilt tugging though she knew this wasn’t her
fault.

“No, lass,” Mr. MacDougall said, sadness
drawing more lines down his face. “We haven’t spoken to Sinclair
since his mother died ten years ago. His father wouldn’t allow it,
you see.”

Mrs. MacDougall nodded, dabbing at her eyes.
“Cruel tyrant that he is. Oh, if only we’d known what he was before
we encouraged Lucy to marry him!”

“I don’t understand,” Ariadne said. “Why
would Lord Winthrop refuse to allow his son to see his
grandparents?”

“Because he thinks us beneath him,” Mr.
MacDougall grit out, face twisting. “I’m a coal merchant. You may
not know it to look at me, but I’m one of the wealthiest men in
Scotland. Our Lucy was bright and beautiful. We weren’t surprised
when a fancy English lord showed interest. A dowry that size was
bound to attract jackals.”

“Now, dear,” Mrs. MacDougall chided. “We
should really try to avoid disparaging Lucy’s husband, for all he
deserves it.” She turned to Ariadne. “Lord Winthrop convinced Lucy
and us that they should marry. We thought she’d be a grand lady, a
marchioness.” She sighed longingly.

“But the blighter only wanted her money,”
her husband spit out. “Went through every penny in a few years and
had the audacity to ask for more. To support Sinclair, mind you.
Made it sound as if Lucy and the lad would starve but for my
allowance.”

“And then, when Lucy sickened and died, he
refused to allow us admittance.” Mrs. MacDougall seemed to realize
her voice was rising, for she stopped to draw a breath. “We
thought, we hoped, you might prevail upon Sinclair to see us
himself.”

“He’s a man grown,” his grandfather agreed
with a nod. “Time he made his own choices.”

Mrs. MacDougall edged forward on her seat.
“Won’t you help us, Miss Courdebas? Won’t you speak to Sinclair on
our behalf?”

Oh, the injustice of it. She could see it
all now: the sweet-natured daughter locked in a dank tower (of
course it could have been a cellar) until her health faded; the
dutiful son attempting to honor his father’s wishes despite his
better judgment. Small wonder Sinclair didn’t like talking about
his family. But now she knew how to give him a happy ending.

Ariadne raised her chin. “I’m certain
Sinclair would be delighted to see you, if he knew a way to go
about it. If you’ll endeavor to be here tomorrow at three, I’ll
endeavor to have him here to meet with you.”

Ariadne felt as if a great weight had slid
from her shoulders and she could stand tall once more. Well, she’d
never stood all that tall, so perhaps that wasn’t the best analogy.
But she could only be pleased with the turn of events. Her false
engagement continued to make her the toast of the
ton
, with
more invitations and callers that afternoon, giving her every
opportunity to meet eligible gentlemen. Though her mother’s
stratagems had yet to bear fruit, Ariadne had high hopes that she
would be given an opportunity to meet with a patroness in time for
her to attend Almack’s on Wednesday. Her friends would help her
catch the spy, and Lord Hastings would offer her a permanent place
at Sinclair’s side. Best of all, she was about to reunite Sinclair
with his long-lost family. Really, it was enough for several grand
novels and perhaps a play.

She could only hope it would not turn out to
be a farce.

She was trying to catch up her journal the
next morning over the half cup of cocoa her mother allowed her when
the footman appeared in the doorway to her bedchamber.