Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (20 page)

Freddie still looked nonplussed. “Didn’t know you had a stutter. Who’s he?”

“More like who’s Him. He’s a French spy. He caused untold damage five years ago by passing British military secrets to the French.” Earl Harding banged his hand on the desk. “We nearly lost thousands of men at Corunna because of him.”

“And Talavera,” Granwich interposed.

“And most importantly Burgos. We have no idea who he is. He must have access to military information, and the ability to easily pass them to the French.” Henry looked into the fire as he answered.

“Damnit. I was at Burgos.” Freddie picked at his trousers. “It was the first place my hair turned white.”

“Why wasn’t he caught before?” Anthony Lovall asked quietly.

“There has been no sign of him. I looked for him everywhere.” Henry dropped his leg to the floor and sat up. “That’s why I asked you all here today. You have all run missions for me. He must be stopped.”

Granwich nodded and spoke quietly. “If the Hawk has not been able to find him, then the man must have been as wily as a ghost.”

“Hmm, access to military information. And contact with the French. It can’t be any of us. Although it could be someone close to us, I suppose,” Freddie said thoughtfully.

The other men in the chairs sat silently for a few moments, contemplating the idea that their nearest friends and family might be passing secrets to the French. They hadn’t thought to look at themselves.

“Who’s new since five years ago?” Freddie sat forward and placed an elbow on the table.

“Lord Fashington’s back,” murmured Henry

“Hmmm. Government man, access to secrets alright.” Granwich cocked his head. “But always struck me as a bit of a bounder. I don’t think a spy would try to do that as a disguise. Attracts too much attention.”

The other gentlemen nodded their heads in agreement.

“Doesn’t he always have a problem with the ladies?” Freddie obviously did not realize he was sailing in dangerous waters. “In fact wasn’t there something between him and Miss Agatha Beauregard at… some… point?” His voice trailed off as Henry glared at him. But Freddie was tenacious and did not shut up that easily. “She was around five years ago as well, wasn’t she? And then she dropped off the scene, only recently to come back at the same time as
Monsieur Herr
? Bit of a coincidence…”

If looks could have killed, Freddie would have been a pile of smoldering ash in his seat.

“He’s right, you know.” Earl Harding stood slowly. “She’s been in Devon for the last five years and that area is notorious for its dealing with the French. It
is
strange that there are all those rumors of her activities down there. Plus the timing fits exactly.” He turned to face Henry. “What do you think, Anglethorpe, after all she is
yours.”

“She is
not
a spy.” Henry sat rigidly in his chair, his relaxed muscles now tensely vibrating. “I know she is not a spy.”

“With all respect, dear boy, what makes you think that she isn’t?” Granwich bounced his cane idly on the floor between the fingers of his right hand.

No spy could kiss so innocently.

“She led you a merry dance when she first came to London.” Earl Harding said with a sideways glance. “Seemed quite happy to lead me on the other night, you know…”

Henry rose to his feet slowly and leaned across the table, his head pounding. “Because I have watched her all the time for that following five years that she was in Devon.” Knuckles taut, he grasped at the table before taking a deep breath.
Happy to lead him on… Agatha didn’t do that kind of thing.
Drawing back his arm, he thrust out his fist and connected roundly with Earl Harding’s cheekbone.

“That is for Agatha.” As the earl’s head swung back, Henry thrust out his fist solidly again. “And that… is for last night.”

“Steady on!” yelled Freddie, grappling with Henry’s arm. “He was only saying…”

“He knows exactly what he was saying.” Henry sat down as suddenly as he had stood. The earl sat still in the chair at the head of the table, his lip bleeding from where the first punch had split his skin.

Henry cradled his bruised hand. “I have spent five years watching her and wondering.”
It had nearly killed him.
“Ever since I saw those letters written in French burning in the grate of the room in which I caught her and Fashington. Ever since she took up with Fashington. Ever since she came under my roof and refused to abide by the rules of the ton.”

Henry bowed his head, pressing his hand against his waistcoat where his watch pushed against the small ring he carried with him everywhere. Agatha had all the qualities of a beautiful spy. She had heard him ascending the stairs in Hope Sands, she had nearly killed him with her potato bowl, and if Ames hadn’t been keeping an eye on her, he would never have known that she had successfully masqueraded as the Grand Salvatore.

Worst of all. She had made him fall in love with her. From the very beginning.

CHAPTER 25

He was so bloody
confusing
.

One moment he acted as if he wanted Agatha to sink through the floor. The next he made her feel as if she was flying higher than a kite in the sky. She put a hand to her lips. Worst of all she had no idea why Henry had kissed her,
again
. And yet despite that, it had still sent warmth throughout her body, from her head to her toes, a tingling warmth that grew to ache.

Victoria fluttered from her desk to the small table in the morning room, her small dogs yapping at her heels as Agatha sat quietly drinking tea.

“I’m sorry about Mr. Daventry,” she said worriedly. “I couldn’t have guessed he would be so,” she made a moue with her mouth, “lecherous.”

Agatha gave a wobbly smile, glad that the topic of her brother hadn’t come up. “Don’t worry. We both know I couldn’t have avoided dancing with him.” She sighed. “I do wish trouble didn’t seem to follow me around so much.”

“At least it gave you the opportunity to throw someone into the string quartet!” Victoria collapsed into the day couch under the window. “You don’t know how often I have longed to do that at a ball. Either the quartet is
awful
, or the person you are dancing with has clumped on your toes so many times that you just want to get rid of him.”

“Hmm, yes.” Agatha took another sip of her rapidly cooling tea. “The look on his face as Freddie hauled him away was priceless.”

Victoria smiled suddenly. “I preferred the bit where he was skewered by the cellist. And you were rescued by Earl Harding. That must have been a relief.”

Agatha looked hard at Victoria’s face. Whilst she continued to smile, the warmth that had blazed there before had muted somewhat. “He was very kind.” Agatha bent to pet one of Victoria’s small spaniels that nosed at her feet.

“Yes, a bit like a knight in shining armor. Rather unusual for him.” Victoria continued, “So how come you were on the terrace for so long? I was a little surprised when you let the earl take you out there alone.”

Agatha gulped.

“Ahem, Lady Colchester.” Carruthers, Victoria’s butler, stood ramrod straight in the doorway, a footman peering over his shoulder.  “We have received a few…” The footman tapped the butler on the shoulder. “That is to say, a large number of bouquets for Miss Beauregard. We were wondering what we should do with them?”

Victoria leapt to her feet. “Agatha, you have indeed been a success, this is delightful!”

“Ahem.” The butler coughed into his sleeve again.

“Oh do stop saying, ‘ahem’, Carruthers,” Victoria said exasperatedly. “Whatever can be the matter?”

Carruthers, who had been Henry’s footman at the time when Agatha had run away, had obviously grown into his discreet role as Lady Colchester’s butler.

Agatha had a
very
good idea what the matter was.

“Mesdames may wish to examine the notes that come with the flowers before receiving them.” The butler looked rather worried.

The drawing room was filled with vases of flowers of every hue and texture. Light pink roses and spearmint, and of more concern, spider flowers and dill, amongst others, sparkled in the morning light.

Agatha knew only a little of floriography, of what the flowers meant, but it was very well known that dill had all the connotations of ‘no strings attached fun.’ Grimacing, she plucked at random one of the cards that had accompanied a bouquet.

‘To an experienced lady, can you teach an old dog some new tricks? Meet me tonight in Vauxhall Gardens, Lord Hennisome.’

Agatha swallowed and dropped the card back on the table. In mute horror she took another card from the pile.

‘You make me hot under the collar. I’m looking for a new mistress. Be mine. Mr. Cryne.’

“I’m ever so sorry, Agatha.”

Agatha looked up to see Victoria had several notes in her hand.

“It is just more of the same. I was so silly to think that it would all blow over if we ignored it. Carruthers, would you leave us for a moment please?” Victoria pushed the notes into a nearby vase.

Agatha waited as the butler and his footman exited through the door. The footman stared at the flowers perplexedly as if he had something he wanted to say, but Carruthers tapped him on the shoulder and led him away.

Through the open doorway, the great lion knocker resounded through the hall. Curious, Agatha stepped into the hall.

Henry stood at the open front door, speaking in urgent low tones to the footman, who gestured to the inside of the house with uncharacteristic animation. As Henry’s eyes met hers, he stopped speaking.

Agatha blinked as the footman put a hand in the small of Henry’s back and shoved him further into the house.

With a curse, Henry came to a stop. “I’ve…come to tell you what I want from you.” He stood up straight and stared down his nose at Agatha.

Agatha took a step back down the hall, her mouth falling open.
What he wanted from her?
She’d asked him that question five years ago.

“And take you for a… drive. Especially since the Eversleigh musicale has been cancelled.”

Snapping her mouth shut, she felt behind her for the stair bannister. She had been thinking frantically of ways to say that she was busy. But damn the man, he evidently knew her entire social schedule as well.

“Well?”

“Go away, big brother.” Victoria exited the drawing room behind Agatha. “You can’t come to my house and harass my guests. Get back in your coach. She will let you know in five minutes whether she is coming or not.”

Firmly, Victoria shut the door behind Henry as Agatha sat down on one of the shallow wooden steps of the stair. She had never seen Henry appear so hesitant.

Victoria grinned, and looked up at a large portrait that hung above the rococo hall. It was the only picture in the house of Lord Colchester and herself.

“By God, I’m going to make you dance, Henry,” she muttered, staring at the portrait.

“Henry doesn’t dance.” Agatha traced the knots in the wood of the stairs.
What I want.
Goodness. What did she want?
To be held forever, to be looked after, to be freed.

Victoria laughed. “Of course not. He’s too afraid that a young debutante will come along and ensnare him into marriage. I’m sure he’s too worried that they’ll interfere with his activities for the War Office.”

He asked me to marry him long ago
. Did that mean that he had thought that she was just another girl he could sweep into the corner so that he could continue with his secrets? Agatha dropped her head in her hands. Then why did he kiss her? To persuade her that she needed him more than he needed her?

“I’m not sure I want to go on a drive with your brother at the moment.”

“Why ever not?” Victoria pulled Agatha up by her elbow and marched her up the stairs. “The five minutes is so that you can change your dress, do your hair and make him wait.”

Agatha dragged her feet across the stair rods. “Have you seen the way he looks at me? It’s like he wants to dig a hole in the ground and tip me in.”

“Nonsense.” Victoria pushed her into her room. “The pale blue dress I think, with the lovely neckline.”

Agatha sputtered. “Lovely neckline? There is no neckline. There is practically nothing there on that dress.”

“There is a neckline. It is just enhanced for your shape.” Victoria pushed Agatha up the stairs and through the bedroom door as Chantelle, her lady’s maid bustled in.

“Oooh yes zees iz ze one,” Chantelle exclaimed. Deftly unpicking the buttons on the back of Agatha’s dress, she picked up the blue one and pulled it over Agatha’s head.

“Now the hair.” Victoria nodded at Chantelle.

Fingers weaving nimbly, Chantelle drew Agatha’s hair into a crown and folded it on top of her head, leaving a few ringlets curling down by the side of her face.

“Bah,
alors
miss, you do look younger.”

Agatha winced. She turned to look at herself in the mirror. The maid was right. The hairstyle pulling the hair back off the head smoothed out her skin, and faded the sun wrinkles from her time in Brambridge. The pale blue of the dress also showed against her pale skin like silk. But the neckline
was
too low.

“Stop looking at it!” Victoria stamped her foot on the ground. “It’s the fashion. No one is going to pay any attention to it. Everyone else goes around in the same sort of dresses. Get used to it.”

“But I still haven’t said if I want to go with your brother.”

“Of course you do. Don’t you want to find out what he has to say?”

“I… err…” Yes she did. Very much so.

“There you go then.”

In the hall Victoria handed Agatha a pair of gloves. She smiled, a little sadly it seemed, and pushed Agatha out of the front door.

Henry lounged in the driving seat of a tall curricle, the reins held firmly in one hand, his top hat tipped rakishly on his head. He turned to Agatha and grinned as he handed her into the carriage. As his gaze moved downwards, his smile slipped.

But then it turned a little more wolfish. Giving a loud crack to his whip, Henry pulled on the reins and started to whistle.