Somewhat Scandalous (Brambridge Novel 1) (27 page)

“You only saw her for a few seconds.” Anthony folded up the unused bandages and handed them back to Agatha.

“I saw her last night. When Henry met her at the beach.”

Freddie’s hand shot out from his side and pulled at Harry’s elbow. “Don’t tell her anything!” he mumbled, dropping his arm, eyes staring from his head. “But dammit, if the gel ain’t right. I was thinking I’d seen her before recently but I kept getting distracted by her… charms.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. Agatha leaned closer to Freddie. “I am not
Monsieur Herr
!” she said plaintively.

“Don’t matter. You’re a woman. Shouldn’t have to deal with these things. God, my head hurts.” With that, Freddie lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Agatha sat back on her heels. “Well,” she muttered uncertainly. Freddie had seemed so gracious before. “I think that sums up the way you ‘gentlemen’ seem to have dealt with things.” She cast a long look at Anthony and, rising graciously to her feet, stomped out of the yard.

Smythe welcomed her back to the house. Placing a hand against the hall wall, Agatha tiredly unlaced her boots with sharp jagged movements and stepped out of them with a large step onto the carpet runner. The butler, Smythe, looked at her with raised eyebrows and then glanced back at where she had left her muddy boots in the middle of the doormat. With a bow, he turned and strode quickly towards and down through the servants’ stairs, but not in time enough to stop his loud roar of laughter from reaching her.

Padding into the drawing room, Agatha found Victoria sipping tea with slow movements. Falling into one of the tub chairs, Agatha wiggled her stockinged feet against the footrest. She sighed. It was just like old times, waiting for Henry to come back to see what he was going to say about Agatha’s latest escapade.

Taking a deep breath, she prodded the footrest with her toe. “So just how is this house party going to help us?”

Victoria took a sandwich from the cake stand and fed it piece by piece to Ponzi, her remaining dog. “We are going to fight rumors with rumors.”

“More rumors!”

Victoria looked up. “We can’t be sure if any of the guests we’ve invited are involved with
Monsieur Herr
. So we need the guests I’ve invited to take back stories to the ton. That will in turn flush out the spy and make her play into our hands, just as she has been making up stories about you to push her around.”

The sound of the front door opening stopped Agatha speaking. A crash and a loud growl of frustration echoed down the hallway.

“Agatha Beauregard, your boots are in the way…” the voice quietened. “Bloody eggs and spoons…” Henry appeared in the doorway; a smear of mud covered one eye, enhancing his forbidding presence. He stood and stared at Agatha, blinked and turned his gaze to Victoria. “And just who have you invited, Victoria? I thought this was a normal house party.”

Agatha blushed. She couldn’t help it. A tingling in her toes made her rub them harder against the footrest. What was it about this man? “You haven’t told him?”

“No. He wouldn’t have agreed,” Victoria said hurriedly. “Did you find her?”

Henry rubbed at the mud on his face. “She escaped. Her horse was one of my best. And she is resourceful.” He shook his head. “She had too much of a head start. If Agatha hadn’t been there with a horse, I wouldn’t have managed to get after her as fast as I did.”

Agatha sat up and coughed. “Victoria. You were telling us of the guests.” Henry narrowed his eyes at her.

“Ah yes, there’s Earl Harding…”

Henry groaned.

“A few of my friends, then Lord Fashington and Miss Guthrie and errr… Celine and Edward.” Victoria patted her dog absently.

“What!”

Victoria gave a small smile. “Yes, Fashington seemed to be caught up in the middle of all of this. He does seem rather pleased about Agatha’s predicament.”

“What about Miss Guthrie?”

“I felt sorry for her. I think a few days alone with Fashington without her father and stepmother might open her eyes somewhat. I didn’t invite Lord and Lady Guthrie on purpose. Don’t want to see anyone making the same mistake that I made with my marriage.”

Into the small silence that followed, Agatha watched as Victoria took the opportunity to feed another sandwich to her dog, keeping her face lowered.

“And Celine and Edward?” Henry spoke more gently.

“Celine is one of the other people who seems to have a gripe with Agatha and yourself. I thought if we kept her at close quarters we might be able to see if she is part of the problem. And Edward is her latest paramour so I invited him too,” she added.

“How did you get them to agree to come?” When Agatha had met Celine and Edward, Edward had seemed to want to be anywhere but in Henry’s proximity.

Victoria laughed. “Everyone wants to see Lord Anglethorpe’s secret estate. His many mistresses have raved of the beauty of the place. They seemed to regard it as romantic, with its closed air and the fact that Henry has never invited anyone here. The fact that he has never had a house party here made the invitation even more delectable.”

Agatha watched Henry swallow visibly. “You said it was like a mausoleum.”

Victoria nodded. “It was.”

Agatha rubbed her hands together uncomfortably. “So just how are we going to flush out
Monsieur Herr?”

Henry advanced into the room slowly and menacingly. “Flush out
Monsieur Herr?
” He stopped and turned to his sister. “You mean, Victoria, that you were actively searching for
Monsieur Herr
rather than trying to help me?”

“Yes, Henry.” Victoria took a sip of tea. “You gentlemen seem rather taken up with the idea that Agatha was
Monsieur Herr
.”

“Look, I have never for one second believed that…” Henry put out his hands imploringly.

“And given that Agatha is my best friend,” Victoria continued blithely, “I thought we would actually do something about finding the real spy instead of calling in some doxy from abroad to give us patently false information.”

“You heard,” Henry said flatly.

“We heard. How else do you think Agatha was standing there with a horse at the time when you needed one? Magic?” The sarcasm in Victoria’s voice was palpable.

“I think we ought to join forces, don’t you?” Anthony leaned wearily against the doorway, blood staining his normally pristine white shirt. Harriet nodded behind his shoulder, her arms full of bloodstained bandages.

Henry stood with a muffled oath. “How’s Freddie?”

“He will live. Although he needs bed rest for at least three weeks.” Anthony rested his head against the door frame. “I think that the facts imply that Agatha is not the spy.”

Victoria threw up her dainty hands. “Of course she’s not.”

“With respect my lady, you are her friend, one who she did not speak to for five years at that,” Anthony continued smoothly. “In private Anglethorpe has continuously maintained Miss Beauregard’s innocence.”

Agatha looked up in surprise. Henry would not meet her gaze.

Anthony brushed tiredly at the blood on his sleeve. “But I think the main point is that
Monsieur Herr
is sufficiently worried that she has brought someone over from France, to implicate Agatha and thus Henry further. Why would Agatha do something like that, surrounded as she is by everyone here?”

Agatha shook her head. “I’m sure I recognized something familiar about that woman, and Freddie did too.”

“What of your other plan?” Henry said abruptly.

“Other plan?” Victoria looked innocent.

“Yes, the reason you have invited everyone to the house party. Including an ex-paramour of mine.” Henry twisted his lips, “And that buffoon, Fashington.”

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted…” Victoria folded her hands primly in her lap. “We are going to fight with rumors.”

“Huh.” Henry blinked, his eyes riveted to the foot rest under Agatha’s legs.

Agatha pushed her stockinged feet to the floor underneath the stool. “What could we say that would make
Monsieur Herr
appear from the shadows?”

Victoria took a deep breath. “How about this first one? Lord Anglethorpe is going to offer for Agatha Beauregard’s hand.”

Agatha gaped as her feet suddenly felt icy cold. She gazed downwards at the carpeted floor. “I… I… How is that going to make
Monsieur Herr
appear?”

Anthony straightened and clicked his fingers. “If they think that government man Anglethorpe is marrying tainted lady, Agatha, even with the rumors, then they will understand that their rumors have not been successful.”

“And when they come up with their next attack we should be able to isolate where it is coming from.” Henry sat back slowly into his chair. “Possibly it might work.”

Agatha looked upwards, and met Henry’s gaze. Her toes curled into the carpet as he stared at her, unmoving.

Victoria coughed. “My next one is that we know who
Monsieur Herr
is and that Henry is close to catching them.”

Agatha frowned and broke away from Henry’s stare. “Why on earth would she take that bait?”

“Because she sent a person who, as you said, is close to her. So she might wonder what this person would have, could have revealed.”

Henry shook his head. “Enough. Don’t you realize that all of these plans mean that the threat against Agatha rises?”

Agatha took a deep breath. “What makes you think that?”

“No, no, no, he is right,” Victoria mused. “
Monsieur Herr
has been keen to target Agatha, or Henry from the start. She may take more full-on action if she feels that she is threatened directly.”

“Like shooting me, you mean?” Agatha grimaced. “She’s probably done that once before.”

“It might have been for me.” Henry stood. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you use Agatha in this way.”

Agatha stood, incensed. “What do you mean they can’t use me this way? I speak for myself!”

Henry’s eyebrows rose. “Agatha, my dear—”

“I am not your dear anything.” Agatha hesitated and lifted her head as a long forgotten ball of tension lodged itself high in her throat. “I will pretend to be your fiancé.” She paused and, with a black look, turned to face Victoria, “but only until this affair is over.” With as much élan as she could muster in her stockinged feet, she got to her feet and stomped across the carpet and into the hall. If only she hadn’t taken her boots off.

CHAPTER 34

Victoria had outdone herself. Berale House
sparkled
.

Henry walked slowly down the central stairs, pulling at his cravat. His footsteps slowed as the stairs turned a corner, his gaze caught on the painting of his mother and father. The painting hung clean and level. Putting out a tentative finger, he traced the flat oils of the pocket watch in his father’s hand.

This idea of his sister’s was futile. How were they ever going to catch a spy with a few randomly selected guests?

The sound of a crash in the direction of the ballroom made him jump. With great steps, he descended the stairs and rushed towards the great room. The footmen stared at him from a stack of fallen chairs as he pushed the door open violently.

“Oh. I thought… never mind.”

He’d thought that perhaps Agatha had started experimenting again. For an instant the heady days of finding his house in uproar and the sparkle in Agatha’s eyes flooded back to him. He’d never been so distracted. He’d never been so focused.

With a sigh he trudged back to the front door to await the first guests for that night’s dinner. Dancing and music were to take place the following night. During the day there would be walks for the guests and entertainment in the form of croquet and painting.

For most of that afternoon he had stood on the front steps of Berale House greeting the guests as they had arrived on horseback or in sumptuous carriages. Many had stayed nearby in Honiton the previous night and were therefore full of cheer. Others who had come longer distances were jolted and worn.

Charles and Miss Guthrie had arrived separately as custom dictated. Charles had ignored Henry’s proffered hand, reluctant though it was, merely enquiring of the butler where his room was. He disappeared immediately. Miss Guthrie had meekly greeted him, her gaze sliding away as he welcomed her to his house.

Standing at the front door again below the central stairs, Henry wondered if Miss Guthrie could say boo to a goose. She had been accompanied by a severe lady companion in a large bonnet who seemed to do most of the talking.

Henry shuddered as he glanced up the stairs.

“Oh, Henry darling. Berale House is just as I remembered!” Celine looked down on him with a large smile, supported under a bare arm by Edward.

Victoria glided to a halt next to him. “Welcome to Berale House, Celine, Edward. We were so glad you could come.” Victoria elbowed Henry in the stomach.

“Oh hello, Lady Colchester. Didn’t see you there.” Celine appeared to trip on the bottom step, grabbing Edward by the arm. “Come on, Teddy, let’s go and get a drink.”

“Really, Henry. I don’t know what you saw in that woman.” Victoria tapped her feet as the couple walked away towards the drawing room.

“I do,” he answered wryly. “And anyway, you were the one that invited her.”

“Yes,” Victoria grumbled as she turned on a perfect heel to follow the guests down the hall.

Henry wondered how long he could keep up his normally inscrutable air as more guests turned up, chattering loudly at the spectacle of the lanterns on the lawn. Many were staying in Honiton or Ottery St Mary. Bill and Lord Stanton were the last to arrive. Good grief, he hadn’t realized that Victoria had invited the local smith as well, even if he was one of Henry’s key men. It would set the cat among the pigeons when the other guests realized who he was.

Henry shook his head. Normally Victoria was a stickler for propriety. The back of his neck prickled as the last step of the stair creaked lightly behind him, primed intermittently by Mrs. Noggin with five years’ worth of vegetable stock.

He caught his breath as a finely turned ankle appeared at the bottom of the stairs.