Twelfth Night Secrets
Read Twelfth Night Secrets Online
Authors: Jane Feather
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical
A WEDDING WAGER
“This compelling read delivers an unforgettable cast of characters and places them in an irresistible story . . . that only an author with Feather’s talents can pull off.”
—
Romantic Times
“Vivid protagonists, appealing secondary characters, and a passionate romance.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“A page turner. . . . A thoroughly enjoyable novel.”
—
Romance Reviews
RUSHED TO THE ALTAR
“Gathers momentum much like a classical opus that ends in a resounding crescendo. . . . Ms. Feather certainly knows how to titillate the imagination with some sizzling scenes set in a tapestry of bygone days.”
—
Winter Haven News Chief
“Fun and intelligent. . . . I am completely captivated.”
—
Fresh Fiction
“An ingenious story line, witty prose, and charming characters . . . a well-written addition to the historical romance genre.”
—
Romance Junkies
A HUSBAND’S WICKED WAYS
“A consummate storyteller, Feather rises to new heights in her latest Wicked novel of intrigue and desire. Her utterly engaging characters and suspenseful plot combine to hold you spellbound.”
—
Romantic Times
“Filled with recurring quirky characters, truly evil villains, and a fearless heroine who is definitely an equal to her hero.”
—
Booklist
TO WED A WICKED PRINCE
“Enchanting and witty . . . sizzling.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“A poignant love story . . . strong characters, political intrigue, secrets and passion . . . it will thrill readers and keep them turning the pages.”
—
Romantic Times
A WICKED GENTLEMAN
“Will enchant readers. . . . Filled with marvelous characters—and just enough suspense to keep the midnight oil burning.”
—
Romantic Times
“Intriguing and satisfying. . . . The captivating romance is buttressed by rich characters and an intense kidnapping subplot, making this a fine beginning for Feather’s new series.”
—
Publishers Weekly
ALL THE QUEEN’S PLAYERS
“Beautifully moving . . . rich in period detail.”
—
Booklist
“A truly fantastic novel.”
—
The Romance Readers Connection
“Terrific.”
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Genre Go Round Reviews
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Prologue
N
OVEMBER 1797
Lady Harriet Devere drew her paisley wrap closer around her shoulders as a fierce wind rattled the casement behind her. Her parlor was not cold, with a blazing log fire in the grate, and it was well lit, wax candles burning brightly, but the day outside was raw, the skies heavy with gray clouds, a downpour imminent, and it did nothing to lighten her mood.
She sighed, setting down her quill, her eyes drifting to the fire. It had been many months since she had felt her customary lightheartedness, viewed the world with her usual optimism. Oh, she tried, for the children’s sake, but it was hard going. Planning for the annual Christmas house party and the festivities at Charlbury had always been a joyful task, and
yet this year, she could summon no enthusiasm. She turned her eyes from the fire and back to the list of names on the secretaire. The guests her grandfather had decided should be invited for this year’s celebrations. So far, she had written half the invitations, and what should have taken her a couple of hours had taken all morning.
A discreet tap at the door distracted her. “Come in.”
“Your pardon, my lady, but there are two gentlemen below. They would like to talk with you.” The butler bowed, holding out a silver tray with two visiting cards on it.
Harriet frowned. It was not the customary hour for social visits, and she was expecting no one. She took one of the cards off the tray, and her frown deepened.
Mr. George Howard.
Just the sight of his name sent a cold shiver of apprehension down her spine. The man from the Ministry hadn’t been to Grosvenor Square for ten months. Not since he’d paid a condolence visit on the death of her brother. She looked at the other card. The name,
Mr. Anthony Bedford,
was unknown to her.
“Show them into the yellow salon, Dickson. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” After the butler had withdrawn, she sat at the secretaire in frowning thought
for a while.
What could Howard want? The work is over now . . . it has been almost a year since the last letter from Nick.
Well, Harriet thought, she wouldn’t find out by speculating. She set aside her quill and rose from the desk, checking her reflection automatically in the mirror above the pier table. She was still in half mourning, and her gown of dove gray seemed to leach the color from her complexion, dulling the golden sheen in the braided coronet of her hair. It was time to leave mourning behind her. The Duke of Charlbury had instructed his granddaughter in no uncertain terms that Christmas would not be overshadowed by past sorrows. It was time to look forward and embrace the world again. Nicholas would have wanted it. And in truth, Harriet reflected, Nick
would
have wanted it. He detested gloom and low spirits.
She hurried downstairs. A footman opened the door to the yellow drawing room for her. It was a more informal room than the main salon at the front of the house, and Harriet used it almost exclusively when it was only she and the twins in residence in town.
The two men standing in front of the fire turned as one to greet her as she quietly closed the door behind
her. “Lady Harriet, thank you for seeing us without notice,” Mr. Howard said with a bow. “Allow me to present my colleague, Anthony Bedford.”
“Mr. Howard . . . Mr. Bedford, it’s a pleasure.” She acknowledged their bows with the slightest curtsy. “Pray sit down. May I offer you some refreshment?”
“No, thank you, Lady Harriet.” It was Mr. Bedford who spoke, and Harriet noticed that his companion stepped back slightly, as if to exclude himself from the conversation. Bedford was at first glance so unassuming as to be almost invisible. A gray man from top to toe, short gray hair, dark gray woolen coat and britches, even his deep-set eyes were gray, but the overall dullness of his appearance was enlivened by those eyes, which had a deep and penetrating gleam that Harriet felt was seeing into her very thoughts.
She offered a bland smile and invited them again to sit down. Howard did so, but his companion remained standing with his back to the fire.
Harriet debated whether to sit down herself or whether that would put her at a disadvantage. For some reason, she felt certain that in this man’s company, she did not want to be at any disadvantage. She compromised and perched on the arm of a sofa. “To what do I owe the pleasure, gentlemen?”
“We will come straight to the point, ma’am,” Bedford replied.
“Please do, sir.” Harriet inclined her head with the appearance of cool composure.
“You are familiar with the work your brother, Viscount Hesketh, was doing for the Ministry of War,” he stated. “Indeed, you have been of some service to the Ministry yourself in the past.”
“A very minor role, Mr. Bedford,” Harriet said. “I merely received my brother’s correspondence from Europe and passed it on to Mr. Howard. I would hardly say I was of much importance.”
“You do yourself a disservice, Lady Harriet,” he said drily. “Without people like you, our part of the war effort could not be performed. However, we have another task for you, if you would be willing to undertake it . . . a rather more significant mission.”
Harriet shot an involuntary glance towards the man she knew from the past. George Howard offered her a fleeting smile that if it was meant to reassure her didn’t really do the job. “Pray continue,” she said to Bedford.
“Your brother’s death—”
“At the siege of Elba,” she interrupted with a touch of impatience.
“Lord Hesketh did not die on the battlefield as you supposed, ma’am. He was assassinated while on a clandestine mission for us.”
“But . . . but it said in the
Gazette,
the letter from the Ministry said, Nick died in the siege.”
“Sometimes, Lady Harriet, we do not always tell the exact truth where work for the clandestine branch of the Ministry is concerned. I’m sure you understand why.” His tone was as dry as before.
She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure that’s so.” It was obvious, of course. It was inevitable that a man who lived in those shadows would die in them eventually. It made no difference to the essential fact. Nick was gone. It didn’t really matter how his death had come about.
“We would like to discover who killed your brother, Lady Harriet.”
Harriet frowned. “And I can help you do that?”
“You can help us investigate one possibility,” George Howard chipped in.
She felt a strange little tingle of . . . of what? Anticipation? Apprehension?
Excitement
? Surely not. “I don’t understand.”