Brenda Hiatt (5 page)

“Except for hunting.” His rueful smile made her heart expand with relief. She had half expected that he would either retreat into silence, as the dowager had said he used to
do, or rebuke her for her impertinence. “Grandmama does not give herself enough credit, plainly. It is she who has kept Wickburn running during these past several years, with little or no help from Camilla, while father and I were off pursuing the phantom of peace across all of Europe.”

“Surely since his defeat in Russia, Napoleon has lost most of his support. Peace cannot be so very far away now.”

His smile was tender now. “So you heard more than compliments tonight, did you? But I fear he is already raising another army. The Russians and Prussians—But you cannot care about the politics of the situation, my dear. Come, turn round and I will unpin your hair.”

Holly sighed, but turned obediently, her pulse already quickening. During the fortnight after their wedding, Hunt’s unpinning of her hair had become a nightly ritual, one he had resumed upon his return. Always, it culminated with the two of them in bed, indulging in pleasures Holly was coming to enjoy more and more.

Slowly, lingeringly, he removed the last of the pins and turned her to face him. Lowering his mouth to hers, he slid his hands up her back to unfasten her gown. Political discussions could wait, Holly decided.

A
S THE
S
EASON APPROACHED
, more members of the ton arrived in London, generating an overwhelming array of social activities. Almost from the moment she awoke, Holly’s days were filled with breakfasts, levees, teas and soirées. There were trips to museums and the opera, shops and the theatre. To her disappointment, however, she saw little of Hunt after their first few days in Town.

Camilla arranged their social calendars. It was the one thing at which she excelled, and for which Hunt did not take responsibility. She generally strove to accommodate the maximum number of events, which often meant that the marquess was expected at one gathering while his wife attended another. In addition, there were developments at the
Foreign Office that required the frequent presence of Hunt and the duke.

On more than one occasion, Holly attempted to discover from him what was going on. Invariably, he brushed her questions aside, telling her that it was not her concern.

“If it concerns you it concerns me, Hunt,” she said one evening. “How can I be a supportive wife to you if you will not tell me what worries you?”

“None of the other wives seem interested in prying into government affairs,” he told her rather sharply. “And with good reason, for they are not nearly so interesting as you seem to believe. At any rate, this current matter is of a rather sensitive nature.”

Holly seethed with frustration but said no more. She suspected that Hunt did not consider curiosity to be a particularly admirable trait. Still, she was determined to discover what she could, and decided to undertake a campaign of innocent-seeming questions at the next diplomatic function they attended.

Her father-in-law was especially unguarded in his answers, and she was able to determine that the current problem concerned an internal matter rather than international events. But just what that internal matter was she could not discover without making more pointed queries. At least Noel’s mission—and safety—were not likely to be involved.

“Holly, my dear,” said the duchess, coming up on Reginald’s arm as they all prepared to leave. “I cannot get over what a success you are proving to be this Season. Positively everyone has something to say about you.” Reginald nudged her slightly. “Something good, of course,” she quickly qualified. “But then I have always heard that Frenchwomen are far better than we English at making friends, particularly with the gentlemen.” She winked playfully.

“I assure you, your grace, that I consider myself more English than French. I’ve never even visited that country,”
Holly replied, thinking involuntarily of Noel, who was there even as she spoke.

“Indeed, Camilla,” put in Hunt coldly, “I pray you will not say such things. You will have people thinking Holly is fast, when she is perfectly conformable.”

Though she was not sure she considered that completely a compliment, Holly was glad of her husband’s support. The duchess had still not entirely forgiven her, she thought, for threatening to cut Reginald out of the succession. Still, by and large she was more amiable than she had been at first, and Holly dared to hope that in time they might even become friends.

A
CROSS THE DINNER TABLE
the next evening, Hunt could not help noticing his wife’s avid attention as the duke related, at her request, another tale of the exploits of the celebrated military-intelligence officer Colquhoun Grant.

“Why, he even managed to smuggle information out after the French captured him in Spain last year, from confinement. Then he escaped from his escort on the way to France and sent information to Wellington about Napoleon’s plan to invade Russia.” The duke chuckled.

“There are others, less well known, as well, are there not?” she asked eagerly. “Spies in France not connected with the military at all?”

The duke nodded. “By no means are all the French in sympathy with Boney. Some of those who’ve grown tired of him willingly give us news, either directly or through our own agents there. There are even some private British citizens who have gone to France solely for that purpose.”

“Are there really? What sort of help have they been?” Her complete attention was on the duke, and he preened under it, rather to Hunt’s amusement.

“Some have been more trouble than help,” he said, “ending up as prisoners of war, bargaining tools for Napoleon. But some have sent us very valuable information
indeed. Why there is one fellow, calls himself ‘Puss in Boots’—”

Hunt cleared his throat warningly and his father hesitated, then smiled apologetically. “Perhaps I should limit my tales to years past, my dear. Let me see…”

“Security matters. I understand.” She sounded rather disappointed, though, Hunt thought. Still, when the duke began detailing the deeds of earlier spies and intelligence officers, her interest immediately revived.

Thoughtfully, Hunt swirled the wine in his glass, glancing across the rim at his wife. It occurred to him that he still did not know her as well as he ought. She had told him of her childhood while they were in Derbyshire, relating various scrapes and starts of her youth, but what was she really like now?

Besides curious. He smiled to himself. He had not missed the way she had attempted to ferret information out of the ministers and diplomats last night. And look at her now. As curious as a cat, his Holly was. Perhaps he should caution her against that, especially given the present concerns at the Foreign Office—and her mother’s nationality. If she happened to arouse anyone’s suspicions, it would do his career no good at all.

After
dinner they all went to the theatre and thence to a supper at Lady Mountheath’s. When Hunt finally found himself alone with Holly in her chamber, he was almost too tired to remember what he had wanted to say to her. But not quite.

“You seemed to enjoy yourself tonight, my dear,” he said casually, as he removed her hairpins.

Holly flashed him a glance. “Yes, I did. The theatre is still a rather novel experience for me, I must admit.”

“And last night, as well. I’m gratified to see how well you get on with the ambassadors, in particular.” He paused, letting the silky black strands flow through his fingers. “You are becoming quite an asset to me, you know.”

She turned to face him fully then, looking so lovely in her sheer nightdress, her hair unbound about her shoulders, that he could barely concentrate on her reply.

“I hope that is true, Hunt. Certainly, I enjoy mingling with such important men—it makes me feel as though I am truly a part of the events shaping the world.”

“Yes, well…that is as it may be. Still, it will not do for you to become
too
much a part, if you see what I mean.” She looked confused, and no wonder. The conversation was not going quite as he had planned. Perhaps he should have waited until morning, when he would be less tired, less…distracted.

“What I mean to say—” he tried again, raking his fingers through his own hair and trying not to stare at her smooth, white shoulders “—is that there is such a thing as being
too
friendly, too curious. Especially right now.”

Comprehension dawned in her eyes. “Do you mean because of this ‘delicate’ internal matter?”

“Damn it, Holly! How—?” Hunt sharply reined in his astonishment. “I beg your pardon. But just what
do
you know?”

She shrugged prettily, distracting him again. “Only that there appear to be security concerns. No one would tell me more than that.”

“And you shouldn’t have been asking.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well, I may as well tell you, if only to prevent your trying to worm it out of Castlereagh himself. It appears that there is a security leak in the Foreign Office. Certain confidential information has reached the French during the past week or two—since our arrival back in Town, in fact—which has enabled them to intercept messages that could be detrimental to our negotiations in June. At this point, no one—
no one
—is above suspicion.”

“And you are investigating who the leak could be?” she asked eagerly, apparently not the least put off by the seriousness of the situation. She put her hands on his shoulders,
her face close to his. “Oh, Hunt,
do
let me help! Please?”

“Absolutely not!” He drew back, aghast. “That would be completely inappropriate, Holly, and possibly dangerous, as well.” He reached for her again.

But she pulled away from him, disappointment plain on her face. “Inappropriate! Honestly, Hunt, at times you sound almost like my sister Blanche. All you think of is the proprieties, while I long for glory, for excitement. Don’t you?”

“I find all the glory and excitement I need on the hunting field,” he said dryly, willing himself to believe it. He had always fought to suppress the very feelings she called up, trying to satisfy his adventurous tendencies through his obsession with the hunt. He had to remember, always remember, his responsibilities to the name he bore, responsibilities that his father, Reg, everyone except his grandmother, took so lightly.

“Are you not even trying to find out who it is?” Holly’s expression was still clouded.

“Of course I am,” he said gently, stepping forward. “We all are. But very cautiously, through time-honoured means. ’Tis safest that way. Can you not see why I wish you well away from it?”

She sighed, apparently capitulating. “I suppose so. But if an opportunity arises where I
may
be of help, you will let me know, will you not?”

In answer, he gathered her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, then drew her gently towards the blue canopied four-poster bed.

Holly went with him willingly.

In the morning, she decided, she would write again to Noel. Perhaps he could shed some light on the mystery. If she could discover the traitor’s identity herself, surely Hunt would finally realize how valuable a partner she could be.

T
HREE DAYS LATER
, long before she expected to hear from Noel, Holly received a second message. It was delivered by a shabby little street urchin who intercepted her on the front stairs of the house as she and the duchess were returning from a series of morning calls.

“G’ day, miladies,” he said with an ingratiating smile. “Might ye spare tuppence for a poor starving lad? The ravens took me last crumb.”

Holly had been about to brush past him as Camilla already had, for she had become somewhat inured to the street beggars by now, but at the sound of Noel’s pet name for her, spoken with emphasis by the boy, she paused.

“Perhaps I have a coin or two,” she said, opening her reticule. “Do go on inside, your grace. I shall join you in a moment.”

Camilla drew her skirts away from the filthy child. “You are too soft-hearted by half, Holly. He’ll only take it to some thieving master, I’ll be bound. But as you will.” She proceeded up the stairs and into the house.

Holly waited until the door had closed behind her before saying, “Did you have something beyond begging in mind, young man?”

The boy gave her a wide grin, his teeth startlingly white against his grimy face. “You are a sharp ‘un, milady! The gennulman’s note said ’s how you were, and that I’s to give this to you.” He pulled out a sealed letter addressed to her from among his tattered rags. “Paid me a shillin’ m’ master
did, to deliver it, but I reckon it ain’t but a tithe of what he got.” His eyes gleamed and he gave her a broad wink.

Holly took the hint. “Perhaps another two shillings would be closer to fair.” She resisted the urge to tousle the young ruffian’s hair, which already stood wildly on end.

“Aye, mum, that’d be fair as fair c’n be.” He thrust the letter at her with one hand, and snatched the coins she offered with the other. “Ye c’n find me at the Grey Goose Inn, in the stables, should ye need to send somethin’ t’ other way. Me name’s Peter.” Touching a finger to his forehead, he turned and raced off around the corner.

She tucked the letter into her reticule, wondering if the one she’d sent three days ago would reach Noel now that he’d found a more efficient way of communicating with her. No matter. If she received no reply within a reasonable time, she’d simply send another. Tightly clasping her reticule with its precious contents, she went inside.

The duchess had various small duties for Holly to perform, but Holly was finally able to escape to the privacy of her chamber. She simply had to speak to Hunt about finding their own Town house. She knew he did not like the idea of her living alone—and he would be leaving again within a few days, this time for Lisbon—but she was sure she would prefer her own house, be it ever so lonely, to playing companion to Camilla.

But all that would have to wait. For now, she had Noel’s letter to occupy her. Making certain the door was locked, she pulled it out of her reticule and broke the seal. As before, it was in their old code, but this time she had no trouble at all deciphering it.

A response to the letter she had sent Noel from Derbyshire, this letter was longer than his first one, and gave her a few more details about his activities in France, though still not so many as she’d have liked. He was working as an under-clerk in one of the government offices there, and already
had discovered a few worthwhile tidbits to send on to England, though he did not elaborate.

“The French have apparently made use of the same strategy I have,” he wrote then. “Just recently, information has been received here from a clerk in the Foreign Office. If you can do so discreetly, you might wish to warn your new husband, Lord Vandover, about this. Rumour implies that your husband is a man well able to deal with a traitor, or anything else that might arise.”

He went on to congratulate her on her marriage and to express his hopes of getting to know Hunt on his eventual return to England. Holly merely scanned those final lines before going back to reread the parts pertaining to the traitor within the Foreign Office. A clerk, Noel said. That would eliminate all the ambassadors and highly placed noblemen from suspicion. At any rate, it gave her a place to start.

She would wait until after Hunt left for Lisbon to begin her own discreet investigation, she decided. That way he would not be made to feel uncomfortable by her inquisitiveness. Holly felt a tiny twinge of guilt at the thought of going behind her husband’s back on this, but she subdued it. After all, it was not as though he had actually forbidden her to help him. And how grand it would be if, on his return, she could tell Hunt the name of the man everyone sought. She would be a genuine heroine!

“I
T SEEMS
I am forever telling you goodbye,” said Hunt as he and the duke prepared to depart for Portsmouth a few days later. “We are spending more time apart than together. Pray believe that if I had my choice I would stay.”

“I know,” replied Holly, reaching up to tenderly touch his cheek. “But I am proud of the work you are doing to bring peace to Europe. I would be a poor patriot indeed were I to attempt to dissuade you from it.”

“It makes my going easier to know you will not repine.” He gave her a quick hug. “Indeed, your forbearance is most heroic.”

Holly returned the embrace warmly. She fully intended to prove herself even more heroic by the time he returned. “Godspeed, Hunt. I pray your negotiations will go well.”

“If they do, I fear it will mean yet another journey for me, for we hope to arrange a conference between Austria, Russia and Prussia in June. But it will put us that much closer to the end of this interminable war.”

“Then I promise to be as brave then as I will be now,” she assured him. The end of the war would not only keep Hunt by her side, it would bring Noel back to England, as well.

He kissed her one last time, fiercely, then hurried out to the waiting coach.

Holly sighed as it pulled away. She had thought it would be so exciting to be married to a diplomat, but in fact it was proving more than a little bit lonely. Then she brightened.

Tomorrow night she and Camilla were to attend a rout given by Countess Lieven, the Russian ambassador’s wife. Nearly all the members of the Foreign Office who had not gone to Lisbon would be in attendance. It would be a perfect opportunity for her to begin her enquiries.

That afternoon, while she and the duchess consoled each other over the temporary loss of their husbands by going out to buy new bonnets, Holly began to formulate a few discreet questions she might ask some of the clerks.

“F
IVE YEARS
! Goodness, Mr. Winters, I had no notion you’d been with the Foreign Office so long.” Mr. Winters was the third clerk she’d managed to speak with thus far, but Holly had already decided that he was far too beetle-headed to be any sort of a spy. Indeed, his lack of mental acuity no doubt accounted for his still being a mere clerk. At any rate, she was fairly sure the traitor must be a new addition to the staff.

“Excuse me,” she said now, “but I do wish to have a word with my brother-in-law.” With a brilliant smile, she left dull Mr. Winters by the potted palm where he stood.

Countess Lieven had outdone herself tonight, Holly thought. Spring flowers were everywhere, jonquils vying with irises in enormous vases. And the buffet that had been spread at one end of the glittering ballroom was the finest she had ever seen. Holly knew that there were a few, the Duchess of Wickburn included, who still raised their eyebrows at their hostess’s outspoken passion for the scandalous waltz. Through her influence as patroness, she had managed to introduce it even into Almack’s. Tonight there was to be no dancing, however, so the countess’s detractors had nothing to complain of.

“Are you enjoying yourself, sister?” asked Lord Reginald as Holly reached his side.

“Indeed, yes,” she replied. “And you?”

Reginald grimaced slightly. “’Tis no worse than most of these diplomatic dos, I suppose, but I’d far rather be at the Academy, working on my latest masterpiece. What do you suppose it is that makes ambassadors such deadly bores?”

Holly stifled a giggle, then glanced quickly over her shoulder to be certain none of those “deadly bores” were within earshot. “I vow, you sound like Hunt, though he generally waits for a more private setting to voice such heresy.”

“I thank you.” He swept her an elaborate bow, setting his numerous watch fobs jingling. “My faith in my own judgement is restored.”

She could not suppress a smile. Holly had noticed before that Reginald’s attitude towards his half brother was almost one of hero worship rather than the resentment one often saw between siblings. Perhaps the ten-year difference in their ages accounted for it.

“’Tis not marvellous judgement that prompts you to say such things in an ambassador’s own home, however,” she pointed out.

“You are right, of course. I shall attempt to improve my outlook with another glass of this excellent champagne. Here is Teasdale—I shall leave him to amuse you until I return.”

Holly turned to Lord Reginald’s friend with a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Teasdale. I see you were not chosen to carry stacks of paper to Lisbon.”

“Thankfully, no. I fear I do not sail especially well,” he replied wryly. “It is kind of you, Lady Vandover to go out of your way to make the more insignificant members of the Foreign Office feel less out of place tonight. I have noticed you taking the time to speak with some of the clerks.”

“As a newcomer to these circles myself, I can sympathize with them,” said Holly, though she glanced rather sharply at her companion. Had he also noticed her careful questioning of his fellows? “’Tis rather unpleasant to feel oneself an outsider, after all.”

“Especially when one longs to be in the thick of things,” he returned, startling her. “Pray do not hesitate to tell me I am wrong, but I believe you may have another motive in your assiduous conversation with the clerks tonight.”

Holly regarded him doubtfully, hesitating. “As a woman, I am, of course, insatiably curious,” she said finally, with an attempt at lightness. “Particularly about subjects which my husband believes do not concern me.”

“But I should think they do concern you.” His voice was low, but earnest. “You might be of great benefit to the ministry, were you but allowed to act.”

This so perfectly coincided with Holly’s own opinion that she felt sure that she could trust this man. He was, after all, a friend of Reginald’s. “That is precisely what I have told Lord Vandover, on more than one occasion!” she exclaimed. “The traitor might open up to me, a mere woman,
where he would never reveal himself to one of his superiors.”

Teasdale’s eyebrows rose. “Traitor? I had not known the matter was such common knowledge.”

“Oh, it is not. I plagued Hunt to death till he told me. But he still would not allow me to help discover the spy’s identity.”

“And with him away in Lisbon, you mean to prove your worth?” Teasdale guessed.

She nodded. How perceptive this man was! “Already I know that it must be one of the clerks. I received word from…a distant cousin in France, implying as much.”

“Indeed! You must allow me to assist you in your investigation, then.” His smile was warm, but not the least bit improper. “Two may well discover twice as much as one, and as the newest clerk, I am no more likely to arouse suspicion in our traitor than yourself.”

“Would you? That would be marvellous! I had wondered—” She broke off. “Here comes Reginald. Please do not mention any of this to him, for he might feel obliged to notify Hunt. I do so wish to surprise him.”

“Not a word, on my honour, my lady,” Teasdale promised in an undertone just as Reginald joined them. Then, more loudly, “I have not yet paid my respects to the buffet table. If you will excuse me?”

Reginald immediately launched into a detailed description of one of the floral arrangements, which he meant to capture on canvas, but Holly scarcely heard a word. Instead, her thoughts were taken up by dreams of adventure and glory.

D
URING THE NEXT TWO WEEKS
, Holly was in a fever of impatience waiting for the next gathering where she might expect to see Mr. Teasdale again. Would he have information for her? She had been able to do little on her own, for the
duchess had her social calendar scheduled down to the minute.

The only thing Holly had been able to glean, during the course of a morning call with one of the diplomats’ wives, was that Mr. Brockman, a clerk she had not yet spoken to, had recently come into a sum of money. The story was that an uncle had left it to him, but she thought it suspicious enough to be worth mentioning to Teasdale.

“Brockman, eh?” he said when she finally imparted that tidbit to him during a reception at the Danish embassy. “I suppose it is possible. He’s a quiet fellow, keeps very much to himself. Difficult to get to know, you might say.”

“Well, then!” Holly was triumphant. “Does that not settle it?”

“It may. If only…” His voice trailed off thoughtfully. “Do you happen to know which men are acting as liaisons for the final planning meetings for the June talks in Prussia? If Brockman has managed to be named one of the couriers, I believe we’ll have our evidence. ’Tis not the sort of thing he would seek, under normal circumstances.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she replied, somewhat deflated. “But perhaps I could find out. The duke and my husband have been intimately involved in the planning for those talks. There may well be a list of the names about the house somewhere.”

“I would not ask you to pry among their private papers, of course.” Teasdale looked faintly shocked. “Still, it would be a coup—for both of us—if we could expose Brockman before Wickburn and Vandover return, would it not?”

Holly lifted her chin. “And so we shall. Of that I am determined.”

“You must do whatever seems right to you, of course, Lady Vandover. But now, why do you not go to speak with some of the ladies? ’Twill not do if we are seen talking too long together—we would not wish to arouse Brockman’s suspicions.”

B
EFORE SHE
went to bed that night, Holly glanced through the papers on the big desk in the study at Wickburn House. She saw nothing there that appeared to be the sort of list Teasdale had mentioned, however. Then she recalled that Hunt often worked late at night in his own chambers, at the smaller desk he had there. Perhaps that was where he would keep such a list.