Dark Angel (37 page)

Hawkins studied Caroline, noting how much she resembled her sister. The heart-shaped face was the same, and the delicately arched brows, and the pale hair with streaks of brown. But there was a quality about Jane that was different from her sister. She didn't have Caroline's look of haunting, finely drawn fragility. Of course Jane, who had borne four children and had not suffered the near-starvation of a Spanish winter, had a fuller figure than her sister. But Hawkins suspected it went deeper than external privations. The Fentons lived on a straitened income, but there was a sense of contentment about Jane Fenton, the contentment of a woman whose world was securely ordered, a woman who had never doubted her husband's love or her children's safety.

Steadying Elena with his arm, Hawkins rested his head against the squabs. They were covered in a soft, worn leather, shabby yet comfortable. Like the Fentons' house. Hawkins recalled the crowded parlor with faded toys lying on the rug and the smell of children and dogs and freshly baked scones in the air. And he saw Elena, her face lit with laughter, bending down to speak to the youngest of the children, a boy of eleven months. Elena had been somewhat apprehensive about the visit, but she and Jane had taken to each other at once. When they hadn't been fussing over the children, the two of them and Caroline had been talking together about those mysterious sorts of things women only seemed able to discuss with each other. It was a long time since he'd seen Elena so happy.

So why did he have this uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach? Hawkins tightened his arm round Elena. They had reached a sort of accommodation on the
Sea Horse.
The close quarters had seen to that. But they hadn't spoken of the future. Hawkins knew what he wanted. That hadn't changed. The trouble was, he was no longer sure it was the best future, not for him but for Elena.

The familiar, musky scent Elena always wore brought memories of a time when life had been much simpler. It seemed marriage was a damn sight more complicated than giving a woman a ring and reciting some vows and signing a bit of paper. When they'd first arrived at the Fentons' it wasn't Jane .who had greeted them but her husband, holding one child in his arms while two more clung to his coattails. Will Fenton might not be wealthy, but he'd been able to offer Jane a home. He had a steady profession, a profession which didn't require him to spend months away from his wife and children. If the Fenton house was a happy one, it was because both Jane and Will worked to make it so.

Hawkins looked at Emily again, curled so trustfully against her mother. She had survived the past four years remarkably well. But Hawkins wouldn't want any child of his to experience what Emily had been through.

The clatter of wheels and the light seeping through the carriage curtains signaled that they were nearing London. Emily sat up. "Are we there?"

Caroline opened her eyes and smiled at her daughter. "Just a little bit longer."

Emily scrambled across the seat and peered between the curtains, then moved back to her mother. "Can we go to Sussex again sometime?"

"I expect so," Caroline said.

Emily looked across the carriage at Hawkins. "Will you and Elena come with us?"

Hawkins hesitated, painfully aware of the uncertainty of the future. "Perhaps," he said, looking apologetically at Caroline in case she saw this as unwarranted presumption.

Emily seemed content with his answer. "Maybe Adam can come too next time." She was silent for a moment. "Mama?"

"What is it,
querida?"

"Could I have a puppy some time? Or a kitten? Like at Aunt Jane's?"

Caroline looked down at her daughter. Emily didn't ask for things very often, perhaps because she understood that there were so few things her mother could give her. But today Emily had been entranced by her cousins' pets. It seemed such a simple request. But it forced Caroline to confront all her uncertainty about where she and Emily would live and how and with whom. "When we have our own home," Caroline said.

Emily smiled and climbed onto her mother's lap. Caroline shifted her position, settling Emily against her shoulder. It had been good to see Jane and Will and the children again, good to see Emily getting acquainted with her cousins. But the visit had been disquieting. In the past Caroline had found the comforting chaos of Jane's house a welcome haven. Today it had made her think of all she was missing. She was glad Emily had cousins and an aunt and uncle, but she should also have a family of her own.

Caroline sighed and cradled Emily closer, recalling her exchange with Jane by the stream. Jane had guessed at Caroline's feelings for Adam, but there was much about the trouble between them that Jane did not know and that Caroline could not bring herself to mention. The wounds were still too raw.

Emily had fallen asleep again by the time they reached Red Lion Square. The lights were still on in the house. John, the Wellstones' manservant, said the family were waiting for them in the parlor, so after Caroline had tucked Emily into bed, the three adults made their way downstairs.

The stillness as they entered the parlor alerted Caroline to danger. It was the stillness of conversation broken off abruptly, of fear and discord and unresolved tension. A comforting fire blazed beneath the carved mantel, but the atmosphere in the room was chillier than the night air outside. The tea tray was still set out on a table in the middle of the room, but no one seemed interested in refreshments. Margaret was sitting in her customary chair, her back very straight, her eyes sharp with worry. Charles Wellstone sat beside her, his face intent, a line between his brows.

Only Adam looked relaxed. He was leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed, a faint smile on his face. Caroline's heartbeat quickened. Adam only looked that calm in the midst of a crisis.

"Good, I'm glad you're back," Margaret said, turning to the door. "I hope you found your sister and her family well, Caroline."

"Very well, thank you." Caroline looked from Margaret to Adam, for once not afraid to meet his gaze. "I think you'd best tell us what's happened."

"I think you'd best sit down first. Then Adam can tell you." Margaret regarded her nephew the way she had when he was a young boy trying to escape an unpleasant task.

Adam's smile deepened. "It was only to be expected. I should have guessed."

Charles Wellstone drew in his breath but said nothing. "Guessed what?" Hawkins demanded, settling himself on the sofa beside Elena.

"I called on Lord Castlereagh this morning," Adam said in a quiet voice that sent a prickle of alarm down Caroline's spine. "He had a small welcoming committee waiting. They wanted to ask me a few questions about our journey."

"What sort of questions?" Caroline asked, her nails digging into her palms.

Adam looked at her, the dark eyes she had seen blaze with passion and anger giving no sign of what lay between them. "Talbot Rawley may be a number of things, Caro, but he's been cleverer about this than I gave him credit for. He got our friend the thin man—by the way, his name is Limon—to write out a deposition claiming I'd consorted with the French in Salamanca. Which I had, of course."

Taut, stunned silence filled the parlor. A log crackled in the fireplace, sending forth a burst of acrid smoke. Caroline drew in her breath. Fear lanced through her. She looked at Adam, seeking some spark of warmth to sustain her, but his expression was as dispassionate as before. Even in her terror, she was alone.

"Hell," Hawkins said. "Bloody, bloody hell." He raked his hands through his hair. "Apologies, Mrs. Wellstone."

"It's all right, Hawkins," Margaret said. "That's exactly how I feel."

"Did you tell Castlereagh our suspicions about Talbot?" Caroline asked, looking at Adam.

"It hardly seemed the most opportune moment. Any accusations I make against Talbot now will sound like a desperate attempt to save my own skin. Which of course was exactly what Talbot intended."

Adam's gaze was composed and unwavering, as if he had shuttered all emotion away somewhere deep inside. When he was like this there was no getting through to him. Caroline felt a burst of rage. Adam, the father of her child, was in danger and she could do nothing, not even share the crisis with him. Then rage gave way to guilt. Adam would not be in this predicament had he not tried to help her.

Caroline leaned forward, determined to get Adam to admit he was as frightened as she was. "Treason. They've accused you of treason, Adam."

"They haven't officially accused me of anything." Adam picked up his cup from the table beside his chair and took a sip of tea.

Caroline had an impulse to pull the delicate cup from his hand and hurl it in the fireplace. "It's an accusation all the same."

"They haven't got a great deal of proof."

Charles, who had been staring at his hands, looked squarely at his nephew. "Convictions have been secured with less."

"Who else is on this committee?" Caroline clasped her hands and forced herself to sit back in her chair. There was a soft cushion behind her, but she felt anything but comfortable.

"Lord Palmerston. I think he's inclined to believe my side of the story." Adam carefully returned his cup to the table. "And Lord Granby. Talbot wrote to him and Granby went to Castlereagh."

Of course. It was only natural that Talbot would try to make use of his father's political influence. Caroline felt a faint stirring of hope. Perhaps she would be able to help after all.

"There's no denying this will make things more difficult," Adam continued in the same level voice. "Any investigating we do will have to remain unofficial. But it's not as if we've never worked in secrecy before, is it, Hawkins?"

"By God it's not." Hawkins's worried expression gave way to a grin. "If we can outwit the French army we can damn well outwit Whitehall."

"My sentiments exactly." Adam grinned back.

"What about the charges?" Caroline asked. "What are they going to do next?"

Adam turned to look at her. Caroline thought she caught a flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked. "They're going to talk to Talbot Rawley," he said, a rough note in his voice. "He's expected in England on leave soon."

Again, she should have expected it. Again she was taken aback. "Bringing more proof?" she asked, controlling a tremor of fear.

"I don't know." Adam leaned forward in his chair with sudden purpose. "I don't think Talbot will dare try here what he tried in the Peninsula," he said, holding her gaze with his own. "But as long as he's in the same country as you, I'm not taking any chances. No foolish risks, Caro. I want your word on it."

His composure was shaken. Caroline felt an absurd moment of triumph. "Of course not, Adam." She actually smiled. "I'll be every bit as careful as you are."

Caroline rapped on the roof to signal the hackney driver to stop, then looked out the window at the long, columned facade of Granby House. The ranks of tall windows glittered like crystal in the late morning sunlight. Caroline paid the driver, climbed the two tiers of shallow stone steps, worn smooth by four successive generations of Rawleys, and rang for admitance. The pedimented door was opened by a tall young footman in a powdered wig and the blue-and-buff Granby livery. He looked at her in surprise. Eleven o'clock was early for a social call. The surprise deepened when she asked to see Lord Granby.

"Whom shall I say is calling, ma'am?"

Caroline smiled with determination. "His niece. Mrs. Rawley."

The footman's surprise gave way to confusion. He would know Caroline was not the wife of Jared's elder brother. Therefore there was only one person she could be. Jared's disgrace may have been hushed up, but evidently the servants knew enough to find his wife's sudden appearance disconcerting. "If you'll come this way, Mrs. Rawley," the footman said in a tone of neutral courtesy. "I will inquire if his lordship is at home."

Caroline stepped over the threshold into the rectangular hall, her half-boots echoing on the stone and marble floor. She had forgot how vast the hall was and how high the ornate coffered ceiling soared. The whole of her cottage in Acquera could easily be tucked into a corner and would scarcely reach half way to the first floor gallery.

Caroline paused for a moment, recalling her first visit to Granby House as a bride of eighteen. It had been night then and the hall had been brilliantly lit by wax tapers in the wrought-gold chandelier. She had stood where she stood now, watching the light play off the plaster garlands and classical friezes, the marble-topped tables and velvet-covered chairs, and thought that this was the summit of her ambition.

How long had it been before she realized what a mistake she had made, Caroline wondered, following the footman toward a doorway flanked by Ionic pilasters. Had she known it even then, even as she tried to convince herself Jared was the man she loved and pretend Adam only intruded on her thoughts because they had been friends for so long? She had turned her back on Adam to become a Rawley. And now it was the Rawleys who threatened Adam and she must use whatever influence she had with the family to protect him.