Mask of Duplicity (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 1) (45 page)

“My God, how can you ask me to do such a thing! Visit the Pretender! I could not do it, nor could I ask my wife to endure the company of such a villain!” His hands fluttered wildly. “Besides, it is against the law! I would not dream of breaking the laws of this fair land. Why, my family would be disgraced forever!”

The duke looked at the quivering baronet with barely concealed distaste. He knew this was a mistake, and had told his brother so, in no uncertain terms. He was a master of the espionage game, operating a huge network of spies across Europe. This man was an empty-headed fool, in spite of his university education, and indiscreet too, which was worse. Left to his own devices, the duke would have abandoned the whole idea at this point, but the king had recommended Sir Anthony most forcefully.

“Nothing is against the law if the king himself sanctions it,” Newcastle pointed out. “Your wife need never know you have made such a visit. Indeed, it would be better if she did
not
know. All the king asks is that you pay your respects to the Pretender, and express an interest in seeing his restoration to the throne.” Before Sir Anthony could object, as he was obviously about to do, the duke hurried on.

“The king feels that you may be especially qualified to cultivate the friendship of the Pretender’s son. You are of an age, are you not?”

“No,” Sir Anthony said, still clearly shocked, but now starting to recover a little. He patted his face delicately with a scrap of lace from his pocket, taking care not to smudge his make-up. “He is some six or seven years younger than I, I think.”

The duke made a dismissive gesture.

“Nevertheless, you have much in common, from what I am led to believe. Charles is also a f...” he stopped himself just in time from using the word ‘fop’ and continued smoothly, “fashionable man. All we ask is that you attempt to engage the boy in conversation, befriend him if possible. And then report back anything he says that may be of interest, or anything you note regarding what manner of man he is, and most particularly what his intentions are for the immediate future. We would be most grateful.” Seeing that Sir Anthony still looked gravely doubtful, the duke continued. “I assure you, men who perform such services are considered to be the greatest of patriots. Your family will go down in history as being among those who helped to rescue England from the greatest danger she has ever faced.”

“Well, I am not sure.” The baronet was wavering, and Newcastle pressed home his advantage.

“You would of course be made a generous allowance for expenses, sir. I know that would not influence the decision of a man of honour such as yourself, but this should; I know of no man as fitted for the purpose as yourself. Your country is depending on you, sir, to find out more about this jumped-up puppy who dares to challenge the king, and to help us foil any plans he may have to restore the throne to his popish father.”

“Oh, well, now that puts things in quite a different light,” Sir Anthony said, preening noticeably. “I am sure I can include a short trip to Rome in my itinerary without any difficulty. I am greatly honoured that you think me fitted for such an important task, my lord.” He smoothed down his coat and beamed obsequiously at his host.

“It goes without saying that we would expect you to behave with the utmost discretion. Not a word to anyone. You will, of course, submit a report of your findings to our representative in Florence, Sir Horace Mann, on your way back. I will write to him to inform him of your mission,” the duke advised. He had not told anyone else. Only the First Lord and the king knew that Sir Anthony had been approached. If anyone else mentioned that Sir Anthony had been recruited as a spy, he would know where the rumour had come from, and would abandon the whole venture, being sure as he did to cast severe doubt on the loyalty of the baronet himself, and effectively ruin his reputation.

He was to be pleasantly surprised. In spite of ensuring that everything Sir Anthony said in the week between the interview and his wedding got back to him, the duke heard not a word about his private interview or its purpose. He did, however hear that Sir Anthony had expressed a desire to include Rome among the destinations to be visited, stating that he had heard it to be a most delightful city, in spite of its doctrinal errors. His wife-to-be had not been consulted on the matter, seeming in any case to be remarkably indifferent as to where her husband chose to take her on their honeymoon.

The duke felt this to be a good start. In spite of the spies that constantly hovered around the Stuart Court in Rome, none of them had succeeded in gaining the confidence of the Pretender’s son. Perhaps a fool would succeed where the more polished and astute spies had failed. It was worth trying, at any rate. After allowing the man a reasonably generous expense account, he dismissed Sir Anthony Peters from his mind temporarily, and addressed himself to more pressing matters of state.

Chapter Seventeen

“There!” said Beth, inserting a final pin into her companion’s elaborately dressed hair. “Now, stand up and let’s see how you look.”

Sarah stood and turned around slowly while her mistress looked her over critically.

“You look wonderful,” Beth said honestly. She did. Dressed in a gown of rose-red
gros de tours
silk woven with trails of white roses over a hooped petticoat, her lustrous brown hair decorated with tiny white silk rosebuds and her slender neck circled by a rope of pearls borrowed from Beth, she was miraculously transformed from a ladies’ maid into a lady of quality.

Sarah looked down at her dress, fingering the expensive silk with awe.

“You didn’t need to do this, you know,” she said.

“I know I didn’t. I wanted to. It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me. I couldn’t have wished for a better maid. I’m going to miss you terribly.”

Sarah swallowed.

“I don’t have to stay...” she began.

“Yes you do,” Beth said briskly. “This is your opportunity to make something of yourself. If you come to Europe with us you’ll lose the chance of the lease on the shop you’ve had your eye on.” She didn’t mention that Sir Anthony had been strangely reluctant for Sarah to stay on as Beth’s maid once they were married, although he hadn’t expressed it in so many words. “It’s in a perfect spot, and you have enough recommendations now to ensure a select clientele. I will certainly be visiting you when I return to London.”

“You better had,” Sarah said shakily. “And I won’t take a penny from you when you do.”

“Just don’t fall for the first handsome young man who comes calling. There’ll be plenty of them hanging around once you start to make money.”

Sarah curled her lip in disgust.

“I have no intention of ever getting married,” she said. “I’ve seen enough of men and what they are under their fancy wigs and perfumed clothes to last me a lifetime.” She paused, realising that this was not the most tactful thing to say to a young woman about to be married to a man she was not in love with. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” she asked Beth as she slipped on her high-heeled cream leather shoes. She winced slightly. They were a little tight, but it didn’t matter. They would only be walking a few yards from the coach to the theatre and back again.

Beth considered for a moment.

“Yes,” she said, “I am. Not of the actual ceremony, but of putting myself in the power of another man, and a man I don’t really know at all. Still, I think he’s better than Richard, at least. And I don’t have much choice really.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to find a man better than your brother,” Sarah said disdainfully, taking the ivory handled fan Beth offered her. “But Sir Anthony does have something else in his favour, apart from his wealth and his wit.”

“What’s that?” Beth asked.

“He’s the only man I’ve ever met who doesn’t look at a woman as though she’s a brood mare.”

Beth laughed. It was true, although she hadn’t thought of it until now.

“Now that could mean one of two things,” Sarah continued. “Either he has respect for women, or alternatively has no sexual interest in them at all and is more inclined towards men. Which means that in the bedchamber he’ll either be considerate and attentive, or completely disinterested. What more could you ask for?”

A lot,
thought Beth, although she knew she wasn’t going to get it.

They settled themselves in Lord Edward’s coach, and Beth tapped on the roof to signal to the driver that they were ready to leave.

“I’m really looking forward to this,” Sarah said excitedly, settling her skirts around her. “I’ve never been to the opera before.”

Beth was glad she had decided to spend her last night of freedom giving her maid a taste of luxury instead of enduring the ladies’ card party Isabella had suggested. She had reserved their box at the King’s Theatre in the Haymarket, and arranged for champagne and cinnamon cakes to be served in the interval. She felt Sarah’s excitement start to infect her, giving a new novelty to what had over the last months become a chore. At least she would be able to concentrate on the performance tonight, instead of having to listen to the incessant chatter of her companions. Sarah would want to savour every moment, that was certain. And it would be a relief to get away from the mounting hysteria of her cousins’ pre-wedding nerves, which were threatening her thin veneer of composure.

“Will I understand what’s going on?” Sarah asked after a moment.

“No, because it’s sung in Italian,” replied Beth. “But you can buy programmes that tell you the story before the piece starts. I’ll get one for us.”

The coach lurched unexpectedly to a halt.

“We can’t possibly be there already,” Beth said, lifting the leather blind and looking out. The driver had jumped down.

“What’s the matter, Tom?” Beth asked.

“One of the horses is limping a little, Miss,” he said. “It’s probably a stone, but I’d rather check, if you don’t mind.”

Beth pulled the blind back down.

“It’s all right,” she reassured Sarah. “We’ve got plenty of time. We’ll still...”

The coach door opened suddenly and a man jumped in, sword in hand. He looked at Beth, and then at Sarah, who had uttered a little scream of shock.

“Get out,” he said to her brusquely. When she didn’t move, he leaned over and grabbing her arm, began to drag her across the seat.

Beth had at first thought their intruder was an opportunist thief who had seen the coach stop and was seizing his chance. But although the man had a black silk scarf tied round the lower part of his face, she recognised his voice at once.

“Daniel,” she said. “What on earth are you doing? Let her go at once!”

His eyes widened at the mention of his name, but he offered no explanation. Instead he hauled the maid to her feet and pushed her roughly out of the carriage, slamming the door shut behind her, before turning back to Beth. She had started to rise from her seat, but subsided when he levelled his sword at her breast.

“Stay where you are,” he said, and sitting down opposite her, he banged hard on the coach roof. It set off immediately at a brisk pace.

Sarah, who had landed on her hands and knees in the street, watched the coach disappear round the corner, noting the direction it took. Then she was on her feet, careless of the filth and slime that covered her beautiful gown, careless of the pain from her swelling knee. She picked up her skirts and ran in the opposite direction as fast as she could, pausing only momentarily to kick her shoes into the gutter, before speeding in the direction of Smith Square.

* * *

“I thought I’d lost you,” Daniel said conversationally as the coach lurched along. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I found out that you’d decided to go to the opera on the eve of your wedding, with only your maid for company.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Where are you taking me?”

“I thought we’d bring your wedding forward a bit. To tonight, to be precise. And there’ll be one or two changes, the most important one being the bridegroom.”

She stared at him. He had lowered his sword from her chest, but hadn’t sheathed it, and was sitting opposite her, his handsome features relaxed and smiling.

“Are you telling me you intend to marry me?” she gasped.

“But of course. I am a gentleman. I wouldn’t dream of ravishing you without the benefit of the law,” he grinned.

This sort of thing didn’t happen in real life, Beth thought frantically, only in the romantic novels Charlotte was so fond of reading.

“This can’t be legal,” she said. “No court in the land would uphold such a farce.”

“Oh, I assure you they would. I have the ring,” he patted his pocket, “and the minister is waiting. Everything is ready. All we have to do is make our vows, and then we can retire to the room I’ve rented to consummate our happy union.”

She looked at him incredulously. In spite of his light-hearted tone, he was deadly serious.

“Don’t you need to at least obtain a licence?”

“Oh, my love, in spite of your precocity, which I am looking forward to taming by the way, you are woefully ignorant of certain echelons of life. You don’t need a licence to get married if you have the money and know where to go. Don’t worry yourself, everything is prepared. And you do look enchanting,” he said, eyeing her aqua silk gown with approval.

“You seem to be forgetting that I refused you six weeks ago. And nothing has happened to make me change my mind since then,” she said coldly.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “You can’t possibly prefer that Frenchified perfumed fop to me. And he’s only a baronet, for God’s sake. If you marry me you’ll be a Lady now, and a countess when my father dies and I inherit the earldom.”

“Which will probably be many years from now,” she replied. The coach was slowing slightly. Would she be able to get out of the door before he caught her? He would not be expecting her to try to escape before the coach stopped. She changed position slightly to give her better access to the door. “And in the meantime,” she continued. “I believe he’s refused to pay your gambling debts. I would rather be a rich baronet’s wife than a lady pauper, thank you.”