Once Upon a Scandal (9 page)

“Not at all. I acted as his secretary in most parliamentary matters, but he didn’t believe women should be exposed to the brutal realities of war.”

“Most likely he did not want to put you in harm’s way. As it stands, only a handful of men even knew about the dispatches … ”

“Meaning each of them must be viewed with suspicion.”

“I knew you’d be good at this,” he said as he reached for the leather-bound folio. “This contains brief dossiers on the four men, including Rempley, who sit on that committee. As Lillianne, you’re bound to attract their interest.”

“Merely because of my relationship to the erstwhile Jane? That seems a rather bold assumption.”

“As Lillianne—newly arrived from France—you’ll have ties both to Napoleon’s own government and to Lord Reginald Fitzsimmons, once one of the most powerful men at Whitehall. They’ll want to know which side of this war you support. And if our thief is among them, he’ll want to know if you’re a French emissary interested in Britain’s secrets.”

She opened the folio and quickly scanned the list within. “Henry Brougham, the first Baron of Brougham and Vaux. Father considered him a radical, but I admire his interest in educational and legal reforms.”

“The prime minister doesn’t share your admiration,” Benjamin replied. “They’re regularly at odds with one another. Which casts him in a suspicious light.”

“I agree.” She continued down the list. “William Lamb, the Viscount Melbourne. A strong voice in the Lords, despite the scandal surrounding his wife.”

“An unstable woman given to histrionics. She once had her sights set on me, but thankfully, she’s moved on to Lord Byron.”

“Nicholas Borneman, the Marquis of Winchester,” Jane said, dismissing the odious Caroline Lamb, whom she’d never liked anyway. “He’s a bit of a mystery to me. Very handsome, of course, but taciturn.”

“Handsome, is he? I must tell him you think so.”

When she looked up in horror, there was a smile playing along his lips. “Winchester will be working closely with us in this. He’s an associate and our eyes and ears on the committee.”

She looked to the last name listed. “Rempley,” she said, not bothering to keep the disdain from her voice. “How nice it would be if he were our thief.”

“He’ll be the first committee member to seek you out.”

“Why is that?”

“There’s no denying he’s attracted to you. I think he’ll be equally attracted to your French cousin.”

The thought of enduring Rempley’s leering, sidelong glances made her feel faintly sick. But she would need to draw him out, engage him in conversation, and find out what, if anything, he was hiding. “Regardless of who our thief might be, I think he’s motivated by money.”

Benjamin tilted his head, his gaze assessing. “What makes you say that?”

She closed the folio, the magnitude of what she’d taken on suddenly inescapable. “If he were a French sympathizer, the dispatches would already be in enemy hands.”

• • •

As Benjamin escorted Jane down the darkened hallway towards her room, he listened to the gentle swish of her skirts upon the floor, thankful for the distracting sound. He usually made every effort to avoid this wing of Painshill and the bedrooms at its end. As a little boy, he’d had the last one on the left, while Aiden, his brother, had occupied the one on the right. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the ghost of their laughter.

He’d adored his brother, who had faced his many physical challenges with such courage. A gentle soul, there was no doubt he’d have grown into a far better man than Benjamin was. Had he lived, he might even have courted a woman like the one walking beside him. Aiden would never have lured her into serving his interests with half-truths, no matter the goal. God in heaven, please let Reginald Fitzsimmons prove to be innocent of the crimes they suspected.

“May I ask you an inappropriate question?”

“Inappropriate? Jane Fitzsimmons?” he asked, forcing a lightness into his voice that he did not feel. “Will I survive the shock of it, do you think?”

She laughed softly. “I thought we’d established earlier that I’ve freed myself from convention. I’m dancing my way towards perdition as we speak.”

“By all means, then. Ask away.”

“Why did you become a spy?”

Ah. A complicated question, that. He was tempted to tell her the truth, to share the burden of it, because he had a feeling she would understand. But that was an intimacy he could ill afford. If he gave up even one piece of himself to her, others would surely follow, until he crumbled like a house of cards.

So he replied with studied nonchalance. “To stave off boredom.”

She stopped at that, her eyes shaded with something like disappointment. “I expected a different answer.”

“Really? And what would that be?”

“To right a wrong,” she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “To make something good out of something bad.”

Dangerous. Yet another new word to describe her. If he weren’t careful, she would discover all of his secrets.

“Is that why I’m here? Enjoying your delightful company during a time of war, while others fight in my place?” He hoped she’d missed the bitterness in his voice. There had been wrongs in abundance to atone for, but Father had not wanted to risk his heir. His golden child.

“I think you are here because you have responsibilities you must bear.” She was looking up at him, her face limned in the glow of the candle he carried. “And people who rely on you. I would never have guessed it before.”

“Guessed what?” he asked casually, though his body had stiffened.

“That you were such an ardent defender of the dispossessed. That there was so much more substance to you. You’re a very good man, Benjamin Alden.”

He forced a chuckle as something cracked inside him. “You give me far too much credit, my dear. And we have a busy morning ahead of us. We should both get some rest.” They were just outside her door, and the two of them were alone, mere inches apart. Such an innocent she was, not to realize the danger that threatened. A darkness was yawning within him, and it would be so easy to lean down and press his lips to hers, to discover if they were as soft and delicious as they looked. If they could banish the darkness. Did she even have a sense of how tempted he was to try?

But she merely smiled and uttered a soft good night, opening her door and shutting it fast behind her. Leaving him alone in the hall, wishing she hadn’t imbued him with false honor. Because he planned to retire to his study downstairs with a bottle of port, where he would chase away his demons by imagining her body, naked to his touch.

What words can express the impertinence of a female tongue, let loose into boundless loquacity?—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

The next afternoon, Jane slipped down the stairs to the empty hall. It was a long, wide room with a stone floor and an enormous fireplace, intricately carved wainscoting, and a coffered ceiling. What should have been a cold and forbidding space, however, had been warmed with thick carpets, striped silk-covered walls, and bowls of fresh flowers set atop the mahogany tables bracketing the fireplace.

She’d been promised a home of her own after this was done, a modest property of her choosing, where she could begin anew with enough funds to settle her peaceably. A fresh start and hopefully a happy one, a payment for services rendered to the crown. But on this bright day, she was glad to be here. Banning had given her a brief tour of the estate after breakfast, and unsettled as she was, caught between her past and her future, this house felt like a refuge, despite its secretive purpose.

Was it the same for Benjamin? She’d learned he’d spent his summers here as a child, but that later, the house had been closed up by the last viscount, its staff relocated to other family properties. Benjamin must have fond memories then, to return here. And no wonder. They were not far from the sea. The salty tang of it scented the air. And according to Banning, Painshill Park was a masterpiece of landscape design. There was a large serpentine lake to swim in, vast parklands to roam, and hillsides scattered with Roman follies. She hadn’t yet had the chance to explore them. That was not her purpose here, after all. But she could see the lake from her bedroom window. If the weather grew much warmer, she would sneak a swim. No doubt Benjamin must have done the same on more than one occasion.

What had he been like as a little boy? Mischievous, certainly. Most of the witty people she knew had started out that way. And charming, too, able to flatter and cajole. He would have learned early on that he could make people do and say the things he wished. What must it have been like, to hold everyone’s hearts in his little hands? What must it be like now, to have so much influence over the thoughts and opinions of others?

In these few short weeks, she’d learned he was not the person he presented to the world. And she did not mean his profession. There was a generosity of spirit she’d never suspected. A creativity. An innate goodness. And oddly enough, an incongruous vulnerability. Did other people see it?

He made her feel her opinions mattered. That he valued her intelligence. Last night at dinner, he’d been amused by their conversation. He even seemed to find her quite pretty, though she hesitated to think it. Certainly, she’d caught him looking at her when he had no need to. And there had been that moment, last night in the hall, when she’d thought he would kiss her. Her heart had nearly stopped in anticipation. But of course, nothing had happened.

A stirring behind her caused Jane to turn. Jonas, the footman, was struggling with a heavy trunk as he made his way down the stairs, and she fought back the instinct to offer help. He’d lost an arm during the war, according to Banning, but a proud solider would not suffer the assistance of a woman, especially when two able-bodied footmen followed behind him, carrying traveling cases with ease. They were handsome leather cases embossed with Benjamin’s initials.

He was leaving, then. She’d not known he would be going so soon, and the realization made her inexplicably sad. Perhaps that was why, even when the clang of a door knocker sounded twice, she stood rooted to her spot. As Maybanks ambled towards the front door, urged on by a housemaid, she simply watched, only distantly curious about who had come to call.

Had she been a gambler, like her father, she would have bet a fortune against the arrival of the person who next appeared. And she’d have lost it. What was Lady Sophia Middleton, Countess of Marchmain, doing here? Not that Jane had time to ponder the fact. She was supposed to be dead, after all. She turned to make a quick escape, but already she’d been spotted. “My darling Jane. How lovely to see you again.”

Dear God, what to do? The countess was a Society fixture, albeit a faintly notorious one. If she answered as Jane, all of Benjamin’s carefully wrought plans would be finished before they’d even begun. “
Je m’excuse
,
madame
,” she said, trying to think quickly, shrinking in upon herself in an effort to look shorter. Anything to seem different. “
Je ne suis pas
… I am not who you think.
Je m’appelle Madame Fauchon
.”

If the countess’s expression was anything to go by, it had been a terrible bit of acting.

“You speak French beautifully,” she said, waving a dismissive hand. “But there’s no need for pretense. At least not yet.”

Pretense? Could Lady Marchmain possibly know the reason Jane was here? She couldn’t take that risk. “Have we met,
madame
?” she asked, pushing her voice an octave higher.

“Didn’t Marworth tell you to expect me?” She offered Maybanks a dazzling smile. In her middle age, the countess was still strikingly beautiful, and the old butler blushed. “Hasn’t that wretched man told you anything?”

“Wretched? How you wound me, Sophia.” Benjamin emerged from his study, dressed in a fitted, bottle-green riding coat, a snowy linen shirt, fawn buckskin trousers, and gleaming Hessian boots. “Not only do I find you flirting with my butler when you know how jealous I am, I also find you poisoning Miss Fitzsimmons’s good opinion of me when I’ve worked so hard to earn it.”

“Pay him no mind, Jane,” Lady Marchmain said with a sly smile as he bent over her hand. “Marworth doesn’t have to work hard at anything. It all comes effortlessly. We’re the ones tasked with putting his preposterous plan into place.”

“Do you remember the associate whom we spoke of last evening?” he asked Jane, eyes twinkling.

Annabelle’s Aunt Sophia? The woman who’d buried three husbands and drank brandy like a sailor? The woman who’d caused a scandal on nearly every continent? She, too, was a spy? Was anyone in Society the person they seemed? Jane opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Nothing made sense any more.

“Try to hide your surprise, my dear. The ability to mask your emotions is an important skill.”

“Does Annabelle know?” she asked when she’d regained her voice.

“There’s no need. I was at this long before she and I found each other. I do regret the years we missed, but what an adventure it has been. You’re in for a treat.”

“Sophia worked on the continent for us,” Benjamin continued. “And she leapt at the opportunity to help you.”

“I admire you, my dear. And I am so happy you’ve found a calling for your many talents. While Marworth is away, we’re going to turn you into the darling of London Society.”

This was moving too quickly. She’d known in the abstract what the next weeks would hold, but she suddenly felt lost, grasping for tethers along the shore. Perhaps noticing her distress, Benjamin came forward to take her hands. “There are leads to be followed in the city,” he replied. “Besides, I’ll be better able to judge your readiness if I’m not watching the process on a daily basis.”

It made sense, but when he withdrew his hands, a fleeting touch, she felt the loss of their warmth. Because he would not be returning for her. He’d be coming back to Painshill for Lillianne Fauchon.

How foolish she’d been to imagine even for a moment that a closeness had been building between them. They were united in a common purpose and nothing more.