Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
S o many questions, so few answers.
Shannon drew a piece of chalk in random circles across the schoolroom slate, wondering how she had let herself be so distracted that she had neglected to ask Orlov about several pressing concerns. His kisses, however fake, had left her momentarily robbed of reason. The why of it was proving as elusive as all the other answers they sought, she thought glumly. But personal concerns, however nettling, could wait.
Lady Octavia was a far more important mystery. The dowager’s reaction to the visitors from London had so far been marked by an odd combination of feistiness and fear. The acquaintance was admittedly a very short one, but Shannon was willing to wager that the elderly lady did not shrink from confronting a difficulty head on. And with her trusty stick held firmly in hand.
For the dowager to looked defeated by anything less than a fire-breathing dragon . . .
The sharp scratch caused Emma to look up from her lettering exercise. “‘B’ is devilishly difficult to get right,” she sighed. “It comes out all lumpy, no matter how carefully I try.”
“You must not say ‘devilish’,” corrected Shannon.
“Scottie does.” The little chin, now liberally smudged with ink, rose a fraction higher. “And so does Uncle Angus.”
“If Prescott does so within hearing of Mr. Oliver, he may feel a birch on his backside. As for your uncle . . .” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “Perhaps we will wash his mouth out with soap.”
As she had hoped, Emma giggled. But the sound was fleeting. All too soon, the little girl was looking wistful. And wary. “I miss him very much. Grandmama says he has been delayed in England, and that we must be patient.” The little girl brushed a knuckle to her cheek. “It is devilishly hard to be patient.”
“Yes, it is.” After squeezing the hunched little shoulders, Shannon leaned in for a look at the letters. “You are doing very well. Try holding the pen a bit closer to the nib. That way, I think you will find the stroke easier to control.” Turning to a fresh page in the copybook, she added, “Now write the passage one more time. Practice makes perfect.”
As Emma sighed and set to work again, she could not resist sneaking into the corridor for a quick peek at the adjoining schoolroom. Orlov and Prescott were engaged in the study of the globe. Its slow spinning beneath the tutor’s touch seemed an apt metaphor for her own unsettled emotions. The Russian had a knack for keeping her off balance.
War is the Tao of deception.
Recalling one of Sun Tzu’s basic precepts, Shannon was once again reminded of how the smallest slip could spell disaster.
Between Orlov’s explosive kisses and the Frenchman’s smooth flirtations, she had better find a way to keep a firm footing.
“What a lovely little folly you have down the by the loch, Lady Octavia,” said Helen brightly as she wandered around the drawing room, waiting for the evening tea to be served. “We took a short stroll there this morning and spent a very pleasant hour enjoying the view.”
“The fourth Laird McAllister was a great admirer of Greek architecture,” replied the dowager without looking up from her book.
“There is a charming little boat tied to the steps,” continued Helen, her words now directed to the gentlemen of her party. “Might we convince you to take us out on the water some afternoon?”
“I would be happy to handle the oars if your friends prefer to devote their leisure hours to hunting,” offered Orlov quickly.
Jervis, who along with Talcott and the comte was perusing a folio of bird engravings, set aside the print of a gyrfalcon. “What an amiable fellow you are, Mr. Oliver,” he said with an ill-concealed sneer. “But I thought that your duties in the schoolroom did not allow such liberties.”
“Oh, I am sure I can arrange my schedule to attend to the needs of the ladies as well as my pupil.” As he had hoped, his offering of his services had struck the London lord as presumptuous.
“Amiable, indeed.” Lady Sylvia appeared to have no such objections. Her murmur was more of a purr. “We shall be delighted take advantage of your kind offer. Perhaps tomorrow?”
“But my dear Sylvia, I thought we had agreed on holding our archery challenge in the morning,” reminded the comte. “We gentlemen ought to sharpen our skills before setting out for the moors.”
“Ah, yes. Quite right, Arnaud. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.” Lady Sylvia seemed aware of the tension she had stirred. And in no hurry to smooth any ruffled feathers. “Another day then, Mr. Oliver.”
“I am at your service, milady. You have only to say when.”
“Well, then.” She toyed with the ends of her sash. “Perhaps you would agree to serve as a second for the ladies in tomorrow’s competition. As the gentlemen are determined to see us defeated, we cannot count on them to play fair.”
“I would be delighted to be of assistance.”
“Would that my brother would have such solicitous manners. But he cares more for his clubs and his card games than his sisters.” Annabelle’s mouth pursed to a petulant pout. “I vow, he thinks only of himself and never of our pleasures. He rarely so offers to take us driving in the park, or to escort us to a ball, even though he knows how much we enjoy such activities.”
Talcott stalked to the sideboard. “Perhaps if you behaved more like a proper lady than a spoiled schoolgirl I would be inclined to accede to your whims. However, your behavior on the trip here did not auger well for that ever happening. Your outrageous flirtations were extremely embarrassing.” He scowled. “It was bad enough that a broken wheel forced a delay of a day at that dreadful inn, but to have you encourage the attentions of a mere baron was outside of enough. Lord Nobody?—”
“Stop calling Lord Norbert a nobody!” exclaimed Annabelle.
Orlov saw for himself that Shannon had not exaggerated the ill-will between siblings. The chit’s choice of suitors apparently did not please her brother.
“A Yorkshire title glitters just as brightly as one from London,” she continued. “And his charm is certainly a good deal more polished than yours. He was gentlemanly enough to ensure that the landlord saw to the comforts of us ladies while you became foxed on the local ale.”
Ignoring her retort, he added another splash of whisky to his glass. “Really, Helen, can’t you exercise a bit of restraint on the chit. I am beginning to think Aunt Georgianna was right in saying she needs a more steadying influence than you and Mama if she is to avoid dragging the family into scandal.”
Helen drew in a sharp breath at the rebuke. “It is not I who have the tabbies wagging their tongues. Your recent luck—or rather the lack of it—at the gaming hells around Town is the only family foible giving rise to gossip.”
“Bite your own tongue,“ growled her brother. “ My personal affairs?—”
“That’s quite enough,” said Lady Sylvia. “From all of you.”
“But Helen is right.” The youngest Talcott seemed to think the command did not include her. “The only reason Robert agreed to this trip was not out of concern for our wishes, but to escape from his creditors.”
“Right or wrong, one does not discuss such private family matters in public.” Lady Sylvia’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. “You ought to have learned that much by now.”
Orlov hid a smile on seeing the look of sulky defiance Annabelle directed at both her brother and the other lady. A headstrong little hellion. With the right sort of encouragement, she might well be coaxed into making more indiscreet revelations about the London party.
“You see what I have to put up with?” said Talcott with a long-suffering sigh. “While you are up, do pour me another measure of that excellent malt, Jervis. Unpleasant arguments always give me a thirst.”
Annabelle looked about to retort, but a frown from her sister warned her to silence.
“Indeed, it is a trifle warm in here,” murmured De Villers. “I think I shall step outside for a breath of fresh air. Would you care to join me for a turn around the terrace, Miss Sloane? Given your educational expertise, I was wondering whether you might be able to tell me the English names for several of the specimen plantings.”
Shannon hesitated, then set aside her book. “I would be happy to try, sir, though plants are not my field of expertise.”
The tension in the room eased slightly, yet Orlov was aware of a constriction in his own chest. So, she had been deadly earnest about her intention of using her sex as a lure. It shouldn’t surprise him. They were both trained to use an enemy’s weakness as a weapon. Still, though his mask of good humor remained unflinching, he could not quite shake off the unsettling sensation—an odd mixture of irritation and apprehension.
“The reading material here is all so boring,” groused Annabelle. “The only copy of Ackermann’s fashion plates is at least a decade old. ”
“While the gentlemen enjoy their drinks, perhaps the ladies would like to learn the basics of a board game from India.” Turning away from his inner misgivings, Orlov flipped a pair of ivory dice into the air and caught them with a show of bravado. “I came upon a backgammon set in the card cabinet, and think you will find it a most interesting combination of luck and strategy.”
“You intrigue me, Mr. Oliver.” Lady Sylvia gave the sisters no time to respond. “I should be delighted to match wits with you.”
“A regrettable lapse in manners,” murmured the comte. “Please accept my apologies for my friends.”
“You have nothing for which to apologize, sir.” Shannon allowed him to lead her to the railing. The night was cool, but clear, the stars sharply luminous against the sable skies. A crescent moon cast a soft light over the decorative urns and twists of ivy. “It was not you who misbehaved.”
“So I am not guilty by association?”
“I believe in judging people on their own individual merits.”
“You are kind, Miss Sloane.” He touched her hand, his meaning unmistakable. “More than kind.”
Shannon leaned back against the stone balusters, slipping her fingers free from his.
“Ah.” A smile played on his lips. He seemed more amused than angry at having his advances snubbed. Everything about him—his gestures, his dress, his way of tilting his face to show off its best angles— suggested a man supremely confident that no one could long resist his charms. “Speaking of individual merit, what is your relationship to Monsieur Oliver?”
“Why do you ask? ”
“Far be it from me to repeat idle gossip, but the ladies observed a rather intimate scene this morning. I am simply curious as to how deep the attachment is.”
She lifted her shoulders, imitating his Gallic shrug. “We have no formal understanding, if that is what you mean. What happened today was merely a whim of the moment. He has a very high opinion of himself, as I am sure you have noticed. And with some reason. There is no denying that he is a very handsome man.”
“Handsome, indeed.” The comte toyed with his watch fobs. “But a humble tutor nonetheless. One who likely has little to offer an intelligent young woman like yourself, save for his kisses.”
“And you do?”
“Most certainly. A snug little nest in London, stylish gowns, enough money to keep you in comfort.”
“Why me?” she asked after a moment. “We have only just met.”
“Why?” he repeated. “You are extremely lovely, and have a certain je ne sais quoi about you.”
She arched a brow.
“An aura of mystery. An intriguing hint of steel in your spine. I confess, the idea of convincing you to unbend to pleasure is rather provocative.”
“You seem quite sure of yourself.”
“When I put my mind to something, I am not in the habit of failing,” replied the comte.
“Some might call that arrogance, Monsieur De Villiers.”
“And some might call it honesty. What, pray tell, might you say, Miss Sloane?”
Shannon smiled and answered in the same soft whisper. “ In all truth, I have not yet decided just what to think, sir.”
“A woman who takes time to deliberate on all her options.” He nodded. “How very wise.”
“There are a great many pitfalls for one in my profession. I would not survive on my own if I were not careful.”
“And yet, I do not detect any note of bitterness,” said the comte slowly. “Even though the cruel vagaries of Fate have left you alone in the world, and forced to labor for a living.”
“Whining is a waste of breath.”
“There are those who could profit from your example.”
Shannon acknowledged the compliment with a light laugh. Strangely enough, against all reason, she was finding it hard to dislike the man. He had a certain . . .
Je ne sais quoi, she repeated silently, savoring the mellifluous echo of his native tongue. Part of it was a quick wit and disarming frankness as to what he wanted.
But then again, she reminded herself, an experienced agent would know all the little tricks of appearing charming. Given a sword, she could cut through any clever spins and distractions. With words as her only weapon, she was not nearly so confident.
Feeling his eyes intent on her face, Shannon quickly composed her thoughts. “I imagine that you, too, could rail against the unfairness of life. It can’t be easy—a gentleman of title, and no doubt of wealth. And yet here you are, forced to abandon your homeland, your heritage and take refuge in a foreign country.”
“Not easy, no. But like you, I am a pragmatist, and make the best of the situation. There are worse places to land than in London. And several of the more influential émigré families saw to it I was introduced into Society.”
“Have you known Lady Sylvia and the others for long?”
“We are casual acquaintances.” His answer evaded the question. “When Lady Sylvia invited me to join in the journey to Scotland, I accepted. It appealed to my sense of adventure.”
“So, you are not intimidated by the unknown.”
“Nor are you. It is another thing we have in common, Miss Sloane.” His dark lashes were long and thick, and he used them with the same subtle skill as a lady. “There had to be a great many other teaching positions available closer to London.”
“None that offered the same rewards.”
“Back to money.”
“They say it is the root of all evil. But I daresay that those who have it would not be quite so smug if they were to awake one morning and find themselves penniless.”
De Villiers let out a low bark of laughter. “I am sure that one of Aesop’s fables says much the same thing. However, as I am not nearly as erudite as Monsieur Oliver, I cannot recollect it. No doubt he could recite it to us verbatim.”
“Actually, I believe he said that his expertise does not include French.”
“Ah, yes. Quite right.” As he shifted his hand on the stone, the winking of moonlight caught the flash of gold. The crest cut into the burnished metal of his signet ring looked to be a gryphon. On his pinkie was a smaller ring, the single ruby appearing nearly black in the shadows
“As Miss Annabelle remarked,” he mused, “the man does have an admirable set of muscles for a scholar. ”
“Mr. Oliver believes in the ancient Greek ideal— mens sana in corpora sana .”
“A healthy mind in a healthy body.” De Villiers paused. “Yes, he did mention his expertise in the classical languages. Speaking of which, I cannot quite place his accent? Has he studied abroad?”
She, too, could dodge a direct query. “Even to an English ear, a Yorkshire accent sounds quite exotic.”
“Ah. That must explain it.”
After exchanging a few more trifling pleasantries, the comte offered to escort her back to the warmth of the blazing log fire. Shannon was quick to accept, and once inside, she took her leave from the rest of the party, pleading fatigue and the need to rise early for lessons.
She was tired, and the day had left her with much to mull over. Draping her shawl over her dressing table, she began pull out her hairpins. For a moment, she found herself staring at her own face in the looking glass. In the flicker of candlelight and half shadows it was hard to reflect on exactly what she saw. Was it a subtle shift in perspective, or were her eyes not as sharp as she thought.
Perhaps in the morning things would appear clearer.
Moving to the window, Shannon took a last look out over the gardens as she tied her hair back in a simple plait. The sky was still clear, allowing a wash of pale moonlight to cast a silvery shimmer over the ornamental plantings. There was a stillness to the leaves, an air of quiet?—
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a sudden slip of movement. A flutter of lace beneath a dark cloak.
Lady Sylvia. And she was not alone.
Shannon dropped her brush and shot for the back stairs. Hurrying down to the kitchen, she passed through the pantries and eased the scullery door open. Her slippers were soft and she managed to creep noiselessly around to the privet hedge in time to hear Lady Sylvia’s tone turn more agitated.
“. . . of course I didn’t know they would be here!”
The man’s reply was low, and too muffled for Shannon to make out the voice.
“Well, I suggest you think of something, and fast. Miss Sloane is too bloody sharp for my liking,” replied Lady Sylvia. “She has eyes like daggers.”
Flattening herself to the ground, Shannon slithered closer to the edge of the shrubbery, trying to identify the lady’s companion.
“I am not imagining things.” Lady Sylvia’s shrillness carried clear enough through the chill, but the man had his back to Shannon. Blurred by the fluttering leaves, his size and height were too indistinct to make out. He could have been any of the three male guests. Or a stranger.
“Oh, easy for you to say,” said Lady Sylvia in response to his muddled words. She listened for a moment longer, then gave a grudging nod. “Very well, I’ll trust you to handle things. But try to do it without delay. The sooner we can quit this moldering pile of rocks, the better.”
Her companion shifted, throwing himself deeper in shadow.
“We had better not linger out here any longer. Someone might spot us.” Clutching at her cloak, Lady Sylvia nearly stumbled over a twist of ivy vines in her haste to retreat.
Shannon made a sure-footed return to her own room without being seen. As the door closed silently on its freshly oiled hinges, she decided that Orlov ought to be informed immediately of this latest development. If he had not yet left on his nightly patrol, perhaps he could?—
She stopped short at the sight of Lady Octavia sitting on the bed with an ancient pistol in her hands.
“Who are you?” demanded the dowager.
Shannon didn’t answer right away.
“And don’t bother repeating that farrididdle about being a governess arranged by my son. I have stayed silent, trying to decide what it is you are up to, but now that Sylvia and her party are here, I dare not sit back any longer.”
“Lady Octavia, it is very late, and perhaps you have become a trifle confused, what with all the recent upheaval of your quiet routine. If you would care to have another look at the letter?—”
“I have not been tippling at the sherry,” said the dowager grimly. “I may appear a dottering old fool to someone as young as you, but I’m still sharp enough to know my own son’s handwriting.”
Shannon drew a deep breath, then let it out in a wry sigh. “I shall inform Whitehall that its forgers are not quite as good as they think.”
The weapon wavered just a touch. “You have been sent by Whitehall? Prove it!”
“I cannot,” she replied. “I work strictly undercover. Nothing must connect me in any way to the government.”
Lady Octavia’s eyes remained narrowed. “And Mr. Oliver? He works for Whitehall as well?”
“No. This is a joint venture, so to speak. I am not at liberty to say who he works for, but I assure you he is?—”
“A friend, not foe. ”
Shannon looked around to see Orlov silhouetted in doorway.
He stepped into the room and drew the door shut. “And like my lovely colleague, I cannot produce any official orders from my superiors in St. Petersburg. I can only offer my word as a gentleman.” He raised his candle, just enough to illuminate a gold-lashed wink. “In a manner of speaking.”
The dowager’s frail shoulders relaxed, and her weapon dropped. “Damnation, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“We were under strict orders not to alarm you,” replied Orlov.
She made a rude noise. “As if your skulking around in the night was not cause for concern, young man. Though I did wonder whether the two of you were simply covering up your amorous exploits.”
“Alas, my colleague is of the opinion that this assignment must be all business, no pleasure.”
Shannon was glad that the dim light hid the flush of color rising to her cheeks. “As you see, Mr. Orlov—that is, Oliver—has enough serendipitous wit for the two of us. In any case, there is nothing remotely pleasurable about the situation.”
Orlov’s expression turned deadly serious. “No, indeed. The children and you may be in grave danger, milady.”
“I suspected as much.” If anything, the glint in Lady Octavia’s eyes grew a touch brighter. “From that sly puss Sylvia?”
Shannon and Orlov exchanged looks. “We cannot say for sure.”
“What do you know?”
She hesitated, but he merely shrugged. “No sense in keeping it a secret.” Moving a step closer to the dowager, he dropped his voice to a low murmur. “The French are desperate to stop your son from working with British military. They have dispatched one of their top agents to come here.”
“To kidnap the children?” asked Lady Octavia.
“Or worse,” answered Shannon. “To be blunt, we believe he will do whatever he thinks is necessary to achieve his goals.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Orlov’s profile take on a harsher line in the limning of moonlight.
“We are not exaggerating the danger, milady,” he said. “Monsieur D’Etienne is a remorseless killer.”
“Hmmph.” Lady Octavia blinked and then checked the priming of her pistol. “Then we shall have to make sure that he never gets the chance to do his dirty work.”
“Precisely. We have been working diligently to ensure just such a thing,” Orlov softened his words with a slight smile. “Miss Sloane and I are heartened to know we may count on your firepower should it come to that. But for now, we would like to ask you to leave the offensive forays to us.”
The dowager set aside the pistol—quite reluctantly. “So you wish for me to act as if nothing was amiss around our guests.”
“An ancient Chinese general wrote a little book that is still considered the bible of warfare, milady,” said Shannon. One of his precepts states‘Be tranquil and obscure.’”
“And if I remember correctly, another one says, “’Although capable display incapability.’” Lady Octavia mused for a moment. “Angus is also an admirer of Sun Tzu, Miss Sloane. And I suppose the man’s thinking makes a great deal of sense. Even if he was a heathen foreigner.”
“So, in the spirit of international harmony, I propose we follow the fellow’s teachings,” suggestedOrlov.
“I will do my best,” replied the dowager solemnly.
“As will we, milady.” Shannon repressed a shiver as she carefully removed the flint from the ancient firearm. “As will we.”