The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 35

Beau left Emerald long enough to wipe himself clean of the blood and grime that covered him from head to toe, and he threw every piece of clothing he’d been wearing into the stoked fire burning in his room. Allard appeared with further information from the theatre and a genuine desire to know how Emerald fared.

‘Once I learned not to fear death, I hadn’t thought anything could scare me.’

‘You are fallible, as are we all.’

The tell-tale sting bit the back of his eyes. ‘Knowing how close I was to losing her— Hell, Theo, I still could.’ Beau choked on his cracking voice.

Allard studied Beau with a thoughtful expression. ‘You know what must be done. You’ve had a long, lucky run, friend.’

Beau considered the words with a wayward frown while he dressed. ‘Yes.’

From the mantel, where Saunders tutted as he poked at the superfine ablaze in the grate, came a low whistle, filling the quiet with meaning.

Asperity tinged Beau’s voice when he asked, ‘What would you have me do, Saunders?’

‘Exactly as Allard suggests, only I never thought you’d agree without a struggle.’

‘I never thought anyone would mean more to me than my work.’

One corner of Allard’s mouth slipped into a faint smile. ‘You will find plenty to occupy your time in retirement.’

‘And we know the Home Office won’t let you go as easy as that,’ added Saunders. ‘Very likely they’ll want you codebreaking, translating, pilfering correspondence from some lord’s study.’

‘You think you’ll miss it—the rush of danger—and sometimes you will, but how quickly we grow comfortable, fill with joy, when our roots are allowed to take hold.’

Beau knew Allard spoke from his own experience leaving espionage behind, at least in an official capacity. A knock drew their attention. Louisa’s wan face appeared around the edge of the door, and Beau tensed.

‘She’s dressed. She looks so peaceful.’

He could hear the worry in her statement and noticed how she clamped her lips tight to hold back her sobs. Stepping away from the other men, he went to his sister, opened the door wide, and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Go to bed,’ he stated in such a way as to prevent opposition. ‘I’ll send your maid up with a sleeping draught.’

Once Lou had walked away, he turned back to Allard and Saunders. ‘You’ll excuse me.’ He said nothing else—he did not need to—as he left his room for Emerald’s.

Beau pulled one of the bergère chairs to the bedside, clasped her hand between his own, and let silence envelop him, content to memorise every inch of her proud, beautiful face as he kept watch over her.

‘Is now or now a good time to explain yourself?’ Beau’s mother asked from where she stood over his shoulder.

He’d heard her enter a quarter of an hour after him but found it impossible to look away from the woman who held his whole heart.

Without preamble, he said, ‘After Cambridge, I went to work for the Home Office. My easy fluency in French, Italian, German, and Spanish made me an attractive prospect, but they were most interested in my access to drawing rooms, ballrooms, and back rooms as an eligible heir.’

‘Beau?’ His name pitched up as his mother said it.

‘I’m a spy, Mama, or I will be only until I tender my resignation.’ Beau waited as his mother worked through the shock of his confession.

‘Your father—’ Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her shaking her head, trying to clear her confusion. ‘You said he knew. The day you arrived in London, you said that to me.’

Beau twined a lock of Emerald’s hair around his finger. ‘I told him before I left for the last time. He didn’t approve. We had a terrible row about it.’

‘I can well imagine. Our name, the estate, they meant everything to him. He worked his whole life to ensure the productivity and prosperity of Oakmoss for you and each generation after, just like every generation which came before.’

‘And there isn’t a Calverleigh who will ever do it better than he. Work kept me away. For a stretch of time, I allowed it to keep me longer than necessary. I’ve regrets, but discovering I am more than a name is not one of them. I’m not asking you to understand.’

His mother had made her way to the other side of the bed and sat upon it. ‘What’s all that to do with this?’

As concisely as he could and excepting certain details, he explained Babin’s illegal business and foiled scheme to redress the injustices suffered by France as he saw them. By the end his mother was reliant on her handkerchief to stifle her sniffles.

‘This poor dear. After everything she’s been through, my only wish is to see her happy.’

‘In this, we are aligned.’

His mother glanced up at him but he didn’t look over. ‘I had wondered.’

‘And stayed silent, surprisingly so.’

‘She has been thrust into things her whole life,’ said the dowager as she brushed back a stray hair from Emerald’s forehead. ‘I’m plagued by my own culpability to that end. After your father died, it was easier to let grief consume me than to leave my rooms knowing wherever I went, he wouldn’t be there.’

Beau shoved a hand through his curls, leaving them ruffled.

‘I loved my husband. You deserve to know the same in your own marriage.’ After a wistful pause, she added, ‘Little else would delight me so much as seeing you two make a match. She challenges you at every turn, and you are her shelter, succour, a rampart outside herself. Nevertheless, I refuse to put undue pressure on a girl to whom I—we—already owe so much.’

Beau finally bent his attention in his mother’s direction. He tried to push down the lump lingering in his throat, but his voice still broke when he spoke. ‘I owe her everything, and yet everything I have to give isn’t enough.’

‘Oh, Beauden. For so long Emerald has drawn only from her own well.’ The dowager stayed another few minutes and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she left, ensuring the door remained open behind her.

Beau would not abandon his vigil for rest, not when his own life lingered somewhere halfway from what was and what might be. Perhaps his body would remain behind if Emerald never woke again, but all the rest—what use had he of his heart, his lungs, his mind if he spent the remainder of his days living in a dream where he could walk among the dead? He closed his eyes and searched the dark till he could see. Between guilt and grief, an oak tree. From its branches, leaves falling free. Lifting her hand, he slipped it just inside the loose collar of his nightshirt and held her slender fingers to the black boughs reaching over his heart.

‘I took the long way round, but how I love you now.’