Chapter 23 #2
“James, dearest.” His mother drew him into an embrace filled with unquestioning love.
She simply held him, asking nothing of him despite the distance he had placed between them these past weeks.
He had been so consumed by his search for answers that he had nearly forgotten what it meant to be a son.
She pulled back, studying him with a mother’s unnerving intuition. “There is something different about you,” she murmured. “You seem lighter. Happier. Does this have to do with Kate? Is there anything you wish to tell your mother?”
He should not be surprised that his mother could see the difference in him.
Kate had helped him replace the jagged edges of his anger with hope.
He would not stop his work as an agent for the Crown, but Kate’s love had chased away some of the darkness inside him.
Still, he could not share the whole truth of what had shifted between them yet.
Not until the danger had passed and their news could belong to joy instead of fear.
“Only that I am glad you are here, Mother.” He placed a light kiss on her cheek and turned to his sister.
“And you as well, Alice.” He drew Alice into an embrace next.
He had seen her the previous autumn, but in the intervening months, his sixteen-year-old sister had transformed.
She appeared far more like a young woman than the memory of the girl he carried in his head.
They had once been quite close, and James felt a pang of regret at the distance he had allowed to grow between them. He would need to remedy that.
Alice peeked past him toward the doorway. “Is Kate coming? When may I see her?”
James laughed. Alice had always adored Kate. “Yes, she had a few matters to attend to, but she should be here presently. She is as eager to see you both as you are to see her.”
The next few hours passed in easy companionship, but James could not keep his mind from wandering to Kate. As the afternoon wore on, his concern grew. It was far past the hour he had expected her to arrive.
A knock sounded, and James was on his feet before Hadley entered the sitting room alone. “My lord, Lady Katherine is here and would like a private word with you in the drawing room.”
James did not fail to notice the silent understanding between his mother and sister as he excused himself. The thought that Kate might want more than a private word sent him toward the drawing room faster than dignity allowed. It had been far too long since he had felt her lips on his.
Those thoughts fled at the sight of Kate’s pale face, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
He strode forward and drew her close. She sank against him, trembling as her fingers twisted in his coat.
“Kate, dearest.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” She shook her head against his chest.
“Please, tell me what is wrong.”
Fear gave way to anger. He had never seen her unraveled like this, even in Dover. Her fingers were icy even through his layers.
“I was followed,” she whispered.
Her words did not make sense at first.
“Followed?”
She nodded, still shaken. “As Tess and I walked from my house. I am certain of it.”
His entire body tensed. “Who? Who followed you?”
“I don’t know. I never saw his face, just movement in the shadows. Tess felt it too—the sense of someone keeping pace in the fog, that we were being watched. I fear I may have scandalized all of society by arriving in such an unseemly hurry, but I needed to see you.”
“You are not alone now, Kate.” He rubbed slow circles over her back.
The thought that someone had frightened her—that someone had even dared—snapped something cold and dangerous inside him.
He had faced many enemies over the years without flinching. But the idea of someone hunting Kate? That was not a challenge he would let go unanswered. They had come near her. Whether they knew her identity or meant only to frighten James through her, the message was clear.
Either way, they had misjudged what James would do to stop them.
By the next morning, Kate’s fear had become his.
Hugh told him a servant had reported a strange carriage lingering outside their house.
Similar reports of unease reached him from trusted sources, and even Jimmy was unnerved when he showed up on his doorstep.
No one would speak to him for fear of reprisal.
James did not want the boy to become a target because of his inquiries and instructed him to stay with Mrs. Bates for the day.
He could not dismiss it all as coincidence or nerves. The enemy was closer to home than James had thought. It was a warning.
The fire snapped and hissed in James’s study that afternoon as Kate, Westmarch, Hugh, Alex, William, and Nicholas took their places around the room. Hugh lowered himself carefully into an armchair by the hearth, while Westmarch stood by the mantel with the air of a man already directing the room.
Alex remained posted at the door, carefully assessing the windows and exits before settling his focus on Westmarch. William and Nicholas arranged themselves beside the desk, and Kate stayed near the fire. Even the warmth could not overcome the chill pressing against the glass.
Each had already been told enough to understand the stakes. Now they needed a plan.
“The Privy Council matter has been addressed,” Westmarch said. “Quietly. The necessary men have been warned, the arrangements altered, and the true date and details restricted to those who must know.”
Kate’s calm demeanor had returned, but the faint tightness around her mouth remained. “Then the twenty-second is no longer the danger?”
“Not on its own,” Westmarch said. “But if they learn their opportunity has narrowed, they may move faster elsewhere.” No one spoke for a moment.
“Barrington asked whether he ought to cancel the charity ball when I apprised him of a possible threat,” Westmarch continued.
“I advised against it. To cancel now might warn the Circle that we have learned too much and drive them toward some other opportunity we cannot anticipate or prepare for. Barrington has agreed to restrict certain doors, keep the most likely targets away from isolated rooms, and prevent any last-minute changes among the servants. Publicly, however, the evening will proceed as planned.”
A tense silence settled over the room as Westmarch shared sparse details about the ball. The target was still unknown. Hundreds of guests would be present, along with servants moving through the house and grounds. Their small party was too few to watch every corner, every corridor, every movement.
James had faced deadly stakes before, and so had several of the others, but never like this. Never together. Never with so many lives depending on what they did next.
If they failed, someone would die before a ballroom full of witnesses, and the Circle would have exactly what they wanted: blood, panic, and the power to turn both toward their own ends.
Westmarch set their objectives in stark order. First, identify the assassin before he or she could strike. Second, protect the most likely targets without alarming the guests. Last, if possible, identify and seize any members of the Arcadian Circle reckless enough to show themselves.
From his place near the door, Alex spoke for the first time. “Put me outside. If anything goes wrong inside, someone will try to flee. I would rather be waiting for them when they do.”
Westmarch gave a short nod.
From there, the rest of the arrangements were settled according to each person’s strengths. Westmarch and William would remain near the most likely targets and act as a final safeguard. William accepted the charge with his customary calm.
Hugh and Nicholas would draw upon their wide connections, mixing with the crowd to gather information. Nicholas had a way of seeing things that others often overlooked. Hugh shifted in the armchair, clearly disliking the limits of his injury, but accepted his commission without complaint.
James and Kate would attend as ordinary guests, moving through the ballroom together and watching for any sign of the Circle’s members.
The group devised a system to communicate with each other across the expansive ballroom, a handful of signals—small movements with fans, dropped handkerchiefs, adjusting cravats—that would pass unnoticed by anyone not watching for them.
“The Veil will be present,” Westmarch said. James welcomed the news. Stories of her skill had long circulated among Westmarch’s men. She was a shadow in silk or rags, able to slip through any crowd unseen and assume any mask.
William raised his head from the notes spread across the desk. “How will we know who she is?”
“If any of you can identify her,” Westmarch said, “then either she has grown careless or I have underestimated you.”
“There is one other man I want watched,” James said. “Lord Alverton.”
Hugh’s eyes narrowed. “Has he done something?”
“Nothing I can prove,” James said. “But he has shown too much interest in Kate, and his behavior has been . . . persistent.”
Nicholas, who had been leaning against the edge of the desk, lifted one brow. “Persistent in the romantic sense or the villainous one?”
“Enough of both that I do not intend to ignore him.”
The tension was evident on every face as they finished their discussion.
“I know that what I ask of each of you may seem impossible,” Westmarch said, his voice carrying conviction.
“But we cannot risk broadening our network beyond those already placed and trusted. The enemy may have infiltrated any organization that might offer aid.”
“So we will use what we have—the right people, in the right places, with the courage to act when the time comes.” He paused. “The Arcadian Circle has thrived for years in the shadows. It is time, my friends, for us to bring them into the light.”
In two days, they would all enter a nest of vipers. Westmarch would direct their efforts at the ball, but James would be facing danger beside the people he loved most. These were not merely agents or useful allies. They were his friends, and Kate was so much more than that.
He watched her now, admiring the quiet confidence she had shown while voicing her ideas, even after the fear of the day before.
She belonged here in his world. In their world.
He still could not quite believe it. He would keep his promise not to cage her, but if danger came for Kate, he would meet it with everything he had.
The final two days before the ball passed in a blur. Jimmy brought no news. The decoded ledger and Henry’s list had revealed nothing helpful. Even Alverton had done nothing more suspicious than try to make an afternoon call to see Kate. There was not even a whisper on the street.
The only useful news came from Anthony. The man had heard nothing about the ball or the Arcadian Circle, but as James turned to leave the club, Anthony caught his sleeve.
“There is one more thing, my lord. A Bow Street Runner’s been asking after The Sentinel.”
James stilled. “Which Runner?”
“Wouldn’t give a name to anyone. Careful sort. Seemed more like a gentleman.”
James disliked careful men without names. They were rarely as harmless as they first appeared.
Nervous anticipation hummed through James as dark clouds hovered over the city. No rain. No wind. Only an oppressive stillness—a promise of the storm to come, and one that might prove to be the greatest test of their untried alliance.
It was as though the Arcadian Circle had vanished, and James was not certain which was more chilling: the enemy he had yet to uncover or the one who had already learned how to disappear entirely.