Chapter 7
James smiled as he assisted Florence into the carriage for the ride to the Somerville residence on the night of the ball.
“You look beautiful,” he said, quite taken by her appearance, for she was stunning in a forest green gown of finest Italian velvet that matched the color of her eyes.
The garment had little adornment other than a bit of silk trim in a slightly darker shade in a belt that circled just below her shapely bosom.
But this was Florence, knock-out of a figure and at the same time practical.
Most of the female guests would be wearing delicate silks and freezing in the chill of an October evening, all for the sake of attracting a man.
Not Florence.
She had fashioned a perfect life for herself at Swann Hall and had no wish for any man to disrupt it.
James hoped she would make an exception for him.
“You are in the role of footman now,” she reminded, slipping her hand out of his when he held it for too long. “And I am to be addressed as Lady Florence. You look wonderful in your livery, by the way.”
“Thank you, m’lady.” He grinned. “May I say, you will be the envy of every lady at the ball. You look delicious enough to eat.”
She laughed. “A proper servant carries out his task without need for comment.”
Her grandfather hurried out of the house and came scrambling down the steps. James helped him to climb in as well. “Thank you, lad. By the way, what shall we call you?”
He shrugged. “Just James will do. It is a common enough name and should arouse no suspicion.”
He climbed onto his post at the rear of the carriage, wishing he could sit beside Florence, but that pleasure would have to wait for another day. They did need to talk seriously and would after he completed his business at Normanton House.
The Somerville home was another of those charming country estates nestled amid rolling hills and gentle valleys. The ball would be a crush, drawing families from Brighton to Chichester, if the carriages lined up in queue along the drive were any indication.
James noticed lit torches at measured intervals around the front of the manor and more ablaze throughout the surrounding grounds. He had studied the map Florence made for him of this estate, so he knew exactly where to meet his stepbrother.
Ah, Meade. Let me be wrong about you.
He only needed Florence’s grandfather to relay the meeting location, and then proceed to enjoy the ball with Florence. He’d warned the old man not to allow her to wander off to a quiet corner.
She was safest amid a crowd.
Several Somerville footmen stood by to assist the guests as their carriages drew up.
However, James took charge of the Swanns because he wanted to give Florence a final word of caution.
As she climbed down, he took her hand and leaned close.
“Stay with friends at all times. Keep to the center of the room. Do not stand near doorways or curtained niches.”
“Are you going to instruct me on how to powder my nose, too?” She sighed and moved on.
Was she going to defy him?
Her grandfather overheard the exchange and quickly reassured James. “She’s worried about you, and does not want you distracted by worrying about her. She will do as you ask. Take care of your business, and I’ll watch over my granddaughter, as I always have.”
“Very well, m’lord,” he said, turning his head away as a Somerville footman approached. It would not do to be recognized too soon.
James waited for them to enter the manor house before he strode to the servants’ entrance. Samuel had driven the carriage to an area near the stables where the drivers had been instructed to park their conveyances.
He had no idea when his stepbrother would arrive, but did not think it would be until later. This was Meade’s fashion, to show up late, make a grand entrance, soak in the admiration, and then depart for a gaming hell or demi-monde party.
He had behaved similarly at Meade’s age, for was this not commonplace among the privileged elite?
However, James had always worked harder than most because he had also been raised in duty. First looking after the Wellbourne interests and then answering the call of duty while war raged on the Continent. These last two years had been spent beside Castlereagh, striving to ensure a lasting peace.
And now, he was ready to make a life for himself with Florence.
After making a quick reconnaissance of the house and grounds, he joined a group of footmen having a smoke outside the kitchen door. “Who are you?” one of them asked brusquely, not recognizing him as one of their own.
“Lord Swann’s man. James is the name.” He offered the man one of his neatly rolled smokes.
“Where’s Ethan?” another asked, also eyeing him warily. “You’re a big brute like him. You haven’t replaced him, have ye?”
“No, he’s my cousin. I happened to be visiting, and he asked me to help out when he sprained his ankle while assisting Lady Florence.”
“I heard she found an injured man on the side of the road several days ago,” the first man said. “Some no-accounts tried to kill a man working for the Duke of Wellbourne. Carrying secrets for the Crown is what they say. But you ought to know. Who is he really? Did they do him in?”
“He’s back at Swann Hall recovering.” James held out the last of these smokes he had purposely prepared in order to ingratiate himself with these fellows.
“He’s an army captain on his way to London to report to Lord Castlereagh.
But he doesn’t know who tried to kill him.
Have you heard anything about those no-accounts? ”
Apparently, revealing he was Ethan’s cousin immediately made him one of them.
No one hesitated before repeating the gossip they’d heard.
Much of it was nonsense, but one reference drew his attention.
“Sally at the Boar & Bull tavern overheard those men talking the night before, and she said one of them mentioned Dolby Grange.”
James arched an eyebrow. “The Earl of Westling’s home?”
They all eyed him curiously.
“How do ye know that?” a third man asked.
“Being in service runs in the family. I worked for Viscount Evesham until he passed away a few months ago. I was a footman in his home near Dolby Grange,” he said, improvising. “But Evesham’s son closed up the house upon his death and discharged us all. That’s how I came to visit Ethan.”
“He discharged ye with references, I hope,” the first man remarked with a disdainful snort.
“Yes, and I might return to the area to ask if Lord Westling is hiring staff.”
“No, James,” another of them said. “Do not mess with Westling’s lot. He’s into some very shady dealings, and I think something’s going to take place here at this very party.”
“Seriously?”
Dear heaven.
How did these servants know this?
“Yes, Westling’s here. And Tom,” he said, pointing to one of the smokers, “says several lords from the Foreign Office are here, too. I think they are onto Westling and watching him.”
“Makes sense,” James said with a nod, his heart thumping because this night was going to be more than a quick meeting between him and his stepbrother. “Perhaps I ought to warn Lord Swann. The captain is still recovering at his home. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him or Lady Florence.”
They all murmured in agreement.
“Aye,” said the first man, “she’s a sweet lady.”
“She’s got true class,” another said. “Better make sure you protect her, James. Westling’s just the sort of vindictive rat to do her harm if he thinks it will gain him some advantage.”
“I’ll speak to the Somerville butler right now and tell him the situation. Ethan is counting on me to protect the Swanns and I mean to do just that.”
He strode off toward the rear of the house and the ballroom that opened onto a terrace.
He saw Florence and her grandfather speaking with several of their friends near the terrace steps.
He recognized some of them from London parties and one or two from Vienna such as Lady Aitken whose trill of laughter proved her to be as jovial as ever.
Lord Fontus Leigh mostly frowned, for he was a serious man.
Also looking serious was the Marquis of Corey who strode by James so quickly, they almost bumped into each other. James fell deeper into the shadows, knowing he could not afford to be recognized.
Sir Peter Somerville joined Florence’s circle of friends briefly, whispered something to his wife, Lady Somerville, who was among those chatting with Florence, then stepped away.
Sir Peter’s brother was supposedly in attendance, but James did not see Robin Somerville among this crowd.
Well, it did not matter since he was here on Foreign Office business and had no intention of catching up with friends.
Then he saw Lord Meade.
Florence’s grandfather also noticed him and excused himself from the circle to approach him and convey the requested message. James watched the exchange, and then disappeared into the garden knowing Meade would not be far behind.
“James, blessed saints! Thank goodness you’re alive,” his stepbrother said a few minutes later as they met by the fountain. “I thought they had left you for dead on the side of the road.”
James let out a heavy breath, for how could Meade, who was newly arrived to the area, possibly know how seriously he was hurt or where he had been accosted? “Was it Westling who sent those men to stop me?”
“Westling?” Meade repeated, sounding hesitant. “Yes, we were onto him early in our investigation, but dared not stop his activities until we found out who was providing him sensitive government information. That traitor within the Foreign Office is the one we are hoping to draw out tonight.”
“And now he is drawn out,” James said, his heart in a twist as he stared at his stepbrother. “Why, Meade? Why did you do it? I was praying you would prove me wrong.”
“Me?” He laughed and shook his head. “What makes you think I had anything to do with the traitor?”