Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
T he rendezvous with Grace had gone rather better than Maria had anticipated. Grace had swiftly put Jasper in his place and taken easy control of the discussion. Maria rather envied her ability to command the room in such a way. Although she herself had managed Jasper in similar ways in the past, her emotions in the moment had always been too involved. She must learn to disengage herself.
“But they are my boots, Caroline!”
Augusta’s screech filled the familial foyer as Maria stepped through the doorway.
Her youngest sister at eighteen, Caroline, snatched the boots out of Augusta’s reach, her perpetual stubbornness flashing in her lively brown eyes. “They don’t fit you any longer. Mama said that I could have them.”
“ Mama !” Augusta’s shriek, Maria was certain, could be heard from across town.
Maria handed her pelisse, gloves, and bonnet to the awaiting footman, and stepped toward her sisters.
“When was the last time you wore the boots, Augusta?” Maria inquired.
Her sister’s grey eyes narrowed, and she gave a mulish pout that wrinkled her hawk-like nose. It made her appear younger than her nineteen years. “I don’t recall.”
“Have you attempted to try them on?” Maria asked. “Mayhap they are ill-fitting.”
“Well, I suppose?—”
“What is all this shouting?” their mama questioned from the top of the stairs.
Augusta and Caroline erupted into protests, their argument increasing in volume. With a resigned sigh, Maria ascended the stairs.
“I shall be in my bedchamber, Mama,” she said as she reached the top. An evening of writing was just the thing.
“I’m afraid not, my dear,” Mrs. Roberts returned. “Your father and I wish to speak with you in his study.”
Maria’s heart squeezed as she turned around and slowly bypassed her sisters’ conflict. Whatever the reason for the discussion, being summoned boded ill. Had her parents discovered that she did not , in fact, volunteer for various charitable causes every day, and instead became Duncan to fulfil her dreams and support the brother whose existence they denied?
Despite her stiffening spine, her stomach wobbled.
The scent of parchment and brandy filled her senses as she entered; her father kept his diminutive study organized to the point of obsession and completely devoid of literature. The room was used only for writing letters, managing properties, communicating with his steward, and arranging his children’s futures.
“At last you’ve returned home, daughter.” Her father lowered the letter he’d been reading to his desk and leaned back in his seat.
The door closed with a portentous click , and her mother strode past Maria to sit near her father opposite the desk.
“I have,” Maria confirmed, stiffening her spine under her parents’ scrutiny.
“I’ve no wish to endure your company any longer than strictly necessary, so I shall get right to it,” her father said with a superior glint in his grey eyes. “If you do not find a match and agree to marry the man within a fortnight, you will first become a chaperone to your cousin Gertrude in her come-out year, and then you shall either take a position as a governess for your cousin Frederick’s two children or you shall be a companion and nurse to your great-aunt Sylvie. I daresay you have enough experience by now to do an adequate job with Sylvie.”
Alarm spread through Maria’s chest and tingled distressingly behind her ears. “A fortnight !”
She was a wallflower at the age of six-and-twenty who deterred men with her “masculine” bone structure and the “madness” in her family, and she had no dowry to induce a potential suitor to see past their prejudice. She’d thought her parents knew this already and had come to accept her spinsterhood.
“A fortnight is plenty of time in which to find a suitor, Maria,” her father intoned, his eyes narrowing with ire. “I’ve indulged your soft heart for charities long enough. But we will no longer house you here.”
“Why now?” she asked, her voice turned pleading and her pulse rushing with panic.
“Come, Maria,” her mother interjected, her voice dripping with distain. “You must know that you are a burden upon us. And Lord knows having an aging spinster of a sister is damaging Augusta’s and Caroline’s prospects.”
Maria blinked, taken aback by the sudden, sharp stab of pain in her chest. “I ask for nothing from you.”
Her mother waved a flippant hand through the air. “And yet you cost us more every year. Have you no notion of the cost of your attire? Of your food , for pity’s sake? And what of the servants that must clean your rooms?” She scoffed. “A daughter’s position in life is to wed someone wealthy and bear him his heir and spare, not to do charity work.” She spat the word as though it tasted ill.
Maria’s chest constricted, and a wave of dejection spread like frost through her veins.
“But I enjoy ?—”
“I do not care what you enjoy ,” her mother hissed. “You are our eldest child; your actions impact the family. You will do as you’re told.”
Anger flushed hot in Maria’s chest, swiftly replacing her sadness. “I am not the eldest.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed. “Yes, you are.”
Maria’s voice rose with her anger. “You would dismiss Thomas so easily?—”
“ Enough! ” Papa boomed. “We pay very well for him to be both cared for and kept secret from those who would use his madness against you and your sisters. It is for his protection and yours that he is locked away.”
“Everyone knows of him, Papa, and he is discussed often. His name is spoken behind hands and fans at every mention of this family. Additionally, he is not mad and does not belong in Bedlam. If you would but speak to him, you would see that he is?—”
“I’ll not hear another word on the matter.” Her father’s tone lowered in warning, the deep baritone rumbling in Maria’s chest. “And you’ll not visit him again. Bedlam is no place for a gentleman’s daughter.”
It is no place for a gentleman, either . Maria bit the inside of her lip and nodded.
“Tomorrow night is the Weatherby ball,” her mama said coolly. “I expect that you will find yourself off the wall and dancing with some eligible men.” Her dark glare was severe and biting. The woman had the appearance of a doting mother but, in truth, she only desired the good opinion of—and a high position in—society.
Mrs. Roberts would never be satisfied with her life as the wife of a second son to an earl. She ought to have set her sights higher when she was on the marriage market, but Maria preferred to imagine that no man of dignity, wealth, and position would have her.
Maria gave her mother a tight smile and fisted her hands in her skirts. “Of course, Mama.”
* * *
The loud creak of aged wood settling under her weight briefly disrupted Grace Huntsbury’s thoughts as she dropped a missive to her desk and leaned back in her armchair. The bill on which she’d been attempting to focus couldn’t quite penetrate her mind. The predicament of Maria’s assignment took precedence.
Grace sighed. She’d been in contact with her friends both in the Home Office and at their other runner offices, and while they’d agreed to help, she lamented the fact that she hadn’t yet any foot staff of her own. They would come in time, of course, but men willing to work for hire were more inclined to take a position from a man, no matter her history as a spy.
“Grace.” Maria swept into the room, her smile tight and hair damp around the edges from the rain.
Standing, Grace smiled at her friend and gestured toward the chair opposite her desk. “Good afternoon, Maria.”
The low murmur of voices echoed in the room as Maria closed the distance between them. Another runner was interviewing a tearful woman in search of her daughter. Sadly, the assignment would take the runner into the depths of a gaming hell, where the woman suspected her daughter was being forced to sell her wares. It was a case all too common among their clientele.
Maria sat in the chair opposite and leaned close while Grace took her seat.
“Is Mr. Greene not available for instruction this afternoon?” Maria asked. “I ventured belowstairs, but he was nowhere to be found in our training rooms.”
A regretful frown puckered Grace’s brow. “I’m afraid Mr. Greene will be absent for some time, as he has been called away on his own assignment. I’d not intended for him to be a permanent fighting trainer, but I’d hoped to have a replacement for him by now.” Her lips tightened in self-recrimination. “For the moment, I shall instruct our runners.”
Requesting assistance and additional men from her friends and former fellow spies had been ideal at the beginning of this business venture, but it was time Grace found some men on her own. Mayhap she would visit the pugilist’s.
“Thank you, Grace,” Maria replied, her shoulders slumping fractionally.
“Are you well, dear?” Grace leaned her forearms on her desk.
Maria’s lips pursed. “I’m facing a quandary, I’m afraid. I’d simply hoped to expel some frustration with Mr. Greene.”
“I am at your disposal; do you wish to spar?”
“Thank you again, Grace,” Maria said, shaking her head, “but no. I’ve a ball to ready myself for anyway, so I mustn’t tarry.”
Grace nodded, disappointment swirling through her. “Very well. I am here should you have a change of mind. In the meantime, have you the opportunity to acquaint yourself with Miss Isabelle Hill in the magistrate’s office?”
“I have, indeed.” Maria inclined her head. “She was reticent in her response, however.”
“As would be expected from someone employed by the magistrate,” Grace mused. “I would suggest you spend a little bit of time establishing a rapprochement with her. Prove yourself as a person worth her trust. Do keep in mind that an association between you poses significantly greater risk to her than to you.”
Maria nodded. “I understand. Thank you.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Grace’s lips. Maria was an eager and swift learner, and would undoubtedly prove an asset as a runner.
“Now,” Grace added, “I should like to discuss our quarry. Have you formed any suppositions with regards to Francis Sinclair’s motivation?”
The woman shifted in her seat as she thought. “By all accounts the man enjoys torture. And I daresay the deaths of his family urged him further toward insensibility.” Her brow furrowed. “In fact, when Juliana lured Francis and Miles into our trap, they mentioned their sister Jean’s death and alluded to their uncle’s culpability. They were also insistent that the dukedom belonged to Francis.”
“Mmm.” Grace tapped her fingertips on her desk as thoughts raced through her mind. “The man might be rancorous, but I don’t imagine him entirely devoid of sense.”
“Indeed. He must know that Jasper’s demise alone would not grant him the title.”
“I believe you’re right.” Grace grinned in approval at her protégé. “He must be getting help.”
* * *
A chill travelled up Jasper’s spine, and he lifted his cloak’s collar in an attempt to warm his rain-dampened skin. It was a damned ill idea to attend the Weatherby ball that evening, but he’d foolishly agreed to Maria’s plan to behave as though nothing untoward had occurred.
How was he meant to do such a thing when someone among his staff might very well have permitted Francis access to his home? Hunger gnawed at his gut. For Christ’s sake, he’d been too wary to even eat his sodding evening meal.
His back rubbed against the squabs and he clutched the handle of his walking stick tighter as the carriage hit a rut.
Bloody foolish .
He ought to be out, scouring hovels and dens of ill repute. It hadn’t served him well before, and Leonard and Percy hadn’t yet yielded results. But mayhap Francis would, with this month of liberty, become overly confident and make a mistake. Francis did not— would not—simply disappear. The man had taken his time, but he’d made his intentions known with that note on Jasper’s door. Why allow Francis the freedom to do whatever he wished, to make plans for?—
Halting his inner diatribe, Jasper reassured himself that the Home Office would have this well in hand. And, of course, Maria was assigned to help…
The carriage hit another rut in the road, and the shock of it jolted up Jasper’s spine. “Bloody hell,” he murmured. Turning his gaze out the window, he noted the slight tilt and the coal-darkened exteriors of the buildings they passed.
Wait a damned minute . They were going the wrong way.
“Oi!” Jasper rapped on the carriage’s ceiling. “We’re in Cheapside!”
Jasper’s back abruptly slammed against the squabs as the horses started at a run. Alarm hit him full in the chest.
Shouting erupted between the coachman and the footman hanging on the rear, before a loud crack echoed off the close buildings around them. Jasper’s heart leapt into his throat. Damnation, that was a pistol firing! Had someone shot at them?
They slid in a turn, rattling and bumping on the cobblestones, and Jasper put his hands out to steady himself, his breath nigh caught in his throat. When they straightened, he moved to the rear-facing seat and knelt on the cushion as he slid open the small partition window.
“Stop, man!” Jasper shouted at the coachman.
A wet, grizzled, and entirely unfamiliar face appeared in the small window, a sneer on his rain-slick lips. “Francis wishes you to die well.”
The man shoved a wrinkled bit of parchment through the partition, then, with a maniacal laugh, leapt from the moving carriage and out of Jasper’s sight.
“ No !” Jasper pressed his hands to either side of the small window, stupefied by the man’s actions.
His heart drummed against his ribs, his pulse beating a staccato rhythm through frozen limbs. Fear, icy hot, blazed in his gut as he considered his options: perish in a horrible crash, or find a way to stop the carriage.
He spared the parchment nary a glance as he turned toward the door. With a deep groan and trembling fingers, he pressed the door’s latch and pushed. The carriage slid in a wild turn as the terrified horses ran down the crowded streets of Cheapside, and Jasper gripped the door’s edge for his life.
Rain splattered his face, each droplet stinging his windswept skin. Buildings sped past, and the sound of screaming onlookers, huffing horses, thundering hooves, and carriage wheels filled his ears.
With slow, cautious movements, Jasper stepped out onto the outer trim of the carriage. A gust of wind rushed past him, and rainwater splashed his coat. His pulse fluttered, and terror rippled in waves up and down his limbs, dampening his palms.
All at once, his feet felt too large for the narrow ledge, his gloved hands too slick to keep purchase.
“What am I doing?” he breathed, his pants rapid and shallow.
He inched his feet forward.
The horses’ manes flopped wetly as they ran hell-bent through Cheapside, and his heart clenched. A hoarse cry escaped him as the leftmost horse knocked over a table, spilling a vendor’s wares upon the ground. If Jasper could but reach the driver’s seat…
He shuffled himself ever closer, his fingers growing numb through his gloves from the strength of his grip. What a ludicrous circumstance in which he’d found himself. Of all of the games that he’d imagined Francis would attempt to play with him, he’d not thought of this.
“Maria and her bloody plans…”
He reached the edge of the driver’s perch, and with his muscles screaming in discomfort, Jasper pulled himself to the seat and retrieved the flopping reins from the floor. The horses whinnied, their eyes wild as he tugged.
“Sloooow,” Jasper urged, drawing out the word.
The frightened horses flipped their heads in rebellion, the rainwater flicking Jasper in the face. He held firm, the reins fisted in his hands until, at last, they gradually drew to a stop.
Residents of Cheapside shouted their displeasure at his reckless display from their places of shelter.
“Sodding hell,” he gasped between heaving gulps of air.
He’d almost fucking died .
And who had been shot?
Glancing back, Jasper caught the wide, terrified gazes of his footmen clutching the handles at the rear of the carriage, their knuckles white. All while chaos surrounded them.
* * *
“They are rather like birds,” Maria remarked, gazing dispassionately at the throng of London’s finest moving about the Weatherby grand ballroom.
“Mmm,” Heather agreed. “Ravens and tits waggling and preening at each other.”
Beside them, Juliana smothered a laugh with the back of her gloved hand.
Maria snorted, a smile tugging at her lips. “They’re fascinating, really.” Indeed, in observing polite society, one could easily conclude that they were anything but polite. The garish dance of popularity, the desire for favour and admiration and, beneath it all, the stifling fear of rejection were apparent in every stiff back, squared shoulder, and pained eye among most members of the ton .
Then there were the few of the highest societal standing, the few that took delight in controlling the behaviour and opinions of those they deemed below them. Heaven forbid someone cross them, or the gossip mill would see them barred from every shop and home in good standing, leaving them to either live their lives shunned or quit London entirely.
Everyone in attendance was performing for their peers—even Maria. But while others in society merely sought esteem or marriage from their act, Maria was hiding part of herself. A part that could ruin not only Maria but all those among her acquaintance.
Her stomach wobbled as the strains of another quadrille filled the space and dancers gathered. This evening, she had an even greater performance to enact.
Among the spectators, young ladies tittered behind their fans and young men put their names upon dance cards, while everyone else engaged in lively conversation. Ordinarily, Maria would have remained against the wall with her friends and enjoyed observing human behaviour, but one glance across the ballroom would have her no doubt gazing into the disapproving eyes of her imperious mother.
“Such a pity that I must join them,” Maria whinged.
“ Must you?” Heather asked. “Surely there is some other solution.”
“If I do not comply with my parents’ demands, my positions at both the paper and Bow Street will be forfeit. I’ll no longer be capable of housing Thomas.”
Dancers swirled past, wafting the heavy odour of perfume and sweat in their direction.
Juliana wrinkled her nose. “Surely they would be forfeit anyway if you took a husband. I’m fortunate that Leo is a radical in his own way. Most men of the haut ton would not be receptive to their wife engaging in work—even under the assumption that her endeavours were charitable.”
“The right man, however,” Heather added, “should not impose too much upon your life.”
Juliana leaned closer. “Additionally, they’re rather enjoyable in the evening…”
“We’ve heard all about what a vigorous lover your marquess is,” Heather interjected. “And as salacious as that information is, it does not help Maria in this moment.”
Juliana sighed. “Very well.”
Maria stifled a groan. “The thought of partaking in tedious, meaningless conversation is not to be borne. A man oughtn’t be the answer to my predicament.”
“Mmm,” Heather hummed. “Have you considered being that man?”
“I—” Maria blinked. “No, I have not. Is that possible ?” She tapped at her chin, then shook her head with a sigh. “That would not work. My parents will expect to not only meet a potential suitor, but to also attend a wedding. I cannot duplicate myself.”
“Too right.” Heather nodded.
“Perhaps we could find a solution such that your parents will be satisfied but you needn’t alter your life to accommodate a man,” Juliana murmured.
The music swelled, then concluded, and the dancers separated before new pairs joined for the next set. Maria sighed. Would that she could simply abandon her marital obligation and become Mr. Duncan Robertson. Though she did not particularly enjoy womanhood, she had no true wish to become a man. But a life free of restrictions, and the ability to control one’s own finances—or future , for Christ’s sake—would be just the thing.
“Indeed.” Heather leaned closer. “Simply find someone biddable?—”
“And beddable.”
Maria lifted an eyebrow. “I cannot go about sampling suitors’ sexual wares. How, precisely, do you expect me to judge his abilities in the bedchamber? How do I even encourage one to ask me to dance? I’ve been on the shelf for so long, I daresay the men in this ballroom know nothing of my existence.”
“Hush now. Jasper is here, and— blimey —he’s sopping wet!”
Maria followed Heather’s gaze toward the ballroom’s entrance. There he was. Wetness notwithstanding, he cut a dashing figure in his black trousers and tailcoat, green striped waistcoat, and starched white cravat. His dark brown hair, normally quaffed and appearing soft to the touch, was flattened to his scalp, the thick spikes dripping down his chiselled features.
Her pulse sped treasonously at the sight of him, and the underside of her breasts grew abruptly damp.
“Goodness, but he’s a frightful mess,” Juliana breathed. “What could have happened? Oh dear. He’s spotted us, and he does not appear pleased.”