Chapter 8
To evade Amanda’s perceptive eyes, Elf breakfasted in bed the next morning.
She tried to keep her attention on treason, but found thoughts of Fort exploding in her mind like fireworks, making everything else invisible.
It was his pain, she decided, picking at a currant bun, that had brought her to this state.
At the Devonshire ball Fort’s cynical mask had slipped to show her he suffered.
She couldn’t bear anyone to be in such pain.
Pondering it through a sleepless night, she’d decided that the roots of the problem must lie in the matter of his father’s death.
Before inheriting his title, Fort had been brash and fun-loving, if inclined to easy anger. With his family in crisis, anger had taken over, but there still had been none of this dark bitterness. That had only emerged after the tragic masquerade ball.
Grief for his father?
She didn’t think so. He lived under something darker and more twisted than grief.
With a grimace, Elf wiped crumbs from her fingers with the linen serviette. She hadn’t eaten a morsel, and had no appetite to try.
Thinking back to the masquerade in November of last year, she realized that she’d paid shockingly little attention to the fourth earl’s death.
She’d not been in the hall when the shot had been fired.
Immediately afterward she’d been busy tending to Princess Augusta and some other women who had fainted.
As soon as the ball ended, she’d thrown herself into arranging Cyn and Chastity’s wedding.
Now she wondered exactly what had happened to affect Fort in such a malignant way. She would have to find out. She suspected there would be no peace for anyone until she did.
With frustration she realized this too would have to wait until one of her brothers turned up to tell her exactly what had happened.
Where on earth were they? Three days had passed since she’d sent messages. At least one of them should be here by now. Everything was becoming too complex and intertwined, too hazardous for one person to handle, even a Malloren.
What were those servants up to? She’d heard nothing. Suddenly she wondered if Grainger had ignored her instructions and kept reports from her. If so, she’d have his head! She rang for Chantal, then slid out of bed and dashed a note to Grainger demanding a report.
The maid’s first command was to take the note to a footman to be delivered posthaste.
Once dressed, Elf went downstairs to find that Amanda had gone to visit her old nurse, leaving a pile of invitations for scrutiny. Elf flicked through them without interest. The social whirl seemed increasingly pointless, though she was restless enough to want entertainment.
She was restless enough to pace the room for hours, waiting for word from Grainger, but instead she forced discipline upon herself. She sat in the sunlight with a piece of delicate stitchery, just as a lady should.
Thus innocently occupied, she set to a tight analysis of the treasonous plot and her choice of actions. Instead, her mind kept twisting away to Fort as if seeking something in particular. Suddenly she tossed down her needlework and hurried back to hunt through the pile of invitations.
Aha! She pulled out the one teasing her mind. Lady Yardley was holding a masquerade. Lady Yardley was a very proper matron and her entertainment would be nothing like Vauxhall. Why, then, had it caught Elf’s interest?
Then she realized where her wanton mind was traveling.
Lady Yardley was Fort’s aunt. That might mean he would put in an appearance. More to the point, at a masquerade she could be Lisette again. If he attended, he might recognize her scarlet and gold and seek her out. Perhaps in that setting Elf could meet the smiling, kindly Fort again.
Of course, she would risk exposure, which would be embarrassing and could even be dangerous.
Excitement warred with nervousness, holding her there staring at the engraved card until she was jerked out of her thoughts by a knock at the door.
Amanda’s footman entered. “A person by the name of Roberts wishes to speak with you, milady.”
Roberts?
Who was Roberts?
Then Elf remembered he was one of the Malloren servants set to watching Fort. She puffed out a breath, relieved to have something practical to drag her out of insanity.
You have a possible threat to the king in your hands, she silently berated herself as she hurried after the footman. Yet all you can think about is dressing in scarlet and seeking out a wicked night with Fort Ware!
With luck, Roberts knew where the Scots were living. That would give her some control over the situation.
The footman took her to the housekeeper’s parlor, where Roberts waited, dressed in the breeches and frieze coat of a respectable tradesman. He must surely blend into the crowded streets without trouble. It was comforting to see such expertise.
His words were no comfort, though.
“Nothing much to report, milady, I’m afraid.”
“Nothing?” Elf subsided into a chair in disappointment.
Roberts shrugged. “The earl’s doin’ what an earl does, milady.
And the people in ’is house agree with that.
Nothin’ fishy at all, really, ’cept that a few nights ago he brought home a doxy who gave him the slip.
Or at least,” he added, rubbing the side of his nose, “she wasn’t there in the mornin’ and he seemed put out about it. ”
Elf prayed her cheeks weren’t turning pink. “I can’t see how that is of interest.”
He took it as a rebuke. “Sorry, milady.”
“What of watchers?”
“Nothin’, milady, though it’s a busy street so it’d be hard to tell if they’re clever about it. They might even have a spot in a house nearby. A couple of the girls say they sense somethink. But you know women—” He broke off, diplomatically studying the wall.
“Indeed I do,” said Elf dryly. “So, they think there might be watchers but none of you has detected them. Is no one watching the house at night? I’d think that would be easy to spot.”
“Beggin’ your pardon, milady, but why would they watch his house at night when he’s in his bed? If anyone’s interested in his doings, I’d think they’d follow him as he goes about by day, and that’s not easy to spot with so many others around.”
“So there’s nothing.” Elf felt almost sick with disappointment and worry. Perhaps the time had come to go to someone in authority and tell what she knew.
Tell what, though? That a man named Murray had discussed what sounded like a Jacobite plot to kill the king.
And that the Earl of Walgrave was involved.
And that she’d learned all this while in the Druid’s Walk at Vauxhall, pretending—for no adequate reason—to be a Frenchwoman called Lisette Belhardi.
They’d toss her in the madhouse!
“ ’Cept a room in the cellars the earl keeps guarded.”
Elf started out of her thoughts. “What?”
“Seems the earl ’ad somethink put in a room in ’is cellars a few days ago, milady, and ’e’s set two men to guard it. They don’t know what’s there, though. No one does.”
“Could it be a person?”
Roberts shook his head. “No food nor water goes in. And it wasn’t no bigger than a baby anyway, wrapped up in heavy cloth. Want us to try to get a look at it?”
Elf tried to imagine what it might be, and failed. “Could you, without creating a stir?”
He rubbed the side of his nose again. “It’d be tricky, milady. There’s only one key, you see, and the earl keeps it on ’im. And the men he ’as guardin’ it are honest. But I can ask one of our people in there to try.”
“Do that, then, but they’re to take no risks. I don’t want the earl to even suspect he’s being watched. Now, what about the Scots? Did you make inquiries at all the inns?”
“Aye, milady. There’s any number of Scots around—they not being so scarce these days, more’s the pity—but none of ’em match your description of this Murray.”
Elf puffed out a breath. If a plot truly existed it could be rolling ahead at speed and she was no further forward.
She’d been beginning to think it all a phantasm, but that mysterious package at Walgrave House revived her concerns.
She tried to imagine what a mighty earl might keep in a locked and guarded room to which only he had a key.
It would have to be something important and potentially very dangerous.
Fort, after all, had servants to handle nearly every aspect of his life, even the most personal. He would only be so directly involved in something intensely secret.
Something treasonous.
She had to know what Fort was keeping in that locked room.
She realized she’d risen to pace the small, cluttered room, and that Roberts was watching her curiously. Be damned to that. Her mind had found an intriguing and dangerous path.
One person might be able to find out what was in that room—a certain scarlet lady named Lisette. But only if Lisette became Fort’s mistress.
She stopped, staring sightlessly at the empty fireplace. Her mouth had dried and her heart raced, but a tingle of delicious delight danced along her skin. Almost complete, a plan was forming in her mind that meshed her earlier longings and her duty to the king.
It promised all kinds of benefits.
It also threatened danger.
It required that she do something very wicked indeed, but something she’d been wanting far longer than she’d ever dreamed . . .
“I think we should try to draw them out,” she said, amazed at herself.
“Beg pardon, milady. What did you say?”
Elf considered the plan again, and sucked in a deep breath. “Tomorrow, Lady Yardley is holding a masquerade ball at her house in Clarion Street. The earl will almost certainly put in an appearance since Lady Yardley is his aunt.”
How calm she sounded, yet her heart was racing like a mad thing.