Chapter 16 #2
She’d discovered this listening post when she was fourteen.
Eager to impress her Latin tutor—who had the loveliest blue eyes—she’d climbed up prepared to do a bit of extracurricular reading.
She’d been shocked and then utterly engrossed by what she found, until she’d been disturbed by voices.
Certain she’d be caught with the scandalous volumes in her hand, she was trying to stuff them back in the shelves, when she realized the voices were coming from the back of the bookcase.
Leaning her head in among the books, she found that if she stayed very still, she could make out nearly every word that was said in her brother’s study. It was a fascinating discovery.
Catching the falling books at the last possible moment before they hit the floor, Elizabeth gathered them back into her lap, anxious that she was missing something important being said in the study.
Not about Rafe’s business dealings. She’d heard all about that ages ago.
He’d been at it for years, and as far as she knew, there hadn’t been a breath of it among the ton.
But now James Dinsmore knew. Would he tell Anne?
If he did, the scandal would spread through polite society like a burning ember on a carpet.
And coupled with what she’d done… She flattened her ear against the wall.
“You have my cooperation, Dinsmore. Not because you threaten me, or because I fear exposure. I would give aid to anyone brave enough or mad enough to risk his life to save victims of the revolutionaries. Along with the list of contacts, I shall include letters of introduction…”
Of course, he has little choice, Elizabeth mused. The family reputation, or what is left of it, is at stake…
“…trust is a rare commodity in France these days; there is far more at stake than reputations. Do not abuse their trust or mine, Dinsmore.”
Even through wood and plaster, she could hear the warning in her brother’s voice. Rafe will have to trust James Dinsmore, just as I did.
“You are staying nearby?”
“At the Hart and Hounds.”
“It will take some time to draw up the list and write the letters—”
“Forgive me if I put undue pressure on you, Moreham, but every day the situation becomes less secure. The revolutionaries are turning upon each other, seeking not only aristocrats, like our fugitive, but counterrevolutionaries and spies. We hope to leave for the coast by week’s end.”
Undue pressure? As if blackmail were not enough. Elizabeth wished she could brain James with the books she was clutching. Her brother’s response was far more polite.
“I understand your need for haste. I shall endeavor to have the papers for you by tomorrow, Wednesday afternoon at the latest.”
“You have my deepest gratitude.”
“I have no desire for your gratitude,” Rafe replied sharply.
For several moments she heard only silence.
Then he spoke again, the harsh tone of his voice giving way.
“Tell me, Dinsmore, why are you risking your life in this way, for a man you don’t even know?
You’ve never expressed much interest in politics.
Indeed, if I recall, you once described men who debate politics as being all mouths and having no ears.
Have you suddenly found a cause? Some newfound sense of honor? ”
“I have no sense of honor. You’ve said so yourself. Surely if you’ve forgotten, my face should remind you. Marked for the world to see as a dishonorable cur? I believe those were your words.”
“Close enough. Though I also recall you refused to apologize for touching my sister.”
“An apology you will never have.”
“Just as you will never have her.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear, Moreham.”
“So is it a heroic gesture you think to make, some form of redemption that you seek in France?”
Elizabeth pressed her ear so tightly against the wall it began to throb.
“Redemption?” James laughed, a bitter sound. “For a man such as I? I merely seek…”
“Elizabeth?”
Whatever it was James hoped to find in France, Elizabeth was unable to discover. The lilting voice of her sister-in-law interrupted her eavesdropping. “Are you in here?”
A string of curses she’d heard from a groom after a carthorse stepped on his foot sprang to mind.
Quickly she shoved the pile of erotic poetry into the space where her head had been and hastily snatched up a copy of Caesar’s Gallic Wars from a lower shelf.
Opening it on her lap to a random page, she called, “I’m here.
Just searching for something amusing to read. ”
Alix peered anxiously around the shelves. “Have you seen Roland? Apparently, he has escaped from the kitchen. I thought I might find him here. He seems to have a penchant for the library.”
“That pug has a penchant for anything he can chew,” Elizabeth said, descending the ladder. “I do not understand why you didn’t leave him in London with your mother.”
Alix laughed. “Madeleine cannot tolerate dogs, but Roland, he was a gift from Lord Rothwell.”
Elizabeth wrinkled her nose. “The widower with all the children?”
She nodded. “My maman believes that if she returns the dog, Lord Rothwell will think she is not maternal enough to marry.”
“But your mother…” Elizabeth paused, not wishing to damage the relationship so carefully mended since the duel, yet finding it difficult to picture Alix’s flamboyant mother surrounded by children. “She is not exactly what one thinks of as maternal.”
“No, she is not. But then she has not had much practice, living apart from my father and me for so many years. She has a good heart, my mother, and she is very fond of Lord Rothwell.” Alix’s gray eyes grew thoughtful.
“Our impressions of people, so often they are based on how they look or how they dress…on a facade.”
“But most people, at least those amongst the ton, spend a tremendous amount of time and money creating just the right appearance. Isn’t it appropriate, then, that we should judge them on it?”
“Ahhh,” said Alix. “Always remember that facades, like sleights of hand, are not merely about what a person wishes you to see, but also about what they hope to conceal.” She smiled brightly. “Now then, shall we go and see if we can’t find that rascal Roland?”