Chapter Twenty-Four
London
Lord Carstairs’s office in the War Office building looked much as Will remembered from his first visit twenty months earlier.
A lifetime ago, he thought.
He stood at the window, regarding Horse Guards’ Parade under the warmth of a summer’s day.
Last time he’d been in this room, rain had streamed down the glass, painting the scene cold and bleak.
Back then, they’d been at war with France.
Back then, despite his business success, he’d been ignorant, an innocent excited by the prospect of becoming a spy for the regent.
He’d imagined a romantic sort of danger. An adventure.
Reality had been a hard lesson, learned fast.
Aware his time in France had changed him by honing his skills and senses, he also knew those same experiences had given him a sharp edge and occasional nightmares.
He expected danger around every corner and found himself sitting with his back to a wall and close to an exit, his gaze scanning every face as he played his role.
Except it no longer felt like a role.
He was still more Guy de Corbeau than he was William Ravenshoe.
He’d forgotten what it was like to walk around in his own skin, to not always be looking over his shoulder.
Would he ever know a day when he didn’t have three back stories at his fingertips and a horse saddled and loosely tied out in the back, ready for a quick escape?
Clem believed he was the same man she had pledged herself to, but he was a stranger to himself. The only thing he still recognized within himself was his love for Clem. Could that be enough for now?
Or was he being unfair to allow her to continue believing the lie?
Of course, he was, but he didn’t know how to save her from himself after everything she and Rufus had done for him. Both had done so much to preserve Clem’s ability to choose her husband.
Will was the ungrateful one, even thinking about backing out and leaving the sweetest woman he would ever know before Rufus found the best way to break their engagement.
Rufus, whose own war experiences seemed not to have affected him, would be a far better husband for Clem. But the thought of any other man, even his best friend, holding Clem in his arms and calling her his wife churned Will’s stomach.
The door opened behind him, admitting Lord Carstairs, and Will turned and bowed. “My lord, your message said it was urgent that I see you.”
“Sit.” The man who had refused to allow Will to return to London took his seat and motioned vaguely towards a tray on which sat a brandy decanter and two glasses. “Help yourself, Ravenshoe.”
Will declined and sat back, although his muscles were tense. He had been thoroughly debriefed by Rufus just two days ago, so why had the head of the War Office called him in now? “I was surprised to receive your summons, my lord.”
“Indeed. I suppose now the war in France is over, you believe there is no further call for your services, but you would be wrong. The need for skilled spies is as imperative now as it was then. Perhaps more so.”
Will’s heart sank, and he shook his head. “I’ve fulfilled my agreement and now—”
“You wish to marry. I am aware of the young lady. But your king and country still need you.”
Will should not have been surprised that Lord Carstairs knew about Clem. Rufus, in his role of spymaster, would have shared every bit of information necessary to the War Office’s management of his network, including his own wedding plans.
Rufus had worked diligently on Will’s behalf, partnering Clem at balls, arranging entertainments and taking her on outings, all to prevent any other suitor from persuading her parents to bestow her hand in marriage.
“You know I wish to marry, so why are you asking me to continue spying for you? Who am I to spy on?”
Carstairs reached across to the brandy bottle and poured two large snifters, disregarding Will’s refusal of a drink. “Napoleon.”
“But he’s in exile on a tiny island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The nearest land is the west coast of Africa, and even that is over twelve hundred miles away. Almost as far as the coast of America. What is there to be gained by spying on him there?”
“Observing his interactions with the guards, reading his correspondence.”
“You don’t need a spy for that.”
“We need to surround him with people we know are trustworthy, who cannot be suborned by the gift of persuasion he surely possesses. You have proven your abilities time after time.”
Will should have felt pleased that his skills and loyalty were valued, but they were a millstone around his neck if they dragged him away from Clem again. “Does Lord Marsden know about this?”
“Naturally. I asked him about using you for the role.”
Will sat quietly, pondering the news as he sipped his brandy. Why would Rufus recommend him for such a posting? What reason could he possibly have when he was working towards breaking his engagement to Clem?
Like thunder out of the blue, an idea as shocking as it should have been ridiculous struck Will.
Might his return have made Rufus realize that he was actually in love with her? Had his friend been pretending since Will’s return, playing the role of his life to actually win Clem?
But the memory of her kisses and the promise in her eyes scuttled that fleeting notion.
He trusted Clem with their love, and he trusted Rufus with his life.
The idea of either betraying that trust was nothing more than his weariness with the war and with this version of himself.
If for no other reason, Will had to learn to trust again, for Clem’s sake.
“I won’t go to St. Helena.”
Lord Carstairs nodded once and harrumphed. “Marsden said as much. Said you’d be wasted there and suggested you’d be more useful keeping an eye on Bonaparte’s allies here in London.” He drank half of his brandy in one mouthful.
In spite of his resolution to trust Rufus with his life—and with the woman he wanted to make his wife—relief coursed through Will at Carstairs’s admission.
Relief and joy that, although once upon a time he might have felt compelled to accept the assignment, he wasn’t the same man anymore. “So you are not sending me overseas?”
“I would have preferred you to keep an eye on the little emperor on St. Helena, but Marsden is quite persuasive. He’s convinced me that you will be extremely useful sorting rumor from fact here.
I’m coming around to the idea. Once you are married, you will have your wife’s social connections as well as your trade associations as an entrée to a wide range of social gatherings.
Diplomats move in high circles and speak a nuanced language.
They deal in obfuscation and sideways truths. ”
“To be clear, I will not be leaving London, but I will still be spying for the government.”
“You have it correct, Ravenshoe.” Lord Carstairs tossed off the rest of his brandy, and Will, remembering their previous encounter and recognizing the action as marking the end of the interview, did the same.
“You have proven your abilities over the last two years. We don’t want to lose you, and so London is now your base.
You’ll continue reporting to Marsden, which, given your longstanding friendship, will make communication between you easy and natural.
” The great man drew a quill from the stand and pulled a partially written letter towards him.
Will stood and bowed. “Thank you, Lord Carstairs.” He stepped away from the desk and was halfway to the door when the lord’s voice stopped him.
“One more thing.”
A drawer opened and then closed, and Will turned back.
“This arrived for you from the regent. Seems you have his personal thanks for your service.” Lord Carstairs held out a letter.
As Will took it, he saw it bore the seal of three distinctive feathers, the Regent Prince of Wales’s seal. Personal then.
“Thank you, my lord.” Holding the missive tightly, Will departed, relief overtaking every other emotion. He wasn’t going overseas to supervise Napoleon. He was staying in London, and somehow, he was going to marry Clem.
He carried the letter down the wide stairs and into the sunlit court before looking at it again. The regent’s thanks was an honor, but Will could read it later. He tapped the missive against his thigh and then stuffed it into his coat pocket.
Right now, he wanted to hold Clem close and tell her how much he loved her.
And sometime after that, he needed to visit Rufus to discuss this new posting and gain permission to tell Clem about his work.
Keeping anything a secret from her would be difficult, if not impossible.
Besides, she could assist him in his work.
He wanted her to know they could trust each other with everything, but when he arrived at Clem’s home, it was to learn she had gone out for a carriage ride with Rufus.
The life Will had known before France now seemed quiet and tame, and his present life felt like floating in limbo.
Thwarted desire for Clem sent him heading to the west end of London.
Arriving at Gentleman Jack’s boxing rooms in Bond Street, he heard the rise and fall of a crowd from the boxing saloon.
Next door, Angelo’s Fencing Academy seemed less busy at this time of day, but only bare-knuckled boxing would settle his desperate need to expend his pent-up energy.
Entering the premises, he passed through the foyer in which hung a portrait of John Jackson from 1795, the year he had won the title of champion over Daniel Mendoza. But Will wasn’t interested in artwork. Today, he craved action, and so he entered the boxing saloon.