Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
The sound of a fist pounding on the door awakened Elizabeth from a fitful sleep.
Clutching sheets to her chest, her heart racing, she stumbled out of bed.
The sun had not yet risen, and the room was still dark.
“We’ve been dis—” She stopped in mid-gasp.
Joley was sitting in a chair across the room, dressed in clothes from the night before.
James was also fully dressed, and he was answering the door.
“We weren’t certain you’d be up,” Andre said, entering. David and Marcus followed behind.
“I set the time,” James pointed out.
“True”—Andre winked—“but we all know how hard it is for society gents to wake up before noon.” Arms full of packages, he nodded over his shoulder. “Why, we practically have to fire a gun next to Marcus’s ear to get him to lift his head from the pillow.”
“It’s a miracle I sleep at all considering how you snore.” Marcus, carrying a tray full of covered dishes, scowled at Andre’s back.
“And speaking of sleep…” David shifted the box in his arms and pointed an elbow in Elizabeth’s direction. “Looks like we woke someone up.”
“It appears”—Elizabeth pulled the sheets up around her neck—“someone neglected to tell me early morning visitors were planning to call.” She glared at James, annoyed that after all she’d done, he still didn’t consider her a member of the team.
“I would very much appreciate it if one of you gentlemen would move that screen”—she pointed with a sheet-draped arm—“near to the washbasin and my trunk.”
The three men hastened to unburden themselves while Joley quickly rose from his chair and moved the screen to where Elizabeth had directed. “A thousand pardons, Lady Dinsmore.”
“Look on the bright side, Lady Dinsmore,” Andre said. “At least Marcus here has brought breakfast. Poached eggs, bread fresh from the oven, raspberry preserves, and hot coffee.”
“Coffee?” Joley’s face lit up. “I haven’t had a good cup in weeks…”
Andre made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “If you’ll sit down at the table, monsieur, I promise that by the time you’ve finished, you’ll be an entirely new man.”
“Well, monsieur, what do you think of your new look?”
Nearly two hours and two pots of coffee later, Joley brought the mirror Andre handed him close to his face, turning his head this way and that.
His skin looked spotted; Andre had touched up his features with theater cosmetics.
He ran his fingers through his freshly dyed brown hair, then smiled, studying his teeth, which Andre had stained.
“I certainly don’t look like myself,” he said in amazement.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. You’re not supposed to look like yourself; you’re to look like Lord Dinsmore’s new coachman, Armand…” He snapped his fingers at Marcus. “What’s his name again?”
Marcus pulled a packet of papers from his pocket and held them out to Joley. “Armand Duval.”
Joley unfolded the papers and examined them. “Identity papers, residence papers, travel papers. However did you get these?”
Marcus only smiled.
“There’s something missing.” Andre was circling Joley, his brows drawn together in a critical frown.
“Hair is good, face is good, hands could be a bit dirtier, but we’ll remedy that in the stables…
” His mouth twitched, then suddenly swept into a smile.
“I have it! I know exactly what will complete the picture of Armand Duval.” He rifled through a cloth bag thrown carelessly on a chair near the door.
Finding what he was looking for, he tossed a scrap of leather with a string to Joley.
Joley caught it. “What is it?”
“An eyepatch.”
“An eyepatch?” James, who’d been idly stirring a plate of runny eggs with his bread, looked up. “Isn’t that a bit too theatrical?”
“Trust me.” Andre grinned. “It’ll be perfect.”
Anne had been rattling around the great empty country house for days, having tea with her father in the afternoons, sipping oolong, and pretending to be one of his generals.
She truly hadn’t wanted to be present when Annabella gave birth, so after a week with the dull Norcrofts, Anne had made her excuses and returned home.
Today, for a change of pace, she had her father’s manservant tell him she was reviewing the troops; then she’d escaped into the little town that bordered the Dinsmore and Harcrest lands to buy needlepoint thread.
As she perused the trays of bright silk spools, she thought about the source of her father’s madness.
James liked to say it had been brought on by their mother’s death, that it was true love’s response to grief.
She shook her head, and the shopkeeper, thinking she was indicating disapproval with his wares, brought out another tray.
Anne barely noticed. However much he might deny it, her brother was a romantic at heart.
Her father had always carried the seeds of madness within his mind.
The shopkeeper slid a tray of spools closer to her. “These are lovely, just arrived from France.” He shook his gray-wigged head solemnly. “If things keep up the way they’ve been going, it may be some time before we see their like again.”
Anne nodded absently. She wondered which was more the dangerous act, to marry for love and risk madness if death parted you from your beloved too soon, or to marry for money and risk madness from boredom at the company of one’s spouse.
“I’ll take that blue and this green.” She tapped the spools decisively with her finger.
Sir Edmund Bogglesworth wanted to meet with her father to request her hand in marriage.
She hadn’t figured out what to tell him, or how to circumvent a meeting between the two.
“Excellent choices. Your Ladyship, you’ve got quite the eye for quality and color. I’ve got a nice shade of pink…”
“No,” Anne said more sharply than she intended.
She hadn’t used pink thread since that night they’d brought James home.
The night she’d held the flesh of his face in her hands and stitched.
The shop felt suddenly too close, too warm.
She needed air. “My man will see to the package,” she mumbled as she turned.
“Your Ladyship, are you quite all right?” she heard her groom say.
“I think I shall step outside a moment.” She gestured to the door, and he moved quickly forward and held it open.
Anne stepped out of the shop and stood for a moment, eyes closed, feeling the coolness of the air against her cheeks.
James, where are you now? Now, when I need you most?
She followed the thought with a silent curse on the Harcrests, each and every one.
Her eyes were still closed when she felt a bump against her skirts, and the roll of something small across her feet.
She opened her eyes and found herself entangled in a smart red leather leash, at the end of which was a desperately straining brown pug.
“Well, gentlemen, it’s nearly six a.m. I believe we’re ready to be off.
” James surveyed the room, now empty of all signs they had been there.
All except the bed, with its tumbled sheets and dented pillows.
The memory of Elizabeth’s body curved against his, the smell of her warm skin, rose up so strongly, he nearly reached for her.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets; he wouldn’t allow himself to dwell on what had passed between them.
They’d been playing at lovers for the purpose of the mission, but it could never be more than play.
In debt, disgraced, despised by her family, and now a spy—what kind of future could he offer her?
“Shall we descend?” Not trusting himself to touch so much as Elizabeth’s hand, he added, “Marcus, will you escort Lady Elizabeth?”
The former financial adviser to the late King of France waited until the pair had left the room, then turned to James. “A moment of your time, monsieur?”
“We haven’t much time...”
“I just want you to know…whatever happens…I am grateful for everything you have done—for me and for my country.”
“The risks we take are but small things, when compared to the value of what you have done for our two countries. What you will do once you are safely in England.”
“But you have chosen to venture into these dangerous circumstances…with your wife.”
“She would not be left behind.”
“And you would not leave her.” Joley nodded knowingly. “You must be very much in love.”
“Would that were enough,” James said softly after the Frenchman had gone.
“Oh, mon dieu, I’m sorry.” The woman with the pug was chattering nonstop while kneeling and trying to disentangle loops of leash and straining dog.
“My dog simply detests cats. I believe he must have seen one sneaking about—I was so preoccupied admiring the hats in that window—they really are charming, aren’t they?
Such a surprise to find a clever milliner in the provinces.
Anyway, I must have been holding the leash too loosely, for one moment he was with me, docile as you please, and the next, off he is running and now he is in your skirt.
” The woman paused, apparently to catch her breath.
“Sort of like men, when you think about it.”
“I assure you, I’m fine—really, it’s not necessary.” Anne tried to discourage the woman from her disentangling efforts but was prevented from catching her eye by the woman’s hat, an enormous straw creation festooned with sunflowers and yellow ribbons.
“Not at all, not at all, just one moment. You see, it is done! Now you are free.” The woman rose, and Anne Dinsmore found herself face-to-face with Rafe Moreham’s mother-in-law, Madeleine de Rabec, Comtesse de La Brou.
“Madame,” Anne said.
“Lady Anne.” The pug, now held on an extremely short leash, whined.
“I had no idea you were in the area, madame.”
“I would not expect you to be aware of all the comings and goings at Moreham Hall.” Madeleine smiled, her previous good humor replaced by a mask of practiced politeness. “I am visiting my son-in-law and my daughter. Alix is with child. But I’m sure you have already heard.”
“You must so be looking forward to being a grandmother.”
“Yes, though I am much too young to ever be taken for one.” Madeleine laughed. “Indeed, I am thinking of becoming a mother again.”
“You are expecting?” Anne let her eyes slip to Madeleine’s trim, beribboned waist.
“Of course not.” She laughed again, the sound clearly forced. “Lord Rothwell has asked me to marry him. You know His Lordship, do you not? I’ve heard rumors you two were quite friendly at one time.”
“Yes, we were,” Anne said, reminding herself she was the one who’d turned him away.
Older, attractive, but all those children…
Besides, she’d had Moreham on her hook. Or so she’d thought.
“So, we may expect a gala wedding next season?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but went straight for the jugular.
“And speaking of seasons, how is poor Elizabeth?”
Madeleine’s dark eyes hardened, but her voice remained light. “Elizabeth? How kind of you to ask after dear Elizabeth. She is doing well, having a lovely summer, quite the social butterfly.”
“Moreham has been entertaining? With Lady Alix in her delicate condition, isn’t it rather a strain?”
“His Lordship hasn’t been entertaining. Elizabeth has been visiting.
She’s been away for over two weeks, staying with her friend Arabella Norcroft.
Such a fine, upstanding family.” Madeleine waved her hand, the one with the leash wrapped round it, inadvertently pulling the pug up short.
He yipped, and she turned, completely missing the puzzled expression on Anne’s face.
“The Norcrofts, you say? The Norcrofts of Hartsdale?”
“Do you know them?”
“A passing acquaintance,” Anne replied smoothly. “Elizabeth has been visiting with them for the past two weeks?”
“Yes, and she sends back the most entertaining letters. Such a clever girl.”
“Clever,” Anne echoed, thinking Elizabeth Harcrest must be extremely clever if she’d deceived her family into believing she was staying with the Norcrofts. Or was Madeleine lying to make it seem the girl had been accepted back into some circles of society?
“Well, Lady Anne, I really must be going. You must pay a call on me at the hall sometime,” Madeleine said in a vague way that indicated sometime meant never.
“Oh, I will.” Anne waved after her. I will indeed.