Brenda Hiatt (6 page)

Camilla had already retired and Hunt’s valet had gone with him to Lisbon, so Holly had no fear of interruption while she searched. Still, she felt more than a bit uncomfortable as she slipped into her husband’s chamber. Never before had she been in here without him present.

For a moment, she vividly recalled her last time in this room, on the big, blue-draped bed with Hunt. A sudden longing for him shook her. What a greeting she would give him on his return! She would show him just how much he meant to her. Her eyes grew moist and her breathing rapid as she imagined it.

Reluctantly, she pushed away such thoughts. She felt even more strongly now that she should not be here with Hunt away, poking into his things. For a full two minutes she held an internal debate with herself and finally came to a compromise. She would open no drawers, uncover nothing that wasn’t in plain sight. Surely anything left lying about where any servant could see it could not be too secret for her eyes.

Her decision made, she quickly crossed to the desk in the corner. It was littered with papers, but she was careful not to touch them as she examined each one. Most appeared to be unrelated to Hunt’s work at the Foreign Office—bills from his tailor, old invitations and such. She was about to give up when she spied the word “Liaisons” at the top of a paper peeping out from beneath a theatre programme.

Almost without thinking, she twitched the programme aside, to reveal a series of names, most of which were known to her. To her disappointment, Mr. Brockman was not among them. Still, she thought, the list might give Teasdale
a clue of some sort. Telling herself again that anything left in plain sight could scarcely be considered private, she went to fetch a sheet of paper from her own chamber. Once she had copied the names onto it, she tucked it into the reticule she carried most often. She would give it to Teasdale at the next opportunity.

That opportunity occurred less than a week later, at the theatre. She and Camilla had accompanied Lord and Lady Mountheath, along with a few others whom Holly personally found deadly dull. Reginald was the only person in the party near her own age, but having discovered that Lord Mountheath had once aspired to be a painter, Reggie eagerly recounted his own experiences at the Royal Academy to their host.

The intermission was nearly over when Holly spied Mr. Teasdale. He was surrounded by a group of young bucks who were plainly enjoying themselves immensely, and she wished she might be a part of that group instead. He saw her at the same moment and excused himself from his fellows to greet her.

“Lady Vandover! What a pleasant surprise.” Though his voice and demeanour were casual, Holly thought she detected a question in his inflection.

Glancing surreptitiously about, she opened her reticule and pulled the list from it. “Indeed, Mr. Teasdale,” she replied gaily, “I did not expect to see you here tonight.”

He raised the hand with the list to his lips, palming the paper as he did so. “You grace the theatre with your presence, my lady,” he said gallantly. “Perhaps we may speak again later. The curtain will rise in a moment.” With an elegant bow, during which the paper somehow disappeared, he took his leave of her.

Holly returned to the duchess and the Mountheaths, feeling both relieved and strangely uncomfortable. Teasdale had behaved as though he had much practice at secreting
notes given him in public. Yet she had not particularly thought of him as a ladies’ man.

Returning to the box with the others, she attempted to ignore whatever it was that bothered her by telling herself that she was one step closer to discovering the traitor’s identity, and proving her abilities to Hunt. He was due back in two weeks’ time, if all went well in Lisbon. Surely she and Teasdale would have the answer by then, if not from that list, then from Noel’s reply to her queries. She hoped he would not delay in responding.

I
N FACT
, Noel’s letter did not arrive until only three days before Hunt and the duke were expected to return. Several times Holly had to restrain herself from going round to the Grey Goose Inn herself to ask Peter whether something had come for her. She so wanted to surprise Hunt with the traitor’s identity!

Teasdale had told her nothing else, though they had encountered each other twice since she gave him the list, so she assumed he had not been able to make use of it. Small wonder, as she had by now convinced herself that those names were likely common knowledge about the Foreign Office. Noel’s letter was her last hope. She paid Peter twice what she had last time and hurried directly up to her room to read it, heedless of what the duchess might think.

“I strongly urge you not to pursue this matter alone,” Noel began. “Vandover is the man to handle it, and the danger to a woman too great.”

Holly nearly crumpled the letter in her frustration, but calmed herself sufficiently to decode the remainder first. She was rewarded for her forbearance.

“Begging you to keep this in mind, I have sought the information you requested, at no small risk to myself, I may add. I hope you find it useful. The traitor is a clerk, as I wrote before, who has but recently obtained his position with the Foreign Office—within the past two months, in
fact. I was unable to discover his name, but this clue may enable Vandover to discover who the man is, for he has doubtless launched an investigation already.”

Holly’s hands shook as she deciphered these lines. There was only one clerk who had come to the Foreign Office since the beginning of the year, she knew. Teasdale.

As her amazement subsided, she was seized with a thrill of elation. She had done it! She had discovered the identity of the traitor, and without Hunt’s assistance. When he returned in three days’ time she would tell him—how proud he would be! Perhaps he would even tell his superiors what she had done. She and Noel would be heroes when it all came out!

Then, gradually, doubts began to assail her. Could she reveal Noel’s part in this? She had faithfully promised her brother that she would tell no one of his whereabouts. But without this letter, would Hunt even believe her? Teasdale would deny it of course, and she had no idea if any tangible proof might exist…

The list!

For a moment, Holly thought she might swoon. She had given Teasdale that list of names, copied from a document on Hunt’s own desk! How could she have been so stupid? But if he still had it, would that not be evidence of his guilt, apart from Noel’s letter? Tomorrow night she would see him at an embassy ball. Somehow, she had to discover what he had done with it.

C
AMILLA CHATTERED
incessantly on the way to the ball, and though the majority of her comments were directed to Reginald, Holly found herself growing impatient. She needed a few moments of silence to plan her attack on Teasdale. Instead she was forced to listen to a recitation of Lady Broadhurst’s sins, the chiefest apparently being that she had dared to wear a gown similar to Camilla’s to last night’s musicale.

The ride was short, and in less than ten minutes the carriage had drawn to a halt outside the Russian embassy. Countess Lieven greeted them at the head of the stairs, just as she had on that fateful night, nearly a month before, when Holly had first taken Teasdale into her confidence.

“And here is my dear Reginald,” cooed the countess after exchanging pleasantries with Holly and the duchess. Reginald had become rather the darling of the ambassadorial circle in recent weeks. “Come, I have just obtained a new painting for the front parlour, and I wish to hear your opinion on it.”

She led him away, and Camilla, never willing to allow her son long out of her sight, accompanied them, leaving Holly near the door. Before she could gather her thoughts, she saw Teasdale coming towards her. She would simply have to improvise.

“Good evening, Mr. Teasdale,” she said brightly, willing her voice to remain steady. He must not guess that she knew. “I am so glad to have this moment to speak to you, for we have been sadly separated by the crowds at other affairs of late.”

He stepped close to her. “Ah! You have discovered something, then?” he asked in a low voice.

His expression now struck her as cunning rather than perceptive.

“Indeed, no,” she replied hurriedly and was alarmed to hear a faint squeak in her own voice. “I was hoping that perhaps you had discovered something from that list I gave you. Our time is running out.”

Teasdale regarded her intently. “As you say. But no, I fear the list gave me no clue as to the traitor’s identity.”

“A pity. Do…do you still have it?” Holly held her breath.

“I’m afraid not. Did you want it back? I assumed it was merely a copy, so I burned it. It was not a thing that should be allowed into the wrong hands, you know.”

For a moment, she wondered if she could have been mistaken. Surely if he were guilty he would show some sign, some hesitancy in his manner? To test him, she said, with certain significance, “I would not wish that to happen, of course. That is why I asked for it.” She watched him closely as she spoke, and was rewarded by a flash of comprehension in his eyes. “You cannot blame me for being cautious.”

“I blame you? Of course not, dear lady,” he replied smoothly. “However, I cannot promise that others would not.” He allowed that to sink in for a moment, before saying, with studied casualness, “I became a bit curious about your ‘distant cousin’ in France, my lady, and made a few enquiries. It appears that the relationship is somewhat closer than you led me to believe.”

Desperately, Holly fought to retain her composure. “I cannot imagine what you mean, Mr. Teasdale.” Again, her voice showed an alarming tendency to squeak.

“I think you can.” He spoke so softly now that she had to strain to hear him over the music and conversation around them. “Your brother is in a perilous position. His continued safety rests entirely in your hands.”

“Vandover—” she began.

“Vandover cannot help him, nor would he wish to. And I doubt you would wish him to learn of any of this. Were it discovered that his wife divulged classified information, it would be bad enough. But if it comes out that his own brother-in-law is a traitor, even now on French soil, his diplomatic career would be over and his proud name ruined. And should you feel compelled to tell Vandover, I fear your brother would pay dearly. Do we understand each other?”

Numbly, she nodded.

“R
ATHER A ROUGH TRIP
but well worth it, eh, Father?” Hunt tucked his hat under his arm to protect it from the wind, which blew nearly as briskly in port as it had for the past week at sea. “Got us home a full day ahead of schedule.”

Wickburn nodded rather feebly. Though he was now on dry land, he still looked a bit peaked. “Worth it,” he echoed. “If you say so, son.”

Hunt shot a pitying glance at the duke but could not suppress his own high spirits. He’d ached for Holly almost from the day of their departure. Soon, very soon, he would hold her in his arms again. Settling his father into the carriage, he shouted to the coachman to spring the horses.

A
FTER AN ENDLESS
and perfectly wretched night, during which she had not slept a wink, Holly had still not come up with a solution to her predicament. If she remained silent, she would, in truth, be a traitor herself. But if she told Hunt about Teasdale, the man might well carry out his threat against Noel—or even against Hunt himself. What she had done, however inadvertently, might well destroy her husband’s career.

Perhaps, if Hunt were to act quickly enough, before Teasdale could have an opportunity to send word to anyone about Noel…? But no. She remembered how constrained her husband was by the proprieties, always
following the proper channels. Noel might be dead before Teasdale so much as had charges read against him.

And then there was Teasdale’s implication that Noel was in fact working for France and not England. Holly did not believe it for a moment, of course, but suppose Teasdale had some sort of falsified evidence? In that case, showing Hunt her brother’s letters would be the worst thing she could possibly do. It would lend weight to her enemy’s arguments.

On that thought she rose swiftly, determined to do away with that risk, at the least. She should have burned the letters immediately, as Noel had once bade her to do, before his departure. It was mere sentimentality that had led her to keep them, something she could not afford now.

Holly pulled Noel’s three letters from their hiding-place beneath the ribbons in her ribbon box and carried them to the hearth. A few embers still glowed in the fireplace, and she set to work with the bellows to coax them to life. After a moment she was satisfied with the result and slowly, reluctantly, picked up the letters—her only link to Noel.

She could not help rereading them before feeding them to the small flame. Would she ever receive another? Not if Teasdale carried out his threat! Steeling herself, she held the first letter to the fire.

It had blackened to ash and she was just thrusting the second letter after it when, unexpectedly, the door to her chamber swung open. To her amazement, Hunt himself stood there.

“You…you were not due back until tomorrow,” she stammered stupidly, the second letter dangling from her fingers.

“We had good wind the whole way—too good for Father’s taste, in fact. Shaved an entire day from the return trip.” Smiling broadly, a tender light in his eyes, he came forward, arms outstretched.

Holly rose and took a step towards him, her lips parted, her heart pounding with elation, anticipation—and then alarm. The letters! Swiftly, she flung the last two into the fire, turning back to Hunt even as it blazed up to consume them. “Welcome home, darling.” But her first enthusiasm was spoilt, and she feared it showed in her voice.

Indeed, Hunt stopped before touching her. “What is wrong, Holly? What did you just toss into the fire? Some billet-doux from a lover you kept in my absence?” He spoke lightly but his eyes were wary, she thought.

She forced a laugh, though it came out high and brittle. “How absurd you are, my lord! Of course it was no such thing—’twas merely—” she groped for a moment “—merely a note my maid left me yesterday, informing me that a bonnet I ordered was ready. I was…a bit cold, and thought to revive the fire with it.”

His wariness deepened to a frown. She could not wonder at it, for her lie sounded incredibly lame even to her own ears. “Holly, is there something you wish to tell me?” He sounded completely serious now, all trace of humour—the humour she had worked to bring into his life—gone as though it had never been.

For a moment, she was sorely tempted to tell him everything. She even opened her lips to say the words, to expose Teasdale as the traitor, before the memory of Noel’s face stopped her. No matter what Hunt might think of her, she could not send her beloved brother to his death.

“No,” she said flatly. “There is not.” All ability for banter, for humour, seemed to have left her, as well.

Hunt’s face became a shuttered mask. This must be the very look Lady Anne and the dowager had described to her—the one she had congratulated herself on never having seen.

“Then there is no more to say, I suppose.” He nodded curtly. “Pray forgive me for having disturbed you, madam.”

Holly sank down on the hearth and stared at the closed door, fighting an overwhelming urge to go after him. But if she did, she knew she would tell him everything and then…She closed her eyes against the tears stinging the lids. Whatever the cost to her, or to her marriage, she could not,
must
not betray Noel.

I
T WAS STILL EARLY
, but as soon as he had put off his travelling clothes and washed, Hunt went in search of his half brother. As he had expected, Reg was still abed. Though he was undoubtedly glad to see him, Reggie made no secret of the fact that he thought Hunt’s greeting could have waited an hour or two.

“If it’s an enthusiastic welcome you wanted, you’d have done better to wait until I’ve had a cup of coffee or two,” he said, climbing out of bed to shake Hunt’s hand. “Or gone to your wife first, which is what I’d have expected.” Hunt winced. “Say! Something wrong there? Why
aren’t
you with Holly right now?” Reg demanded of him.

“I’m not sure,” Hunt admitted. “That is what I wanted to talk to you about. What precisely has gone on in my absence?”

Though he still looked confused, Reg waved him to a chair. Wrapping himself in a purple brocade dressing-gown, he sat opposite him. “Gone on?” he finally repeated. “Just the usual things you might expect. Routs, balls, the theatre—Mother’s hectic social schedule. Diplomatic dos. All a dead bore, of course, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

“No, I meant with Holly. She behaved damned peculiarly just now, when I went to her room. And she was burning what looked like a letter. Has she…she hasn’t…?”

Reg stared. “Good God, no! She’s been friendly and all that is charming to all the old ambassadors and government officials, of course. She always has been. And even if she’d been so inclined—which she hasn’t—I can’t imagine
how she’d have found the time to start up a flirtation. Mother’s got her on the go every minute of the day.”

Hunt sat back, profoundly relieved. “Thank you, Reg. I didn’t believe it—not really—but it’s vastly cheering to hear your defence of her. But in that case, what the devil
was
she burning? I never heard so obvious a falsehood in my life as the one she offered when I asked her about it.”

“Perhaps some surprise she’s planning for you, and you ruined it by returning early,” suggested Reg with a shrug. “I don’t know. I am sure it will prove to be something perfectly innocent.”

“No doubt you are right.” Hunt wondered how he could ever have suspected her, even for a moment. “I shall wait, then, until she is ready to tell me of her own accord.”

“That’s the ticket,” Reg agreed. “Likely she’ll tell you tonight, or tomorrow at the latest. And now, if that’s all, I’ll attempt another hour or two of sleep.”

Hunt took the hint and left, his heart far lighter than it had been when he came in.

After a hurried breakfast, Hunt and his father left for the Foreign Office to report on the progress of the negotiations. They had gone well, bolstered by Napoleon’s renewed threat to much of Europe. In fact, the foreign secretary, Lord Castlereagh, now thought it advisable that Hunt and Wickburn leave to prepare for the June conference in Prussia in no more than two weeks’ time.

Though he wanted peace as much as the next man, Hunt mentally cursed this pronouncement. His absences from Holly’s side seemed to grow more and more frequent while his visits to England were ever shorter. And this meeting would be too near the fighting to admit any possibility of wives accompanying the diplomats.

The meetings at the Foreign Office went on all day and well into the night. Lord Castlereagh and Lord Palmerston, the secretary of war, questioned Hunt at length about every nuance of the talks in Lisbon. It was clear that the
Duke of Wickburn had little to offer. Thus, though his father made his excuses some hours earlier, it was nearly eleven before Hunt was finally permitted to go.

“Is Lady Vandover at home?” he asked Tilton, as the butler relieved him of his greatcoat and hat in the front hall. On receiving an affirmative response, he hurried up the stairs. It was yet early; surely she had not retired. Perhaps now he could get to the bottom of her little mystery—and enjoy the delights he had been without for far too long.

Anticipation made him forget his weariness as he tapped lightly on her door. “Holly, are you still awake?”

After a long pause, the door opened. “Good evening, Hunt.” Her hair was already unbound, much to his disappointment. She was dressed for bed, wrapped tightly in one of her heavier robes, though the evening was fairly warm. “I trust your negotiations went well? I am sorry I neglected to ask before.”

She looked anxious, Hunt thought, and more serious than he had ever seen her. Whatever had been bothering her this morning obviously did so still.

“Quite well, thank you,” he replied, unconsciously matching the formality of her tone. “Might I come in? I…believe we have a bit of catching up to do.” He tried for a humorous, suggestive tone, something she had always responded to in the past. Now, however, there was no answering twinkle in her eyes.

“Of course, my lord,” she said quietly, standing aside to let him into the room.

Hunt felt rather at a loss. Any overtures he might make while she was in this mood would seem out of place, almost vulgar. Plainly he would have to determine what had upset her before attempting any kind of seduction.

“Holly, I can see that you are greatly perturbed over something,” he began, reaching for her hand. She allowed him to take it, but did not return the clasp. Her hand lay
limp in his, and after a moment he released it. “Can you not tell me about it?”

For a bare instant her eyes met his, and he read pain in their green depths before she turned away. “I wish that I could, Hunt…but no.”

“Is it something I’ve done?” he asked gently.

Still facing away, she shook her head almost fiercely.

“Then…is it something you have done, Holly? Something you now regret?” He braced himself for her answer.

“I—I suppose one might say that,” she replied so softly that he had to stoop to hear her. “Certainly I am far from blameless.” Then, more strongly, “I am sorry, Hunt, but that is all I can say just now. Please do not press me for more, I beg you.”

As frustrated and helpless as he felt in the face of her distress, Hunt could not bring himself to plead with her. He had once begged Camilla to treat him like a son, and it had brought him nothing but scorn. He would not be made a fool of again. Still he made one final effort.

“As you wish,” he finally said. “But pray remember that I am here, for the next two weeks at any rate, should you need to talk about whatever it is that is plaguing you. I care, Holly. Remember that.”

Her back was still to him, but as he turned to go he heard her voice, so faint that it was almost a whisper. “Thank you.”

H
UNT DID NOT
come to her room again after that night, nor did he make any effort to break through the barrier of reserve that Holly deliberately raised against him. Still, his parting words gave her hope that someday, when this nightmare was over, he would be willing to listen. She prayed that the war might end quickly. Only then would she feel able to confide fully in her husband, to allay his obvious suspicions. She hoped it would not be too late.

The day after Hunt’s return, she wrote to warn Noel of Teasdale’s threats and to beg him to return to England immediately. She went alone to the Grey Goose Inn, and sought out the boy, Peter, in the stables.

“I have a letter,” she told him in an undertone, “to be delivered to the person who wrote to me before. Will five shillings do?”

The lad looked uncomfortable. “Nay, m’ lady, two will be plenty,” he said.

This struck Holly as rather odd, but she had told Mabel she would be but a moment. “Very well, here are two and here is the letter. Thank you, Peter!”

His discomfort seemed to increase. He glanced around quickly and leaned towards her, as if to whisper something, but at that moment one of the grooms called out to him. “Aye, m’ lady,” he said gruffly as he turned to resume his duties. “Thank ye.”

Strange as this incident was, other thoughts soon pushed it from her mind. Holly had realized on the day of Hunt’s return that she would have to maintain a safe emotional distance from her husband if she were to resist telling him everything. In fact, this was not as difficult as she had feared, for Hunt was so involved with preparations for the next meeting that she scarcely saw him.

But now she felt increasingly lonely, despite her own busy schedule. She missed Hunt desperately. As the month of May passed and the time of his next departure drew near, she more and more frequently questioned her decision to remain silent. Whenever she wavered, however, she would remember Noel. Mere marital happiness could not compare to her brother’s life.

Yet Holly could not help remembering certain vows she had spoken, on that Christmas Eve that now seemed an age ago, when she was still young, innocent and unscathed by this brutal war of loyalties.

The night before Hunt was to leave for Prussia, a gala farewell event was held at the Foreign Office rooms. For the first time since his return a fortnight since, Holly would be spending an entire evening in her husband’s company. This, and the knowledge that he would be leaving again on the morrow made it unusually difficult for her to keep up her pretence of indifference.