Courting Miss Vallois (11 page)

But it was not within his power. The damage was done and he had no idea how to undo it. He had started
a hundred letters…and thrown them all away. He had stood in the silence of his room and rehearsed the words of his apology. And every one of them had rung hollow and meaningless—

‘Mr Silverton.'

And then, she was there, standing before him in yet another new gown—this one sweeping over the curves of her body and revealing just enough of the seductive roundness beneath to stir a man's blood. Her white-blond hair was caught up with a sprig of tiny white roses, and she looked, Robert thought sadly, like spring come to life. A virgin goddess sent to tempt and distract. And she did both…exquisitely. ‘Miss Vallois,' he said, fearing the huskiness in his voice would betray him. ‘I trust you are well?'

‘Tolerably well. You?'

‘Tolerably well.'

A moment passed, and, as if realising that was the extent of his conversation, Sophie turned to greet his sister. ‘Good evening, Jane. Lavinia and I were sorry not to see you at the musicale this afternoon. The young woman Lady Staynwell engaged to perform was very good. Miss Roundtree, I believe her name was.'

‘Yes, I was sorry not to be there,' Jane said, appearing somewhat distracted. ‘I understand her mother taught her to play the pianoforte at a very young age. My goodness, it is warm, is it not?' She opened her fan and fluttered it vigorously in front of her face.

Robert, who was actually finding it cooler than usual, said, ‘I could fetch a glass of punch—'

‘Yes, punch would be excellent,' Jane said. ‘But do stay here and talk to Miss Vallois. I am perfectly capable of fetching it myself.' Which she did—walking away
with a degree of alacrity that both surprised and concerned Robert.

‘Jane must be very thirsty indeed. I don't think I've ever seen her move so fast.' He turned to the lady standing beside him. ‘Would you also care for some refreshment, Miss Vallois?'

‘Thank you, no.'

The silence lengthened…and became awkward. Robert desperately tried to appear at ease, but as the memory of what happened returned in full force he knew he had to say something. ‘Miss Vallois, there is something I must say—'

‘No! It is I who must begin.' She paused, catching her lower lip between dainty white teeth. ‘I've not been able to stop thinking about…what passed between us earlier in the week. I feel terrible for having caused you such distress and I owe you an apology.'

‘You owe me nothing,' Robert ground out. ‘You were right to speak to me as you did.'

‘Not given what happened—'

‘You had no knowledge of what happened and I went at you like a bull at a gate,' he said, feeling the tightness of guilt at the back of his throat. ‘That was wrong, and unkind. I saw how it made you feel.'

‘It shocked me for the terrible things that had happened to you,' Sophie said urgently. ‘It made me see why your feelings towards the French are what they are. And it helped me to understand that your feelings towards my brother, and perhaps, myself, are not so much personal as they are…instinctual.'

‘Miss Vallois—'

‘No, please let me finish. You owe me no apology or explanation, Mr Silverton. Because it all makes
sense now.
Any
reminder of the French, no matter how small, will always bring to mind that which you wish most dearly to forget. It was selfishness on my part that caused me to demand a justification for your reaction towards me, and I deeply regret that.'

He couldn't speak. She was apologising to him when it was he who should have been begging
her
forgiveness. Making excuses for herself when there were no excuses to be made, and tearing herself apart into the bargain. ‘You were entirely within your rights to challenge me about my feelings towards the French,' Robert said huskily. ‘I was allowing my hatred for one man to colour my opinion of everyone else, and in doing so, I demonstrated not only a blatant disregard for the truth, but a shocking narrowness of mind. It would be like you saying that all Englishmen wear green because you happened to meet
one
Englishman who did. But every person must be judged on his or her own merit, and even a condemned man must have his hearing. I can forgive someone for disliking a man if they know he has done wrong, but not before.' He was relieved to see her smile. More than relieved. Hopeful. ‘And now that we have cleared the air and offered apologies that are not required, do you think we might start again…as friends?'

Her expression lightened, the darkness leaving her eyes. Did she feel as relieved as he did? Did the stars suddenly seem a little closer than they'd been a moment ago? ‘I do hope so, Mr Silverton. In fact, I should like that above all.'

‘Then perhaps, if you are not engaged for the next dance, I might claim the honour?'

‘You may, though I should warn you, I am not the
best of dancers. My employer taught me how to speak, but she did not think it necessary that I knew how to dance.'

‘I don't care.' He looked down at her, wanting to trace the line of her jaw with his fingers, to stroke the sensual curve of her throat. ‘I just want to dance with you. And perhaps to talk and to make you laugh. Is that asking too much?'

She shook her head. ‘Not at all. I should like to dance, and to talk, and to laugh.'

And when the quadrille came to an end and the minuet began, that was exactly what they did.

 

Lavinia stood with a group of ladies by a cluster of ferns and tried to pretend an interest in what they were saying. In truth, she was far more interested in what was going on elsewhere in the room. She had watched Sophie cross the floor to talk to Robert and Jane, and then a few minutes later, saw Jane leave and Robert and Sophie take up what looked to be a far more serious conversation. But it wasn't until they laughed, and Lavinia saw the expression on Robert's face, that she realised what was happening.

‘Good evening, Lady Longworth,' a smooth voice said beside her.

Danger.
Lavinia sensed it immediately, recognised it for what it was, and with the composure of a duchess, turned to face her adversary. ‘Mr Oberon. Is it not a pleasant evening?'

‘It is an exceedingly pleasant evening and the company equally delightful.' Oberon held the stem of his champagne glass between long slender fingers. ‘But how careless of Lord Longworth to leave you all alone.'

‘Ah, but I am not alone. I am surrounded by friends and now have you to keep me company.'

‘Which I am most happy to do.' He raised the flute to his lips, but his eyes were on the floor. ‘I had hoped to find Miss Vallois with you, but I see she is engaged with our friend, Silverton.'

‘Yes. She thinks very highly of Jane and is often in her company.'

‘Yet, Jane is not with them.'

Years of rigidly instilled training allowed Lavinia to open her fan with no visible sign of concern. ‘She was a moment ago, but left to secure refreshments.'

‘And found Mr Vallois instead.' Oberon's mouth lifted, little more than a grimace. ‘It would appear both the Silvertons are very much taken with your guests, Lady Longworth.'

‘Why would they not be? Sophie and Antoine are both likeable young people. You must have discovered that during the time you spent with Sophie the other afternoon.'

‘I did, and as a result, it is my sincere desire to spend
more
time with her. But frankly, I am surprised to see Silverton looking so engaged. His dislike of the French is well known to both of us, I think.'

Hearing an edge to Oberon's voice, Lavinia sensed the need to tread carefully. ‘Mr Silverton is, first and foremost, a gentleman. He would never allow his personal feelings to affect his conduct towards a lady.'

‘And yet that is precisely what he did, and in doing so he upset Miss Vallois greatly. She spoke of it to me during our drive.'

‘Did she? I am surprised. Sophie usually keeps her own counsel.'

‘Do not condemn her for it, Lady Longworth. It was obvious to me she was in distress and when I enquired as to the nature, she told me. So now to see them conversing so amiably, I must confess to some surprise. I had believed Silverton firmly established in his intention to keep her at a distance. And given his current standing in society, I am surprised you would approve of their association.'

Lavinia slowly plied her fan, careful to remain impassive. ‘I am aware of society's views with regard to Mr Silverton, but he has chosen to keep his own counsel and I respect him for that. Furthermore, if he spoke out of turn to Sophie, he would naturally be regretful of it and I am sure he is attempting to make amends, even now.'

‘And succeeding, by all appearances.' Oberon raised his glass and finished the last of his champagne. ‘However, it is of little concern. No doubt you and Lord Longworth are anxious to see Miss Vallois settled in the most advantageous manner possible.'

Lavinia waved at an acquaintance across the floor. ‘My husband and I are more concerned that she is happy, Mr Oberon.'

‘Of course, but surely you agree that the suitability of a husband
must
be a factor in the final decision. Love is all very well, but it is nothing compared to the benefits that wealth and position can bestow. Benefits someone like myself, for example, would be in a position to confer.'

It took every ounce of acting skill Lavinia possessed to appear calm in light of his admission. ‘You, Mr Oberon?'

‘Surely you are not surprised by my interest. I have
taken no pains to conceal my admiration of Miss Vallois.'

‘But you have spent so little time in her company.'

‘Sometimes very little is required. Besides…' his smile grew smug ‘…after our drive in the park, I believe she now looks upon me with more favour than she did in the past. And only think, Lady Longworth, if Miss Vallois were to become my bride, she would become your equal in society.'

His
bride.
‘I am well aware of what you would be able to give her, Mr Oberon,' Lavinia replied quietly, ‘but I think it only fair to tell you that Miss Vallois has no interest in marriage.'

Oberon laughed. ‘Yes, so Silverton informed me. But you and I both know that's not true. All young ladies wish to be married. Even poor Jane.' Oberon glanced towards the refreshment table where she and Antoine were still chatting in a most amiable fashion. ‘Pity. She is so obviously smitten, yet he, by virtue of being French and what he hopes to become, can offer her nothing. And soon he returns to Paris. No doubt thoughts of marriage are far from his mind.' Oberon smiled. ‘Please give my regards to your husband, Lady Longworth. And perhaps you might tell him…' he took a last look towards Robert and Sophie ‘…tell him there is something I wish to discuss with him at his earliest convenience.'

R
obert was reading the newspaper when Jane finally came down the next morning. She wore a morning gown of pale lavender and the soft colour put roses into her cheeks and deepened the green in her eyes. ‘Good morning, Robert.'

‘Jane.' He put down his paper. ‘You look in fine spirits today.'

‘I slept better than I have in days and awoke to the sound of a robin singing outside my window.' She helped herself to coddled eggs and toast from the sideboard. ‘Did you enjoy yourself last evening?'

‘Very much.'

‘Sophie looked so very lovely. I would never have thought to dress up a plain white gown with lace in quite that manner. But it was most flattering.'

Robert decided it best to withhold comment. As far as he was concerned, Sophie could have draped herself in burlap and still looked beautiful.

‘She dances quite well,' Jane said, spreading a thin
layer of marmalade on her toast. She took a bite and paused in thought. ‘Do you think I would have been a good dancer had I not been troubled with this wretched foot?'

‘I think you would have been a very good dancer if it was something you enjoyed doing.'

‘Does that matter? You do not particularly enjoy dancing, yet you are very good at it.'

‘Sometimes we do things whether we like them or not.' Robert remembered the long hours spent with his tutor learning the intricacies of the steps so he would not embarrass himself when the time came. ‘Dancing is a necessary part of a gentleman's education.'

‘Mr Vallois acquitted himself very well,' Jane commented in an offhand manner. ‘I saw him partner Miss Templeton in the minuet and she is not an accomplished dancer at all.'

Robert shrugged as he returned his attention to his paper. ‘I suspect dancing is as widely done in France as it is here.'

‘But one would not expect a man who intended to become a doctor of having time for such frivolous pastimes. Although Mr Vallois does not strike me as being like other doctors.'

‘How many other doctors have you known?'

‘You know what I mean. Mr Vallois is passionately interested in a wide variety of subjects, not only in the study of medicine. He can speak intelligently on matters pertaining to science and archaeology, and he is very well read. He can recite Shakespeare as well as any actor on the stage today.'

Aware that Mr Vallois's name was coming up a little
too often for his liking, Robert said tersely, ‘A talent that will no doubt prove useful in his chosen career.'

‘That was unkind, Robert.'

He looked up. ‘Was it? I thought I was simply being honest.'

‘Why do you not like Mr Vallois? Apart from that one occasion when he paid me a compliment to which
you
took exception, he has been the perfect gentleman.'

‘I never said I didn't like him.'

‘You didn't have to. I can tell from the way your voice changes when you speak of him. It's because he's French, isn't it?'

‘My voice does not change when I speak of him,' Robert said, putting the newspaper aside. ‘But he is due to return to Paris at any moment, so there is no point in
you
losing your heart to him.'

‘I have not lost my heart to him!'

‘Then why does
your
voice change every time you speak of
him
?'

Jane said nothing, obviously loathe to answer a question to which Robert already knew the answer. ‘It wouldn't work, Jane,' he said more gently. ‘What Antoine Vallois wants from life and what you want are entirely different. He would not make you happy and I would resent him for not being able to do so.'

‘You know nothing about him,' Jane whispered. ‘You resent him because he
is
French.'

So, they were back to that, Robert thought wearily. A subject neither of them wished to discuss and for which there were no acceptable answers. ‘If my resentment of the French was an issue, I would hardly be spending time in Sophie's company, now would I?'

‘It was a
man
who shot our brother, Robert. I suspect that is how you are able to rationalise your interest in her.'

He folded his napkin and stood up. ‘I'm going out. Is there anything you would like me to fetch for you?'

‘Yes. A book. From Hatchard's.' She scribbled the name on a piece of paper and thrust it at him. ‘If it's not too much trouble.'

He took the piece of paper and tucked it in his pocket. ‘It never has been before.'

She had the grace to look embarrassed, but she did not relent. She glanced towards the window, her back as rigid as her voice. ‘Shall I tell Cook to expect you for lunch?'

‘No. I've sent a note round to Lawrence Welton, asking him to meet me at his club.'

‘Mr Welton?' Jane frowned. ‘Is he not a close friend of Mr Oberon's?'

‘He was, but they seem to have fallen out and I haven't seen Lawrence in weeks. I just wanted to make sure everything's all right.' He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I'll see you later this evening.'

‘Fine.'

He stood up, hating the brittle tension between them. What was he supposed to say? That he was
happy
about her affection for Antoine Vallois? That he
liked
the idea of her marrying a Frenchman and possibly moving away to France? It would take Edmund Kean himself to make that performance believable. ‘Look, why don't you order the trap? It's a lovely day for a drive and it might be pleasant for you to get out of the house for a while.'

For a moment Jane refused to look at him, her expression as stiff as her posture. But Robert knew his sister
well. She could no more stay angry with him than he could with her—and as if realising the argument would only serve to prolong an unnatural state of conflict, she gave in with a sigh. ‘Yes, it is a lovely morning. Far too nice to waste on pointless arguments.'

‘I only want what's best for you, Jane,' Robert said. ‘You know that, don't you?'

She looked up at him and eventually nodded. ‘Yes, but sometimes I wonder if either of us knows what that really is.'

 

Lawrence Welton did not arrive at Watier's at the specified hour, nor within the half-hour Robert waited for him. Both struck him as strange, given that Welton was normally a very punctual fellow. But finally giving it up as a bad deal, Robert turned and headed towards St James's. He'd send Lawrence a note later, suggesting they reschedule.

He was just passing White's when he heard someone hail him. ‘Mr Silverton!'

Turning, he saw Lord Longworth crossing the street in his direction. ‘My lord.'

‘I'm just on my way in for some lunch. Care to join me?'

Robert inclined his head. ‘That would be most agreeable.'

Being a predominantly Tory club, White's was not an establishment Robert frequented. But Longworth was greeted by several gentlemen whose names were well known in society and then shown with some deference to a table next to the tall window. After ordering a bottle of claret, Longworth said, ‘I was supposed to have lunch
with Mr Oberon, but he sent word he would be unable to attend.'

‘Really.' Robert smoothed the linen napkin across his lap. ‘It would appear his loss is my gain. But I am surprised by your invitation, given my current standing in society.'

‘Yes, well, I expect that will resolve itself soon enough,' Longworth said. ‘Once Lady Mary marries, all will be forgotten and society will find someone else to pick apart—' He broke off as the butler arrived with their wine, and waited until after he'd left to continue. ‘Besides, you've had far more serious matters to contend with. Tell me,' he said casually, ‘with regard to Michael, did you ever find out how your brother came to be where he was?'

‘You mean in a deserted barn miles from anywhere?' Robert shook his head. ‘Very little information was made available to us. I know my father tried to get details, but it was almost as though no one wanted to talk about it. Other men were given heroes' burials, but it seemed to me Michael's death was hushed up.' He raised the glass to his lips. ‘I thought it damned unfair.'

Longworth rubbed his finger along the stem of his glass. ‘There are things you don't know, Robert. Things that couldn't be made public at the time.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘I won't go into detail. Suffice it to say we were in a difficult situation in the days leading up to Waterloo. Napoleon intended sweeping into Brussels and had established a presence at both Mons and Charleroi. But from which place would the main thrust be launched?'

‘I thought Wellington suspected Mons because it was
on the main Paris to Brussels Highway and ten miles closer to Brussels than Charleroi?' Robert said.

‘But did that mean his presence in Charleroi was simply a diversionary tactic? We couldn't know for sure. Though Napoleon was outnumbered two to one by the coalition forces by the time he reached Beaumont, Wellington knew better than to underestimate him, especially after what happened at Leipzig. But with no idea how many men Napoleon had, it made it difficult for Wellington to plan any kind of counter-offensive. So, a handful of men were sent out to collect whatever intelligence they could.'

‘Sent out,' Robert said, his eyes narrowing. ‘You mean, as spies.'

‘Exactly. And eventually, a report came back from Mons indicating that Napoleon intended to launch the offensive from Charleroi. Wellington received it in time to plan a counter-offensive and the coalition forces intercepted Napoleon at Waterloo.'

Robert had no trouble following the series of events. The news of Napoleon's defeat at Waterloo had been front-page news and the cause of much celebration. What he didn't understand was why Longworth was bringing it up now. ‘What has this to do with Michael?'

‘The men selected for that mission were the very best Britain had,' Longworth said. ‘They were men who could be counted on to get the job done. And they did get it done, but not without casualties. The reason I'm telling you this now is because I think you need to know why no one told you the truth at the time. You see, Robert…' Longworth looked around, then dropped his voice even further ‘…your brother Michael was one of them.'

For a moment, shock stole the breath from Robert's lungs.
Michael, an intelligence agent for the Crown?
Impossible! His brother would never have kept such a secret from his family. He had been the most honest, the most decent man Robert had ever known.

And yet, the more he thought about it, the more he realised it made sense. It explained why Michael would abruptly leave London and not tell anyone where he was going. It explained why he would be absent for weeks on end and then suddenly reappear, but not be able to tell them where he had been. His brother an agent for the British Government. Why the hell hadn't he figured it out for himself? ‘Why weren't we told?'

‘The Department felt it too dangerous, so the men were sworn to secrecy. Most wives never knew their husbands or sons were employed by the government.'

‘We never even suspected,' Robert said ruefully. ‘And yet, now that you've told me, it all makes perfect sense. But why am I hearing this now? And why are
you
the one telling me?'

‘Because I think it's time you knew the truth. Something went badly wrong on that mission, Robert,' Longworth said bluntly. ‘Michael wasn't supposed to be on his own the night he was killed, but the letter that should have gone out advising him the mission had been cancelled was never sent. He was betrayed by one of our own—the same man who killed several of our best agents.' Longworth's blue eyes blazed. ‘The same man who tried to kill me.'

Robert stiffened in shock. ‘Dear God,
you're
one of them too?'

‘Keep your voice down,' Longworth said. ‘Yes, I was, and though I didn't work with your brother, I know
many of the men who did and they all said he was as brave as any man out there. He did a lot of good before…'

‘Before they got to him.'

Longworth nodded, his eyes heavy with regret as he took a deep swallow of wine.

Robert said nothing. It was almost too much to take in. Being told of his brother's true occupation. Of hearing Longworth's admission as to his own involvement in the covert operations. Of hearing how badly the mission had gone wrong… ‘Does Lady Longworth know about your involvement?'

‘She had to. On my last mission to France, after I was shot by the man who killed your brother, I was found by a young French couple who took me in and saw to my injuries. But when I returned to England, it was with no memory of who I was or what my life had been. Because I was engaged to Lavinia at the time, my commanding officer felt she might be able to help in my recovery, so he told her the truth about what I was doing in France. We still needed to find the man who'd shot me and murdered a dozen other agents. Eventually, we did.'

Robert sat back, digesting what was turning out to be an incredible story. ‘How many people are aware of this?'

‘Very few and I'd like it to remain that way,' Longworth said, his tone leaving Robert in no doubt as to the seriousness of the matter. ‘Napoleon may be banished, but some men carry grudges for years. I only told you this so you would understand how your brother came to lose his life. The Englishman who shot him—'

‘The
Englishman
?' Robert gasped. ‘But the note found in Michael's pocket—'

‘Was put there to throw us off the track,' Longworth admitted. ‘Havermere was a double agent. He'll likely spend the rest of his life serving at his Majesty's pleasure, but before he was apprehended, he took a lot of good men down. Your brother was one of them.'

In that split second, Robert's world turned upside down. Everything he'd come to believe about the French since the night his family had received word of Michael's death shattered like glass. His hatred of the French was completely unfounded. His brother's murderer had been one of their own.