Elizabeth Boyle (44 page)

“This can’t be some
émigré
guttersnipe you’ve discovered,” he said, fishing for information. “She’d have to be of noble birth, with knowledge of the old Regime, Versailles, the King and Queen.”

“Exactly.”

Webb blanched at his father’s one-word reply. “How is someone to learn intimate facts about the de Chevenoy family, like the names of servants or the lay of the rooms, in the time you propose?”

Giles stood up and walked over to behind Webb’s chair, his hand resting on Webb’s shoulder. “I suppose you, old man, of all three of us, would be able to instruct her in the de Chevenoy estates, since you claimed just moments ago to know them so intimately.”

Webb didn’t bother to look over his shoulder; the amusement in Giles’s voice rattled at his pride, and he didn’t want the added humiliation of looking at the man’s grin. Sure, he’d been boasting before, yet his friend needn’t fling it in his face. Webb turned his attention to his father. “You have a new agent in mind, don’t you, sir?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to train her?”

“Yes.”

He took a deep breath. “Am I to travel with her and make sure she doesn’t meet with any difficulties?”

“You could say you were made for the job.” Giles slapped him on the back. “Ah, the joys of being a bachelor and all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Webb spied the miniature of Adelaide, and even she seemed to be laughing at him. He looked again and realized there was something familiar about her features, something he didn’t want to see.

It was too impossible to believe, but all he could do was hope his suspicions were for naught.

“You have a girl of noble French birth, approximately one and twenty years, fair in coloring, and willing to go along with such a wild scheme?”

His father didn’t even bother with the expected one-word answer; he just nodded.

Webb looked over at Sophia—her glittering gaze danced with mischief and fire. For the first time in years, his usually steady nerves failed him. “Where are we going to find such a woman? If I didn’t know better I’d think my father was suggesting I take that hoyden sister of yours, Sophia.” He laughed nervously.

“He is,” she told him.

The funeral bell finally tolled loud and clear.
Lily
.

How on earth did he deserve such a fate?

Then he realized he’d been correct from the start. His father had heard about the Paris incident and obviously decided a desk assignment wasn’t punishment enough for his youngest son.

L
ily D’Artiers Copeland walked up the wide stone steps to the main entrance of Byrnewood, her afternoon stroll in the rare bit of November sunshine having revived her spirits.

As she entered the house, a maid immediately approached her.

“Mrs. Copeland, Lady Trahern would like to see you in the study.” The girl eyed her disheveled appearance with a critical gaze as she held out her hand for Lily’s wrap. “There’s company as well.”

Mercy and Mary
, she thought. She’d hoped to arrive back from her walk before Adam and his mother arrived. They’d escorted her to England and promised to visit her at her sister’s home after Adam had finished his first round of business in London.

Lily glanced down at the borrowed gown she wore. Since her trunks had been delayed in reaching Byrnewood, she’d borrowed several of her aunt’s gowns since nothing her petite sister wore would ever fit Lily’s tall frame. Luckily, their aunt, Lady Larkhall, lived on the adjoining property and she and Lily were of the same height and roughly the same weight, a testament to their shared Ramsey heritage. However, all her aunt had been able to offer were gowns cut in the severest fashion for mourning, which she had worn ever since her beloved husband’s passing.

Though it was almost a year since her own husband’s death, Lily had hoped to arrive in England well out of mourning. Now it seemed her mourning was destined to follow her, a mockery of the lack of grief she’d felt over Thomas’s untimely death.

She peeked in the mirror and sighed.

The black gown enveloped her like a shroud, paling her already fair features. Her hair, blown from the wind and adorned with bits of twigs and leaves left over from her climb through a thicket to find her way back to the main path, looked as if birds had taken to building a nest in it. Even her face hadn’t been spared, for there was a good-sized smudge of dirt along her cheek down to her chin.

Holding out the skirt, she realized the hem and a fair portion of the petticoats beneath were muddied from her cross-country jaunt as well.

Unwilling to face her always flawless sister and her company in this state of
dishabille
, she started for her room to change into another of her aunt’s proffered gowns.

“Oh, no, miss,” the maid said, “you were wanted in the study as soon as you came in. Her ladyship was most insistent.”

I’ve made a mull of it this time
, Lily thought as she ventured over to the imposing dark oak door that guarded Giles’s study from interruption. Then again, at the very least Adam will have brought the trunks and she’d be out of these borrowed weeds.

Lightly she tapped on the door until her sister bade her enter.

Lily walked into the room slowly, unsure why Sophia had sequestered their company in the relative discomfort of Giles’s study. But the moment she set foot in the room, she realized she’d been mistaken about Adam’s arrival.

Sophia and her husband sat on the horrible horsehair couch Giles kept for his less-favored guests. Wondering at this strange arrangement, Lily then noticed the elderly man rising from her brother-in-law’s usual place behind the desk.

Though it had been five years since she’d last seen him, Lily recognized him instantly. And he was the last man in England she wanted to find staring at her with his perceptive and piercing gaze.

“Lord Dryden, how pleasant to see you again,” she said, her voice coming out scratchy, still chilled from her stroll.

“Been walking, eh, Lily?” Lord Dryden commented, his gaze falling to the muddied hem of her gown. “Good girl. Makes for a hearty constitution. My wife takes a stroll every day, and she’s more fit and fine than most women half her age.”

“Yes, well, it seemed like such a nice day, I didn’t want to miss the opportunity.” Lily hoped her words sounded light and airy, belaying the anxiety that now sent her heart racing.

Lord Dryden? The head of England’s Foreign Office?

This summons wasn’t the result of some passing fancy of Lord Dryden’s to call on his best agents; rather, it meant business.

Could it be that … She mentally shrugged off the wild thoughts which followed her speculations. Glancing shyly at the other occupants, she couldn’t see any indication she was about to be hauled away for treason.

Giles, Sophia, and even the normally cantankerous Lord Dryden wore such false smiles plastered on their faces, she felt sure that if she announced she’d just set fire to the west wing, they’d offer her a cheerful round of “huzzahs.”

“Have a seat, my girl,” Lord Dryden said, waving his hand toward the unoccupied chair before the desk.

Slowly, she settled into the large chair and glanced about the room. The door to the garden stood propped open. A chilly notion for November, but not unlike Giles or Sophia, who were both enthusiasts for fresh air.

Really, nothing appeared amiss about Giles’s orderly study, other than the odd demeanor of the threesome around her.

Lord Dryden turned to Sophia. “Perhaps you should do the honors, my lady. She may have an easier time of it coming from you.”

Lily’s breath stilled in her throat. She’d known this might happen, been duly warned this was one of the risks she would take if she chose to …

“Don’t look so worried, Lily.” Sophia’s instant smile and first statement eased her runaway imagination. “Everyone is well. No one has died.”

“Then what is it?” she managed to ask, hoping her calm words belied her thundering heart.

“It’s Lucien,” her sister said.

Lucien?
Lily thought.
What does he have to do with my being in England?
Perhaps nothing, but she’d never know until she asked. “Have you word from Paris?”

“Well in a way, yes.” Sophia sighed. “I suppose I will just come out and say it. I’m afraid my work for Lord Dryden has placed our family in grave danger. In fact, it may jeopardize all our lives if we ever choose to return to France.”

Whatever was Sophia getting at? “Well, you can rest assured I have no plans of going back there anytime soon.” Lily started to rise from her seat.

“We need you to go to Paris, my lady.” Lord Dryden’s abrupt announcement stopped Lily in her tracks.

“Sir, I hardly think that would be prudent,” Lily replied. “My sister just said—”

“Your sister didn’t tell you all of it,” he said. “Sit back down and listen.”

As much as she wanted to refuse, Lord Dryden’s tone commanded respect and brooked no resistance. She returned to the entombing depths of the wingback chair.

Over the next twenty minutes, as he made his unbelievable case for her to go to Paris and impersonate Adelaide de Chevenoy, Lily could only stare at the man. Her sister and brother-in-law remained mute, other than to add an occasional nod to underline the importance of Lord Dryden’s plan.

Even as he drew to his concluding argument about the “delicate balance by which so many lives hang,” Lily knew there was a missing element in his scheme.

Something he was deliberately leaving out.

“So as you can see, we need you, Lily. Make no bones about it, I am loathe to send someone of your innocent nature and tender age into such a dangerous situation, but I have no other choice.”

She sat for a moment in the stillness of the study and considered how to craft her reply.

“Lily, you will be in no immediate danger,” Sophia assured her.

Lily didn’t deign to give a response to her sister’s words. Who was Sophia kidding? If caught, she’d be shot, or worse. But it wasn’t the fear of being arrested that made her give the only reply she could to Lord Dryden.

She didn’t have the time. Not right now.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I cannot go to Paris,” she said. “I came to visit my sister under the tightest of constraints. I am set to sail home in three months time and cannot miss my sailing.”

“We’ll have you back to England before anyone misses you, my dear,” he promised her.

She shook her head. “I came here to go shopping in London, and Sophia has already scheduled appointments for me with all the best dressmakers. I’ve been wearing mourning for so long, and when I return home, I would like to be done with my widow’s weeds.”

“You’ll be allowed to do all that before you go to Paris,” he told her. “You’ll need a completely new wardrobe if you are to appear as the de Chevenoy heiress. I’ve sent for Madame Volnay, who is the best modiste in London. She and her assistants will attend to all your needs from here.”

Oh, how thoughtful
, she wanted to say. Racking her brain for more excuses, Lily cast out a hodgepodge of them, hoping one would work.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen my sister and brother-in-law and I’ve promised each of my aunts a good visit,” she said. “I just don’t see how I can do what you ask and get in my other family obligations. And what will I say to Mr. Saint-Jean? He and his mother were so kind to chaperone me on the crossing. I’m expecting them to arrive any minute and they were so looking forward to spending a fortnight with us here. What would I tell them if I were to so blithely disappear right after their arrival?”

“We can tell the Saint-Jeans our aunt in York is ill, and since I am in no condition to travel, you have been called to her bedside,” Sophia suggested.

Damn you, Sophia
, Lily thought. Her sister had a convenient lie for every occasion.

“I truly have my heart set on spending time with all of you, as well as the children. Perhaps in the spring I could return and then we could discuss this matter.” She smiled hopefully at her sister.

“Aren’t you listening, Lily?” Sophia began, in that know-it-all tone that Lily detested. Her very pregnant sister struggled to her feet. “Lucien is in France this very minute. His life is at stake. You can’t turn your back on our family because you might be inconvenienced. Do you think you would be alive if I hadn’t taken the very same risks?”

At this, Lily’s temper flared. How like Sophia to throw it in her face as if the entire situation were her fault.

She rose from her chair and faced her sister with equal tenacity. “You should have realized by choosing to ally yourself with England, your actions would eventually place our family in danger.
Your
misdeeds, sister, are jeopardizing Lucien’s life, not my unwillingness to die fixing them for you.”

For a moment, a rigid, inflexible silence held the room in an uneasy thrall as the two sisters, more alike than either cared to admit, stared at each like warring barn cats.

Giles broke the tension by coming to his wife’s side and guiding her back to her place on the couch. “Sophia, Lily has every right to refuse this request. We have lived too long with danger at our backs, not to remember that others do not find it a natural way of things.” He smiled up at Lily. “Lord Dryden only makes this request because you favor Adelaide so closely. In both age and beauty.”

He picked up a gilt-framed miniature from his desk and pressed it into her hand. “See for yourself, Lily-bee,” he said, using his old nickname for her. “The two of you could be twins. And if things had been different, you might even have been friends.” He nodded for her to examine the likeness.

Lily’s anger cooled some at Giles’s words. But then he always had that effect on her, though she hated the way he so easily smoothed her ruffled emotions. She resisted looking at the portrait for as long as she could, but her curiosity soon won out and she gazed down at the girl staring up at her from her timeless cage of gilt and oil paint.

In those seconds, she felt herself transported back in time, to her childhood, before the revolution in France had ripped her world apart.