The Lady’s Secret (2 page)

Harry and Georgy glanced at one another.

“And if that’s right,” Lily went on, “isn’t the most likely place to find any evidence—if any evidence still exists—at the Dunsmore estate?”

“Oh, of course!” Harry said in a sarcastic tone. “Thank you for that, Lily. I should call on my cousin, the imposter earl. Ask him to let me see the family records. I’m sure he’ll be delighted to oblige me.”

“Don’t take your temper out on Lily,” Georgy said sharply.

Harry sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, but these people are ruthless. You know what they did to Mama.”

“We don’t know for sure—”

“Yes we do. She went to try and claim my inheritance for me. And she was killed.”

“Harry—”

“Have you never thought of infiltrating Dunsmore’s household?” Lily interjected again. “In disguise I mean.”

The question distracted them from their old argument about Mama.

Georgy glanced at Harry.

“Well, it’s an idea, isn’t it?” she said.

“It wouldn’t work. Lady Dunsmore knows what I look like.”

Harry had met her—once. He’d gone to the Dunsmore townhouse in Grosvenor Square, just days after Max had told them about their parents’ marriage. He’d been shown into Lady Dunsmore’s presence and had proceeded to throw all manner of accusations at her head. She’d listened in silence and then he’d been escorted—none too gently—out of the house and told in no uncertain terms never to return.

“She’s never met me, though,” Georgy said, carefully.

Harry visibly startled.

Lily let out a soft laugh.

“No! Absolutely not,” Harry said, his tone warning.

That was when she thought,
why not?
And no sooner had she thought
why not
than her mind was racing, thinking about finding a position, searching for evidence. No more being the one waiting at home.

“You’re the one who accused me of being too scared to have an adventure,” she said. “You should be pleased I want to do this. And it’s not just your birthright you know. If you’re the true Earl of Dunsmore then I’m an earl’s sister, and I’ve just as much right as you to demand my legitimate name.”

“Oh bravo, George!” Lily jumped to her feet and clapped her hands together, grinning.

Harry scowled. “An adventure? This isn’t a stage farce, George. It’s a serious business. Dunsmore is dangerous. And how do you propose to ‘infiltrate’ his household anyway?”

Georgy shrugged. “I’ll present myself at the servants’ entrance and offer my services.”

“As?”

“A maid, of course.”

“Housemaid? Laundry maid? Scullery maid? Have you any idea how hard you’ll have to work? You mightn’t get the chance to look for evidence, and even if you do, what if you’re caught snooping around? You could be arrested!”

“Harry. Stop.”

He looked troubled. “I forbid it,” he said, attempting forcefulness. “I forbid it, George.”

“Well, that’s as may be,” Georgy replied. “But your forbidding me won’t do any good. I’ve already decided to do it.”

There was just one problem with the plan: Dunsmore wasn’t hiring.

Georgy knocked on the back door of the house in Grosvenor Square two days later. She wore a plain brown gown, courtesy of the extensive Camelot wardrobe, with her bright hair scraped back and hidden under a hideous cap. Three minutes later, she was turned away. There were no positions and none were likely to arise any time soon, she was told.

Undaunted, she took the stage all the way to Bedfordshire and presented herself at Dunsmore Manor, pretending to be a local girl looking for work. But she was turned away there too.

A footman who spoke to her said that Lady Dunsmore used a London employment agency, so when she got home she sought out every employment agency in the capital. It was all to no avail.

It began to look hopeless. A pipe dream that would never come to fruition.

Harry still thought he might find evidence in one of the Yorkshire parishes. As the prospect of Georgy’s gaining entry to Dunsmore’s household began to look increasingly remote, he packed up his saddlebags again and set off on the long journey north, taking with him a large quantity of their savings. Another full week passed after Harry’s departure before fortune intervened to give Georgy an unexpected opportunity to get inside Dunsmore Manor after all.

If she was bold enough.

One week later

Lord Nathaniel Harland watched with mild astonishment as Lily Hawkins, apparently the most beautiful woman on the London stage, steadily ate what could only be described as an enormous supper.

Presently she was demolishing a dish of meringues
a la crème
. Nathan had offered to take her into the supper room for a bite to eat at the insistent prompting of her companion, Max Eddington, who had been pestering Nathan to become a patron of his theatre for the last few months and plainly hoped that Miss Hawkins would help him with his campaign. Unfortunately for Eddington, Miss Hawkins wasn’t making the slightest attempt to seduce him. Ironically, it was her complete lack of interest that had prompted him to offer to escort her to supper. He shouldn’t have done so had she been pursuing him. He hated being pursued.

As it was, she was proving to be a restful companion in her indifference. Furthermore, her passion for meringues was assisting in keeping him out of the vicinity of a former lover, the very determined Letty Townsend, who had been trying to run him to ground all night. Nathan picked up his glass and took a long, slow swallow of the crimson liquid within. The wine was superlative. He rolled it slowly around his mouth, taking the time to catalogue all its notes and cadences. He knew wine. He’d taken the time to study it, to enhance his pleasure with knowledge.

Through knowledge and experience came discernment. Taste. Nathan was a man of exquisite taste. Discriminating. A nonpareil. Envied by all the young bloods. Thirty-three and still enjoying an unfettered existence, doing as he pleased, indulging his varied interests. His wine cellar and his stable were coveted. His tailor’s identity he kept a closely guarded secret, and the moment he discarded a woman she would have half a dozen men vying for her favours.

Lately though, he’d found himself feeling a little—bored by it all. By his reputation and the admiration it brought him. By the increasingly predictable shape of his days. And yes, even by all the
things
he had collected. It was an unsettling thought, one he usually buried away as soon as it occurred to him.

“Hello, old man.”

He glanced up to see two men standing next to the table, one tall and dark and soberly dressed with a serious expression, the other rapier-lean and decked out in an extraordinary coat of saffron satin. Nathan smiled and stood.

“Dunsmore, Osborne, good evening. Have you met Miss Hawkins?”

“I have not had the pleasure,” Dunsmore said, bowing stiffly in Lily’s direction. “Miss Hawkins, I am delighted to make your acquaintance.”

He sounded anything but. Dunsmore was such a cold fish.

“The delight is all mine,” Lily said brightly. “And Viscount Osborne. A pleasure to see you again.” Her smile was warmer now than when she’d been introduced to Nathan and he was half amused, half offended, particularly given that most of her attention was on Dunsmore. If she thought she’d get anywhere with him she was very wrong. To Nathan’s knowledge, the man had never kept a mistress. Whether it was morality or miserliness, he wasn’t sure. Both, possibly.

Osborne stepped forward and took Lily’s hand, pressing a bold kiss to her knuckles.

“I saw you perform yesterday evening, Miss Hawkins. You were magnificent, as always.”

Her smile broadened. Despite the absurdity of his coat, Osborne was a wickedly handsome man. And although he was rumoured to prefer the company of his own sex in the bedchamber, he never suffered a lack of female companions.

Dunsmore looked pained merely to be in Osborne’s company, his dark brows bristling with irritation, his thin lips compressed. A decade ago they’d all been at Cambridge together and even then Dunsmore had been the most stiff-rumped of their circle—a decent chap, to be sure, but unmistakably a stuffed shirt. And so he’d remained. He still dressed as though he was in mourning for his father who’d died years ago. His black garb, combined with his pronounced widow’s peak and pale skin, gave him a faintly ghoulish look.

“I’m glad I’ve seen you, Harland,” Dunsmore said in his slow, precise way. “Mother said you’ve not replied to the Christmas house party invitation she sent. Will you be able to join us?”

Osborne laughed. “Good lord, Dunsmore! Only you would plague a man about Christmas in October. Has your mother been nagging you to speak to Harland about it?”

Dunsmore shot him a look of dislike. “There are many arrangements that need to be made for such a large house party. Naturally, mother wishes to finalise the guest list as soon as possible.”

Osborne quirked an eyebrow at Nathan.

“I was about to reply, actually,” Nathan said smoothly. “And I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.” Particularly since the alternative was Christmas with his sister who had decided to invite her husband’s entire family, consisting of a score of squalling brats and as many elderly, deaf aunts.

Dunsmore gave his chilly smile. “Excellent. Mother will be pleased.” He bowed again to Lily. “Miss Hawkins.”

“It was lovely to meet you—” she began, but already Dunsmore was glancing across the room.

“Do excuse me, I must speak with Mr. Jamieson.”

“I’ll come with you,” Osborne said. He smiled innocently but his eyes glinted with mischief at Dunsmore’s poorly disguised irritation.

As they crossed the room, Osborne dogging Dunsmore’s heels, Nathan turned back to Lily. It appeared she’d been momentarily distracted from her meringues. She gazed after Dunsmore with a calculating look that made Nathan wonder if she’d set her sights on him. When she realised he was watching her, she started, giving him a twitchy little smile before returning her attention to her dessert. A moment later she was finished, her tongue flicking out to catch the last spot of cream from the corner of her mouth. This was a woman who loved her food. Perhaps in a few years she would grow plump. She’d still be pretty, though. Her features were perfection, and with one lock of her dark hair falling down and her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine, she looked delectable.

He really shouldn’t feel so—uninterested. He stifled a sigh. It had been ages since his interest had been truly caught. He wasn’t even sure what the thing was that he wanted, only that it seemed to be missing from every woman he met lately.

“That was a lovely supper.” Lily smiled brightly and picked up her wine glass, taking a small sip and setting it back down.

Nathan smiled back but said nothing. After a moment of silence, Lily looked down at her empty dish. Evidently she decided that the cutlery wanted neatening. She lifted her fork and spoon and set them down again at a more precise angle.

Another smile.

Another sip of wine. Was she nervous?

“So, you are to spend Christmas at Lord Dunsmore’s estate,” she said. “Have you known him a long time?”

“Yes, he’s an old university friend—like Osborne. Not an especially close friend these days, but I see him at Brookes regularly enough.”

“I understand he has a lovely house. That it’s very—” She paused, a long pause that dragged as she looked upwards, searching for a word, her expression becoming a little pained. At last she added, “—well-staffed.”

Nathan almost laughed at the dullness of her conversational gambit. “Yes, I believe so.”

She continued gamely on. “It must be very hard to staff such a large home.”

He forced himself to respond. “It’s true. Staffing problems are a difficulty. I should know.”

She widened her eyes. “Oh?”

“Unfortunately, I am having such problems as we speak. My valet is leaving me and I really don’t know how to replace him.”

“Has he been with you long?” Lily asked, her blue eyes beginning to glint.

Even though he had no real interest in her, he was still pleased to have coaxed her out of herself. “Jarvis has been my valet for fourteen years. And he has grown used to my ways. I dread the prospect of training a new man.”

“Your ways?”

“I detest chatter,” he confided. “I put up with enough of it from the rest of the world—in my club, in the park, at balls and parties. The one time I can have peace is when I am in my own rooms. Jarvis observes my golden rule, which is that I must have silence in the morning.”

“Is that all?”

“Not quite. I am also particular about the person of my valet.”

She raised her eyebrows in a knowing way and he laughed.

“No, not like that. What I meant is that I have certain standards. A gentleman spends a great deal of time with his valet each day and I cannot abide a person who smells like a pig or whose palms are damp.”

“Do I take it you have seen a number of candidates?”

“Eight.”

Her lips twitched. “And
none
suit?”

“I’m afraid not.”

The wry amusement in her face faded, chased away by a thoughtful frown.

“Actually…” She gave him a considering look. A moment later she began again. “This is
very
coincidental—” She stopped. “No, I couldn’t. It would be an imposition.”

He leaned back and eyed her for several moments as she frowned into the middle distance, thinking. “Are you aware of someone looking for a position?” he asked at last.

She turned wide blue eyes on him. “Yes, I am. It’s strange, I know, but I do happen to know of an exemplary young man who is seeking employment as a valet. My cousin.” She paused, then added, “Twice removed. A very superior young man.”

“Does he have any experience?”

“Indeed he does. However, I ought to mention that his last position ended badly and he has no reference. His last employer—whom I cannot name for reasons that will become plain—” she paused theatrically, “—importuned him most shamefully.”

“Importuned?” He loaded his voice with a mocking inflection. “What
do
you mean?”

She gave him a level stare. “You are a man of the world. I think you know very well what I mean. It is shameful for a man of power and influence to use his position to attempt to seduce a youth and then turn him away without a reference when he refuses to allow himself to be debauched. Shameful to use his position so ruthlessly.”

Nathan almost laughed at her scolding schoolmistress tone, but her anger had the ring of truth about it.

“He is a youth, you say? And was this his first position?”

“I believe so. He has all the necessary skills, however.”

“I had hoped for someone older.”

Lily shrugged. “He is young,” she conceded. “Perhaps if you want someone older you should not even see him. However, he is an excellent young man, quiet, circumspect and well-favoured. I think you would find that he meets your exacting requirements.” She lifted her wine glass and sipped from it, her attention wandering as though she was growing bored of the topic.

Despite himself he was intrigued, wondering what the cousin of the famous Lily Hawkins might look like.

“I would be happy to interview your cousin, although I cannot promise to offer a position. Do you think he would be able to come to my house tomorrow afternoon?”

“I should think so,” Lily said. “He is currently without employment, so I expect his days are rather free.”

“Excellent. Well, we shall see if he lives up to your recommendation. Ask him to present himself at my house at three o’ clock tomorrow afternoon and I will see him. What is his name?”

“George—ah, George Fellowes.”

“Very good. Now, shall we see whether there are any more of those lovely meringues left?”