The Reluctant Earl (7 page)

Elizabeth deigned to glance her way and even offered a nod. “Good night, Miss Vance.”

Head bowed, Miss Vance scurried from the salon. But for her obvious distress, Julian might have feared she intended another examination of his belongings. No, her agitation seemed genuine, and he doubted he’d encounter her in his chamber this night. A pity, that—on both counts.

Despite her dishonest activities, he liked her. After nearly two years of pursuit by women whose only goal was to trap him—or any other man endowed with similar income and position—in matrimony, he’d developed an unexpected respect for those who’d made contingency plans.

He studied Fleming, who continued to entertain at the piano. What had happened between him and Miss Vance that caused her distress?

“Lord Chambelston?” The butler stepped into the room with a silver tray. “A message arrived for you.”

Julian snatched the note, frowning as he recognized his housekeeper’s handwriting. He broke the seal and perused her entreaty. Maman needed him. Now.

Once he’d been responsible for the lives of nigh a thousand men under his command. Why did he find it so difficult to balance the conflicting obligations of finding justice for his father with providing comfort for his mother?

He’d have to get his instructions to Miss Vance tonight. Perhaps Teresa would deliver a message later. She seemed wont to believe a budding romance existed between her uncle and governess.

“Bad news, Chambelston?” Elizabeth’s brows arched above her icy blue eyes.

“I must leave at first light tomorrow.”

“I hardly consider that bad news.”

No, she’d be delighted to see him go. The sting of her rejection jabbed at his heart. “Then perhaps you will find the rest worthy of your disappointment. I’m afraid my business here is not yet concluded so I’ll be returning as soon as possible.”

Chapter Four

J
ulian paused on the sagging stoop of a modest house. Behind him the sounds of London—lumbering carts, barking dogs, bellowing men—echoed down narrow streets and between close-set buildings. A year ago his brother had asked him to visit here, but Julian had resisted. Today, he had no choice.

He knocked.

He wished he could do more—needed to do more—to answer the questions about his father’s death, but he could hardly infiltrate the insurgent group himself. Not when his father had assisted the more rational members in their grievances. Unfortunately Julian knew—and trusted—few others capable of completing such an assignment.

For the first time since his father’s death, he realized how very alone he was.

The door swung open to reveal an unremarkable man of middling years.

“Lawrence Harrison?”

The man’s unexpectedly keen eyes narrowed, then the crow’s feet at the corners deepened with his smile. “My lord, how good of you to call. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.” Julian stepped over the threshold and removed his hat. Inside the house the hubbub of countless children dwarfed the noises of London.

“Mr. DeChambelle!” One of the whirling forms paused long enough to attach himself to Julian’s leg. The boy shoved a scrap of brown paper with a crudely inked star into Julian’s hand. “See what I drew?”

“The children have been enacting the story of the wise men for Twelfth Night. Sorry, lad. This is Mr. DeChambelle’s brother, Lord Chambelston.” Harrison peeled the child away and gestured to the oldest boy. “Andrew, take them to your mother.”

Julian passed the childish picture to Harrison while Andrew herded the hoard into the next room.

“I was sorry to hear about your father.” Harrison tucked the paper in the pages of a chair-side Bible.

“Thank you. He will be much missed.”

“I never met him, but your brother always spoke highly of him. How is Kit?”

“Well, the last we heard.”

A fleeting smile touched Harrison’s face. “He wrote us some months back to inform us he’d resumed his university studies.”

As many younger sons, Kit had been destined for service in the church, but dropped out of his classes at Oxford to...join the war effort. “A great irony, that he will become a clergyman after all.”

“But this time because he feels God calling him and not simply because it’s expected of him.” Harrison hesitated, his gaze searching Julian’s face. “I presume you didn’t seek me out to discuss your brother.”

“Can we go somewhere and talk?”

Harrison grabbed his coat and hat from a peg and led Julian out the door. A year ago Harrison had had the thinning hair and thickening middle common to a man of his years. But in this winter of want he slung his frayed coat over a much leaner frame. Julian’s mind skipped back to the mass of children in the other room. Had Harrison forgone a few meals to see his children fed? To what lengths would a man go to protect those he loved?

And could the same be said for a woman?

His feet, and pulse, stuttered. Why did thoughts of Miss Vance creep unbidden into his mind again and again? Because he wanted to believe something altruistic—not selfish or malicious—motivated her actions?

Even now she should be planning how to accomplish his instructions. That is, if she were simply a naive governess sucked into a bad situation and not a traitor to her king and country.

The two men walked in silence along the road until they reached the river’s edge. The stink of the Thames, only partially subdued by the winter wind, tickled Julian’s senses with reminders of his past. Ships moored along her shore. The same gusts that whipped his cloak also tossed the ships’ rigging and moaned amongst their furrowed sails. He lingered. Watched. Remembered.

Two decades ago when his thirteen-year-old self—a gangly youth all knees and elbows and anxiety—had boarded his first ship, he’d never guessed he would someday miss that life. The months of endless watches. The hours of boredom. The minutes of thrilling terror.

The camaraderie.

“My lord?” Harrison interrupted his reverie.

Julian drew himself back to the present, to the problems that seemed so incredibly complex compared to the simplicity of youth. “I’m seeking someone to work for me. I’ll pay you, and well.”

“Jobs that pay well at such a time as this are usually dangerous or illegal.”

“Not illegal.”

“How dangerous?”

“I’m not certain.” Though someone had credited one murder to the radicals already. “And it requires travel.”

“Dangerous and requires travel.” Harrison’s brown brow arched over amused blue eyes. “Sounds as if you’re conscripting me for the navy.”

“Not that much travel. Only as far as Northamptonshire. I don’t know what you did for our government during the war—”

“And you never shall, my lord.”

“And that is precisely why I wish to hire you. I believe you have some...special talents I lack.” Julian’s brother had shared precious few details of what he’d done during the war, only that he’d worked as a spy. With Lawrence Harrison. Imagining the oh-so-mundane Harrison in dangerous, clandestine work almost lifted Julian’s lips into a smile. The man was perfect for the part—unremarkable in every way. “You know what happened at Spa Fields?”

“The riot?”

“I recently learned the incident may not have formed spontaneously.”

Harrison blew a low whistle through his teeth. “You think there is a conspiracy to foment unrest? That is a serious charge.”

“Aye, treason,” Julian agreed quietly. A half-respectable tavern perched along the street. Julian waved at its facade. “I have a long day yet ahead of me. Let’s continue this discussion over a meal. I’ll pay, of course.”

Harrison followed Julian into a dim interior that smelled of grease and hard labor. But the fire radiated warmth and the harsh wind didn’t buffet them with cold. The day was yet young enough the taproom held few people. Once they’d settled themselves in a quiet corner, Julian retrieved the anonymous note from his pocket and slid it across the table.

Harrison pulled off his gloves and examined the page. His brows drew together as he perused the words. “When did you receive this?”

“The morning of my father’s funeral.”

“Have you enemies? It could be a deception.”

A serving girl brought them bowls of watery stew. “I considered that. But I had to inquire further, so I traveled to Northamptonshire.” Julian fished through the broth for an elusive vegetable or cut of beef.

“I thought Lady Sotherton was estranged from the rest of her family. Have you reconciled?” Despite the meal’s poor quality, Harrison gulped his food hungrily all the same.

“Sadly, no. I spoke with her husband—the Home Office undersecretary—and he claims my father did indeed have a relationship with some of the petitioners.”

“So we can’t rule out the allegations of murder without more information.” Harrison set down his spoon and examined the note again, his lips pursed with concentration. “The parchment is of high quality and the phrasing suggests the writer studied rhetoric. The lines are fine, implying a new or freshly sharpened quill. But some of the letters fluctuate, suggesting your anonymous author is a person of means and education who tried to disguise his handwriting.”

“I see I was right about your special talents.”

“So what else happened in Northamptonshire?”

“I discovered a member of my brother-in-law’s staff searching my room.” Julian hesitated, his thoughts harkening to those moments in his bedchamber when he’d first encountered Miss Vance. “She claims she receives remuneration for her activities.”

“Selling government information gleaned from Sotherton? Did you inform your brother-in-law?”

“Not yet. I came to see you instead.”

“If she is telling the truth about her compensation, that indicates planning. And funding.”

“And collaboration with either a hostile power or revolutionaries within our own country. If what I surmise is true, there will be further unrest.”

“The current hardships add impetus to their cause. Men with hungry bellies are easily led. Such as I.” Harrison eyed his empty bowl as he refolded the note and returned it to Julian.

“My original objective was to determine the letter’s veracity—and if true, bring my father’s killers to justice. But it seems I chanced upon something greater than my poor troubles.”

“Tell me about the informant.”

Julian hesitated, strangely reluctant to reveal her identity. “My niece’s governess, Miss Vance.”

“The governess?” Harrison’s widening eyes revealed his first surprise of the day. “Been with the family for long?”

“Eight years.”

“So she could have begun her enterprise during the war, selling Sotherton’s secrets to the French.”

Nausea roiled the broth in Julian’s belly. He pictured Miss Vance’s frayed coat and vintage gown. “If she did, she hasn’t spent her ill-gotten gains on her attire.”

“A smart woman wouldn’t.”

And she was that. “She seems quite close to her charge.” And yet she was betraying the Sothertons for a fee. Surely the woman who had claimed her cynicism stemmed from a French shell wouldn’t have conspired with England’s enemies. “However, I don’t know if she’ll remain with the family after my niece’s comeout in the spring.”

“Eight years is long enough to form significant connections in the neighborhood. Someone knows her well enough to realize she’d be receptive to betraying Lord Sotherton.”

The serving girl collected the empty bowls. Julian placed a few coins on the table and earned a gap-toothed smile. “I suspect my sister is a demanding employer.”

“So demanding a woman would betray her country to settle her grudge?”

Julian rose from his seat, his thoughts turning back to Miss Vance’s comment about evil and the disparity of power. “She seems to feel injustice keenly.”

“So she might believe her actions justified.”

“I meant such an idealistic nature would be unlikely to have sided with the Corsican tyrant during the war.”

Harrison pulled on his gloves, the side of one finger visible through a rent in the fabric. “You seem wont to defend her, my lord. What are you going to do about her?”

“I’ve hired her to pass on my messages to her compatriots. I left her instructions to inform them of my suspicions regarding their involvement in my father’s death.”

“That could be dangerous to you, my lord.”

“Then I’d have my answer.”

“If her sympathies lie with the radicals, your offer of remuneration might not be enough to buy her loyalty. I don’t suppose you left any bogus messages in your chamber before you left.”

“To test her credibility?” The wind whipped against him as he exited the building. Julian turned up the collar of his cloak. Once before he’d entrusted a subordinate with a confidential communication, only to find himself deceived. He would do well to remember that. “I’ll do that when I return to Rowan Abbey. Perhaps a letter suggesting the government intends to crack down on the growing unrest and will be sending troops to Wellingborough will garner their attention. Will you accept the position?”

“Only a foolish man would decline an opportunity to feed his family this winter.” A gaunt horse lumbered past them. The wagon behind skidded on the dingy, packed snow, eliciting a bellow from its driver. “I’ll travel to Northamptonshire and join the local group of radicals. However, my lord, as an outsider, I probably can’t penetrate far enough into the leadership to glean much of their plans.”

“True, but you have better prospects than any other. I can hire someone from Bow Street to conduct inquiries in London about the Spa Fields riots.”

“I’ll get you the right man. He is very good—but not cheap.”

“I’m prepared to pay what I must.”

Harrison stared at a pigeon roosting on a rooftop for several moments. “My lord, you do realize you have placed this governess in a precarious position? Should her contacts learn of her duplicity, I doubt they will be as obliging as you.”

Julian shoved his hands into his pocket. The crackle of the anonymous note tossed his mind back to the simple nativity star Harrison’s youngest had drawn with childish scrawl. Misgivings mingled with determination. “She placed herself in danger when she began this game. I doubt the government would have been more forgiving than the mob had the magistrate caught her first.” Or his sister Elizabeth. “Should I inform Sotherton of my discovery and our stratagem?”

“Let’s see what your governess achieves for us.”

“And offer Miss Vance a chance to redeem herself?”

“We are all in need of redemption, captain.”

Julian startled to hear his old title—not the one he’d inherited so unexpectedly, but the one he’d studied for, worked for, earned. He stared at a nearby ship whose masts disappeared into the London fog. Perhaps even he had a bit of the revolutionary coursing through his veins. “It seems I’ll be visiting my sister for an extended stay. She won’t be pleased.”

“Reconciliation is every bit as necessary as redemption.” Harrison directed Julian’s attention from the ship to a tenement in the distance. “Our quarters are simple and the fare is modest, but you are welcome if you are staying in London.”

By the looks of Harrison, their meals tended to the meager. “I spent years of my life at sea. I’m not so fastidious as you might imagine. Unfortunately I must journey immediately to Somerset. My housekeeper writes my mother is not well. I shall return to Northamptonshire as soon as feasible.” Julian retrieved a purse from inside his coat and passed it to the other man. “Buy whatever you need for the task—including any provisions your family will require during your absence.”

* * *

Leah stared across the rolling fields of sun-glazed snow. The bare branches of leafless trees framed the footpath as she hiked to the entrance of a large estate. A high stone fence enclosed the grounds and ivy covered the manor’s walls, as if they hid from the world, ashamed. She glanced over her shoulder. Assured none save a few thin, shaggy cattle observed her movements, she marched to the gatehouse.

The gatekeeper came out and fitted a key in the lock. “Another Sunday visit, eh, Miss Vance?” He pushed open the foreboding iron gates that shut out unexpected visitors. And shut in any residents bent on escape.