LESS THAN AN HOUR LATER, HENRY ENTRUSTED his team to a groom outside Lady Greyson’s house and was shown into her morning room, where the lady was in the process of breaking her fast.
Lady Greyson waved him to her side, offered her cheek for his kiss, and indicated the seat next to her. “Come fortify yourself with a cup of coffee before you go satisfy the Old Man’s curiosity. We heard rumors, you know.”
Henry dutifully kissed his godmother’s cheek, sat in the seat indicated, and accepted the cup offered to him. “Oh?”
Lady Greyson chuckled. “Don’t worry. Sara was here and mentioned you were not in town, so we concluded your mission had begun.”
Henry could barely contain his excitement. “Did she tell you what she wanted to see me about?”
“No, dear, but she did say she left a message at your house.”
Henry thought for a moment while he drank his coffee. “Could you send someone to retrieve that message whilst I’m in with the Old Man? It may be urgent.”
The lady turned curious eyes on him. “Of course, my boy. But first tell me about your charming friend Eliza. Sara seems to think I will be called upon to train her before long.”
Henry sat back in his chair and smiled at the woman who had taken the place of a mother in his life for the past eleven years. “Sara is a very smart woman. Eliza has already proven her worth. She is smart, seemingly unflappable, and has that most elusive of skills: the ability to work within the situation, whatever it may be. But most important of all, she has honor. So, yes, I would like you to take her under your wing.”
Henry drained his coffee, set down the cup, stood, and bowed to his godmother. “But first I need to go report, then enroll the Old Man’s help in keeping Robert and me from the gallows for killing a peer.”
Lady Greyson’s mouth dropped open in a most unladylike way. Then understanding dawned, and a wicked grin spread across her face. “If the peer you are referring to is Astor, all I can say is: good riddance!”
Henry was already in the corridor, but the “Indeed” he uttered under his breath was still clearly audible.
HE REENTERED THE HOUSE FORTY-FIVE minutes later and was handed a sealed note addressed to him in Miss Davis’s hand. He broke the seal and unfolded the message. It contained only one sentence: “Avon pays the bills.”
Henry stared at the parchment in his hand a good thirty seconds before a truly foul string of swear words rang out in Lady Greyson’s elegant foyer, followed by a clipped command: “Bring my curricle around.”
A footman swung the front door open, and the butler handed him his hat and held his coat open for him. “Right outside, sir. Your man William said the message was urgent, so I took the liberty to have your carriage brought around.”
Henry nodded his thanks, pushed his hat down on his head, and bounded down the stairs and up into his curricle. He barely waited for the groom to get out of his way before he urged his horses into a near gallop. He did not know how his cousin had managed to keep a second family secret all these years, but he did know, with absolute certainty, that if Stephanie was indeed the Duke of Avon’s daughter, and the world found out about her existence through these circumstances, there would be hell to pay.
There would be a mortifying scandal for the entire family, to be sure. Arthur might even be sufficiently angered by the fallout to force Emily from his home, but the true damage would be to his political career. He would lose allies in the House, the press would be merciless, and any bill he put forward or lent his support to would be doomed to failure.
Henry had almost made it to his cousin’s ducal palace on St. James’s Square when the truth struck him. Getting at him and threatening Emily had only been a sideshow, perhaps a fringe benefit for Astor. The real target was Avon and always had been. This was political in nature, and what Henry needed to do right now was stop Arthur from playing into the enemies’ hands. His task was not to be the bearer of bad news, but to stop his cousin from reacting to said news and going to his secret family’s aid.
Henry approached his destination at a more sedate pace, asked his team to be walked as if he was about to pay a courtesy visit, and was admitted by a wigged and liveried footman. But instead of waiting for the butler to announce him, Henry ran up the stairs and straight into his imposing cousin, who seemed to be in a hurry to leave the house.
“Bring around the unmarked carriage,” rang out the sharp command, then on seeing his cousin he boomed, “Ah, Henry, good to see you. Grossmama is in the morning salon.”
Henry took his cousin’s outstretched hand, but instead of releasing it, he clasped Arthur’s elbow with his other hand and drew him close so he would not be overheard. “Cancel the carriage and come to the study with me.” When Arthur tried to pull away, he added, “Stephanie is safe! But someone is trying to discredit you by creating a scandal.”
Arthur drew in a sharp breath, but held his composure admirably, then turned to the footman. “I won’t need the carriage after all.”
They proceeded down the corridor toward the duke’s study, doing their best to appear unhurried, but as soon as the door closed behind them and Arthur had led Henry sufficiently far into the room to ensure the footman on the other side would not be able to overhear, he turned to him, barely containing his agitation. “How do you know of Stephanie, and what do you know?”
Henry went to the brandy decanter and poured them both a drink, despite the early hour. “Stephanie is the daughter of Miss Adams. She was kidnapped yesterday by an individual named Hobbs and brought to a man I have long suspected of being a French spy and, therefore, had under surveillance. As soon as we realized to whom the girl had been taken, my associates and I went to where we suspected she would be held and rescued her. Both villains died in the resulting confrontation. Stephanie sustained some injuries and is badly shaken, but she is safe now, and the doctor who saw her said she will be well soon enough.”
Henry paused to gauge the other man’s reaction. The blood had drained steadily from the duke’s face ever since Henry had mentioned kidnapping. He was now as pale as a ghost, but the hands holding his drink were still steady, so Henry continued. “I just found out Stephanie is your daughter and that you have been looking after her and her mother for the past eighteen years.”
His cousin heaved a great sigh. “Twenty, actually. Clara wanted a child of her own, and I could not deny her, seeing as I was filling my nursery, adding to it with disturbing regularity.”
Henry could see it clearly now. “You did your duty with Hortense, but you love Miss Adams.”
Arthur put down his drink untouched and started to leave the room. “And our daughter! With everything I have. So you have to understand, I have to go to them, scandal or not. Whether it will cost me my political credibility or not.”
Henry stopped the duke with a hand on his arm. “What bills are you working on right now?”
Arthur looked at him with a fair amount of confusion, but answered the question. “Voting reform. We are trying to create a more representational system, shift some of the decision-making power to the House of Commons and elected officials. This Regency has gone on long enough, and I hope to spare future generations from having to endure another.”
“And I take it Elridge is opposed?”
“Violently so! To hear him talk, you would think I’m trying to destroy the monarchy.”
“Then we know who is pulling the strings behind the scene here.”
Avon looked shaken by the notion a political opponent would stoop to kidnapping his daughter and hurting her. “How would he even know about them? No one outside of Clara’s household knows about us.”
“Then we will have to look at her household for the answer to that question, but not now. Arthur, will you trust me and do precisely as I say? I promise to get you and Miss Adams to your daughter, and with any luck, Elridge won’t even find out you have left town.”
Arthur only nodded and waited for Henry to continue.
“You will take Grossmama and go for a visit to my house. Put it about that I came to invite you to an impromptu birthday party for Emily. Write to Miss Adams right now, tell her Stephanie is safe, and ask her to go for a visit with Sara Davis. Once we can verify whoever is watching you knows you are at my home, you will slip out my back door, take my carriage, and pick Miss Adams up from Miss Davis’s. Stephanie is in Hampstead with Fairly, so you can go see to her, leave her mother with her, and come back to my house before anybody is any the wiser, and tonight we will go to White’s for good measure.”
The plan was so simple, it might just succeed. Even Arthur, who knew nothing of subterfuge, could see that. “Thank you, Henry. I will do as you say.” He moved to his desk and sat to write to his mistress. “I’m glad she is with Fairly. He is a good man.”
Henry chuckled. “I am glad you think so. He may well need your support in the House of Lords.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Last night he killed the man who hurt Stephanie.”
“I will make sure to thank him for that. Who was it?”
“Lord Astor.”
Arthur stopped writing and stared at Henry. “Good Lord, you suspected one of Elridge’s sons to be a French spy?”
Henry returned his cousin’s stare, all humor gone from his countenance. “From what I have learned over the past weeks and what I witnessed last night, I am certain he was the spy the French called De Sade Anglais.”
Arthur’s face turned ashen, and the quill snapped between his fingers, leaving no doubt he’d heard what the spy did to his victims. “Merciful God! And my Stephanie was in the monster’s clutches? How badly is she hurt?”
Henry could barely bring himself to speak of it, but his cousin deserved to know the truth, and Stephanie would need her father’s love and patience. “She was caned and whipped, but, Arthur, I got there before he could do his worst.” Henry held his cousin’s gaze and willed him to understand what he was saying.
Arthur searched his eyes and finally let the air out of his lungs, relaxed his shoulders just a little, and nodded. Then he picked up a new quill and returned to the task of writing to his Clara. “Expect us within the hour.”
Knowing he had been dismissed, Henry left to make all the necessary arrangements to provide cover for Arthur’s journey to Hampstead.
HENRY BARELY HAD TIME TO send messages to Lady Greyson, Sara Davis, and Robert to apprise them of the situation before the ducal carriage pulled up in front of his house. Lady Greyson followed shortly thereafter with all her dogs, and they all congregated in the drawing room.
Charlie, who had been stationed at the corner of Oxford Street, came by to report the duke’s chaise had indeed been followed, and pointed out the fellow, who had positioned himself on a bench in the square. Arthur left through the back door to pick up his lady and go to Hampstead, while the rest of the adults did their best to make Emily believe this was indeed a party for her.
They whiled away the day with the dogs’ antics, a lavish lunch, songs in the music room, a birthday cake with all of the staff gathering around to wish Emily a happy birthday, a nap for the old ladies, and a trip to the stables for Emily. By the time they reconvened in the drawing room for afternoon tea, it was five o’clock and the last of the daylight was fast disappearing.
They had just settled down around the tea trolley when the Duke of Avon walked back into the room with Eliza on his arm. He seated her with the air of a man who had just made a new friend and took the chair next to Henry. The two men didn’t speak beyond a simple greeting and the confirmation they would meet in the smoking room at White’s around nine that evening, but the companionable silence in which they consumed their tea and cakes spoke for itself.
AFTER TEA, LADY GREYSON AND the ducal party departed, and Emily was ushered upstairs for her bath. Eliza excused herself as well to freshen up and change before dinner, so Henry retreated to the library to see to his correspondence.
But he had only just sat down behind his desk and found the tin that housed his spectacles when William knocked on the door and told him Riley had arrived from Hampstead with a letter. Curious as to who other than Robert would send him a letter from Hampstead and have it hand-delivered, Henry waved his old comrade into the room.
The letter Riley handed to him wasn’t sealed. In fact, it seemed to be more than one letter, written on several pieces of paper differing in size and texture. A piece of foolscap, the kind the lady of the house might carry in her pocket on a small pad to write out menus and such, was wrapped around the outside. Someone had written in pencil:
Please deliver to: Sir Henry March, Cavendish Square, London
“There was a shilling next to it when Mary found it under the pillow,” Riley explained.
Henry knew the slope of the hand that had addressed the letter, but he still sought confirmation. Hoping for what, he did not know. “Who stayed in the room that night?”
Riley scratched the back of his neck, aware Henry was struggling with something he had no knowledge of. “A Lord and Lady Ostley, I believe, and they were there for two nights.”
Confirmation then. Henry had trouble keeping his hands steady enough to unfold the foolscap. The last thing on this green earth he wanted to do was read a letter from Cecilia, but she had obviously gone to some trouble to send it, and it might tell him more about the threat to Emily, the one he was not entirely sure had been eliminated. So he put his resentment and the old pain coursing through him at seeing her hand aside and spread the four pieces of paper on his desk, to find where best to begin.
He glanced up to where Riley still stood. “Why don’t you go to the kitchen and let Mrs. Tibbit feed you? I may need you to take a message back to Viscount Fairly.”
Riley saluted and left the room, closing the door behind him, but Henry was already engrossed in the task before him. The foolscap had a note written in pencil on the inside. It was dated from the night before and was headlined:
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
That alone was intriguing. What did Cecilia have to thank him for and why had she suddenly turned up in Hampstead after a decade of barricading herself on her husband’s country estate?
Henry’s head swam with unanswered questions, but they all dropped right out of his mind when he unfolded the three large ultra-thin pieces of parchment, narrowly covered in tiny script and dated from the 13th of May, 1808. Cecilia had written to him four months after Emily had been born. She had cared enough to write to him, he had just never received the letter. What he would have given to have received it back then. He had needed desperately to know her reasons for abandoning Emily, but did he still want to know what she had to say for herself?
Yes.
It was as if his heart had suddenly been thrown a lifeline and he could not, would not, let it go, so he pulled out his spectacles and started to read.