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Later that afternoon, Emmaline sat in the North Parlor—the room where the family tended to pass their leisure time when not entertaining—enjoying tea with Miles. Jane and Charles played on one corner of the Aubusson carpet nearby. Her giggles and Charles’ coos and occasional screeches filled the air.
“Anything interesting in the paper?” she asked as Miles flipped to a new page in The Times. Usually, he read aloud tidbits he thought she might enjoy. Today, however, he remained strangely quiet.
“Nothing except vague reports on unrest in Europe and the occasional laughing stock the king is making himself.” Miles folded down one corner of the paper and looked at her. “Quite dreary, really, and hardly conducive to holiday joy.”
“That sort of uplifting feeling will never be found in The Times, my love.” Emmaline smiled then made a silly face for Charles, who then giggled and slobbered while he grinned. “Joy must be discovered within your heart.”
“Perhaps you are correct.” Miles folded the paper and let it fall to the low table in front of him. He picked up a teacup, and once he’d taken a sip, he said, “How did the meeting with Miss Wickham go?”
Emmaline huffed. “Better than expected in many ways, and quite efficient, but she still has yet to share anything deeply personal about herself, no matter how I might ask.” What sort of woman didn’t enjoy telling another woman about her roots or her people or even her hobbies, maybe her hopes and aspirations?
One who has made it a point to keep secrets as if ordered to do so.
“Is that what is bothering you, or is it that your customary charms and tricks don’t have an effect on her?” He hid his grin behind the rim of his teacup. When she narrowed her eyes, he shrugged. “You pride yourself on the ability to draw people out in conversation. Before they are aware, they’ve given over secrets or shown the skeletons in their closets.” He snorted as she rolled her eyes. “I know from experience. It happened to me.”
“Well, I suppose when put in that light, I cannot be angry at you.” She took a sip from her own teacup and then set it down on the low table. “But mark my words. She is hiding something, and I don’t like it by half.”
“I shall bear that in mind if a nefarious plot comes against us.” He smirked. “The governess shall be my first suspect.”
Emmaline lowered her voice and glanced at Jane. The last thing they needed was the girl parroting back the conversation to the governess. “It is not just that, but since she came to us with impeccable references from Rathesborne, what am I supposed to think? Hudson arrived much the same way, and look how that turned out.”
“Splendidly, if you want to know the truth.” Miles beamed. “Great fellow. Trust him with my life.”
“Right, but he didn’t volunteer the truth of why he was sent to you. I have even asked Rathesborne point blank if she worked for the Crown.”
“And he said what?”
She huffed. “That she wasn’t one of his agents.”
“Well, there you go. Rathesborne doesn’t lie. In all my years of knowing him, he has never told me a falsehood.”
“Perhaps.” Yet that didn’t mean he wasn’t telling the whole truth. Her husband was losing his touch if he didn’t suspect everyone. “Besides, are we not supposed to be vigilant now?”
“We are, darling, but Miss Wickham is our governess. In the hiring of her, we have indicated a level of trust. Hudson has done the requisite checks, and no doubt so has the duke. How much trouble could she possibly have gotten into before coming to us?” When Emmaline cocked an eyebrow, he cleared his throat. “Don’t answer that. Also, if you really want to compare, the two of us aren’t exactly proper either.”
“Why must you twist everything around and trip me up with logic?” It was such fun bantering with him.
Miles grinned but was saved from further conversation by the arrival of Willoughby, the butler, and his preemptory knock on the doorframe.
“My lord, the Viscount Trewellain to see you,” the elderly man, twin to his counterpart in London, announced with an impassive expression. “He is quite agitated.”
“Which is his normal mood these days, my good man. Show him in.” Miles stood, beaming. He glanced at her. “What a pleasant surprise. Did you know he would visit?”
“I had no idea,” Emmaline murmured, but she also rose and smoothed the creases from her gown of sapphire satin. Even though the viscount was one of Miles’ closest friends, after events in France, they hadn’t seen much of him. No doubt he’d needed time to recover, and knowing the Duke of Rathesborne, he’d sent Jonathan out on missions. Or worse, the viscount had shut himself behind closed doors to nurse his battered spirit with drink. “I suppose he must have good reason to ride out here.” Cold fingers of anxiety played her spine. Surely he didn’t bear ill tidings. One never knew with a King’s man. “Mayhap he wished to spend the holiday us.”
“Instead of his own family?”
“I have the impression he doesn’t enjoy his relatives.” As third son of the Duke of Werthsbury, Jonathan hadn’t had many expectations put to him. Even though he risked his life time out of hand for King and country, the viscount’s father never seemed impressed.
“That is true enough. Perhaps he wants friends around him this Christmastide, people who will usher him into their midst and make him feel needed,” her husband suggested, and when his friend appeared in the doorway, he strode across the floor. “Welcome, Jonathan!”
The viscount advanced a few steps into the room. His broad shoulders and lean, muscled torso encased in a jacket of bottle-green superfine filled the empty spaces. His blond hair, though done in the latest style, curled damply at his collar. Mud splattered his Hessians as well as the lower portion of his tan riding breeches. Had the man decided to ride to Kent instead of taking a carriage?
He was as larger than life as her husband, but he held a sharper edge, an air of mystery and danger that Miles did not.
“Archewyne.” He shifted his gaze to her as he tightened his grip on the silver, lion head topper of his cane. “Lady Archewyne.”
“Uncle Jonathan!” Jane pelted over to him and threw herself against him, hugging his legs. “You have come for Christmas.”
“I, uh, I don’t...”
She smiled up at him, her blonde curls bouncing with her enthusiasm as he floundered with an explanation. “I am so happy.” The girl hugged him again. “You haven’t come around in forever, and I have missed you.” A note of accusation clung to her emphatic statement.
Emmaline grinned as Jonathan, his countenance one of extreme embarrassment mixed with pleasure, knelt on one knee—his good one, for his other leg was false—before the little girl. Solemnly, he took her hand in his free one and kissed the back of it. “Hello, Lady Jane. How is my favorite princess today? I hope you haven’t slayed any dragons without me.”
“Only one, for he tried to eat Charles,” she said in matching serious tones and then the two of them exchanged a secret smile. “I slashed at him with my sword.” She pantomimed the action for him. “In the end, he fell dead because Charles drooled on him.”
Jonathan was her honorary uncle. Ever since he was kidnapped with Jane nearly a year ago, they were as thick as thieves together and when the viscount allowed himself to enjoy life or not dwell on the ills that had happened to him, it was endearing to watch them. He always seemed to help them out when they needed him most.
He released her hand and pressed his to his heart while assuming a mock-hurt expression. “I suppose that is all right though I may never live past the disappointment.”
Jane gazed at him and patted his clean-shaven cheek. “There will be other dragons, Uncle Jonathan.”
“Yes, I’m quite sure there will be, especially with your family’s penchant for poking into the places such beasts reside.” Slowly, he stood and again his gaze went to Miles. “Deuced bad weather out there. Not beneficial to riding from London for ten hours. I’d rather have the snow, for I wouldn’t feel the need to come out here then.”
As Jane returned to the area where her brother played, Emmaline closed the distance between herself and the viscount. She placed a kiss to his cheek. The comforting scent of worn leather as well as the more pungent smell of wet horse met her nose. “I’m glad you’re here as well, though I am puzzled as to why you chose to ride in the rain. A carriage would have been more comfortable.” She resisted the urge to glance at his leg.
“It would, but then the journey would have taken much longer. The roads are deplorable in some places. Wheels would have most assuredly been broken.” Briefly, he availed himself of her hand, kissed her knuckle and then released it. “And besides, I wished for the exercise. Christmastide makes a man think about his mortality and his trajectory in life.”
Miles clapped a hand to the viscount’s shoulder and offered his other. “Or, if you realize what he’s not saying, you’ll know our friend here felt lonely and wished to spend time with us since he has no woman in his life to moon about or act the rogue to.”
Emmaline’s jaw dropped. “Not well done of you, my love.” The viscount’s bitterness regarding the murder of his ladylove nearly a year ago had faded only slightly.
“Do shut up, Archewyne.” Jonathan rolled his eyes. “I needed out of my own head, away from my empty townhouse where I have nothing to do except think. I’m not of a mind to do that, and my fellow bachelors on Brook Street are scattered for the holiday.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Besides, Rathesborne suggested I deliver a message, one that couldn’t wait until you returned to Town. I refused.”
Miles snorted. “And he then ordered you for the already spoken reasons.”
“He did. Said if I didn’t get my arse to Kent post haste and enjoy some leisure time, he would see to it that I would never again be given a mission on foreign soil, like I have requested.” Jonathan’s mouth was set into a straight line.
“Doing what instead?” Her husband glanced at her and he winked.
The viscount scoffed. “Patrolling Hyde Park after dark, searching for scoundrels and thieves.”
“Though imagine how interesting that could be,” Emmaline said on the heels of laughter, for she and her husband had made use of Hyde Park on more than one occasion during cases.
“Mayhap.” Jonathan’s lips twitched. He’d heard the stories. In fact, he’d become involved in one of them. “I don’t know how much I believed him, but I didn’t wish to risk his wrath, and I truly hope he’ll send me somewhere with warmth and sunshine this winter.”
“Italy is magnificent this time of year,” she said with a smile at her husband. Had it just been last year when they were there?
“Indeed it is, my love. Romantic, wouldn’t you say?” Miles replied with a twinkle in his eye that meant devilish things.
“Oh, do leave off with your shows of affection,” Jonathan said in heavy annoyance. “So, I stopped by your townhouse and collected any other missives Alfred could find that had been sent during the week, like I’m the damned mail post.” He reached inside his waistcoat and withdrew a stack of letters—perhaps ten—tied together with twine. “The last thing I wanted was to be confined to the interior of a slow-moving carriage.”
“Again with nothing to do but think,” Miles added with reflective tones.
“Exactly.” Jonathan nodded. “I shall be deuced glad when the holidays are over.”
Poor man. Still haunted by his past. “How noble of you to make such a sacrifice on our behalf.” Emmaline took the correspondence from him. “I trust you’ll stay through Christmas and celebrate with the people who love you most? Friends who are as close as family should be around other friends this time of the year.” It was adorable how much he wanted the companionship but fought against it. Perhaps the more time they spent it his company, the more he’d come through the grieving process.
He briefly closed his eyes then lifted them to the heavens. “I suppose if I must.”
Jane hooted with triumph. “Will you even dance with me, Uncle Jonathan?”
“Well, it would only be proper, wouldn’t it?” A flush colored his neck above his cravat. “Willoughby had my saddlebags taken up to a room. I suppose he was already under orders to do such a thing?”
Emmaline grinned. “Of course. Did you think we wouldn’t press upon you all the reasons you should stay? We shall have a cozy at-home with one of our dearest friends, and I’ll encourage Cook to make all your favorites.”
That pulled a grin from Jonathan.
“Superior decision.” Miles slapped his friend on the back. “Come take tea with us.” He waved everyone over to the table. “Tell us the news from Town.”
“There is nothing to tell.” The viscount took a seat next to Emmaline on the settee, his movements as smooth as when he’d knelt before Jane. He accepted a cup of tea from her. “The German Federation continues to make veiled threats, as do other principalities and powers in Europe.” He shrugged. “The ton has been infiltrated, like Rathesborne has said. Finding the people who don’t have England’s interests at heart is much harder to pinpoint.”
“Do you feel the undercurrent of tension too?” Miles asked. He held out his teacup to her for a refill.
“I’m afraid so.” Jonathan selected a few seed cakes and a scone from the tray and then balanced them on his saucer with his cup. “I’ve also heard rumors there is unrest in all of England’s colonized areas.” He shook his head. “The world is expanding, experiencing growing pains, and chafes at its shackles of British oppression. It remains to be seen how that will play out for any of us.”
Silence descended on them for a few minutes. Desperate to lift the gloom that had fallen, Emmaline asked, “Your limp is less noticeable. Have you become more accustomed to the prosthetic?”
Miles snorted before Jonathan could answer. “How is that less gauche than me referring to his bachelor state?”
Both Emmaline and the viscount ignored him.
“As luck would have it, I’ve recently acquired a new one.” Jonathan laid his cup and plate on the low table and then turned fully toward her. “The hollow compartment is bigger, plus the buckles and straps are easier to manipulate in a hurry. Also, there is now an ankle joint of sorts, which affords me more freedom of movement.” He stretched out his leg, but a glance in Jane’s direction stayed his hand. “Perhaps I shall show you some other time. But suffice it to say there is a cushion now where the stump and the prosthetic meet. It’s why I was able to ride ten hours with wanting to tear the leg off.”
“Advancements in medicine will only make such things better.” Miles sipped at his tea. “Did the same man who crafted the first version do this one?”
“Oh, yes.” A faint smile curved the viscount’s lips. “I’ve come to discover the man works in conjunction as a weapon’s master for a different faction of King’s agents. I stumbled upon a piece of his work while in the field, and an inquiry through Rathesborne put me in touch with him.”
“Small world.” Miles grinned.
Emmaline fingered the stack of letters in her lap. “Are you off for a mission soon?” Receiving that all-important summons from the duke must be incredible. After the events in France, she was still awaiting her first mission for the Crown. The fact both disappointed and relieved her, but the delay would allow her time to spend with Charles and enjoy the delicious strides in babyhood he made.
“I am. Once Parliament reconvenes, I’m ordered to Spain. I cannot give you specifics, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
“Rathesborne is sending me in search of a missing peer. There’s been scuttlebutt regarding his disappearance along with an artifact he is rumored to possess. I would have preferred to go to the Bavarian region, to plug the hole, so to speak, where spies are funneling through.”
Miles snorted. “As if that area is the one spot in the world operatives hail from.”
“True.” Jonathan grinned. The light of adventure twinkled in his eyes. “However, three men from the German Federation have been captured since the fiasco in France. It is a good place to start. A few of our men are already over there and hopefully have entrenched themselves deep into life.”
When the two fell to discussing tactics and the finer points of fieldwork, Emmaline’s mind wandered. She undid the twine binding the letters and then shuffled through them. Five were for Miles, three for her, one for Hudson and one belonged to Willoughby. Wordlessly, she handed her husband his missives.
“Ah, this one bears Rathesborne’s seal.” He held it up. Seconds later, he promptly broke it. A grunt followed. “Once we return to London, I’m to begin training—or re-training as it were—a junior agent.” He heaved a sigh. “Buggar that. I’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes. “That’s child’s play, and you’re skilled at it besides. My orders, among other things, are to ingratiate myself to one of the king of Spain’s daughters...” His words trailed off.
“None better than a rogue to seduce secrets from one of the most attractive women in the world.” Miles laughed as he folded the letter, but Emmaline caught the pain that flashed across the viscount’s face.
She shook her head. “Tact, my dear. Perhaps you should practice it more before you needs must train someone else. What else did Rathesborne say?”
“Nothing other than the importance of attending more ton functions to observe a handful of people he’s listed in the letter.”
“I see.” Would their halcyon time together as a family be forgotten once they returned to London? In addition to his duties in the House of Lords, Miles would be busy with training and doing the pretty out on the town. Anxiety cramped her stomach, but she attempted to ignore it. She knew her husband. He’d make time for them all.
Turning her attention to her own correspondence, her anxiety vanished before a thrill of excitement when she recognized Rathesborne’s seal on a missive. After breaking the wax, she drew a single scrap of paper from the envelope.
Lady Archewyne,
I apologize for my silence. The state of affairs regarding England’s security is rather urgent at the moment. However, you will be activated to the Crown’s service this winter as soon as I can match your skills with a worthy assignment.
Yours respectfully,
Rathesborne
She glanced at her husband as he talked animatedly with Jonathan. Would that pull them in different directions? If she was assigned abroad and his duties kept him in London, would that strain their marriage?
A knock on the doorframe yanked her attention to the room around her. “Hudson, how fortuitous.” She waved an envelope in the air. “You have a letter. The viscount brought it with our post.”
The valet nodded as he came into the room. “Thank you, my lady.” He met her in the middle of the room and accepted the envelope. He glanced at Miles. “My lord, regarding the conversation we had earlier? Everything has been secured. I employed the services of Mr. Wiltshire, as well.”
“Ah, yes. My estate steward is trustworthy. Good show, Hudson. I knew I could count on you,” Miles said and a mysterious look passed between them. “Nothing like Christmas for keeping secrets, eh?”
What exactly did the men discuss and why couldn’t she be a part of it?
“Indeed.” With an air of distraction, Hudson tore open his envelope, unfolded the paper and read in silence. Then, a soft curse left him.
“Problem, Hudson?” Miles asked as he and Jonathan rested gazes on him.
“I’m not certain yet.” The valet rubbed a hand along his clean-shaven jaw.
“What has happened?” Emmaline took a few steps closer to him. “Perhaps we can help.”
When Hudson met her gaze, his expression reflected worry. “This letter is from my sister, Lucy. She has apparently been left with no choice but to travel to Derbyshire with Viscount Hartsford.” He shook his head. “I don’t like or trust that man by half. He’s selfish and a rake to boot.”
“Hartsford?” Miles stood. Jonathan followed suit. “Colin Rowley is every bit the bastard you think he is. How did your sister fall into his snare?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, my lord. She doesn’t say in the letter,” Hudson said in a quiet voice. “In fact, she doesn’t say much, but I have the uncomfortable feeling there is history between them.”
Emmaline felt the need to interrupt. “Is this Lord Hartsford a King’s man?”
Miles snorted. “Not bloody likely. That lazy layabout would have to climb out of a widow’s bed and show an interest in something other than himself first.”
Hudson’s expression tightened.
“I hope your sister has her wits about her,” Jonathan added. “The man is a womanizer and has dabbled in every vice known to man, if rumors are true. Selfish to a fault.”
“Oh, hush you two. Perhaps it won’t be as bad as you suspect. There are always two sides to a story.”
“Not always, my love,” Miles inserted. “There have been at least three members of the peerage who were rotten to the core.”
“Perhaps.” Though even as out of touch with ton news as she was, Emmaline had heard stories regarding Lord Hartsford. She quelled the urge to add to the valet’s discomfort. “Hudson, if your sister is anything like you, she can handle her own life.”
A faint smile curved the valet’s lips. “Let us hope you are correct, my lady. Though, I am glad for the fact I trained both girls in fisticuffs years ago. The man wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on her without significant personal injury.”
“Excellent.” That would be a great skill to learn. Perhaps Miles would consent to some lessons. She offered another letter. “Will you see that Willoughby receives this?”
“Absolutely.” With a slight bow, he took the letter and then exited the room.
Jonathan nudged Miles in the ribs with an elbow. “What is this mysterious thing your valet refers to?”
Miles cocked an eyebrow. “I shall tell you, but on the other side of the room. It is Christmas, after all.”
Men were merely grown up little boys. Yet excitement built in her belly. What could he have possibly gotten her for Christmas, if that was indeed what the two of them discussed? I cannot imagine. All the secrecy and intrigue was all so thrilling, and she intended to enjoy this time to the fullest.
Emmaline smiled and turned her attention to one of her last letters. It was from her father, the Earl of St. Ives, and she sighed. No doubt he wrote about a new find or latest discovery he’d made.