Elinor departed from the ball early. It was barely after two in the morning, and by all appearances, the ball would continue until at least four. Lady Ramsgate had instructed her cook to begin preparations for a light breakfast in case the guests were still in residence at six. She had begged Elinor to stay, offering her a guest room if she wished to send her coachman home, but Elinor declined. She wanted her own bed.
And she wanted to know what had happened to Winn. He’d disappeared without so much as a by-your-leave. Someone mentioned seeing him heading toward the garden, but when she’d ventured there after supper, she hadn’t spotted him. Was he that angry at her choice of gown? She could only hope. Anger was better than his usual polite disinterest.
“But Elinor,” Mary was saying as Elinor collected her wrap, “I have it on good authority Mr. Trollope will attend. He never goes out into Society before midnight.”
“Then you shall have to give him my regrets. I will be exhausted on the morrow as it is, and I have two girls to care for.” She started for the door, which was opened smoothly by the Ramsgates’ butler. Craning her neck, Elinor searched the line of carriages for her own.
“Your girls are nearly grown!” Mary said, following her. “Why, Georgiana will turn fourteen in a matter of weeks, and Caro is…”
“Twelve.”
“Yes, twelve. They do not need you hovering over them every moment.”
This was true. The girls were growing up. Why did that make her so inordinately sad?
“Besides, Baron Keating is in Town. Let him chaperone them for a morning,” Mary continued.
Elinor laughed. “Winn chaperone? He would not know what to do with the girls if I were not there. He is so rarely at home.”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Mary pointed a finger at her. “That’s why you are leaving early.”
“A quarter past two is hardly early.”
Mary ignored her. “You wish to see that husband of yours.”
Elinor pretended to study the passing carriages intently. “Most wives do wish to see their husbands on occasion.”
“And I have never been a proponent of infidelity, but in your case I am prepared to make an exception. Winslow Keating is monstrously inattentive and neglectful of you.”
“Mary! Shh!”
“I will not. Why you are still in love with him, I will never understand.” She turned and walked away.
Later, when Elinor was settled in the darkness of the coach, her friend’s words rang in her ears. Why was she still in love with Winn? Habit? Foolishness? Hopeless romanticism?
He did not love her. That much was patently obvious and had been since the beginning—well, almost the beginning. He did not flaunt mistresses. In fact, she’d never so much as heard a rumor suggesting he had a mistress, and she had never found evidence suggesting another woman. It was true Winn rarely visited her bed, but then he was rarely in Town. He had inherited half-a-dozen properties all over the country and insisted on supervising them personally. Elinor did not understand why. His father had managed the properties well, giving their supervision largely over to local stewards. There was no reason Winn could not have done the same.
There was no reason he could not have taken her and the girls with him on some of these trips. But he did not. He never so much as offered. The girls had long ago ceased asking where he was or when he would be home. She wished she could stop wondering herself.
The town house was dark when she arrived home, but one of the footmen was waiting and provided her a candle with which to light the way to her chamber. Elinor thought about inquiring as to whether his lordship was at home, but she could not bear the embarrassment and pity. She lifted her skirts and carried the candle up a flight of stairs to her bedchamber. She knew what waited for her there, in the darkest corner of her dressing table, under a pile of ribbons and silks. But she would not succumb tonight. She would not even look at them. No matter how alone she felt.
She paused outside her bedchamber, set the candle on the delicate decorative hallway table, and pressed her hand to her belly. She remembered the last time she’d seen him. He’d given her the smudged, hastily written note begging for a rendezvous. She knew his handwriting by now. Knew the passionate strokes of his pen.
The way he’d looked at her that night! His eyes had burned her with the intensity of his need. The way his gloved hand had rested just a little too long on her arm, so she could feel his heat burning through the thin silk fabric. She knew desire when she saw it. Mr. Trollope—Rafe, as he begged her to call him—wanted her, and the very thought of allowing a man who was not Winn to touch her hand, press his body to hers, touch his lips to her mouth both thrilled and appalled her.
It had been so long since anyone had looked at her like she was anything other than a mother. It had been so long since anyone had looked at her with want in his eyes. She missed being touched, being held, being kissed by a man. A meeting with Mr. Trollope was wrong. She knew it, but she could not seem to resist. Elinor took a shaky breath and turned to her bedchamber.
Bridget, her lady’s maid, gave her a sleepy greeting and helped her undress and don a night shift. Just as Elinor sat down at her dressing table—her disobedient gaze straying to the bottom-most drawer—and leaned her head back so Bridget could begin to take the pins from her hair, she thought she heard a sound.
Winn? Her heart—ridiculous organ that it was—began to pound. Her gaze met Bridget’s in the dressing-table mirror, and Bridget gave her a subtle nod. Elinor’s heart clenched painfully in her chest at the same time her belly did a slow roll. Her face flushed, and her hands began to tremble.
Winn was home. He had not gone elsewhere after leaving the ball.
“I’ll comb your hair out and tie it with this ribbon, my lady,” Bridget said, indicating a pretty blue ribbon. Elinor only nodded. She couldn’t seem to speak. If she had found words, she didn’t know what she would have said. That the hair ribbon didn’t matter? Winn wouldn’t want her no matter how attractive she looked?
She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and noted the beginnings of lines at the corners of her mouth and between her brows. They were faint but would deepen. Her hair had a few strands of gray, but for the most part it remained a rich brown. She didn’t think she quite looked her thirty-five years, but she definitely could not compete with the debutantes of seventeen and eighteen. She couldn’t even compete when she had been seventeen and eighteen. She’d been in her third Season and all but on the shelf before Winn had proposed.
And now she’d borne two children. She had a mother’s figure and the face of maturity. If she’d ever had any hope of making Winn love her, it was long past. “There,” Bridget said, tying the ribbon into a bow. “Very pretty, if I do say so myself.”
“Thank you, Bridget,” Elinor said. “That will be all.”
Bridget winked. “You don’t have to dismiss me twice, my lady.” And she hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Elinor looked in the mirror, turning her head to the side to catch a glimpse of the bow. It looked silly, like something Caroline or, more likely, Georgiana would wear. She pulled it out and tossed her hair over her shoulder, then pulled her robe closed over her night shift. Quietly, she tiptoed toward the door adjoining her room to Winn’s.
She could hear Winn’s valet speaking to him quietly, and then there was silence. Should she speak to him? Wait for him to approach her? In the morning, his anger would have subsided. Was that what she wanted? The return of her cool, indifferent husband?
She put her hand on the door handle and listened again. His room was silent. Had he gone to bed? She took a shaky breath and tapped on the door, then turned the handle and pushed it open.
He was standing across the room, shirtless, hair tousled, and he turned as she opened the door. The first thing she noted was the fatigue in his eyes. He’d always had the most beautiful, clear green eyes. He’d once given her a pair of emerald ear bobs, and she thought if he had been a woman, they would suit him better, for they matched his eyes perfectly.
The second thing she noticed was it had been quite some time since she had seen him without clothing. His chest was bronzed and hard. He had broad shoulders, powerful arms, and a flat stomach. When he’d turned to look at her, the muscles in his abdomen had bunched and rippled in a way that left her all but breathless. And she still hadn’t caught her breath, because she noted he had lost a little weight. His trousers were loose at the waist and hanging at his hips, where a line of dark hair trailed temptingly downward.
She had the mad notion to put her tongue on that trail and follow it down with long, wet strokes. She shook her head. Where had that idea come from? Elinor forced her gaze back to her husband’s face. He had a day’s worth of stubble and what appeared to be the beginning of a bruise on one cheek, and for some reason, it made him look rather rough and dangerous. That and the length of his wavy hair. How long had it been since he’d had it trimmed? She had never seen it this long. For a moment, she wished he were some dangerous stranger who would cross the room, take her in his arms, and kiss her until she forgot to breathe.
She must be overly tired to be having so many uncharacteristic thoughts. “My lord.”
He nodded at her, his expression unreadable. Was he surprised to see her? Annoyed at her presence? Taken off guard? “My lady.”
She stood in his doorway and waited for him to say more. He looked back at her. Were they reduced to this, then? The formality of greeting each other using courtesy titles? She cinched her robe tighter, and his gaze followed the movement.
“You are home late,” he said with a pointed glance at the bracket clock on his table. Elinor saw it was now almost three.
“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said.
“No. I was still awake when I heard you come in.” He lifted a snifter of something, probably brandy, and drank. “Did you enjoy the ball?”
“I did. You left without taking your leave.”
His brow arched. “You seemed enamored of your companion. I did not want to interrupt.”
Elinor frowned. Was this jealousy? But why would Winn be jealous? He had never shown much interest in her before. “I would have preferred you for a companion,” she said, “but despite all of your promises, you were not here at the appointed time.”
His face darkened. “And so you took it upon yourself to dress like a courtesan and seduce a boy young enough to be your son?”
She opened her mouth to protest, opened her mouth to argue that her gown had been perfectly acceptable, that Sir Henry was too old to have been her son, that she was not the least bit interested in the man… any number of things. And then she looked at Winn. His emerald eyes burned, his fists were clenched, and a vein in his neck throbbed. Why not allow him to seethe a bit with jealousy, if that’s what this was? She had done her fair share of seething over his slights.
“Frankly,” she said, turning back toward her room, “I’m surprised you bothered to make an appearance at all.” She pulled the adjoining door closed, but when it should have clicked shut, it was forced open. She gasped as Winn grabbed her wrist and hauled her up against him. His skin was warm, and he smelled like the soap he used in his bath. She looked up at his face and glimpsed what appeared to be a scrape along his temple. She had the urge to lift her hand and ask what had happened.
Her gaze strayed to his lips. Even when she was angry, she could not help but want his mouth on hers. She could not stop a silent prayer that he sweep her into his arms, carry her to the bed, and ravish her. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she waited to see what he would do.
And waited.
He released her wrist and stepped back. Disappointment slammed into her, and she almost crumpled from the weight of it.
“We shall speak about this again in the morning.”
She lashed out. “There is nothing more to say, unless you wish to drone on about commitments and duty and tenants who don’t pay their rent.”
“I do not drone.”
She raised her brows in challenge. “No, your adventures in estate management are fascinating. I’m certain you are equally fascinated by my tales of garden parties and French lessons. By the by,” she added, “Georgiana’s birthday fast approaches. If you are not too occupied with more important matters, your daughter requests the pleasure of your company at her celebration.”
And with that, she closed the door, shutting out the storm clouds crashing about his face.
***
Winn took a deep breath and forced himself not to open the door and throttle the woman. His wife. She had never spoken to him thus. And she had never attended a ball alone. And she had never looked so completely ravishing as she had tonight.
He moved away from the door, from temptation, and lifted his brandy again. It wasn’t merely the gown she’d worn to the ball. She wasn’t wearing anything more alluring than a linen night shift and an old wrapper tonight, but something about her was different.
Or was it?
He pulled the drapes back and peered into the garden. The shrubs threw long shadows on the paving stones, and he spotted a forgotten book lying on one of the stone benches. One of his daughters had probably left it there.
Elinor had always been an attractive woman, but her main appeal was her affection for him. He’d known from the first she was madly in love with him. And he’d known her feelings for him would work to his advantage. She would not question his frequent absences; she would not question his secretiveness or his unexplained injuries. Added to that, he knew from the start she would make him an excellent baroness and be a good mother to their children. After all, he had a duty to more than his country. He had a duty to his title.
His mother had approved of her. After his father’s death, she had advocated a quick union and the production of an heir. To his mother’s disappointment, there had been no heir, and it did not appear one would be forthcoming. He would have had to share a bed with his wife to produce another child. And while the idea was not unappealing, he had been far too busy these past few years to spend much time sleeping in a bed, much less engaging in any other activities therein.
His nephew would undoubtedly inherit the title and accompanying estates, and Winn thought the lad would make a fine baron. If Elinor only knew how little time he spent worrying about his title and his lands. Until recently. Recently, he’d been thinking a hell of a lot. Too much. He’d never considered what would happen if—when—he retired from the Barbican group. He hadn’t really believed he ever would retire until…
What would he do when his time at the Barbican was through? His children were growing up before his eyes. Soon they’d be having children of their own. And his wife—well, Winn was relatively certain, at this point in their lives, she hardly cared whether he lived or died. If he was not careful, he would end up alone, like Crow. He’d die a solitary old man, with no one to mourn him.
His mother would have said he was too much like his father—absent and inattentive. He shuddered at the possibility that Elinor might follow in his mother’s footsteps and marry her groom were Winn to suffer an untimely death.
A slight movement caught his attention, and he blinked, uncertain for a moment as to whether he was imagining things. Ghosts? But no, there was a man sitting on his garden bench, reading the forgotten novel. As Winn stared, the man looked up and gave him a jaunty wave.
Winn cursed.
It was Blue.
Winn threw on a shirt, not bothering to fasten it at the throat, and made his way silently through the house and out into the garden. When he reached it, Blue signaled to him to move back into the shadows and out of sight. Once away from the house, Winn said, “What the devil are you doing here? I’ve told Melbourne time and again, I don’t like to be contacted at home.”
“Sorry, old boy,” Blue said, fingering his frilly cravat. “It was unavoidable.”
Like Winn, Blue was an agent for the Barbican group. These men were the best the Foreign Office had to offer, remarkable in their talents for everything from combat to code breaking to ferreting out rival spies. Winn did not know the other members of the Barbican. Out of necessity, the members of the group kept their identities secret. Occasionally, operatives worked together. He and Crow had been paired time and again. Winn had actually liked working with a partner, but he couldn’t help but think, time and again, that it might have been better if he had worked alone.
Better for Crow as it turned out.
“Melbourne needs to see you,” Blue said.
Winn did not know Blue’s real name. He was a bit on the short side, at least in Winn’s opinion, but not in the least thin or scrawny, though he seemed to want to portray the air of the effete aristocrat. His movements were calculated and smooth. He had a nondescript face, nondescript hair, and startling blue eyes. Every time Winn saw those eyes, he wondered if they could be real. Winn had never seen Blue when not on assignment, so he was a bit surprised at the other agent’s yellow waistcoat replete with spangles. His wool coat appeared to be a shade of green that matched his breeches. His pumps—he must have come from a ball—were decorated with some sort of jewel.
Winn frowned. “What are you wearing on your feet?”
Blue, seeming unfazed by the sudden change of topic, turned the shoes this way and that. Yes, those were definitely rubies on his shoes. “Do you like them? I’m afraid they won’t fit your monstrous hooves.”
“Thank God.”
“As much as I enjoy standing about in cold, dark gardens discussing fashion, I am here on business.”
“Melbourne wants to see me.”
“Yes, first thing in the morning.”
Winn sighed. It appeared he was unlikely to catch up on lost sleep tonight. “Very well. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Blue held out a hand. “Give me the key.”
Winn stepped back. “I don’t think so.” Normally, he was not so possessive of items he’d been instructed by the Barbican group to obtain, but he’d fought long and hard to hold onto this one. And obviously someone out there wanted it quite badly. He was not going to simply hand it over, not even to someone he trusted as much as Blue.
“Melbourne wants it put away for safekeeping.”
“Then I’ll give it to him myself in the morning.” And with it, he would take the leave he’d been promised. If nothing else, his exchanges with his wife tonight had convinced him he really did need to take a leave of absence from the Barbican group. When Elinor had mentioned Georgiana’s birthday, Winn had been momentarily taken aback. It was her birthday again? Hadn’t it been her birthday last month? And what was she now? Thirteen? Fourteen? By God, he still saw her as a three-year-old racing about the house with her little sister toddling after her.
And his wife… well, he needed to take her in hand before half the rakes of the ton moved in to feed. For once, his personal life would take precedence over the Barbican. And there would not be another time as good as this. He had completed all of his missions and had no others pending. With Napoleon’s capture, the world and England were once again at peace. The Barbican could spare him for a few months. “I assure you,” Winn said to Blue, “the key will be safe until I deliver it.”
Blue said nothing, finally shrugging and stepping back. “Have it your way.” He took the beaver hat from under his arm and set it carefully on his head. And still, it perched at a jaunty angle.
“Good-bye,” Winn said.
Blue smiled. “Not for long.”
Winn had long ago ceased wondering what the devil Blue meant by his cryptic comments. He had also learned Blue was always correct. But he wasn’t thinking about Blue when he marched into Melbourne’s office at the ungodly hour of half-past eight in the morning. He waited with arms crossed while Melbourne signed a document as directed by his secretary. When he finished, Melbourne waved his man away and looked up at Winn. Winn judged Melbourne to be in his early fifties. The rumor was the man had been a highly regarded operative in his day. Now the still hale and hearty man was the leader of the Barbican group.
“You look like hell,” Melbourne said, his eyes narrowing.
“You always did know the way to my heart.” Winn took a seat opposite Melbourne. “I was told to come first thing. Did you miss me that much?”
“You’re a cocky bastard.”
Winn raised a brow. “Could you at least save the insults until I’ve broken my fast? If I have to slap you with my glove, I don’t want to miss.”
Melbourne poured two cups of tea from the service on his desk and handed one to Winn. Winn nodded acknowledgement and took the warm cup. Melbourne crossed his arms over his chest. “Little as you like it, you’ve always been a man who obeyed orders, Baron. That’s why you’ve come so far so fast.”
Winn wouldn’t have called his ascent in the ranks of the Barbican group fast. He was eight-and-thirty and already beginning to feel he was too old for this sort of work. His shoulder was still sore from ramming the door in Ramsgate’s town house, and his nose was tender from being bloodied.
Ten years ago he would have laughed outright if a man had told him he preferred sitting in a warm chair by the fire and reading The Times with his wife and family to the action of a mission. Now he wasn’t so certain he’d scoff.
He sipped the tea. Something was missing in his work for the Barbican group. It wasn’t that Napoleon had finally been exiled for good. There were always other villains. But he didn’t find the work as fulfilling anymore. Or maybe it was that he’d destroyed the one thing that made the work fulfilling. And Winn couldn’t help but think he should have been the one lying in a barren, unmarked grave in Cadiz.
“I have a new mission for you,” Melbourne was saying now. “I want you to report to the home of Lord and Lady Smythe at—”
“Wait a minute, my lord,” Winn interrupted. Melbourne raised his brows. Winn knew one did not interrupt Melbourne, and he never had before. But he could not listen idly to new orders. “I have an extended leave coming. You all but ordered me to take it before the last mission.” Winn reached into his pocket and extracted the key. He set it on the desk and pushed it toward Melbourne with one finger. “Mission accomplished.”
Melbourne lifted the key. “Very good. But your leave has been revoked.”
Winn shook his head. Had he heard correctly?
“As I was saying, at the request of Lord Smythe—”
“I don’t give a bloody farthing about Lord Smythe,” Winn said. “I have leave coming.”
Melbourne rose to his feet. “And I have men dying. Tell me, Baron, have you heard of a man named Foncé?”
Winn shook his head.
“You will. This key belongs to him.” Melbourne twirled the key before pocketing it. “He won’t be happy to learn you managed to steal it from him.”
“I have many enemies.”
“Not like this one you don’t. Your leave pales in comparison to the damage Foncé and the Maîtriser group have done to this organization in the last few weeks alone. Agents are dead, Baron. I want every available agent assisting this investigation.”
“It warms my heart to learn how utterly indispensable I am to the Barbican group,” Winn said, finishing the tea. “But I will take my chances.” If he did not take his leave now, Elinor was never going to forgive him. He could not disappoint her yet again or risk disappointing Georgiana too by missing her birthday party.
He would not become his father.
“Will you risk the life of your family as well?”
Winn narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”
“Your wife and your daughters are in danger as long as this man is free.”
Baron clenched his fists. “Then why hasn’t anyone caught him? What about Blue or the legendary Wolf? I’m not the only agent you have. What about Saint? He always gets his man.”
Melbourne smiled thinly. “As it happens, Agent Wolf requested your assistance. I agreed. It is done.”
“No, it is not,” Winn said. “You know I work alone.”
Melbourne pressed his palms to his desk, his look stony. “I don’t recall offering you a choice.”
Winn waved a hand. “No need to apologize.”
Melbourne’s look might have melted steel, but Winn didn’t look away. He wasn’t working with Wolf. He didn’t need another partner. He didn’t know Wolf, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for the man’s widow.
“I’m not apologizing,” Melbourne said, “and you are to be partnered with Wolf.” He held up a hand before Winn could argue. “This partnership is only temporary. Wolf is not officially a member of the Barbican group any longer, but he is more knowledgeable about Foncé than any of my agents. I need a Barbican man working with him.”
“And if I refuse?”
Melbourne’s lips thinned. “You’ll find yourself in the dungeon filing old cases.” The dungeon was the term Barbican agents used for the warehouse under the offices of the group. It was damp, cold, and dark. The number of files was astronomical. Winn knew his eyes would cross within hours of stepping foot inside. Rumor was agents had become lost amid the files and were never seen again.
Winn leaned back in his chair. “Wolf or the dungeon? Difficult choice.”
“No, it isn’t.” Melbourne’s expression softened, and Winn curled his hands into fists. He knew that sad-eyed look, and he didn’t want it directed at him. The last thing he wanted was Melbourne’s pity. “Baron—Winn,” Melbourne began, “what happened was a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault. You were cleared of any wrongdoing—”
“Yes, yes, I know. I should be the one with the code name Saint. Sometimes even I cannot fathom how virtuous I am. Clearly, I should be granted leave. Failing that—and I know how you hate to part from me—I should be given a new assignment working alone.”
Melbourne held his gaze. “Request denied. Meet Agent Wolf at this address. Lord Smythe will introduce you.” He handed Winn a card. “Ten this evening, or I’ll have your head.”
***
Elinor watched Georgiana glide across the floor with her dance instructor, Mister Winkle. Mister Winkle must have been about sixty; he had been her own dance instructor. He was firm but kind and had a manner that put young ladies at ease. In the corner of their modest ballroom, near the open windows, Caro sat with the girls’ governess and painted. It was a bright, sunny day, and a light breeze wafted through the room, rustling the gauzy curtains.
Elinor could think of few places she’d rather be than here, with her two girls, on such a lovely day. Not that they noticed her. They were too busy with their own pursuits. As usual, she was an unnecessary addition. Perhaps if she freed the girls from their studies and took them for a ride in the park later this afternoon…
“My lady.” A footman holding a tray stood beside her. Elinor glanced down at the small white note, lifted it, and broke the seal.
My dear Elinor,
If you value my friendship at all, please come immediately. I need you.
Desperately yours,
J
Elinor shook her head. So much for her plans for the afternoon. “Girls,” she said when there was a pause in the music, “Lady Hollingshead has sent a note. She needs me for a few hours.”
“Oh, might we come?” Caro asked. Elinor did not realize Caroline even knew her mother was in the room. Of course the girl wanted to go. She was close friends with Lady Hollingshead’s middle daughter.
“No. Stay and finish your studies. And do not forget to practice the play you have been studying. I was promised a performance tonight.”
Georgiana clapped with excitement. “We will be ready, Mama. The Princess and the Pirate will play one night only.”
“I cannot wait.” Elinor turned to leave.
“Mother?” That was Caroline. Elinor paused, knowing she had been foolish to think it would be so easy.
“Yes, dear?”
“Will Father be home for the play?”
Elinor felt her shoulders tighten and her lips thin. “I do hope so, Caro, but you know—”
“—your father is very busy,” Caroline finished for her. “That means no.”
“I…” But Elinor simply sighed. Let Winn defend himself for once. “I will see you for dinner.” She kissed them both on the cheek and then called for the carriage.
It was a lovely day, unseasonably warm for fall. She knew Viscount Hollingshead had a beautifully manicured garden, and Elinor thought she might enjoy an afternoon sitting in a comfortable longue, staring at a clear blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds, and surrounded by a lush green lawn and the last of the summer flowers.
Her illusions evaporated as soon as she stepped foot in Lady Hollingshead’s vestibule. The house was in a frenzy of madness, servants running to and fro, crashing into one another, and dropping platters, plate, and silver.
Elinor stepped in front of a harried-looking maid. “Where is your mistress?”
“In the garden, my lady.” The girl bobbed a quick curtsy and rushed away.
Elinor narrowly avoided several collisions as she made her way to the garden. The scene outside was as bad as in the house proper, if not worse. As soon as Jane saw Elinor, she rushed to her side. “We are done for. Done for!”
Elinor spotted Mary, Lady Ramsgate, coming toward them. She’d been speaking to a small group of servants, and she rolled her eyes.
“Jane, you must calm yourself. It is only a garden party.”
“Only? Only a garden party? Do you know who has promised to attend?”
Elinor glanced at Mary, who only shook her head and pressed her lips together. No help there. Elinor looked about at the mad preparations. “The Queen?”
“No.” Jane frowned, her blue eyes creasing. “Although that would be very exciting. Someone almost as illustrious as the Queen.”
“The prime minister?”
“No. Now I know why you keep referring to this as only a garden party. No one of any consequence is attending!”
Elinor sighed. “Jane, I don’t think I should guess anymore. Simply tell me.”
“The prince regent.”
Elinor tried not to grimace. “Oh. Prinny. Well, that should be exciting.”
“Yes!” Jane clutched Elinor’s arm and looped her other arm through Mary’s. “And I want everything to be perfect, but nothing is ready. Nothing! And the party is tomorrow evening.”
Elinor glanced about. There was a great deal of activity, but little had actually been accomplished. Mary finally spoke. “Jane, all you need is a bit of organization.”
“I am no good at organizing, you know that. Elinor, could you please, please help me?”
“Of course.” What were friends for if not to assist in times of need? No matter that Elinor’s head was still reeling from Winn’s strange behavior last night. No matter that he’d been gone before breakfast, and the girls had not even had a chance to see him. No matter that she would have to be the one—as usual—to witness the girls’ disappointment when he did not attend their play. No matter.
The one thing she could do was organize a party.
“Very well. Stand back.” Elinor stepped forward.
“Here we go,” Mary said, clapping her hands together excitedly.
Elinor raised her hands. “Stop. All of you, stop.” She did not raise her voice, only spoke in an authoritative tone. Slowly, the bevy of servants ceased their mad flitting about and looked at her. “Now, gather around and listen carefully. This is what you are going to do.”
She laid out a simple list of what needed to be accomplished in order of priority, and then she went about assigning groups of servants to each task, with the highest-ranking servant in charge and the others as assistants. She told them to report back to her in one hour, then calmly walked about offering encouragement, suggestions, and resolving disputes. After an hour, the group in charge of the lanterns had finished, and the others were making splendid progress. The household looked busy and industrious. Even the viscount stepped outside for a moment and peered about at his diligent staff with something akin to wonder.
Lady Hollingshead beamed and insisted on showing him her preparations. Elinor let her have the credit and then sent the group of servants who had finished to the kitchen for refreshments for the rest of the staff. Finally, she strode to where Mary sat under a large white canopy. “We should have another update in three-quarters of an hour. I think we are well on our way.” She took a seat on the chaise longue and finally had a moment to enjoy the day.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Mary said, looking about and shaking her head. “Jane was desperate when I arrived, and I simply couldn’t think where to begin. Now it seems all is underway.” She gestured to Jane and Lord Hollingshead. “Are you going to allow her to pretend this is all her doing?”
Elinor laughed. “Of course.”
“And when all falls apart after you return home?”
“I shall come by in the morning to make certain all the last-minute preparations go smoothly. We don’t want to disappoint the prince.”
Mary smiled. “No, heavens no!” She looked down at her hands. “Will you be attending alone?”
Now Elinor took a deep breath. She would have been much more comfortable discussing party details. “Most probably.”
“Then I take it your reunion was not all you had hoped and more.”
“It was…” Elinor tried to find the appropriate word. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” Mary leaned closer. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
Elinor laughed, then rose and took Mary’s arm. “Let’s walk for a moment. We can’t talk in private with all this hustle and bustle.” They strode into the garden and away from the main house.
When they were some distance from the servants, Mary said, “What happened? Did he have any explanation for his disappearance last night?”
Elinor studied the hedges near her and made a note to tell the Hollingsheads’ gardener to trim them. “Of course not.”
Mary sighed, and Elinor shook her head. “He chastised me for attending without him and looking like a harlot.”
“That is promising. Is he finally jealous?”
“I thought the same thing, and do you know, I do not care anymore.”
Mary clapped, surprising Elinor. “Bravo! Why you continued to hold out hope he would fall in love with you is beyond me. He is an idiot not to see how fortunate he is.”
Elinor smiled sadly. It was a lovely sentiment, but she did not believe it. She had never truly felt worthy of Winn. He was so charming, so amusing, so handsome. He could have married far better than the likes of her.
“I wish it were so easy to forget him. I look at Winn and my thoughts…” She could feel her face heating. “I want to do things to him I know would shock him. They shock me.” She scuffed her half boot on the gravel walk.
“Really?” Mary’s voice rose with interest. “I don’t think they would shock me. Maybe you should try one or two. And then give me all of the details!”
Elinor laughed, then wanted to cry. “He doesn’t want me, Mary. And I—you are right. I realized it last night. I deserve more. I want more.” She wanted more than a life of planning balls and waiting interminably for Winn to return home. She might not be pretty or witty or fascinating, but she had been a loyal wife and a good mother. She did not deserve his cold disinterest. “Even if Winn were to fall madly in love with me today, it’s too late. He’s killed the last feelings of love I harbored for him.”
“Which leaves the field open for Mr. Trollope. You know how I feel about liaisons.”
“Yes, but Mr. Trollope is exciting and passionate and…” Elinor clasped her hands together. “Dangerous. And he wants me.”
“He’s a rake, Elinor. It is one thing to dance with him at a ball, quite another to pursue anything more.”
“He’s not a rake—well, not as much of one as he portrays.” She glanced about to make certain no one was listening then lowered her voice. “I shouldn’t even tell you this, but Rafe—Mr. Trollope—told me he only acts the rake in public. It’s all a facade.”
“For what?”
“He’s actually a spy.”
“A spy? You’ve read too many accounts of the war.”
“But that is exactly how I know he is telling me the truth. Everything he says is in line with what I have read.” Elinor looked about again to make certain they were alone. “I told you, I shouldn’t even be confiding this to you. He’s a spy for the Foreign Office, an elite group called the Babylon group.”
“The Babylon group? Did you read about that in The Times?”
“No. But the papers did mention an elite group, only not by name. Mr. Trollope is part of this group, and he was one of the men responsible for the capture of Bonaparte. He also passed on key information that led to Wellington’s success at Waterloo.”
“I had no idea.” Mary took out her fan and began wafting it in front of her face. “Why has he not been knighted for his service?”
“I asked him the same thing. He has been knighted, but he must keep the honor a secret, because he’s still working, and his enemies are always trying to kill him. Someday we will be calling him Sir Rafe.”
Mary fanned faster. “Oh, my! That sounds very dangerous.”
“Doesn’t it? Far more dangerous and exciting than spending all of one’s time peering at dusty ledgers and visiting estates.”
“Certainly more dangerous and exciting than going to White’s or Tattersall’s every day.” Obviously she was thinking of Lord Ramsgate.
“I want excitement. Passion. And I think I could assist Mr. Trollope in his work. He wants me to meet him at Hyde Park tomorrow morning.”
Mary pressed her lips together. “I don’t know, Elinor. You are a married woman.”
“It is only a meeting, and it will take place in the park. What could happen?”
“What do you want to happen?”