At around the time Miss Edgerton-Foxe arrived in London, Mr Brandon was approaching the end of his training period.
He had learned lock-picking from Fergus O’Malley – an Irishman with alarmingly clever fingers and a fund of terrible jokes. Rainham taught him to identify the best means of entering a building, then took him to an empty property in Kensington for hair-raisingly practical lessons on getting in and out unseen without breaking his neck. Oliver Bamford had drilled him in the art of searching a room without leaving any sign of ever having been there; and Russell Lawford took him out on surveillance and tailing exercises in daylight as well as darkness and come rain or shine.
Adam had found all of it more enjoyable than he had expected and also oddly satisfying. The ten colleagues he had met – all but the fellow Goddard had described as being currently unavailable – were good company and the gentlemen who’d tutored him in this skill or that had done so with patience, humour and efficiency. Everyone shared an ‘office’ with someone else. Adam had been allocated space in the room occupied by Roger, Baron Falconer who, since his expertise was law and research, left Wilfred Street as rarely as Adam remained in it. It was noticeable that like Falconer, no one ever used their titles – although Vincent Clive was a baronet and Rainham a viscount – and that Goddard was spoken of with affectionate respect. In short, everyone made Adam welcome and shared the benefit of their experience in a string of sometimes hilarious anecdotes and with much cheerful bickering. In short, they talked about anything and everything … except the one thing he most wanted to know.
What had Rory Farthing’s role been? And why did none of the other fellows want to inherit it? That there had so far been no word of replacing Farthing struck Adam as ominous and made him suspect that he himself had already drawn the short straw. Shrugging, he reflected that there was always a fly in the ointment … and if this was it, so be it.
On a morning when, for once left to his own devices, he’d planned to go through his personal exercise routine in the small yard behind the house, he was startled by the sight of an expensive-looking sealed missive lying on his desk. Inside was a gilt-edged invitation to a dinner-party at the Earl of Alveston’s home in Berkeley Square on the following evening.
Adam stared at it blankly for a moment and then looked across at Falconer who as usual was half-buried behind a pile of books. ‘This must be a mistake.’
‘What must?’ asked his lordship, busy scribbling a note about something.
‘This. An invitation to dine with Lord Alveston – a man I’ve never met.’
‘Ah.’ Falconer looked up and removed the spectacles behind which lurked an exceptionally good-looking man and arguably the sharpest brain in M Section. ‘Has no one mentioned that? Or no. I suppose they haven’t. Most of the time, we forget about it.’
‘About what?’
‘Goddard. When he’s here, he’s just … well, Goddard. But outside he’s --’
‘The Earl of Alveston?’ cut in Adam.
‘Yes.’ Falconer grinned. ‘There’s no need for his title to shock you. It’s only the same as Rainham – or me, come to that.’
It wasn’t so much the title that startled Adam as the fact that it explained a remark Goddard had made at their first meeting about the Duke of Rockliffe’s habit of “learning things one would rather he didn’t.” At the time, Adam hadn’t known that the identity of M Section’s agents was restricted to as few people as possible. Now he did and could understand the concern. Because though Goddard might not know the duke, the Earl of Alveston almost certainly did – which put a whole new slant on things.
Realising that Falconer was still waiting for him to reply, he said absently, ‘It’s not Rainham or you who have invited me to dinner.’
‘Oh don’t worry about that. Goddard does this from time to time and he’s almost certainly invited one or more of the others.’
‘But not you.’
‘Not this time, no.’ Falconer replaced his spectacles and prepared to get back to work, saying, ‘Cheer up, Adam. It will be a small party and he’ll have a reason for holding it because he always does. But at least you’ll get an excellent dinner – and give your valet an occasion worth rising to.’
Adam didn’t know whether to shudder or laugh. He thought, I don’t have a valet. I have Finch … who has incinerated two of my shirts with the iron and made me fear for my life on the occasion I was rash enough to let him shave me. And he’ll want to help.
With painstaking care, Finch laid out Mr Brandon’s best suit of sapphire brocade and the most opulent of his vests. Adam, who had tactfully refused an offer to shave him and was doing the job himself, caught sight of this garment through the mirror and sighed. He said gently, ‘Harry … perhaps the embroidered grey silk might be better?’
Finch looked at the scarlet and gold striped one he’d chosen.
‘You don’t like this one, sir?’
‘I like it. Just not with that suit.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointed but undeterred, Finch exchanged his choice for the other. For a moment or two, he watched Adam finish shaving and then, imbued with another idea, said hopefully, ‘Your hair’s getting a bit long, sir. Maybe I could give it a trim?’
‘No!’ The word came out as a sort of strangled yelp along with an image of what Finch might accomplish with a pair of scissors. Adam made himself take a calming breath. ‘That is … no, thank you, Harry. That won’t be necessary. Just pass my shirt, will you?’
Finch shook out the shirt and handed it over proudly.
‘I reckon I’ve got the hang of the iron now, sir. See? Only this one little bit of scorching down the bottom.’
‘Yes, indeed. So slight it’s hardly worth mentioning, really. Well done.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ He handed over the vest and when Adam had buttoned it, held out the cravat. ‘Shall I --?’
‘No.’ Adam whisked it away before it could be crumpled. ‘There’s a sapphire cravat pin somewhere. Perhaps you could find it?’
The pin was produced. Finch waited until it was in place and then held out Adam’s coat, saying, ‘What about your sword, sir?’
Regretfully, Adam shook his head. At Wilfred Street, he was under orders to leave it with Geordie, the doorkeeper, and in Berkeley Square he’d doubtless have to surrender it to the butler … so he might as well leave it behind and go out feeling naked.
‘Shall I call a hackney, then?’
‘It’s no distance. I’ll walk. And no. Before you ask, I do not need you trailing four steps behind me. Take the evening for yourself and don’t wait up.’
Finch eyed him uneasily. ‘But his lordship said --’
‘I know what my brother said,’ growled Adam, snatching up his hat. ‘He’s an idiot. And if you want to stay with me, you’ll follow my orders, not his.’
The façade of Alveston House was one of pale stone and white columns. Inside, the lofty hall and wide staircase was even more impressive. Adam gave his hat and gloves to a liveried footman and followed the butler up to the drawing-room – a vast space decorated in sage and cream. Rainham and Clive stood before the fireplace with Goddard – no, better to think of him as Alveston this evening; and four ladies were clustered about an inlaid and intricately-painted harpsichord. All seven heads turned in Adam’s direction as the butler announced him. Mentally girding his loins, he summoned a smile and bowed.
Lord Alveston strolled towards him, hand outstretched and simultaneously signalling to the footman bearing a tray of glasses.
‘Good evening, Brandon. You’re just in time to join us in a glass of sherry. But first – since Rainham and Clive need no introduction – allow me to present you to the ladies.’
Well, that solved one problem. Adam hadn’t been sure whether he was meant to know his colleagues from Wilfred Street or not. Taking the glass he was offered, he exchanged nods with them and carefully ignored the gleam of wicked laughter in Vincent Clive’s eyes.
Hanging back a little while the newcomer was introduced to her grandmother, Lady Rainham and Lady Clive, Camilla surveyed him clinically. He was tall, leanly-muscled and moved with the lithe grace of a cat. But she supposed the first thing most people noticed about him was his hair. She didn’t think she’d ever seen that particular shade on anyone’s head; blond, yes – but so pale in colour that the candlelight turned it to silver-gilt. As for his face … the high cheekbones, perfectly straight nose and severely sculpted jaw rendered him striking rather than handsome. The slight cleft in his chin and the set of an otherwise well-shaped mouth spoke of a man who didn’t compromise; and the dark, smoky-blue eyes under those narrow dark brows reminded her of rain-washed slate.
His looks aside, the fact that he was already acquainted with Rainham and Clive spoke volumes … while the fact that Uncle Hugh had virtually twisted her arm to come this evening, told her other things entirely, all of them equally unwelcome.
Well, she thought clinically. If Uncle got me here to meet his newest recruit it’s because he thinks Rory will resign from the Section. Whether or not Mr Brandon knows that yet is debatable. But, just in case he does, a little discouragement won’t hurt.
‘And finally, my niece, Miss Edgerton-Foxe,’ said the earl. ‘Millie … allow me to present Mr Brandon. Perhaps you met his sister last year? She is married to the Virtuoso Earl.’
Adam bowed, wondering if he was doomed to being introduced as Julian Langham’s brother-in-law for the rest of his life. Miss Edgerton-Foxe curtsied and said, ‘No, I didn’t have that pleasure. But I’m told you have your own claim to fame, Mr Brandon – though I see no evidence of it this evening.’
Alveston gave a small laugh and moved away, taking Lady Martindale with him.
Encountering Miss Edgerton-Foxe’s extremely direct gaze and finding it disconcertingly reminiscent of her uncle, Adam said, ‘I’m not sure what --’
‘Sir Vincent assured us that you always wear a sword. Was he teasing – or did you forget it this evening?’
‘Neither. My mother insists that weapons don’t belong in the drawing-room.’
Lady Rainham laughed. ‘Well, one can’t argue with that!’
‘And clearly Mr Brandon doesn’t,’ agreed Camilla sweetly. ‘How refreshing to meet a gentleman who always does as his mother tells him – even in her absence.’
There was a second of silence before Lucy Clive said hastily, ‘Well, I admit that I’m disappointed. Vivian and I are agreed that there is something very dashing – even romantic – about a gentleman with a sword. It’s a pity that wearing one is no longer fashionable.’
Glimpsing a slight shift in Mr Brandon’s impassive expression, Camilla thought, He doesn’t like being called dashing and romantic, does he? Excellent. And opened her mouth to embarrass him a bit more.
However, before she could get a word out, Mr Brandon said, ‘Forgive me, my lady – but it isn’t a pity at all. If it was fashionable, men would be walking around with blades half of them don’t know how to use adequately.’
‘And I suppose you do know?’ queried Camilla innocently.
Adam looked at her. What was she trying to do? Discompose him? Provoke him? Get his attention? Or was she always this annoying?
He said simply, ‘Yes. My swords aren’t fashion accessories.’
‘Swords? Plural? You have a collection of them?’
He found he was beginning to grit his teeth. ‘Yes.’
‘Dear me. Everyone is entitled to a hobby, of course. But how … eccentric … of you. Or do I mean thrilling? Yes. That might be it. I’m sure it’s what Lucy would say. What do you think, Vivian?’
‘I think you should stop teasing the poor man,’ returned Lady Rainham with a hint of amusement. And to Adam, ‘Millie enjoys baiting people purely to see if they bite back, Mr Brandon. It’s a habit with her – and not to be taken personally.’
‘I’m sure Mr Brandon is more than equal to any small challenge I might offer,’ retorted Camilla, smiling evilly into those cobalt eyes. ‘Are you not, sir?’
By now, Adam was fairly sure that she was going out of her way to make him notice her. Rainham’s wife was a stunning redhead and Clive’s, a vivacious, diminutive blonde. Miss Edgerton-Foxe, with her dark brown hair, greenish-grey eyes and somewhat pointed – and right now, pugnaciously lifted – chin probably felt out-classed. On the other hand, he couldn’t help noticing that she did appear to have a rather nice pair of –
Abruptly shutting down that thought before it could be completed, he said, ‘In the event of you issuing one, I’m confident that I would be, yes.’
Lady Clive gave a peal of laughter, Lady Rainham hid a smile behind her fan and Miss Edgerton-Foxe’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Adam made a slight bow, murmured an excuse and walked away to join the gentlemen.
‘Millie routed you already?’ murmured Sir Vincent with spurious sympathy. ‘Or are you making a tactical retreat?’
‘Neither. All I was losing was patience.’
Rainham nodded. ‘Yes. She has that effect. But she’ll hold her fire over dinner.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s a small party and Uncle and Grandmama will be listening.’
This, as it turned out, appeared to be true. Adam found himself seated between Vivian Rainham and Lady Martindale with the irritating chit two places away on the other side of the table. He relaxed. The food was as good as Roger Falconer had said it would be; talk eddied and flowed around the table on myriad topics; and at some point over moist lamb cutlets in red wine, Lady Martindale nearly caused him to jump out of his skin by exclaiming suddenly, ‘Brandon! Of course. Why didn’t I realise it immediately?’
‘Realise what, my lady?’ Adam asked warily.
‘I know your mother. She came out the Season before my eldest girl – Millie’s aunt Antonia. Louisa Fancott, she was then – and quite a beauty. If I remember rightly, the Marquis of Repton offered for her but she wouldn’t have him and chose Lord Brandon’s son instead. Well, fancy that – after all these years. I trust she is well?’
‘Very well indeed, ma’am. My older brother married recently and Mama is enjoying having another daughter.’
‘I saw the notice in the Morning Chronicle,’ offered Lucy Clive from the other side of the table. ‘He married Frances Pendleton, didn’t he?’
‘He did.’
‘I was in St George’s the day she left Lord Malpas at the altar, gaping like a fish,’ she replied on a gurgle of laughter. ‘Served him right, dreadful man.’
There was a short, abrupt silence. Miss Edgerton-Foxe kept her attention on her plate but a number of eyes slid briefly towards her, then away again. Lucy coloured and took refuge in her wine-glass; and Lady Rainham said quickly, ‘Will your brother bring his bride to London, Mr Brandon?’
‘Not at this time of year – though they may pay a short visit in the autumn.’
Lord Rainham remarked that he would doubtless bump into Max at White’s … and the odd moment passed. Adam wondered what had caused it.
But when Lady Martindale gave the signal for the ladies to leave and the port started its circuit of the table, Sir Vincent said, ‘Lucy didn’t mean any harm, sir – she merely forgot.’
‘I know that,’ replied Alveston a shade testily. ‘And if everyone else had behaved normally instead of instantly looking at Millie, it would have gone unnoticed.’
‘It’s still a sore point, then?’ asked Rainham, pushing the decanter in Adam’s direction.
‘Sore enough to make her eschew society – but more of that presently. My apologies, Brandon. I imagine you’ve no idea what we’re talking about.’
‘No. But it’s hardly my business, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ said Vincent, only half under his breath.
Alveston shot him a look then turned back to Adam.
‘A little under a year ago, Millie was happily betrothed to a gentleman who was widely regarded as the catch of the Season. Five days before the wedding she called it off and fled. This is her first visit to London since then and she’s here under duress.’ He glanced at the other gentlemen. ‘She plans to spend the coming months on the family estate in west Kent.’
Rainham’s brows rose. ‘Romney Marsh, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is that wise? The Marsh has a reputation as being a hot-bed of smuggling.’
‘It does. But that is equally true of the entire Kent coast and, despite it, murder and mayhem are rare these days. Millie should be safe enough. She’s not a fool; and most of her people have been at Dragon Hall for decades so they’re unswervingly loyal. But to be on the safe side, I intend to take an extra precaution.’ The shrewd grey gaze turned to Adam. ‘How much do you know about smuggling?’
‘Not a great deal. It isn’t much of a problem in the middle of Yorkshire.’
‘Then come to my office in the morning and I’ll educate you. I’m told you’re ready to go into the field so I’m giving you your first assignment – the precise nature of which I shall explain tomorrow.’
Vincent Clive started to laugh. ‘You’re sending him to Kent with Millie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he being punished for something?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Sir Vincent shook his head. ‘My sympathies, Brandon. She’ll have you grinding your teeth into dust.’
‘She certainly made a good start in that direction earlier,’ muttered Adam.
‘And will doubtless improve on it,’ grinned Clive.
Frowning slightly, Rainham said, ‘Forgive me, sir … but isn’t it time Adam was told who Millie is – aside from being your niece, I mean?’
‘In this particular instance, that is irrelevant,’ replied Alveston dryly.
Adam waited and, seeing Rainham and Clive exchange glances, said, ‘I don’t mind being kept in the dark about things that are not my concern. Is this one such matter?’
‘Not … entirely,’ sighed the earl. And added simply, ‘Millie is M Section. She is the twelfth agent; the one you’ll have heard referred to as being unavailable. And a few minutes ago you learned why she was.’
Adam nodded, distantly wondering why he was surprised. After all, why wouldn’t there be a female on the team? If nothing else, she’d hear things that the men didn’t. But that wasn’t what Goddard had said about her, was it?
He said slowly, ‘Miss Edgerton-Foxe is the agent with the extraordinary memory?’
Alveston nodded. ‘Yes. On rare occasions when we need information to which we cannot gain access through the proper channels – and from documents which mustn’t be absent long enough to be missed – her skill is invaluable.’
‘How, exactly?’
‘Mr Farthing … liberates … the papers in question and takes them to Millie who is stationed nearby. When she’s assimilated the information, she shares it with me while Farthing puts the documents back where they came from with no one the wiser.’
Adam struggled to prevent his reaction becoming visible. Was this why he’d been taught to pick locks and get in and out of houses unseen? So he could take the place of a fellow who was damned lucky not to have been caught a dozen times over, slithering around places he had no business being? Hell. Goddard made it sound so simple a child could do it. But it wasn’t simple at all, was it? Farthing had been breaking into somebody’s private office not just once, but twice in one evening. And they thought he was going to continue the good work? Seriously?
‘As I said, such operations are required rarely and only in extreme circumstances,’ added the earl. ‘You may wish to cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, I am merely asking you to deliver my niece safely to Kent and then spend a few days assessing the mood of the area and looking for signs of anything suspicious or even merely odd.’ He rose from his seat. ‘We will discuss all that thoroughly tomorrow in the office … but for now, we have lingered long enough and should join the ladies.’