Against the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 2) Page 4

  Miss Abby’s gaze was full of hopeful trust. “She’s Katherine, Lady Egerton.”

  * * *

  What had befallen her beloved Kit? Abby was indeed horrified. As if the girl had not suffered enough, and now this? But she would not seek answers from Sir Martin. He was only a man after all. No, he would never understand why a young, gently-bred widow whose dreams were destroyed and who had just survived an attempted rape would give herself to a stranger she did not know. Abby did not understand it herself. She could only surmise there was something very special about this man who had been entrusted with the Crown’s secrets, something that had spoken to deep longings in the young woman’s aching heart.

  Abby had liked Sir Martin herself when she’d greeted him the evening before. She considered herself a good judge of character, and she believed him a man of honor. Lord Eustace had spoken highly of him. Still, how much could she safely tell him? How much could she reveal without betraying Kit’s trust? She supposed limited information would do no harm. Perhaps it might even help.

  She spent some minutes telling him Kit’s story and what brought her to Willow House. She did not want him to think ill of the young woman or believe Kit to be one of the courtesans who worked there should he ever encounter her again.

  “The girls’ mother died of consumption, you see. Their father, a dear man, slowly succumbed to a broken heart. Of course, the world just saw another reckless member of the ton lost to drink and gambling. When he finally passed away, he left his two daughters near penniless. In the middle of Kit’s first Season, their guardian hastily arranged marriages for both her and her older sister, Anne to Lord Rutledge and Kit to old Lord Egerton.”

  “To be torn from such a life of privilege…” Martin reflected, incredulous.

  “It was wrenching,” Abby agreed, “and it broke my heart, though I was powerless to do anything to help. Both marriages, it seemed, were doomed from the beginning. The baron died soon after Kit wed him, she told me, and the meager allowance provided her was swallowed up by the losses of the property held by the baron’s sons. In truth his sons had no desire to help her. So, Kit fled to Anne. When her sister took ill—the same sickness that befell their mother—Kit took up her care. But as Anne’s health worsened, Rutledge made clear his lecherous intent.”

  Abby was gratified that Sir Martin listened so patiently, and by his look of both sympathy and anger as she told him of the assault by Rutledge and Kit’s actions in self-defense. His expression grew grave as the story finished, and when she was done, he thanked her and departed, vowing to search all of London if he must to find her. Abby bid him success in his search but wondered if Kit wished to be found by him. For herself, she had other ways of finding her friend.

  * * *

  “How was your evening at Willow House?” Ormond asked as he welcomed Martin into his library. Neither Lady Ormond nor John had yet arrived. Martin assumed it wouldn’t be long. He had spent most of the afternoon beginning his search.

  He hesitated to answer, thinking of what to say as he surveyed the room, allowing the furnishings to distract him. They bespoke not just wealth but a desire for comfort. Burgundy velvet curtains drawn back from the windows that faced the street allowed into the room what lingering daylight remained. Leather chairs flanked a marble fireplace. Above the mantel was a painting of a foxhunting scene. All was very masculine. All was very Ormond. Martin wondered what sort of home he would create for himself if he ever settled down again. It was a question he’d thought long abandoned.

  “An interesting question,” he finally said, but he offered no more. Where to begin?

  He took the customary brandy Ormond handed him and settled into a comfortable leather chair. A moment later he said, “I found a woman.”

  “Well.” Mouth curving into a wry smile, Ormond took the chair beside him. “Since we are talking about Willow House, I hardly find that surprising.”

  “You misunderstand, my friend,” Martin corrected. “Not just any woman.”

  Ormond did not reply at first. Then: “You found this woman at Willow House?”

  “It’s not what you think. This is a lady I desire above all others, and she has since disappeared. Worse, the trail grows cold.”

  Ormond shook his head. “I must say you have me a bit confused. Start at the beginning. Who is she?”

  “Katherine, and she is a lady.”

  “What the devil was a lady doing there?” Ormond asked.

  “I know it sounds strange, and I would ask you to say nothing to anyone about her being there. The circumstances are most unusual. It seems her former nanny owns the establishment. The girl came there seeking refuge, and, well, there was a mix-up. Do you know the name Egerton?”

  “There was an old Lord Egerton my father knew quite well. I thought he died. Is she his daughter?”

  “Ah, no. But if it’s the same Lord Egerton, she was his wife. Now she is his widow. They weren’t married long before he died. Rather a sad tale, really. Lady Egerton’s only sibling, a sister, died as well as both parents. Kit—that is what she told me to call her—has few funds and nowhere to go, and according to the former nanny she is fleeing a desperate situation. In defending her honor, she killed her brother-in-law, the Earl of Rutledge.”

  Ormond’s eyes were wide. “That sounds grim. Rutledge… I know the man. Not well, but I see him now and then. He has—or had—a nasty reputation for violence. It is even rumored he takes on the devil’s tasks when they serve his purposes.”

  “Poor Kit.” Martin shook his head, truly dismayed.

  “And in one evening you know you want her? She must be quite a prize.”

  “She is, but perhaps for the sake of the lady’s honor I’ll not go into details. I vow I will find her if I have to turn over all of London, and you know I can do that.”

  “Yes, I daresay you can.” Ormond shrugged. “When you find her, bring her here. My wife would welcome her. Mary is not a woman who judges. When we were betrothed, she mistakenly believed my former mistress was carrying my child and insisted I marry her instead!”

  “That sounds quite the tangle.”

  “I assure you it was. For weeks I carried with me a special license thinking I’d never get to use it. Fortunately it all came right in the end, but you can see why my wife would have no qualms about giving shelter to your Lady Egerton, whatever it was that happened.”

  A knock came at the door, followed by Ormond’s “Enter,” and the butler stepped into the room. He waited to be acknowledged and at his master’s nod spoke.

  “A young man has arrived, my lord. He says his name is Mr. John Spencer and that you are expecting him.”

  “Ah, yes, we are, Jenkins. Let Cook know we’ll be another hour before dinner. Has her ladyship returned from visiting her mother?”

  “Not yet, my lord. I will show the young man in and then see about Cook. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, Jenkins. Thank you.”

  The butler left and shortly returned with John, who was dressed as quite the dandy for dinner, no doubt wanting to impress the man he knew was the infamous Nighthawk. A flash of emerald green waistcoat peeked out from a royal blue jacket over cream-colored pantaloons, and the young man’s brown curls had been neatly combed.

  Ormond chuckled as John stepped in. “Good evening, John. It is good to see you again. I trust you are well?”

  John bowed his head. “Good day to ye, my lord. Aye, quite well.”

  “Come in, then,” said Ormond. “We were just about to get started.”

  “I heard ye married the Lady Mary, my lord, and now she is Lady Ormond. Will she be here?” the young man asked anxiously. “’Tis a year since I’ve seen her.”

  Clearly John was taken with Ormond’s wife. It did not surprise Martin. He remembered his own first reaction to the blonde beauty.

  Ormond smiled. “Yes, John. It is just as you say. The former Lady Mary is now my marchioness. I expect her in time for dinner, if not before.” He pulled
out a chair for the young man and sank back into the seat next to Martin. “Prinny’s new task will require all our efforts. My desire, just so you know, is to keep my adventure-loving wife out of it if I can.”

  “What’s it all about, then?” inquired Martin, setting down his brandy.

  “The situation has been brewing for quite a while, and it involves some discontent among the common people. Even riots.”

  “Riots in England?” Martin said, astonished. John, sitting beside him, gaped.

  “Fortunately for you, Martin,” Ormond continued, “your sojourn in France allowed you to miss them. Indeed, I missed the beginnings while I was there. They have roots going back many years. While we were in Paris chasing Napoleon’s secrets, the followers of a General Ned Ludd caused quite a stir in the north counties.”

  “Ah…the Luddites. I’ve heard of them.” Martin had a vague memory of someone passing through Paris telling him of the strong reaction of the textile workers to the machinery replacing their livelihoods.

  “My wife argues vehemently for their cause, as you might imagine,” Ormond said. “The lace and hosiery workers lost jobs when the machines were brought in. They couldn’t feed their families. Since then, the weavers have joined in.”

  “Interesting. We did not see this in France. Perhaps the war made this a lesser concern?” Martin suggested aloud.

  “I suspect so,” said Ormond. “But in England it has become a problem of great magnitude. The economic depression, made worse by the wars with France, even led to an attack on the Prince Regent this last January.”

  “An attack on Prinny?” Martin felt his brows rise. “So that’s what the old salts were talking about.”

  “Gawd,” said John.

  “Quite,” said Ormond, eyeing him. “His carriage was mobbed as it left Parliament, and the rabble threw rocks and shouted insults to the monarchy. The windows were shattered and glass flew everywhere. It must have been terrifying.”

  “You said he is fine now. Was he hurt?” asked Martin.

  “Amazingly, no. But the incident has sent ripples through the government.”

  John stared, agog, and Martin shook his head at the attack on the monarch. It was bleak news indeed. Still, Ormond didn’t stop there.

  “Parliament fears the revolutionary fervor in France has spread to our shores, and has, as you might find unsurprising, overreacted. They’re passing one law after another designed to keep the populace in their place. The Home Secretary, Viscount Sidmouth, the fool, and his sidekick, Viscount Castlereagh, have managed to get Parliament to suspend habeas corpus, making it possible for those suspected of treason to be imprisoned without trial. George Cruikshank, the caricature artist, has already published a drawing depicting Castlereagh hanging Lady Liberty.”

  Martin shook his head.

  “It gets worse,” Ormond said. “Sidmouth has also ordered the arrest of all printers and writers of materials considered inciting, so the press is up in arms. All this has only stirred the pot, I’m afraid.”

  The marquess rose, pulled a map from a drawer and spread it on top of his desk, and Martin and John gathered around him. Pointing his silver letter opener to a spot in northwestern England, Ormond directed their attention to a certain town. “There was an incident. Just here.” The three men peered closely as Ormond continued, “Manchester, wouldn’t you know. In March there was a demonstration. Hundreds of cotton workers carrying blankets in the cold protested the government’s actions. Their aim, I’m told, was to march on London to gain the Prince Regent’s attention. It is said they were hoping for some say in government. It’s been dubbed ‘the March of the Blanketeers.’”

  Martin nodded his head. “Ah, the Blanketeers. I can see Cruikshank’s caricatures now.”

  “The government did not find it amusing, I can assure you,” Ormond chided. “The leaders of the march were arrested, but the fears of a revolution spreading to England have not faded in the weeks that followed. Sidmouth is sending out spies all over Britain to investigate what he believes are ‘centers of discontent.’ My own information suggests they may be making the situation worse. I even begin to wonder just who was behind the attack on the Prince Regent.”

  “Are you suggesting these spies are acting as agents provocateurs?” Martin asked, horrified.

  “Your French is exactly right. These spies might be creating disturbances rather than quelling them, increasing the opportunity—even the justification—for further repressive measures.”

  “What does the Prince Regent expect me to do about it?” Martin wondered aloud. “I am a spy, myself.”

  A smile spread slowly across Ormond’s face. “Ah, but that’s just where you come in, don’t you see?”

  Perplexed, Martin held his breath.

  “Prinny wants action taken but doesn’t trust Sidmouth’s lackeys. In that, I believe he is right. You, my friend, are to spy on the spies.”

  Martin let out his breath. “Bon Dieu,” he whispered.

  To which John added, “Blimey!”

  Chapter 5

  Her heart beating in her throat, Kit knocked on the door of the elegant townhouse in Grosvenor Square. Surely she could do this. After all, she and Anne had several governesses over the years, so she knew the role well.

  She had no choice, either. She needed a place to hide and was not afraid of hard work. Abby had been wonderful to take her in, but Kit could not stay at Willow House, particularly not after what had happened there. Images of the dark-haired man with the indigo eyes and gentle touch stole into her mind sending shivers up her spine. She could still feel his hands on her skin. She could still feel the shame of what she’d done. Like a tarnished silver pitcher, Kit worried she wore her terrible secret on her face.

  Mustering her strength, she took a deep breath and forced from her mind all thoughts of the man and the night, and tried to focus on the present and the task at hand. How hard could it be to help twin sisters with their coming out? To be a finishing governess? It was in the middle of her first Season that Kit’s life had changed forever, but she’d experienced enough of the haut ton to guide another. And compared to her other options, helping two girls who’d spent years on the Continent become ladies of London society was a readily acceptable task. The woman whose name Abby had given Kit, Mrs. Pendergast, had been most enthusiastic about the opportunity.

  A maid in a black and white uniform opened the door. “Lady Katherine Endicott?”

  Kit nodded. Knowing of her circumstances, Mrs. Pendergast had suggested she use her name before marriage.

  “Please forgive me for keeping you waiting, m’lady,” the maid said, dipping into a small curtsey and opening the door. “The butler is out this afternoon and the footman has been sent on an errand, so it will be me showing you to the mistress.” She swung the door wide to allow Kit enter and bade her follow. “My name is Gertrude, but the twins call me Gertie. ’Tis sweet, really.”

  Kit smiled at the friendly, talkative girl whose ramblings about the twins became exuberant. Looking more closely, however, Kit reconsidered. The servant wasn’t exactly a “girl.” She might be in her mid twenties, older even than Kit herself. The maid’s brown hair was drawn back into a tight knot topped by a white mobcap, which Kit thought a bit severe, but the plump young woman’s blue eyes twinkled and there were lines at their edges that said she smiled often. No wonder the twins called her Gertie. She had a face that suggested her answers to all their questions would be yes.

  They passed through a set of double doors opening into a large room filled with light. Red and tan Toile de Jouy fabric depicting a hunting scene covered two large sofas facing each other before a stone fireplace. On a low walnut table between the sofas sat a silver tray bearing tea and scones.

  “Welcome, Lady Katherine.” A middle-aged woman rose to greet Kit, and Gertie excused herself. “Please join me,” the woman said, gesturing to one of the sofas. “We are being quite casual this afternoon, and Gertie has already seen we have tea so we can
be private for a moment.” As Kit accepted the seat on the sofa, the woman continued. “If all I have heard about you proves true, I expect you will suit the position just fine. Do make yourself comfortable, my lady.”

  “You may call me Miss Endicott. It’s important that I not be known as Lady Katherine.”

  Her would-be employer smiled, obviously relieved at not having to deal with appropriate address. “You will find the twins easy, Miss Endicott, though giddy at times, and mischievous. You’ll meet them soon enough. They are very excited about their first Season.” Glancing up at the door as if expecting her daughters to miraculously appear she added, “They’re around here somewhere.”

  “Oh?” Kit accepted the cup of tea handed to her.

  “Yes, dear.” Taking a deep breath as if she’d just recalled something, the woman said, “Oh, I’ve been remiss. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Madelene de Courtenay…but then you probably already know that.”

  Kit thought the woman was what some would call handsome. She fussed with light brown hair streaked with gray that resisted the knot to which it was confined. Sincere brown eyes found Kit as the woman added, “We’ve been living on the Continent, you see, for several years now, mostly in Austria. My husband’s affairs of state kept us there longer than we expected. That business with the Congress of Vienna, you know.”

  “Yes, I am familiar with that effort. It decided how Europe would be aligned for the future, did it not?”

  “That is what my husband tells me, dear. I was not involved, of course, except for social events. Well, anyway, I have quite forgotten how it’s done in London—the Season, I mean.” The woman continued to fidget. “That is one reason we decided to bring the twins home. To London, I mean. You do understand, don’t you?”

  Kit nodded, unwilling to interrupt and desperately fighting a grin. Her prospective employer was already flustered enough, perhaps at the possibility of employing nobility, and given her situation Kit found that nervousness endearing.

  “It’s time we considered husbands for the girls, and we want them to marry Englishmen. Mr. de Courtenay is a gentleman of good birth and considerable wealth owing to his many successful business ventures, and so invitations to the balls will come. He carries no title, but our daughters Priscilla and Penelope will be well dowered. It is our hope they will marry well—perhaps to members of the nobility in need of money, to be perfectly frank. They must be men of good character, however. We insist upon that. It is my fervent hope you can help prepare Pris and Pen for their Season, Lady Kather—I mean, Miss Endicott. Can you?”