Against the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 2) Read online

  She eyed Kit with such hopeful blue-gray eyes, Kit realized the woman didn’t want to interview anyone else. Whatever Mrs. Pendergast told her, it must have been a firm endorsement. Kit was glad of it.

  “Why, yes, I believe I can. There will be a need for certain tutors and a dancing master to instruct them. There are customs to be understood and observed, and a suitable wardrobe will need to be provided for each. But I shall be most willing to help.” Kit would even look forward to the task if the girls were anything like their mother. Madelene de Courtenay seemed kind and obliging.

  “Whatever you need will be provided, my dear. You will find us most generous. But one last thing. While of course we will attend all the balls ourselves, I will want you to be with the girls for their first few to assure they follow your directions.”

  It was an unusual request, and Kit was instantly uncomfortable. She wasn’t worried about being recognized. Before her short half Season, she and Anne had been raised outside of London, and afterward she’d had few visitors. But she was ill equipped for such a ball. Her clothing in particular.

  Setting down her tea, she gripped her hands in her lap and said, “Mrs. de Courtenay, I have no funds at present for gowns to wear to any ball. I had to leave my things behind.” Even if she hadn’t left them, her ball gowns were out of fashion.

  “Don’t you worry at all, my dear. I understand you’ve had an unfortunate setback.”

  Kit felt the color rise in her cheeks, embarrassed to have her rather dismal circumstances acknowledged by a gracious woman clearly intending to offer what could only be labeled as charity. “But, I don’t—”

  “Think nothing of it,” Madelene de Courtenay interrupted. “We will provide all you need to comply with our wishes to attend the twins, and you will have the say in all things having to do with their first Season. When you accompany them to the modiste to select appropriate gowns, I insist you select a few for yourself as well.” The woman must have seen that Kit was about to object, for she held up one finger and repeated, “I insist, my dear.”

  And that, thought Kit, was that. She hadn’t been offered the position, exactly, nor had she accepted. But it appeared she had obtained it all the same.

  * * *

  Ormond smiled at his wife as the footman served out the fish course. “Darling, if you were, as you are, a young woman of good birth but looking to hide out with no funds, where would you run to in London?”

  Martin shot his friend a look of caution, but this seemed to deter Ormond not one whit from his intended inquiry. The men were having dinner after their meeting, and Lady Ormond had joined them. Martin found his thoughts torn between the missing beauty with the auburn hair and Prinny’s ridiculous new assignment to spy on English spies.

  “Well, if it were me,” Lady Ormond opined, holding one finger up to her chin, “I would want something to engage my brain. Something I wouldn’t mind doing while providing for my existence.” She thought for another moment. “I suppose I would seek a position as governess—a position that did not involve small children, because they might require too much attention.”

  “Brilliant, darling! I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, that is just what she might do.” Ormond was clearly proud of his wife’s cleverness.

  “Why, may I ask,” Lady Ormond inquired, green eyes boring into her husband, “do you want to know? I assume it is not hypothetical.”

  “No, actually,” Ormond agreed. “Martin has…er, lost just such a woman, whom, he has learned, has fallen on hard times and might be seeking a place of refuge. She is but a year or two older than you.”

  Lady Ormond turned. “Lost a woman have you, Martin? Hmm. Already?”

  Martin knew when he was being toyed with. He shot John a glance, but the young man was engrossed in his food. “Enough, you two,” he whispered.

  “Do not be so touchy, Martin,” Lady Ormond said, studying him and likely seeing more than he wanted. “Anyone would think this woman has gotten beneath your skin.” She paused and added on a more serious note, “If you like, I can make discreet inquiries as to whether any women of the ton have recently retained a lady of quality as a governess.”

  Martin eyed her. “I don’t want to frighten her or make her think she is being hunted. Could you inquire so as not to raise anyone’s suspicions? I also would not wish to alert Lady Egerton to my interest.”

  “Of course not,” said Lady Ormond, green eyes twinkling. “You know how I love this sort of thing. Think of it as me helping our friend the spy. Yes, I’d quite like to do it.”

  Ormond gave Martin a look, clearly annoyed that his wife was off on another adventure.“Then, yes,” Martin said, amused that the tables had turned. “Please make your inquiries—if Ormond has no objection.” As if there were anything his friend could do to stop her. “I am making some as well.”

  * * *

  Kit recognized the shop as the same one she and Anne had frequented, a modiste on Bruton Street with a good reputation for dressing debutantes and women of the ton. The bay window with small glass panes displayed several gowns in the current style, with high waists and low necklines, done up in pale silks, brocades and satins with ribbons, flounces and lace.

  They entered the shop to a jingle of a bell hanging over the door and the practiced greeting of an older woman with dark hair wearing a blue morning gown. The first things Kit noted about the woman were her high cheekbones and the professional confidence etched in her face; she would make an interesting subject to draw. Mrs. de Courtenay had been delighted to learn Kit was an artist, asking her to teach the girls a bit of her craft. Now they all three had new sketchbooks and pencils, and Kit had begun to draw the twins and the faces of the de Courtenay servants as well.

  “Good day, ladies, I am Mrs. Singleton. How may I help you?”

  “Good day to you, Mrs. Singleton. I am Miss Endicott, the girls’ governess for the Season. We seek your assistance for their wardrobes. Appropriate gowns for day and evening, including those they will need for the balls they will attend. And perhaps a pelisse or two.”

  “Ah yes, Miss Endicott. Now I recall. Mrs. de Courtenay sent me a note. You are to have whatever you need and she will receive the bill. She was most insistent that you, too, should have gowns as well as her daughters.”

  Kit felt the heat rise in her cheeks. This was so hard, taking the charity of the kind de Courtenays. But it wasn’t as if she could return to Rutledge’s home to pack a valise. The servants would long ago have discovered his body. Not for the first time, she wondered why she had heard nothing of his death; but facing the issue at hand, she had to admit she must accept the gift of the gowns if she were to accompany the girls to their balls and other entertainments as their mother insisted.

  “Oh yes, Miss Endicott! You simply must,” pleaded Pen with her soft blue-gray eyes and a few freckles sprinkled over her nose that Kit thought charming even if the ton would not. “You simply must choose fabric for your own gowns. We will help. It will be such fun!”

  Looking at Pen’s sweet face, Kit gave up all resistance. “All right, but only because your mother insisted.” Smiling at Mrs. Singleton she said, “Perhaps one or two gowns for me.”

  “Mrs. de Courtenay was very clear, Miss Endicott. A few gowns for evenings and a few walking gowns as well, I should think.”

  “Very well, then,” said Kit, resigned. She could see there was nothing for it but to go along with Mrs. de Courtenay’s generous plans.

  She put her arm around Priscilla’s shoulders and made the introductions: “This is Miss de Courtenay.” Pris smiled briefly; she had no love for elaborate display. “And this”—Kit wrapped her other arm around the second girl—“is Miss Penelope.” Pen beamed at Mrs. Singleton, eager to please.

  The modiste exuded confidence as she stood ready to begin, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear and steepling her fingers in front of her. “Very well. You girls are both lovely. I am quite certain our creations will render you the most beautifu
l young women at the balls. Let us get started, shall we?”

  The girls exchanged excited glances and followed the woman to a trestle table holding bolts of fine muslin and silk in white and ivory. Kit eyed them as they eagerly handled the luxurious fabrics, looking toward their future and the Season. In the weeks she’d been with them, she had grown quite attached to Pris and Pen. Though twins, they looked nothing alike and had very different personalities. In the sketches of the two she had just begun, their differences were most apparent. Pris, the older by only a few minutes, was intelligent and levelheaded, her demeanor quite adult. Even now she was commenting affably on the practicality of the various fabrics, but her light red hair hinted at the temper Kit had seen on a few occasions.

  Pen, on the other hand, had a softer appearance, with light brown hair and a rounder face, and she had a more malleable temperament. Both girls had blue eyes, though Pen’s were paler, more of a blue-gray like her mother’s. In their demeanor, the twins were as different as Kit and Anne had been—and they were equally as close. Kit kept hidden deep within her the twinge of pain she felt at knowing she’d never see Anne again.

  She smiled to herself as she recalled how Pris had announced one afternoon the search for the proper husband was a mission of utmost importance and it was essential he be someone she could respect. Pen, on the other hand, was quite biddable, happy just to be included in any parties and dances. Any man who wanted her would do just fine if he were the choice of her parents.

  It was a busy afternoon. Mrs. Singleton devoted herself to working with Kit to assure the girls selected appropriate gowns for the remaining events of the Season. The girls were arguing over the choice of ribbons and trimmings when the modiste finally turned her attention to their governess, giving Kit a long, studying appraisal.

  “You seem quite familiar to me, Miss Endicott, even your name. Have you been here before?”

  Kit shied from reminding the woman that she had been there before as a lady, as an earl’s daughter, but she would not lie. “Yes, I was here ordering a gown some years ago. It was lovely. Your work is excellent.”

  Distracted by the praise as Kit hoped, the older woman thanked her and turned her attention to the fabric she had chosen. “This will go nicely with your fair complexion, Miss Endicott. And the silver moiré will set off your hair. That auburn color is most unique, so dark, so rich. And there is a slight blue cast to this fabric that will bring out your eyes, don’t you think?”

  Kit was thrown by the woman’s compliment but not certain why. Perhaps because her hair had brought her to the attention of the Earl of Rutledge when she and her sister were first introduced to him at Petworth House in Sussex. Her father had visited the grand estate at the invitation of the Earl of Egremont, and Kit had never forgotten the great collection of art the old earl amassed. And she had never forgotten the Earl of Rutledge, whose watchful eyes never left her and her sister.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Singleton.” Kit’s hand brushed the shimmering fabric. It had been a long time since she’d had such a gown. “You are most kind. Yes, the silver will do nicely.”

  Mrs. Singleton continued to hunt through the fabrics on the table when Pris came up behind her. “Miss Endicott, you must have a blue gown, too. Your eyes—”

  “A good suggestion, my dear,” said Mrs. Singleton, interrupting as she pulled out a bolt of blue satin. “Yes, with your eyes, Miss Endicott, a gown in blue would do nicely. This lapis satin, perhaps.”

  “I will be happy to take all your recommendations,” said Kit, looking into the older woman’s determined eyes. At least she’d be relieved of the burden of choosing the precise nature of the charity bestowed upon her.

  Mrs. Singleton suggested several other fabrics to Kit while Pris and Pen offered their opinions as well. Then the older woman returned her attention to the twins, joining their discussion on sashes to complement the ivory silk they had selected for their first ball. Not surprising to Kit, Pris chose bold accent colors, including plum and dark green, while Pen stayed with the pastels most debutantes wore. Kit had come to love these girls. They often brought to mind another part of her long-ago dream: a daughter of her own.

  Kit turned to face the bay window and strolled a few steps to peer out between the displayed gowns onto the street. In truth she stared at nothing; her only goal was to be alone with her thoughts. As the twins’ chatter faded into the background, Kit remembered the day she and Anne visited Mrs. Singleton’s shop for their own coming-out gowns. Her eyes misted over with the memory. She was the one who had chosen a royal blue for her sash, while Anne chose a paler shade. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought for control, glad the de Courtenay girls and the modiste could not see the tear slipping down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away. How she missed Anne. How she regretted not being able to say a proper goodbye, not even able to wear the proper mourning clothes. Of course, Anne would understand. She always had.

  Wiping away another tear, Kit forced herself back to the present and looked out the window, this time in earnest. On the street, a man doffed his hat to a passing woman and paused to greet her. He was tall, with very dark hair.

  For a moment her heart stopped. Could it be the man from Willow House? From the side he appeared so, but no, this man was shorter. He turned his face as he spoke with the woman, and Kit was suddenly certain this was not the man she remembered, the man who was always in her thoughts. This man’s face looked younger, not as wise in the ways of the world. Nor were this man’s features as perfectly formed.

  Kit wondered what had happened to that man from Willow House, where he was, what he was doing. Who he was. She did not even know his name. Somehow that made him seem less real, as if he had only been an Adonis from her dreams. But no, he had been very real. She still recalled the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, the feel of him moving inside her bringing her the most amazing pleasure she had ever experienced.

  Her cheeks warmed, as if others could hear her thoughts. But what would she say to him if she encountered him on the street? “Why, sir, you don’t know me but we shared a bed one night”? No, it was unthinkable, improper and shameful. But she could not deny that she wished to see him again, albeit from afar. And she was glad her courses had come and she need not face the prospect of telling a stranger she carried his child.

  As she continued to watch the pair on the street, they said their goodbyes and departed.

  “Miss Endicott!” She heard her name being called and turned to see Pen’s blue-gray eyes pleading, her manner anxious. “You simply must tell us which fabric will be best for the pelisse.”

  “Of course.” Jerked back to the present, Kit crossed the shop to join the twins. Pen directed her attention to a selection of fabrics, and Mrs. Singleton handed her a picture of a design for a long coat.

  “For you?” Kit asked Pen.

  “Yes,” said the girl, nodding. “Pris has already chosen the dark blue one she will have.”

  Kit pointed to a light brown cloth tending toward peach. “This one, I think,” she said as the girls’ voices collided. Pris still argued for a deep blue for her sister, but Pen quickly nodded approval, signaling her agreement to Mrs. Singleton. The light brown it would be.

  They had exhausted the modiste, Kit realized. “I think we are about done, are we not, Mrs. Singleton?” she asked. Seeing the woman’s relief, she aimed her next question at the twins. “How about returning home for tea?”

  “A good idea,” said Pris. “I am getting very thirsty…and hungry.”

  “Oh yes, let’s!” said Pen, ever eager to please.

  And they were off.

  Chapter 6

  Martin watched Lady Ormond set down her breakfast roll and pick up her cup of chocolate before looking directly at him. Her expression was bleak. “I’ve been asking ladies of my acquaintance, Martin, and not one has retained a new governess or a woman matching Lady Egerton’s description. I must have been wrong about where she would go.”

  Martin set down hi
s coffee and swept his napkin over his mouth. He was having breakfast at the home of the Ormonds, where he was now ensconced as their houseguest, at least for the time being. Several weeks had gone by, and he was becoming re-accustomed to London. For several days he and John had been attending meetings at Westminster, absorbing information about the disturbances that had taken place around the country. What he had learned was most disconcerting.

  “Seems we’ve both little to show for our efforts. My own inquiries have turned up nothing thus far, my lady—but I thank you for trying.”

  “The thought occurs she may have left London altogether,” said Ormond, setting down his newspaper. “Interestingly, there has been nothing in the Morning Chronicle or The Morning Post that speaks of the incident with Rutledge.”

  “And not a single on dit floating about my circles,” added Lady Ormond.

  “If the papers have been silent I am grateful,” said Martin. “Perhaps his family is keeping quiet Lady Egerton’s supposed crime—and what prompted it.”

  “Do you think she fled London, Martin?” asked Ormond’s wife before she took a bite of her roll.

  “Not unless she traveled with friends,” Martin replied. “And, from what Abigail Darkin told me, her friends are in short supply just now.”

  “So,” said Lady Ormond, “she is likely still in Town. But you say she has not returned to Willow House.”

  “No. I have checked there.” But he had an odd feeling she was near, still somewhere in London. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did. And with what he’d recently learned…