Educating Elizabeth

Chapter 27

Elizabeth dressed for dinner in her simplest gown, without calling for her maid. She left her hair in its uncompromising braided style and placed her spectacles on the end of her nose.

If she had to confront the duke, she would do so in her plainest garb. She would not be accused of trying to tempt him. If he chose to keep their relationship on a more business-like setting, she was more than happy to oblige him. Plus, she was too concerned with her plan to ascertain the whereabouts of Sir John's book to worry about the duke.

She followed Sir John and Nicholas into the dining room. Succulent smells arose from the covered silver dishes Standish had placed on the table. Elizabeth swallowed and remembered she had scarcely eaten all day.

To her secret relief, and to the delight of her appetite, the duke was absent. She was so intent on eating as quickly as possible that she scarcely remembered to reply to Nicholas's light banter. Was it her own heightened sense of awareness that made Nicholas seem a little distracted himself?

She waited until the servants withdrew and leaned forward to pick up her glass of wine. She gave a cry of distress as the heavy glass slipped from her fingers and toppled over onto Sir John's side of the table, catching his glass in its path.

With a curse, Sir John shot to his feet as red wine cascaded over his lap.

"Oh, Sir John, I do beg your pardon, that was unforgivably clumsy of me," Elizabeth gasped. She came around the table and patted energetically at the lurid crimson stains that splattered his coat, waistcoat and breeches.

"If you remove your coat, I will take it down to the kitchen and soak it in salt water. It is such a fine garment that I would hate for it to be ruined."

She twirled a bemused Sir John around like a maypole, stripping his coat from his lean shoulders. For once, she was grateful that he didn't wear coats as closely molded to his figure as the duke's. Before Sir John could protest, she headed for the door, almost running in her efforts to be gone.

She paused in the gloom of the backstairs and carefully checked through all the pockets. Sir John's little red book was not there. She had already ascertained it wasn't concealed in his waistcoat or his breeches pocket whilst she had patted him with her napkin. She let out a frustrated breath and hurried down to the kitchens where she begged some sea salt from the cook and covered the splashed coat in it.

To her relief, the redness began to seep into the salt, turning the white crystals a brilliant ruby. Luckily, Sir John's coat was brown, which helped to disguise the stain. After a while, she scraped off the sodden salt and gently sponged cold water over the remaining blotches. In a vain attempt to stop her turbulent thoughts from overwhelming her, she took an inordinate amount of care over her task.

When she was sufficiently composed, she went back up the stairs, Sir John's coat over one arm. Standish had restored perfect order to the dining table and a fresh glass of wine sat to the right of her plate. Unfortunately, so did the duke. He rose and bowed when she appeared.

"Mrs. Waterstone."

She managed a distracted smile to the duke, but her attention was all on Sir John. He didn't bother to rise, but waited for her to come to him as though she were a scullery maid.

"You took your time."

"I'm sorry, Sir John. I was just trying to make sure the stain had gone." She shook out the coat and showed it to him. "You see? It is almost as good as new."

Sir John grunted, snatched the coat from her outstretched hands, and stood to shrug himself into it. "It seems to be all right," he said grudgingly. "But if it doesn't dry out completely by the morning I will expect you to buy me a new one. I'm sure that if you ask the duke nicely, he will give you the money."

Elizabeth felt herself blushing as she made her way back to her seat, aware of the duke's sardonic gaze on her.

"Sir John?" The duke said with an unmistakable edge of icy menace in his tone that made everyone at the table come to attention. "I believe you have forgotten to thank Mrs. Waterstone for her efforts on your behalf."

Sir John visibly paled as he dropped his gaze from the duke's and glanced toward Elizabeth. "Thank you, Mrs. Waterstone."

"You are welcome, Sir John."

An awkward silence fell over the table as the duke continued to study Sir John through narrowed eyes. Even Nicholas's good humor dimmed. Elizabeth struggled to eat and to make non-committal replies to Nicholas's sporadic attempts at conversation. The duke leaned back in his chair and observed them as if he were a predator deciding on his next victim.

Sir John was the first to throw his napkin onto the table and get to his feet, his chair scraping back on the floor. He favored them with a stiff bow.

"I beg to be excused. I will have to change my clothes before I can continue with my duties this evening. Luckily for you, Mrs. Waterstone, despite my meager salary, I do have another coat." He shot a contemptuous glare at Elizabeth and then marched out of the dining room, shutting the door behind him.

Nicholas gave a long, slow whistle. "Don't worry Mrs. Waterstone. Sir John's coat should have been torn into rags years ago. It will be good for the old skinflint to have to buy himself a new one. It is well past time."

"Thank you for the comforting words, Nicholas, but I still feel very much to blame." She pushed back her chair. "It is not like me to be so clumsy."

"No, it isn't, is it?" The duke's pointed question halted her in her tracks. She had to force herself to look at him.

"No one is perfect, Your Grace. We all make mistakes."

"Indeed, Mrs. Waterstone." He raised one eyebrow. "Have you made any other mistakes recently?"

She raised her chin and met his gaze full on. "I'm not sure, Your Grace. But if I had, I'm sure you would be the first person to point them out to me."

She escaped into the hallway and headed for Sir John's office. She needed to check Sir John's desk before she gave into her suspicions and had to decide what to do about the incriminating little red book that seemed to be in the hands of her stepfather.

Her soft kid slippers made hardly any noise on the polished hall floor and none at all on the thick plush carpet in the duke's study. She pushed open the door of Sir John's office and slipped silently into the room. To her relief, it appeared that Sir John had indeed left for the night.

A single candle burned in the wall sconce, casting the heavy oak furniture into shadow. She walked across to Sir John's massive desk and began opening the unlocked drawers and sifting through the contents.

She found nothing and knelt to investigate the bottom drawer. She was so engrossed in her search that she nearly squeaked when the gleaming black toecap of the duke's shapely boot intruded on her vision.

"What exactly are you doing, Mrs. Waterstone?"

Elizabeth shot to her feet and steadied herself on the edge of Sir John's wide desk. "I was hoping to finish the code translation tonight. Sir John mentioned that he had samples of some previously broken codes that might be of use to me." Elizabeth flashed the duke a bright smile. "After the unfortunate incident at the dining table, I forgot to ask him exactly where he kept them."

She swallowed as the duke failed to reply. "Are you accusing me of something, Your Grace?" She gestured at the desk. "The drawers are not locked. I did not expect to discover any state secrets in them."

"I'm not accusing you of anything--yet."

Elizabeth maneuvered around the other end of the desk, putting as much distance between herself and the duke as she could. She eyed the door as he leisurely closed the gap between them.

"Exactly how much of the code is left to decipher, Mrs. Waterstone?" he inquired.

Elizabeth gave up her idea of escape and retreated behind her desk. "I think you were right and that they intend to try and assassinate the Prince Regent during the allies' victory parade. I just need to ascertain the time and the place when the assassin intends to strike."

The duke grimaced. "And that is the very information we need as soon as possible. The parade is only a week away and the authorities were highly offended by my suggestion that it should be canceled."

Elizabeth pretended to consider her work, her heart beating, her fingers still shaking. Why couldn't he just leave before she blurted out something inadvisable or, even worse, begged for his help?

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"If we are to speak of recent mistakes, be assured that I've made as many as you have." He gave her a crooked smile. "And I'm not sure if I regret a single one of them. Good night, my dear."

She watched him leave, her throat choked with unshed tears. What would he do if she slipped into his bed in the night? Would he welcome her or politely ask her to leave? She forced her eyes back to the code, knowing she couldn't bear to risk finding out. When she had solved the code to the duke's satisfaction and cleared up her suspicions over Sir John's behavior, she would have more leisure to decide her future.

She sank her chin into her hands and gazed unseeingly at the parchment until the fine handwriting began to blur. A tear rolled down her nose and plopped onto the code, swiftly followed by several others. With a cry of horror, she used the fringe of her shawl to blot the parchment, which had turned into a lake of cloudy blue ink.

When she managed to remove the wetness, she blew on the damaged parchment in a vain attempt to restore it to its previous condition. As she brought the document closer she noticed a series of indentations on the page that the spilled ink had highlighted.

With a sense of tightening anticipation, she lit another candle. It seemed as if document contained several additional words, which had been scratched into the vellum using a quill pen but no ink. Her unwelcome and unwanted flood of tears had inadvertently revealed the hidden words.

Hardly daring to breathe, Elizabeth attempted to translate the first word and realized with a sense of triumph that the code remained the same. Within a very short while, she revealed the new message, which contained detailed instructions on where and at what time the assassin was to kill the Prince Regent.

With infinite care, Elizabeth began to transcribe the information onto a clean sheet of parchment. Her pen slowed as she neared the end of the message. How could she prevent Sir John from sending this information onto Mr. Forester and yet make sure that it was revealed to the duke? She couldn't steal the original code. But considering the blotched state of it now, it should be safe to leave it. She doubted Sir John or anyone else would be able to decipher the code.

She drew another sheet of parchment in front of her and began to write, praying that her instincts would serve her well.

It was past midnight by the time she finished and sat back. The house was silent and watchful as she took the guttering candle and made her way upstairs. She had a lot to accomplish on the morrow and feared that without the duke's comforting presence, she would find it hard to sleep at all.