What Would Jane Austen Do?

Chapter Seven

Eleanor crawled into bed and immediately fell into a deep, exhausted sleep without figuring out what Alanbrooke meant. She woke in the middle of the night, the echo of his laughter all she could remember of her fading, uneasy dreams. She had no idea what time it was, but it was inky dark in the bedroom. She turned the pillow to put the cool side against her cheek and tried to go back to sleep.

With her eyes closed, the uninterrupted silence pressed in on her. Her apartment back in L.A. was in a residential area, but a certain amount of ambient noise was normal. The soft whir of the air conditioner, the faint ticking of her alarm clock, the cars and trucks on the not so distant highway, the infrequent sound of her neighbor’s stereo when the pilot was in town and entertaining, even the occasional siren or car alarm. None of those noises had bothered her after the first week in her new place. She pulled another pillow close and hugged it to her breast. Getting used to sleeping alone had taken a little longer.

The middle of the night was no time to think of the past. She tossed the pillow aside and sat up. Since she couldn’t watch TV, maybe reading something boring might make her sleepy. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. If she opened the window drapes, could she find a candle and a match? She found her way across the room only to discover the drapes weren’t closed. If there was a moon, thick clouds hid it and any stars.

Now totally awake, she wished she had a glass of warm milk, her grandmother’s dependable remedy for sleeplessness. Her stomach growled, reminding her that Gram always gave her a few Oreos with her milk. And that she hadn’t eaten much at dinner.

Without a kitchen handy, how could she go about getting some milk? If she could find the bellpull in the dark, Twilla would probably come to see what she wanted, but Eleanor didn’t want to rob the hardworking servant of much needed sleep. Surely in a house this size somebody had to be awake, tending the fires or some such chore.

She made her way back, located her robe on the foot of the bed, and found her slippers next to the bed steps where she’d left them. Arms outstretched, she made her way to the door. If possible, the sitting room was even darker than the bedroom. She almost changed her mind and turned around, but spending sleepless hours until dawn loomed scarier than crossing the room. Moving slowly, she finally found the door. In the hall the dim light from a few widely spaced sconces seemed blindingly bright at first. Her eyes adjusted as she went downstairs.

She spotted a servant right away, a footman seated on a stool by the front entrance with a shuttered lantern handy by his feet in case a carriage pulled up to the door. Not only did she recognize him as one of the wine servers at dinner, but she realized he was slumped back against the wall and snoring gently. She didn’t have the heart to wake him. When the clock chimed three times, he stirred and mumbled, “Come on, Alice. Give us a kiss.”

Eleanor covered her mouth to stifle a giggle and turned away. Then she noticed light shining under the library door. Were the gentlemen still playing cards? She tiptoed closer and put her ear against the wood, listening for a clue to who was inside. Either the door was too thick, or they were silent card players. She eased the door open a crack.

To her surprise, the empty room was brightly lit and a small cheery fire crackled in the fireplace.

She stepped inside. “Hello?” she whispered.

Shermont had sensed her presence before she spoke. What was Eleanor doing up and about at this hour? He hesitated before rising from his prone position on the couch facing the fireplace. “Good evening. Or rather, good morning.”

Eleanor whipped around in surprise, her hand clutching the lapels of her brocade robe. She looked adorable with her stubborn chin framed by the high lace collar of her granny nightgown, but her bed-tousled hair sent his thoughts in a decidedly wicked direction. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he added.

“You scared me half to death,” she said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Then I must, unfortunately, assume you weren’t looking for me. Shall I leave? Are you expecting to meet someone else?” Like another foreign agent?

“No! No, I … ah …” Her stomach growled loudly. “Do you know where the kitchen is?”

“You shouldn’t wander around without a chaperone. Why didn’t you call for a maid?”

“I can take care of myself. If you’ll point me in the right direction, I’ll find the kitchen on my own.”

“I don’t know where it is either,” he lied, wanting to extend their time together.

“Then I’ll just get a book and leave you to your … whatever.” She marched to the nearest bookcase and ran her finger across the leather spines. She found a slim volume and pulled it out. Finding Pride and Prejudice was like a surprise visit from an old friend. She tucked it in the crook of her arm and turned to leave.

“I may not know where the kitchen is, but I can call for assistance.”

“No! I didn’t want to wake anyone. It’s all right. I’ll go back to my room now.”

“Then you don’t want this ham sandwich.”

“What? You must be joking.”

“They’re served at the Cocoa-Tree Club at Pall Mall and St. James. Lord Montague, not the current Earl, but the Fourth Earl of Sandwich, didn’t want to stop gambling in order to dine, so he requested a piece of meat between two slices of—”

“I know what a sandwich is. I’m just surprised you have one.”

Shermont turned, picked up a tray, and carried it to the library table. He took the cover off the plate with the flair of a Las Vegas magician and held out the chair for her. “Tuttle brought this in just half an hour ago.”

“I can’t take your sandwich,” she said, even as she walked forward trancelike, unable to resist the lure.

“I’m not hungry.” He had requested it to have on hand for Carl, who had spent the evening in the cold rain watching the oak tree for activity. Shermont expected him to return at any moment and had been waiting since the card game broke up at two-thirty. He wanted to let him in and discuss his findings.

“You wouldn’t have asked for it if you weren’t hungry.” She eyed the thinly sliced pink ham, and her stomach growled again.

“I’ll share it with you. For the price of a kiss,” he offered on a whim.

Eleanor hesitated. “Deal,” she said, to his surprise. She stood straight with arms stiffly at her side, tipped her chin up, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes.

Shermont had no intention of giving her the chaste kiss she obviously expected. He moved in close and gently cupped her cheeks in his hands. He explored her lips, tasting, teasing, and demanding a response. She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him. He took her in his arms and pulled her closer … closer.

Her stomach growled again, vibrating against his gut. He chided himself for selfishly denying her sustenance while he fed his own hunger. Gently, he set her away from him, steadying her with his hands on her shoulders. “I think you’ve earned that entire sandwich,” he said, forcing a chuckle into his voice.

He turned her toward the table and held the chair.

“Half is enough,” she said as she sat down.

He picked up the book she’d dropped and laid it on the table. Then he took the chair opposite her. After looking at him and receiving a nod of encouragement, she picked up half the sandwich and took a healthy bite.

“I noticed you prefer your food without sauces. There’s mustard on that.”

“Mmm-mmm.”

She closed her eyes in pleasure, revealing a sensuality he’d guessed was there but hadn’t seen so blatantly displayed. His body responded and he rose, fetching his nearly empty brandy snifter as an excuse to put some distance between them.

“It’s wonderful,” she said.

He dawdled as long as he could. By the time he returned to his seat, she’d finished a quarter of the large sandwich.

“Is that beer?” she asked with a gesture toward the tall glass on the tray.

“Ale. Help yourself. I have my brandy.”

She took a tentative sip and made a face. “It’s a bit stronger and warmer than I’m used to.” But she took another drink. A few bites later, she stopped and licked a dab of mustard off her lip. “Are you going to eat that pickle?”

He shook his head.

She picked up the large whole pickle and put the end in her mouth, her lips forming a pink O. She closed her eyes and sucked.

Reminding him of … he shifted in his chair. Then winced when she took a sharp bite.

“Not a fan of dill?” she asked with an innocent expression. And amusement in her eyes.

Shermont, endurance tested to his limit, looked around for a distraction and spotted the chessboard on the other end of the table. He occupied his mind envisioning moves and countermoves.

“Thank you. That was perfect.” She wiped her fingers on the napkin, pushed the tray aside, and folded her hands on the narrow table within easy reach of his.

He slid the chessboard between them. “Do you play?”

“Not very well,” she answered. She stared at him for a long moment before moving her pawn in a classic opening.

He’d suggested the distraction to keep his hands occupied, but quickly realized the game revealed much about his opponent. He played conservatively to judge her style. She was aggressive, but her defenses were weak. They concentrated on the game and soon half the pieces had been removed from the board. Surprising him, she’d held her own.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever played with a lady,” he said.

“From what I hear, you’ve played with a great number of ladies,” she said, moving her knight to threaten his queen. “Oh, were you speaking of chess?” She grinned. “I’m honored to be your first and, I’m sure, not your last. Now you know we can play as well as men.”

“That’s debatable. I fear men will always have the advantage.”

She bristled. “Why would you say that? Are you inferring our brains are inferior?”

Her challenge struck a familiar chord. Someone in the past he couldn’t remember, a sister, a mother, maybe an aunt, had also believed women were equal to men—different, but equal. He rubbed his forehead out of habit, but the expected stabbing pain did not appear.

“Not at all,” he said. “I acknowledge females have fine brains, and I know a number who are intelligent, literate, and clever. I also know several men who have not a thought in their heads beyond what coat to wear to the next social affair or which style to use in tying their cravat.”

She nodded her grudging acceptance of his defense.

“My assertion that men will always have an advantage is based on the fact that chess is basically a war game, probably first played in ancient Mesopotamia to teach combat strategy. Great battles and tactics of distinguished generals are part of the normal curriculum of every boy’s education.” He shrugged. “Girls study needlework and how to manage a household.”

She glared at him.

“Chess is supposed to be a contemplative activity,” he said.

“Does that mean you don’t want to talk anymore?”

“Only that it is a distraction.”

“The entire education system will change when we get the vote,” she muttered.

He dropped the castle he’d been in the process of moving.

“Did I shock you?” She seemed pleased to have disrupted his game.

“I cannot deny you have.” He grabbed the piece and then stared at the board, unsure as to where he’d meant to put it.

“It will happen, you know. Woman’s suffrage.”

“One part of me is aghast and horror-struck at the possibility, and yet somehow there is an inevitable logic to the concept. A small part of me believes the world will not end. England will not fall, and females will not start wearing pantaloons just because they can vote.”

Eleanor held her tongue.

He finished his move and then turned away to think about what he’d just said. Where had that belief come from? He didn’t remember ever having formed an opinion on females voting.

Carl waving at him from the other side of the French doors interrupted his reverie. How long had he been out there? Shermont realized he’d allowed Eleanor to distract him from his duty again. He concentrated on ending the game quickly, lured her into a foolish attack, and swooped in for checkmate.

“I suggest you try to get some sleep,” he said as he returned the chessboard to its former position and reset the pieces for the next players. “Tomorrow will be a busy day and will start early.”

“Will you be attending the picnic?”

He ignored the question. “Shall I ring for a maid to escort you back to your room?”

She picked up her book, turned on her heel, and rushed out of the room. But not before he saw the look on her face. Her confused and wounded expression caused feelings he couldn’t name and didn’t want to examine. Instead he opened the French doors and let Carl into the room. The man was soaked and shivering.

“It’s about bloody time,” he said through chattering teeth as he rushed to hold his hands to the small fire.

Shermont apologized as he ascertained the footman was still asleep. “Let’s go upstairs. You need dry clothes.”

While the valet changed, Shermont built a fire in the sitting room grate and poured two fresh brandies. Carl returned and took the seat nearest the hearth.

“Anything?” Shermont asked, handing him one snifter.

“I hid in the bushes for hours, and no one came to the tree for any reason.”

“Weather may have been a factor. We’ll have to try again.”

Carl groaned. “This might change your mind.” He pulled a scrap of paper from his dressing gown pocket and handed it over. “I found that at dusk before it started to rain.”

Shermont examined the scrap about an inch square. “Rough edges, obviously torn.” He rubbed it between his fingers. “Good quality paper. The ink is a bit smudged, but the writer is educated.” The word “midnight” was clearly visible as was a partial word below it. “Damn cocksure. Didn’t even bother to use a code.”

“The delicate writing and curly endings to the letters indicate a lady’s hand. I told you it was a trysting place. Probably said ‘Meet me at midnight.’ ”

“This second partial word ‘oordina’ probably was ‘coordinate.’ Not a word I would expect used in a lover’s note.”

“Coordinate meeting times. Coordinate stories. Maybe coordinate elopement plans.”

Shermont sniffed the paper. “This smells like your soap.”

“I had it tucked in my shirt. What? I was trying to keep it dry.”

“Did you check it for perfume residue before you stashed it against your heart?”

“No,” Carl admitted sheepishly.

“Too bad. An identifiable scent might have pointed us directly to the female writer.”

“Then you agree it was a lady?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t change anything. I’m more certain than ever the oak is being used as a drop point.” Shermont sat back in his chair and tapped his chin with two fingers. His recent chess game had reminded him of the value of an oblique offense. He rose and went to the desk to write a note. “I want you to get this message to our contact at Court. Planting a news article in the Times should scare up activity among our quarries.” He handed over the note.

Carl read it. “The Times is going to want confirmation before they run an unbelievable story like this.”

“Who says it’s not true? Don’t worry. They’ll run it in the morning edition.”

“You want me to go now?” Carl asked with an unbelieving expression. “It’s four o’clock in the morning.”

“Well, I can’t go. I’d never get back in time for the picnic.”

Carl narrowed his eyes. “Too bad you don’t have a sample of that female’s handwriting.”

They both knew to whom he referred.

“If there is nothing else, I will prepare for my journey,” Carl said.

He wished Carl Godspeed, and the valet left him alone with his unsettled thoughts. Other than social obligations, Shermont had spent little time alone with a female that had not been a prelude to bedding her. And yet he had enjoyed the hour he’d spent with Eleanor—not that he didn’t want to bed her—but that had not been his main goal. He wanted to get to know her. He tried, unsuccessfully, to convince himself that he found her fascinating due to the possibility she was involved in the selling of secrets to the French. Foreign agent or not, she was not like any other female he could remember.

“Hurry up,” Deirdre called from inside the open landau. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Eleanor took one last look at the picturesque scene. Two carriages, women in their colorful summer dresses and bonnets, men of the party on horseback, all lined up for the parade to the picnic site. Down the drive, a wagon with supplies and servants went ahead to set up for their arrival. She ran down the front stairs, and a footman offered an arm to steady her climb up the steps into the second conveyance. The carriage lurched forward as soon as she’d settled next to Mina on the seat facing backward. Deirdre and Beatrix sat across from them.

The other ladies of the party were in the larger, more comfortable closed carriage, much to Fiona and Hazel’s disappointment. Mrs. Holcum had allowed her daughter to ride without a chaperone, but warned she would keep a sharp eye. She’d threatened the coachman. If anything untoward happened, runaway horses or any such nonsense, she’d have his job. She also promised him a half-crown bonus if he maintained a close distance from the leading carriage and all arrived safely.

The gentlemen, including spry Uncle Huxley, were mounted and rode alongside the carriages when the road width permitted.

“You girls resemble a lovely summer garden,” Huxley said, referring to the various hues of their dresses.

Eleanor wore her sunny yellow muslin with a sprig of green leaves embroidered on the length of the skirt, ending in a border of tangled vines and tiny purple flowers. She’d debated whether to wear the yellow. Back in L.A., the color had accented her marginal tan beautifully, but when paler was considered better, the dress did nothing for her. She finally opted to wear it because she had a limited number of dresses, and it seemed absolutely necessary to change clothes several times a day. She covered her arms with long gloves and a white muslin shawl with embroidered tambour work that she borrowed from Mina.

Mina was in pink with rose accents, Deirdre in blue with orange accents, and Beatrix in white with red embroidery and ribbons. Each carried a parasol for shade, Eleanor having borrowed an old one from Deirdre. Small talk passed the time as the lead coach kept the pace to a crawl.

The horses, kept to the same pace by their riders, appeared to resent the slow walk.

Shermont pulled his mount, a beautiful black Arabian thoroughbred, next to Teddy’s horse. “Dabir is restless. I’m going to give him a run to settle him down.”

“Dabir seems a strange name for a horse,” Deirdre said before Teddy had a chance to speak.

“It’s Arabic for teacher.” The horse danced a few steps sideways, and Shermont reined him in. “So named because he does his best to teach me patience.” He smiled at Deirdre before turning back to Teddy. “We’re racing out to that promontory. I call it a mile and a half. Five quid each to the winner. Are you in?”

“No, thank you. Messenger seems content to keep gentler company, as am I.”

The lieutenants maneuvered their horses forward and begged the women for a favor to carry for luck. Mina giggled and gave Parker a small pink feather from the decoration on her straw bonnet. He tucked it in his hatband.

“I like your gray,” Deirdre said as she tied a blue ribbon around Whitby’s wrist.

They all looked to Beatrix who shook her head. Obviously, she didn’t want to give her red ribbons to anyone other than Teddy, and he wasn’t racing.

“Come on. It’s just for fun. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Beatrix shook her head again. Mina and Deirdre frowned at her unsporting attitude.

“What about you,” Mina said to Eleanor. “Are you going to participate in the spirit of the race?”

Not wanting to be a spoilsport like Beatrix, Eleanor removed a yellow daisy from her bonnet.

“Will she give it to Alanbrooke or Shermont? Or will the handsome newcomer Major Rockingham swoop in to take the honors?” Mina said in a hushed, excited tone to enhance the suspense.

“Don’t be silly,” Deirdre said. “She just met Rockingham this morning.”

Everyone’s attention was riveted on Eleanor. She hesitated. What would Jane Austen do? Eleanor smiled and passed her token to Huxley, wishing him good luck.

With a wink and a cocky grin at the younger men, he stuck the flower in the buttonhole on the lapel of his bottle-green coat. “The filly and I will endeavor to do you proud.”

The men lined up alongside the road. Huxley threw his hat in the air, and when it hit the ground, they all took off. The women cheered their favorites. Mina begged the driver to stop the carriage so they could see the entire race. John Coachman was having no part of any foolishness and kept the horses to a steady, sedate pace. Too soon a turn in the road blocked their view.

Mina sat back against the squabs with a pout.

“I can’t believe you passed up a chance to race your pride and joy,” Deirdre said to her brother. “Thirty pounds sterling to the winner. Isn’t that what you call easy money?”

“I could take the military horses with ease, but if Shermont’s stallion decided to make a race, it might be another story. And Huxley is right keen on his filly. She’s not much to look at, but he swears she’s fast. He’s thinking about taking her on the racing circuit.”

“I can’t believe Messenger is so calm,” Mina said. “Is he ill?”

Teddy shook his head. “I had the grooms exercise him hard early this morning so he would behave in front of our guests.”

Eleanor looked off into the distance. Not having been born to privilege, she couldn’t help but wonder what time the servants had gotten up to prepare everything for this carefree party.

“Ha’penny for your thoughts,” Teddy said.

She doubted he would understand. “The view is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed.

But when she glanced back, he wasn’t looking at the countryside. She turned away. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a tumble of rocks on top of the highest hill in the neighborhood.

“That’s where we’re going—the ruins of an abbey dating back to the twelfth century. It’s part of the estate, but to get there by road we have to go around the long way.”

“Is that a cottage in the woods?” she asked, squinting.

“Yes. An old gypsy woman lives there. The lord of the manor granted her use of the cottage for as long as she lived in payment for saving his child’s life with a magic potion. That child was my great-great-grandfather.”

“Impossible.”

“If we had time, we could stop. I’d introduce you.”

Eleanor shook her head, but she had to smile.

The carriages traveled across a bridge over a wide and swift stream. Several hundred yards upstream a mill wheel sloshed and creaked as it turned the huge stones inside.

Eleanor had never seen such a sight other than in books. Entranced, she said, “The sound of the water is almost musical.”

“For good reason,” Teddy said. “You, of course, have heard of the famous opera singer Carmelita Cadenza. No? Well, I suppose it was before our time. Apparently, Grandfather was besotted by the beautiful Carmelita. She was the toast of London, but she was terribly homesick. So she decided to return to her native Italy and the humble millhouse where she’d been born. Grandfather could not bear to see her go, so he built this for her. She retired from the stage and lived here happily for several years.”

“How romantic,” Beatrix said with a sigh.

“Carmelita loved her little mill. She tended her garden and did all the tasks a mill owner does, but she never gave up singing. She would sing as she went about her chores. Even the peasants would stop on the bridge to listen to her arias. Then suddenly, one day the wheel was still and the air silent. Poor Carmelita was dead. Unbeknownst to all but her maid, the opera singer had suffered from a rare and fatal disease.

“Grandfather was beside himself with grief, and after the funeral he returned here with an ax to take the mill apart piece by piece. The music of the water stopped him. It was as if he heard her singing. He let the mill stand, though he could never bring himself to come back again. They say she still haunts the mill she loved, waiting for Grandfather to return. Several have reported seeing her ghost in the old garden, and countless people have heard her singing.”

All four women pulled handkerchiefs out of reticules and sleeves to dab at their eyes. After much sniffling, Deirdre demanded, “No more sad stories.”

Teddy twisted around in his saddle and pointed to a group of buildings on another hill. “That farm once belonged to our family, but it was lost by the third Lord Digby to the current owner’s ancestor in a card game. The story goes that Farmer Hasselrood coveted that particular piece of land so much he put up his beautiful eldest daughter against the deed. While the gamblers argued over exact terms and boundaries, word of the unusual bet traveled through the household staff like a greased pig on fair day and reached the ears of the third Lady Digby. She stormed into the card room as play was about to resume. With her staring daggers at him, Digby folded an ace-king combo, a surefire winning hand in vingt-et-un. The farm belongs to the Hasselroods to this day.”

“I thought that was the Smith’s dairy?” Mina said.

Teddy hesitated only a moment before he laid one hand over his heart. “I cannot believe Hasselrood sold the family farm. I am shocked, astounded, and … and …”

“Lying,” Eleanor supplied.

Beatrix sucked in her breath. “How dare you call him a liar?”

Deirdre and Mina only laughed.

“You are caught fair and square,” Deirdre said to Teddy. She turned to Beatrix and Eleanor. “It’s a game we used to play as children to pass the time on long carriage rides and keep Mina entertained. Of course, Teddy was always the best at it.”

“It took me years to figure it out,” Mina said, sticking out her bottom lip.

“Well, I think the stories were wonderful,” Beatrix said. She spared Eleanor a superior glance before turning an ingratiating smile to Teddy. “I would never question your veracity.”

“How did you know I was lying?” Teddy asked Eleanor. “Too far-fetched?”

For some reason, she didn’t want to reveal his hesitation had tipped her off. “I’m not sure what it was. Just a feeling.”

“My favorite story involved great-grandmother and the Sultan of Arabee.” But Deirdre didn’t have time to elaborate because the other gentlemen of the party rode up.

“Did you win? Did you win?” Mina asked Parker. She practically bounced out of her seat with excitement.

Sadly, the lieutenant shook his head. Whitby and Rockingham also indicated the negative. Huxley grinned and held up a purple velvet pouch that clanked when he shook it.

“Yeah, Uncle Huxley!” Deirdre started the applause, but everyone joined in.

Huxley gave a nod to Shermont and his horse, several yards distant. “That high-strung brute of his got spooked by a rabbit, or else Baby here would have been a close second.” Huxley patted his horse’s neck. “Nice race,” he called to Shermont.

“Did you ask the girls about the play?” Whitby asked Teddy.

Mina turned her attention to her brother. “What play?”

“We’re all going to put on a play,” Parker jumped in excitedly. “Just like when we were in school, except with real girls to play the female parts.” His voice trailed off at the end.

Blushing, he steered his horse to the outside of the pack as the carriage halted.

“We’re here,” Aunt Patience trilled as she alighted from the lead coach.

“What’s the play about?” Deirdre asked.

“There’s a princess in distress, a witch, a pirate, an enchanted frog, dastardly deeds, and a happy ending,” Teddy said.

“Can I be in the play,” Mina asked. “Please, please, can I?”

“All the young people will have a role,” he promised.

“Unless they don’t want one,” Shermont said as he rode by.

Eleanor watched as he dismounted. He said something to the stableboy as he handed over the reins that made the youngster grin while he led the horse away. She couldn’t reconcile the man who’d callously hurt her feelings the previous night with the one she observed. He helped Mrs. Maxwell across the field to where several tables had been set up. Minutes later, his deft grab saved a footman from taking a header with a large tray. Shermont was helpful and courteous to everyone without making a big deal. To everyone except her.

Which didn’t really matter, because in the dark sleepless hours before dawn, she’d decided to pay no attention to him. Not that she intended to cut him directly. That would be noticeably rude, and then she would have to explain her actions to Deirdre or Mina or Teddy. No. She would pretend he didn’t exist unless circumstances necessitated speaking to him. And then she would be excruciatingly polite. Much the way Anne Eliot behaved toward Fredrick Wentworth when they met again after eight years in Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Except Anne was still in love with Fredrick, and, of course, Eleanor wasn’t in love with Shermont.

She didn’t believe in love at first sight. Lust, perhaps. But pheromones and hormones were not love. And lust could be controlled.

Unfortunately, a campaign of indifference was far less satisfying when it wasn’t even noticed by the target of her premeditated lack of interest. Shermont seemed to be ignoring her.

“Are you going to sit in the carriage all day?” Mina asked.

Eleanor started out of her reverie and realized everyone else was gone, already broken into small groups according to activity. The chaperones sat around a table sipping lemonade. Uncle Huxley, far enough away not to be included in their conversation, read the newspaper. Fiona and Hazel had climbed the stones of the ruins to the lookout point and postured in what they thought were provocative poses. Teddy and the military men had gathered off to one side. From their gestures and the occasional word carried on the breeze, she could tell they were discussing the war. Shermont was over by the horses, chatting with the groom and pointing to his stallion’s hoof.

“Come on. Out, out,” Deirdre insisted, motioning for Eleanor to get down. “Stretch your legs before we eat.”

Mina spread her arms. “Welcome to our picnic area. Teddy wanted to build a folly over there, but we insisted he keep it natural. Isn’t it gorgeous?”

“Yes, indeed.” The top of the hill had been sliced off, leaving a broad, smooth, grassy field ringed by woods. A few trees had invaded two or three strides into the clear area as if on purpose to provide shade.

“We’re going to pick wildflowers for the tables. Would you like to come with us?”

“No … ah … thank you, no.”

“Are you ill?” Deirdre asked. “You are a bit pale.”

“I’m fine. You go ahead.” The sight of Huxley reading the paper had reminded her of an earlier idea to check for news items that might entice Shermont to return to London. “I’m going to have some lemonade.”

“Are you sure?” Mina eyed the table full of chaperones with a grimace.

“Go on. Pick lots of flowers.”

“If you’re determined to go over there, be warned. Don’t let them draw you into a game of whist, not even for pennies. You might win the first hand or two, but before you know it, you’ll owe them three months pin money.”

“Mina! You didn’t!” Deirdre said. “No wonder you didn’t buy those beautiful pink ribbons we saw last week.”

“I promise I won’t play cards with them,” Eleanor said. Especially since I have no idea how to play whist. She excused herself and left Deirdre scolding Mina, while the younger girl defended her right to spend her allowance as she chose.

As Eleanor passed the group of men, Major Alanbrooke caught her eye. He raised an eyebrow as if questioning whether she wanted to join the conversation. She shook her head and continued walking toward the tables.

“Ah, here’s our fourth,” Patience called as Eleanor approached. “Won’t you join us for a few hands of whist?”

“Thank you, but no. I don’t know how to play.”

“Then now’s the time to learn. We would be glad to teach you how to play,” Patience said with a smile intended to be sweet, but it failed to hide the avaricious gleam in her eyes.

Mrs. Maxwell stifled a giggle with her hand, and Mrs. Holcum took a quick sip of lemonade.

Eleanor declined the invitation and approached Huxley. “May I join you?”

He jumped up and reached to tip his hat, which wasn’t on his head. He looked around as if wondering where it could have gotten to and then chuckled. “The boy has not returned with my hat.”

With his bald head, green coat, plaid vest, and well-worn brown leather breeches, he reminded her of an overgrown leprechaun. She liked his unpretentious air.

“Please, have a seat,” he said. “I’m honored.” He folded the paper and took his seat next to her. “May I take this opportunity to thank you for the good luck charm?”

“I’m sure your horse didn’t need it. I heard you won by several lengths.”

Huxley laughed. “Indeed I did. Still, I should have sought you out earlier to thank you.” He looked at his clasped hands. “I regret we weren’t closer before you moved so far away, but you always preferred the company of your younger cousins.”

His statement seemed to question why she was there. “I saw you reading the paper and wondered what interesting events were happening in London. I’ve been away so long I feel like a stranger in a foreign land.”

He nodded as if he understood. “Just the typical news. A new statue was dedicated in Hyde Park. As if we need another statue there. The usual war news from Spain and Portugal. Some good. Some not so good.” He tapped the paper with his finger. “Oh, a clerk high up in the Ministry has been arrested as a French agent. Tut, tut. What is the world coming to?” He turned the paper over. “Ah, this should interest you. The Zoological Society has acquired a new animal—an American buffalo.”

“Oh.” Eleanor tried to hide her disappointment. She doubted those items would entice Shermont back to London. She would need another plan.

“I have been planning a trip to America myself. It’s one of the places I must see before I die. I am a lepidopterist, you know,” Huxley added in a conspiratorial tone.

Eleanor had no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded suspiciously like a contagious disease. She scooted her chair further away. She put her left elbow on the arm of the chair and slanted her body in that direction. She rested her cheek against her fingers, trying to assume a casual pose. “Really?”

He leaned closer. She retreated until she was afraid she would tip the chair on its side and land sprawled in the grass.

“I have over five hundred specimens.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Oh?” she squeaked.

“Yessiree. I’ve been a butterfly collector since I was just a boy,” he said with a grin. “Insects and moths, too, but butterflies are my favorite.”

Eleanor realized he’d been teasing her. She sat up straight and slapped at his arm. “You’re a wicked old man. Making fun of my ignorance like that.”

“And enjoying every minute. One of the few advantages of getting old is that one is allowed, nay, expected to be eccentric.”

Eleanor shook her head but smiled.

“I’m serious about the trip to America. It’s to be the first leg of my world collection tour. Been planning it ever since I acquired an emerald swallowtail, Papillio palinurus. Not personally acquired, mind you. I bought it from a man who had been to Borneo. Fabulous specimen. Green and blue with a unique wing shape. Did you know there are more than ten thousand species of butterfly, and new ones are found every day?”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“I can’t wait to collect my own specimens.” He leaned back in his chair and stared into the distance. “To witness the migration of the monarchs, Danaus plexippus, with my own eyes. I’ve heard so many butterflies head south to winter in Mexico that they block the sun. And to see a sixteen-centimeter tiger swallowtail, Papillio glaucus.” He held up his hands six inches apart.

“Wow. That’s one big butterfly.”

“The Attacus atlas from India has been observed up to thirty centimeters.” He widened the space between his hands to twelve inches. “Actually a moth and therefore active at night rather than during the day like a butterfly, it is beautifully shaped and multi-colored.”

Eleanor was glad she would never see one of those moths hanging around the porch light on the balcony of her apartment.

“I’m looking forward to observing the brilliant Priamis caelestis in its natural habitat in New Guinea. And Morpho peleides in the West Indies. Can you tell I’m partial to blue ones?”

“Who isn’t?” she said as if she knew a Priamis whatever from a Morpho whatsis. “Maybe you’ll discover a new species.”

“Wouldn’t that be the achievement of a lifetime, eh?” He sighed. “One can only wish for such luck.”

“When do you leave?”

“Hopefully soon. I have my own ship, you know. The Swallowtail. Outfitted with the latest in everything I might need. It will only take a few weeks to provision her, and then I’m off. I intend to travel the world until I die, and then I’ve made arrangements to have a glorious Viking funeral at sea. I’m just waiting for my nieces to marry. Got to keep an eye on them, you know, but I’m not getting any younger.”

“Isn’t Teddy their guardian?”

“Ah, there’s the rub.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything. You should never pay attention to an eccentric old man’s rambling.” Huxley picked up the paper from his knee and stood. He cocked his head to one side and gave her a strange look.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. It’s just that you’ve changed since you were a child. You used to be such a … a morose little girl. Always predicting dire consequences if Deirdre ate too much custard or Mina climbed on the terrace railing.”

Eleanor didn’t know what to say.

“Of course, you were usually right. That time Deirdre did get sick, and Mina did break her arm. But you’re much more pleasant company now.”

“People grow up. Change is inevitable.”

He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. “Of course, you’re right. I’m going to fetch a glass of lemonade. May I bring you one?”

She declined. After he left, she looked around. The lieutenants had succumbed to Fiona and Hazel’s lures and joined them on the ruins. Deirdre and Mina were nowhere in sight. Eleanor jumped up and went to search for them. She quietly asked Patience, but she answered without even glancing up from her hand of cards that she’d last seen them picking flowers on the far side of the clearing. She assured Eleanor they were fine as long as they were together.

Eleanor pulled Teddy away from his conversation, but he didn’t know where they were either. He seemed unconcerned about their welfare. “How far can they get on foot? They’ll return momentarily,” he assured her before going back to his conversation with Rockingham.

Eleanor stood in the middle of the picnic area and turned slowly in a full circle. Shermont was also missing. Not that she was keeping track of him or anything, but suddenly she was worried. She’d assumed the seduction happened the night of the ball, but since the ghosts refused to give her details, it could have happened earlier. Had she already failed to protect them? Would the ghosts keep their end of the bargain if she didn’t prevent the seduction and the duel that would inevitably follow?

Refusing to acknowledge the stab of jealousy she felt, Eleanor set off, determined to find Deirdre and Mina. She made a circuit of the clearing, peering into the woods for a clue to which way they went. She cautioned herself not to run or appear frantic. If she alarmed the other guests and a full-scale search were mounted, someone might find one—or both—sisters with Shermont. The two were rarely separated. Eleanor worried that’s why neither would say who was actually seduced.

Something on the ground caught her eye.

“Shermont?”

Before responding he finished his business, buttoned his trousers, and rounded the screen the servants had set up near the tethered horses for the gentlemen to use as a privy. “Alanbrooke.”

“Forgive me for seeking you out, but this is the first chance I’ve had to speak to you in private,” he said as he fell in beside Shermont on the walk back to the picnic area.

“You have my ear.”

Alanbrooke removed his hat and scratched his head. “It’s all rather mysterious. Day before yesterday, a stranger approached me at my tailor’s of all places and told me to give you a message in private. Somehow he knew I’d accepted the invitation to be here, although in truth it’s nothing I concealed. The weird part is that he said you would also attend. Since you despise provincial parties, I dismissed his claim and counted him one of the loonies society tries to ignore, like the crazy men who accost you on the street and spout their ‘end of the world’ nonsense. But then I arrive, and here you are.”

“Is there a point to this story? If you’re asking my advice, find a new tailor. One who doesn’t let in riff-raff off the street.”

“Bear with me. The stranger—not my tailor—said his name was Scovell. He said I should not mention meeting him to anyone other than you and then only in private. Rather havey-cavey, don’t you think?”

Shermont kept his face impassive with effort. General George Scovell was the chief code breaker and intelligence gatherer for Wellington. He’d played an important role in the victories at Salamanca and Vittoria. Shermont had done a bit of cipher work himself and had consulted with Scovell on occasion. “What was the message?” he asked in a nonchalant tone.

“He made me repeat it, so I would remember his exact words. ‘Another in the Ministry. Watch your back. If you need help, I’m your man.’ Rather cryptic, eh? I asked him about that last bit. I mean, shouldn’t he have said, ‘He’s your man.’ But he insisted I say it exactly that way. What do you suppose it all means?”

“Nothing,” Shermont lied with a straight face. Another in the Ministry meant a second French agent had been discovered selling secrets to Napoleon, like the one they’d been watching for the last seven months. Properly identified and carefully handled, such a man could serve as a useful conduit for misleading information.

Since they’d sacrificed the previously known agent by announcing his capture in the Times, he guessed the new one would be used to take his place. Since Scovell hadn’t indicated how long the new agent had been in place, Shermont concluded the warning meant any number of his prior messages to the Ministry might have been read or intercepted. “Just another loony crying out for attention,” he said. “I hope you gave your tailor a stern set-down?”

“How could I do that and not reveal the meeting with Scovell?”

Shermont nodded. Apparently, the general’s evaluation of Alanbrooke was correct. Good to know he had a dependable, closemouthed backup if it became necessary. “My advice is to forget meeting him.”

“Interesting you should say that. Scovell said after I delivered the message, I should forget the entire incident.”

“What incident?” Shermont asked with a blank stare. He slapped a flummoxed Alanbrooke on the back and headed for the picnic area.