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“Well?”

He extracted the bit of paper he’d found in Gaspard’s room. “The
chef appears to be a royalist. His room is full of royalist newspapers. I found this.” He handed the scrap to the man, who took it in his hand and studied it a moment.

He didn’t return it to Rees but pocketed it. “It could be a front.”

“Lady Wexham had a dinner party this evening, the first since I’ve been in residence. She is well connected.”

Bunting listened as Rees recounted who had attended and what was discussed. “Very good,” Bunting said, sitting back. “I’ll be here next week. Keep your eyes and ears open. If anything should prevent you from meeting me here, come to my lodgings.” He gave him the address.

Rees left the tavern, taking in gulps of the cool night air, feeling as if he’d been through the Inquisition even though Bunting had been mild-mannered and silent for the most part. Was it only Rees’s own ambivalence regarding Lady Wexham that was making him overly sensitive, as if he were holding something back from his contact? But he’d told him everything he knew.

Everything but the way Lady Wexham made him feel when he stood behind her taking off her cloak or when he looked into her inquiring gaze as she handed him her gloves.

The next afternoon Rees took advantage of some free time to visit his own lodgings, a brick building on a narrow street not far from the government buildings of Whitehall. He couldn’t be gone from the house long, having told Tom he was going out to buy a newspaper.

Thankfully, he didn’t run into anyone he knew. He went quickly up the stairs, unlocked his door, and slipped into his room. Although it was risky to be seen about, he needed to check for any correspondence from his family, who had no idea about the double life he was leading.

Rees had explained to his landlord that he’d be gone a few weeks to help an ailing relative but that he would be by from time to time to check for any post. He had kept his rent up so that his lodgings would be held for him and any letters he received slid under his door.

Stooping to pick up the mail, he saw at once he had received two letters, one from his mother and one from his sister. He crossed the
small parlor adjoining the even smaller bedroom, breaking open the seal on his mother’s first. He scanned the contents quickly.

It was a chatty letter bringing him up to date on the household goings-on and the village gossip. Nothing much changed there from season to season, for which he was thankful. His mother had had enough sadness and upheaval in her life with the death of Rees’s father and the loss of his business.

It wasn’t until the last line of her note that Rees felt any undue curiosity.

I shall let your sister tell you her news. Both hers and Jessamine’s. They can speak of nothing else.

Jessamine has grown into a lovely young woman. She is a dear girl, such a comfort to us.

His frown deepened at his mother’s less-than-subtle hint. He smoothed the frown away, wondering why the news should be disagreeable to him. He’d grown to admire their neighbor and his sister’s closest friend Jessamine each time he was home on a visit. Hadn’t he begun to consider in the last year or so that perhaps she would make him a fine wife?

Wondering what his sister and her closest friend had gone and done, Rees laid down his mother’s letter and broke open his sister’s.

Dearest of dear brothers,

We are coming to see you!

Alarm shot through him at the first words. Quickly, he read on.

Jessamine and I are coming to London, I should say.

His sister’s exuberance was transferred to her letters with lots of underlining and exclamation points.

Mother has surely filled you in on all the news in our sleepy village, so I will skip right to what occupies all my attention at the moment.

Jessamine’s mother is taking her to London for a se’night and she has invited me along! I can hardly sleep for the anticipation! They are visiting a brother of Mrs. Barry’s who is on leave. She has long been planning a visit to town . . .

The letter went on to describe how the trip came about. His heart sank with each passing exclamation of enthusiasm.

You may begin to plan all kinds of outings for us. I will tell you right now, I wish to see at least two plays. Isn’t there a Scott drama performing? I also wish to see the animals at Astley’s Amphitheatre, and the Bullock Museum. I read they just opened. And Farraday’s. I have heard you can try the laughing gas and make yourself silly. I can’t imagine you, dear brother, losing your dignity to such a degree.

Mrs. Barry has bespoken rooms for us at Grillon’s, so I shall be living in fine style. I hope that is convenient for you. We are to leave on Friday the twenty-fifth. I do hope you may call on us the next day.

Perhaps you can rent us a chaise to ride in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour. I am sure you are privy to such things and can help acquaint us with all the subtleties of the West End.

I so look forward to seeing you, and I know Jessamine does as well. She doesn’t say it, but I know she misses your company. Not as much as I!

Please say you have some time from your work at the Foreign Office to ferry us about a bit. We shall undoubtedly spend the mornings visiting the shops. At least Mrs. Barry assures me the hotel is in close proximity to Bond Street.

Rees refolded the letter. Since he couldn’t take it back with him, he placed it along with his mother’s on the desk. He glanced at his pocket watch. He’d have to reply now before his sister appeared in town.

He hated not being able to see her, but there was no help for it. He could not let her discover what he was about.

He picked up his pen and dipped it into the inkwell.

Dear Mother and Megan,

I was both pleased and chagrined to receive your news, Megan, that you were coming up to town at the end of next week. How I would love to see you. I would certainly make time to escort you and Mrs. Barry and Jessamine about.

He paused, having to think of some valid excuse why he wouldn’t be able to see her. Taking a deep breath, he re-dipped the pen and began again.

However, I am sorry to have to tell you that I will be away from London for—

Again he hesitated, his pen hovering above the page. Better play it safe, since he didn’t know how long this assignment would last.

—a few weeks. The Foreign Office is sending me to an M.P.’s country house to act as his secretary. He is involved in some work on a pending bill and needs help in the research and drafting of it.

Strange how easy lying was becoming to him, he who had always striven to be honest and aboveboard in all his dealings. He read over what he had just written.

Would his sister believe his explanation? He didn’t even know if such a reason was plausible. But he couldn’t think of anything better
on such short notice. If he pleaded indisposition, both his mother and sister would be upon him, wanting to nurse him.

He scribbled a few more lines, adding some newsy bits about life in town and the latest excesses of the Prince Regent. He promised to write more at a later date, making it sound as if his job was keeping him particularly busy at the moment. He expressed his disappointment at not seeing them—being able to be genuine in this—and finally sat back, feeling as if he’d completed a grueling obstacle course.

Would either of them read something between the lines? His mother was very discerning. Would she sense he wasn’t being candid? If so, hopefully, she would attribute it to the sensitive nature of his work at the Foreign Office.

Sensitive. That’s exactly what it was, he thought, picturing Lady Wexham.

He heard a clock tower chime the hour in the distance and realized with a start he needed to get back.

He reread the note, folded it up, and proceeded to melt some wax to seal it. He’d have just enough time to post it.

And he’d have to pray that when his sister was in town, he wouldn’t run into her. His lips turned downward at the little likelihood of her running into a butler. Though they would both reside in Mayfair, their two worlds would be at the opposite ends of the spectrum.

As he made his way to the post office, his thoughts turned to Jessamine. He felt only a mild regret, that of not seeing an acquaintance who was coming up to town.

Why wasn’t he more anxious to see her?

He’d had little time and opportunity to form any romantic attachments in his life. Only now, at thirty-one, after a decade of toil, did he feel prepared to support a wife. He’d managed to put aside a little money—what he didn’t send to his mother and sister—by scrimping on his own life.

He didn’t go out into society, so the only woman who held any interest for him was his sister’s closest friend, Jessamine, a young
girl who’d lived in the same village all her life. She’d made his sister’s acquaintance when his widowed mother had resettled in her girlhood home.

Rees had never seen Jessamine as anything but a girl until just recently, as both she and Megan had blossomed into young women. Whenever he managed to get home for a visit, she was there. Somehow, without any effort, they had formed a friendship. His sister and mother certainly seemed to encourage it.

She was a well-behaved young lady, quiet, unassuming, all that a man would want in a wife.

Any thoughts he might have had earlier in his life of settling down had been put aside, first because of the war, and then until his sister was provided with a respectable dowry and his mother for her old age. Without conscious intention, the idea had taken shape, so gradually he could hardly pinpoint when he’d first entertained it, that Jess would make him a suitable wife.

He hadn’t gone so far as to court her formally, much less propose. But he had thought she seemed willing enough, if he were only to hint at a deeper friendship. There was nothing to displease, so he’d allowed himself to be led along with the notion, only making it clear to his sister and mother that he would not ask for anyone’s hand until he had paid off his father’s debts and saved enough to be able to provide for a wife and eventual offspring.

Yet, now, he felt only a mild regret that he would miss Jessamine’s visit to London. Shouldn’t a man feel a woman’s absence more keenly?

His thoughts turned to Lady Wexham, and he felt an ache so acute he came to an abrupt stop on the street. What was he thinking?

He shook his head, determined to cast such thoughts of his employer—his
temporary
employer—far from his mind.

Too many things were at stake right now—on a national and international scale—for him to be pining for a woman he had no right to be thinking of.

Céline stood back to survey the effect of the red, white, and blue swags and banners draped across the top of the drawing room walls. The union jack hung at one end of the room.

Sighing with satisfaction at how patriotic it all looked, she turned to William. “I want the lilies here, in front of the potted greenery.” She indicated a corner of the drawing room, then addressed Virginia, who stood with a feather duster in her hand. “Mind you clear all the trinkets from the tabletops before the footmen move them.”

The room was in disarray as they removed most of the furniture from the drawing room in preparation for the ball. Céline craned her neck at Tom, who was on a stepladder cleaning the chandelier. “Tom, I want you to help William carry up the flowers that have been delivered.”

She glanced at MacKinnon, who was perched on another ladder under another chandelier. “I am sure Mr. MacKinnon will excuse you for a few minutes.”

The butler nodded. “Of course, my lady.” For a second their eyes met, and she wondered what was going on behind those watchful gray ones. She had come to no conclusions yet about his late-night errand, the preparations for the ball having taken up all her thoughts in the intervening time.

The next moments were spent in consultation with Mrs. Finlay, directing the footmen in placing all the potted plants that had been ordered from Tubbs’ Nursery Gardens in Chelsea.

“What do you think?” She stood back, observing the effect of all the greenery and colorful lilies and orchids gracing the various corners of the spacious room. “The orchestra will sit there between those rows of ferns and palms,” she said, pointing. “We’ll set the chairs over that way for the dowagers and these doors to the sitting room will be opened for refreshments.” She turned to the footmen.

“Very good, ma’am.” Mrs. Finlay followed her indications. “It has been some years since you have given a ball.”

She smiled ruefully. “Yes, I’m not sure whether I would have suggested it if I’d remembered the work involved.”

Mrs. Finlay gave one of her rare smiles of approval. “Oh, my lady, I’m sure it is good to see the room being put to such advantage. No doubt, the late earl would have been pleased with all the effort you are putting forth for his young relative.”

Céline smiled briefly but made no reply. The servants had been devoted to the old earl, and she had never by word or deed given any indication that her feelings were otherwise. She glanced at MacKinnon, who now stood at the base of one of the stepladders, wiping his hands on a rag.

“Mr. MacKinnon?”

He turned to her attentively. “Yes, my lady?”

Although she was of medium height, standing beside him made her feel small. His shoulder was at about the height of her temple. “I wish to go over the guest list with you. I realize you have not presided over a ball in London and want to make sure you feel comfortable in your mind about it. Do you have a moment?”

“As you wish.” He followed her to her sitting room.

When he remained standing as she took her seat at the escritoire, she motioned to a nearby chair. “I really don’t want you towering over me,” she said with a smile.