At the Earl's Convenience (10 page)

Chapter Twelve

Christmas came to Halcrow Hall, and Selina had never felt so lonely. There was little need to dress the drawing room with pine and holly, nor have cook prepare a goose, but she still gave the order for the staff’s sake. She joined them in the servant’s quarters for a glass of sherry, and attended church amongst the villagers taking her place in the family pew. After the Christmas period passed, the weather turned bad. It snowed for three weeks and cut Halcrow Hall off from the village. As soon as the carriageway was shoveled clear of snow, more heavy falls blocked the road again.

On waking, Selina hurried to the window to find a blinding blanket of white covering the landscape. Devereux couldn’t return even if he wished to. Selina felt like screaming. She hated being shut in and was too unsettled to pass the time reading. She and Mrs. Lark opened more bedchambers. They assessed what needed to be replaced while the servants cleaned. Heating the reception rooms just for Selina became impractical, and she took to wearing mittens while spending any time in them. The coziest room was the library with its windows facing south. A fire was lit there first thing every the morning, and she took her luncheon there. Bitsy played with a ball of wool while Selina wrote up her accounts at the oak desk by the window, the view over the park still shrouded in white.

In the evenings, Selina searched for books, hoping to distract herself. An impressive array of well-thumbed editions of the classics lined the shelves. Had Devereux read many of them? She knew so little about him beyond the fact that he had been educated at Cambridge and liked Milton and Shakespeare. She picked up a book unopened on a table. He must have been reading it while she was away. Written in French, the subject looked of little interest. What was its attraction? As she leafed through it, a note fell to the floor. It was written in French. Ignoring the niggling thought that snoops never prospered, she took the letter over to the sofa and sat down to decipher it, her French rusty from neglect.

My dear Lord Halcrow, you are in our thoughts, mon amie. I cannot thank you enough for saving Papa. He recovers well, and we have left Paris for a safer place. I shall not say where in case this falls into the wrong hands. I know you could not take me into your confidence about that which it is you both do. But you did it at great risk and were very brave. Papa and I shall remain forever in your debt. You have our undying love and gratitude.

The note was signed Marie Delaunay.

Her throat tight, Selina read every word over again with care. The letter was ambiguous, offering just enough for her imagination to run riot. What was it that Devereux had done for these French people? One thing was clear. He had acted bravely, if covertly. And it sounded as if he acted alone. She was unsure what it was Hussars did. While in Bath, she’d learned how dashing and brave they were, that they rode like demons and their swordplay was incomparable. Despite her interest in the mechanics of war, she admitted to being hopelessly ill informed. The skillful Hussars were of great use to Wellington. Or, indeed, Napoléon, if one turned traitor. Selina dropped the letter on the table as if it scalded her. Could Devereux be a French spy? She jumped to her feet and strode around the room, her skirts swishing about her. If she was honest, she knew very little about her husband, and he had treated her with a distressing lack of regard. But she could not believe him a traitor. Had his charm blinded her to his true nature? What about those bruises on his back, which he’d refused to explain. What lay behind his mumbled words when unconscious with fever? It was like a puzzle with missing pieces because there was so much he refused to tell her. Her brother-in-law, Harry, knew a good deal about the army. He would be familiar with the Hussar Regiment. She went to the desk and penned him a letter, with the excuse that she wanted to surprise Devereux with her knowledge.

A few days later, the weather warmed, and the snow turned to sleet and then rain. As soon as the road to the village became passable, she sent off the letter. Then, disturbed, she roamed the house searching for answers. The library held no more secrets. Frustrated, she studied each portrait in the gallery. Devereux had inherited his looks from both parents. His mother had been beautiful with lustrous dark hair. His father was fair, and his blue eyes held the same deceptively lazy glance as his son, but his lips were thinner and his high-bridged nose made him appear arrogant. There was a handsome family portrait, painted beside a huge oak tree in the garden. The earl leaned against the seat his wife sat on, a rifle propped beside him, a hunting dog at his feet. His dark-haired son, about three years old, stood at his father’s knee while baby Giles sat on his mother’s lap. Selina studied every detail, enchanted, but her frustration soon returned. There must be papers and letters somewhere in the house. She’d still foolishly hoped that Devereux would return and provide her with the answers, but as time went on, she lost hope.

Selina removed Devereux’s blue hussar uniform from the mahogany armoire in his bedchamber. She raised the pelisse trimmed with silver braid and fur edging to her nose, hoping for a hint of his manly smell. The leather belt had a polished, silver buckle and curved honors scrolls, and the breeches had leather panels on the inside to prevent wear during long periods in the saddle. How dashing the Hussars were and how handsome Devereux would look in his shako and boots. A spy? She was ashamed to have considered such a thing. His sabre and a brace of pistols sat on the shelf below with one pistol missing. Irrational fear tightened her ribcage, even though she argued that there were perfectly logical reasons for the gun’s absence.

When the rain eased, Selina left the house and rode across the meadows. The river had risen, and it was close to breaking its banks. Dark clouds churned on the horizon. She reined in Firefly and gazed down at the raging torrent, lapping the sides of the bridge. A moan of distress escaped her lips. She couldn’t endure the thought of Halcrow cut off from the outside world again. Her fear for Devereux grew stronger every day, and she was no longer so sure that nothing bad had happened to him.

A letter from Harry arrived, and Selina rushed to the library to open it. He’d penned a ten-page missive, tactfully refraining from asking why she couldn’t just ask her husband. In Harry’s opinion, the Hussars were a brave lot, their work extremely dangerous, consisting mainly of reconnoitering and hit-and-run skirmishing to inform Wellington and disable the enemy. He had great admiration for them, despite what had happened at the Battle of Badajoz almost a year ago. The battle itself, he outlined in detail for five or six pages, explaining how thousands of British soldiers had been killed. Harry thought Devereux’s regiment would have been devastated. What followed brought great shame on the British army, as, after the British victory, came mass looting and disorder, when the redcoats sought revenge for their lost comrades. During a wanton sacking of Badozjoz, many homes were broken into, property stolen, and Spanish civilians killed. Scores of soldiers had been flogged as punishment, and a gallows was erected to hang those found guilty, although none faced the hangman.

This new information gave no clue to the French woman’s letter, but Devereux had sought Selina after this battle had taken place. Had he resigned in disgust? Why, when Wellington needed him most? He hadn’t suffered an injury. Selina had heard that gentlemen whose estates lacked an heir had returned home to ensure their lineage. At least she knew that Devereux hadn’t returned to fight. His uniform was proof of that. Wasn’t it?

****

In London, Giles had argued with his spymaster. Giles was all for showing himself, to bring those who wished him harm out into the open. But the spymaster ordered him to remain under cover.

William Nash was Giles’ contact with the spymaster. Nash was his friend and colleague, and Giles trusted him with his life. He’d been with Giles on the Peninsular at Badajoz. Like Giles, he was deeply ashamed by the actions of the British troops who went on a rampage of revenge.

Giles was to meet Will at a tavern north of Covent Garden in Seven Dials. In a narrow passage, he was minutes away from the tavern, when a man’s cry of pain and fear split the air.

Giles pulled his pistol from his coat and ran around the corner. Will slumped against the wall in the dark, foul-smelling lane.

“Will!” Giles crouched beside him, but could tell by his vacant stare that he was gone. Despair robbed him of breath. Anger twisting his guts, he searched Will’s pockets for anything he might return to the spymaster, to be passed on to Will’s family. Nothing. He’d been robbed. But was it just a robbery? Or had Will paid the ultimate price for aiding him? Should it be he lying there instead? If so, had the spy network been infiltrated by the French? Giles would have to cut himself off and wait. At the sound of running footsteps, he gripped his pistol and ran back the way he’d come. He would have to move on, leave the bleak room he’d inhabited.

Chapter Thirteen

“A stranger has been seen in the village, Lady Halcrow.’ The bailiff stood before Selina, hat in hand. “Lurking near Halcrow woods, too, apparently. I’ve been keeping a look out, but haven’t set eyes on him.”

“Do you think he’s a poacher?”

He shook his head. “Not by the sound of him. He wasn’t dressed like a local man.”

“Thank you for telling me, Brier.” Could he have been here to see Devereux? “If he’s found on Halcrow land, please come straight to me.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

Tapping her chin, Selina walked the length of the library as a sense of urgency built. She couldn’t wait one more day. If Devereux was in England, he’d be in London. She would go to the city and confront him. No doubt, he’d be angry with her, but his anger would be easier to bear than being kept in the dark. It wasn’t unusual for gentlemen of the
ton
to leave their wives rusticating in the country while they kicked up their heels in London. But he’d expressed the need for an heir, so that made little sense. Whatever his reason, she wouldn’t allow him to continue treating her in this outrageous manner.

She pulled the bell cord.

“I shall be traveling to London in the morning,” Selina said when Frobisher entered. “I have yet to see the townhouse, which may have need of refurbishment.”

Frobisher’s eye widened. “A message should be sent first, my lady, to alert them of your arrival,” he said. “A skeleton staff is in residence until the Season begins in March. The house won’t be made ready.”

Selina smiled. “Then I know what to expect.” Neither she nor Frobisher mentioned the possibility that Devereux might be there.

“The roads will be close to impassable this time of year, my lady.”

“We have a good carriage and shall manage.”

“I trust you won’t travel at night, my lady? If you plan to, you should take Joseph.”

“We shall leave at first light, Frobisher,” Selina said, touched by his concern. “And Joseph will come too.”

“And Sarah, my lady?”

“Yes, send my maid to me.” Selina made these small concessions to convention. Before she’d become a lady, she’d gone where she pleased unescorted.

At dawn, the carriage took Selina away from Halcrow Hall again. On her instructions, the coachman was to stop merely to change the horses and partake of a quick meal.

It was dusk when they reached the farms supplying London with produce. They drove on through the ramshackle London environs and into the bustling, smoggy metropolis as night approached.

Across the road in Park Lane, beyond the wall, the Hyde Park gardens lay in shadow. The carriage stopped before an imposing house of four stories, two floors featuring long windows and another two floors of smaller windows above. As no footmen came to greet them, Selina took the groom’s hand and alighted from the carriage. At the sight of the grand house, her confidence faded, her legs trembling at what might await her inside. Would Devereux be furious? She was so angry herself she welcomed it. But what if he sent her back to Halcrow Hall?

The coachman drove the carriage to the stables in the mews with Joseph, who was uncharacteristically mute. She wasn’t one to give up without a fight. Smoothing her crumpled pelisse, she tugged at her gloves, straightened her bonnet, and climbed the steps to the shiny black double doors.

A maid answered her knock, and when informed her mistress was standing in the porch, she dropped into a curtsy.

Selina entered the wide black-and-white tiled entry hall, followed by Sarah. A graceful marble staircase swept up to the floors above disappearing into shadow. She removed her outer garments. “Lord Halcrow?”

“He’s not here, milady.”

Selina wasn’t sure if she was sorry or relieved. Devereux’s absence would give her time to strengthen her resolve. “Where is the butler?”

“Mr. Hawkins is at supper, my lady, with Mrs. Hawkins, the housekeeper.”

“Please send a footman to fetch them.”

“The footman is below stairs too….” The maid put her hand to her mouth.

“Having his supper.” Selina finished her sentence with a smile. “What is your name?”

“Mary, milady.”

“Mary, would you please fetch either Mr. or Mrs. Hawkins?”

With a bob, the maid darted along the passage toward the servants’ stairs.

Selina walked into a grand reception room with plush gold wallpaper. Sarah gaped at the statues on each side of the carved white marble fireplace. Moments later, a tall, flustered woman entered the room.