Clandestine (12 page)

All in all, it was a decidedly illustrative couple of hours. At the end, Michel meticulously brushed the dark green coat free of tiny specks of lint. As he did, Marc glanced at the coat buttons. Plain silver.

“Do buttons ever have a design on them?” Marc asked. “Like something in brass with a crest and vines?”

Asking a simple question about buttons couldn’t hurt, right? He wasn’t doing any investigating. Nope. He was just trying to understand the culture better. That was all.

Michel paused in his brushing. “Silver buttons are the mark of a truly wealthy gentleman, my lord. Why should you wish for brass buttons? Though if you desire, we could have a family crest worked into your buttons—”

“So a crest on a button would perhaps belong to a family?”

Michel shrugged. “Not always, but it eez a possibility.
Voilá
. You look
magnifique
.”

Marc studied himself in a mirror, turned sideways, studying the effect of the coat over a cream waistcoat shot with subtle gold stripes, tan buckskins disappearing into the top of polished Hessian boots. Marc and James shared the same shoe size, which was fortunate, as it allowed Marc to appropriate all of his brother-in-law’s footwear.

Though James would certainly snicker at the sight of Marc in full Regency regalia, knowing him for the impostor he was.

Marc nodded at his reflection. “I look good.”

“Of course you do, my lord. I would expect nothing less from myself.”

Humility was also not Michel’s forte.

And with one last swipe of his brush, Michel proclaimed himself done. Releasing Marc to do . . . whatever it was that nineteenth century gentlemen did . . .

Which was
what
. . . exactly?

How
did
one pass the time in 1814?

“So, now I . . . ” Marc trailed off as Michel turned to exit the room.

The valet blinked. “I shall return at six to dress you for dinner. Until then, you may do what you will, Lord Vader. Perhaps you wish to take a walk in zee garden? Or visit zee library for something to read? I am sure that Mr. Knight has a copy of
Debrett’s Peerage
you may study to remind yourself of the order of precedence.”

Debrett’s Peerage
? Right . . . Marc had a vague memory of his English grandmother talking about
Debrett’s.
It was a catalog of every living (and many dead) members of the British aristocracy. Anyone with a title would be listed in its pages. His grandmother had been obsessed with it.

Marc and Emme had spent summers in Britain with their father’s mother who had drummed into her American grandchildren all the important parts of British life. Like having clear upper-crust elocution, a confident seat on a horse and knowing how to dine within the peerage. He could still hear his grandmother in her crisp, polished tones,
You must never forget that we are third cousins to the Dukes of Devonshire on my grandfather’s side of the family.

Perhaps a refresher on the British peerage wasn’t such a terrible idea. He needed more ammunition to help him stay in ‘character.’ And seeing how all in-depth sleuthing was denied him . . .

Marc paused. “Right. Well then, show me the way to the library.”

The library

Haldon Manor

A few minutes later on February 20, 1814

Kit turned the page of the book. Again. Still not reading a single word. Concentration escaped her.

Nestled sideways into cushions on a window seat with her back against the deep window embrasure, she sighed and stared sightlessly into the library. Or, at least, the sliver of the library she could see through the edge of the drawn window curtains.

The library was one of her favorite rooms in the house, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and dark wood lining nearly every surface. An immense fireplace dominated the left end of the room opposite the doorway. So large Kit and several of her friends could practically stand up in it. The fireplace recalled Haldon Manor’s beginnings as a Tudor estate when life was more communal. A cheery fire roared in it, sending seeping warmth through the room.

Two overstuffed chairs crowded close to the fire, separated by a long sofa. A large console backed the sofa, sporting wide drawers along its length which were said to house the late Mr. James Knight’s impressive collection of maps.

Quite frankly, it all reminded her of home. Her father loved rooms like this. He would have spent days closeted with the maps, dragging old tomes off the bookshelves and perusing them lingeringly.

Kit’s throat tightened. She blinked fiercely several times.

Now was
not
the time to think about her father. Even though it had been nearly a year, his death was still raw. He may not have been the most attentive of fathers, but he had loved her in his way and she still missed him.

She pulled her feet under her, tucking them firmly out of sight with the rest of her. She liked this little corner of the library, sandwiched between the window hangings and the tall, paned window. It was always full of light, despite the dreary overcast skies outside. Best of all, it hid her from the rest of the room, particularly the doorway.

That
was crucial.

Lady Ruby was taking one of her ‘restoratives’—which was what Ruby called a glass of brandy and a lengthy nap. Despite it not even being noon yet.

The problem, of course, was Jedidiah. Ruby considered it a ‘restorative,’ but Jedidiah thought of it more as ‘open hunting season.’

Fortunately, Jedediah Knight had a strong aversion to libraries—Kit supposed it was the possibility of accidentally learning—and so had yet to find her here.

Granted, hiding in the library also meant no one
else
would find her.

Particularly not the dashing man who had stopped her runaway horse.

More’s the pity.

Marc.
She whispered his name. And then paused. Marc felt a little too familiar for a lady’s companion to call a visiting lord.

Marcus, then. The same name that Linwood had mentioned to Arthur. Miss Emry’s brother. Who may or may not be a spy.

Coincidence? Or subterfuge?

And if
subterfuge
, it explained his reluctance to properly introduce himself.

But he had retired early, and she had been unable to get another word from him on the matter. Or even a passing look.

That said, Kit had found out from Fanny, the upstairs maid, who had it firsthand from the second footman, Gilbert, who had overheard the cook talking with the housekeeper about how the stranger had been accosted and had probably killed one of the robbers with his bare hands before being grievously wounded himself, left to stagger his way to Haldon Manor half dead (None of which made any sense with what the man, himself, had told Kit, but who cared? It was an entertaining story . . . ), when the butler, Finley, interrupted and called a meeting in the staff dining hall to set them all straight.

Though the facts themselves were not uninteresting, despite Finley’s dry, monotone recitation.

The stranger was actually Lord Vader, a longtime school friend of Mr. James Knight, who had recently returned from a lengthy stay in India.

Marcus, Lord Vader . . . which was just an unexpected surname, really.

Was it a British name? It sounded more German, truth be told. She had even asked Gilbert and Fanny about it. Gilbert had simply shrugged, but Fanny insisted her father’s cousin knew a family of Vaders who lived near Hereford. So perhaps it wasn’t as odd as it seemed.

In any case, Marcus, Lord Vader, had been robbed while en route to Haldon Manor to visit his former friend and had been left to find his way on foot. Lord Vader had been devastated to learn that his friend, James, was now deceased. But Mr. Arthur Knight had seen fit, in his goodness, to provide Lord Vader with clothing and allow him to stay as long as he wished.

Furthermore, Finley did not want to hear any more speculation about Lord Vader killing anyone or being wounded.

Additionally, in response to Fanny’s question, Finley did not wish to speculate on Lord Vader’s marital status, or as Gilbert put it, his ‘history with the ladies.’

And, no, Lord Vader had not provided a description of the robbers, and Finley hardly felt it relevant to his position to ask. Miss Ashton would be wise to remember that and keep her curiosity to herself.

Which effectively shut off the string of follow-up questions Kit had poised on her tongue.

Everyone was summarily dismissed.

Kit really needed more details about the robbery.

Had Daniel been involved with it? It seemed unlikely . . .

Well, actually, it didn’t seem unlikely at all. That was the problem. Daniel was probably desperate for cash, and highway robbery would be just the romantic thing to appeal to him.

She hoped Lady Ruby would send her back into Marfield once she woke up. Kit was desperate to find and, this time, actually
talk
with her brother . . .

The door to the library creaked open, followed by muffled footsteps on the wood floor. Kit instantly stilled, practically holding her breath.

Drat. Had Jedediah found her at last? The curtain was excellent at hiding her, but it also had the disadvantage of hiding the room from
her
view.

The footsteps drifted toward the bookshelves away from the window. A cabinet opened and Kit heard the
shush
of books being pulled from the shelves and then
snicked
back into place.

Was it Jedediah?

The steps started again, this time drawing closer and closer. A hand appeared on the edge of the curtain and began to pull it back.

Lord Vader—
Marcus
, Kit reminded herself— poked his dark head around the edge of the fabric, eyebrows hiking up at finding the window seat occupied. Kit locked eyes with him just as a voice sounded from the doorway.

“I say, there you are, Lord Vader.” Jedediah’s nasal wheeze unmistakable.

Marcus turned back toward the room, leaving Kit with a view of his tailored broad shoulders and tight buckskins. His body and the window curtain hiding her from the rest of the room.

“Uh, yes. Here I am.” Marcus clasped his hands behind his back but did not move away from the window, protecting her from Jedediah’s view.

Jedediah grunted.

“May I help you?” Marcus gave a polite nod.

“Don’t suppose you have seen Miss Ashton skulking about, have you?” Jedediah gave one of his signature sniveling sniffs.

Oh dear . . . would Marcus betray her?

“Skulking?” Was that humor in Marcus’ voice? “I can’t say that I have seen Miss Ashton display any tendency toward skulkery.”

Marcus crossed his fingers behind his back, causing Kit to smile and relax slightly.

Jedediah humphed. “Dashed hard to keep track of that chit. Always snooping about where she shouldn’t and not respecting her betters. Not quite sure why Mother hasn’t sacked her yet.”

Kit sucked in an outraged gasp.

Ugh! He was
such
a creepy cad.

Though you have been snooping about
, Virtuous Angel pointed out.

But not skulking,
Wicked Angel countered.
And you definitely respect those who have admirable qualities. Jedediah is just not one of them.

Marcus canted his head toward her and then stilled. “Well, if I see any unauthorized . . . skulking . . . from Miss Ashton, I will be sure to inform you.”

Ah, bless Marcus for defending her.

A pause.

“I thought I saw Miss Ashton headed down to the lake just a moment ago.” Marcus bounced on his toes, still keeping his fingers crossed behind his back.

“The . . . lake?”

“Yes . . . or at least I supposed that was a lake I saw out beyond the walled garden. It looked largish and full of something liquidy and wet, so naturally I assumed—”

“Thank you, my lord.” Jedediah sounded even more stiff than usual.

Marcus waved a hand. “Think nothing of it, old chap. I would be more than happy to help you identify other physical landmarks, as well. I do believe I also saw a thing called a ‘hill’ in the distance. It is quite large and rises from the ground as a high protuberance complete with these white fluffy dots I have on good authority are referred to as ‘sheep’—”

Kit clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. The man was truly incorrigible.

Jedediah made a choking sound. “I am well aware of what a hill looks like, Lord Vader.”

“Ah, well, that is a relief. But if you need any pointers about trees, just let me know. They are those tall, spindly things you see jutting up everywhere. Quite bare this time of year, but if you are patient, come April—”

“I said thank you, Lord Vader. I shall leave you to your perusal of my cousin’s library.” Jedediah practically snarled the last sentence and stomped out.

Jedediah’s angry footsteps fading, Marcus turned around to Kit on the window seat, hand still over her mouth, eyes dancing with laughter.

He pushed the curtains back to reveal more of the room and folded his arms across his chest, leaning a shoulder into the window jam, a roguish gleam in his green eyes.