Confessions of a Little Black Gown (23 page)

Not yet. Not if you do exactly as I ask.

Wasn’t that how it always was with the Order? No escape from the obligations, the duties passed from mother to daughter through all the generations that had come and gone since it had been founded by Mary of Guise to protect her daughter, Mary, Queen of France and the Scots.

There had been shifts and subtle changes in the Order’s alliances over the centuries, but always,
France’s queens and French interests were to be protected.

And so it had been with Aurora and Aveline, born into an old French family, their own mother one of the highest-ranking members of the Order.

Aveline had been married to a rich American merchant, Mr. Browne, and sent overseas to watch and record the events as they unfolded in the new United States. Beautiful, dangerous Aurora had been married to an Englishman—like so many of the Order’s daughters—to slyly spy on France’s constant enemy from within the lofty reaches of England’s aristocracy.

Aurora had never been pleased with her match, and just before the revolution, her husband had died quite suddenly. And before anyone could look too closely into his unexpected passing, she’d slipped back to France, disappearing into the mists of the Terror, with the help of her English lover.

But Aveline’s heart had never belonged to the Order. She’d been rather relieved by the growing disorder of France, for it left her free in the safety and rich comfort of Boston. The revolution, the chaos of the various regimes, and the rising fortune of Bonaparte had ripped the Order apart at the seams, or at least so Aveline had thought. For some time she hadn’t even known her sister’s fate.

Not until the Peace in ’01, when she and Mr. Browne had gone to Paris to extend his trading alliances. And then she’d discovered her sister. Well, Aurora had discovered
her
and dragged her quite unwilling back into the Order’s affairs…or rather, Aurora’s affairs.

“I have no debt to repay, for there is no Order left,” Aveline told her sister. “Be gone before you are found. I will not protect you.”

Aurora smiled and played the final card between them. “What of the child?”

“Sarah?!” Mrs. Browne gasped. “You cannot mean to—”

“But I do. If you will not help me, then I will take her in payment.”

Mrs. Browne crossed the room, her own life no longer an issue. She caught her sister by the arm, her nails digging viciously into her sister’s flesh. “You harm her and I will kill you.”

Aurora didn’t even flinch, only smiled. “So you still have some of your heart left, I see. That’s good. It means you will help me or I will take Sarah.”

Mrs. Browne released her, as if suddenly her sister’s skin burned. “If it is gold you want, take what is left in my purse and go.”

Again that laugh, that bitter, hard laugh. “I don’t need your money. I have that in plenty.”

“But you’ve—”

“Taken freely from you over the last year? But of course, you offered it, thinking it would free you and because you are a fool. Actually, I’m very rich. You’d be amazed who will pay for the Order’s services these days. Wars are profitable for spies and
merchants
. Profitable and
dangerous
.”

Mrs. Browne glanced up. Merchants. Like her husband, whose fortune was being made outfitting American ships and refitting captured British ones.

Dangerous because Mrs. Browne knew her sister wouldn’t think twice of having Mr. Browne killed in
some unhappy accident, the same sort of random act of violence that had claimed any number of those who crossed Aurora.

“Then go dally with your spies,” Mrs. Browne told her, “and leave me be.”

Aurora moved toward the window. “That is exactly what I have in mind. For there is a spy in this house. Lord Larken.”

Mrs. Browne shook her head. “There is no one here by that name.”

“He is here. I have seen him in the gardens. He is dressed like a priest.”

“The vicar?” Again she shook her head. “No, you are mistaken. That is the duke’s cousin, Mr. Ryder.”

“He is Lord Larken,” Aurora said. “Take another look at the man. Perhaps you recall his father? You do remember him, don’t you?”

Years and memories swept past Mrs. Browne like a winter storm, cold and chilling. And suddenly she was in Paris again.

And the name tolled at her, jarring the connection loose.

“Larken?” she whispered.
Oh, good God. Not this. Not now.
She wavered on her feet but did her level best to remain upright. She couldn’t show her sister the least bit of fear.

But it was too late. Aurora had seen the panic in her eyes.

“Yes, yes,” her dangerous sibling was saying. “Rather ironic
his
son would come to this place, but Fate has a way of bringing these things around for a reckoning, don’t you find it so?”

“He’s searching for you?”

Aurora shook her head. “No. He has no idea I’m here. He is here for another reason. The same one I am. Dashwell.”

This time Mrs. Browne reached out for the corner of the bed and sat down, for she felt as if the floor beneath was about to give way. “Thomas Dashwell? He’s here?”

Aurora tipped her head in acknowledgement.

“And you want to help him?”

She shook her head. “No, I fear Dashwell has outlived his usefulness. If the English had gotten it right in the first place, he would be dead already.” She muttered a curse in French, and then went on, “If they hadn’t spent the last six months debating who gets to hang him, I could be well and gone from this wretched place. I nearly had him in January, before he was caught, but he slipped past me.”

“What do you care for Dashwell? He’s been bedeviling the English for years, which I might point out, is right in line with your interests.”

“It was for a time, but he knows too much.”

“If that is so, who’s to say he hasn’t talked?”

Aurora, always so confident, shook her head. “He’s owed a rather large sum of money, and I believe he’s holding out hope of being paid.”

“Which you will not do,” Mrs. Browne added. Men had always been useful to the Order, until they knew too much or became insistent on being paid for services rendered. Then the debt was “paid” in the usual way of the Order.

“If he is recaptured, he could use the information he has about the Order—”

“To bargain for his life,” Aveline finished. She
wouldn’t put it past the illustrious captain to do just that. “How can you be sure he is here?”

“He’s here,” Aurora replied. “I’ve seen him at the window, though they’ve done a good job so far of concealing him. They plan to move him tonight.”

“Again, I don’t see how you are so sure—”

“It is what I would do. Move him during the chaos of a ball.”

Mrs. Browne shook her head. “But I hardly see what this has to do with me.”

“Aveline, don’t be a fool. Dashwell knows who you are. Who do you think paid him to bring you back to England when you tried to return home?”

“You had us brought back here? Saw us trapped on this side of the ocean? During a war?”

Aurora smiled. “It is always good to have family close in times like these. And my instincts were correct. I have need of you. First in helping me find Dashwell. And then there is the matter of my trunk.”

“Your what?”

“My trunk. I fear it was mixed up at a posting inn and brought here by mistake.”

Mrs. Browne felt as if she were being pushed deeper and deeper into a mire. “Where is it?”

“I believe the duchess’s sister has it because I saw her wearing my black dress the other night.”

“Miss Langley has your trunk?” Mrs. Browne thought her throat was going to close. Miss Thalia Langley had access to Aurora’s belongings? The same Miss Langley that Sarah had complained could pick locks like a common thief? “Aurora, whatever is in there?”

Then her sister said the one word that convinced Mrs. Browne she had no course but to help.

“Everything.”

With the commencement of the ball fast approaching, Tally made only hasty preparations for the evening. She had no heart for a night that seemed draped in impending doom.

If only she could shake the notion that something was about to go very wrong.

And she knew just who was waiting, watching, ready to pounce at any misstep…Larken.

If only…

Tucking a ribbon back into her hair, she heaved a sigh, took one last glance into the mirror before she pasted a smile on her lips and joined the others in the sitting room.

Pippin and Dash, still at odds over Miss Browne’s story, stood on opposite sides of the room, each stubbornly ignoring the other.

Dash had donned the plain, serviceable suit that Tarleton had brought up, and Aunt Minty had trimmed his hair into a style befitting a proper valet. He’d even shaved and looked so utterly respectable, it was hard to believe he was such a dangerous pirate.

Privateer
, Tally silently corrected.

Tarleton stood by the fire, chatting with Aunt Minty, resplendent in a brightly colored suit, the brocade sparkling in the firelight. The diminutive con artist could pass for a duke, and Tally smiled to herself, for she doubted even Hollindrake would be dressed so richly tonight.

If anything, Tarleton’s eye-catching ensemble was an excellent foil to Dash’s drab garb. It made the wanted man nearly invisible next to his supposed employer’s colorful plumage.

Pippin wore a new gown as well, a pale yellow concoction that clung to her lithe frame. She looked like a fragile spring blossom, and Tally could see, from her pale cheeks and wary glances, that she was no more happy about tonight than Tally was.

As Tally was the last to join the conspirators, there was an awkward moment of silence as they each glanced anywhere but into each other’s eyes, everyone weighing their chances for success, as well as the cost that could come if the evening’s plans went awry.

“Come, Circe, the hour is upon us,” Dash said softly. “Let us argue no more. We have risked too much…
you
have risked far too much for me, for us to part in this foolish manner.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, I love you with all my heart. You and no other.”

Gooseflesh ran down Tally’s arm at his honest, heart-wrenching confession, for his words, the ragged catch to his voice told the truth.

He did love Pippin. And in that instant, Tally realized how much she envied her cousin. Envied Felicity and her adoring duke.

If only…

Tally shook her head and turned away, as Pippin, who needed no more encouragement than Dash’s confession, swept across the room, her pretty face once again alight with love. She flew into his arms and their kiss, so intimate and hungry, drew all eyes
away from the couple as they said their good-byes.

“I don’t want to part,” Pippin said. “I fear we will never find our way back together again.”

Dash laughed, his fingers toying with one of the artful curls in her hair. “Don’t be foolish, my dearest girl. Of course we’ll be together again. Very soon, I promise. How can it be otherwise between us?”

Even as he said those words, Tally swore the dark shadow she’d felt all day passed over them, cursing Dash’s promise. It was as if the Fates mocked his confidence.

No, it couldn’t be true. They had risked too much for Dash and Pippin not to be together, she wanted to rail to the heavens. But instead, she said softly, “Come, Pippin, it is time.”

Pippin followed her reluctantly to the door, as Tarleton laid out the plans one last time.

“After you two go down, Dash and I will go to my room and wait for the drive and the house to become a complete crush. I’ve got my carriage awaiting us near the old stables—”

“The old stables?” Pippin glanced at Dash. “No one would notice if I went out there and we could—”

“No, you cannot,” he told her. “Besides, I don’t think I can do this but once.”

Part. Say good-bye.

Tally knew her heart was breaking for much the same reasons. For she suspected, nay, she knew Larken to be her heart’s match, her true love, and yet the gulf between them was as formidable as the one that was even now opening between Pippin and Dash.

Taking Pippin’s hand, Tally led her from the room
and they walked in silence to the stairwell. As they came to the final flight, the din of the crowded house began to envelop them.

Glancing down to the foyer, Tally wasn’t surprised to see Lord Gossett there at the foot of the stairs, awaiting their arrival. Well, Pippin’s arrival.

But more shocking was the man on the other side of the steps.

Lord Larken.
She nearly tripped over her heels at the sight of him.

He looked so handsome in his new dark coat and buff breeches, offset by the white of his shirt and the simplicity of his cravat. No peacock, Larken didn’t need the bright waistcoats and brazen displays of lace to attract attention; his sculpted jawline, his very height and the breadth of his chest now that he wasn’t hunched over were quite enough.