My Lady Governess (Zebra Regency Romance) (16 page)

“I think not,” said a voice in clipped tones as the entrance door crashed open.

“Adrian!” Elinor gasped.

“I hadn’t even got to that part yet,” Porterman complained.

“Who are you?” Pennington challenged.

“My good man, you interrupt a family matter,” Brompton said in a stuffy tone.

Adrian stepped fully into the room, backed by Rowlands and Seaton, who held drawn pistols. Brompton and Pennington paled noticeably and Elinor sucked in great gulps of air to keep from fainting.

“My niece is marrying Baron Pennington with the blessings of her guardian,” Brompton said. “Now, if you will just step aside and let us proceed ...”

“She is of age and needs no blessing,” Adrian said. “But that is entirely beside the point. She cannot marry him.”

“And why not?” Brompton blustered, but he kept his eye on the men with the guns. “We have a special license. Everything is in order.”

“Get
on
with it,” Pennington screeched. He tightened his grip on Elinor’s arm and she winced at the pain.

“Adrian, they have Peter. They—they hit him,” Elinor sobbed.

 

 

A part of Adrian’s mind appreciated the farcical elements of this situation, even as he recognized the potential tragedy. Stall. He had to keep them from proceeding in this charade of a marriage and he had to distract them while Graham and Davies checked out what was going on upstairs and neutralized any danger there.

“Let her go,” Adrian demanded.

“The woman is going to be my wife,” Pennington said in an emotional frenzy.

“No, she is
not
,” Adrian said. “Even if you were not deterred by my friends and their pistols, I could not let you continue. She is already married—to me.”

“Adrian!” Elinor gasped. “No. You cannot . . .” Finally, she jerked free of Pennington who had relaxed his hold at Adrian’s stunning announcement.

Adrian held her close but to one side of him. He nuzzled her hair even as he kept an eye on her uncle and her would-be husband. “I know we agreed to keep it a secret, my dear, but what choice do I have?” His words were clearly meant for their stupefied audience.

“I need a drink,” the minister said.

“You don’t understand.” Elinor’s tone was fierce. “They have Peter.”

Peter. She was willing to go through with this for Peter? Marriage to the likes of Pennington? Well, he was damned if he would allow such sacrifice, no matter what the outcome for him personally. But that would have to be sorted out later.

There was noise of thumping boots and overturned furniture overhead, then of more than one person descending the stairs.

“They have Peter!” There was hysterical desperation in her voice now.

“No, they don’t, Ellie. Not anymore.”

A young man entered the room followed by a redheaded giant and a smaller fellow, prodded with pistols held by Davies and Graham.

“Oh, Peter. Peter.” Elinor ran to him and enfolded him in her arms.

Taller than she was, Peter laid his cheek against her head, his shock of chestnut hair blending exactly with her own as she sobbed into his shoulder. “It’s all right, Ellie. I’m all right. Didn’t I tell you they couldn’t make it work? ’Course, we had help.” He raised his head and looked at Adrian, Graham, and the others. “I do thank you gentlemen.”

Good God
, Adrian thought,
he is no more than fifteen!
Then it hit him. Peter was Peter Richards, new Earl of Ostwick. Her brother. He had spent all this time agonizing over her love for her
brother
?

“I don’t believe it,” Brompton said. “If she were married to such a high-ranking member of the
ton
, we’d have heard about it. We are family.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Adrian’s voice was dangerously soft.

“Good God, Brompton,” Pennington warned. “Don’t be a bigger fool than you already are. The man’s said to be a crack shot.”

“But why ain’t we heard about this so-called marriage before this? We are her family,” Brompton whined to the room in general, avoiding looking at Adrian. “Peter, my boy, did you know it and not tell me?”

Peter, having disengaged himself from Elinor’s embrace, still stood next to her. He looked to her for direction before responding. She shook her head.

“No. I did not know. But I would trust her judgment in such matters much more than yours. Your concern for ‘family’ comes rather later, Uncle.”

“Why you ...” Brompton took a step toward Peter, then abruptly stopped as Rowlands trained his pistol more directly on him.

“Don’t even think about it,” Rowlands warned. Then he turned to Adrian. “What do you want we should do with these fellers, my lord?”

“What I
want
would be both inhumane and illegal,” Adrian said.

“These two,” Rowlands indicated a man named Toby and Burt, “are in a heap of trouble already. Told yuh I rec’nized Burt here.”

“Robbery, burglary—and they are connected somehow with at least two dead bodies found in the dock areas,” Graham explained. “At the very least, they’ll be transported. But they’ll probably be hanged.”

“Good,” Adrian said vehemently. “Rowlands, you and Seaton take those two in and do whatever you would with them. Keep the Richards name out of your report, if you will.”

“Consider it done, my lord,” Rowlands said. Others in the room watched as Burt’s and Toby’s hands were tied behind them and they were unceremoniously ushered from the room.

“Keep your eye on these two, Graham,” Adrian ordered, indicating Brompton and Pennington. “Davies, see if you can find some paper and writing instruments.” Then he turned to Elinor and her brother. “Come, my dear. You and Peter have a seat over here. This will not take long and we will be on our way.”

He led them to a settee at the other end of the room. Elinor had not said a word since learning her brother was safe. Adrian worried about the strain he saw plainly on her face. He wanted to hold her, tell it was all over, that he would take care of her. But she still clung to Peter.

He returned his attention to Brompton and Pennington as Davies came back with paper, ink, and two pens.

“You two sit and write what I tell you,” Adrian said. When it was done, he picked up the papers, ensured the ink was sufficiently dry, folded them, and put them in his pocket. He leaned over the table and spoke softly but precisely to each of them. Then he said, “All right. Graham, you and Davies take these two back to town. Stop by Trenville House and get some more help. Then see that Lord Pennington is escorted to his estate in the north. Take Brompton to Ostwick House and put a guard on the place. Ostwick and his sister will be my guests for a day or two.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

 

It was nearly midnight and the strain of the last several hours had taken its toll as Elinor tried to make sense of what had happened. Adrian’s announcement that she was his wife troubled her most. Why had he done that? Surely there was another way. This would surely be the principal topic in every
ton
drawing room tomorrow. Even if Brompton’s tongue could be controlled, there would be no controlling his wife—or her friends.

She sat in the forward-looking seat of the coach with Peter at her side. She still clung to his hand to reassure herself she had brought no harm to her brother. Adrian sat opposite them and spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, ostensibly to Peter, but with frequent glances at Elinor for her understanding and concurrence. Elinor knew Peter was flattered to be consulted as an equal by such an out-and-outer as the Marquis of Trenville. She could only be grateful for such consideration of the younger man.

“The confessions those two signed should safely remove them from being any further source of annoyance to either of you,” Adrian said.

Curious, Peter asked, “What will happen to them?”

“Pennington has been informed that if he so much as steps off his estate within the next three years, I shall bring charges against him, and he, too, will likely be transported then, along with Burt and Toby.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And—and Uncle Brompton?” Elinor’s voice still showed strain, but she could feel herself at last beginning to relax.

A small lantern in the coach gave off faint light. She saw Adrian’s expression harden.

“Tomorrow my man of business will buy up his debts. He and his wife will be on the first ship to the Americas. If he returns, he must be prepared to repay me—or face debtors’ prison. That is, unless you object . . .”

“No—” Elinor said.

“Absolutely not.” Peter’s voice was mature and determined.

“Our war with the United States is over. They will survive nicely if they exercise good judgment,” Adrian said, reassuringly.

Exhausted, Elinor had started to doze fitfully, her head resting on her brother’s shoulder, when Peter’s question caught her attention.

“How did you happen on this scene so quickly, sir? And with Bow Street Runners in tow?”

She straightened, alert now. “Bow Street Runners?” How had she missed that?

“Those fellows he sent off with Uncle Brompton and the others. Really, Ellie. . .” The impatient younger brother was back.

“My lord?” She looked inquiringly at Adrian and he shifted uncomfortably.

“The men have been guarding my children, and members of my household, ever since we returned to London and we knew a French spy was—or is—directly connected to me.”

“Who?” Elinor could not hide her shock.

“We do not yet know.” Adrian again shifted slightly under her gaze.

Elinor stared at him, remembering the feeling of being watched. It had been Seaton who always accompanied her and the children on their rides. And hadn’t Adrian been overly fastidious about her never leaving the house unaccompanied?

“Me? You suspected me?”

“Not lately,” he said. “And certainly not now.”

“But you did. Adrian, how could you think that I—I—a spy? How could you? How dare you?” Utterly devastated he would think her capable of such perfidy, she stared at him in disbelief and anger for a moment, then turned her head to the darkened coach window to hide her tears.

“Elinor, please.” He sat forward and tried to take her hand, but she pulled away from him. “Please. Try to understand. Elinor ...”

Ignoring the pleading note in his voice, she turned with a stifled sob and snuggled closer to her brother. Peter put his arm around her shoulder and patted it clumsily. She was sure Peter had not missed her and Adrian’s use of each other’s Christian names.

She was vaguely aware of Adrian’s voice explaining to Peter about the discovery of spy activities within his own household and attempts to catch such agents. Eventually, his voice trailed off as she refused to look at him.

The rest of the journey passed in silence. When they arrived at his town house, Adrian exited first and reached an assisting hand to her. She wanted to ignore it, but dared not do so lest she stumble and fall. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and she felt the surge of warmth his touch always brought. But this time it was accompanied by a sense of betrayal.

In the entrance hall, she started to mumble a hasty good night when she noted with some surprise Captain Olmstead emerge from the library.

Then Adrian spoke directly to her. “My lady, I believe you should hear Captain Olmstead’s report.”

“If you insist. Allow me to freshen up a bit and I shall be right back.” She proceeded up the stairs.

Adrian watched as Elinor climbed the stairs, her curiosity obviously warring with fatigue and disillusionment. He wanted to take her in his arms and make her listen to him, but duty—in the person of Nathan Olmstead—once again asserted itself.

“I see
your
venture was successful,” Olmstead said with a questioning glance at Peter once the library door was closed. “You brought Miss Palmer home safe and sound.”

Adrian heaved a sigh. “She is not Miss Palmer. Allow me to present Peter Richards, Earl of Ostwick. She is his sister.”

“A lady? You’ve had a lady of the
ton
acting as governess to your brats?” Olmstead gave a bark of laughter, then sobered. “She had nothing to do with this spy business then?”

“Nothing at all. Did I not say that earlier?” Adrian went to a sideboard, hesitated a moment, then poured three glasses of brandy and smiled inwardly as Peter accepted his in a grown-up manner, but succumbed to a fit of coughing with his first sip. “It goes down easier when you are more used to it,” he told the boy. Then he gave Olmstead a brief summary of the chase and its outcome.

“So, the uncle—Brompton, is it?—watched the home of the former governess and traced Miss Palmer, that is, Lady Elinor, here?” Olmstead asked.

“Seems so,” Adrian replied.

At this point Elinor entered the room, somewhat hesitantly. The men stood as she quietly took a seat near Peter.

 

 

She had taken time to remove her pelisse and bonnet, wash her hands and face, and recomb her hair—and felt infinitely more presentable for having done so. She thought Adrian’s eyes softened with warmth when she came in and she was momentarily flustered.
Don’t be silly,
she admonished herself. He thought you were a spy, a traitor.

Adrian shifted his gaze to his military friend. “All right, Nate, tell us about
your
adventurous evening.”

“It went like clockwork. Exactly as we planned. Dennington met our courier, handed over the documents, and wished him Godspeed. Then Dennington left; actually, he circled around to join us as we followed the rotters who were following the courier.”

“How many were there?” Adrian interrupted.

“Three. They followed our man for two or three miles at some distance, apparently trying to insure it was not a trap. Finally, they closed in on him and demanded his dispatch case. At that point, we closed in on them. There were some shots and one of them suffered a slight wound on his shoulder. I am convinced their intent was to kill the courier once he had turned over the dispatch case.”

“What happened when they knew it was a trap?”

“They split up, taking off in three different directions, but luckily, there were enough of us to split up also and give chase.”

“You caught them, I take it.”

“We apprehended two of them.”

“And the third escaped?” Adrian was clearly dismayed.

“Not exactly.” Olmstead grinned. “The third agent probably
thought
the escape was successful, but in fact, we followed the third one—discreetly, of course.”

“Of course,” Adrian said dryly. “Followed where?”

“Here. Even as we speak, our spy is abovestairs, presumably sleeping.”

“You are sure?”

“The house has been watched, front and back, since we arrived on the heels of our culprit. And there is a guard in the hallway, watching the chamber door. I thought, after all this time and trouble, you would like to be in on the actual capture.” Olmstead rose and went to Adrian’s desk where he had apparently been writing when Trenville and his companions returned. He handed Adrian a slip of paper. “There’s the name of your spy.”

Adrian raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. “I see.” He went to the door and said to a footman in the hall, “Please rouse Mr. Huntington. Tell him I wish him to take some dictation on an urgent matter immediately.” He gave the servant some additional instructions which the others did not hear and returned to his seat.

Elinor and her brother had sat quietly throughout this exchange. Peter seemed confused, but obviously thrilled that the other men thought to include him in such business. Elinor frankly wondered what was going on—and she was not so shy as her brother in speaking up.

“Pardon me, gentlemen, but should you not be about the Crown’s business of apprehending your spy?” Still hurt that they had once thought
her
to be that spy, she could not quite control her impatience.

“In due time, my lady. In due time,” Adrian said.

“I am quite sure that my presence will be superfluous as you dictate your report. With your permission, I should like to retire.” She rose.

“No. Please stay. I want you to hear this. Humor me, if you will. We may be able to put some of your own questions to rest.” Adrian was, she felt, making a sincere personal appeal to her. She sat back down.

A few minutes later, Huntington arrived, dressed in cotton trousers with a dressing gown tied over them. His eyes were puffy with sleep and he was still combing his hair with his fingers as he came through the door. His gaze took in the presence of Olmstead and Elinor with a small show of surprise and passed over Peter as someone unknown to him.

His eyes came back to Elinor and she thought there was a flicker of fear in his expression, but his voice was confident in greeting them. “Miss Palmer. We have an appointment later, I believe. Olmstead. Trenville.” He nodded at Peter.

Elinor held his gaze for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders and shifted her own gaze to Adrian.

Adrian had stood when Huntington entered. He now drew out a straight-backed chair near a small writing table that faced the others at an angle.

“Sit here, Thomas. There is paper and pen handy. Ink, as well.”

“Must be truly urgent to get a fellow out of bed at such an unconscionable hour,” Huntington sounded a bit testy.

“It is very important,” Adrian agreed affably. “Espionage is always urgent.”

“Espionage?” Huntington looked up in surprise. “You have something new on those spies then?”

“We think so. Now, this memorandum is to be addressed to Lord Canning in the usual manner. Sir”—Adrian began to dictate, pacing about the room as he talked—“Olmstead, feel free to correct me if I get any of this wrong.”

Elinor glanced at Captain Olmstead and found him to be watching Huntington intensely as Adrian began recounting for the foreign secretary the events of the evening as Olmstead had related them earlier.

“And so, His Majesty’s Forces managed to apprehend two of the culprits.” Adrian paused in his dictation as Huntington tried to keep up. Elinor thought Thomas looked decidedly pale. “Unfortunately,” Adrian continued, “the third escaped immediate capture.” Huntington seemed to let out a long held breath very softly.

“However,” Adrian went on in the dictating tone, “the third person, who turns out to have been the particular agent most responsible for our leaks, was followed ... Sorry, Thomas. Am I speaking too fast?”

“Uh, no sir. Just let me finish . . . ‘was followed.’ Was he—or she—identified, my lord?”

“Yes, Thomas.” Adrian’s voice now carried a tone of such infinite sadness that Elinor wanted to comfort him despite her anger at him for suspecting
her
earlier. “Yes, he was. You were. It is finished.”

Huntington carefully laid down the pen. He looked from Trenville to Olmstead and appeared to realize escape now was impossible. He clutched his hands between his knees. Others in the room seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to speak.

“It
was
a trap, then, that message tonight? I thought as much....” Huntington spoke in a quiet voice of utter defeat. “And this memorandum was another trap.”

“Yes. We suspected information on Wellington’s troop strength would be irresistible,” Olmstead said.

“Why, Thomas? Why?” Adrian sat down opposite Huntington and looked at him directly. “You had a good position. Your expectations were promising.”

“Not
mine
. Yours,” Huntington said bitterly. “I have lived in your shadow far too long, Trenville. Why? Money, of course. French money allows me to live as I please—not as I must as a glorified servant.”

“I expect you will be setting your sights considerably lower in Newgate,” Olmstead said with little sympathy. “When I think of how many British soldiers might have died for your greed, I’ve a good mind to run you through myself.”

Huntington turned to look at Olmstead and his eye fell on Elinor.

“Her. She told you about me, didn’t she? That’s how you came to suspect me. Trying to save her own skin. She is not what she seems, you know, your precious Elinor. Think I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you? It was
planned
that way, Trenville. She is one of us—suckered you in just as she was supposed to.”

Elinor gasped. “Thomas! How could you? Blackmail could not work, so you seek to dishonor me anyway? What can you possibly gain by it?”

“I will not go down alone,” Huntington sneered. “You were in on it—you go with me.”

“Hear now. You can’t talk to my sister that way!” Peter rose to advance on Huntington, but Elinor grabbed his wrist and Adrian waved him back to his seat.

“Oh, you won’t go alone,” Olmstead promised. “Those two with you tonight will be there. And there are a couple of rounders in Devonshire that have much to answer for.”

“It won’t wash, Thomas,” Adrian said. He turned to Elinor. “He tried to blackmail you?”

She nodded.

“Well, that is over, too,” Adrian said grimly. “You’ll be tried for treason, Thomas. And if Lady Elinor Richards’s name is even breathed in that connection, you will pay dearly.”

“Hah!” Huntington’s mouth twisted in an ugly sneer. “Treason. What more can you do?”

“Well,” Adrian said thoughtfully, “we could arrange for you to ‘escape.’ Dump you in the laps of your French friends and inform them you have been playing a double game. They would not be likely to take kindly to that.”

Huntington blanched and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Nate, take him upstairs to get properly dressed, then get him out of here. Parsons is just outside the door. He will go with you. Watch for any tricks. He may have a weapon.”

“We can handle it. Browning is still upstairs and others are outside,” Olmstead said. “Come along, Huntington.”

Elinor watched with mixed feelings as Thomas Huntington was led from the room. Yes, he had attempted to blackmail her, had forced her into planning to break her word about staying until Trenville found a new governess. But he had been a friend in Devonshire where they had shared morning rides and achieved a degree of understanding born of their similar stations in a nobleman’s household.

She had no doubt he would have carried out his threat to sell information about her to her uncle. She could not condone or forgive such despicable behavior, but she thought she understood the envy and frustration that motivated it. A firmer, more honorable character would not have succumbed to the temptation. Huntington had—and would pay a terrible price for his ambitious greed.

A year ago such thinking would not have occurred to her. So perhaps some good—some better understanding of others—had come of her masquerade.

“Ellie, are you all right?” Peter broke into her musings.

“Yes, Peter. I
am
saddened, however. Such a waste. He might have been a good man under different circumstances.”

“There but for the grace of God ... is that what you have in mind?” Adrian asked, moving to take a seat nearer the other two.

“Yes. I suppose so.” Elinor was again reminded of how remarkably alike she and Adrian often thought. “Was it necessary to put him through that?” She gestured toward the writing table where Huntington had sat.

“I thought so. It was imperative that he recognize and admit his culpability. It is, of course, impossible to measure the damage he did.”

“And you really suspected me?” She spoke softly, but even she could hear the pain in her voice. She searched his eyes for some ultimate truth in his response.

There was answering pain in his own gaze. “Yes, God help me—I did, though every fiber of my being cried out against it.”

“Why?”

“Why did I suspect you? Or why did I not want to?”

“What made you believe I could do such a thing? I must know.”

“I could not believe it. And that was a problem. The unknown French agent was someone connected to me—someone with intelligence and access, whose activities coincided with your arrival in my household. Then I met the Spensers in Belgium and learned that
my
Miss Palmer was not
their
Miss Palmer.”

“Ohhh.”

“But I still did not know who you were. The Bow Street Runners led me to
your
Miss Palmer, but she refused to help me—until I told her you had been kidnapped.”

“She
is
a dear friend.”

“I suspect she grants such loyalty only to people who have truly earned it.” Adrian’s eyes locked with hers for a long moment and she felt all her resentment melting away.

“See, Ellie? I warned you against going off on one of your harebrained schemes.” Peter’s tone was the superior tone of a young, assertive male.

“I admit I did not think it through adequately, but would you rather I had given you Pennington as a brother-in-law?”

“Good lord, no! But what are we to do now? You are not five and twenty for another six months yet. And I won’t reach my majority for
years!”
His last words ended on a wail and there was silence in the room for a moment. Then Peter spoke again. “Oh, I say, that bit about you being married wasn’t true, was it?”

“No!” Elinor said vehemently. “And you are not to mention it again, Peter.
That
is not to become fodder for the
ton’s
gossipy cows.”