How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (20 page)

Like a mischievous Scottish hobgoblin, Alec loomed out of the crowd with a smirk on his face.

“Hiding away from the adoring multitudes, are we?” he said, jabbing Will in the shoulder. “Wise man, especially since your fiancée should be arriving at any moment. Don't want to give her a reason to back out of it, now do you?”

“She has yet to back
into
it, as you well know,” Will retorted. “And the only reason I'm garnering any attention is because you keep telling people I'm a war hero. I wish you'd bloody well stop it.”

“No need to thank me,” Alec said with an airy wave that looked ridiculous coming from a man his size. “Besides, all that will stop as soon as your future mamma-in-law starts gabbing about the impending happy event.”

“Oh, joy.” Will loved Evie, but Lady Reese as a mother-in-law was a truly daunting prospect.

“Well, enough larking about.” Alec reached out a long arm to snatch a goblet of wine from a passing footman. “Aden is waiting for us by Lady Talwin's greenhouse. He says he has some news.”

Will shoved off from the column. “About time we got something from the Intelligence Service. I only hope it's information we can actually use.”

They slipped through a convenient door behind them into a corridor that ran lengthwise along the side of the mansion. It led to the back of the house and away from the kitchen and other service rooms, which accounted for the quiet that quickly enveloped them.

Will glanced at his cousin. “Let's not mention my impending nuptials to Aden. I need to break the news to my father before he hears it from someone else.”

In fact, he'd asked Lord and Lady Reese to refrain from any kind of announcement until he'd had a chance to talk to the duke. He'd also assumed Evie would be grateful for a pause before the madness began, which Lady Reese had reluctantly confirmed.

Alec grimaced with sympathy. “I don't envy you that conversation, old boy. When do you intend to pull the trigger?”

“I thought I'd try him at the Horse Guards tomorrow. Might as well get it over with.”

Alec stopped him with a touch on the arm. “For what it's worth, I think you're making the right decision, not only for her sake but for yours. Evelyn is a splendid girl, and I suspect she will make you a splendid wife.”

“Thank you. I can only hope my father will share that opinion,” Will replied dryly. Still, he was moved by his cousin's words, and by his loyalty.

“Bugger him,” Alec said. “And if you ever need help, you know you only have to ask.”

Will nodded. “I know, and I thank you, but I'm sure we'll be fine.”

He didn't mention his doubts about a whole host of other issues, such as where they would live and what he would be doing for the rest of his life. Though marrying Evie would diminish his chances of garnering his father's support for any career advancement, Will could still hope that Wellington thought enough of him to ignore that problem.

They cut down a corridor that led to the greenhouse. Just outside its glass doors, Aden waited for them, lounging in a wrought-iron chair, his long legs thrust casually out before him.

He rose to his feet, looking rather grim. “Dominic's source in Dublin—”

“Isn't that now
your
source?” Alec interrupted.

Aden flashed a brief grin. “I'm still getting used to the change.”

“No doubt. Now, about that source,” Will said, already impatient to get back to the ballroom. A niggle of worry about Evie had started to form. Why was she so late?

Aden nodded. “Our source in Dublin has managed to get his hands on a letter from Michael Beaumont to Daniel O'Connell, who as you already know is an ardent advocate of both Catholic emancipation and dissolution of the Act of Union.”

“Yes, Dominic told us that O'Connell and Beaumont had corresponded,” Will said. “How did their relationship develop in the first place, by the way?”

“They know each other through Beaumont's mother, Lady Leger. Her family is Irish, and distantly related to the O'Connell family,” Aden replied. “Beaumont is apparently an admirer of O'Connell's politics.”

Alec grimly shook his head. “So Beaumont has Irish relatives? Unfortunately for him, that puts him under even greater suspicion.”

“Anything of use in their correspondence?” Will asked.

“It regarded the aborted duel between O'Connell and Robert Peel,” Aden said. “Beaumont expressed concern for O'Connell's safety and pleaded with him to avoid taking any further risks.”

“That's not exactly damning,” Alec protested. “The opposite, I would think.”

“True,” said Aden. “But Beaumont went on to write of the importance of O'Connell's leadership in
the cause,
and how they couldn't afford to lose him. Who
they
are remains a mystery, as does the exact nature of their cause.”

Will shook his head. “Many people support Catholic emancipation, or even breaking up the Union, but they would never resort to violence to achieve those aims.”

“Which is why we need information before we can act,” Aden said. “Without solid evidence, we can hardly start arresting random Irish immigrants or people who hold what some might consider radical views. The prime minister of course is greatly concerned that we avoid a repeat of the Gordon riots. If rumors were to get out that a group of Irish radicals was fomenting treason, the results could be dire. Most of all for the innocent Irish and other Catholics of London.”

Will glanced at Alec. “We're making some headway, at least in terms of getting into Beaumont's office at St. Margaret's. I'll break in later tonight, or tomorrow night at the latest. Alec is going to see about searching Beaumont's apartments at Albany.”

Aden nodded. “Keep me apprised of everything you find—decisive or otherwise. I've got the Home Office and Peel breathing down my neck.”

“Understood,” Will said, eyeing Aden's breeches and top boots. “I take it you won't be joining us in the ballroom tonight?”

“No. My wife is rather under the weather, and I'd like to get home to her.”

Will frowned. “Again? Nothing too worrying, I hope.”

Aden shook his head. “Simply the usual stomach ailments that afflict women in her condition.”

“Maybe I could develop a stomach ailment,” Alec said in a sour tone. “Barely back in London, and I'm already sick of haunting these bloody balls and soirees. Don't know how anyone stands it.”

“Poor you, having to keep all those eager society widows at bay,” Will scoffed. “Best regards to your wife, Aden.” He took Alec's arm and started to propel him down the hallway.

“One more thing, Will,” Aden softly called.

Curbing his impatience, Will turned back and lifted an enquiring brow.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” Aden said. “Miss Whitney is a lovely girl. I'm sure you'll be very happy.” Then he gave a slight bow and disappeared into the greenhouse.

“How the hell did he know about my engagement?” Will exclaimed, exasperated.

“Well, they did ask him to replace Dominic,” Alec said, “so he must be good at his job.”

“Spies,” Will said in disgust as they strode down the hall. “They're the worst bloody gossips of them all.”

Alec grinned but didn't reply, since some guests had wandered out of the ballroom and into the hall. One, an acquaintance of Alec's, hailed him into a conversation. Will nodded and kept going, determined to track down Evie. If she hadn't yet arrived, he'd already decided to leave the ball and pay a call at her home. It was late, but he'd be damned if he'd allow her to put him off any longer. They needed to settle a number of things—tonight.

Circling the edges of the crammed ballroom, he avoided getting drawn into conversation. Halfway down the room, he finally spotted Evie standing quietly by her mother, who was speaking with a pair of elderly women.

He paused, frowning as he ran a quick, assessing gaze over his fiancée. She looked pretty in her sweet but unassuming gown, with a new hairstyle a tad more ornate than usual. Had she done it to impress him? He didn't think so, because Evie didn't give a whit about her coiffure. Something else seemed off, too, although he couldn't put his finger on it. Perhaps it was the way she flicked her closed fan against her thigh, as if she was irritated or impatient. And had she just rolled her eyes at her mother? Evie tended to go still and quiet at large social functions, trying to fade into the background. She didn't wriggle her fan or generally look like she was ready to jump out of her skin.

Perhaps she was just nervous about seeing him. He'd do what he could to calm her jitters, assuring her that everything would work out for the best.

“That's odd,” Alec said, popping up next to him. “I didn't think Miss Whitney wore spectacles in public.”

“Are you top-heavy?” Will asked. “Evie always wears her spectacles, regardless of the occasion.”

“I know that, you idiot, but that's not Evelyn. That's Miss
Eden
Whitney.”

“You've gone completely daft,” Will snorted. “Eden would never dress like that, and she doesn't wear spectacles in public.”

Alec shrugged as he turned an ironic eye in Evie's direction.

Disconcerted, Will took another good look at his fiancée.

And then another.

Eden was pretending to be her sister. His instincts had told him that just a few moments ago, if he'd only been paying attention. When they were young, the girls had enjoyed teasing their family and friends by switching identities. It had worked with almost everyone—including him on more than one occasion. Their parents had rarely been able to tell them apart when they played their little charade.

Eden hadn't fooled Alec, though, which was both interesting and annoying.

Will muttered a curse under his breath. What the hell was Evie up to, trying to pull something like this? Suddenly, the worry that had been dogging him all night began to make acute sense.

“Oh, I see,” Alec said with the ghost of a laugh. “Miss Eden has stepped in for her sister. How amusing, but I wonder what's going on?”

“Let's go find out,” Will said grimly, thrusting his way through the mob.

“Sure you don't want me to stick around, miss?” The hackney driver rolled a wary eye around the deserted street. “This ain't exactly the best part of town for a young lady like you.”

Evie smiled at the burly man as she handed him the fare. “Thank you, but no. I have friends inside who can see to my safe return home.”

He gave her a shrug, but stuffed the money into his pocket without further comment.

As the driver pulled out of the yard, Evie scurried to the back entrance of St. Margaret's. A damp breeze swirled dust around her ankles. The air smelled dank and the night sky hunched over the city, the occasional flicker of lightning illuminating ugly black storm clouds. With her luck, she'd get a good soaking on the way home.

The door was unlocked. She breathed a sigh of relief that someone was still working in this part of the building and prayed it was Michael. She'd already wasted time waiting outside Albany, cooling her heels in the hackney after tipping the night porter to fetch her as soon as Michael returned to his apartments. After forty-five anxious minutes, she'd decided to proceed straight to St. Margaret's. The cabbie hadn't much liked driving into the London stews so late at night, and Evie certainly shared his trepidation. But, at that point, there'd been only one other choice for her.

That other choice was not one Evie was willing to accept, at least not yet. She would not allow Will to be bullied into a relationship he clearly didn't want, despite his decision to do the honorable thing. He might enjoy kissing her, but Evie was certain he wouldn't enjoy what came next—a marriage to a woman he'd rejected once already. Michael's forgiveness was still her best chance to prevent disaster and spare Evie the humiliation of a husband who didn't love her or want her.

She pulled the heavy oak door shut and hurried down the long corridor to the office. All was quiet, and her heart sank when she saw no light coming from under the parlor door. Just to be certain, she opened it and peeked in.

Michael's office was dark, as well. It would be just her vile luck to cross paths with him as he returned home to his rooms in Mayfair.

As she closed the door and waged a silent debate over her next steps, she heard the low murmur of voices drift up from the kitchen. Her spirits lifting—because Michael usually made tea when he was working late, often stopping to chat with the housekeeper—she hurried along the corridor and down the stairs, pushing through the swinging door into the low-ceiling room.

She paused on the threshold, one hand on the door, surprised to see Terence and Bridget O'Shay, along with three other men, seated around the scrubbed pine table in the center of the room. One man was vaguely familiar but the others were strangers—large, rather grim-visaged strangers who looked decidedly unhappy at her sudden appearance. Michael wasn't present, nor was Mrs. Rafferty.

Evie frowned, disconcerted by the veiled hostility she sensed in the room. It felt as if she'd somehow interrupted some sort of dispute. The housekeeper never allowed meetings to be held in her spotlessly clean kitchen, since
that's what the classrooms are for
she'd pointedly made clear on more than one occasion. Why would she allow this group, some of them strangers, to meet here, especially with neither Michael nor Father O'Kelley on the premises?

Bridget jumped to her feet, eyes wide and cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Miss, I . . . we didn't expect to see
you
tonight!” She made it sound like an accusation.

As Evie stepped down into the kitchen, Bridget hissed at her brother to stand up, jabbing him in the shoulder when he didn't comply. A fierce glare directed at the other men had them loudly clattering their chairs back on the stone floor as they hastily rose. Terence merely sneered at Evie and crossed his hands over his shabby jacket. It was the sort of behavior she'd come to expect from him.

“I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you,” Evie said with a polite smile. “I was looking for Mr. Beaumont. Or Mrs. Rafferty. Has she already gone to bed?”

“Aye, she has gone up, Miss Evelyn,” said Bridget with a shy smile. “But she said she'd lock up once we finished.” She jabbed her brother in the shoulder again. “We were just leavin'. Ain't that right, Terry?”

The big man scowled at his sister and shambled to his feet. “Aye, we was. Nothin' more worth talkin' about, as far as I can see.” His gaze flickered to the other men, and Evie got the distinct impression he was as unhappy with them as he was with her.

“Before you go,” Evie said firmly, “can you tell me if Mr. Beaumont was here this evening?”

Bridget bobbed her head like a nervous quail. “That he was, miss. In fact, he was the reason we was meetin' tonight.”

Evie frowned. “Really? He never said anything to me, and I saw no mention of it in the meeting book.” Evie and Mrs. Rafferty shared responsibility for scheduling meetings for St. Margaret's and the Hibernian Association. Very little took place that they didn't know about.

Bridget shrugged. “I can't say nothin' about that, miss. You'd have to ask Mr. Beaumont.”

“I will,” Evie said, forcing a smile. She couldn't avoid the feeling that something wasn't right. It seemed out of character that Michael would leave the building while these people remained. Although most who used their services were hard-working, honest folk, there was the occasional hard case who could not be trusted.

Like Terence O'Shay.

“Can you tell me when Mr. Beaumont left?” she asked.

“About twenty minutes ago, miss,” said the man Evie thought she might have met before. He gave her a friendly smile.

Evie pondered what to do for a few moments, then decided to let all this pass until she could speak with Michael. “Well, if you're finished with your meeting, I'd be happy to lock up.”

Bridget nodded. “And you'll tell Mrs. Rafferty, miss? I wouldn't want her bein' angry with Mr. Beaumont for leavin' early.”

“Of course—” Evie broke off when she heard the door swing open behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and almost fainted when she saw a man come stalking down the short flight of steps.

In his dress regimentals, he looked overdressed and incongruous in the humble setting but still managed to seem bigger and more dangerous than all the other men in the room, including Terence O'Shay. His blue eyes were as cold and unforgiving as a January sky, and his already-hard mouth pulled into an even harder line. Will had never been the sort to blow up when he got angry, preferring to reason his way out of arguments, but she was learning he could be a grim and formidable man when something displeased him.

Clearly,
she'd
displeased him a great deal.

“Will, er, Captain Endicott! How did you get in here?” she blurted out.

He came to a stop, toe-to-toe with her, looming in what she felt sure was a deliberate attempt to intimidate her. Evie's anger began to stir as she remembered she had just as much cause to be annoyed with him as he had with her.

“You helpfully left the back door open,” he said sarcastically. “I was able to waltz right in without a lick of trouble.”

She winced. “Oh, yes, I suppose I forgot about that.”

His eyebrows crawled up his forehead. “You
suppose?
Have your wits gone begging? What if you'd been alone and someone besides me had decided to wander in? Someone harboring ill intent?”

“There's no need to be rude,” she huffed. “Everything is fine, as you can see. And I'm not alone.” She glanced at Bridget and Terence. “I think you will remember Captain Endicott.”

“Oh, aye. He's engraved on me bloody memory,” Terence drawled in an insolent tone.

Bridget shot her brother a stern look and dipped into a curtsey. “Yes, miss. Good evening, sir.”

Will gave her a slight jerk of the head that barely counted as a nod. “Having a meeting, Miss O'Shay? I hope I didn't interrupt anything.”

The blatant suspicion in his voice had Evie darting a nervous glance around the room. Terence and the other men radiated waves of resentment. The sudden spike of tension in the room was disturbing, and it certainly hadn't been a tea party before Will's arrival.

She supposed she couldn't blame these poor fellows. An army officer would likely make them uncomfortable, given the unfortunate history of those who frequented St. Margaret's. She understood the travails their families had suffered under the boot heels of the king's army, especially during the years of rebellion. She knew how long their memories were too.

“They were just leaving,” she said firmly. “Good night, everyone.”

The strangers practically scrambled over themselves to leave, but not Terence. He strolled out with an arrogant, almost carefree air that had Evie swallowing a sigh. No wonder the dratted man couldn't hold on to a job. He apparently had a dreadful attitude toward every Englishman he met.

As Bridget scampered by, Evie stopped her with a touch on her arm. “I'll see you this Sunday evening for sewing class, I hope.”

“Aye, miss, you will, and that's a fact,” the girl all but babbled in her haste to be gone.

Evie nodded and let Bridget follow her companions. Their footsteps clattered on the stone floor of the corridor, then the slam of the back door signaled their departure. Silence fell over the room, broken only by the ticking of the small clock on the fireplace mantel and the hissing of banked coals in the grate.

She reluctantly met Will's eye, not because she feared his temper but because she hadn't seen him since that fraught scene last night. She'd been hoping to avoid him until after she'd had a chance to mend the breach with Michael and could assure Will that honor had been satisfied. Now, she was facing off with the man who assumed they would soon be wed. The fact that he was also the man who'd seen her half-dressed, her bosom overflowing her stays, didn't help matters.

Shifting from one foot to the other, she tried not to feel like a child found guilty of bad behavior. “How did you find out where I was?”

“Edie told me.” He propped his hands on his lean hips and shook his head with disgust, exactly as if she
were
a naughty child needing discipline. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“About what, exactly?” She would hedge her bets until she could determine how bad things were—such as whether Mamma had also discovered their ruse.

He scoffed. “What do you think? About switching identities with your lamentable twin. Edie's idea, I suppose.”

“Actually, it was mine.”

His eyes reflected his surprise, giving Evie a tiny surge of satisfaction. With Will, she usually felt two steps behind.

Not that her little victory truly mattered with disaster looming before her. “Does Mamma know? You didn't say anything, did you?” She couldn't keep a quaver of anxiety from her voice.

He shook his head and some of the tension seemed to drain from his big body. “Of course not, goose. I would never expose you in so reckless a manner to your dear mamma. The consequences don't bear thinking about.” The look of genuine horror on his face almost made her laugh.

Almost.

“In fact,” he continued, tilting his head to peruse her from head to toe, “I almost didn't see it myself. Edie's very good at impersonating you, although her manner wasn't entirely accurate.”

Evie was suddenly aware of how wobbly her legs felt. It probably resulted from a combination of anxiety and lack of sleep. She tottered to one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it. “We haven't done it since we were girls, so she's probably lost the hang of it.”

Will barked out a derisive laugh. “It was good enough to fool just about everyone, I assure you.”

“Then how did you know?” She knew her sister would not have betrayed her unless forced to.

“Alec saw it,” Will said, sounding disgusted. “Unlike me, he spotted the ruse right away, and from across the room, too.”

Evie widened her eyes. “How extraordinary. I must ask him how he managed it. His observations might come in useful next time.”

Will's eyes narrowed dangerously. “There had better not
be
a next time, Evie.” When she started to protest, he held up a hand. “We can quarrel about that later, if you like. By the way, what were that lot doing here tonight? Were you meeting with them?”

He'd gone back to sounding hard and suspicious rather than immensely irritated. She peered at him, puzzled by the switch.

“Evie, what were they meeting about?” he asked with exaggerated patience when she didn't respond right away.

She frowned. Why would Will even care? “Actually, I have no idea. I didn't ask.”

“That's just perfect,” he said. “Do you have any idea of what actually goes on around this place?”

She bolted up at that, anger giving her a fresh jolt of energy. “Of course I do, and I don't know how it could be your business, anyway.”

“Everything about you is my business, now that we're about to be married.” He sounded like he was strangling on the words. “Or have you forgotten that?”

“I haven't forgotten anything, but I do not agree with your assessment of the situation,” she said in a haughty voice. Then she glanced at the clock and felt light-headed again for the second time that evening. It was terribly late, and she needed to get home before her mother and sister returned from the ball.

“Confound it,” she said, sighing. “Will, I need to get home. Since you're here and acting so ridiculously protective, you might as well take me.”