Persuasion (12 page)

He hated deceiving Amelia.

But she could never learn the truth.

He could not tell her he had been sent to France to spy for Pitt and his cronies, and that he had been deeply embedded in the revolutionary government in Paris. Nor could he tell her that he had made a terrible mistake. He could not tell her that he played both sides, and that he did not know how the game would end. He would never tell her that he would sell out his own country—if he had to—to protect his sons.

She would never understand his offering his talents and services to the Jacobins. She would think him a coward—and rightly so.

God, she would finally despise him!

His heart raced. She continued to admire him. He was experienced enough to realize that. But if she ever learned the truth, she would finally lose her faith in him.

Oddly, he so needed her faith!

If she ever learned the truth, she would be in danger. He desperately hoped that he had not put her in danger already, by bringing her to London with him. But she was only the housekeeper. No one would ever guess that they shared a past, that they had almost become lovers once, or that they were friends. No one could possibly know that he needed her as a friend and wanted her in his bed. No one would ever know that she held a very significant place in his life.

Except he had addressed her as Amelia that morning, in front of the young servant. It had been a terrible slip of the tongue.

Servants gossiped. He was going to have to be much more careful.

And he thought of the simple breakfast she had served, the table set as if for a state dinner. She had gone to so much trouble, and she had been so pleased to seat him and his boys at the table.

At eleven, she had insisted upon serving an elaborate meal of eggs, sausages, ham and too many side dishes to count. How had she managed that? He still did not know. But when he had looked at her, wondering if she had defied him and if she had been in the kitchens, cooking like a servant, she had smiled sweetly and denied it.

There had been another slip. He had asked her if she wished to sit with them. He hadn’t considered the invitation or what it meant—noblemen did not invite housekeepers to dine—and she had swiftly refused.

It would have been natural for her to have joined them at the table. Her role as a housekeeper was not natural at all. He was going to have to be as careful in his own home now as he was outside of it. He was going to have to start to consider Amelia as a part of the dangerous game he played—in order to keep her out of jeopardy.

It had been hard, keeping his attention on his sons and his plate. He had kept watching her coming and going instead.

He realized that, in spite of these vast burdens, he was almost smiling, and just then, some of the weight lifted from his shoulders. His sons needed her. So he had made the right choice.

“I see that you are in a good disposition today.”

Simon started at the sound of Sebastian Warlock’s slightly amused tone. He had been so preoccupied that he had not seen the spymaster approach, astride his black gelding. “Hello, Warlock. You are deluded. I am never in a good disposition—or haven’t you heard?”

Warlock’s mouth curled. He was a tall, taciturn man with an open disdain for fashion. He was somberly clad as usual, in a black-velvet coat, dark breeches and riding boots. His dark hair was pulled back and he wore a bicorne hat. He was darkly handsome, and the ladies passing by gave him a second glance.

“I believe I saw you smiling. Not that I blame you. The fresh air must be invigorating—after Paris.”

Was that a jab? Simon wondered. Was he referring to Simon’s incarceration? Simon had no intention of mentioning it, for if the spymaster did not know he had been imprisoned, it would be for the best. It would be harder for Warlock to ever discover the extent of his duplicity. On the other hand, the spymaster seemed to know everything. “I am enjoying my new mare and a perfectly pleasing spring day.”

“Let’s tether the horses,” Warlock said, and it was not a suggestion. He halted and dismounted.

Simon followed suit. They walked their mounts off of the path and toward a grove of oak trees, where they tied them to a branch. “I have missed town,” Simon said, simply making conversation.

“I can imagine that you have. I am very sorry for your loss, Grenville.”

He shrugged. “She was too young to die.”

“They are always too young to die.”

“Yes, they are.” He knew they were both thinking of the innocent victims of the war and the revolution. His stomach curdled.

“I do not think a regime of terror can live on indefinitely.” Warlock had begun to stroll toward a pond. Simon followed. “Tyrants always fall.”

“There are divisions within
le Comité
and within the Commune,” Simon said, referring to Robespierre’s governing committee and the Parisian city government. “But no one is safe from suspicion. Everyone fears a knock on the door in the middle of the night.” How calm he sounded!

“As you did?”

Simon tensed. “I would have been a fool not to fear being discovered.”

Warlock halted, as did Simon. The hairs in his nape rose as Warlock said softly, “What do you have for me, Grenville?”

He knew, Simon thought, with a sinking sensation. He knew he had been imprisoned, and he was a brilliant man. If he hadn’t figured out how Simon had gotten out of prison and then out of France, he soon would.

He knew he could not gamble now. There was a chance that Warlock did not know of his incarceration, but his every instinct told him that was not the case. Therefore, he must begin to reveal parts of the truth....

“I did not expect to ever return home,” Simon said carefully.

“And I did not expect to ever see you again.” Warlock stared.

“So you knew I was incarcerated?” He tried to forget that dark, dank prison cell, no easy task, when he dreamed so vividly of it every night.

“It is my business to know such things. You are one of my men. I was told on December 24 that you had been imprisoned four days earlier. I was dismayed.”

Of course he was. “The moment I returned to France, at the end of November, I was certain I was being watched and followed,” Simon said tersely.

“But you were imprisoned anyway.”

“Yes. They seized me when I was least expecting it.”

“How did you escape the guillotine?” Warlock asked, as if they were discussing a horse race.

“I used the relationship between Jourdan and St. Just to my advantage. I assured
les Enragés
that, as Jourdan, I would be welcome at my cousin’s home in London. I told them that St. Just would take me into his home with open arms. ‘Jourdan’ would then be able to move about London’s highest Tory circles without suspicion. I promised them that I would provide them with invaluable information.” Simon realized he was sweating. He had just told Warlock almost everything—except that he did not know on which side he would end up.

Warlock was calm. “That was clever of you, Simon, damnably clever.”

“One finds brilliance when one is about to lose one’s head.”

“And will you provide them with invaluable information?” Warlock asked.

“Of course I will!” He was sharp. “Otherwise they will hunt me down, Warlock, and murder me. Worse, they could realize who I really am and take revenge upon my sons.”

Warlock was not affected by his outburst. “But of course, you will only give them information I approve.”

“Of course,” Simon lied. “I am many things, but I am a patriot.”

“Yes, you are a patriot,” Warlock said, as if musing. “Have you established Jourdan’s presence here in London?”

“He has taken a room at the London Arms, and I am certain the innkeeper has seen him coming and going several times.” It had been necessary to find a residence for his alter identity, as he could hardly claim that Jourdan was staying with St. Just.

“Good.” Warlock smiled. “And your means of contacting Jourdan’s cronies?”

He hardly wished to share such information with Warlock, so he lied. “I have yet to be given those instructions. They know I am at the Arms, and they are clever and cautious.”

“Keep me posted, then. You do know that I need you back in Paris, sooner rather than later?”

He was ill. “I had assumed so.”

“We must exploit the factions within
le Comité,
” Warlock said matter-of-factly. “As you must know, there have been attempts to organize an opposition to Robespierre.”

“You have other agents in place.”

“I do, but I do not have anyone inside
le Comité.
Weren’t you presented to them as Jourdan?”

He froze. Warlock knew that Lafleur had brought him before Robespierre and his committee. What else did he know?

“How hard would it be for you to speak personally with Robespierre? You are, Grenville, invaluable to me.”

He wet his lips. “Of course I will do my duty, Warlock. But Elizabeth just passed. My sons need me now.”

“I did not mean that you must return tomorrow. Besides, before you go, you must establish Jourdan’s loyalty to
les Enragés.
”

He was sweating even more profusely. So there would be a respite, if one could call playing both sides a respite. “They will be expecting information soon—before the Allied invasion of Flanders.”

“And we will give them some tidbit to make them happy.” Warlock’s eyes glittered. He was, Simon thought with sudden fury, enjoying himself. And he knew beyond any doubt that Warlock would use him ruthlessly, to play out all of his spy games. He also knew that Warlock would realize the extent of his loyalty, sooner or later, if he were not very careful.

“I have children,” he said harshly. “I have to prove my loyalty, Warlock, for my own reasons. I have to give them something genuine, without compromising our war effort.”

“I know. And we will give them something of value, but we can also take from them, as well.” Warlock’s smile was hard. “You are far too well placed now, Grenville. You are caught squarely in the middle. You have the ear of everyone. It is almost perfect—I could have hardly arranged such a brilliant scenario, if I had wanted to.”

Simon knew he meant his every word; he was thrilled that Simon was in such a terrible position. “I am happy to play your games—as long as my sons remain safe.”

“I know that,” Warlock said. “Let me chart out some options for us. But you will have a tasty morsel to give to our French friends before we invade Flanders. And by the time you return to France, Jourdan will be a revolutionary hero.”

Simon did not move. Too much tension immobilized him. Warlock patted his shoulder and walked back to his horse. Simon stared after him.

Warlock was brilliant, but their interests were not one and the same. Simon would put the lives of his children first. Warlock would always put Great Britain first. He was going to have to outwit the spymaster in the end—for the sake of his children.

Warlock had mounted. He saluted him and cantered off. Weighed down by these games, Simon went to his own horse, untying the reins.

If Warlock had his way, he would go back to France within the next six months. He would love to help the Republic fall, but he would never survive. He would be found out. He suddenly knew it the way he knew that the sun would soon set and the moon would rise.

But if his sons were safe, would it matter? Could he keep them safe? For their safety was all that mattered.

If he did not return, the boys would have Amelia to watch out for them.

So there was some small consolation in this terrible world.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“M
ISS
G
REYSTONE
? Y
OUR
mother has arrived. She is in the front hall with Mrs. Murdock. I see that supper is under way?”

Amelia was in the kitchen with Jane, Jane’s aunt Maggie and Harold. Her sleeves were rolled up and she wore the same apron she had used all day. Just then, she was peering into the oven to check on the condition of four roasting guinea hens. But her heart leaped wildly when she heard Lloyd, and she whirled.

She felt how wide her smile was. Lucille was back! She had missed her so.

And of course she was always glad to see Momma.

She began to remove her apron. “Supper will be served in an hour, Lloyd. I hope you had a comfortable journey?”

He rushed into the kitchens. “It was very comfortable,” he said, greeting Jane’s aunt.

Amelia only meant to supervise the preparation of supper for Grenville and the boys, but the truth of the matter was that she enjoyed cooking, just as she had always enjoyed taking care of her family—just as she was enjoying taking care of Grenville’s family. She knew she should not interfere, but she said to Maggie, “If you mix salt, pepper and thyme with the bread crumbs, it will make the bean casserole delicious.”

Jane’s aunt looked at her and said, “That is a wonderful idea, Miss Greystone.”

Pleased that Maggie did not dispute her, she added, “And maybe we should take the hens out and let them rest for a while.” She did not want them overcooked. She had already explained to Maggie how to make a cognac and raspberry glaze for the hens, to be served on the side, of course.

Maggie smiled at her and told Harold to remove the hens.

“I will be right back,” Amelia said, her heart racing wildly. She had been anticipating this moment all day. She had missed Lucille so much it was as if she were her own daughter.

Her mother was with Garrett in the entry hall, her eyes wide as she took in the lavish surroundings. Mrs. Murdock was with them, Lucille in her arms. William and John had come downstairs to greet them. John was chatting eagerly with Signor Barelli, telling him about their outing that day to Piccadilly Circus, while William was looking carefully at his sister. “Is she smiling at me?” he asked.

Her heart turned over. Grenville had vanished that afternoon, and she had decided it was more important to take the boys for a stroll than to continue organizing the house. They had browsed in shop windows, purchased some sweets from the confectioner and sat for a while on a park bench, watching the elegant passersby. She had loved every moment spent with the boys.

She had to be careful, she thought, or she would fall in love with the boys and that little girl. After all, they were not her family and she was just a friend and a housekeeper. She knew the day of reckoning must come. She and Grenville had yet to sit down to discuss anything. They had not discussed the boys’ studies or their other activities; they had not discussed Lucille or her future.

“Momma!” Amelia cried, hurrying across the room. She hugged her. “You are finally here! How was your trip?”

“Oh, it was very pleasant, Amelia, but my, are we really staying here?” her mother cried, ogling the overhead chandelier. It was the size of a grand piano.

“Yes, we are really staying here.” She smiled, glancing at Garrett. “Momma’s room is on the second floor in that wing. It is yellow and white.”

She had not discussed their accommodations with Grenville, so she had chosen a smaller guest bedroom at the end of the hall in the east wing for Momma. It adjoined another small bedchamber, which she would take for herself. Although hardly as luxurious as the room she had first been given, the chambers were much more comfortable than those in their own home.

“I cannot wait to see my room,” Momma cried excitedly.

She was so lucid today, Amelia thought, turning to Mrs. Murdock. “How are you? How is the baby?”

Mrs. Murdock handed the infant to her. “She has been the perfect traveler, Miss Greystone. She has fussed a bit now and then, but mostly, she has slept.”

Amelia cuddled Lucille to her bosom. The infant was wide-awake and she was gazing raptly at her with her big blue eyes. “Oh, I have missed her!” She rocked her and smiled. “I was worried. I am so glad to hear that the journey passed without incident.”

“She is a little angel,” Momma said.

Lloyd approached. “I want to thank you for organizing supper, Miss Greystone.”

“It was my pleasure. If you do not mind, I would like to oversee the family’s meals on a daily basis.” They both knew a housekeeper’s duties did not necessarily include such supervision. Her duties could strictly pertain to the running of the house. “And every room in this house has been aired and cleaned. I think you will be pleased.”

He looked relieved. “I am pleased, and I do not mind your preparing our daily menus. Lady Grenville did so herself. I will check on his lordship. He prefers to have a glass of wine before supper, in the library.”

Was that where Grenville was? She hadn’t seen him since that morning. Supper would soon be served and it would be very pleasing. She would dine with Momma separately, in their rooms. She would make certain the kitchens were spotless before she allowed the staff to retire for the night. But she wanted to spend some time with Lucille now. She hoped to feed her. She supposed that if she sat down, she would realize she was exhausted, but just then, she was acutely alert.

She looked down at the baby. She was already in love with the infant. But how could she not adore this tiny, motherless child?

Lucille had no mother, and she did not know who her father was. For all intents and purposes, it was Grenville. Many genteel homes had an illegitimate offspring or two within their midst. It was not uncommon for either the lord or the lady of the house to have had an affair and to wind up with the custody of his or her bastard; usually the other spouse pretended the child was his, when the whole world knew the truth. Did Grenville intend to raise Lucille as his own daughter? Did he intend to contact the father—if he even knew who that was? Had he even spared a thought to Lucille and her future?

He probably did not even know that she had been named.

She wondered if she dared take Lucille into the library with her, to introduce Grenville to her. She was afraid he might become angry if she dared to attempt to reconcile him to Elizabeth’s daughter. But if Lucille were to remain in the house, he would have to meet her and accept her, at least as his wife’s child. He certainly had a duty to her.

He would not throw her out of his home, would he? She refused to believe he would do anything that horrid.

She kissed Lucille’s forehead, then she handed the baby back to Mrs. Murdock. “I am going to speak with his lordship. There are a number of matters we need to discuss, and I haven’t had a spare moment all day.”

Mrs. Murdock smiled. “The house feels as if it has been open for months and months. It’s as if a happy, loving family lives here now. How odd!”

Amelia started.

Mrs. Murdock said, “It wasn’t a very happy place when we left, Miss Greystone. It was dark and dismal. Everyone was worried and sad. She cried so frequently. So did John.”

Amelia imagined that Lady Grenville had been beside herself, carrying another man’s child and knowing that, sooner or later, she would have to face Grenville. That kind of tension would certainly affect the entire household. “This is a new beginning,” she said firmly. “Lady Grenville’s death is a tragedy. We are all sad that she has passed. But we must go forward, and eagerly. It is a new, bright day.”

Mrs. Murdock smiled. “Yes, I am beginning to think so. Will you come up to feed her at seven?”

Her heart skipped. “I would not miss her feeding for the entire world!”

“I thought so.” Mrs. Murdock gave her a knowing look. “Good luck, dear,” she said, as if she knew that Amelia meant to confront the lion in his den.

Amelia turned to both boys. “Will you go up with Signor Barelli? You must clean up before supper. Supper is at seven.”

The Italian tutor told her he would make certain that they washed their hands and donned their coats. Amelia smiled, watching him herd the boys out.

She turned to her mother and Garrett. “I will be up shortly, Momma. Why don’t you get rested before we dine? We will do so in your room. How lovely will that be?”

“Oh, I am so happy, Amelia, it is as if the past decades have never happened!” She hugged her daughter, hard.

Amelia sobered. She had always thought that her mother’s losing touch had been a reaction to her father leaving them. She had always wondered if her mother simply could not deal with the pain of the present, and thus had to slip away into the past. “I am glad,” she said, patting her back.

She watched Garrett lead her mother away. Then her smile faded. She was nervous, but that was absurd. Grenville was an adult. Surely by now, his feelings for Lucille had dissipated. After all, the child was the innocent victim in all of this.

The teakwood library doors were wide open, as they had been last night. And suddenly she recalled the drink they had shared. She had had no right to spend that time with him, alone and at such a late hour, whether they were friends or not.

As suddenly, she recalled his touching her cheek, very inappropriately, that morning, when they had failed to locate any intruder.

She felt her cheeks warm.

“Are you looking for me?”

She had paused on the threshold of the library. Now, she looked up.

Grenville sat at his desk, apparently reading from a sheaf of papers. He was staring at her, his gaze riveted and intense.

Her heart lurched wildly. Oh, she was not immune to him, and perhaps she never would be!

He wore a beautiful emerald-green coat with gold embroidery. His hair had been pulled carefully back. Lace frothed at his throat and over his hands. Rings glinted there; he wore an emerald on one hand, an onyx on the other. He was beautiful and masculine, and waves of authority and power emanated from him.

She suddenly felt so drab. She was in the same tired dress she had put on that morning, suitable for a day spent opening up a house that had been closed for several months. It was more gray than blue, made of heavy cotton. The elbows of her long sleeves were almost worn through, and there was a tear in the hem of her skirts. She wondered if her hair was coming down. She had arranged it into numerous braided coils.

I must look exactly like a housekeeper,
she thought.

“Amelia?” He smiled slightly and stood. “I understand that you have been very busy today.”

She came inside, noticing that he looked very tired. “I hope you will be pleased. We have aired every room. Most have been cleaned. And Jane’s aunt has made a lavish meal. In fact, I am so impressed with her that I am hoping we might find a position for her in the kitchens.”

“If you wish to hire her, then she is hired.”

What did that mean? she wondered, trembling. “Do you wish for references?”

“No. If you think she will be a suitable addition to the staff, then so be it. I have faith in your judgment,” he said.

“I am flattered.”

“It is not flattery. The house seems to be in perfect condition, Amelia, and you have been here for a single day.”

She was thrilled by his praise—and by the warm look in his eyes. “It is hardly as if the house were falling down, or as if it had been closed up for years. A few of the rooms were musty, and the pantry was rather bare, that is all. Oh! I was wondering if you would mind if we refurbished the boys’ bedchamber. The furnishings are suitable for John, but not for William. I think he would be pleased if the room were entirely redone.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind. You know, I saw the boys when I came in, and they could not stop talking about you.”

“I took them for a walk today.”

“I know. They adore you, Amelia.”

She hesitated. “I am already so very fond of them.”

Their gazes locked. He finally looked away and said, “They began to tell me about the smugglers of Sennen Cove.”

She laughed. “I told them some tall tales of my ancestors’ legendary exploits.”

Smiling, he said, “John has declared that he wishes to be a smuggler.”

“Oh, no!” she cried, but she was smiling, too.

“I am sure he will realize the folly of his ways when he is an adult.”

“Jack has never realized the folly of his ways.”

“How is Jack, by the way?”

She hesitated. “He has not changed, Simon.”

He stared down at his desk. Then he looked up. “So he continues to smuggle, in a time of war? If so, he must elude two navies, not one.”

She twisted her hands. She so wanted to share her fears with him. “It is worse than that,” she said softly. “Jack is running our blockade of France.”

Grenville made a harsh sound. “If he is caught, he will hang! He is as reckless as ever. And how could he think to help the French republicans?”

“He is only thinking of the profit he is making,” she said defensively. “He has also helped several émigré families reach British shores.”

“I am glad to hear that.” He left his desk. “Do you wish for a glass of wine or a sherry before supper? I am ready for a drink.”

She felt so prim now. “Grenville, I can hardly imbibe at this hour.”

He was pouring a glass of red wine. He gave her an amused look. “Of course not. Your day is not yet done. It is not bedtime.”

She flushed. “I am sorry I ever told you that I sip a brandy before bed.”

“I’m not.”

Was he laughing? She hoped so. “When you smile like that, your eyes lighten and it is as if you have shed the weight of the world!”

“You are being fanciful,” he said, scowling. “I am not carrying the weight of the world, Amelia, just that of a small earldom and my family.”

Why had her comment upset him? Sometimes his behavior was so odd.

Grenville walked over to the sofa, gestured at her and sat. “Have you spoken with Lucas yet? Does he know you have taken up this position?”

Amelia sat down in an adjacent chair. “I haven’t had the chance to speak with Lucas. He wanted me to move to town, but I imagine he will be surprised when he learns that I am your housekeeper.”