Lord Lakehurst entered the breakfast parlor followed by Lord Malmsby, “What are you carrying on about, Candelstone?” Malmsby asked.
“The shooter. It’s Vizconde Miguel Carrasco-Torres!” he said with glee.
“Carrasco-Torres! Yesterday, you said Lady Blessingame killed him.”
Candelstone squirmed a bit, his lips pursing. “So, I lied,” he admitted. “I need her skills. The radicals that are threatening the country communicate in code. I need her to figure out their code.”
“What does needing her skills have to do with lying?”
“Guilt. She feels guilty. I can work with that,” he said sagely. “I can use that to get her to work with me.”
Nowlton rose from his chair. He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table. “Listen to me, Candelstone,” Nowlton said tersely, each word said distinctly. “Lady Blessingame will never work for you again.”
Candelstone sneered as he scoffed, “Gallery owner.”
“I’m not,” said Malmsby. “And I agree with Aidan. Lady Blessingame will never work for you again.”
Candelstone shook his head. “You are delusional. You think your title gives you any cachet to make that statement? Everyone knows you are an addle-pated academic. No one will listen to you.”
“Are you quite certain about that?” Malmsby asked conversationally. He picked up his coffee cup. Blew on the hot brew a moment. “I sought out Lord Castlereagh last night. Discovered he’s the person who has asked you to create a secret service to investigate and stop these radical groups before they become a problem. He’s even secretly funding it.” The Duke sipped his coffee.
“What?” Aidan and Lord Lakehurst exclaimed.
Candelstone smiled. “Yes. I don’t know how you got that out of him, but that is true. And that is why I will have Lady Blessingame work with us. I have Lord Castlereagh’s blessing on this.”
The Duke shook his head. “Not anymore, you don’t. Castlereagh can’t afford to show his hand yet as to his attitude toward the radicals. Not everyone in government agrees to the need for an aggressive approach to these nascent anti-technology radical groups, thus the secret service.”
Lord Lakehurst grinned as he dug into his rasher of ham.
Aidan relaxed back into his seat. He didn’t know what his brother had done, but he had faith in him. He hadn’t seen that canny expression on his face since he was a child. Back then, it always meant Lord Malmsby had pulled off a counter strategy to one of their mother’s pranks. Aidan was delighted to see his brother hadn’t totally forgotten his ‘other’ talents. And it looked like his sister Catherine agreed, for her eyes grew round and she raised a hand to her lips.
Candelstone looked around the table, his eyes landing on his wife. He must have had some inkling of concern by his wife’s reaction. Candelstone’s eyes narrowed. Aidan figured he’d just figured out he might have been checkmated.
“Spit it out, Malmsby,” Candelstone said irritably.
“I also spoke to Lord Liverpool last evening.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? He is not behind everything Lord Castlereagh does. Now that the war is over, he would like an opportunity to remove him from his position.”
“You told him about the secret service?”
“No. Not yet, at least. I am a proponent of new technology and don’t like what the radicals think is the solution, destroying the machines. I believe in education and new jobs, new kinds of jobs. But I dislike inviting men to skulk around to stir up trouble. That is your favored method of taking out the radicals. Encourage them to act so you can capture them when they do. Many would not act if not encouraged. They shout ideas and complaints to hear how they sound to their ears and the ears of others long before they decide to take action or not. And some never do.”
“That’s a naïve sentiment,” growled Candelstone.
“Is it? It is ascribed to by Lord Liverpool, though.”
Candelstone glared at him. “All right. I shall leave Lady Blessingame alone. I’ll not pressure her to work for me. Bloody damn waste of talent, though.”
“I’m afraid that is not good enough, now,” said Malmsby, “now that I know the minds of Lord Liverpool and Lord Castlereagh.”
“What do you mean?” Candelstone asked.
“Today, you will return to your townhouse to finish your recuperation. I have it on very good accord that they will offer you a secret diplomatic mission of your own. Out of the country. It should take you less than a year to complete. I am assured that by the time you return, a plan will be in place and an organization created to monitor and take care of radicals with no help from you.”
“How dare you meddle in my work!” demanded Candelstone.
