One
As one of King William IV’s most trusted intelligence agents, Raphael Augustin couldn’t deny that the discovery of a conspiracy to assassinate his Royal Majesty right under his very nose was at best embarrassing and worst…? Well, safe to say that twenty years earlier, it could very well have seen him clapped in irons and left to rot in his majesty’s dungeons. That’s if it hadn’t cost him his head.
Fortunately, the King had cause to thank Raphael for previously preventing two assassination attempts against members of the Royal Family and exposing a plot to smuggle weapons to Irish rebels.
But while such an exemplary record might have saved his head, it certainly hadn’t saved him from the blistering set down delivered by his majesty in the privacy of his bedchambers, after the garden party he’d been set to attend at the Duke of Blackmore’s country seat was summarily aborted due to a failed assassination attempt by his grace’s butler.
Neither had it helped that the man who’d ultimately saved the King’s life was another Frenchman.
Indeed, Raphael’s mood was further soured by the fact that as a result of said heroics, his countryman had spent the last four days on his deathbed, catapulting him from the hero of the day to hero of the decade.
And last but definitely not bloody least, Rafe had been left grinding his teeth after being instructed to offer Tristan Bernart a job once the investigation was finished…
Sighing, Raphael poured himself a large brandy from the decanter that had mysteriously appeared in his bedchamber two days earlier. There had been no note of explanation accompanying it, though Rafe suspected his royal set-down had been heard by everyone within a three-mile radius. Clearly, Nicholas Sinclair was not without sympathy. Which was just as it should be, since the whole bloody debacle had taken place under his roof.
Still, at least the King himself had finally departed with his entourage, leaving Raphael with the unenviable task of getting to the bottom of the whole deuced mess.
Lord Grey and the Duke of Wellington too had wasted no time before scurrying back to their own establishments, along with the rest of the guests – all evidently keen to ensure that they weren’t unwittingly harbouring any unidentifiedRevisionistsin their own households.
They would all be investigated by Raphael’s network of agents over the coming months, as would the counterfeit Comte d’Ansouis who’d already been taken into custody. But first, Rafe needed as much information as he could get from the men who’d stumbled upon the conspiracy in the first place. While there was no evidence to suggest theRevisionists’plot had anything to do with the July uprising in France a year earlier, the overthrowingof the French King Charles X and the ending of the Bourbon restoration had undeniably resulted in a surge of revolutionary activity across Europe. The connection might seem unlikely, but nevertheless it couldn’t be discounted without further investigation.
Unfortunately, getting an audience with the Duke of Blackmore was easier said than done. So far, Nicholas Sinclair had refused his request, citing the need for Tristan Bernart’s presence during the interview process.
Which left Rafe twiddling his thumbs with only the Duke’s in-laws for company. After three days, the Frenchman could only conclude that he’d never met a barmier family – and that was saying something, given that he’d lived in England since his parents had fled France during the Reign of Terror.
As a babe in arms, Raphael had had no idea that his family’s exile had been carefully orchestrated by the British Intelligence services. Neither was he cognisant of the fact that his father had been what amounted to a spy for the British since well before Rafe’s birth.
As minor French nobility, Etienne Augustin had enjoyed far more freedom for a much longer period than his wealthier counterparts, but perhaps inevitably, his name eventually came to the unfortunate attention of Jacobin fanatics, forcing him to escape with his family into the arms of France’s greatest enemy.
Raphael had been raised and educated in England with the specific purpose of one day returning to gather intelligence on French émigrés, royalist plots and the ever-shifting political landscape of post-revolutionary France.
By 1831, Rafe occupied a unique position in London society. Publicly, he was a charming courtier and cultural advisor, while secretly, he monitored the French émigré community for signs of sedition, tracked the movement of revolutionary sympathisers and managed a network of informants across both England and France.
Which was why the recently unveiledRevisionistplot had come as such a shock. In truth, Raphael hadn’t had even the faintest idea of their existence…
Henrietta loved all her cousins dearly, especially Roseanna and Francesca. The three of them had been close as children and were even more so now, though it had to be said that once they’d grown out of childish pursuits, Roseanna very often eschewed their threesome, preferring her own company. In truth, Henri had recently found herself a little worried that Rosie was turning into a recluse. Which just emphasised the old adage of never judging a book by its cover. How on earth her introverted cousin had managed to win the heart of a strikingly handsome Frenchman, who was apparently wealthy and certainlyno footman, while simultaneously helping prevent a treasonous plot against the King, Henrietta had no idea.
And now, seated on a blanket next to Blackmore’s lake watching them speaking together, Henrietta felt the first stirring of a completely unfamiliar emotion. Jealousy.
Frowning, she looked down at her lap, surprised to see her fingers twining themselves together. It felt as if they belonged to someone else.
How could she be jealous of her cousin’s happiness? It went against everything that made Henrietta who she was.
Indeed, she’d always prided herself on being both practical and sensible, but with a well-developed sense of curiosity and a compassionate streak that admittedly sometimes got out of hand – the sheer number of waifs and strays employed at Redstone House gave testament to that.
Jealousy though? That had never been part of her character. But now, staring down at her twisting hands, she found herself wondering what would have happened if she’d met Tristan Bernart earlier. Before Roseanna.
Why hadn’t her father introduced them? If he and Tristan had been friends and partners for as long as it was claimed, why had she never known about it? Biting her lip, Henrietta stilled her fingers and forced the uncomfortable feelings deep down inside. Her father had many business friends and acquaintances. It would have been strange indeed for him to introduce them all to his family.
Taking a deep breath, she looked up, making an effort to join in her cousins’ banter. Peter was showing Victoria how to skim a pebble across the lake. Hampered by her skirts, Tory had requested Lilyanna’s help in lifting the hem off the soft mud at the lake’s edge and, to everyone’s amusement, both women were in danger of tumbling directly into the cold water. Fortunately, Peter was able to drag them both away from the edge before disaster actually struck, but the accompanying hilarity had likely been heard back at the house.
As she watched, Henri found herself joining in the laughter, and to her relief, the unfamiliar jealousy faded. Shaking her head at her cousins’ antics, she found her eyes travelling once moreto the three figures standing in the distance. Clearly, Francesca was taking her role as chaperone very seriously, though she was facing away from the couple towards the lake.
Forcing her eyes away, Henrietta allowed her gaze to travel across the peaceful water. The day was warm but with the slightest hint of autumn, and the grounds were resplendent in their late summer adornment. Blackmore was beautiful at any time of the year and much grander than her family’s home in Torquay. The difference had never seemed to matter though, and the entire extended Shackleford family had spent many wonderful summers swimming in the lake and playing in the fields and meadows.
Abruptly, Henri’s gaze alighted on a small figure walking along the far edge of the lake. After a second, she realised it was the King’s man. The one left behind to supposedly get to the bottom of the conspiracy. So far, her uncle Nicholas had kept him at arm’s length due to Tristan Bernart’s injury, but Henrietta guessed that now the counterfeit footman was up and about, King William’s representative would want to hear about everything that had happened.
Watching the man’s progress, Henrietta found herself wondering about him. She’d barely paid him any attention, preferring not to catch the eye of someone rumoured to be a spy for the King – though what she thought would happen if they actually exchanged a sentence, she wasn’t entirely sure. It was merely that to her inexperienced eyes he looked dangerous. Though now she thought about it, she couldn’t actually remember anything about his features. In her efforts to avoid attracting his attention, she’d barely allowed herself to look at him, let alone speak. She didn’t even know his name.
