“Good,” the duchess said. “Then I’ll accompany you. Mr. Gillingham, will you tell the duke of my plans? I’ll meet with him back at home. And I would suggest you and Lady Lovell also take your leave. There is nothing else you can do here. The professionals will handle this and keep your friend safe.”
Aurora seemed to sag at that suggestion and pivoted back to hug Imogen tight again. “I wanted to…to save you today. To bring you home.”
Imogen clung to her all the tighter. “I’m so much closer to home now.”
It was true, of course. Up until half an hour ago, she was certain she would have to take a new name and leave London, perhaps even England, entirely. Now there was hope…at least for how this matter with Roddenbury and the Cat’s Companion would be resolved.
That was the gift her dearest friend had given, so she pulled back and kissed her cheek. “I adore you.” Then she glanced past her toward Gillingham. “Mr. Gillingham, I wish I had more time to get to the know the man who has held my friend’s heart for her entire life.”
He drew back, but there was a flicker of a smile that crossed his face. It was very much like the way Oscar did his half-smiles. That made her like this man all the more. As did his genuine tone when he said, “And I wish I had more time to get to know the friend she loves as a sister. But wewillhave that time in the future.”
“Yes,” Imogen said with a shaky smile. “I know we will.”
She was going to cry. She felt the burning in her chest and the pressure behind her eyes. She didn’t want Aurora to see that, to worry more than she already was. She pivoted toward Oscar and he held her stare, the beacon for her the darkness. She needed him now, more than she needed anyone else in the world. Even the best friend she loved so deeply.
He offered his uninjured arm to her and she took it, holding tightly as he guided her from the room with the Duchess of Willowby trailing behind them. Imogen moved with him through the halls toward the back of the club.
The butler who had greeted them earlier was waiting for them there. His expression was grim as he nodded to his master. “The arrangements have been made, Mr. Fitzhugh.”
“Very good,” Oscar’s voice was low and rough. “Reach out to Will as soon as I am gone. And tell him I’ll contact him as soon as possible, myself.”
“I shall. Be well, Mr. Fitzhugh. And to you, as well, Mrs. Huxley.”
Imogen hadn’t been expecting the kind words, nor the gentle nod in her direction. The tears that swelled threatened to fall even more immediately, and she bent her head. “Thank you. Goodbye.”
They stepped into the afternoon sunshine. So bright that it was almost offensive considering the day’s dark events. Oscar glanced over his shoulder. “You’ll give my man directions to your preferred location?”
The duchess eyed the driver. “He can be trusted?”
“He can,” Oscar said without hesitation as he handed Imogen up into the carriage and then slung himself in, as well. He said nothing as he took a place beside her on the bench and put his good arm around her. She said nothing either. What was there to be said? He had been forced to deal with the family he had cut himself away from. She was in more danger than ever, it seemed, and had placed so many people in it with her.
There would be time enough to digest all of that later. The duchess was helped into the carriage by a footman and the door closed behind her. Imogen sank her head onto Oscar’s uninjured shoulder as they began to drive toward the blurry future. For her. For them.
Chapter 21
Oscar wasn’t sure what he expected from the safe house the Duchess of Willowby had briefly described on their way here, but as they stepped into a small but perfectly appointed parlor, he knew it wasn’t this. It was a lovely townhouse in one of the quiet, middle-class neighborhoods in London. Many a sophisticated merchant lived on the tidy lane, some of whom were members of his own club.
Certainly it wasn’t the expected place for spies to hole up, waiting for danger to pass. He supposed that made it perfect for the job, as long as they weren’t recognized.
He pivoted to look at Imogen and could see her reading the room the same way he had as she crossed away from him. She smiled at him, a little distant, almost shy. But then, he’d felt that same hesitance the entire carriage ride here. He didn’t like it. He wanted it to stop.
“Imogen—” he began.
Before he could finish, the duchess entered the room, carrying a kit of some kind under her arm. She smiled at them both. “I hope the house will suit you.”
“It’s—it’s lovely,” Imogen said. “It seems very comfortable.”
“Excellent. Everything is prepared,” the duchess explained as she bustled around the room, checking the sideboard for its selection of drinks and the fire for how high it burned. “Our staff is carefully vetted and trained. They’re trustworthy and can protect you if it comes to that.”
“Physically?” Oscar said in disbelief.
The duchess nodded. “Indeed. And they’re always at the ready for unexpected situations, so the rooms are made up. There is a maid who can help you with preparations, my dear. And I’ll arrange for a gown or two to be sent to you in the morning, as well.”
“Thank you. You are very kind, Your Grace,” Imogen said softly, her gaze casting down to her gown. Only then did Oscar realized there were a few small streaks of blood on the fabric. His blood. A testament to how close he’d come to losing it all, and he didn’t mean his life.
The duchess smiled. “I think we’re all going to know each other well enough by the time this is over to forego the formality in private. You may call me Diana.”
“Is that some spy’s trick meant to put her at ease?” Oscar ground out, almost wanting to put himself between the duchess and Imogen as a shield, because as kind as she was, he didn’t fully trust her.
