Had he been so careless in who he befriended?
“You spent as much time with widows and lightskirts, and foolish dandies, but my man watching you was quite diligent, and it soon became clear.”
“Man watching me?” He had been followed. “Why?”
“Because I wanted to make certain information that came to me was accurate,” his father answered.
“What information? And who would tell you such ridiculous stories to begin with?” Julian’s heart pounded with the thought that if his father knew, who else had realized.
“A man named Carlysle assumed I knew of your position with the Alien Office. I was surprised that the information had been kept from me, so I had you investigated.” His father smirked. “Conversations overheard were quite revealing. I had not thought you were capable of such duplicity. I am to understand that you are quite gifted at simple conversations in which you were able to gain information without the other person ever realizing they provided it.”
Bloody Hell! Carlysle had once been employed by the Home Office and then disappeared nearly a year ago. He had wanted to be part of the Devils of Dalston, though Julian couldn’t understand why since the gentlemen in that group were considered wastrels, as his father had said. Rakes who would never reform. Enjoyable to flirt with, but not to be taken seriously.
“It is not only you, but all the Devils of Dalston. Rakes, rogues, worthless to Society, while secretly working for the Crown, spying on English citizens.”
“What do you mean?” Julian asked slowly. How much damage had been done? Nobody but a few people knew the truth about the Devils.
“Pickmore was an officer with the Army. An exploring officer who specialized in reconnaissance before he returned to England. Likely he will be sent to an area of unrest or where there are concerns of an uprising as he is not as well known as the rest of you.”
His friend would probably be assigned where there were likely to be riots, either in England or Ireland. That wasn’t what concerned Julian, but how much Carlysle had told him before he disappeared.
“Kilsyth uses his position of studying dialects to train others, and teach foreign languages, especially where French troops are located.”
Julian’s stomach tightened, but he knew his facial features were giving nothing away.
“Lennox, who was often at your side, was equally talented in gaining information in the ballrooms, brothels and gaming dens,” his father said. “Who I found most interesting was Keegan. I understand that he is an expert in disguises and can speak several languages. He often travels between England and France and delivers messages of import to those planning campaigns to oust Napoleon on the Continent. Much like Louis Bayard in the days of the Revolution.”
How did his father know about Bayard? There had only been rumors of the Frenchman, who was also a master of disguise and had managed to help several French émigrés find their way to England.
Julian did not know where Carlysle was, but once he left Ashford Place, he would go directly to the Home Office to advise them of what the spy was up to so that he could be dealt with.
“Once I knew what Clark and Darton were about, I found much more enjoyment in their scandalous gossip sheets and began to decipher some of their coding for information myself. I am to understand that the newssheets are delivered all through England, Scotland and Ireland.” He chuckled. “Even France, though the news is received later there.”
It was becoming more and more difficult to remain calm and non-reactive to what his father was saying. He knew too much. Way too much.
“As for what Sellers and McNaught are doing, I am not certain, but I understand that they spend much of their time watching French ports, retrieving and reporting information.”
“Why does any of this matter, even if it were true?” He tried to be dismissive of the information.
“Because, if you do not marry Miss Hooper, I will make certain all your secrets, and theirs are exposed. I will see the Devils of Dalston revealed for who they truly are.”
He could not be serious. Such an act was treason.
“A few, carefully crafted sentences whispered in the ears of prominent matrons will likely bring down the Devils of Dalston in less than a sennight.”
“I will see that you hang for such treachery.” Julian was no longer pretending that his father wasn’t speaking the truth.
“How would you ever prove that it was me? Others will do my bidding without me ever leaving Ashford Place.”
Julian knew that to be the truth as well. His father manipulated situations and people, and no doubt, he had already arranged for the gossip, which would be more fact than innuendo, and would see them all ruined. Not to mention that a carefully placed network for gathering information would be destroyed. It could take years to replace someone like Keegan and the others. Julian being gone from a ballroom and no longer flirting with French wives would be of little consequence, but Darton and Clark’s newssheets would be useless once everyone knew what to look for. Agents stationed all over England relied on them for information, orders and missions.
If it were anyone else, Julian would dismiss his father’s threats because he couldn’t imagine that anyone would want to weaken England in her fight against Napoleon. Except, he also knew that his father cared only for himself, his legacy and that his heir come from the favored son.
If he refused to do his father’s bidding, Julian would put his friends in danger. He’d put England in danger, and they may lose whatever leverage they had ever gained over Napoleon.
Julian was going to be ill. The ramifications were even beyond what he may be aware of. Only his superiors knew how all was linked, and who received the messages in the newssheets. How many more could be affected besides the Devils?
His father had sunk low before, but this was the bottom of the pit, and he was sending Julian into hell for his own selfish purposes.
