“You mean the Captain might defend her honor? Why should he? It was all in the past. Mrs. Isherwood is likely rollicking through France by now with every comte in the place—or she’s long dead.”
“She is happily married,” I told him. “To a respectable gentleman. Grenville is correct—you should have a care.”
“Marguerite Isherwood is married?” Armitage’s mouth gaped open. “Are you certain?”
“I have met the man. Today, in fact. Mrs. Gibbons, as she is called now, seems quite content with him.”
Armitage’s mouth went even more slack. “Good Lord. You mean the wretched creature ishere?”
“Yes,” I answered, my anger rising. “I must ask you to please cease speaking of her altogether.”
Armitage continued to stare at me, then an expression of peculiar glee came over him. “Oh, but you don’t know, my dear fellow, do you?”
He was longing for me to sayKnow what?so I remained silent.
His expression turned to one of pity. “You truly donotknow, I see. Mrs. Isherwood—or Mrs. Gibbons, if the marriage is true—was a damned spy. Indeed, Captain, though you are amazed. She was never caught at it, but yes, she was a spy for the bloody Corsican.”
Chapter 11
The breeze that slid between the trees had a sudden icy bite.
“You are claiming Mrs. Gibbons worked for Bonaparte?” Grenville said as my mouth refused to move. “Again, I say, have a care Armitage. Slander can be costly.”
“Ha,” Armitage barked. “Why do you suppose Isherwood put her aside? Nothing could be proved, but he could not afford to have her near. Rumors about her would ruin his career, wouldn’t it?”
I at last found my voice. “I find this highly unlikely.”
“She had many an officer in her snare, both English and French,” Armitage said in enjoyment. “She passed information right under Wellington’s nose.”
His declaration gave me pause. I admitted I hadn’t known much about Marguerite, but she hadn’t seemed the sort to betray her country to Napoleon.
I remembered her as a vivacious woman but one devastated by the failure of her marriage. She’d been defiant but also hurt and dazed. Our conversations, what there had been of them, had been on any topicbutcavalry maneuvers or plans to push the French army out of Spain. Not that I would have been privy to such plans, in any case.
“She could hardly have pried important information from me,” I said. “I was a junior captain in Salamanca, never called in to discuss strategy. I never knew where I’d be going until the day of the battle. Even then it wasn’t always clear.”
Armitage’s eyes twinkled in the darkness. “Even so, Captain. She might have mistaken your importance—or perhaps she was simply taking her leisure with you. Her machinations no doubt wearied her after a time, and she sought amusement.”
He had the same irritating habit of tossing off insults as did Desjardins.
“You knew the Isherwoods well, did you?” I asked, drumming my fingers on the head of my walking stick.
“Barely at all. I encountered them socially from time to time, as Isherwood comes from an old and highly regarded family. But I heard quite a lot about them. Everyone did.”Except you, apparently, his amused look implied.
“In other words, you impugn her character without evidence,” I said.
Armitage gave me a mocking bow. “I have heard you are quite the gentleman with the ladies. The war is over now, but do not relax your guard. Women like Marguerite never cease. And you say she is here in Brighton?” This seemed to bother him, though he kept up the bonhomie.
“With her husband.”
“Whom you say is an ordinary chap. Ha. Probably a bloody spy as well.”
“I say, Armitage,” Grenville said in a pained voice. “You will find yourself on one end of a dueling green if you continue to fling such accusations about.”
Armitage let out a laugh. “I am joking, my friends. Speculation and amusement about a nobody. I trust none of our words tonight will be repeated?”
He cast a warning gaze at us both, the aristocrat commanding his inferiors.
Grenville’s quizzing glass was now at his eye. “Of course they will not be.” The iciness in his tone chilled the air. “It is never a question.”
