Chapter One
Lady Farnsworth ceased caring about the ton’s opinion after her husband, the baron, died. Within a month of his funeral, she took to dressing and behaving as she pleased. Three years later, generous members of society called her an original. The rest employed crueler words.
No one, however, approved of her bizarre decision to hire a female secretary. Some claimed it an indication that the lady had gone quite mad.
The secretary in question, Amanda Waverly, knew only gratitude for her employer’s rash act, especially since Lady Farnsworth had taken her on with only the thinnest of references. Amanda sometimes experienced relief along with gratitude, due to knowing more about her background and character than Lady Farnsworth ever would.
That history was in the back of Amanda’s mind while she worked at her desk in Lady Farnsworth’s library in late May. She used her fine hand to copy an essay that Lady Farnsworth had written. Her source document had seen many changes and cross-overs so she took great care to incorporate all of them in this draft.
The necessary concentration proved difficult because the loveliest breeze glided through the open library window. When she looked out, she could see Green Street and its activity, and the fine carriages that rolled toward Hyde Park. She liked the open carriages best, because they displayed the bonnets and ensembles worn by the ladies. Bits of conversation and gossip entered her window when they passed, but she enjoyed their carefree laughter the most. It created a little music that set her to humming one of her favorite songs.
Normally the view brought her contentment at how well her life had turned out, despite its beginnings. Today, however, that reaction sent her mind immediately to the letter in her reticule, and to an errand she had set for herself this afternoon.
That mission would surely end her advantageous situation should Lady Farnsworth ever learn the reason for it.
“Are you finished with that?”
Amanda looked up to see Lady Farnsworth bearing down on her. Dark of hair and eye and long into her middle years, the lady favored a type of dress that only increased the smug humor about her. Declaring that the high waists of the day looked sad on mature figures, she had taken to having dresses made that resembled those worn forty years ago.
Since she eschewed the corsets of yesteryear as too confining, these dresses made her appear more matronly than she ever would look in the latest fashions.
Over these laced, ruffled, and beribboned garments, she usually wrapped a long shawl. She flung one end of it over the opposing shoulder like a toga. Today, her ensemble consisted of rose raw silk adorned with blue embroidery and white lace, all beneath a multicolored wrap replete with a detailed pattern of pastel blooms. That shawl’s fabric bore an unfortunate similarity to the flowers that decorated the upholstered furniture in the chamber.
“I am almost finished.” Amanda focused on her pen. “Perhaps an hour more.”
“For the first draft? Are you unwell? Normally you are quicker.”
“There were many changes. I did complete the two letters, however.”
“Allow me to see.” A strong hand stretched under Amanda’s nose and snatched the papers. “Tosh. You do not need an hour. A quarter hour at best, and this is so well done that we will not require another draft. We will bring this one to the meeting.”
“We?”
“Did I neglect to tell you? I want you to accompany me so I can introduce you.” She directed a critical gaze at Amanda’s dress. “Why are you wearing that sad green thing? I gave you some of my dresses to have remade so you would not have to live in such an unflattering color.”
“I appreciate your gifts, truly. As you have seen before, I have made good use of them. I did not want to get ink all over one of them, however.” She spoke without faltering even though she had worn this old dress for a different reason and she always donned an apron anyway.
“It will have to do for our visit. No one there will care, but you are so lovely when you do not present yourself poorly.” Lady Farnsworth patted her head the way a kindly aunt might. “They all know what a treasure I have found in you, Miss Waverly, and how helpful and competent you are. That is all that will matter.”
“I had intended to do some shopping while you went to your meeting. Will that still be possible?”
“The shops near Bedford Square should suit your purposes. We will not need you for more than a quarter hour. Now finish that so we can depart in good time. Oh, and sign the letters for me. I daresay you do it even better than I do, and I do not want ink on my garments either.”
Need me for what?Amanda assumed all would be revealed in due time. A quarter of an hour’s worth. She prayed it would not take longer than that, although Bedford Square would be very convenient to her errand. So convenient that it seemed fortune had smiled on her.
She glanced at her simple knitted reticule. The letter inside, obtained from her mail drop yesterday evening, all but shouted its contents.
She had been too optimistic in thinking that by obeying one command, she might be spared more. An iron edge of rebellion spiked in her at how she was being used, and at the evidence that the scheme was not over yet. Until she learned the name of the person behind it all, she would have to comply, however. Her mother’s freedom, maybe even her life, depended upon her.
* * *
Gabriel St. James, Duke of Langford, fumed with impatience while his carriage slowly rolled east through town. At this pace, his visit would take all afternoon.
The slow progress soured a mood less than bright from the day’s events thus far. He was damned tired of people congratulating him on doing what was by birth and inheritance his duty. The smiles and acknowledgments were hellishly patronizing. Had he known that giving that speech in the House of Lords last week would result in so much smug approval, he would have drowned the notion in a bottle of good claret.
Now here he was, suffering because his younger brother had bought a house so far out of the way.
Why couldn’t Harry have remained right on hand in the family home? There certainly was plenty of space. Or if he insisted on misplaced notions of independence, he could have taken chambers or a house in Mayfair. But no, Harry had displayed his confounding eccentricity by choosing a townhome near the British Museum. It wasn’t as if he even needed to visit there. He had been so often that he probably knew every item in its inventory.
