“My goodness no. It’s Diana’s debut. I don’t intend to marry.”
“Oh, but you must, Helen,” Diana said.
“Not every woman must.”
Helen looked away from Diana’s concerned gaze. After her own Season ended in disaster some years ago, she’d reluctantly come to London and endured hot crammed ballrooms, Almack’s dances designed to marry one off, and horrid routs, while missing Bertie, her dog, and the beautiful spring at Cherrywood, their country home. She supposed at twenty-four she was fast becoming a spinster, but it ceased to worry her now that she had decided what her future would be. It lay ahead, soothing her as she tidied up the cake crumbs.
Diana gave a puzzled frown. “You seem to want so little from life, Helen. I remember how your first Season ended so regrettably, but you have discouraged several suitors since then. You would make a wonderful mother. Unlike me. Father says I’m adventurous while Mama accuses me of being too impetuous.”
“I’m sure they’re both right,” Toby said, leaping in with both feet and receiving a sharp poke in the side from Diana.
***
Jason, Captain, Lord Peyton, strode away through the trees of the park, a muscle tightening in his jaw. Still no sign of his informant. Had he met with foul play? If the man failed to turn up tomorrow, Jason would return to Whitehall and consult Lord Parnell, the Spymaster General, who’d pressured him to take this job. Jason hadn’t been involved in intelligence work since the Peninsular War, and he had little inclination to do more of it, but Parnell could be forceful, and even quite ruthless. He was not to be denied once he’d considered Jason best suited to investigate a member of the upper classes without detection.
Already an extremely reluctant participant in what seemed a hastily conjured-up mission, Jason had better things to do with his time than kicking his heels up in the park. Why his contact hadn’t suggested somewhere more discreet he didn’t know. A pub in the Seven Dials would have been wiser. Here, these big free-standing mansions along the Queen’s Walk would overlook them. For all he knew, he could have had a dozen curious eyes on him while he waited there. In fact, he’d caught sight of a fiery head at one of the upper-story windows. But that would most likely be a maid or a child in the nursery.
Details of their information were sketchy at best. Only that the informant was employed in one of the houses along the Walk. The arrangement was for the man to slip out and divulge some threat he’d uncovered that the government decided merited close examination. But where was he? Had it been a ruse? The man had asked particularly for Jason, whom he said he trusted. But Jason didn’t even know what position he held or from which of those big houses he came. It irked him to be so ill informed. As he only had the briefest connection to one or two of the inhabitants, Parnell would need to produce a viable reason for Jason to visit them.
Twenty minutes later, he entered his Mayfair townhouse in South Audley Street and relinquished his coat, hat, cane, and gloves into the arms of his butler, Russell.
“The post has come, my lord.”
Jason removed his mail from the silver salver on the pier table and headed up the sweep of stairs to the upper floors, scanning a scrawled missive from his brother, Charlie, up at Oxford. What scrape was he in now? Money, he supposed. It usually was.
His sister, Lizzie, appeared at the banister rail on the landing above him, her dark hair covered by a white lace cap tied at an angle under her chin. She’d forgone her widow weeds for half-mourning and wore a gray dress with bands of purple on the collar, hem, and cuffs.
“Jason, would you care to escort me to the Peckworths’ soiree this evening?”
“I’d be delighted.” He was pleased and somewhat relieved when Lizzie had come to London to stay with him, revealing an interest in Society again. He examined his sister’s peaky face. In contrast to her black hair, her skin was like alabaster. But the bruised look beneath her eyes, evidence of her profound sadness, had faded. Greywood had been gone for more than eighteen months. It was time to take her place in society again.
On the following afternoon, Jason took up his position in the park. Breathing in the smell of sun-drenched grasses, he leaned against a tree and pulled his younger brother’s letter from his pocket. Charlie was being sent down for some misdemeanor or other. He’d explain when he arrived. Jason still was unable to discern much from the hasty lines. How serious was it? Worse than the time he’d put itching powder in his tutor’s linen? Or when he’d missed a whole afternoon of lectures to take part in a rowing race on the Isis near Folly Bridge? The fact that he was the finest rower they’d had for years got him out of that one. This one might not be so easy. There was something final behind his words.
Again, no one approached Jason to identify himself. He studied his pocket watch and, with an annoyed shake of his head, returned it to his waistcoat pocket deciding to remain for only fifteen minutes more.
A dark-haired woman in a brown pelisse and straw bonnet, with a basket over her arm, cast him a sharp, inquiring look before entering the garden gate of the mansion in front of him. After greeting a young woman and a youth playing shuttlecock, she paused in conversation with a gardener raking leaves at the far corner of the lawn then disappeared through the servants’ door.
The young woman with curls the color of a copper pan caught Jason’s attention. She squealed and hit the shuttlecock over the net then stopped to look his way, as if seeking his praise.
Jason smiled and applauded.
The young gentleman, who was no more than fifteen, turned then, and Jason saw this as his chance.
He removed his hat and crossed the walk to their gate. “Lord Peyton. Good day to you.”
The pair dropped their bats and hurried over to him. Two pairs of intense blue eyes studied him. “We’ve seen you here before, my lord. May we be of help?” The young woman smiled. She was pretty, her bright curls coiled about her small ears beneath her bonnet. Had she been watching him from one of the upper-story windows yesterday?
Her blue eyes sparkled. “Were you waiting for someone? A lady perhaps?”
Startled, Jason clamped his lips down on a laugh. “I’m afraid not. Purely business. I’m from the Office of Works. I’m sure you’re aware that John Nash is renovating Buckingham Palace for the King, as well as Green Park.”
The boy opened the gate and stepped through. He offered his hand. “How do you do? I am Tobias Kinsey, and this is my sister, Lady Diana.”
Jason shook his hand. “Your father is Lawrence Kinsey, the scholar and explorer?”
“You’ve heard of him?” Lady Diana asked. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. Father’s work is well known.”
“We have met.” Jason recalled Lord Kinsey drawing him into conversation about the need for funding for some research trip at a dinner. Had all his children inherited his periwinkle blue eyes? Arresting in Lawrence Kinsey’s suntanned face when he’d aimed his forceful gaze at Jason and begged assistance. Jason had given it without hesitation. Such was the charm of the man. The elder son of the Marquess of Walcott, Kinsey was known to be brilliant if unconventional.
