The count banged his glass down on the table, spilling its contents. He threw back his chair and strode to a pier table. He returned with a document he held out to Guy.
Guy took it from him and read the French words, which included his name and an accurate description of him, along with a detailed list of activities in which he never took part. What the French government accused him of would be considered treason by the British. His gut roiled in anger as he stared into Forney’s strange eyes. “This is all a tissue of lies!”
Forney’s thin lips stretched into a contemptuous smile. “It is not I who wrote it. As you see, it comes from a very reliable source.”
Guy flicked the paper. “How did this document fall into your hands?”
“I have not the least intention of telling you how I got it. I had hoped you’d be honest with me. After all, we are on the same side.”
Guy swallowed, the bile rising in his throat. Like his father, he believed in the sacredness of the hereditary monarchial government and wished to see the monarchy restored in France. The Revolution, which began with the good intentions of idealists, ended with the death of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. It had robbed him of his brother, and he’d witnessed firsthand the awful consequences of Bonaparte’s ambition. The past still gave him nightmares. He readThe French Foreign Officeheading once more. “This can’t be genuine. It is a forgery.”
“It describes you perfectly. See…” He pointed. “Guy Truesdale, Baron Fortescue of Rosecroft Hall, born in Paris on…”
“There’s no need to continue, I can read.” Guy thrust the document back at him. “But it’s a mistake, I tell you. Who is behind this? Name the person who gave you this.”
“That I cannot do.”
“You hand me that abomination of a document and won’t tell me who accuses me?”
Count Forney adjusted his cuffs. “Très bien. I see that we have nothing more to discuss.” He reached for the bell and summoned a servant. He and Guy eyed each other without attempting further conversation until the liveried footman entered.
“Show the baron out.”
The countess hovered, a splash of vivid emerald in the gray marble entrance hall. It appeared she was adept at listening at keyholes. “I had hoped we might see more of you, Lord Fortescue. It seems you have chosen to put your past behind you, which may prove to be the wrong decision.”
“I am not ashamed of my past, Countess Forney. You might examine your own more closely, as well as your loyalty to the country you’ve made your home.” Guy bowed and put on his hat, noting the angry downturn of her mouth as the butler opened the door for him.
Was he to be accused of sedition? His name besmirched before he could begin his life here? It was outlandish. Rage and frustration twisted inside him as he stepped out onto the road in search of a passing hackney.
When one stopped, he climbed in with a grimace of distaste. The straw on the floor was soiled, and the carriage smelled of stale sweat. He leaned back, crossed his arms trying to deal with his anger and frustration over what had just happened. Could he confide in Strathairn? The English government must be aware of this. Guy no longer considered it a coincidence when John came across him in that alleyway and rescued him from footpads. He needed time to think, to find out more before he could act upon it.
At Berkley Square the next day, Guy received a note from the constabulary at Bow Street. It advised him the man who attacked him was to appear before the magistrate on the morrow. Odd that he had been brought to London and not dealt with in the assizes. Guy read the brief missive again, in case he’d missed something, then crumpled it in his fist. Now that Forney had shown him the French document, it was even more imperative that he learn who was behind the attacks on his life. Were they connected? Perhaps, the man might be persuaded to say who put him up to it when placed before the magistrate. Then Guy could begin to make sense of all that had happened to him since he came to England.
Guy decided to confide in Strathairn. The next morning, he awaited John to return from his morning ride. The library was as well stocked as any he had seen. John’s father had been a keen reader of the classics.
Strathairn was a different beast to his scholarly father. He was a strong vigorous man of action who preferred to drink, gamble, and enjoy women rather than read. He strode into the library in riding clothes smelling of horse and threw himself down in one of a pair of oxblood leather chairs flanking the fireplace.
Guy wasted no time recalling his conversation with the count.
John’s eyes lit up with interest. He tapped his boot with his riding crop. “Did he reveal any more information? Any names?”
“Nothing. He clammed up.”
“A slippery figure, Forney is a known Bonapartist. He has been suspected of spying for the general during the war, but nothing was ever proven. Whitehall will be interested to learn of this.”
“Naturally, I’m anxious to get this matter sorted out. These attacks may be connected.”
John nodded. “You will visit Bow Street today?
“Oui.”
“You’ve heard from your sister?”
Guy nodded. “She has decided to come to England.”
“Go to Bow Street,” John said. “I will visit Horse Guards. My old regiment, the Seventh Hussars may have heard a whisper or two.”
Despite his anguish, Guy had to laugh. A whisper was a slight understatement. The Horse Guards housed the Grenadier Guards who guarded the Royal family. Frederick, the Duke of York, was their Commander-in-Chief. The most powerful men in England would seek information from them when they wished to learn of sub rosa activities. “I often wonder what you did during the war, John. Might you have been one of Wellington’s spies?”
