“One can’t be sure, but I doubt it. Not their style. More likely just a couple of wastrels hoping to fill their pockets,” Scovell said. “But if the spies have become suspicious of you, that could stir the pot and force them to act.”
So he was to be a lure. He must remain wary. If the stolen plans were here in London, he’d do his best to find them.
“I’ve arranged for an invitation for you to a house party at Holland House on Saturday,” Scovell said. “The few days give you time to find out what goes on there. If there is anything relating to this theft, I’m sure you’ll discover it.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Be doubly careful and report as often as you see fit.” Scovell rose and stubbed out his cigar.
Damian finished his drink, put down the glass, and rose. Garth joined him and they filed out of the library to return to the ballroom. “Sounds like it could get nasty. Watch your back, old friend.”
“It’s not my intention to die from a traitor’s bullet on English soil if I can help it,” Damian said with a chuckle. But the thought gave him pause. This was not the war he wanted to fight. Because he was his father’s heir, the former earl had been strongly against Damian joining the army after he’d left university and had refused to buy him a commission. But, stultified by country life and yearning for excitement, when he’d met a fellow at Oxford who’d put this proposition to him, Damian had seen a chance to play his part in the war and grabbed it. After all, Luke could step into his shoes, should anything happen to him. This clandestine option suited him, although he believed facing the enemy on a battlefield was a nobler way to die. Some people, including Wellesley, who heavily depended on the spies’ intel, nonetheless viewed them with disdain.
Regrettably, it appeared he would have to give up his gentle pursuit of the fetching Lady Diana. The depth of disappointment this caused surprised him. There were many delightful ladies in London, many ripe for an affair, should he need a distraction. Besides, had he not told himself it wouldn’t be a good idea to pursue Lady Diana?
Damian went in search of her to explain why he could not meet her in the park. But she had left the ball. Too risky to send her a note. He hoped the lady would forgive him.
Chapter Three
Promptly, at nineo’clock on Saturday morning, Diana cantered her horse down leafy Rotten Row with Briggs, her father’s groom riding behind her at a discreet distance. Hyde Park lacked the challenge of galloping across the fields in the country. The dull ride was mind-numbing, but the exercise helped her keep her mind from dwelling on Anne. The cool air smelled of damp earth from a recent rain shower and gray clouds threatened more rain. There were few riders about, the usually busy South Carriage Drive almost deserted. Most of thetonslept late after a demanding night of engagements. A few gentlemen cantered past her as she rode, but Ballantine was not among them. Nor did he appear after she’d spent longer than she should have, waiting for him to arrive, especially when her father planned to leave within a few hours to attend the house party at Holland House. Finally, her face hot with indignation, she rode back to the stables, humiliated. Ballantine cared so little that he had not bothered to rise from his bed to meet her. She would not return to the park on Monday, hoping to see him. Fortunately, the house party was to last several days, so the temptation wouldn’t arise.
In her bedchamber at their Mayfair home, she quickly changed from her habit to the green carriage gown while her lady’s maid, Tims, added the last few things to her trunk.
Despite her disappointment in Ballantine failing to meet her, while she tied the strings of her bonnet, her mind remainedstubbornly on him. He wore his clothes with a casual elegance. There was none of the carefully turned out Bond Street beau about him. It was the purposeful expression in his eyes and the rich timber of his voice that drew her and caused a tingling in the pit of her stomach. Despite his powerful build, he had a lithe grace, as if confident in his own skin, but she didn’t find him arrogant. Diana had hoped he could be “the one,” which made his casual dismissal of her hurt even more.
She must search immediately for another gentleman, before her father surprised her with someone new from his list of suitors. Why were they always so disappointing? Too old, too fat, or chinless. One gentleman smelled of mothballs and snuff. Another had a foul breath. The one who’d been presentable, one might even say handsome, had repelled her when he’d stared over her shoulder as they’d danced. As if no effort had been necessary to win her. Horrified at marrying such a man, she’d behaved in a manner sure to dissuade him from the notion. She sighed. No one she’d met thus far could compare to Ballantine. Dancing with him had been sublime. The first time she’d been distracted from thinking of Anne. A rake, she had to remind herself, hoping it would dampen her attraction to him. Obviously, one could never trust rakes, or anything they said.
Well, he didn’t want her. She’d learned that lesson well and would move on to another who caught her eye. Unfortunately, it would be difficult to find one to measure up to Ballantine, whose attitude to marriage made him perfect, apart from his other excellent qualities which would prove useful in her search. But she remained undaunted. If she must share her life with someone she could never love, she intended to enjoy every moment of her freedom beforehand. And a lover would be more likely to agree to help her to find Anne. As long as he wasn’t a stiff-necked fellow who was intent on being correct in all things. Like those her father seemed to find for her. Diana thought themabout as attractive as limp lettuce. Any lover she chose must be at least attractive to her. Although perhaps not as much as Lord Ballantine was.
She huffed, still disappointed he had failed to keep their appointment. She simply didn’t have time for suitors. Her plan must be put into action before too much time had passed, and before Papa decided she must marry his current favorite. Where Anne was concerned, she didn’t have a moment to spare! Too much time had passed already, and with all of these social engagements, she hadn’t had the freedom to attempt further investigation. Would the gentleman she sought be found at Holland House?
Two footmen took her trunk. Diana cast a quick glance in the cheval mirror. Satisfied with her appearance, she followed the footmen down.
Late that afternoon, she traveled with her father and grandmama in the coach. The two maids traveled with Papa’s valet in other carriage. The coach wended its way through the London streets to Holland House in Kensington, in a pleasing rural setting surrounded by green meadows and acres of sloping lawns. Once through the gates, the coach proceeded along a driveway bordered by trees and flowering shrubbery. A gust of wind stirred the leaves, and for some reason, a shiver of apprehension ran down her spine. As if something unexpected and exciting awaited her here.
“I must have a fire lit in my bedchamber,” Grandmama said. “Remember my rheumatism, Frederick.”
“I’ll order it immediately, Mama.” Her father removed his hat and smoothed a hand over his thick, silvery-brown hair, which still held a few streaks of burnished gold.
Their coach joined several others in a queue, waiting to deposit guests before the rambling, Gothic-styled old brick,stucco, and stone house, where footmen rushed about opening doors and carting away luggage.
Lady Holland’s house party promised a few days of pleasant company, as the Hollands invited the best poets, orators, and musicians. And there would be dancing. Papa had suggested some guests who might be of interest to her and voiced his opinion of the poet, Lord Byron.“He is a freethinker who expresses some sound theories, although I cannot agree with some of the things he does,”he’d said. “The ladies fawn over Byron’s romantic verse,” he added, as their coach jolted forward.
Grandmama patted the turban she’d first worn in 1790, which she’d insisted was still fashionable. “He behaves appallingly. The things they write about him in the newssheets are quite shocking!”
Diana believed Grandmama enjoyed salacious gossip more than she was prepared to admit. “I would like to meet him,” Diana said, horribly restless and looking for a distraction. She loved the bard’s poetry. As well as how controversial he was.
As they waited to alight, she peered out the window at the extensive gardens. A few sheep grazed on the lawns, painting a rustic picture. She wondered about the history of the old house and the Holland family who lived here. Considering that Henry Fox, the third Baron Holland, and Lady Elizabeth Holland were known supporters of Bonaparte, she wondered why her father had been invited. Perhaps because he was an artist of some renown. While she’d never heard him disparage the French general, she could not believe her father shared the Hollands’ views. She was completely behind Wellesley in his determination to remove Bonaparte from the world stage.
The horses finally pulled up before the imposing façade and a footman hurried over to assist them. Once her feet were on the ground, she looked around with a jolt of excitement. The rambling house in the intricate Jacobean style had stoodfor hundreds of years. Guests roamed the decorative, arched walkways along the front façade. Several turrets were framed against the sky high above.
It was a fascinating place. Her heart raced at the thought of finding someone here who might fit her needs. He would have to be exceptional, she decided, willing, and able to help her. She attempted to push thoughts of Lord Ballantine away again and failed miserably. Surely, after such a brief acquaintance, she could relegate him to the past.
In the hall, her father caused the usual fuss, ladies curtseying low and gentlemen bowing. Diana looked about the hall with interest, where three stone archways led into the interior of the house. The staircase was of intricately carved wood, the lacy effect on the plaster walls like nothing she’d seen before. What an unusual old mansion it was. Rather mysterious and romantic, which appealed to her, having been stirred by the romantic poets. People moved around her, directed to their chambers. Papa left her and Grandmama to converse with a gentleman whose wife blushed and batted her eyelashes at Papa. Women could be so foolish around her father.
While her grandmother engaged a woman in conversation, Diana glanced up at the guests descending the staircase. A tall, dark-haired man appeared walking along the landing above. Her pulse leaped. Ballantine, here? Framed by the low balustrade, he caught the eye of several ladies present in his dark-blue tailcoat and crisp, white cravat, a gray-and-white patterned waistcoat and buff-colored pantaloons. Diana patted her hair into place, afraid her bonnet had disordered its neat arrangement, and dragged in a gusty breath. Was this the reason he hadn’t come to meet her at the park? He might have sent a message. She would not allow him to see how his casual treatment of her had hurt and disappointed her.
*
