Now she was on the cusp of her new life, and it was not unlike standing on the edge of a cliff. Jumping would either make her or break her, but she had to take the chance. It was too late to turn back now.
Just jump, Lucinda!
Chapter Five
It was aperfect night for spying.
There was no moon to reflect off his spyglasses. It had not rained that day, so the ground was not muddy and the bushes behind which he was hiding were not dripping moisture onto his head. A godsend considering one could be hiding in certain places in certain positions for many an hour.
He looked across the street and counted again the number of heads that passed behind the window, which he then checked against his list. Satisfied that he had all the correct information, Anthony Ashton rose from his position in Mrs. Hibbard’s front garden and brushed the earth from his knees. Dressed as he was in all black and shrouded in a black cloak, he represented something neither real nor imaginary. A specter in the night.
This was the last of his current mission. Mrs. Hibbard and her cronies would be arrested for their part in a smuggling ring come morning. He would be there when they were all questioned to attest to their honesty. It was his particular skill.
Not that any of his family knew what he did. So Anthony played his part, as did the other members of The Ring. Quiet in the knowledge that he was good at what he did, respected by his fellow spies and needed by his country. This part of his life was his own little secret, his own little white lie, his whole other life outside of the secure walls of his family.
It was a dangerous occupation to be sure, but one he thrived on. How else could he mix such different lives together? Wherecould he play a part only to leave it when he had discovered all he could or determined a certain amount of guilt? Being a younger son and therefore of little consequence in the scheme of things allowed him to have a certain amount of freedom, a certain amount of respectability and a dash of anonymity. It was as Stafford had put it,so very convenient.
Tony had returned from reporting his findings to Stafford and made his way home. Now his mission was Miss Sterling, but she was not his enemy. How to negotiate around this new duty? He had many missions involving women in his past, but they were not innocent debutantes, hell bent on marriage.
Downstairs, the butler intercepted him. “The dowager requests your presence in the morning room, my lord.”
“Thank you, Franklin.” He walked across the hall and opened the doors to see his mother, sister, and Miss Sterling huddled over some fashion plates. It looked as though all had been forgiven between them, but he was not sure he was.
The dowager looked up and smiled. “Ah, Tony dear, we have need of your assistance.”
“Ladies.” He bowed. “What can I help you with?”
“We need you to come with us to Madame Milicent’s.”
“The modiste on Bond Street? If that assistance requires me to pontificate over dresses, I am afraid I will be of no help.”
“Surely, you know what suits and what does not?” Marianne asked with a teasing brow.
Taking a small cake off a plate on the table, he sat in a chair. “I assure you, what fabric or color you choose is of no matter to me.” He popped the cake into his mouth.
“We require your attendance and that is that,” was all she said.
This made his head snap back as if punched in the face. “Surely, you jest, Mother.”
“I certainly do not.”
“What use will I be at a modiste?”
“You will be our judge. We will need your opinion on what a young man finds appealing.”
“I could not possibly have an opinion on the matter.”
“You have eyes, do you not?”
“That is beside the point, I…”
“Good. It is settled. We leave in a half hour. It is lucky for us that we have such a good standing with Madame Millicent.”
“Do not debutantes simply wear white?”
His sister and mother laughed. When he met Miss Sterling’s gaze, she simply blushed and shrugged. The warmth on her cheeks was very becoming. It animated her features and lit up her eyes. He liked the look on her. He knew from experience that no amount of argument was going to be won by him, so conceded defeat.
“Very well, I will make sure that the carriage is ready.” As he waited, though, the thought of seeing Miss Sterling in a pretty dress appealed. She was far too young to be wearing the drab colors he had seen her in. He had never set foot inside a modiste. Was it the same as a tailor’s shop? This could be more interesting than he thought.
