Beau nodded. Bidassoa had happened last autumn. That meant Charles had been in Copperpot’s employ at the time. Beau pulled out a pack of betel nuts and offered some to Charles. According to Malcolm, betel nuts went a long way toward establishing, if not trust, at least goodwill among servants. Beau had brought several bags full of the small brown nuts that caused a warming sensation and increased alertness.
“Thank ye, Mr. Baxter,” Charles said, tipping his hat toward Beau and taking a handful of the nuts.
Beau continued their conversation, careful not to ask too many prying questions. He needed to gain the man’s trust before he appeared too interested in the workings of the household.
Of course Copperpot might be innocent. There were two other noblemen suspected of treason. Having been privy in a special council of Parliament to Wellington’s intentions to cross the river Bidassoa in Spain last autumn, one of the men had written a letter to the French, warning them of the British plan.
The letter had been intercepted by a solider, who had been shot soon after intercepting it. But the heroic chap had managed to make it back to the British camp and provide the missive to Wellington. The earl had the honor of bestowing a medal on the unfortunate soldier just before the man died from his wound.
The British, along with their allies, the Spanish and the Portuguese, had won the battle at Bidassoa, but the outcome might have been much different had the private not given his life to stop that letter from reaching the French commander, Soult.
The treasonous letter had been promptly sent back to the Home Office where a score of spies and experts spent weeks attempting to discern the handwriting of a traitor. Only a handful of men in Great Britain had known about the British plans to cross the river. Two were ruled out for their loyalty and their lack of opportunity. Three were left: Lord Copperpot, Lord Hightower, and Lord Cunningham.
After weeks of study, the Home Office had declared that the letter hadn’t been written by any of the three lords. They were not, however, cleared of suspicion. It was believed that someone in their employ wrote the letter for them, for the express purpose of concealing the man’s identity. This line of thinking opened up the possibility that someone in one of the three lords’ employ knew about the treason and had actively participated.
It stood to reason that one of the servants had been paid well to write the letter. And if Beau knew one thing about a man who could be paid well to betray his country, it was that the same man could be paid just as well to betray the culprit behind the treason. That is precisely what he hoped to accomplish by pretending to be Lord Copperpot’s valet for a fortnight.
As it happened, Clayton was friendly with all three of the suspected lords. Clayton was friendly with everyone. That’s what had made his house party the perfect spot for this particular intrigue. As it also turned out, quite conveniently, all three of the suspected lords had daughters who had just made their debuts and had received no offers, which made a house party for debutantes a particularly alluring draw for all three of them.
Beau ensured that Clayton invited all three men. Beau further ensured their attendance by intentionally spreading the rumor within the special council that Clayton’s house party would be attended by the Prince Regent himself. Which was one of the reasons that Sir Reginald Francis, that blowhard, had to be invited. Sir Reginald was harmless, and he tended to get the Regent out of Carleton House for the odd house party. If there was one thing that Copperpot, Hightower, and Cunningham had in common, it was their never-ending desire to impress the Prince Regent and spend time in his company whenever possible.
Clayton had reported last week via letter that all three men had accepted and were expected to be at the house party in addition to Sir Reginald and hopefully, the Prince Regent. Everything was falling into place. This wouldn’t be the type of mission that could get one shot and killed. Beau had been on plenty of those types of missions in France over the last few years.
No, this was a subtler mission, one that involved a good deal of acting, and if his friend Kendall happened to find a wife in the process, all the better. Meanwhile, there was no possibility Worthington would survive playing a servant for longer than forty-eight hours, even if he were in the stables pretending to be a groomsman. So, in addition to doing his job and possibly helping Kendall find a wife, Beau also stood to win a considerable amount of money if he was the last servant standing.
As the carriage rattled toward Clayton’s estate, Beau leaned back in his seat, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and pretended to sleep. By the time the fortnight was over, he fully intended to have uncovered the Bidassoa traitor and turned the filthy blackguard over to the authorities to be tried for disloyalty to the Crown.
It was only a bit of playacting at a summer house party, after all. How difficult could it possibly be?
CHAPTER TWO
Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate,
Devon, August 1814
Miss Marianne Notley stared at the costly gowns, gloves, and other assortedaccoutrementsstrewn about the bedchamber floor and sighed.
Her mistress, Lady Wilhelmina Copperpot, was nothing if not consistent. They’d only been at Lord Clayton’s house party for the better part of one day, yet her young mistress had already made a mess of her room.
The debutante tended to try on multiple articles of clothing and discard them like so much rubbish on the floor, waiting for Marianne, her lady’s maid, to pick them up and restore them to their rightful locations.
Marianne grabbed up the first gorgeous gown from the floor. It was ice-blue satin with delicate lace trimming around it. How she would have loved to wear something this beautiful even once in her life, let alone every day like Lady Wilhelmina did.
For a few fleeting moments, Marianne held the gown to her chest and looked down the length of it. She and her beloved Mama—God rest her soul—had pretended so many times. Marianne would fetch one of Mama’s old gowns from her wardrobe and dance around the room with it in front of her. Now, she glanced at herself in thechevalmirror across the bedchamber. She smiled and curtsied to an imaginary suitor. “Why yes, thank you, my lord. I should love to dance the waltz with you.”
She couldn’t help her laugh, but she quickly let the gown drop away from her neck, and folded it over her arm. There was no time for such silliness. She needed to return the gown to the wardrobe with all the other lovely gowns she would never wear. There was no use wanting what you could not have. And pretending that she was a debutante was certainly that.
Marianne had only been in the Copperpots’ employ since the start of the year. She’d been recommended to Lady Copperpot by Lady Courtney from Brighton. Marianne had grown up in Brighton and had known Lady Courtney her entire life. She was fortunate to count such a fine lady as her friend. Lady Courtney had known her Papa—God rest his soul. After Mama’s death, Lady Courtney had employed Marianne as a companion for the last five years until her own niece was of age and able to come from Surrey.
That left Marianne looking for work, and she’d scoured the papers from London until she found an advertisement for a lady’s maid for one Lady Wilhelmina Copperpot, who had just come of age.
Taking a position as a lady’s maid with one of the finest families in London was not something Marianne had ever imagined, but after asking Lady Courtney for a reference, Marianne found herself traveling to London less than a fortnight later to meet Lady Copperpot and her daughter Wilhelmina.
Marianne was only five years older than Lady Wilhelmina, but they could not have been more different. Lady Wilhelmina was tall and blond and frightened of things like bugs and horses. Marianne was short and red-haired and hadn’t found much that frightened her yet.
Marianne had been to London numerous times as Lady Courtney’s companion, but she’d never been privy to the comings and goings of a debutante until her acquaintance with Lady Wilhelmina.
It was certainly a social whirl. During the Season, the young lady had attended parties, balls, and dinners seemingly every night, and Marianne had been ready to ensure that Lady Wilhelmina’s clothing was properly set out and cared for, and that the debutante was dressed and ready for each and every occasion.
