Brynn grunted. “All I see are avaricious mothers and preening peacocks.”
“Widen your eyes. Over by the window? The blond man is the Austrian ambassador’s chief deputy. He is having words with Whitmore, an influential liaison officer for the army at Whitehall.”
“Plotting?”
“Dealmaking? Fomenting treason? Flirting? Difficult to say. Watch,” Benson told him.
A footman who approached the two men paused briefly and leaned in to offer champagne. The servant turned as if peering across the room for a thirsty lord but hovered near the speakers. Brynn recognized the slow-moving footman. “Isn’t that—”
“One of mine? Yes,” Benson confirmed. “Corporal Goodfellow’s innocent face is helpful in that role.”
“I thought your job was security. I saw one of your men wandering among the coaches and another in the entranceway.”
“It is, but it can be helpful to insert someone inside, and if we happen to pick up useful intelligence…” Benson shrugged. “Sometimes the hostess knows. Other times, like tonight, they don’t. Unfortunately, we can’t use Goodfellow too often or the ladies of Belgravia will begin to notice the same face turning up among their temporary footmen.”
Brynn snorted. “Only if they have an eye on him for more than serving drinks. They ignore servants. He is obviously doing more than seeing to the safety of the distinguished members of the diplomatic corps. What will you do with what he overhears?”
“Pass it on. Our job is to watch them. Analysis is for Rockford—or those he assigns to do it.” Benson turned to peer at Brynn. “Like you. Will you take Rockford’s offer?”
“Probably.” The idea of sorting through gossip and espionage made his skin crawl. I’m an engineer, not a damn spy.
“What else would you do? With peace in Europe stretching into the foreseeable future—thank God—did you plan to languish at half pay? Or do you have your sights set on India?” Benson’s gaze, Brynn noticed, never stilled. He scanned the room.
“Feed the ambition of the mushrooms in the East India Company? No thanks. I haven’t enough of a devious streak to get ahead and no desire to be fodder for their plans to impose their will on the people who lived there first. Assure me Rockford won’t expect me to attend evenings like this, and I may accept his offer.”
“Good choice.” Benson pushed off, studying two men moving toward the cardroom, deep in conversation. “If you’ll excuse me, I feel a need for a card game.”
“Who is the popinjay with Alexandrova’s pet attaché?”
“Glenmoor.”
Brynn jerked upright. “The Duke of—”
“Glenmoor. As I said.”
“Her Grace’s stepson?”
“The very one.” Benson grinned.
Brynn fell into step with Benson, his eyes narrowed on the retreating figures. “What do you know about him?”
“Not much. Bit of a dandy. Harmless. Rumor has it he’s on the hunt for a well-bred wife.”
“The man reeks wealth. They left her in shabby gentility.”
His friend didn’t have to ask who he meant. “Glenmoor returned her dowry—the pittance her father gave her—but Maddy refused any other settlement from their estate, though to Glenmoor’s credit, it was offered, or so my brother tells me. It frustrates Clarion, particularly because he has little to give her and she refuses when he tries.”
“Why would a woman do that?” The gems glittering in Glenmoor’s cravat while his stepmother dressed simply and lived on crumbs on the impoverished Clarion estate made his blood boil.
“I have no idea. Care to join me in a game of cards? Chicken stakes only. Alexandrova saves the heavy play for special invitations to a select few for late-night parties.” Benson didn’t wait.
Brynn followed. “Is Glenmoor one of her late-night guests?” he asked.
Chapter Four
“Maddy is comingto London?” Benson exclaimed.
The Earl of Clarion had invited Brynn along with Benson and his lady, who insisted that Brynn call her Lucy, to a family dinner at his London townhouse, Caulfield House, claiming to be weary of eating alone and bored with the fare at his club. Now they gathered in the drawing room after dinner, all but Lucy enjoying the earl’s fine brandy.
