He hadn’t much faith in her ability to continue that ruse, however. No one knew better than he that successful deception required a certain innate talent for it and years of practice, and she had neither.
She must be very certain that Brundage would look for her.
And she must be terribly determined not to be found.
What was he going to do now that he was nearly one hundred percent certain he had found her?
He was due to meet with Brundage tomorrow. Hell’s teeth.
“You’re acquainted with Valkirk, then, Hardy?” he asked.
“We’ve become friendly. He loaned us his box at the opera, as it so happens. And he stayed here, then married one of our guests, as Delacorte said. An opera singer.”
Hawkes smiled wryly. “Well, felicitations to him. God knows he’s earned some happiness.”
“You’ve met Valkirk, Hawkes?” Hardy asked.
He was quiet for a moment, considering how to begin. “Yes. I’ve had the honor of speaking with him afew times. The last time, in fact, was in Spain the night before the battle of Dos Montañas. We attended the same assembly.”
Everyone in the room went somber. Dos Montañas was fairly widely known as a startling disaster for the general who almost never lost a battle.
“I’ll never forget his expression when word arrived that French troops had amassed ahead of his planned advance. As if they were anticipating it. And no one should put that expression on the general’s face. I took it personally, though it had naught to do with me.” Hawkes added this last rather pointedly.
“What do you think happened?” This was Hardy.
Hawkes was silent for some time, deciding how much he ought to tell the two men. But he knew Hardy had conducted his own investigations in order to root out smugglers. He likely possessed a similar set of skills and a similarly cynical view of the caprices of men.
“When one is in the habit of gathering intelligence, one recognizes the hallmarks of a breach,” he finally said, carefully.
He likely wasn’t telling them anything they didn’t already know.
“You think the French had foreknowledge of Blackmore’s troop movements and were prepared.”
Since he hadn’t said it aloud—Hardy had—Hawkes merely remained silent and returned Hardy’s gaze with a speaking one.
“I should say I found it disturbing,” he finally, said shortly. “And it has never stopped being disturbing.”
“I thought so, too, at the time,” Hardy said.
They smoked in silence.
“Are either of you personally acquainted with the Earl of Brundage?” Hawkes asked casually after a moment.
Though both Bolt and Hardy sensed it was not a casual question.
“Brundage. I recall him playing alarmingly deep,” Bolt said. “There were whispers that he was in the habit of it, in fact. And given that I, too, played alarmingly deep once upon a time, if his habits made an impression on me, that’s saying something. In White’s last night, we heard a rumor that he was in the running to become the ambassador to France. I always found him to be a sort of prig possessed of a certain oily charm, but then everyone was a prig compared to me when I was younger.”
“Astute assessment,” Hawkes said shortly. “Although, I am perhaps a trifle prejudiced.” He paused. “Bolt... you’re a member of White’s?”
“For better or worse.”
“And the two of you have a relationship with Lloyd’s?”
“The Triton Group—me, Hardy, and Delacorte—does. They underwrite our ship,” Bolt confirmed.
Hawkes inhaled smoke, exhaled it at leisure. “Did the meeting with Lloyd’s go well?”
“It was civil, and we all parted drunk and fond of each other.”
