Unmasking the Thief, page 20
Although she didn’t want either of them to move, she found a new, intimate pleasure in watching him stride naked across the room to the washbowl and perform his ablutions. He pulled on an old pair of breeches and a coat fashionable society would never be allowed to see, cast her a quick grin, and left her.
In the silence following the click of the closing apartment door, she drew a breath and thought with awe of everything that had happened in less than twelve hours. A shaky yet excited laugh fell from her lips. This was a new world because Francisco loved her, because she would marry him and be…happy.
She left the bed and set about washing and dressing. Miraculously, her ballgown had mostly survived its adventures, although the unpleasantly dirty hems might give the best of laundresses a difficult task. She could not manage most of the fastenings by herself, but discovering her cloak in the hall, she swung it around her shoulders for both warmth and modesty. Then, using Francisco’s brushes, she untangled her hair. Finding all the discarded pins was a difficult task, but by the time Francisco returned, she had managed to put up her hair in its usual, simple style.
“I brought breakfast,” he said, bustling into the kitchen, where she was eyeing his stove with misgiving. He kissed the top of her head. “And coffee. We have ten minutes until the hackney will be here.”
A twinge of panic disturbed her contentment, but she sat at the table with him, buttering bread and drinking coffee while she contemplated the parting with a thousand doubts. Something must have shown in her face, for he reached out and covered her hand on the table.
“It isn’t over,” he said softly. “We’ve only begun.”
She twisted her hand around to squeeze his fingers. “I know. I am content.”
“I will spend my life trying to keep you so.” He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I think we both need today to sleep and recover the power of thought. Tomorrow, I will set things in motion.”
“Thorne.”
He smiled. “Among other things. Come, the hackney will be waiting.”
She rose, trying to find her brisk, no-nonsense-governess state of mind. It was a struggle, for she felt suddenly all at sea. Until, in the hallway, he took her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly.
“Until tomorrow,” he whispered against her lips, then drew the wide hood of her cloak up over her hair and opened the door.
Grasping the cloak around her to hide her unsuitable evening attire, she walked down the empty staircase with him and out into the bustling daylight of life. A carriage waited right at the door. Francisco handed her into it and closed the door. She heard his voice murmuring to the driver and the clink of coins changing hands, and then the carriage moved off.
Francisco raised his hand to her. She touched her fingers to the window, and then she could no longer see him.
Chapter Twenty
Nobody in the Dove residence appeared to think anything of Matty arriving that morning in the ballgown she had worn last night. The children had gone off to the cellar to play one of their imaginative games—something of a tradition when Adrian came home—and neither Mrs. Dove nor Catherine had yet emerged from their bedchambers.
Only as she changed into her usual morning dress did tiredness begin to catch up with Matty. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and dream sweet dreams of Francisco. But a sense of duty caused her to press on and send for the girls, along with a cup of strong coffee.
Somehow, she managed until midday without quite falling asleep at her desk. A brisk walk with Pup and the children enlivened her briefly, and she was able to set the girls’ lessons for the afternoon. After which, she thought she was safe to close her eyes just for a few moments…
“Miss Matty, you need your bed!” exclaimed Catherine’s voice with some amusement. “Clearly, you are not used to such dissipation.”
Matty jerked her head off the desk. “What dissipation?” she demanded aggressively and hastened to wipe the unladylike drool from her mouth with a handkerchief.
“Last night’s ball,” Catherine replied, laughing. “Were you dreaming?”
Matty smiled guiltily. “Yes, I rather think I was.”
“Well, you are in luck, it’s teatime, and lessons are over for the day.”
“Do you know, I think I might forego tea and just stay quietly in my room.”
“Shall I send a tray up to you?”
“Oh, no, I shall wait for dinner.”
As it turned out, she slept right through dinner and through the night to wake at dawn with a smile on her face and happiness in her heart. Today, she would see Francisco again.
*
She was also able to think more clearly with the cobwebs of exhaustion swept from her mind. Despite a tendency to lapse into sweet, blushing daydreams of Francisco, she also thought about the ordeal of her abduction and about her sister and Sir Anthony Thorne. And in particular, what he, the ultimate reactionary, could possibly have to do with rabble-rousing.
As a result, when she accompanied the children on a midday walk with the dog, she decided to return via Grillon’s and left Adrian in charge of Pup.
She found her mother and Marion in their sitting room, surrounded by flowers, entertaining a morning caller, whom she quickly recognized as Danvers, the widower who had danced with Marion at the ball. Of Thorne, there was no sign.
“Ah, there you are, Matilda!” her mother greeted her. “We were about to come in search of you.”
“You mustn’t do that, Mama. I have duties,” Matty said hastily, kissing her mother’s cheek. “I can’t stay long.” She offered her hand to Danvers, who bowed over it with perfect politeness and betrayed no surprise to find her so dowdily dressed.
“His lordship brought me these delightful flowers,” Marion said, pointing out a particularly colorful vase on the mantelpiece.
“How beautiful,” Matty murmured. So Danvers was Lord Danvers, not a mere esquire. Well, that trumped Thorne’s baronetcy, which had to be a good thing.
“Oh, and these came for you here, from a mysterious admirer,” Marion said with an arch smile. “Look, the card is only initialed! Who could F.S. be?”
Francisco de Salgado. She could not help blushing with warm pleasure. He had sent her yellow roses. Her longing to see him was like an ache. Perhaps this evening, before dinner, in the mews as before…
“And how is Sir Anthony?” Matty inquired to distract the too-perceptive observation of her family.
“I scarcely know,” Marion said with a discontented frown. “I have not seen him since the night of the ball.”
“He is a busy man,” Mama pointed out.
Lord Danvers looked unhappy and just a shade impatient. “I have promised this afternoon to my daughters. We are going to the park to feed the ducks. But if such entertainment distracts you, we would be happy if you joined us.”
Marion smiled a gentle, appreciative smile.
“Sir Anthony may call,” Mama pointed out.
“Then it will be his turn to be disappointed,” Marion said. “Mama and I would be happy to join you. Matty?”
“Alas, I have my duties,” Matty said, bestowing a smile of approval on Lord Danvers. She must make a point of inquiring about him, but at least Thorne appeared to have a rival, if only out of pique.
*
Matty arrived back at the Doves’ house somewhat breathless to discover her pupils in the drawing room with their mother. They regarded her from the sofa with triumphant grins.
“I am so sorry,” she began to Mrs. Dove. “I called on my mother—”
“Yes, yes, very proper,” Mrs. Dove interrupted, drifting toward the door. “I had better change. I suppose you will do, Catherine. Miss Mather, would you see the children are suitably dressed…”
“Suitably dressed for what?” Matty asked, bewildered, as the door closed behind her employer.
“Cousin Grace has invited us to call this afternoon,” Susan said gleefully. “All of us—including Pup!”
“I hope she has no other callers,” Catherine said.
Adrian grinned. “I hope she does.”
“When are you to go?” Matty asked.
“When are we to go,” Catherine corrected. “At two of the clock. You must know Mama will not take the children and Pup without you!”
Thank God the invitation had not come yesterday, or she would have been incapable of keeping anyone in order. “Then, girls, go and change into your best dresses and brush your hair. I shall be along directly. Adrian, something without grass stains, if you please. And with a neckcloth!”
The Doves’ town carriage, a recent acquisition since Viola’s marriage into the Gorse family, was reluctantly rejected by Mrs. Dove since she wanted everyone together under her eye. Or at least under Matty’s. So, they walked to Mount Street. Fortunately, Pup, having had a walk and a run in the park so recently, was on his best behavior and committed no greater sin than trying to make friends with passersby, who mostly looked terrified.
“Now, children,” Mrs. Dove said, frowning particularly in Adrian’s direction as they walked along Mount Street. “Her ladyship is not at all high in the instep, as you know, but that does not mean you take advantage. Best manners, please, especially the dog’s!”
She turned up the steps and knocked briskly while the others clustered about her. Matty brought up the rear, placing herself tactically on the other side of Pup while Adrian held his leash.
A footman bowed them in at once, and the butler, greeting Mrs. Dove by name, led them upstairs. A set of double doors stood open, and the hum of voices drifted to Matty’s ears. Oh dear, she thought in dismay. There are other guests. Pup may be a problem… He was already wheeling with excitement at all the new smells in the hall and staircase.
The butler did lead them to the open doors. “Mrs. Dove and her family, my lady,” the butler said clearly, and Lady Wenning came toward them, smiling.
“Ah, here you are! You’re very welcome. I expect you’ll know everyone, but Oliver will make any introductions.”
Matty halted at the door, one hand on Adrian’s arm to detain him. “Your ladyship, perhaps I should take the dog to the garden? Or for a walk?”
“Nonsense, you are required company, Miss Mather,” the countess said with a glimmering smile.”
On your own head be it, Matty thought fatalistically, following Adrian and the dog into the room.
It was, of course, a large, gracious apartment furnished with elegance and taste. Spring sunshine beamed through the windows on a blur of guests. Pup barked, pulling Adrian at the run to Viola and Lord Dominic, who made a big fuss of him before he rushed at the man standing beside Dominic. Francisco.
Her heart gave one enormous leap and then pattered like rain. Francisco glanced up from ruffling the dog’s head and smiled at Adrian. Then with odd deliberation, his gaze shifted and met hers.
Warm, mischievous, and yet…soothing. She hoped the moment hadn’t suffused her face with color, at least not beyond what might be expected in a mere governess thrust into the company of the powerful.
She would not for the world betray her relationship with Francisco, for one of the things she had decided in her clear-headed wakening this morning was that she would never hold him to his promises of the night of the ball. They had both been over-emotional, recovering from a shared danger. So, although she did not for a moment doubt her own feelings or regret what she had done, she allowed that in the cold light of day, Francisco might. It would break her heart, but she loved him too much to trap him by clinging.
“Come and sit down,” Lord Wenning offered, kindly, indicating a chair, while Adrian dragged the dog around the rest of the guests, a good tactic to prevent him lunging from curiosity at an inconvenient moment.
To her surprise, Matty found herself sitting on a large sofa, between the Duke of Dearham and the Earl of Calton, both of whom grinned at her as they hemmed her in as if it was perfectly natural for an obvious governess to be treated with such courtesy. And it was clear they recognized her from the ball.
Her head spinning, Matty took in the other guests—the Duchess of Dearham sat with Ludovic Dunne and his wife. Archie Holles had made himself comfortable on the arm of Catherine’s chair. Two other handsome gentlemen, one large, restless, and with a hint of carelessness about his dress and ruffled hair, the other somehow quieter, with more refined features.
“That’s Christopher Halland, the member of parliament,” Dearham said, nodding at the larger man. “And beside him, Stephen Dornan, the artist.”
From sight, Matty recognized the Marquess of Sedgemoor, Lord Dominic’s father, who glowered at Pup before surreptitiously scratching him under the chin. It was an odd mix of guests, but at first, the gathering seemed like any other in society, if perhaps a little more relaxed by the presence of the Dove children and Pup.
Lady Wenning’s sister Hope distributed cups of tea while the Dove daughters were pressed into offering elegant sandwiches and dainty cakes.
Pup licked his lips and let out a whine. He was straining against Adrian’s grip of his collar while Adrian eyed the cakes with resigned longing because he couldn’t let go of Pup long enough to actually eat one.
“I could feed you,” Susan offered kindly, and Arabella giggled.
“Unfair for you, Adrian,” Lady Wenning said, laughing. “Hope, why don’t you take your cousins and Pup to the dining room? The servants will lay out more cakes and tea or whatever else you’d like to drink.”
Matty made to rise. “Shall I…?”
“No, no, Miss Mather,” Lord Wenning said amiably. “Hope will manage.”
Inevitably, Catherine rose to go with her friend, and Archie Holles clearly meant to follow.
“We’d like you to stay, Holles,” Francisco said, and Archie was so surprised he sat back down again with a bump.
“I suppose you’re about to explain this very odd gathering to us, Wenning.” The irritable voice belonged to Lord Sedgemoor.
“I am,” Wenning said imperturbably, seating himself beside his wife. “At least, I am with the aid of Mr. Francis, here. For those of you not so well acquainted with Francis as I, he is highly respected by the Prime Minister, the Foreign Secretary, and all concerned at the highest echelons of government. I tell you this so that you will not dismiss what he is about to tell you as some bizarre fantasy.”
All eyes swiveled to Francisco. Matty almost expected him to stand and bow. He didn’t.
He raised his teacup, sipped, and set it back in its saucer. “I have to thank Lord and Lady Wenning for inviting us all here—undercover, you might say, of an eccentric at home. Before I begin, I need to ask whether or not you decide to join my proposed endeavor for your discretion. I truly believe it could be fatal if word about what I am about to say reached the wrong quarters.”
Lord Sedgemoor groaned. “Not more cloak and dagger nonsense!”
“On the contrary,” Francisco said mildly. “My plan is to bring everything into the light where it can be dealt with safely and according to the law. You will notice that we have here some noted members of both houses of parliament, a respected representative of the legal profession, and an artist.”
“I’m pleased to see him, of course, but why is Dornan here?” Lord Dominic asked. “Come that, why am I here? I’m no politician.”
“Dornan’s here because he couldn’t get Lord Tamar,” Dearham said irrepressibly.
“I asked Lord Tamar, too,” Francisco retorted. “But he has rushed off to his lady’s lying-in. I wanted an artist to…record certain events. It may or may not turn out to be important, but I understand Mr. Dornan can sketch with extraordinary speed and accuracy and specializes in portraits.”
“He does,” Dearham admitted.
“Though it pains us to admit it,” Lord Calton drawled.
“Just because he has drawn you after too many brandies the night before,” the Duchess of Dearham said unexpectedly.
This drew a wave of slightly shocked laughter. Dornan smiled faintly but said nothing.
Francisco said, “Lord Dominic, I wanted as a foot soldier and guardian, not least because we may need the help and observation of the ladies present. Miss Mather has already helped me considerably, and she is, moreover, connected to those I am investigating.”
“Am I a foot soldier also?” Holles inquired.
“Yes, but you also hold useful information and could play a vital role in this, if you will.”
“In what?” Dearham asked curiously. “Who and what are you investigating?”
Francisco took another sip of tea. “I had better go back to the beginning. It had come to the attention of my superiors that political meetings advocating reform and radical ideas had proliferated recently. Moreover, from various sources, they had noted that increasingly, these meetings happened at more or less the same times of the same days, and not just within London, but all over the country.”
“You’re going after such meetings?” Holles scowled. “I told you, I’ll have nothing to do with it.”
“Hear me out,” Francis said mildly. “One of our informants provided the fact that word of the next meeting—presumably the timing of it—was to be passed at a Maida Gardens masquerade, with slightly ridiculous dramatics. A masked lady wearing red flowers would receive this information secretly from a gentleman wearing a red mask, who would seek her out.”
Francis gave a crooked smile. “This is where I come into the story, and I found it as foolish as you clearly do. I will confess that I was annoyed to be sent on the wild goose chase of intercepting this information. I will further confess to a certain sympathy for those trying to win reform. Neither are an excuse for my failure. I allowed myself to be misled.” His gaze swept briefly over Matty. “And by pursuing the wrong red flowers, let the information escape me. It was only when I realized my error that I remembered who else had been present at the masquerade and wearing red flowers.”
“Who?” Lord Dominic demanded. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”
