“They’re not,” Torbridge said coolly.

  She met his gaze once more. “Sir George left almost as soon as we arrived.”

  “I’m afraid he is prone to do that.”

  “I see… I don’t suppose we can go to Pennington Place via the Hart?”

  “I don’t think that would be very wise, do you? Besides, it isn’t exactly on the way.”

  “It’s not exactly on the way from Hayleigh to London either,” she retorted.

  “No, but no one was ever going to greet me as a beloved daughter.”

  A giggle escaped her. “I wish they would.”

  “Lady Lily,” he warned since her accent had slipped.

  “Of course,” she returned in her most refined voice, and he grinned at her.

  If Lily’s heart beat a little too fast throughout the waltz, she was confident she hid it too well for him to notice. They ended the dance in perfect accord and strolled off in search of Millie. Lily caught sight of her in the main drawing room with a group of people who did not include Pennington.

  She tugged Torbridge’s arm in that direction, but he seemed not to notice. She soon saw why. Mr. Hill was in their path, exchanging pleasantries with a couple of army officers.

  Torbridge nodded amiably to them and would, apparently, have passed on, except Hill said, “Well met, Torbridge. Miss Darrow.”

  The army officers quickly melted away to claim their dance partners, and Hill said to her, “Lady Masterton tells me this is your first visit to London. How do you find it?”

  “Most enjoyable so far,” she replied politely, “though I have yet to see a great deal.”

  “I’d be happy to show you around some of the sights,” Hill offered. “If Torbridge won’t eat me!”

  “No, no, you carry on, old fellow,” Torbridge said encouragingly. “I’m just the cousin!”

  “Then you won’t object if I ask Miss Darrow to dance?”

  “I won’t object, though she might.”

  “Will you?” Hill asked her.

  “Object? Goodness, no, though I would rather sit this one out to be honest.”

  “Perhaps a glass of lemonade?” Hill offered.

  “Perfect.”

  Torbridge turned to her and bowed, though one eyebrow flew up in appreciation. She wanted to laugh, although it wasn’t really funny. Mr. Hill seemed a most amiable person, and she was only being friendly in order to spy on him.

  She wondered how Torbridge slept at night. After all, these people were his friends. He had probably known most of them all his life. And yet, where his strange line of work was concerned, he appeared to be quite ruthless.

  He had killed Pierre de Renarde and sent his widow, Isabelle, into France. He was using Lily, his friend… But that was not fair. He had already withdrawn his offer of employment before Lily had begged him to let her help.

  Oh, yes, he was the most secretive man she had ever met. In fact, he was like several different men. The polite, watchful yet amiable gentleman she knew from the Hart. The witty, cultured man he was with Millie and her husband. And the proper, fashionable but slightly vague dilettate, who moved around Mrs. Westley’s party, always welcome but never serious, nor taken seriously.

  This last fact distressed her until she remembered what Millie had said that her big-hearted, responsible brother had come home from his travels more like her. Vague and worldly, Lily could only assume. The character he had adopted so no one of his world would suspect the kind of important work he did.

  Whatever that was.

  Catching traitors, on this occasion. The trouble was, she couldn’t really imagine Mr. Hill betraying his country. She found him attentive and good company, and so accepted his invitation to the next dance. This was another waltz.

  Torbridge, she noted, did not dance. He was playing cards across the hall. But Millie waltzed, with Pennington.

  “So, what brought you to England?” Hill asked as they danced. “The desire for a London Season?”

  “Oh, no. Penury brought me here. My cousins are very kind, and Lady Masterton insisted that I enjoy myself a little. But in fact, I am her companion.”

  It was the story they had agreed on to explain her sudden presence. After all, no one much cared about the family background of poor relations. But she saw at once that something had changed in Hill’s eyes. Was it the lower status or the penury he disliked?

  Either way, he remained pleasant company for the remainder of the dance, and only returned her to Millie with flattering reluctance.

  “I hope I may call upon you both tomorrow,” he said with a bow and strolled away.

  *

  “Well?” Torbridge asked her an hour or so later, in the Mastertons’ library, where their host was pouring brandy. They had met him at the front door, and Millie had gone straight up to bed. “What do you think of our Mr. Hill?”

  “I don’t think he’s a wicked man,” Lily replied frankly.

  “Not sure you can tell from an hour’s conversation,” Sir George said wryly, handing a glass to his brother-in-law.

  “Not sure you or I can,” Torbridge agreed. “Lily is a different matter.”

  Sir George frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Torbridge shrugged. “She has an insight that amounts to a gift.”

  “No, I don’t,” Lily scoffed. “I just pay attention to people.”

  “Isn’t that what I said?” Torbridge wondered.

  “I wonder what she thinks of you,” Sir George said, faintly amused.

  “Or you,” he retorted. “But we stray from the point. Which is, how intrigued is he?”

  “I think he likes me,” Lily said uncomfortably. “But he seemed uneasy that I am a mere poor relation.”

  “It won’t concern him for long.”

  She took a deep breath. “My lord—I mean, Cousin—it does not seem right putting out such lures to him only to incriminate him.”

  “We can’t incriminate him if he isn’t guilty,” Torbridge pointed out.

  “It’s the lures that concern me,” she retorted.

  “You haven’t lured. You have merely been present. And it was the task we agreed.”

  “I have no intention of letting you down,” she said stiffly. “But I do look forward to going back to my respectable work at the inn.” She curtseyed. “I bid you goodnight.”

  Chapter Seven

  Since walking alone was forbidden, Lily threw herself into work the following morning, and finally got the remainder of Millie’s bills and correspondence into order. She took out the notebook and began to write down the oldest sums owed.

  She was concentrating so hard, she did not hear anyone enter until a posy of flowers landed over her notebook. Glancing up, she beheld Lord Torbridge, and her heart gave its expected skip.

  “Good morning,” he said mildly.

  “Good morning.” She picked up the flowers. “These are pretty. Where did they come from?”

  “A flower girl in Covent Garden. They’re for you.”

  She set her pen in the stand, trying not to be touched by what she imagined was an apology for his insensitivity. “Why?” she asked, holding his gaze.

  “It’s customary to give flowers to a young lady one has danced with the previous evening. There are several more in the hall addressed to you. Including one from Jack Hill.”

  Of course. She laid the flowers to one side and lowered her gaze to the notebook.

  “How are Millie’s affairs?” he inquired. “Will Masterton have to mortgage to pay her debts?”

  “No. With a little management, she can pay them off herself before the end of the year. Her allowance is generous. Even coming to the end of the quarter, she has enough left to pay the oldest of the accounts. The problem is due not so much to inability to pay as to forgetfulness.”

  “Well, that is a pleasant surprise. You should just hand the lot to Masterton.”

  “She does not wish to do it that way,”

  She almost felt him shrug the matter off.

  “I have tickets for the opera tonight,” he remarked. “Perhaps you could mention the fact, should Hill call.”

  She inclined her head.

  “You do that very well,” he said, an unexpected smile in his voice. “You have learned how to be haughty.”

  “We have already agreed I have a talent for mimicry. Did you wish to discuss anything else?” She glanced up as she spoke, in time to see him blink in surprise.

  A breath of laughter escaped him. “Why, Lily, are you dismissing me?”

  “Yes,” she said baldly. “I am busy. Thank you for the flowers.” She reached for the next account on her pile and picked up her pen.

  “You’re welcome,” he said and sauntered out of the room.

  A few moments later, she heard the front door close behind him and squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t even know why she was angry with him. For failing to acknowledge her difficulties? For not caring?

  He is a nobleman, a marquess the moment his father dies. I am an innkeeper’s daughter. Of course, he never saw me as a real person. What else did I expect?

  Nothing else. And yet, it seemed the actuality still hurt.

  With her concentration broken, she stood and went down to the breakfast parlor, where she discovered Sir George eating a hearty breakfast and reading a newspaper.

  They exchanged good mornings. Lily, used to serving men who communicated by mere grunts until their breakfast was eaten, made no effort to engage him in conversation but helped herself to toast, eggs, and coffee, and sat down to eat in silence.

  After a while, Sir George folded his newspaper and tossed it aside. “So, what plans do you have today?”

  “I believe Lord Torbridge has invited us to the opera this evening. But I’ve no idea what Cousin Millie’s pleasure is during the day. What will you be doing?”

  He shrugged. “I shall probably look in at White’s at some point. Otherwise, my only appointment is a meeting with some of the other trustees of the British Museum.”

  “Oh, how wonderful! Do you think Millie would like to tag along with you and look at some of the exhibits?”

  Sir George’s jaw dropped slightly. “I would doubt it,” he managed.

  “May I ask her?”

  “Of course,” he replied, amused. “But please, don’t be too disappointed by her refusal. Torbridge is a better bet for that kind of thing.”

  Lily ate faster, but in fact, Millie joined them before she had finished. She looked surprised, though not displeased to see her husband still at breakfast.

  “Oh, Cousin, I have had a splendid idea!” Lily exclaimed. “Sir George has an appointment at the British Museum, and I thought it might be wonderful to go with him and see the collections.”

  Millie blinked and sat down opposite Lily with nothing more than a cup of coffee. She seemed to be staring at Lily much as one might examine a rare plant or insect. Her gaze flickered to her husband, and some communication clearly passed between them, for Millie’s lips twitched.

  “Why not?” she agreed. “Though I am no blue-stocking, and I guarantee I shall be bored in ten minutes. You might last fifteen. What about you, George? Do you actually like any of the collections you make such a fuss about.”

  “Of course. Inordinately, in some cases. If we leave in half an hour or so, I shall be able to show you my favorite before the meeting.”

  The outing proved an unexpected success. While Lily gawped in wide-eyed wonder at an amazing range of objects from all over the world, Sir George provided frequent witty and knowledgeable explanations. Still, it was no hardship for Lily to hang back to gaze longer at some ancient object from Egypt, leaving the couple to move on without her.

  Several times, she heard Millie laugh out loud, and once she cried, “Oh, George, come and look at this!”

  By the time Sir George went off to his meeting, Lily was well pleased. It seemed they had remembered they liked each other’s company.

  However, later that day, as Lily walked with Millie in the park at the fashionable hour, she realized she was too complacent too early.

  Mr. Jack Hill had found them relatively quickly, and while he escorted them, his brother, Lord Pennington, driving a high-perch phaeton, stopped to greet them.

  “Care for a turn about the park, Millie?” he invited, with rather too much familiarity, Lily thought.

  Millie hesitated. “Just one turn, then. Lily, I shall expect to meet you back here in ten minutes.”

  Lily must have frowned as the phaeton moved on, for Mr. Hill said, “You do not mind losing your chaperone for a few minutes, do you?”

  Immediately, she smiled. “Of course not. Indeed, we can see each other for most of the way. And she won’t want to be late, for we are going to the opera this evening.”

  In fact, Millie found her before the ten minutes had expired, but the brief calm that had descended upon her this morning had quite gone. She was once more vague and oddly brittle.

  “Does Lord Pennington behave improperly to you?” Lily asked bluntly.

  Millie laughed. “Lord, no. We have known each other forever. It is harmless, fashionable flirtation. Neither of us means a thing by it, and the world knows it.”

  The world might, but Lily doubted Sir George did.

  *

  The opera was another new experience for Lily. She liked the pretty ballet that was performed first and was totally enchanted by the main opera.

  Once, Lord Torbridge leaned forward and murmured, “You are enjoying this?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “Do you understand what they are singing?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it doesn’t seem to matter.”

  “It’s sung in Italian.”

  Forgetting that she was angry with him, she cast him a quick smile of gratitude. At least there was nothing wrong with her ears.

  However, she seemed to be the only member of the audience who paid any attention to the stage. The constant hum of talk and laughter had to be blocked out, as had some of the ogling young bucks with their quizzing glasses in the pit below.

  And during the intervals, no one else sat anxiously waiting for the opera to resume. Everyone moved around from box to box, visiting their acquaintances. Lord Torbridge’s box was generally full of young men, many of whom seemed eager to be introduced to Lily. However, one visitor must have pleased Torbridge mightily. Not only did Mr. Hill appear, but he escorted his mother, the Dowager Lady Pennington, to whom Millie presented Lily.

  “So, you’re one of the Darrow cousins,” the fierce old lady said. “I knew your grandmother. Liked her. Though she would have done better to marry in England.”

  Lily had no idea how to respond to that, so said mildly, “Perhaps.”

  The old lady stared, then cackled. “You’re quite right. Rude and unnecessary thing to say, and none of my business, besides. Enjoying the opera?”

  “Oh, indeed, ma’am, it’s wonderful,” she enthused before she remembered that fashionable people were too overwhelmed with ennui to be enthusiastic about anything. However, Lady Pennington only smiled, and when she departed could be heard saying to Torbridge. “Very natural, pretty, and a well-behaved girl, and not just in the common way.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Torbridge replied. “So, I think, too.”

  Jack Hill glanced back over his shoulder at Lily and grinned. He may not have liked that she was a penniless companion, but he seemed to be overcoming his disappointment. Which said more for him than for her… But then, as Torbridge had pointed out, if he was a traitor, then any means to stop him was not only justified but necessary.

  As the curtain went up once more, Lily glimpsed Lady Pennington seated in her own box on the opposite side of the theatre. With her was an elderly gentleman and a downtrodden-looking female—no doubt a poor relation, Lily thought with a twinge of sympathy. There was no sign there of Jack Hill.

  Although the music had begun again, she could not help looking round for him. Either he had left the theatre, or he was visiting someone else. Discovering no sign of him in her quick scan, she let her attention return to the stage.

  A moment later, movement caught the corner of her eye. Her gaze flickered to a box nearer the stage in the same row as her own, and for an instant, she glimpsed Jack Hill’s face emerging from the shadows, his lips moving in speech to someone else hidden from her view. Then his face vanished. There was a faint disturbance as though the unseen person rose, but his back vanished from her line of vision before she could see who he was.

  A surge of excitement took her by surprise. Impulsively, she turned toward Torbridge, for this, surely, was exactly the sort of thing he wanted to know, but he no longer sat beside her. Millie’s restless eyes were on the audience. Sir George, a little further back, was listening to some serious monologue from one of their interval visitors who had not departed.

  Quietly, Lily stood and walked to the back of the box. Since no one noticed, she opened the door and darted into the passage. It was deserted, so she hurried along, following the curve of the wall, in the direction she had last seen Hill.

  And there he was.

  Hastily, she stepped back, flattening herself against the wall. Annoyingly, from where she stood, she could not even hear their voices over the music from the stage and the overlaying hum of conversation from inside the boxes. But, it was definitely Jack Hill in some kind of argument with another man who was, presumably, the one from the box, though frustratingly, he still had his back to her.

  Carefully, she leaned out. They had moved slightly so that the stranger’s broad, tall back now hid Jack Hill from her completely. Which meant that Hill could not see her either. Her heartbeat quickened. She could walk nearer, probably even straight past them as though heading to a box beyond them. Hopefully, she would get near enough to hear some of their conversation before they noticed her. And she would see the stranger’s face.

  If Hill didn’t see her, well and good. She would just keep walking. If he did…she would play the silly female who had taken a breath of air in the corridor and forgotten which box she had come out of. She would even greet him with relief and ask for his help.

  The plan was no sooner made than she began to walk blithely forward. The men were so involved in their low-voiced disagreement that they didn’t acknowledge her approach. She passed a deserted staircase on the left and a closed box door on the right. She could make out Jack’s voice now, and the occasional, slightly higher pitch of his companion’s curt response.

 

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