The Westminster Intrigue, page 36
"That I had to think. Which was perfectly true."
"Good." Malcolm's gaze settled on her face, the gaze not of a nephew but of a spymaster. "I want you to tell him you'll help him. And find out whatever you can."
Chapter 45
"Humphrey—" Barbara Beverston set down her rouge brush and stared at him. "We don't even know where that young woman came from."
"Does that really matter?" Beverston asked. "You've seen how good she is for Ben."
Barbara frowned. Her green eyes were what had first drawn him to her, when he'd been scanning the year's crop of debutantes, after his parents made it clear it was time he chose a wife. "I've seen that Ben is besotted with her."
"It's lasted too long to be calf-love. Ben's shown he's in earnest." Which was something Beverston wouldn't have quite admitted to believing in until recently. "Nerezza has as well."
"You like her."
Beverston gave a wry smile. Nerezza was a number of things to him he couldn't possibly put into words with Barbara, for all there were few illusions in their marriage. But in the end, perhaps it did come down to that. He liked Nerezza. "Yes, I do. She'll be good for Ben."
Barbara's penciled brows knotted tighter. "Benedict is still very young."
"He knows what he wants. Roger did too, though you know I had my doubts at the time about that too."
"And I told you to let him have what he wanted."
"Precisely."
Barbara reached for the cup of morning chocolate on her dressing table. "Mind you, I had my own concerns. I didn't quite see what Dorinda would grow into."
"No. For that matter, I didn't see what Roger would grow into."
"Poor Humphrey." Barbara took a sip of chocolate and set the cup down. "But you can't expect your children to necessarily agree with you."
"No, I quite accept that. I always did, but more so now."
Barbara smoothed the silk of her dressing gown. The pale blue put him in mind of one she'd had when they were newlyweds. "We were both happy when John proposed to Diana," she said.
They didn't talk about John much. And there was still a great deal about him Barbara didn't know. At least not from her husband, and Beverston doubted from anyone else, though of course one could never be sure. "Diana was the perfect daughter-in-law."
"Or so it seemed."
"We were right about that. John just wasn't the perfect husband."
Barbara studied him. For a moment, Beverston had the sense that she was aware of things she didn't want to admit to. "Still, Diana was a model wife. She's a very good mother. This girl—"
"Nerezza."
"Nerezza." Barbara drew out the Italian syllables. "She's the sort a young man Ben's age dallies with. Gains experience. And then after a few years he goes on and makes a proper marriage. Like—"
"Like we did?"
Barbara gave a twisted smile. "We haven't done badly."
"I like to think not. I don't know that I've made you very happy."
Barbara paused in the midst of reaching for her chocolate again. "What on earth has marriage got to do with happiness?"
"A great deal, from Ben's point of view."
"Precisely why he's in no fit state to enter into it."
"Or precisely why he should."
Barbara clunked her cup back into its saucer. "What on earth's happened to you, Humphrey? You're sounding quite unlike yourself."
"One can still learn a few new things after fifty."
"Such as?"
"That one's children's being happy matters rather a lot."
Barbara shook her head. "Marriage is always a bit of a gamble."
"So it is. For myself, I'd say I've been more fortunate than most. I'd just like to make sure our children have enough security."
"Humphrey—" Barbara's frown gave way to a look of concern. "You aren't ill, are you?"
"No, nothing like that. Just contending with a few past reckonings. And not quite sure where that will take us." Beverston crossed to his wife's side. Closer than he often got these days. Except on occasion. "You and the children will be all right. You're well provided for. And there's no reason for any of this to touch you." He reached out and touched his fingers to her cheek.
Barbara caught his hand. "It's the League, isn't it?"
Beverston felt himself go as still as if he'd turned to ice. "What do you know about the League?"
"For heaven's sake, Humphrey. I didn't think you ever thought me a fool."
Beverston held the gaze of the woman to whom he'd been married for over three decades.
"It's a dangerous business," she said. "You needn't tell me about it, but if my wishes count for anything, I'd appreciate it if you had a care."
He squeezed her hand. "I wasn't sure it would matter to you."
"Oddly enough, I find that it does."
"Well, then." Strange how words from one's own wife could mean so much, when he'd long thought there was little more than civility between them. "That's something."
"More than something." Barbara's fingers tightened round his own. "Be careful, Humphrey."
Beverston, for the first time in perhaps a decade, lifted his wife's hand to his lips. "I will."
"How long have you known?" Archie asked in a quiet voice.
Frances met her husband's gaze. The gaze of the man she had trusted and let into her heart and her life as she had no other man before. "How do you know I knew?"
"I don't, of course." Archie leaned against the same satinwood table where Malcolm had stood earlier, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle. "I'm the first to admit one can be sure of few things. But I knew Alistair. Better than most of our group—except you, of course. I have a glimmering of what you meant to him. And he seems to want his past back. He wanted Gisèle. I suspect he wants you too."
"You can't imagine he'd have had a prayer of getting me."
"There again, I've learned not to say never. But it's not a question of what I think he might achieve, but of what he thinks. Alistair has always tended to think very highly of himself."
Frances locked her fingers together and stared down at her wedding band. "He found me in the garden at the ball last night." She met Archie's gaze. She'd never thought to feel she was pleading with him for understanding. "He asked me to keep his secret. He asked for my help approaching Prinny."
Archie returned her gaze. His own was steady, without judgment, but also without the reassurance she found she craved. Like a child. Archie had never treated her like a child.
"We've never talked about it," Archie said. "We've always agreed the past is in the past, and it seemed an intrusion. It wasn't anything to do with us. What place Alistair occupied in your heart was your own business. I've always abhorred jealousy. At the merest whiff of it, I'd give my mistress her congé and be off like a shot. I had no interest in being with someone who didn't want to be with me. Easier to leave than to be the one left. And if one convinced the world—and oneself—that one had been growing bored, any tang of embarrassment or hurt melted away. But then, until you, I've never been in a relationship where my feelings were engaged on this level. I can't say I ever felt I had to come first with you. What we have is different from what either of us has shared with anyone else. I rather prided myself on being above the sort of jealousy that the younger set might feel. But I confess it was one thing to be comfortable with Alistair's feelings for you in the past. It's rather different to face the prospect of your choosing between us in the present."
"Archie. You can't seriously think it's a case of that."
"No? When you chose to be with me, you thought Alistair was dead."
"I can't say I ever chose to be with Alistair, precisely. I just couldn't get rid of him."
"Exactly."
"I'd never have thought of building a life with Alistair."
"But it's a bit simplistic to reduce love to that, isn't it? One doesn't just conveniently fall in love with people one could build a life with."
Frances looked into her husband's eyes, a hundred moments, declarations made and even more declarations neither of them could put into words chasing through her mind. "You've always said—" She broke off, not quite able to say it. How odd to be sitting here, swathed in pintucked silk, with a man with whom she had shared all sorts of intimacies, and feel stripped naked.
"I've always said I'd never fallen in love properly before you." Archie put out a hand and tucked a curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered against her cheek for a moment, but then he drew his hand back instead of leaning in for the kiss that usually would have followed. "And it's true, barring schoolboy infatuations not worthy of the name. So I suppose I only have your word for it that love isn't convenient."
"I can't claim to have much proper experience of love. But—no. I thought I was in love with Dacre-Hammond, and he was hopelessly unsuitable for building any sort of life with. Not because he was ineligible in any way, but because we had too little in common to forge anything but the trappings of a Mayfair marriage. Alistair—I didn't even like Alistair. If we'd tried to have any sort of sustained relationship, I suspect we'd have been a worse disaster than he and Bella were. Assuming that's possible."
"My love." Archie's gaze lingered on her face. "You and Alistair did have a sustained relationship."
"Well—yes. But not the sort one can call anything like something one would build a life on."
"Rather proving my point that they aren't the same thing."
Frances folded her arms across her chest. "I told myself so many times it had to stop. I think Alistair did too. I was rather disgusted with myself for desiring him, but I could admit to it. What it took me years to admit was that I cared about him. Which made me that much more disgusted with myself."
Archie dropped down in front of her. "I can't say I ever fell in love with a League member, but I worked with them enough to form friendships. I won't pretend to understand Alistair or to make excuses for him, but I could appreciate his keen understanding. And I'm quite sure he—cared—cares about you."
Frances glanced away. "We went away together. Before he died. Before I thought he died. I thought it was a coincidence we had that time together. Now I think he was saying goodbye."
"Yes, I imagine he was." Archie sat back on his heels. "He's Chloe's father, isn't he? And Allie's?"
Frances looked back at her husband. "I think we both know it takes more than congress between the sheets to make someone a father. But yes, in terms of pure biology, he is."
"Has he—No, I suppose that isn't any of my business."
"Has he asked about them? No, not in so many words. I've never even told him definitely that they're his." She drew a breath, rather regretting the wording. Archie was Chloe's father now in all the ways that mattered.
"Judging by what he's been doing, I rather think he may have an interest in anyone or anything he suspects is his." His gaze moved over her face, as though he was examining uncharted terrain. "You once said exclusive rights were something demanded by colonial powers, not consenting adults."
Frances felt herself color. "I told you I used to think that, which is a rather different thing. Before I met you."
Archie gave a faint smile. "Yes, I appreciated the point. It does seem one should be able to be adult enough not to cavil at a relationship that isn't exclusive. I've tried it myself a few times. It's less comfortable than it seems it should be. Or perhaps I'm simply less broadminded than I think. But I could manage to make such a relationship work, at least for a time. I couldn't now." He pushed himself to his feet. "If you want to be with Alistair, I won't try to hold you, Fanny. I understand if you need time to sort out your feelings. But I won't share you."
Frances pushed herself to her feet. "When have I implied in any way that I wanted to be with Alistair?"
Archie's hands settled on her arms. "You haven't. Perhaps it's my own fear talking. Or my sense of what he means to you. But this isn't just about you and me and Alistair. We're locked in a struggle with Alistair and the League. I know which side I'm on. But I don't know that it's fair to ask you to oppose Alistair."
"Don't you dare accuse me of letting my feelings cloud the issue."
"I wouldn't dream of it. But we all know about complicated loyalties."
Frances gripped her husband's elbows. "I do as well. But I know which side I'm on. I know who I want to be with. I chose you, Archie, and it had nothing to do with your being a safe choice I could build a life with. I love you. I can't do without you. The fact that it's quite comfortable for us to live together is a pleasant side effect."
Archie smiled for the first time in their conversation and bent to kiss her.
Frances returned his embrace and settled into his arms. They were all right. For the moment. She wasn't going to push it as far as to ask if he believed her.
Mélanie finished fastening a fresh dressing to Pierre Ducroix's shoulder. "No sign of infection. You're recovering well, Monsieur Ducroix."
Pierre smiled. His gaze was clearer than it had been the previous night. "I'm indebted to you, Mrs. Rannoch. I seem to have the strength to do nothing but say thanks. And I owe thanks to a great many people."
"You need your strength to recover. Which you will." Mélanie closed her medical supply box and smiled at Danielle, who was sitting on the opposite side of the bed.
"It's difficult to think beyond the moment," Danielle said. "But I believe Mr. Rannoch has questions for me." She looked at Malcolm, who was standing at the foot of the bed. "And I think I owe him answers."
Chapter 46
"I understand you didn't want to tell me the truth about Alexander Radford last night," Malcolm said, when he and Danielle had withdrawn to a small sitting room across the passage from the bedchamber Pierre occupied.
Her eyes narrowed with recognition and perhaps relief. "Julien told you."
"No. We returned home to find Alexander Radford—Alistair Rannoch—in our library."
She drew a breath that cut the still air in the room. "If I'd had any suspicion—"
"Yes, everyone's been saying that if they'd had any suspicion, they'd have told me sooner, which doesn't do away with the fact that I was going to find out at some point, and that I was quite able to handle it, and keeping it secret was foolish. However, that isn't the issue at the moment. The issue is what Alistair wants."
Danielle folded her arms across her chest. "I would like to know that myself. What did he tell you?"
"He didn't. Not precisely. He's trying to cover up a past I don't understand."
Danielle's brows drew together. "I got close to him on Carfax's orders. The former Carfax. I expect you know that by now."
"Yes."
"Alistair was plotting with the Duke of Trenchard then. A complicated scheme to make Trenchard prime minister. I was able to get some information. Though not as much as I'd have liked. I heard later that Alistair had been killed in England. I had no reason to doubt it. Until I went to Venice and met a man calling himself Alexander Radford."
"What did he tell you?"
"That he'd found it convenient to disappear. I said I understood. That if he wished to hide from the world, I had no reason to reveal him."
"Did he seem to believe you?"
"As far as I could tell. Of course, I had no thought of going to Britain at that point, and I don't think he was actively contemplating a return to it in the near future. In truth, when I wrote about him in my memoirs, I had no idea how much interest those pages might arouse. I was thinking about Pierre and jotting down everything I could think of that might help. I wasn't thinking about—wider issues at all."
"I can understand that."
"Can you, Mr. Rannoch?" She tilted her head to one side with a faint smile. "You're a generous man."
"We've all been trying to navigate a shifting world. Especially since Waterloo. Did Alistair give you any explanation for why he'd disappeared?"
"No, and it seemed safer for me not to know."
Malcolm nodded. "You wrote a chapter about Henry Brougham."
Danielle dropped into a worn petit-point chair. "I wrote chapters about a lot of people." She pleated a fold of her blue gown between her fingers. "In general, it's easy to say that people who whisper secrets across the sheets deserve what they get. But I felt qualms about Brougham."
"The chapter you wrote about him has gone missing. It's possible Alistair has it."
"Devil take it. I'm sorry."
Malcolm dragged a ladder-back chair close to Danielle and sat across from her. "He talked to you about Princess Caroline. The queen."
"He mentioned her relationship with Bergami. Some details of their living arrangements and how open they were. He was concerned about what she was risking." Danielle plucked at a loose thread in her cuff. "Princess Caroline obviously trusted Brougham. I should have given more thought to what I might be doing to another woman."
"Alistair wants all the memoirs. But he may be trying to barter that chapter to the king."
"Damn it." She snapped off the loose thread. "Having written the memoirs as insurance, I suppose I am well served if someone else tries to use them to insure his own future. I didn't think of it at the time, but I can see the value in that chapter. When I wrote them, I didn't anticipate where we are now."
"None of us did."
"If anyone can outthink Alistair Rannoch, I would imagine you can."
"I wouldn't know where to begin." Malcolm leaned back against the hard slats of the chair. "You were close to Tsar Alexander."
She raised a dark, finely arced brow. "I don't know that I'd say close. I was his mistress for a bit. Though I doubt I was the only woman he was sleeping with."
"Is he in the memoirs?"
"Yes, though I'm not sure how much interest that would hold for your colleagues in Britain. I can't claim he betrayed international secrets to me. In fact, he told me rather less of interest than Brougham did."
