A Heartless Design (11 page)

“She’s a lady.”

“You’re a soldier. And we are in the midst of a war.” Neville paused. “I could assign someone else.”

“No,” Sebastien snapped. “I’ll take care of it.” 

Leaving the Zodiac’s headquarters, he reflected on the mission. He loathed the idea of another agent, another man, getting close to Cordelia. Or rather, Miss Bering. And wasn’t he the best person for this mission? He had a better claim to know Miss Bering than any other agent. Forester encouraged him to get closer to her, and Neville all but ordered a seduction. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept with a woman solely to gain information. True, he never had to seduce a lady of his nation and class before, but the steps would be the same. The stakes would not be. The thought came unbidden and unwelcome. If something went wrong, she would be either compromised or ruined. And it would be his fault.

“But if she just gave me the papers, she would not risk anything,” he said to himself. She had already made it plain that she didn’t trust him, and part of him did not want her to. Because seducing Cordelia Bering could be quite enjoyable. She said she was heartless. Thorne could be, too.  

He nodded to himself, having made his decision. He’d do whatever he had to, no matter how pleasant it ended up being.

* * * *

For Cordelia, the rest of the day was largely lost. Her thoughts drifted continually back to the gentleman called Thorne. Though she wasn’t sure
gentleman
was the right word for him. He was more like a savage animal, playing at being civilized. The perfectly cut clothes didn’t fool her; that man was used to rougher environments than London. And his sudden interest in her family, in her father’s work, on the very day after someone tried to break into her home…Cordelia decided that the first thing she had to do was find out more about this man.

The next day, as soon as it was appropriate to begin visiting, she was in her carriage on her way to the home of her dearest friend. Eleanor Ramsay was one of the best-informed gossips in London. If Thorne had a past worth knowing about, Elly would know.

Elly was the wife of a wealthy tradesman who had invested shrewdly in shipping to India (which was indirectly responsible for the ladies meeting), and she lived in luxury in Park Lane. Elly always wore the latest in gowns, and her hats were confections of the milliner’s art. She cultivated a circle of friends based on her charity work, which also proved to be a rich ground for gossip.

But for all her outward appearances, she had troubles of her own. She was often separated from her busy husband, and in society she was snubbed by higher-class women who resented her for her wealth, particularly because of where the wealth had come from. Elly hid the unhappy side of her life from nearly everyone but Cordelia.

When Cordelia arrived at Elly’s palatial home, the footman permitted himself a brief, respectful smile for the good friend of his mistress. “Mrs Ramsay is in the gardens. If you will follow me, Miss Bering?”

He led her through the marble foyer and the gracious rooms on the way to the gardens at the back. They were a riot of spring color, the flowers competing for attention with the cloudless sky. Dressed in a spotless white lawn dress, Elly sat at a small table covered with tea things. She looked over as the footman’s step crunched on the gravel path.

“Cordelia, my dear!” Elly stood up, her smile warm as the day. “How thoughtful of you to call! I have not seen you for ages.”

“A week, I think,” Cordelia corrected with a wry smile. Elly was prone to fits of poetic exaggeration. The two ladies sat down at the table, where Elly had already begun to take her tea. The garden was beautiful, and Cordelia marveled at how peaceful it seemed. Elly poured a cup of fresh tea, which Cordelia accepted gratefully.

“Well, it seems ages. Do tell me what you’ve been up to.” 

Cordelia got right to the point. “Have you ever heard of a gentlemen called Sebastien Thorne?”

Elly sat up a little straighter. “Do you mean the Earl of Thornbury?”

“Yes,” Cordelia said. “The one with a family holding in Cheshire.”

“Yes, of course that one! Cordelia, are you telling me you haven’t heard of Thorne?”

“Why should I have?”

“You ought to circulate in society more,” Elly sighed. “Thorne is
the
catch of the moment, dear. All the women are wild about him.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, his life story is just romantic!”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow inquiringly, which was all the encouragement Elly needed.

“He is quite handsome, to begin with. Tall and dark and all that.”

Cordelia couldn’t disagree with that assessment, though she said nothing.

“He is the second son to the Earl of Thornbury. And he seemed to embody all the worst tendencies of second sons. He drank, he wagered, he consorted with scandalous women.” Elly paused, blushing a bit. “Not that you would know about that, dear. Suffice it to say he was a rakehell. Drove his family to despair. He has a younger sister who was convinced he was going to perdition, and she cried her heart out about it.”

“That hardly sounds appealing as a marriage prospect.”

“Well, I’m getting to that. One night…so the story goes…he was gambling all evening in one of the worst of the hells, drinking whiskey, with a woman on each arm…or something of that manner. He lost more and more money, but he wouldn’t stop. Some men can’t, you know. The thrill of cards or dice is a lure they can’t resist.

“Anyway, he was enticed out of the gaming hell by the women, who turned out to be thieves. He was blind drunk, so they robbed him of everything he had on him and left him for dead in a gutter or a field somewhere.

“He woke up not knowing who or where he was. Utterly ashamed of his life—not to mention broke—he crawled back to his father, begging forgiveness. Vowed he’d start over. He made a name for himself in the army. Straightened out, served gloriously and saved lives of innocents. The usual.”

“I see,” Cordelia murmured. “But he lost his family.”

“Yes. First, his father died of heart failure, making his older brother George the earl. Then the new earl was in an accident. So young Thorne retired his commission and came back to take on the duties of Earl of Thornbury. Thus he has gone from scandalous to sought-after.”

“Certain women have always looked to marry wealth,” Cordelia sniffed.

“But he’s not wealthy. That’s another sad part of the tale. The estate was poorly managed, and there were gambling debts as well. I’ve heard Thorne Hall is little more than a ruin. But even so, he has the title, and great expectations of turning around his fortunes. But why do you ask about Thorne, dear?”

Cordelia had thought long and hard about how much she should say. She decided to try to get away with as little as possible. Elly must not even suspect that Thorne had already done something as scandalous as kiss her. “I met him yesterday,” she said.

“Did you?” Elly looked delighted. “How did that come about?”

Cordelia said, “It seems Lord Thorne knows my aunt. He paid a call on her—us—yesterday. Quite unexpected, since he last saw her when he was a boy.”

“Is that so?” Elly asked speculatively. Her romantic brain was already turning. “And you just happened to be there! Did you charm him?”

“I seriously doubt it.” Cordelia laughed in spite of herself, thinking of the real situation and the tension between them. “I hadn’t heard of him, so I wondered if he was who he said he was…I had the notion that he might have been some…unsavory character, using a false acquaintance to get something from me…my aunt, that is.”

“Oh, no. He’s precisely what he claims to be! I think he is looking for a wife.” Elly’s excitement made Cordelia simultaneously amused and sad. She knew that Thorne had no interest in her.

“He certainly wasn’t looking for me to fill that role. And I am not interested in marrying anyone.”

“Come now, dear. I’ve seen Lord Thorne. Are you telling me you don’t think him handsome? Your heart didn’t flutter just a little when you looked at him?”

Cordelia’s whole body had reacted to him during their first encounter in the garden, but she couldn’t confide that to Elly. Her sudden blush, however, couldn’t be stopped.

“You turn pink just remembering his face! I knew it. You’re not heartless at all.”

Cordelia waved a hand self-consciously. “I assure you he did not express the slightest interest in marrying me. He is far above me in station, if not wealth. Why would he consider it?”

Indeed, why did Cordelia consider it, even for a moment? She didn’t want to marry anyone, let alone the arrogant Lord Thorne. “Let’s talk about something else.”

Elly pouted briefly, but then brightened. “I did want to ask you if you had any recommendations for a footman. I had to let one of mine go.”

“Why?”

Elly lowered her eyes. “He was impertinent.” She didn’t elaborate, but Cordelia guessed the story. As Elly’s husband Percival was gone so often, it might have occurred to an ambitious young man that the wife was bored, and thus amenable to an illicit arrangement that would result in a promotion or gifts. It was not an uncommon thing to happen, though no lady ever talked about it directly.

Elly was no older than Cordelia, and just as attractive, with her plumper curves, limpid eyes, and very modish clothing. It wouldn’t have been the first time Elly had to deal with unwanted attention. Fortunately, she had a friend in Cordelia, who seemed to always know how to find a good, reliable servant.

“A recommendation? I think I may,” Cordelia said, smiling a bit. “Give me a few days and I shall have some names to give you.” She often asked her own servants if they knew anyone trustworthy in need of a position. Then she interviewed every one of them herself to assess what role each one would excel at. The result was a pool of unlikely but talented people skilled enough to work anywhere.

Elly sighed. “I don’t know how you do it, dear. Your house is
so
well run, and here I am, with twice as many servants…and all the best ones have come from you!”

“I suppose that is my one gift.”

“Not your only gift,” Elly disagreed.

Before she could return to the topic of Sebastien Thorne, the footman reappeared, announcing another visitor. At Elly’s approval, an older woman soon joined them in the garden. Dressed with more enthusiasm than elegance, the brash Mrs Smallhand exuded a kind of breathless energy.  

“Afternoon, dear Mrs Ramsay. And you are…” She looked at Cordelia, who looked steadily back. She had met the woman before, but people often did not remember Cordelia—she had little influence in society, and had a very small circle of friends. Her looks and unmarried status undoubtedly added to the problem. Most women could not believe Cordelia wasn’t in competition with them (or their daughters) in the hunt for a husband.

“This is Miss Cordelia Bering,” Elly said gently. “You may have seen her at one of my house parties.”

“Pleased to meet you,
Miss
Bering,” the older woman said, looking Cordelia up and down. “A bit long in the tooth for a miss, are you not?”

“I am resigned, Mrs Smallhand,” Cordelia said. She was used to giving that sort of answer. This time, however, the words were more difficult to force out. The appearance of Sebastien Thorne had quite disturbed her equilibrium. Perhaps she was not entirely resigned to a life of spinsterhood.

“We were just lamenting the difficulties of finding good servants,” Elly explained, hoping to steer the conversation away from Cordelia’s marital status.

“A perennial topic! My housekeeper dismissed a maid this very morning. Tea leaves going missing! And her with new shoes. I ask you!” Her theatrically raised eyebrows filled in the rest of the story. Tea was fearsomely expensive, costing a typical London laborer perhaps one third his weekly pay. Thus in most homes, it was guarded jealously by the housekeeper, kept under lock and key. Many servants did a fine side trade in drying once-used tea leaves and then reselling them. But theft was also common…and it was easy to blame a maid. Cordelia knew that it was just as likely that the one who kept the keys was responsible for the theft. But a lady didn’t want to get rid of a housekeeper. Maids were cheaper to replace.

Elly made a sympathetic sound after hearing Mrs Smallhand’s remark. “Well, Miss Bering has uncommon luck with servants. Perhaps she could recommend one for you.”

“Oh, Miss Bering, if you have somehow found the knack of hiring an honest servant, then you are a gifted woman indeed. The servant class, it seems, is almost entirely composed of thieves and ingrates.”

“I have been quite satisfied with the moral fiber of my household,” Cordelia said, carefully controlling her expression.

“And could you offer a name to another lady?”

“I’d be pleased to do so,” Cordelia said. Her brain was already churning. She thought of a former maid who had taken leave to care for a sick parent. Cordelia happened to know that the girl would soon need another post. “I shall send a name to your home within a day or two.” 

The trio discussed a few other items of gossip. A most eligible bachelor, Charles Wolverton, was suddenly no longer eligible. “Engaged to a bluestocking now,” Mrs Smallhand said. “Good family, but the Brecknell girl isn’t much of a catch to my mind. She is too tall for fashion, and quite…odd. Bookish, you know.”

“I have a soft spot for odd girls,” Elly said, smiling sidelong at Cordelia. “When will the wedding be? I love a wedding.”

“Not for a while,” Mrs Smallhand said. “Wolverton plans to buy out his commission at some point next year. We may hope that England and France will declare a lasting peace soon. This Emperor Napoleon must see reason. And where else will Britain engage in real war, if not France? Mark my words, soon there won’t be a reason for a young man to join the army at all…at least not a man who joins for excitement. No, Europe will soon tire of war.”

“Peace would be a wonderful thing,” Cordelia murmured, not believing it for a moment. Mrs Smallhand had to be blind. Any reasonable person knew that Napoleon Bonaparte was
not
reasonable. The man was ambitious in the extreme. He crowned himself emperor. Such a man did not agree to a peace treaty in good faith. Once again, she wondered about Thorne. She knew he was curious about the
Andraste
designs. But why?