Between a Rake and a Hard Place (13 page)

Excitement is building for the upcoming Season and its ubiquitous marriage mart. However, by rights, civilized people ought to decry this rampant, mercenary practice of pairing similarly situated couples and uniting them in holy matrimony, whether any true love match exists or not.

But marriage-minded mamas argue, by what criterion shall we base such an important decision if not suitability of rank and wealth? Such commonality suggests common interests and indeed common affection would surely follow.

Since the Flood, like pairs with like and folk have been going through this world two by two. Who are we to argue with such precedent?

From
Le
Dernier Mot,

The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know

At the top of the rise, Jonah reined in Turk so he could look down at Portsmouth. Morning fog still swathed most of the docks in a thick gray blanket, with only the tallest crow's nests peeping from the mists. But the rest of town showed signs of waking. The night soil wagon rumbled through narrow streets accepting pungent offerings, followed by the milk and egg man dropping off the household orders. Fishmongers and grocers wheeled handcarts to their corners and set up shop for the day. A faint bit of the singsong patter they used to entice customers echoed up to Jonah in disjointed words and phrases.

When reconnoitering a new place or trying to run someone to ground, Jonah often made use of two equally informative yet vastly different sources of intelligence—the local pub and the parish church. The pubs wouldn't be serving customers for some time since most folk were just now sitting down to breakfast, but the church doors were always open.

Luckily for Jonah, the vicar was the gregarious sort who loved to talk about his parishioners. The gentle reverend was also willing to share a frugal breakfast of bread and milk with a curious traveler in the manse's kitchen.

“You say the man's name is Leatherby, eh?” The man of God tapped his temple. “Seems vaguely familiar, but to be honest, my memory is not what it used to be. But if I baptized a babe, married a couple, or buried someone, it'll be recorded in our church rolls.”

He disappeared to his private study and returned to the kitchen with a doorstop-sized ledger in tow. “There you have it, my good man,” he said. “The life of the parish since 1800 all in one place. If we need to go back further than that, I'll have to find my predecessor's book.”

“I expect this will do,” Jonah said as he leafed through the stiff pages. He'd told the vicar that he was trying to find Leatherby because his military service had earned him a commendation which had yet to be awarded. “Sergeant Leatherby is likely older than I so he won't be listed in the births section. If he's in here, I suspect it'll be in the marriage listings.”

The vicar reached across the table and thumbed over to the correct section of the massive book. There, in a neat round script, were the names and dates of all the couples who'd vowed to forsake all others and cleave only to each other till death did them part.

The listings went on and on, page after page.

It never ceased to amaze Jonah that so many people were willing to take on responsibility for another soul for their entire life. The record length for his relationships with the fair sex was barely a fortnight.

“There it is.” The reverend, who appeared to be gifted with the ability to read upside down, pointed a finger at a pair of names halfway down the column. “Hammond Barnabas Leatherby and Helen Smallshaw, wed 21 August, 1803.”

“Is there any way to know where they live?”

“Not from these records. And if they attend church here regularly, I confess I am not aware of it.” The vicar steepled his fingers before him. “And I so wanted to help you find the fellow so you can deliver that commendation. Our gallant military men deserve every honor.”

Jonah felt a twinge of guilt over lying to a vicar, but since it was far and away not the worst thing he'd ever done, he figured his newly awakened conscience would give up needling him soon. “Since Leatherby was in the king's service, I believe the couple may have lived separately for a good bit of their married life. Perhaps the missus receives parish assistance…”

“She may. A good many wives of soldiers and sailors are little more than widows without the name. And just as poor, more's the pity,” the vicar said, pausing to make a tsking sound with his teeth and tongue. “But that would be in another ledger. If Helen Leatherby is listed there, we should also have a place of residence recorded for her.”

The vicar scurried away again.

Jonah continued to glance through the pages of the parish records. “For better or worse, for richer, for poorer,” he mused. “I wonder how many of you got the short end of those sticks.”

But for the first time in his life, he wondered if his name would ever appear in a parish record linked with a lady's in holy matrimony like this. He doubted it. The marriage vows promised a love without conditions. One that didn't buckle when health or fortune fled away. One that could last through anything.

He doubted “anything” included the likes of him.

Jonah was carrying so much deadweight, he could never expect a woman to shoulder half the load his soul carried.

As he turned the page, a couple of names he recognized caught his eye.

No, it couldn't be.

He stared at the indelible ink, thinking he'd misread the entry, but the names remained the same.
Married, 5 June, 1815.

“Well, that explains a lot,” he muttered.

“Oh, I'm so glad you're finding my ledger helpful,” the vicar said as he bustled back in and plopped down the parish benevolence rolls in front of Jonah. “Hopefully, this one will be too.”

***

The sun was starting to set when Jonah caught his first glimpse of Wyndebourne again. His day in Portsmouth had been a disappointment. Helen Smallshaw Leatherby had moved from the ramshackle tenement the parish rolls had listed as her place of residence and none of her former neighbors knew where she'd gone. Jonah had soup in one pub and ale in another, but hadn't been able to ferret out anyone who admitted to knowing Sergeant Leatherby.

In midafternoon, he made a few purchases, replacing his stolen wrist studs and shaving kit. Warrington and Colton had better be taking good care of his horse pistol or he'd throttle the pair of them when he saw them next. He made a quick stop at a booksellers' and then turned Turk's head toward Wyndebourne once more.

Somehow, he had to finagle an invitation back into the household. If he couldn't find Leatherby on his own, it was more imperative than ever that he satisfy Mr. Alcock's demands.

As Jonah crested another rise, he discovered two other riders heading his direction, a man and a woman. The fellow was dressed in the powdered wig and livery of a footman and the woman was wearing a jaunty green riding habit. Even from this distance, Jonah could see her hat sported a ridiculously long collection of feathers draping out the back.

It had to be Serena.

He dug his heels into Turk's flanks and the gelding leaped into a ground-eating gallop. She began cantering to close the distance between them and they both drew to a halt with about a dozen feet separating them. The footman looked the worse for his bone-jarring canter to keep up with her, but Serena was smiling.

“Back in the sidesaddle, I see,” he said with a grin.

“I've found I prefer it. Everything fits so neatly, you see.” She peered at him over the tops of her blue tinted spectacles.

“Do those help?” By rights, she'd ought to have a splitting headache after all that claret.

“I wear them from time to time for relief from megrims,” she said with a grimace. “It seems they are useful for other maladies as well.”

Even self-inflicted ones. Still, he couldn't help but admire her pluck. She might be in discomfort, but she didn't allow herself to wallow in it.

“Kindly give us twenty yards please, Mr. Halpenny,” she said to the footman. The servant turned his mount around and trudged away. Serena nudged her mare into a sedate walk onto the narrow trail leading into the woods. Jonah kneed Turk and came even with her.

“I didn't expect you to come looking for me,” he said.

She snorted, a singularly unladylike sound, but one he was coming to associate with her. He admired her ability to flout what was expected of her, even in how she expressed herself.

“You flatter yourself, Sir Jonah. I'm only riding for pleasure. Our meeting is but a happy accident.”

“So you admit it, then. You are happy to see me.”

She cast him a sidelong glance but didn't contradict him. “I was surprised that you left Wyndebourne without a good-bye.”

“I was cordially invited not to tarry.”

“Yes, well, Amelia regretted those hasty words once I convinced her you were not responsible for my…unfortunate state last evening.” Serena nudged her mare into a quick trot as the path ascended up an incline. The long pheasant feathers on her hat undulated with each stride. “She wishes to rescind her request that you leave,” she called over her shoulder.

“And what do you wish?” He hurried to catch up with her as the trail widened.

“You're my father's guest, Jonah, visiting Wyndebourne solely for the purpose of buying a brood mare, I believe,” she said. “What I wish doesn't signify.”

“It does to me.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he realized with a sinking feeling in his gut that they were
true
. That strange glowing lump in his chest was caring, confound it! He'd gone from being the seducer to being seduced.

When
did
that
happen?

She didn't say anything. She just looked at him as if she were seeing him clearly for the first time. As if she
knew
things about him no one should know.

Which, of course, she didn't or she'd likely be fleeing from him as fast as her mare and her not-quite-megrim headache would allow.

Jonah nudged his mount on up the path where gray stone glinted through the barren branches. He pulled up before the tumbled-down ruins of a tower and part of a curtain wall. Dressed gray stones littered the shallow indentation of what had once been a moat.

“This must be the castle you spoke of,” he said, grateful for anything that might change the subject.

“High marks to your powers of observation, Jonah.” Behind her tinted spectacles, her remarkable eyes rolled in playful derision. “Apparently, my forebears held this part of the coast against all comers for hundreds of years by sheer brute force. Now my father does the same thing with Acts of Parliament and a judicious word in a well-placed ear. Much more tidy, don't you think?”

“It may appear that things are more civilized now,” Jonah said as he dismounted, “but let me assure you, politics is still a blood sport.”

She
has
no
idea.

He went over to help her down and to his surprise, she allowed it. She unhooked her knee from the pommel and slid gracefully to the ground, her long skirts billowing.

“You do sit a horse well, milady,” he said, not moving to release his hold on her waist. “Either aside or astride.”

“Yet isn't it odd that I prefer my sidesaddle after all?” She looked up at him and leaned closer. “In truth, most of my forbidden pleasures have turned out to be not nearly as pleasurable as I expected.”

“But not all?”

“No, not all.” Her pink tongue flicked her bottom lip. “Of course, some of the pleasures that have come my way lately were things I'd never dreamt of. Our adventure in the hunting lodge was not on the list in the first place, so that probably doesn't count.”

“It counted for me, and I don't even have a list,” he said with a grin.

Her lips turned up. “I guess I'll count it too then. But on balance, the scales still haven't tipped in my list's favor.”

“Does that mean you're giving up on your list?” He hoped she would. Who knew what the next dubious “pleasure” might be and what sort of trouble she'd make for herself?

“No, but I will be more circumspect about accomplishing my goals. I don't want anyone else to pay for my mistakes,” she said. “It's bad enough that you were your brother's whipping boy. I won't allow Amelia to make you mine.”

“I don't blame her. Finding me in your room was a nasty surprise for her and she does care for you a great deal,” Jonah said. “That's a rare enough gift that it's not something to take lightly.”

“Surely you have people who care for you.”

His parents, while always conscious of their responsibilities toward him and his brother, had never been the demonstrative sort. If his mother had kissed his brow or his father said an approving word to him, he had no recollection of it. Family was duty. Honor.

Not something as ephemeral as a feeling, something that could be altered by a whim or a bout of improper digestion.

“It's not something I concern myself over,” he said. Life was simpler if one didn't give a damn.

“Amelia always says we must give to get. Perhaps you haven't let someone care for you because you haven't cared for them first.” She leaned in to whisper, “But never fear, Jonah. I care about you and there's nothing you can do about it.”

Then after this astonishing admission, she pulled away from him and addressed the footman who'd finally ambled into the clearing.

“Stay with the horses, Mr. Halpenny. Sir Jonah and I are going to explore the ruins.”

Then she slipped her hand into the crook of Jonah's elbow and led him toward the barbaric remains of Wyndleton's greatness.

It has come to this journalist's attention that the Duke of Kent is planning to travel this spring, but no one can name his intended destination. Will he hie himself to Hampshire to woo Lady S. or embark on a ship to cross the Channel for a visit to Prince Leopold's court? Our usual sources are dismally silent. The crown jewels aren't as closely guarded as the royal duke's itinerary.

From
Le
Dernier Mot,

The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who
Is Anyone Should Know

Jonah nodded, casting a military man's approving eye at the landscape spread out before them. “The first Wyndleton certainly knew how to pick the right spot.”

Serena leaned on the balustrade and drew a lungful of sea air. They were too far from the surf to hear the breakers, but the wind carried the briny freshness up to them.

After she and Jonah had explored the grassy-floored and open-to-the-sky chambers that made up the ruined castle, they'd climbed to the top of the remaining curtain wall, well away from the part that had already crumbled. The forest fell away below them, and from this vantage point it was clear that the undergrowth was beginning to shoot out green tendrils. Tiny buds dotted every tree limb. Over the treetops, Serena could see the broad expanse of the Channel spreading away from them in a grayish blue that blurred to a rim of cobalt at the distant horizon.

“When I was younger, I'd come here and pretend we were under siege. Fortunately, my imaginary standing Wyndleton force beat back the invaders every time,” she said with a grin as she peeped over the parapet. “Visigoths can be so very inconvenient if you allow them a toehold, you know.”

Jonah laughed. “I thought little girls hosted tea parties with their stuffed bears and pretended to mother baby dolls.”

“I'm sure some do, but obviously I read the wrong sorts of books as a child.” She leaned her chin on the knuckles of both hands. “Or maybe I was trying to be the son my father always wanted.”

“You really shouldn't trouble yourself over that, Serena.” A deep cleft formed between his brows. “We all disappoint our parents one way or another. Most often because of what we do rather than what we are.”

She wished she could smooth away that frown line. “I'm sure you've been a source of great pride to your family. After all, not many men perform a service to the Crown that results in an elevation of station.”

He flashed a half-smile at her. “As you delight in pointing out at every opportunity, I'm only a baronet.”

“That was horrid of me.” She knew her grin didn't match her words, but she couldn't seem to stop smiling. Everything felt right when she was with him. “No doubt you were provoking me sorely when I did it.”

“No doubt. Every single time.”

“Still, most nobly born second sons are resigned to being merely ‘Mister' all their lives. The fact that you did not remain so makes you special.” She turned and leaned against the parapet. “What did you do to merit the Sir before your name?”

A wall seemed to rise up behind his green eyes, more formidable than the Wyndleton castle ramparts had ever been. “I can't discuss it.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me. If you can't tell me because you took an oath not to, that's one thing.” She stopped leaning and paced along the parapet, as fidgety and unable to settle as a sparrow on a narrow ledge. “If you won't tell me because you don't trust me with your secret, that's something else entirely.”

He caught one of her hands and held it fast. “Serena, there are some things best left unsaid.”

“And those are the things that generally wear a body down till they can't put one foot in front of the other.” She sank onto the gray stone with one of the taller crenelations at her back, letting the heat the granite had absorbed during the day seep into her. In times past, the curtain wall sheltered the real Wyndleton defenders from flaming arrows and trebuchet volleys. She wished she could shelter the man beside her as completely. He'd never admit to needing it, but part of her was sure he did. “I've watched you, Jonah. Even when you smile, it rarely reaches your eyes. It's as if you won't let yourself be happy.”

“I'm happy enough, Serena. Who said I'm not?”

“Happy enough is a poor substitute for being truly content.”

Jonah said nothing. When he didn't join her in the growing shadow of ancient stone, she rose to stand beside him. The sun slipped under the westering clouds and shot long golden rays back at them before it sank into the distant sea. It ought to have been a lovely moment of shared pleasure over the beauty of the scene, but the silence growing between them was beginning to be oppressive.

“Did you find your friend in Portsmouth?” she asked to fill the yawning space.

“No.”

“I'm sorry. Perhaps we can send some of the servants to inquire—”

“That won't be necessary.”

She was only trying to help him. Why did he thwart her at every turn? “But you want to locate him, don't you?”

“Let's just say it would be better if he doesn't know I'm coming. I'd like to surprise him.”

“That doesn't seem very friendly,” she said with an odd flutter in her belly. “In fact, it sounds a bit nefarious.”

“You've no idea.” Jonah rested his palms on the balustrade.

She placed a hand on his. “I'd like to have an idea, Jonah. I want to understand you. And I've a feeling I won't until you tell me how you won your baronetcy.”

“Don't ask me, Serena. Because I might tell you and you wouldn't like what you hear.”

“Try me.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “How many times have you asked me to trust you?”

“That's not the sort of thing I generally keep count of.”

“You don't have to give me a number,” she said with a sigh. Honestly, the man was so obtuse sometimes. “Just think back. I trusted you enough to follow you into Boodles' kitchen after only a few minutes of conversation. I trusted you enough to protect my reputation over stealing away from the opera to try that cigar.”

She didn't mention the way she'd trusted him enough to accompany him to the hunting lodge when they'd been set upon by those highwaymen. Or the way she'd given herself over to his talented hands. But she was thinking about it so hard, she was sure he must hear her lascivious thoughts. She hurried on to fill the void lest he bring it up.

“Granted, neither of those exploits went according to plan. But the point is, I gave you my confidence,” Serena said. “Don't you think it's time you returned the favor?”

***

Jonah settled down on a fallen stone in the growing dusk. Perhaps it was a good thing the light dwindled by the moment. Once she knew the truth about him, she'd think him a monster. Darkness seemed fitting.

If she fled from him screaming, she'd save herself from his intention to ruin her. He owed her that chance.

“All right,” Jonah said slowly, “but I want you to know I have never told anyone this. Not my family. Not my friends.”

She dropped to sit beside him. Her willingness to listen didn't seem motivated by morbid curiosity. The look of earnest concern on her sweet face humbled him.

“Whatever you say will stay with me,” she promised.

“I'm counting on it.” He stared down at his hands. They'd never be clean. Even under kid gloves or doused in fragrance, the blood was still there. The problem now was how to tell her. Where to begin? “You may know that in 1800, an attempt was made on the life of our king.”

“I was only three years old when it happened, but I remember it well. It's one of my earliest memories because all the adults in my life were beside themselves over the news.” She rested one of her hands on his forearm and leaned against him, letting her head drift companionably to his shoulder. “I'd never seen so many people crying and shouting at the same time.”

Everyone in England had been abuzz with the details. According to the
Times
, His Majesty had just entered the royal box at the theatre. While the national anthem was playing, a lunatic named James Hadfield fired a pistol at him. The shot missed King George III by a mere fourteen inches, but after the miscreant was dragged away, His Majesty insisted that the evening's entertainment go on as planned. He even managed to fall asleep during the play as was his custom.

“The assassination attempt didn't change His Majesty's habits, but it affected a number of his inner circle,” Jonah said. “They reasoned that if someone could dare to strike at the nation's king, why couldn't they take pre-emptive blows at his enemies?”

Serena said nothing, but the hand she'd laid on his forearm tightened its grip. If she'd given him a worse reaction, he'd have stopped talking then. But now that he'd begun, he felt the need to continue. He might never get the chance to unburden himself again.

“So a group of three influential courtiers formed a secret association they call the Triad for the purpose of identifying those who pose a threat to the House of Hanover. The identities of the three members of this group are secret.” Jonah covered her hand with his while he could. She was likely to yank it away soon. “As I understand it, a unanimous vote is required before action is taken.”

“What are you saying? That our king is having his enemies killed?”

“No, of course not.” Jonah shook his head. “The king is far too mad to know anything of this, and the royal family doesn't want to know. Those who form the Triad make the decisions and shelter them from the truth. And from those who would harm them.”

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him, her eyes enormous in the growing twilight. “What do you have to do with this…this Triad?”

“I'm sure your father would tell you it's one thing to set public policy, and quite another to bring it to fruition. The Triad needs operatives who carry out their not-so-public wishes in a discreet fashion. Every country on earth has a few men who are willing to do what must be done for the common good, even if the doing of it puts them beyond the pale.” He breathed deeply and plowed ahead. “Shortly after I graduated from Eton I came to the Triad's attention. You see, I have…certain skills.”

Her mouth formed a perfect “O.” “You're telling me you were an assassin for the Crown and that's how you earned your baronetcy?”

“And how I kept it.” Honors given can be taken away just as easily, but he hadn't accepted an assignment from the Triad in several months. Only the one from Alcock, which was in direct opposition to the Triad's purpose since Alcock wanted to ensure the House of Hanover's royal line would
not
continue. It was an ironic paradox Jonah couldn't help but enjoy.

At first, seducing a noble virgin had seemed a much easier task for his conscience to absorb than the state-sanctioned removal of an enemy of the Crown. But being with Serena had made several emotions he'd stopped having to deal with bubble back to the surface.

She swallowed hard. “How many…”

He dragged a hand over his face. How many nights had he lain awake, seeing the faces, hearing the pleas? “More than I care to recount.”

“Who…have you…removed?”

Lord love her, she was trying to avoid calling it what it was. “I won't give you names. It would only endanger you to know them, but suffice it to say I made it look accidental as often as I could.”

“Oh,” she said. He could almost see her churning through unexplained deaths and disappearances of well-placed persons over the past few years and trying to reconcile them with what she'd just learned. “Where have you…worked?”

“On the Continent,” he said. “And here. I pledged to protect our king from enemies both foreign and domestic.”

“I see.” She tugged her hand away, but at least she wasn't shrieking and fleeing from him. “How long have you done…
this
for the Crown?”

“The first one was right after Eton, before I joined the military.”

It had seemed exciting at first. Being singled out by His Majesty's inner circle for a special assignment meant that Jonah was special too.

“I was chosen for my blade skills and tasked with doing away with a suspected Prussian spy by challenging the man to a duel.” He served his king well and was rewarded. Unlike his friends Warrington and Colton, who both had a courtesy title affixed to their names merely on account of their births, Jonah had
earned
his honors.

He'd ridden off to war with his head held high. Then after all the death he'd seen on the battlefields in France, he was reluctant to return to the Triad's fold once the war with Bonaparte was over. But once a man was blooded by the Triad, it was difficult to deny their hold on him. Jonah did their bidding. After the disaster at Maubeuge, he was prey to the same self-destructive urge that had driven his friends to debauchery and opiates.

“The first time was easier because my life was at risk too. A duel might go either way, you know. Later I realized even in a duel, there was very little risk to me.”

It was no empty boast. Jonah was a swordsman with few equals. And it seemed the less he cared if he survived his encounters with the Crown's enemies, the more likely it was that he escaped without a scratch.

“It doesn't sound as if there was little risk,” Serena said. “What of the risk to your soul?”

“Are you going to preach a sermon now?” Jonah looked down at his hands again. They were capable hands. Deadly hands. “You're right, of course. At first, I could complete an assignment and then sleep like the just. Later I came to realize when you take a man's life, for whatever reason, it takes something of you as well.”

“A baronetcy was not enough,” Serena said softly. “So, this is something you're still doing?”