Her Royal Spyness (9 page)

He reached across to a nearby table and handed me a piece of linen.

“That’s a tray cloth,” I said.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “It’s all I could find.”

I dabbed at my face with the tray cloth and was now able to focus on him. He was tall and slim, like an overgrown schoolboy who is wearing his big brother’s morning suit. An attempt had been made to slick down his dark brown hair but it still flopped in boyish fashion across his forehead and his earnest brown eyes were now pleading with me in a way that reminded me of a spaniel I once had.

“I’ve ruined your lovely dress. I really am the most clumsy ox,” he went on as he watched me dry myself off. “I’m absolutely hopeless at events like this. The moment I put on a morning suit or a dinner jacket, I am positively guaranteed to spill something, trip over my shoelaces, or generally make an utter fool of myself. I’m thinking of becoming a hermit and living in a cave somewhere on a mountaintop. In Scotland, maybe.”

I had to laugh at that. “I don’t think you’ll find the food is as good,” I pointed out. “And I think you’d find a Scottish cave incredibly cold and drafty. Trust me, I know whereof I speak.”

“You do have a point.” He observed me and then said, “I say, I think I know who you are.”

This was not good. It was bound to happen, I suppose. Just in case things got awkward, I tried to spot Darcy in the crowd. However, I was completely unprepared for what the young man said next: “I believe that you and I are related.”

I went through a quick mental list of cousins, second cousins, and second cousins once removed.

“Really?” I said.

“Well, sort of related. At least, not actually related, but your mother was once married to my guardian, and we played together when we were little. I’m Tristram Hautbois, Sir Hubert Anstruther’s ward.”

All I could think was what terrible twist of fate had christened somebody Tristram who could not say his
r
s properly. He pronounced it “Twistwam.”

“We ran through the fountains naked, apparently,” I said.

His face lit up. “You remember it too? We thought we’d get into frightful trouble, because a lot of important people had been invited to tea on the lawns, but my guardian thought it was frightfully funny.” His face became solemn again. “You’ve heard what’s happened, I suppose. Poor old Sir Hubert’s had a terrible accident. He’s in a coma in a Swiss hospital. They don’t expect him to live.”

“I only heard about it this morning,” I said. “I’m very sorry. I remember him as such a nice man.”

“Oh, he was. One of the best. So good to me, you know, even though I was only a distant relative. My mother was his mother’s cousin. You knew his mother was French, I suppose. Well, my parents were killed in the Great War and he took frightful risks coming over to France to rescue me. He has raised me as if I were his own son. I owe him a huge debt of gratitude that I’ll never be able to repay now.”

“So you’re actually French, not English?”

“I am, but I’m afraid my mastery of the language is no better than the average schoolboy’s. I can just about manage ‘
la plume de ma tante
’ and all that. Shameful, really, but I was only two years old when I was brought to Eynsleigh. It’s a lovely house, isn’t it? One of the prettiest in England. Do you remember it well?”

“Hardly at all. I have a vague memory of the lawns and those fountains, and wasn’t there a fat little pony?”

“Squibbs. You tried to make him jump over a log and he bucked you off.”

“So he did.”

We looked at each other and smiled. I had thought him the usual run-of-the-mill mindless twit until now, but the smile lit up his whole face and made him look quite appealing.

“So what will happen to the house if Sir Hubert dies?” I asked.

“Sold, I expect. He has no children of his own to inherit. I am the closest he has to a son, but he never officially adopted me, unfortunately.”

“What are you doing with yourself now?”

“I’ve just come down from Oxford and Sir Hubert arranged for me to be articled to a solicitor in Bromley in Kent, of all places. I’m not sure that I’m cut out for the law, but my guardian wanted me to have a stable profession, so I suppose I’ve got to stick with it. Frankly I’d much rather be off on adventures and expeditions like him.”

“A little more dangerous,” I pointed out.

“But not boring. How about you?”

“I’ve just arrived in London and I’m not sure what I’m going to be doing with myself. It’s not quite as easy for me to just go out and get a job.”

“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” he said. “Look, now that you’re in London, maybe we can do some exploring together. I happen to know the city quite well and I’d be delighted to show you around.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I’m staying at the family home. Rannoch House on Belgrave Square.”

“And I’m in digs in Bromley,” he said. “A slight difference.”

Another young man in a morning coat approached. “Buck up, old thing,” he said to Tristram. “We need all the grooms-men outside toot sweet. We’ve got to sabotage the car before they drive away.”

“Oh, right. Coming.” Tristram gave me an apologetic smile. “Duty calls,” he said. “I do hope we meet again soon.”

At that moment Darcy appeared. “Are you ready to go, Georgie? The bride and groom are about to leave and I thought . . .” He broke off when he saw I was standing beside Tristram. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. How are you, Hautbois?”

“Pretty fair. And yourself, O’Mara?”

“Can’t complain. Will you excuse us? I have to take Georgie home.”

“I turn into a pumpkin at six o’clock,” I attempted to joke.

“I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Georgiana,” Tristram said formally.

As Darcy turned away and attempted to fight his way through the crowd to the door, Tristram grabbed my arm. “Watch out for O’Mara,” he whispered. “He’s a bit of a cad. Not quite trustworthy.”

Chapter 7

Rannoch House
Saturday, April 23, 1932

We came out to a mild April evening. The setting sun was streaming across the park.

“There,” Darcy said, taking my arm to help me down the steps. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You survived perfectly well and you’re considerably better fed and wined than you were a couple of hours ago. In fact there are now nice healthy roses to your cheeks.”

“I suppose so,” I said, “but I don’t think I plan on doing it again. Too hair-raising. There were people who knew me.”

“Like that twerp Hautbois?” Darcy said scathingly.

“You know Tristram, then?”

“I can’t say I actually socialize with him these days. We were at school together. At least, I was a couple of years above him. He snitched to the masters and got me a beating once.”

“For doing what?”

“Trying to take something from him, I believe,” he said. “Sniveling little brute that he was.”

“He seems quite pleasant now,” I said.

“Has he asked to see you again?”

“He’s offered to show me around London.”

“Has he now.”

With a thrill I realized that he might be jealous. I grinned.

“So how on earth do you know him?” Darcy went on. “He can’t have been one of your partners at those dreary deb balls, surely?”

“We were practically related once. My mother was married to his guardian. We used to—to play together.” Somehow I couldn’t use the word “naked” with Darcy.

“I’d imagine you are probably practically related to a good many people on several continents,” he said and raised an eyebrow.

“I think my mother only actually married the first few bolts,” I said. “In those days she was conventional enough to still believe she should marry them. Now she just—”

“Lives in sin?” Again that challenging smile that did something to my insides.

“As you say.”

“That would never work for me,” he said. “As a Catholic, I’d be damned to hell if I kept marrying and divorcing. The church considers marriage sacred and divorce a mortal sin.”

“And if you kept living in sin with somebody?”

He grinned. “I think the church would prefer that, given the options.”

I glanced up at him as we waited to cross Park Lane. Penniless, Irish, and a Catholic too. Quite unsuitable in every way. If I were still being chaperoned, I’d have been bundled into the nearest cab and whisked away instantly.

“I’ll see you home,” he said, taking my arm again when I teetered as we crossed the street.

“I’m perfectly capable of finding my own way home in broad daylight,” I said, although I had to admit that my legs weren’t exactly steady after all that champagne and with the heady prospect of his walking beside me.

“I’m sure you are, but wouldn’t you rather have my company to enjoy this lovely evening? Were I currently in funds, I’d have arranged a horse-drawn carriage and we’d clip-clop slowly along the leafy avenues. As it is, we can still walk across the park.”

“All right, then,” I said, rather ungraciously. Twenty-one years of strict upbringing were shouting that I should have no more to do with a man whom I had been warned was a cad and unreliable, as well as being penniless and a Catholic. But when had I ever had such a tempting chance to stroll through the park with someone so devastatingly handsome?

There is nothing as lovely as a London park in springtime. Daffodils among the trees, new green emerging on those spreading chestnuts, elegantly turned-out horses crossing from the riding stable toward Rotten Row, and courting couples strolling hand in hand or sitting rather too close to each other on the benches. I stole a glance at Darcy. He was striding out, looking relaxed and enjoying the scene. I knew I should be making conversation at this moment. At all those training sessions at Les Oiseaux, when we had to dine with each of the mistresses in turn, it was drummed into us that it was a mortal sin to allow a silence to descend upon a dinner party.

“Do you actually live in London?” I asked Darcy.

“At the moment. I’m sleeping at a friend’s place in Chelsea while he’s on his yacht in the Med.”

“That sounds awfully glamorous. Have you been to the Med yourself?”

“Oh, yes. Many times. Never in April though. Not smooth enough. I’m a rotten sailor.”

I tried to form the question I was dying to ask him. “So do you have some kind of profession? I mean, if you have to gate-crash functions to get a good meal and your father has cut you off without a penny, how do you survive?”

He looked down at me and grinned. “I live by my wits, my girl. That’s what I do. And it’s not a bad life. People invite me to make upon even number at dinner parties. I’m awfully well house-trained. I never spill soup on my dinner jacket. They invite me to dance with their daughters at hunt balls. Of course they don’t all know what I’ve told you about being penniless. I’m Lord Kilhenny’s son. They think I’m a good catch.”

“You will be Lord Kilhenny one day, won’t you?”

He laughed. “My old man is likely to live forever, just to spite me. He and I have never been the greatest of pals.”

“And what about your mother? Is she still living?”

“Died in the flu epidemic,” he said. “So did my little brothers. I was away at school so I survived. The conditions were so brutal there, the food so bad, that even the influenza bugs didn’t think it worth visiting.” He smiled, then the smile faded. “I think my father blames me for living.”

“But you’ll have to do something with yourself someday. You can’t go on sneaking in to eat at other people’s functions.”

“I expect I’ll marry a rich heiress, probably an American, and live happily ever after in Kentucky.”

“Would you like that?”

“Good horses in Kentucky,” he said. “I like horses, don’t you?”

“Adore them. I even adore hunting.”

He nodded. “It’s in the blood. Nothing we can do about it. That’s the one thing I regret, the destruction of our racing stable. We had some of the finest thoroughbreds in Europe at one time.” He stopped as if the idea had just struck him. “We must go to Ascot together. I know how to pick winners. If you come with me, you’ll win yourself a tidy amount.”

“If I can win myself a tidy amount, why don’t you win tidy amounts for yourself and thus not be quite so penniless?”

He grinned. “And who says I don’t win myself very tidy amounts from time to time? It’s a great way to keep my head above water. I can’t do it too often, though, or I’d find myself in trouble with the bookmakers.”

I looked up and saw to my regret that we were approaching Hyde Park Corner and Belgrave Square lay just on the other side.

It was one of those rare spring evenings that holds the promise of summer. The sun was about to set and the whole of Hyde Park was glowing. I turned to savor the scene.

“Don’t let’s go indoors yet. It’s lovely to be outside. I’m afraid I was brought up to be a country girl. I hate looking out of my window at chimneys and rooftops.”

“I feel the same way,” Darcy said. “You should see the views from Kilhenny Castle—all those lovely green hills and the sea sparkling in the distance. Can’t beat it anywhere in the world.”

“Have you been around the world?” I asked.

“Most of it. I went to Australia once.”

“Did you?”

“Yes, my father suggested I try to make my fortune there.”

“And?”

“Not the right sort of place for me. They’re all plebs, all mates together. They actually enjoy roughing it and going to a loo in the backyard. Oh, and they actually expect one to work by the sweat of one’s brow. I’m afraid I was made for civilization.” He found a bench and sank onto it, patting the seat beside him. “Good view from here.”

I sat beside him, conscious of the closeness and warmth of his leg against mine.

“So tell me,” he said. “What do you plan to do with yourself now that Harrods is no more?”

“I’ll have to look for another job,” I said, “but I rather fear that Her Majesty is making her own plans. At the moment it is a choice between marrying a ghastly foreign prince or becoming lady-in-waiting to a great-aunt, Queen Victoria’s last surviving daughter, in the depths of the countryside where the height of entertainment will be holding her knitting wool or playing rummy.”