How to Plan a Wedding for a Royal Spy (3 page)

Frederick, Duke of York and Albany, commander-in-chief of the king's army, and Will's father, pulled his formidable bulk up from the chair. The duke stretched out his hand, greeting Will with more warmth than was his usual wont. “I imagine not, my boy. I understand you were given leave from your regiment to visit your aunt in Hampshire. My condolences on the loss of your estimable uncle.”

“Thank you, sir. He was the kindest of men, and my aunt keenly feels the loss.”

“As do you, I imagine,” the duke replied. “I am, however, pleased to see you looking so well after all that ugly business in Belgium.” He then turned to Alec. “Welcome back to England, Gilbride. I understand you also acquitted yourself well at Waterloo. You and the 42
^nd
have much to be proud of.”

Alec responded to the tribute with a bow of his head. “Thank you, sir, but my contribution was modest compared to most of the men in the regiment.” His voice was somber, and Will knew he was remembering the high death toll the Black Watch suffered that terrible day.

“There were many good men lost that day. It hardly bears thinking about, does it?” A flicker of sorrow crossed the duke's round, rather florid face. Then he collected himself. “Such reminiscences are not, however, why I asked Sir Dominic to summon you both to meet me.”

“Indeed not,” said Dominic. “If you would like to take your seat, your Highness, we can proceed.”

Will and Alec exchanged curious glances as the duke settled his bulk into the chair. They silently took their seats while Dominic moved to his desk.

From behind that massive oak desk, Dominic managed many of England's intelligence agents, skillfully and invisibly exercising his formidable power. Or at least he had in the past. Will had heard talk of the spymaster's impending retirement and couldn't help wondering if his marriage had anything to do with it. Stepping away at the height of his influence and prestige was not a choice Will could see making in a similar position, and he found it hard to imagine how someone like Dominic could exchange his place at the center of power for a life of quiet domesticity.

A rather meditative silence settled over the room. The duke, never one to waste time or mince words, stared absently at a painting of a hunting scene on the wall behind Dominic's desk, his thick brows pulled together in a slight frown. The spymaster remained silent, clearly waiting for his superior to begin.

“Well, sir, why did ye bring us here today?” Alec finally asked, impatience giving his voice a faint burr.

Will winced at the break in protocol. But Alec had always been impatient with social niceties and rarely met a rule he wasn't tempted to break.

Dominic muttered something disapproving under his breath but, fortunately, the duke chose not to bristle up. Instead, he ignored Alec and lifted an eyebrow at Will. “I suppose I was the last person you expected to see today,” he commented.

“I must admit to some surprise, sir.” It seemed odd that his father would choose to visit Dominic's town house when he could easily order them to appear at his office at the Horse Guards. His father was also not in uniform and his carriage had been nowhere in sight on the street, all of which was highly suggestive of a desire to avoid prying eyes. “Perhaps you wished for this meeting to be unobserved by your staff at the Horse Guards?”

“I wish for it to be a bloody secret,” his father said bluntly. “We've got a damned awkward situation on our hands, and we need you and your cousin to handle it.”

Will didn't like the sound of that. “Indeed, sir? How can we be of assistance?”

When the duke's gaze flickered to Dominic, the spymaster took up the conversation. “Gentlemen, I'm well aware that you both deserve a well-earned rest. Nevertheless, your services are required on an urgent mission.”

“Christ,” Alec groaned. “Not Napoleon again, for God's sake.”

Dominic cracked a slight smile. “No, he's well contained, I assure you. This is a matter closer to home. In fact, most of the mission will likely take place here in London.”

“And what is the nature of this mission?” Will had to rein in his frustration. Dominic was correct. He and Alec did deserve a rest, and the thought of yet another espionage mission made him want to curse long and loud.

“The nature of the mission is stopping an assassination,” the duke answered sharply. “Possibly a royal assassination that could happen within the next few weeks.”

Even Alec couldn't help looking stunned. “Ye're joking, aren't you?”

The duke's gaze narrowed. “I wish I was, Captain, and I'll thank you not to interrupt me again,” he said irritably.

Properly reprimanded, Alec grimaced and murmured an apology.

“Forgive me, sir,” Will said, hoping to draw the duke's ire away from Alec. “Is there any indication of the target of such an attempt? Is it the Prince Regent, or perhaps yourself?”

Will and the duke were not particularly close—after all, he hadn't met the man in person until he was sixteen. Still, the idea of his father facing that kind of danger tensed every muscle in his body. The threat of assassination wasn't hard to imagine, since it had been only three years since Prime Minister Spencer Perceval had been the victim of just such a foul crime.

Dominic smoothly took back control of the discussion. “At this point, we're lacking that sort of precise information.” He glanced at the duke. “With your permission, your Highness, I'll start at the beginning.”

“That would be helpful,” Alec muttered under his breath.

This time it was Will who shot him an irate gaze, but Alec simply rolled his eyes.

“You are well aware, I assume,” Dominic started, “that prior to the Act of Union there was a great deal of trouble in Ireland.”

Will frowned. Though he was only a lad at the time, he'd certainly been aware of the turmoil and bloodshed that had plagued Ireland for years, with factions of Catholics and Irish Protestants united against the English administration in Dublin. In 1798, a group of Catholic rebels had fomented the most serious uprising, this time in league with the French, who had attempted to support the rebels with an invasion force.

Unfortunately for the rebels, bad weather and bad luck led to the scattering or capture of the French ships, and the insurrection had been brutally but effectively put down. The Act of Union of 1801, uniting the kingdoms of England and Ireland, had signaled the end of that revolutionary period, and the last fourteen years had been relatively quiet regarding Irish republicanism and Catholic emancipation.

In Will's opinion, the disabilities enforced by law on the Catholic population, both in England and Ireland, were markedly unfair. After all, he had a fairly good idea of what it felt like to be an outsider. But he knew that his father and most of the royals were vehemently opposed to Catholic emancipation, so he kept his views to himself.

“Yes,” he replied, “but I thought the situation in Ireland was under control, especially since the creation of the Irish Royal Constabulary last year.”

Robert Peel, Chief Secretary for Ireland, had supervised the creation of that Irish police force, nicknamed the Peelers after their founder.

“That's mostly correct,” Dominic agreed. “Peel's men have been effective in containing disorder. But there are still occasional disturbances, especially regarding disputes over tenancy and eviction issues in the countryside. Those disturbances are met with force which, as you can understand, is deeply resented by the local populations.”

“Then they should obey the law and not cause so much bloody trouble,” the duke snapped. “They bring it down upon themselves with their damned agrarian outrages. If a landlord wants to evict some bloody useless Catholic tenant from his land, he has every right to do so.”

Dominic's green eyes went as cold as ice chips. Will had the distinct impression he was struggling not to verbally rip the duke's head off.

“The situation is indeed disturbing,” Dominic finally answered in a carefully neutral voice. “In any event, although Ireland is peaceful for the most part, the administration in Dublin is forced to keep a very close watch on the situation.”

“Which, I assume, means eyes and ears on the ground,” Will said.

“Spies, you mean,” Alec said more bluntly.

Dominic waggled his hand in a
not exactly
gesture. “Let's just say there are those who fear the bloodshed that would surely result from another uprising, even though they are generally sympathetic to the Catholic cause. But given the circumstances, these particular individuals believe it a sensible course of action to pass their concerns on to Peel.”

“They're informants, in other words,” Alec said in a dry voice.

Dominic shrugged but didn't answer.

The duke glanced impatiently at the bracket clock on the mantel. “Get on with it, Dominic, will you?”

Dominic nodded, even though his thinned lips revealed his irritation. “There have been rumblings that cells of radicals are forming in Limerick and Tipperary, and also up north near Ulster. Most of the rumors that have reached us are likely just that—rumors. But a highly reliable source in Ulster has come into possession of some disturbing and credible information. According to this source, a group of these radicals may already be in England with the express intention of plotting the assassination of a high-ranking member of government, or even a member of the royal family. The most obvious targets would be Peel or Liverpool, or possibly the Regent. Others could be under threat too.”

Will shook his head. “That's not much to go on.”

“As usual,” Alec said sarcastically.

“The defense of one's country never comes easily, Gilbride,” the duke huffed.

Will hastily intervened before Alec could step into it further. “No, sir, it doesn't. And Alasdair and I stand ready to do whatever is necessary. But surely there are agents with both a greater understanding of the Irish question and intimate knowledge of where in London such conspirators might be found.”

“Generally I would agree with you,” Dominic said. “And I will give you the support you need in those areas. But there is one particular reason why you, Will, are most suited for this mission.”

Uncharacteristically, Dominic hesitated, and faint warning bells began to sound in Will's head. “And that reason is?”

Dominic tilted his head, and a calculating look Will had never seen before briefly crossed his face. The bells in his head clanged even louder.

“Because an old friend of yours could possibly be involved in this conspiracy,” Dominic said. “Her involvement is not necessarily by intention, but more likely by her association with certain persons.”

“And who is this old friend?” Will slowly asked with a sense of impending doom.

“Miss Evelyn Whitney, daughter of Lord and Lady Reese,” Dominic replied. “I believe you know her quite well.”

Will wondered if someone had knocked him on the back of his head since Dominic's words resisted any attempt to make sense of them.

“Bloody hell,” Alec exclaimed. “Wasn't expecting that, were you?”

“Evie? Are you sure?” Will forced out.

“Of course we're sure,” barked his father. “Do you think we would make a joke about this?”

“No, sir, but since your Dublin source is so vague, how can we be sure this information is correct?” Will shook his head. “It completely beggars belief that Evie—Evelyn—would be involved in something like this.”

It was absurd. Evie was the sweetest, most gentle person Will had ever known. She was also painfully shy and loathed any sort of conflict. No one who knew her could believe for a moment that she could be involved in any type of criminal activity, much less a murderous conspiracy.

“Unfortunately, the facts do point to Miss Whitney's involvement,” Dominic said calmly.

Will shook his head. “I refuse to believe it.”

“Are you accusing us of lying, William?” his father asked in a cold voice.

“Of course not, sir, but—”

The duke cut him off. “Then you must believe that I am somehow wanting in intellect. I suppose you know better than your commander-in-chief and Sir Dominic, do you?”

“Sir, that's hardly fair,” Alec objected. “Wolf never suggested that.”

Before Will's father could unleash his ire on Alec, Dominic interrupted. “May I suggest some refreshment before we continue? Your Highness, allow me to fetch you a drink.”

“Now that you mention it, I'm fairly parched,” grumbled the duke. “Why the devil didn't you offer me one before?”

Dominic simply smiled at the older man. Although of common origin, Dominic had been raised with the royal princes, and understood how to manage them better than anyone. He was particularly close to the Duke of York, sharing his commitment to England's military and the well-being of its men.

The spymaster splashed some brandy into two glasses, handing one to the duke and the other to Will. He pointedly ignored Alec, who muttered under his breath as he got up to fetch his own drink.

The interlude gave Will time to wrestle his temper under control. The duke might be his father, but he was also a prince and could make life difficult for both Will and Alec.

“Forgive my outburst, sir,” he said to the duke. “But the idea that Miss Whitney might be involved in criminal activity caught me by surprise.”

“When was the last time you spoke to Miss Whitney?” Dominic asked.

It had been in Hampshire in 1811, when he'd taken a brief furlough to visit his aunt and uncle. Uncle Philip's lands butted against the Reese estate. Will had known the family since he was a boy, spending many a long day roaming the fields, woods, and stables with the Reese progeny. Back then, it had seemed impossible that he would eventually lose touch with them, even Evie.

“It's been four years, Sir Dominic.”

He remembered his remarkably uncomfortable conversation with Evie at a ball held at the local inn. She hadn't forgiven him for abandoning their youthfully naïve dreams of a life together—her stiff demeanor and the wounded expression in her cornflower-blue eyes had made that abundantly clear. Nor had it helped that Eden, Evie's twin sister, had planted herself barely two feet away, glaring at Will the entire time. After that disastrous evening, Will had decided that the best thing he could do for the Reese family was to steer well clear of them.

“Then you don't really know her anymore, do you?” his father said.

“Perhaps not, but Evie would never hurt anyone. Not deliberately. Of that I'm sure,” Will said doggedly.

Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “I believe I can shed some light on this discussion. Apparently, Miss Whitney is soon to be engaged to a man who we suspect is involved with the Irish radicals. It is possible that she is unaware of his activities in this regard.”

“A fiancé? This just gets better and better,” Alec commented sardonically.

Will's hand had involuntarily jerked, splashing brandy over the rim of his glass. “Evie, engaged? She was a confirmed wallflower, the last I heard.”

“It would appear not,” Dominic replied. “Her suitor, and the suspect in question, is Michael Beaumont, the youngest son of the Earl of Leger.”

Will didn't bother to hide his skeptical frown. “Why would an English aristocrat's son be involved with Irish rebels?”

“Because this particular aristocrat's son is a Catholic,” the duke said with heavy disapproval. “As is the entire Beaumont family.”

“I hasten to add that there's no evidence against the earl or the other members of his family,” Dominic said with a faint note of reprimand. “Lord Leger is an exceedingly respectable man and a loyal Englishman well regarded at both Court and Whitehall.”

The duke let out a vulgar snort.

“That being the case, why is his son under suspicion?” Alec asked.

“Because Michael Beaumont is a radical in favor of Catholic emancipation,” the duke said. “And he's not shy about voicing his opinions either, I might add. He's in thick with every damned Whig politician who might support his cause, despite the fact that there isn't a bloody chance in hell he'll succeed.”

“That hardly sounds like someone who'd be involved in a conspiracy,” Will said. “Gadding about town trying to drum up votes might make him a damned boring person to spend time with, but it's hardly stealthy behavior. Quite the opposite.”

“Perhaps,” Dominic said. “Or else he may believe that his position in society, coupled with his quite obvious behavior, would deflect suspicion.”

Frustrated, Will stood and paced to the fireplace, then turned back to face the others. “I find it difficult to believe that Evie truly intends to marry Beaumont. For one thing, he's Catholic, and I can't imagine her parents would approve. Not Lady Reese, anyway. She's a—”

“Very sensible woman,” the duke cut in. “Always liked Lady Reese.”

The woman was, in fact, a thorough bitch
and
a snob, but Will kept his opinion to himself.

“The Beaumonts are an extremely wealthy family,” Dominic said, “and Michael will no doubt do quite well by his father, even as a younger son. Lord Reese's fortune is merely respectable, and neither of his daughters will bring a significant dowry into their marriages.”

Will had always suspected as much and had no doubt that Dominic knew the state of the Reese finances down to the last farthing. “I'm assuming there's been no formal announcement of an engagement.” Just saying the words made his gut churn for reasons he didn't want to think about.

“It's expected shortly,” Dominic replied. “So your window of opportunity is small.”

“What, exactly, do you expect me to do?” Will asked cautiously.

“You're to sidle up to the girl and find out what's going on, of course,” his father said impatiently. “You were close to her once, from what Dominic tells me. Get close to her again.”

Will gave Dominic a hard stare. How the
hell
had the spymaster acquired that information? Not that there was any point in asking, and Will probably didn't want to know, anyway.

“You mean spy on her,” he said. Spying on Evie was the worst idea he'd ever heard.

“We mean spend some time with her,” Dominic replied in a soothing voice. “By renewing your acquaintance with her, you will be able to get closer to Michael Beaumont. He's the real target here, not Miss Whitney.”

Will propped an elbow on the cool marble of the mantelpiece as he struggled to quell his anger. “But you do want me to
use her
to get to Beaumont.”

Dominic let out a small sigh and leaned back in his chair. “I understand that this mission is . . . unpleasant on a personal level. You have feelings of loyalty toward Miss Whitney, which is commendable.”

Not quite. What Will really suffered were feelings of remorse for
abandoning
her, as Evie had put it. Will
had
walked away from her, although he still thought it had been too much to ask a callow youth to pledge his devotion to a naïve young girl two years his junior. But in joining the army and in making it his calling, he'd hurt Evie. To force his way back into her life—to spy on her, no less—would be yet another betrayal of the girl he'd once cared for deeply.

“There's another way to look at it,” Dominic continued, his piercing green eyes compelling Will's attention. “In doing this, you will be protecting Miss Whitney. I hope for her sake that Mr. Beaumont is not involved in this plot. But if he is, the sooner we unearth the conspirators, the better off the young lady will be.”

Will jerked upright. “Are you saying Evie could be in danger?”

Dominic's craggy features took on a thoughtful expression, as if puzzling over what seemed a straightforward question. Will had to repress the impulse to stalk over and shake the answer out of him.

“I think it's safe to say she's not in any immediate danger,” the spymaster finally replied with infuriating ambiguity.

Alec finally came to his feet as well, shoving his hands back through his hair with exasperation. “Could you be more specific? What, exactly, are we to be doing other than
getting close
to Evelyn Whitney and Michael Beaumont? Is there something specific you want us to look for?”

The duke again glanced at the clock. “I need to be getting back to the Horse Guards. There's no reason to be so bloody cautious with these fellows, Dominic. They know how to take care of themselves.”

“Perhaps,” Dominic said. “But Captain Endicott's previous history with Miss Whitney is a complication as well as an advantage. His loyalties are clearly engaged.”

The duke waved an airy hand. “William isn't interested in a girl like
that,
are you, my boy? No dowry or political connections to speak of, and no looks to recommend her, either.”

Will briefly contemplated bashing both Dominic and his father over the head with a fireplace iron. Evie might not be the greatest prize on the marriage mart, but she didn't deserve to have her name bandied about so carelessly.

Alec hastily jumped into the discussion. “Will's no downy one, you can be sure. Now, getting back to the mission . . .”

“Indeed,” Dominic said. “Mr. Beaumont is the leading patron of the Hibernian Benevolent Association, an organization assisting Irish immigrants. It's attached to a small church in St. Giles that sponsors a charity school for the children of its parishioners.”

“That hardly sounds like a hotbed for sedition,” Will said.

Dominic shook his head. “Our sources in Dublin suggest otherwise. The Hibernian Association has become something of a clearinghouse for new Irish immigrants in London, and we suspect the radicals might be using it as a contact point or even a safe meeting place. We have been watching St. Margaret's, but our efforts have yielded us precious little information so far. It's become clear that we need someone on the inside.”

“What does Evie have to do with any of this, aside from her personal relationship with Beaumont?” Will asked.

“She's heavily involved in supporting the work of the association,” Dominic said. He cracked a reluctant smile. “I can assure you that any number of wealthy gentlemen panic when Miss Whitney approaches. She is quite resolute and persuasive when it comes to supporting her charitable endeavors.”

That sure as hell didn't sound like Evie. She generally hated going into company or talking to strangers. “How long has she been working with Beaumont?”

“About three years,” Dominic replied.

“And is there any hard proof connecting Beaumont with this alleged plot?”

The spymaster waggled a hand. “Let's say compelling indications, rather. He's been corresponding with Daniel O'Connell, although we've not been able to actually get our hands on any of their letters.”

“Who's Daniel O'Connell?” Alec asked.

“He's a damned Irish radical up to no good,” snapped the duke. “Too bad Peel never had the chance to put a bullet through the confounded scoundrel.”

“O'Connell and Peel are engaged in a political feud over the issue of Catholic emancipation,” Dominic added. “Peel recently challenged O'Connell to a duel on the Continent, but it never came off.”

“Shame, that,” the duke groused as he hauled his portly frame to his feet. “I must be off, Dominic. See to it that the lads get the rest of their marching orders.” He gave Will a stern look. “I'm counting on you and your cousin, my boy. We must squash this quickly and quietly. If it gets out that a group of Catholic radicals are planning an assassination, there could be a bloody uprising. We don't need a repeat of the Gordon Riots.”

“As you wish, sir.” Now that his father had given him a direct order, there was nothing Will could do to escape the assignment.

After Dominic and the duke left the room, Will dropped into his chair, pressing his forehead against his fists. “What a bloody nightmare.”

“Aye, it's an unholy mess,” Alec said. He swiped Will's glass and went to refill it. “By the by, did you have any idea that Miss Whitney was about to get engaged?”

Will sat up straight. “Why the hell would I? I haven't seen her in years. She went her way, and I went mine.”

“Clearly,” Alec said in a dry tone as he strolled back and handed Will his glass. “Even so, I can't imagine she's changed all that much. Doesn't sound like the sort of girl to get involved with a cabal of assassins.”