Lord Haversham Takes Command (6 page)

“Oh, Mama,” Mira said around the lump that had formed in her throat. “How could I even think of marrying and leaving you and Papa? It is so very difficult to believe that I could love someone enough to leave you or to change for him. Shouldn’t I want my husband to love me for myself, just the way I am?”

“But of course!” Lady Crenshaw said, gathering her daughter in her arms and giving her a squeeze. “And any man would! Why, you are beautiful, accomplished, and intelligent. What more could a man want? The question is do
you
want more?”

With that, Lady Crenshaw stood and left her daughter to her thoughts, and troublesome thoughts they were. Was she only so against marriage to George because she would have to change in order to be happy with him? Could Mama be right in that she knew better who was best for her daughter? Or did she yearn for Harry because she knew, deep down inside, he would inspire her to become a better person if only he could somehow love her?

There was one way to learn the truth. Surely this willingness to grow and change for the one you loved worked both ways. She would simply go to Harry’s room, knock on his door, and ask him why he was found asleep in the passage outside her bedchamber. If he answered her question with the honest truth, she would take it as a sign that he cared for her enough to forever change from the deplorable Bertie to the Harry she knew lurked inside.

She slipped into her shoes, hastened down the passageway to the room he had indicated belonged to him, and knocked boldly on the door. She could hardly swallow her disappointment when the man who answered the door wasn’t Harry at all, but the vacuous and intolerable Bertie, a fatuous smile fixed to his face and a quantity of lace at his chin and wrists. He stood, frozen with shock or some other nameless emotion, one hand on his hip and a foot turned out as if he were about to produce a pirouette. It was a stance she had always felt looked odd enough in dancing slippers but was utterly laughable in riding boots. However, she refused to give up so readily.

Taking a deep breath, she rallied enough to ask what she had come to learn. “Lord Haversham, I find I cannot rest until I learn the answer to this question. Why did you sleep outside my door last night?” There, it was out and he must answer, one way or another. She prayed she would be able to hear his response above the pounding of her heart.

“Why, Miss Crenshaw, my dear girl! Don’t you know, it’s what all the Parisian fellows do these days,” he said with a flip of his wrist. “They find the loveliest girl in the inn and they sleep outside her door. It’s terribly gallant, don’t you think?”

It was a pretty answer, but Mira knew it to be a lie. Her disappointment now too great to hide, she felt her face fall. In fact, she was persuaded every muscle in her body had turned to jelly. Before she could put a hand against the wall to steady herself, he was there to balance her in his arms, and she found herself suddenly in his room with the door shut behind them.

“Perceptive girl, I should have known I could never throw dust in your eyes long enough to deceive you about anything at all whatsoever,” he said, gazing earnestly into her face. “In point of fact, I did know it, which is why I was determined to stay as far away from you as possible,” he admitted as he assisted her into the chair alongside his bed, which, she noticed, had not been slept in.

“But, Harry, why?” she asked, her heart beginning to again hammer in her chest. She sensed rather than saw the way the muscles in his shoulders tensed as he turned away from her.

“Why must I lie to you? Pretend to be someone I am not?”

She nodded, and he began to pace the bit of rug between the bed and the fireplace while she waited.

Finally, he threw his hands in the air and said, “I can’t. I simply am not at liberty to explain why I must keep secrets from you. Perhaps one day I shall.” Kneeling at her feet, he took her hands in his. “You have always stood my friend and I must beg you to continue to do so,” he urged, his eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Before she could form a reply, he rose to his feet and once again turned from her to stand with his hands braced against the mantel. “What might I do to convince you of my sincerity?”

Mira had never in all her life felt such an intense range of emotions in so short a space of time. One minute her heart was pounding, the next it hung like lead in her chest. Every time her hopes had been lifted, they had been as equally dashed, and now he twisted her into pieces with a sorrow that seemed so genuine. However, if he could truthfully answer her original question with as much authentic feeling as he even now exhibited, she would give him the benefit of the doubt and wait with patience for the day when he could tell her all.

“It is true, we have always been friends and it is my dearest wish we might remain so, though, as you must have guessed, I have no use for your Bertie.”

“As I would have had no use for you should you have taken a shine to him,” Harry said with a rueful laugh.

She rose to her feet and reached out to lay her hand on his arm but snatched it back. In spite of all the familiar interactions they enjoyed when they were young, to touch him now, if even in the same careless way, felt like a promise rather than a mere gesture. She pressed her hands together against her once again fluttering stomach and imposed her conditions.

“I understand you feel you mustn’t tell me what is happening or why. Though I do not like it, I can see that you are sincerely distressed. It is not my wish to deepen that distress, yet I find I need some indication of your veracity. You need not tell me all; I merely wish to know the answer to a single question and should you tell me true, I will wait for the answers to the others for as long as you need keep them from me.”

Slowly he turned to face her, his mouth a grim line even as hope lightened the shadows in his eyes. “Ask and I shall answer, but only if I am free to do so, in which case it will be God’s truth, I so swear it.”

Now that the moment was at hand, Mira felt oddly reluctant. She knew her questions would reveal her feelings but she dared not trust him with something so precious as of yet. Perhaps it would be safer if her questions sounded chosen at random. “I suppose it would be most useful to ask why you have requested to be called Bertie and why you sometimes behave like a buffoon, however, based on the shadow that has just crossed your face, I daresay you would not answer me that one.”

“In that you would be most correct,” he said with a tiny smile of relief.

“There is always the matter of the pistol I saw half hidden in the folds of your clothing this morning, but that seems a most personal matter and one which you would likely find not for my delicate ears.”

Harry gave her an arch look. “What is amiss about a man arming himself?”

“Pity. I have learned that it isn’t always preferable to be right.”

“If that is your question, I have answered it truthfully. That is, as truthfully as I can,” he said, spreading his hands in entreaty.

“I might ask why you kissed me yesterday.” It was an audacious question, and her heart pounded a bit harder than to what she was accustomed.

“For the same reason I kissed you all those years ago. I beg your pardon for implying I had forgotten it; I have not.”

“That is not an answer,” she fired back.

“Isn’t it?” he asked softly, chaining her gaze with his own. “It is clear as day to me.”

For a moment, she felt so disordered in her brain that she failed to recollect her specific query and would have thrown herself into his arms without another word. One corner of reason remained, however, and it reminded her that lies fell easily from his lips. She must ask her question, and he must answer true before she turned her heart over to him. “Why, then, did you sleep outside my door last night?” she asked, bowing her head to prevent his looking into her face to read what was written there.

He laughed, a pleasant sound full of ease. “Are you sure that is the one you want to know? It is quite simple, really. You were in danger, and I meant to protect you. That is all.”

“I? In danger?” Mira asked, incredulous.

“But of course. Did I not just say so?”

“You can’t mean from my cousin? Surely not! He is weak and tedious but along with that comes cowardice. He would never force himself upon me.”

“No?” he asked and drew a deep breath. “I am most relieved. But, in truth, that is not the danger of which I spoke.”

It was clear that he was preparing to reveal a secret, and the very idea sent a trill of delight along her spine.

“I am in service to the Qu … ” he said, hesitating, “rather, I am involved in something … something thoroughly honorable that I wish I could share with you, but I cannot. I ought not but I will tell you that I was the target of yesterday’s shooting. Either that or Higgins was. Or rather, both of us. At any rate, there are those who want me dead,” he said shortly. “I didn’t care so much for myself,” he added, his voice shaking a trifle, “but knowing that I had put you and your most esteemed parents in danger was too much to bear.”

Mira, too stunned to speak, sat with her mouth open in a most unladylike fashion.

“I see that you don’t believe me, but Mira, it is true. I wish it weren’t so, but it is and it’s all I can say. Meanwhile, my being here, still, with you in this inn, puts you in danger, but I … I simply couldn’t bring myself to leave you.” He paused and closed his eyes, then opened them again with a sigh. “That is why I slept outside your door last night, to protect you even as I was increasing your danger by so doing. Will you forgive me for my weakness?”

Very quietly, Mira stood and held out her hand to him. Taking it in his, he kissed it with a fervency that felt as real as anything as Mira had ever known. Gently, she drew it away and without a word, opened the door and shut it behind her, her heart hammering in her chest. She thought he had been about to say that he was in service to the Queen. Could he have meant the Queen of
England
? Surely not! There was nothing left to do now but leave Harry alone with his deceit for she had never heard such a pack of lies in all her life.

Chapter Six

Harry had never been so indiscreet in all his life. What was it about Mira that caused him to come so undone? He had let slip too much, more than he should have, more, even, than was safe, yet far less than he wished. If she guessed the truth as to his mission in the Queen’s secret service … should she spread it about … the consequences did not bear thinking on.

Once the door had closed behind her and she had descended the stairs to take breakfast, he felt it safe to quit the room, accompanied by a better hidden pistol, to check the passageway for signs of anything untoward. He then took the servants’ stairs to the kitchen and on out the back door to do a circuit of the grounds before he returned to his room and down the proper set of stairs to the dining room where he found the entire Crenshaw family seated just as they had been the afternoon prior.

“I bid you a ravishing good morning!” he chirped in his best Bertie intonations. “It would seem there is something especially welcoming about this table as it’s the selfsame one at which you were seated yesterday.” He favored Mira with a hint of a smile in memory of how he had kissed her under said selfsame table, but she looked pointedly away, staring at her cup of hot chocolate as if it had grown horns.

“You are not wrong,” George stated with his usual arrogance.

“Come, have some coffee,” Lady Crenshaw insisted.

“Delighted,” Harry said. “I find there was a dreadful racket all the night long. I’m simply exhausted! It shall require nothing less than an entire pot to put me to rights.” As Lady Crenshaw poured out a steaming cup, Harry stole another glance at Mira to see if she appreciated this reference to her interrupted night’s sleep, but she had turned pointedly away from him and was now staring at her cousin as if the sudden growth of a set of horns had spread to him from the crockery.

“George,” she said, “it is rumored that you have bought another race horse.”

“Yes, a Thoroughbred of the finest quality,” he replied with a nod. “I had intended to race him at the next assize-week, but I find I am needed in London.”

“But of course you intend to appear for at least a portion of this year’s Season, Your Grace,” Lady Crenshaw admonished, “as it is Mira’s come-out.” She gave her husband a bit of a nudge to the elbow whereupon he echoed his wife’s sentiments.

“It wouldn’t be a London Season without the Duke of Marcross, would it?” he replied with all the charm for which Sir Anthony was noted. Though he was nobody’s sycophant, Harry knew Mira’s father to have the tidiest manners of his class.

“Naturally, it is for Mira’s come-out that I dashed about so in order to be ready in time, but I do regret leaving behind Witch’s Brew,” George said without the slightest thought for Mira’s feelings. This time, when Harry stole a glance at her, she met his gaze in a moment of affable accord before looking away again with a jerk.

“Such a love story!” Harry said with a sip of his coffee. “I wager Witch’s Brew misses you more than anyone, those present not to be excluded. In point of fact, I should go so far as to suggest that Miss Crenshaw feels the pain of that cruel separation more than most.”

Mira, her cup to her lips, attempted to hide her sudden mirth, but Harry knew she needn’t have spared the feelings of the Duke who continued to speak of her as if she were anywhere but seated across the table from him.

“Miss Crenshaw, as always, has my best interests at heart,” he said. “It is for this reason, as well as my father’s wish, that I find her an acceptable choice as my bride.” He would have said more save for the clatter of porcelain cups being hurriedly joined to their saucers all around the table.

Harry was a bit taken aback by the reaction of the Crenshaws as he had feared Mira’s betrothal to her cousin to be a
fait accompli
. Hope rose a bit in his heart as he assessed the faces around him. Sir Anthony looked mildly surprised, as if he hadn’t expected quite so precipitate an announcement. That, at least, was something in Harry’s favor. Lady Crenshaw bore a look of long-suffering as if she wasn’t entirely sure she approved of a match between her daughter and the Duke, a nearly unquestionable vote against it. Mira, however, looked as if she simply hadn’t heard what George had said as she once again took up her cup and swallowed the dregs of her hot chocolate.

“I believe that’s the last of my breakfast,” she said with a cheery smile. “Shall we be on our way?”

“Oh, but Haaaa … Bertie hasn’t had a bite to eat,” Lady Crenshaw said.

“Really?” Mira asked. “What a pity as I am persuaded he is possessed of a strong desire to be seated inside the carriage this morning, and it seems as if George shall most likely get there first.”

Harry was jerked from his feigned somnolence by this pronouncement. Why, it was almost as if Mira wished to be seated next to George all the day long. And here Harry thought that they had an understanding after his making a clean breast of things such a short time ago. Nearly a clean breast, rather. He looked a question at Mira and was answered by a look of challenge in return.

Could she be playing at seeming disinterested in him? If so, it was not Mira’s usual style. Unlike most young ladies of Harry’s acquaintance, she was the sort of girl who said what she meant and meant what she said. It was one of the qualities he loved best in her. He tossed his napkin to the table and rose to his feet whilst he attempted to remember just what it was she did say after he had confessed to her so much more than he should have.

He was so engaged with his thoughts, he barely noticed George had already risen to his feet and taken Mira by the arm. They were fully out in the yard before Harry realized he lagged behind the entire group, that he had, with Mira’s acceptance and perhaps even approval, lost out on being seated beside her for the duration and that he, as of yet, had not bespoken his mount. By the time the horse was saddled and Harry mounted, the Crenshaw carriage was all but lost behind a cloud of dust.

Harry considered breaking his whip on his horse’s back in order to catch them up but was too occupied with the question of what exactly had gone wrong to put any further plan into action. He had told her all he could, more, even, than he should have and had believed her to understand. Even if she did not hold him in the highest regard, she would surely prefer him by her side in the carriage than her cousin any day of the week, of this Harry was quite certain.

He owned once again that it wasn’t like Mira to play games, but it seemed she was doing exactly that. Faced with the prospect of a long day in the saddle alongside the carriage with nothing but hope to sustain him held little allure. Instead, he could be in London hours ahead of them as he drew danger away from those he esteemed as well as his own family — better, even. As such, Harry decided to sheer off and complete his journey the way he had started it: entirely alone.

Upon his arrival in the city, Harry rode directly to Claridge’s, opting to delay paying a call to Haversham House to face his mother’s displeasure at his decision to lodge elsewhere to some point in the future, the further away the better. Once ensconced in his room as private citizen Samuel Linford, he was free to eat a hearty meal by the fire, without danger of being tripped, shot at, or slapped under the table. That being said, he was more than happy to admit he had yet to pass the time under a table so pleasantly, even when he took into account his rainy day fort-building with the Holland covers as a boy.

As the promised coded knock at the door did not immediately occur, Harry was free to reflect on the conundrum of his situation; he was in love with a girl who placed much stock in truth, whilst he earned his daily bread by concealing the very fact that he was employed and by whom. It was enough to undo the sternest of men. By the second day of confinement, apprehensive and unable to do anything about his ailing heart or his assignment, Harry was up for just about anything. When a scratch at the door came at nearly twelve of the clock on a moonless night, he was dressed, armed to the hilt and ready for anything as long as it meant moving forward.

Donning his greatcoat against the damp of a May night, he descended the hotel stairs and let himself out the front door with a borrowed key. The fact that he hadn’t permission nor the owner knowledge of his having lent it had naught to do with anything. The Queen must be protected at any cost, and the temporary loss of a key was nothing. The possible sacrifice of a life spent with Mira was not so easily dismissed, but dismiss it for the moment, he must.

He worked his way around to the mews as quickly as he dared and saddled his horse with such stealth even the stable hand hadn’t a notion he had been saved the trouble. He then walked the horse down the lane through the mud of the verge so as to muffle the noise of his departure and waited to mount until he was well down the road. Only then did he think to wonder how many miles he would need go that night and when he might again see his bed.

He was tempted to wonder as well when he might see Mira again, but he forced the thought aside. He had no idea what would come of this night, where his next assignment would take him, and when. He might have only enough time in London to settle his bill before he was required to head off to parts unknown. Aware that he had given the Crenshaws the impression that he was in London for the Season, he fervently hoped it were true, but what if duty called elsewhere? How could he leave her now?

Without warning, the skies opened, and the rain poured down as if in accompaniment to his woe. He urged his horse to run faster, ducked his head deeper into his collar, and raced through the night towards the Richmond bridge.

By the time he sighted the towering Pagoda, his hat and coat were as wet as if he had plunged into the river itself, but at least the rain had stopped. He slowed his horse to a trot, entered the grounds of the gardens and headed for the Pagoda, relieved that the height of the tower made it visible in spite of the black night. He found a stand of trees in which to hide his mount, hobbled it, and reached into his pocket for a handful of raisins. While the horse enjoyed its treat, Harry studied the area for anything untoward but he could see very little below the heavily shadowed tree line. Pulling out his pistol, he cocked it, and moved into the inky blackness with an arm outstretched.

It seemed a small eternity before he came in contact with the rough brick of the Pagoda, but he had made it and with only one minor stumble when his boot hit the foundation. With his pistol in his right hand and the fingers of his left brushing against the outer wall, he went round the circular building and listened for any signs of life; he was rewarded with the echo of boots striking the inner staircase, step by step. Though he daren’t assume the person inside the Pagoda was his secret service contact, he moved forward without hesitation when he heard a faint nicker of a horse just as his hand brushed against what he hoped to be the entrance.

If Harry remembered his history aright, the Pagoda was over one hundred and fifty feet tall, and more than two hundred and fifty steps would have to be taken before he reached the last of ten floors, making this the most tedious part of his night. The steps were steep and his need for stealth great, so he took his time, especially since the interior was black as pitch. Shafts of paler dark spilled through the windows of each floor, but as the staircase was in the center of the building, it did little to illuminate his path.

He counted each floor as he reached it, and just when he thought his thigh muscles would fail before he gained the final floor, he heard something that didn’t sound quite right. He stopped dead in his tracks, brought his pistol up, and listened. The sound was muffled, but gradually he realized he heard a conversation, one between two men. He was to meet but one. Instantly, he dropped to a crouch and crawled a few steps higher so as to better hear what was being said.

“It wouldn’t matter if you were the Queen herself,” came a voice Harry had never before heard. “You shan’t have the paper until you give me the password.”

What was this? Surely these weren’t Harry’s orders under discussion!

“You are being overcautious, sir. I am precisely who I say I am and I must insist on having that letter!”

With this utterance Harry broke out into a sweat so sudden, his pistol nearly slipped from his hand. He strained his eyes in the darkness in hopes of locating exactly where the two men stood so as to better ascertain a suitable place to hide, as hiding was his best option; one could hardly shoot dead the Duke of Marcross, even if Harry could see him well enough to hit him.

“What are you waiting for, man!” George continued. “Surely you cannot doubt a duke. I must have that paper this instant!” he hissed just loudly enough to cover Harry’s ascent of the final steps to the top floor landing, whereupon there came a low thud followed by a louder one as, Harry assumed, his secret service contact fell to the floor.

Harry had just enough time to slip to one side of the top stair and take cover in the inky shadows against the far wall before George rushed the staircase and fled with a clatter that Harry could only wonder at; surely, were George a traitor, he should be at as many pains to shield his identity as was Harry. How the Duke had managed to follow Harry and get ahead of him on the stairs of the Pagoda was a mystery as was why George should wish to.

Harry brooded on these questions as he made his way to the man lying on the floor and groaning in pain. Harry removed his riding gloves and fingered the man’s head until he felt a quantity of warm, sticky blood. Relief washed over him as further investigation revealed that the injury was not serious.

“The orders … ” the man murmured as his head turned from side to side between Harry’s hands.

“Where are they?” Harry demanded and abandoned the man for a proper search of the floor around him. “They’re not here,” he barked, moving his search from the floor to the man’s hands and pockets.

“I can’t … I can’t give ’em to you without the password,” the man said with a groan.

“Now that is something I do have,” Harry countered. “But first you must put the question to me.”