The Fashionable Spy (16 page)

“Julia,” replied Victoria as the three women hurried down the hall to their workroom, “I feel certain the country cannot be quite as barbaric as you think. That is, if there is much left of it after the war. It will take years to rebuild Moscow, I am sure.” They entered the workroom in a flurry, pleased to see the twins waiting for them.

Rosemary and Tansy had been brought down to Julia to play on the floor while she painted. The girls settled down with a few dolls and wooden toys, chattering in their incomprehensible way to one another.

“I do hope I can understand them, eventually,” Julia murmured to Victoria, mixing a lovely shade of brown with more-than-necessary vigor.

“I am certain you will in time, love,” Victoria answered in a soothing way. But she was absorbed in selecting her sculptures for the exhibit, placing each in one of the special boxes brought up for this event. “Do you know, they are even going to include several sculptures by that former American, Patience Lovell Wright?” Victoria gave Julia a meaningful look, adding, “I believe she was a spy, was she not?”

“Interesting,” Julia commented while applying a light touch of the brown paint to the hair in the small portrait she worked on. Several of her miniatures were already boxed and awaited transport to the exhibit. Each sister had been asked to join the select group of women artists.

Across the room, Elizabeth frowned at the stack of engravings on her table. “The man who stopped by to select my entries picked these, and I cannot fathom why. Oh, well, it seems to make little difference. They are all of a muchness, anyway.” She placed tissue between each matted picture, then inserted the lot into a portfolio.

“Shall we go?” Elizabeth said to Victoria. . “By all means. Activity is much to be preferred to dwelling on last evening.” Victoria paused to smile at Julia. “We shall give you a full report later. I shan’t forget that I am to be at Sir Edward’s this afternoon. Although,” she added as she drifted through the doorway, “I cannot but wonder how I shall go on.”

A footman was dispatched to fetch the various boxes and parcels while the two girls hurried to their rooms to don pelisses, hats, and gloves.

Elizabeth wore her favorite aquamarine, while Victoria selected a lovely shade of rose. They met in the entry to inspect the packages due to accompany them on their brief errand. Then they entered the carriage and were
off 
to the exhibit hall.

* * * *

Later, on their way back home, Victoria compressed her lips, while Elizabeth expressed her indignation at what they had encountered. “I could quite easily fall into a green melancholy at the very thought of those men. Imagine saying your work was too good for the exhibit. I am glad you insisted upon leaving it there. That one fellow had the nerve to tell you that a man ought to put his name to your sculpture, it wasn’t fitting for a mere woman to know so much about a male!”

“When I pointed out to that benighted gentleman that Angelica Kauffmann or Vigée-Lebrun might take exception to such actions, he shut his mouth. He didn’t even know that Angelica died in 1807.” Victoria sighed with disdain.

“It passes the bounds of all belief! Such effrontery,” Elizabeth snapped as they left the carriage to enter the house. “Just wait until our dearest Julia hears what was said about her miniatures.”

“Lizzie,” Victoria said in an overly casual manner, “did you notice that she called Mr. Padbury ‘Lucius’ this morning? I wonder if that means she has serious intentions regarding him. One simply does not refer to a gentleman by his first name.”

“Well, I should never call Lord Leighton ‘David,’ if that is what you mean,” Elizabeth replied thoughtfully.

“Nor would I omit the ‘Sir’ with regards to Sir Edward Hawkswood. How singularly appropriate his name is,” Victoria added softly.

“I could never wish that Julia marry Mr. Padbury, even if it might be good for Rosemary and Tansy to have a father and a home of their own. We are happy here and make a nice family without a man in residence.” Elizabeth paused at the bottom of the stairs to give her sister a deeply concerned look. “He is pleasant enough, but I should not like him for Julia.”

“But,” Victoria reminded her, worry reflected in her voice, “things may not remain the way they are now. If Julia feels forced to accept Mr. Padbury’s suit, I shan’t forgive myself. I believe I am the one who mentioned the possibility that Geoffrey would marry.”

“We can find a dear little house of our own somewhere in the country. The girls can grow plump on clotted cream, and eggs, and fresh air, and we can do just as we please,” Elizabeth decided with a happy bounce.

“Without commissions? “

“Must we work? I thought we were sufficiently well-off so that it was not a necessity.” Elizabeth paused in her upward climb to stare at Victoria.

“Once Geoffrey weds, he will have his own household to tend. We shall have the portions Father set up for us, but with the rising cost of everything, it could be nip and tuck. Perhaps you could marry?” Victoria guided her sister on up the stairs, glancing at her obliquely at this suggestion. “The gentlemen cluster about you wherever we go.”

“Why me?” Elizabeth demanded rather inelegantly. “You are the most fetching of the three of us and you know it. I should think that all you have to do is snap your fingers and a dozen men would fall at your feet.”

Victoria chuckled, shaking her head. “What utter rubbish, my love. Come, we had best change. But consider it, please. Try to find someone you could care for.”

Leaving Elizabeth frowning fiercely, Victoria entered her room. It was all well and good to tell her younger sister to find a man with whom she might be content, but when Elizabeth had suggested that Victoria marry, something deep inside her had rebelled. Marry? Be tied to another for the rest of her life?

“Who could fit that consideration?” she murmured to her looking glass, which had the discretion not to reply. It certainly would
not
be Sir Edward Hawkswood! The man was utterly heartless and as rude as could stare. Yet, as she had pointed out to Elizabeth, single women had a dreadful inclination to poverty. For it was men who controlled the wealth of the nation, not to mention families.

Which brought her back to the matter of their brother and his necessarily approaching marriage.

Elizabeth was correct. The three women, would have to leave, find a neat home off in a village such as Knightsbridge or some such place. They should be close enough to occasionally come to London, yet able to live more cheaply. One did what one must.

Victoria was spoiled with their life in London; pretty gowns, nice parties, handsome, agreeable company . . . for the most part. Why, oh, why did her mind continually return to Sir Edward? He was the very worst sort of ghost, one you couldn’t shoo away.

She changed into the prim lilac gown she intended to wear this afternoon, then gathered her lilac pelisse, gloves, and a most demure bonnet—she had to try to dispel the image he must surely retain after last night and went downstairs.

The noon meal was light, Julia prying details of the morning’s expedition from her sisters. She was not terribly surprised at their discovery.

“You know the attitude that gentlemen hold regarding women. They see us as being weaker, and somewhat helpless. Never mind that we run our households, bear the children, and in general cope with the difficulties of life, smoothing their days and pampering them dreadfully. I firmly believe that men are spoiled rotten.”

“How fascinating,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “I daresay if I must pick a husband, I had best find out what he believes.”

Victoria cast a relieved glance at her younger sister. At least the girl was considering marriage. There were a number of pleasant young men of quite respectable birth and fortune who would pick up any handkerchief she chose to drop—if only she could make up her mind to do so. Why Lizzie had to take such an aversion to Lord Leighton, Victoria couldn’t guess. Lizzie had mentioned stolen kisses, but gracious, at least that proved the man was interested. And what was a bit of teasing?

“Take care, dear,” Julia admonished while Tansy tugged at her skirts. “Sable does guard you?” She had joined Victoria, watching anxiously as her younger sister prepared to leave.

Victoria, quite unable to disabuse her sister of the illusion, merely nodded, urging the large poodle into the carriage, then checked to see that she had her case in there as well before they left.

“Now, see here. Sable,” Victoria solemnly lectured him when the carriage moved away, “there will be none of this adoration of the man. Do you hear me? Today I want you to sit at my side and look positively ferocious.”

The poodle simply gave his mistress a knowing look, then turned to eye the passing scene from the window.

“Wretch,” Victoria muttered.

* * * *

At Sir Edward’s she found herself ushered into the library, where a small fire burned in the grate to remove the chill from the spring air. Her unfinished sculpture sat precisely where it had the day before.

“Your tea, miss. Sir Edward begs your forgiveness. He is detained, but shall be with you directly.” The butler placed a rather nice tea tray on a small table, then retreated to the door.

“Quite all right,” Victoria replied graciously. “I shan’t need you in that case.”

The butler nodded with understanding, and marched off down the hall to the rear of the house.

Here was her chance. Pausing to listen, she heard only the faint sounds of traffic outside the house, and the normal noise one hears within a domicile. Drawing off her gloves, she then removed her bonnet, placing all of them near the edge of the desk. It gave her an excuse for being in that location should anyone appear suddenly.

She skimmed around the desk to look over the papers rather than attempt the secretary. A hunch told her he would have moved the cipher. The neatly stacked papers atop the desk were intriguing stuff, having to do with some enterprise Sir Edward appeared to share with others. She caught sight of the words “Golden Bird” and nodded. That was it, he must be a partner in the place. It was all of a piece, that ease he possessed while there, the fact that no one had questioned his expropriating the private card room.

Quickly dismissing those papers, she checked the drawers that yielded to her tug. She caught her breath, as the contents of one revealed the paper she sought. The cipher copy
had
been transferred to this desk, and notations indicated he had worked at breaking it. However, it appeared he had not found the solution.

She hastily shut the drawer, then scanned the desk to make certain all was as it had been when she arrived. She dashed to the tea table, poured out a cup of still-warm brew, and took a deep swallow. She nibbled a lemon wafer while contemplating what this meant. There were any number of answers to her question. He might be affiliated with the war office. Yet she had never seen him there on her occasional visits. He seemed too much the dilettante, hardly a professional in the field. Curiosity was not enough in this job. The document had not been passed along, which meant he worked at it under direction. But for whom did he work? And why?

Her tea grew cold, and she took the liberty of dumping the contents on a potted fern that struggled for life in a corner of the room not far from the window.

“How kind of you to remember that plant. I fear it gets quite neglected. My mother fondly believes that if she keeps it there I shall become homesick and visit her in the country.”

Victoria felt the blush creep over her face, down her neck, and goodness knew where else. “I am dreadfully sorry. The tea grew cold, you see.”

“Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t.” He took her teacup and poured her another, then tested it, holding the cup to his lips to see how warm the liquid might be.

She watched the cup that she had held to her mouth now touch his lips and quivered at the image it provoked. Last night, with all the tumult of emotions that had battled inside her, returned full force.

“Unorthodox method, but efficient.” He handed her the cup of tea. “And I believe we are quite past all the customary formalities, are we not, Victoria?”

His voice mocked her gently and she longed to tweak his beak of a nose. Forced to accept the cup, she defiantly drank deeply of her tea. If he thought he was going to put her out of countenance, he was mistaken.

“You look lovely today.
Most
proper.” He bowed faintly, that sensuous mouth curving into a half-smile as he stared deeply into her eyes.

Victoria felt secure, swathed from the double frill at her neck to the flounce at the hem of the most delicate yet unrevealing gown imaginable. The scent of lilacs, which was most appropriate for the pretty lilac ensemble she wore, surrounded her. She hoped the message she sought to convey did not fail to reach him.

“Shall I begin work. Sir Edward?” she said in a frosty, impersonal tone.

He nodded, seating himself as yesterday, then waited.

“Gracious,” she murmured, “you are not even close.”

Stretching out a slender hand, she moved his face, tilting it slightly to achieve the pose she wanted. Her hand hesitated before touching his chin. Memories of last evening lingered too vividly yet for her to feel at ease so close to him. Again his skin felt warm to her touch, and she found it difficult to release it. Then she returned to her stand, completely ignoring Sable. The dog had once again assumed a position at Sir Edward’s feet, draping itself across the man’s boots. It would be ruinous to the shine. Victoria smiled, a devious little grin.

After slipping an enveloping apron over her gown, she tried to concentrate on her task. She must think of line and form, texture, not necessarily the man inside the body. You couldn’t totally divorce the two, however, or one would fail to capture the essence of spirit imperative to achieve a true likeness. He moved.

“You are drooping like a new-planted periwinkle, Sir Edward,” she admonished. Returning to his side, she swiftly positioned his head, taking note of the little gleam that quickly vanished when he appeared to see her look at his eyes. “Perhaps I could shift around?” she suggested. “I need to get a different perspective of you anyway.”