The Fashionable Spy (3 page)

“My brother is over there fighting.”

“Who is he? I may have encountered him.” Sir Edward spoke with an absent manner, as though more interested in building up the fire than her answer.

In the quiet intimacy fostered by the flickering of the flames and the pattering of the rain, she replied to his question in the same vein. “Geoffrey Dancy.”

He flicked her a surprised glance, then returned his attention to the fire. “Lord Dancy? I met him several times while in Portugal. Fine man. Elizabeth and Julia are your sisters?”

“How did you know? Did my brother mention his family?” She tried to conceal her alarm at his question.

“You spoke their names yesterday. Although you did not call for your parents.” There was a question in his voice.

“My parents were murdered by the French while on an innocent visit, one with written permission from Napoleon himself. They were scholars,” she added at his look.

He paused a time, then cleared his throat. “You know that we have a bit of a dilemma here. I have the ideal solution. We shall marry.”

Chapter 2

Elizabeth stared out of the bare windows of the workroom, considering the falling rain with concern. “I thought Victoria would be home ere now.”

“As did I,” Julia replied from her chair near the fire-place. She turned to the man who sat quietly at her side, adding, “There have been so many coach accidents of late, one cannot help but feel anxious.”

“Dear lady, have you not assured me that your coachman is highly skilled? Still, it is a wonder that your sister is off alone, without a companion.”

“Victoria has her dog, and he is as fierce as any guard,” Elizabeth flashed back from where she sat at her desk, her pen in hand.

“As long as he is alive, I fancy.” At their shocked gasps, Mr. Padbury shook his head. “What ails me? I am utterly thoughtless to put such a notion in your heads. Dear ladies, I feel certain that the . . . Dover Road, did you say? ... is quite passable. Doubtless the reckless driver is ensconced at his club on such a day.”

Julia’s warning look at her younger sister came too late when Elizabeth blurted out, “The Dover Road is well enough, ‘tis the road along the coast that gives one pause.”

“True,” murmured Mr. Padbury. “However, I feel certain she will arrive safe and sound later. Most likely she has sought sanctuary in a cozy inn with all amenities. Even now she may be seated by a fire, cosseted by a genial landlady.” He beamed a reassuring smile on the young ladies, and they both relaxed a trifle.

* * * *

“What utter rubbish,” Victoria exclaimed. “I have no desire to wed, you or another. Who is to know we tarried here? Sam and I shan’t say a word, and I doubt
you
have any desire to be leg-shackled to a stranger either.”

“Perhaps you have the right of it,” Sir Edward replied, although sounding most dubious.

A gust of wind rattled the windowpanes, and the fragile mood broke. Victoria shifted uneasily beneath her covering. “My gown ought to be dry.”

“I shall absent myself so you can change. Perhaps if I check the carriages, there is something you would wish to have in here? The men have not returned to take them for repair.” He looked out of the window toward the road. “I fear your coach may not be salvageable.”

She pulled the blanket about her shoulders, then crossed to peer out of the window through the falling rain. This delay was intolerable, but she would have to make the best of it. He must not uncover the truth. “I have two cases in the coach. I would appreciate a change of clothing, to be sure. But should you go outside in this nasty weather?” She turned to look at him with concern.

“I wish to change garments as well. Miss Dancy.”

He seemed to mock her with his eyes, and she dared not argue with him as she longed to do. She merely nodded in understanding, then watched while he shrugged into his greatcoat, clapped his battered beaver on his head, and dashed through the rain—an irregular gait-down the hill to where the two vehicles sat in forlorn dejection.

Sable had slipped out the door after Hawkswood before she could stop him. He gamboled along beside the tall man, ignoring the wet. Her gaze narrowed as Sir Edward wrenched open the door to her coach, then pulled her two cases from the interior. He struggled back up the slope, dumped them inside the door, then took off again before she could say a word, his limp more pronounced this trip.

She felt guilty for causing him to make two trips. She’d not remembered his injured leg, or considered the difficulty in bringing several cases. While he was yet gone, she hastily grabbed the case with her clothing and rushed into the pantry. Pulling out a warm gown, she hurriedly struggled into it, accustomed to doing for herself when on these special trips. Fortunately, it buttoned up the front, and she was completing that task when the door slammed once again. She heard him stamp his feet and she opened the pantry door, peering cautiously around the corner.

“I shan’t bite you, especially when you wear such a depressingly respectable gown. Miss Dancy.”

Those dark eyes of his seemed to tease her, even if his voice did not. Victoria took no notice, but walked over to place her case by the narrow bed where she slept. The bed was close to the door, a factor in the plans beginning to form in her mind.

“How comforting. I’d not wish to think I cast out lures, Sir Edward.” She reluctantly smiled at the small joke she’d made.

He tossed his hat on the deal table by the wall, then took his greatcoat and shook it well before hanging it up on a peg near the door. “I believe that if we are to spend another day in close company we could dispense with formalities, do you not?”

He arched one of those dark brows and smiled. Victoria wished he hadn’t, for it gave him such an endearingly warm quality, dispelling that air of cool aristocratic aloofness she had first viewed. She had hoped to avoid any familiarity. Yet she supposed it made little difference at this point. “Granted. My given name is Victoria.”

“Victoria Dancy?” He paused in the act of placing a log on the fire, staring at nothing for a moment. “I have heard that name before, but cannot recall just where. Why would I know of you and not your sisters? Elizabeth or Julia Dancy do not ring a bell in the least.”

“Julia married Lord Winton several years ago. She is now widowed and paints miniatures.” Victoria waited, holding her breath.

“Ah,” he said, “you are also an artist, a sculptress. I have heard something of your work.” The searching look he gave her made Victoria wonder precisely
what he’d
heard. By the expression on his face, it was not to her credit.

She was most piqued. Why did he not say something? She watched and waited. His deep brown eyes gave nothing away, but his sensual mouth twisted into a grin, and she jumped as he spoke.

“Perhaps we had best get something to eat.”

“I spotted a tin of tea and there is still some bread. I shall tend to making tea while you change out of those wet garments.” Glad to have something to occupy her hands, she turned to get the tea and wavered a bit. She shook her head to clear it, annoyed at the momentary weakness.

His hand at her elbow guided her to the chair by the fire. “I doubt if you are quite as stout after your injury as you may think. I shall bring you the tea and fetch the water in the kettle. I trust you can handle the rest.”

Edward took the kettle and filled it from the pump, then hung the kettle over the fire. He wished he knew something of her parents. What had been the purpose of that supposedly innocent trip to France? With Napoleon’s blessing? His eyes narrowed with his conjectures. Then he took his portmanteau into the pantry and proceeded to make a change of clothing.

She was full of contradictions. While she pretended to be so prim, she had the laciest of petticoats. Her present gown looked to be one favored by an ape leader, yet Miss Dancy was young, too young to be on the shelf, although certainly not just out of the schoolroom. He wondered about the other items of clothing in her bag, then shook his head in disgust. Surely he had more necessary things to consider. In spite of her brave words, he knew what had to be done. After all, she was of the gentry, and a lady.

He had met her brother. Would she demand he consult with him, since Lord Dancy was the head of her family? That might make it difficult, as he doubted that young man planned to return to England in the near future.

When Edward joined her before the fire, it seemed as though she had conceded their predicament, for she gave him a hesitant smile and appeared to relax when he returned it with a smile of his own. Accepting the mug of tea from her, he picked up a slab of bread and sausage from the cracked plate, while seeking the words to convince her of their fate. Once settled beside her, he brought up the subject he knew he could not avoid.

“You are well and truly compromised by this stay with me,” he began. “Surely you cannot dismiss our situation, unplanned though it might be?”

“Nonsense,” she answered with an indignant sniff. “Who is to know about it?”

“In my experience, someone is bound to find out. Your coachman and my groom are in Canterbury, most likely together. Even if they keep mum about the accident, surely someone will take note, and gossip spreads with amazing speed.” He gazed at her over the rim of his mug, trying to assess her emotions or reaction to the truth of his words.

“That I
have
noticed,” she answered with a wry tinge to her voice.

“I see.” Had she been gossiped about? He imagined she might be, as an artist. He had heard things, vague rumblings, nothing concrete, but enough to make him wonder. He wished he could remember what more it was he had heard about her, and where.

“However,” she continued, ignoring his silence, “I fancy I shall survive it. After all, the Polite World expects bizarre behavior from one who is an artist, you know.” She sketched an affected and rather amusing gesture in the air, and then smiled. Her eyes were truly an amazing shade of clear blue and seemed fathoms deep as he gazed into them.

“However,” he countered, “
I
am not an artist. My conduct is above reproach. I insist you accept my offer for marriage, Miss Dancy.” He waited, gauging the impact of his words by the little gasp that escaped from her lips.

Victoria studied the aristocratic lord for several moments, then dropped her lashes down, thus concealing her eyes and the expression in them. “Your sacrificial offer is quite unnecessary, Sir Edward, although I appreciate the gesture more than I can say.”

Julia and Elizabeth would shake the stuffing out of her if they knew about this situation and her rejection. Not That Victoria hadn’t received propositions. She’d had them flung at her, she’d had them slyly thrust at her, and they’d been written to her by the score. Alas, they were also most improper, as she supposed she might expect under the circumstances of her peculiar life. But to have a suitable offer of marriage at this point in time was advantageous. It was also dangerous to them both. She had come to admire Sir Edward, and had no intention of involving him in her perils.

“I believe we deserve better, sir. Certainly I have no desire for a forced wedding to one who would rather be elsewhere, wedded to someone other than myself. I trust you have a cherished lady?” Victoria darted a glance at his face before returning her gaze to the flames. It made no difference to her whether he had a lady he esteemed, did it? She’d not wed him regardless. “I do appreciate the nobility of your gesture, however.”

“There is no one,” he replied, and Victoria thought his voice a trifle grim. She wondered about that even as she leaned back against the chair.

“You are tired,” he said. “Your head is undoubtedly still aching a bit. Why not take a nap? When you awake, I shall challenge you to a game of cards. If we cannot do anything more interesting, it is best to keep occupied in something that is innocent.”

She felt a blush heat her skin as she considered his teasing. More interesting, indeed. And how would he pass the time? Thoughts of kisses from that sensual mouth, of being held close to his tall lean frame, entered her mind, and she hastily turned from him, seeking the bed and the worn blanket with determination.

She stumbled on her path across the room, and marked the agility with which he came to her rescue. Although he had brought a cane with him on his second trip, she suspected he used it only when necessary. She wondered when he had been wounded and how, then reminded herself that it was no business of hers. She had rejected his generous offer, made from a kindly motive. Surely he had nothing to lose. Society expected gentlemen to be more free in their behavior than women, who were truly circumscribed. But she had broken through that barrier with her work, and had no need for his protection. Protection. Ah, it was a lovely-sounding word, not to mention concept.

Murmuring polite nothings, she settled down beneath the blanket, feeling oddly tired and a little woozy in her head. It was most likely the result of her accident, and she hoped the sleep would help to ease it.

Edward watched as Victoria drifted off to a restorative sleep. Strangely enough, he was not surprised that she had rejected his well-meant offer of marriage. She seemed far more independent than most women he had met.

What had prompted her to take up sculpturing? Then he recalled where he had seen her work. Victoria Dancy had already established herself at a young age as a premier artist, employed by a great many politicians to create their images. Edward had viewed one of her busts at the home of an acquaintance not too long ago. She was incredibly skilled at her craft, the likeness being a duplication, even offering an insight to the character, of the sitter.

He turned to stare at the sleeping young woman. Why? Why did she primarily seek politicians to model? Rumor had it she was working on a life-size statue of the king. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

A movement outside caught his eye, and he hurried to the door, quietly opening it while keeping the dog silent by holding its muzzle. He stepped out, remaining in the shelter of the small porch while he waited for his groom and Miss Dancy’s coachman to present their assessment of the damage to the coaches.