Louise Gouge - A Lady of Quality

“Ah, how fortuitous.” He glanced past her toward the door. “Perhaps I had better disappear. I have told Winston we have barely spoken two words to each other and are not in the slightest way acquainted.”

“Yes, that is best.” That bothersome scratching within her soul began again, but she forced it away. “Before you go, do you have any words of advice for me?”

He gazed off toward the front windows. “Hmm. No, my dear, I believe you will know exactly what to do. Engage his emotions, make him love you. The next steps will come in due time.”

The door swung open, and Lady Blakemore entered, her gaze directed toward the front windows. Catherine hurried back across the room to greet her and to put some distance between herself and Mr. Radcliff. But when she glanced back, he was nowhere to be seen. An icy shiver swept up her back.

Chapter Four

“Ah. There you are, my dear.” Lady Blakemore’s expression was pleasant, but a hint of displeasure shaded her words.

“Forgive me, my lady.” Catherine struggled to appear calm. How could Mr. Radcliff have vanished without a sound? He had been yards away from the servants’ entrance and across the room from the door Lady Blakemore just entered. Perhaps a secret portal in that papered wall? The vertical fence posts among the rose vines might disguise a seam. Such an escape could prove useful to her one day. She struggled to dismiss the mystery and pay attention to her employer. “I thought I was to meet you here.”

“Hmm. Well, no matter.” Lady Blakemore studied Catherine up and down. “You look quite charming, my dear, but not too pretentious for a companion.” She waved Catherine to a red tapestry settee near the alabaster hearth and sat in an adjacent chair. “Now, today, we will be at home, although not formally. Only a few friends will be calling to discuss plans for the upcoming festivities in August. While there will be countless formal state celebrations, many of us wish to have our own private parties to celebrate the war’s end.” She fluttered an exquisite blue silk fan before her face. “Mrs. Parton will be here soon, of course. Perhaps Lady Bennington...” Folding the fan, she tapped it thoughtfully against her opposite hand, listing other possible attendees for the afternoon.

And Lord Winston? Catherine could not help but wonder whether Lady Blakemore had entirely forgotten her invitation to the baron.

“So, of course that means we must cut short our time with Lord Winston. Should he fail to finish his appointment with Blakemore in time, we will have to inform him that his visit must wait.” Was that a question in Lady Blakemore’s eyes as she spoke?

“Yes, my lady.” Catherine schooled her expression to display indifference, despite her disappointment. Yet why should she be disappointed? Hadn’t Mr. Radcliff told her of Lord Winston’s ambitions to accompany Lord Blakemore to France in late August? If the baron succeeded in attaching himself to the earl, she would be in his company for more than sufficient time to engage his interest and ply him for the truth about his plot against Papa.

On the one hand, she could hardly wait to get started. On the other, she wondered if she was up to the task, for her lies continued to grate upon her soul. At those times, she pictured poor Mama, Lucien and Isabella being confined to their home in Norfolk and living every moment in fear of bad news, even arrest. She imagined Papa hiding in some hovel or cave, unable to venture out even to obtain food. Such thoughts were sufficient to renew her determination to bring wicked, lying Lord Winston to justice.

* * *

“I admire your integrity, Winston.” Lord Blakemore clapped him on the shoulder and guided him away from the oak desk across which they had discussed Winston’s future. “Many a young whelp in his first year in Parliament would jump at the chance to play the spy.” At a small grouping of furniture near the spacious office’s tall windows, the earl gave a gracious wave of his hand. “Sit here, my boy, so you can view my wife’s exquisite gardens.” He chose a straight-backed chair for himself. “I had thought you the perfect candidate for espionage after the du Coeur affair. A great bit of luck, those letters falling into your hands the way they did.” He absently lined up a book with the edge of the mahogany table beside him. “Tell me all the details of how it happened.” Interest lit his round face.

Winston silenced the pride that tried to well up within him each time he related the event. After all, none of it had been his doing. “Very simply, in late January a young boy brought the packet of letters to my home in Surrey. A footman received them and placed them on my desk.”

“Ah.” Blakemore scratched his chin. “And who was this boy?”

“The footman said he was a short, stocky lad of about ten or so. He did not give a name.”

“Hmm.” The earl stared off toward the windows. “Lady Blakemore’s roses have done exceedingly well this year, especially the reds.” He seemed to have forgotten their conversation, at least for a moment. Then he focused again on Winston. “Perhaps we should question your footman a bit more. Find out what we can about that lad.”

Winston’s heart sank. He had no doubt the letters were authentic, but he had still been in mourning over Father’s death and had not thought clearly how to handle the matter. “Harry had been with us only a few weeks, and the work did not suit him. He left in February to join the army, and I have no idea of his fate.”

“Bad luck, that.” Blakemore clicked his tongue and gave his head a little shake. “In any event, your quick thinking in delivering the letters to the Home Office was brilliant. Why, you saved our country and the Prince Regent from great disgrace, not to mention saving old Louis’s very life. Will you not reconsider espionage?”

“I thank you, sir, but no.” Winston lifted a hand to cover an artificial cough while he considered how to make his excuses. He must take care not to sound overly proud of something that had come his way through no effort of his own. Nor must he sound judgmental of those who chose to spy. Father had often chided him for both pride and judging others too harshly. “Of course, I understand some men are called to employ subterfuge, even as the Scriptures tell us that both Moses and Joshua sent out spies to explore the land of Canaan. But the Almighty has not directed me to such a path.”

Blakemore chuckled in his jolly, mellow way, but the wiliness in his eyes dispelled all impressions that he was anyone’s fool. If that were not enough for Winston to trust him, he had Father’s recommendation. Look to Blakemore and Bennington for your examples, my son. They will not lead you astray. In his four months in London, Winston had come to admire both earls. Now that Bennington was consumed with family matters regarding several of his eight offspring, Winston was grateful that Blakemore would consider stepping in as his mentor. Now if he could persuade him to take him to Paris as part of his diplomatic entourage, Winston would have achieved a cherished dream.

“I admire your determination to seek God’s direction, for above all, we must receive our orders from above.” Blakemore pointed upward, and his expression softened. “Kings and princes come and go, nations rise and fall, but only God is eternal.”

“Indeed.” Most Englishmen, Winston included, would say England was eternal as well, for she clearly had the blessing of the Almighty. Still, he was pleased to hear Blakemore speak of his faith, for it affirmed all that Father had said about him.

“Now.” The earl sat forward in his chair. “Concerning your request, why do you wish to accompany my little band to France? What do you hope to gain?” With his lighthearted tone, the earl might well have been asking why Winston wanted to tag along on a picnic.