Page 2 of Saved By the Belle

“Oh, my. What do you do all day?”

Hew realized he had begun a conversation he probably shouldn’t have. Randall must have seen the hesitant look on his face because he chimed in. “I believe that information is top secret, darling.”

“Surely you can tell us something,” she said. Then, with a glance at the footmen who had cleared the table, she tried to push up. “But I’ve stayed too long. I should leave you to your port.”

“Stay,” Randall and Hew said at the same time.

She hadn’t yet been able to push out of her chair, and she ceased struggling. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” Hew said. “Have your tea in here. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’ll have a cup myself.”

“You won’t regret it,” Randall said. His smile stretched from ear to ear. Clearly, he was thrilled to stay at his wife’s side. “Lydia’s brother married the daughter of a prosperous tea merchant. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“It’s almost good enough to make my parents forgive him for lowering himself,” Lydia said.

Hew smiled. Neither Randall nor Lydia’s family was titled, but they were both children of gentlemen who owned property and lived a life of leisure. To marry into a family involved in trade was quite frowned upon. Hew had often been told any labor at all was beneath him. He’d joined the Foreign Office anyway and with only a bit of muttering from his parents. Diplomatic work was an acceptable pursuit, even if they did remind Hew at every turn that he did not need the salary. He had no idea what his parents thought he did at present. They certainly would not approve of the Royal Saboteurs.

“You were asking about my work at the Farm,” Hew said when the footmen had left to fetch the tea service.

“Is there anything you could tell us?” Mrs. Randall leaned forward, her gaze riveted on him. Randall was right. She did look tired. She had dark smudges under her light blue eyes, and she hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the excellent dinner. “Charles says you are a member of the Royal Saboteurs.” She lowered her voice on the last two words.

“Darling!” Her husband shot her a quelling look.

Hew waved a hand. “It’s fine. I am a member.” With the completion of his first mission, he had been asked, formally, to join. He’d been told that six short months as a probationary member was quite impressive, but it had felt like years to Hew. “I’m not allowed to give any details about my mission, but I can tell you a bit about the group in general.”

“Please do. I assume since the group has the word royal in it, you work for the queen?”

“I suppose that’s true, but I’ve never met her. It’s more that our mission is to protect Queen and Country. We’re called saboteurs because we sabotage efforts—both foreign and domestic—to harm either the queen or the country.”

“Are there people that wish harm to Her Majesty?”

“Of course. There are many individuals and foreign governments who would benefit from the chaos that would result if something were to happen to the queen or if widespread violence or disruption were to befall England. Our task is to sabotage groups and individuals trying to cause harm or disruption, whether that be an assassination attempt or a riot over grain prices.”

“Oh, my. I fear asking you questions has only piqued my curiosity and raised many more. I remember last spring reading about the queen being shot at in the park. Were you involved in protecting her?”

Hew touched a spoon on the table, straightening it. “I was not, no.” But Hew knew who had been called to the palace to infiltrate the Court and ferret out the assassin. The fact that Willoughby Galloway was able to apprehend the would-be assassin and keep the subsequent attempts on the queen’s life from becoming public knowledge spoke of his unsurpassed abilities.

“But I’ve no doubt the Royal Saboteurs kept her safe,” Randall said.

“We’re not bodyguards,” Hew said, avoiding the topic. “But we are trained in both firearms and hand-to-hand combat.”

“And that’s what you do at the Farm?” Lydia asked. “Train?”

The conversation ceased as the tea service was brought in and tea poured for all three of them. Hew spoke as he allowed his tea to cool. “We do train in the skills I’ve mentioned as well as explosives, evasive maneuvers, languages, cyphering...” He sipped his tea then paused and lifted it to his nose to inhale the fragrance.

Lydia was watching him. “I told you the tea was exquisite.”

“Quite,” he said. “Well worth the scandal of a mesalliance.”

“You’re making me envious,” Randall said, “with all your talk of explosives and evasive maneuvers.”

“I promise you there is nothing to envy. Evasive maneuvers involves crawling through mud and brush in the cold hours of the early morning while an instructor yells at you and tells you to crawl faster. And this is before any tea or coffee or a bite to eat.”

“Barbaric,” Randall said. “And you say there is a waiting list of men wanting to join?”

“Women too,” Hew said.

“Women!” Lydia set down her cup. “Really?”

---