Page 33 of Tales of a Society Nothing

Chapter Eight

Six months later

London was freezing. It had rained the night before, and sheets of ice made every step outside treacherous. Still, the agents of the Royal Saboteurs had braved the brisk winds and the sleet to arrive at Buckingham Palace for this secret ceremony.

Winn, better known as Agent Baron, tucked his wife’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the large ornately furnished reception room. The queen’s throne sat atop a dais at the far end of the rectangular space. Behind it, on the crimson-draped walls, hung portraits of her illustrious ancestors. Baron recognized George IV, Henry VIII, and Charles I. He squinted at the image of a king he didn’t recognize. “Who’s that one?” he asked Elinor.

“Just smile and lead me to our seats,” she said. “Everyone is watching us.”

Baron looked about the room, where groups of agents stood chatting quietly. He smiled and nodded at them as he walked past. “Mr. Kelly,” he said, acknowledging the ne’er-do-well Irishman who had only come to the Farm to earn a few quid and escape his problems in London. Instead, Baron had sent him to Ireland to infiltrate a violent Irish separatists’ stronghold.

Beside Callahan Kelly was his wife, Bridget Kelly. She came forward, and Baron paused to smile at her. Her husband might be aloof, but she was not. When she’d been Bridget Murray, she’d been his secretary before he’d given her the mission with Kelly. Baron still wasn’t certain if he’d made the right decision there. He hadn’t found another secretary as capable as Bridget Murray.

“My lord. My lady.” She curtseyed to both of them.

Elinor held out a hand. “It’s so good to see you again, Mrs. Kelly. Please accept my best wishes on your marriage.”

“Thank you.”

Winn still wasn’t used to seeing his secretary—former secretary—smile.

“Is Kelly behaving himself?” Winn asked.

“He’s completely reformed,” Bridget said.

Elinor glanced at the brooding Irishman. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Bridget looked over her shoulder at her husband. “Oh, he doesn’t want to be here. Says no self-respecting Irishman would accept a farthing, much less a commission, from the English queen.”

“He’s probably right,” Winn said. “Thank you for coming all the same.”

Bridget drew out her pocket watch. Winn smiled seeing it. She was never without her pocket watch. “Will we be starting soon, my lord?” she asked.

“One cannot rush royalty,” Winn said. “But I believe the queen is on the way from her chamber.”

“I won’t keep you.” Bridget moved back to her husband’s side, directing him to a set of chairs facing the throne. Winn continued on, pausing before the largest grouping here—a collection of six.

“Uncle Winn!” Lucy said, separating from the group to embrace first him and then Elinor. “Aunt Elinor! I’m so glad you came.”

“It seems I can’t escape London,” Elinor said. “First one wedding”—she gestured to Lucy’s brother, Will—“and then another.” She gestured to Lucy herself. “Who would have thought my husband was such a skilled matchmaker?”

Winn stiffened. “I assure you, I’m no matchmaker.”

“The evidence contradicts you.” Adrian Galloway, Viscount Smythe, stepped forward. As always, seeing Adrian and Sophia, standing beside her new daughter-in-law, Lady Emily, brought back Winn’s memories of his time in the now disbanded Barbican group. Baron shook Adrian’s hand and bowed to Sophia.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Winn said.

“First my son Willoughby married Lady Emily on a mission, then Lucy and Mr. Slorach worked together—your idea, I take it—and married.”

Sophia came forward and embraced Elinor. “Be careful or the Society Mamas will be knocking on your door, Winn.”

“Don’t threaten me, Saint,” he said with a smile. But he couldn’t help be somewhat pleased by the outcome—however unintended—of his agents’ assignments. Willoughby Galloway had been assigned to protect the queen from assassination attempts. Lady Emily, her lady-in-waiting, had been a prime suspect. The two had fallen in love and rooted out the assassin. Though Lady Emily was no agent, Will had proved an invaluable asset to the group since his marriage—even if he did take a month or two off here and there to spend with his wife.

Lucy Galloway and Duncan Slorach had married not even six months before. He’d sent them to protect the son of the prime minister. He’d known there was some tension between them—Elinor had seen them one day and said they just needed to kiss and get it over with—but he hadn’t expected them to return from their mission with Lucy proposing to Duncan. That scene had played out in his study at the Farm. Was there no decorum any longer?

“Does the queen need any assistance?” Lady Emily asked.

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