Page 3 of His Wife, the Spy
“Surely not.” It was one thing for a man to care little for his reputation and his title. It was another thing altogether to hang because of it.
“His man, Yarwood, is a Welsh-born, British-trained soldier. With his connections both in trade and in the military, and Ramsbury’s wealth and political sway, they could create havoc. If Ramsbury includes his French mistress, some bit of fluff with a diplomat father, the interference could cripple London.”
The connections were difficult to overlook, but the plan had one flaw. “Sir, Elizabeth will never be able to discover this secret.” The girl could barelykeepa secret.
“Not Elizabeth.” Spencer’s sharp stare scraped Annabel’s skin. “You.”
No.Annabel’s lot in life had changed, but she would not stoop to sneaking through someone else’s house and listening at keyholes. She shook her head. “Sir, this is unwise.”
She was risking dismissal, but no one else would speak for her. Learning that had been a bitter lesson. Besides, the Season provided a bit of courage. Elizabeth couldn’t go into Society without a chaperone, and unemployed candidates were thin on the ground.
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “It is not. Dressed as you are, with the role you have, no one will notice your moving through the house. Chaperones are unnecessary for rides and games, even balls at the house. You will have time on your hands and fewer eyes on your activity. Plus, you are bright enough to realize what will, or won’t, be important.”
It was clear from his smile that he’d intended the last to stroke her pride.Bright enough.
Enough.
Annabel wanted to throw something at him. Better yet, she could leave his employ altogether. While he might not dismiss her, she could still resign.
But the lack of available chaperones also meant there were no suitable open positions. This job was all that kept Annabel from begging. Or worse.
At least Spencer had a good reputation. His older brother was the Earl of Denton, and his sister was married to the Duke of Somerset. Even his middle brother had retired from the navy as a hero and a wealthy man. Rumor had it that Spencer himself was being considered for a promotion that would give him the ear of the queen.
Perhaps this mission, while distasteful, was valid.
“Find the truth and return with Elizabeth,” she said, confirming their agreement.
He nodded. “And to my gratitude.”
Annabel stood. “As you wish.”
Perhaps Reginald Spencer’s gratitude would earn her a letter of reference for her next employer.
*
Jasper Warren, thelatest Marquess of Ramsbury, held out his hand to yet another guest and shaped his face into a smile. “Wareham, good of you to come.”
The earl’s brow was as sweaty as his palm. “Wouldn’t miss it. Raines has promised a rousing party.”
“Oh, it will be a memorable month.” Jasper discreetly wiped his palm against his trousers and focused on the familiar coach lumbering up the lane. “Raines is in the billiards room enjoying my scotch, I believe.” Scotch, port, madeira—it made no difference if it kept the gentlemen talking and off their guard.
He stood to the side, encouraging Wareham to clear the way for the next guest. The earl did not take the hint.
“Starnes will show you and your valet to your rooms.” Jasper crooked an eyebrow and swept his fingers toward the door. Good Lord, no wonder the man was so horrible at cards.
Without waiting to see if Wareham moved forward, Jasper descended the stairs, waited for the footman to open the door, and stepped forward to offer his hand to the lady inside. For the first time this morning, his smile was genuine. “Welcome, Fi.”
Fiona Allen’s hat was almost as wide as the door of her coach, and its crown was circled with blue silk flowers exactly matching her day dress. The only thing that spoiled her transformation into a respectable young lady was the twinkle in her dark eyes. “Your lordship.”
“I thought I cured you of that years ago,” Jasper scolded her as he would one of his sisters. And, like his sisters, Fiona paid no attention. She hadn’t since the day they’d met, when he was sixteen and she was the only girl who didn’t make calf eyes at him.
“I don’t think one can call a marquess Rabbit in polite company.” Fiona caught the eye of the older woman descending from the carriage with the help of a footman. “Isn’t that correct, Mrs. Linden?”
“Don’t tease, miss,” the older woman scolded gently. She shook out her skirts before curtsying quickly. “Lord Ramsbury.”
Jasper bowed. “Mrs. Linden, it is good to see you again. Welcome to Kennet Hall.” He offered his arm to the lady, knowing it would fluster her, and that the good-natured teasing would amuse Fiona. “I’ve requested that you and Fiona have the rooms overlooking the gardens.”
The woman blushed pink under her hat. “That is too kind, your lordship.”
