Page 69 of A Lady's Handbook of Espionage
“You were about to be painfully obvious. Honestly, Trouble, what part of ‘we need to blend in’ continues to elude you?”
She bristled. “I’m perfectly subtle at all times.”
“Says the woman who once burgled the Portuguese crown jewels.”
That particular escapade had been the toast of the Continent for a week, the stuff of crowing headlines and scandalous ballroom whispers. It wasn’t every day a thief absconded with the gems of a sovereign state while the Queen’s Guard made a shambles of the palace, laid low by cascading hysterics and a suspicious swarm of angry bees.
The bees had been her proudest moment. A flash of brilliance, really.
Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “How do you even know about that?”
“I make it my business to know things, Mrs Ashford. Especially where you’re concerned. Now smile. We’re happy newlyweds, remember?”
“How could I forget?” she muttered. “You’ve only reminded me a dozen times today.”
“Only because you seem determined to scowl at everyone who so much as glances our way. I’m aware you’d rather be elbow-deep in Ramsgate’s viscera, but do try to recall that infiltration requires at least a veneer of sociality.”
“Darling,” she cooed, “have I told you what an absolutejoyit is to be shackled to you in holy matrimony? I can’t fathom how I managed a single day without your delightful commentary on my every move!” She lowered her voice. “Now, be a love and go mingle. Preferably far away from me, before all of England thinks I’ve been surgically grafted to your side. You’re meant to be playing the idiot, but men have been known to let things slip around their own. Things they’d never dream of uttering where a woman might overhear.”
“Fine. Don’t do anything rash,” he warned as he departed.
Isabel focused on tracking her prey’s circuit through the garden. Ramsgate now stood locked in intent conversation with a taller man, dark heads inclined together. He gestured sharply, and his companion scowled. Were they quarrelling? Or debating some obscure scientific point?
She angled closer, steps slowing, straining to catch the words on the warm breeze.
“I understand your concerns, but . . .” Ramsgate was saying.
The other man’s reply was a harsh mutter, too indistinct to parse. But the thunderous cast to his features spoke volumes. Whatever Ramsgate had said, it clearly hadn’t pleased him.
As she took another step, a gaggle of matrons descended on Isabel.
“Mrs Ashford, you absolute darling! You must tell us how you met that delicious husband of yours. A love match, was it?”
Oh, this was too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Especially with Callahan looking over, probably summoned by a sixth sense for impending mischief.
“It’s the most thrilling story!” She made a dreamy expression. “There I was, minding my business at the Metropolitan Museum, when a dashing stranger came careening around the corner and nearly knocked me clean off my feet!”
The ladies gasped, delicate hands fluttering to throats in scandalised amusement. Across the lawn, Callahan froze mid-step. Good. She had his full attention.
“Turns out, he was fleeing from an angry father. Something about compromising the virtue of the man’s daughter, or perhaps his wife.” She waved a hand in dismissal. Callahan started walking faster, expression thunderous. “Well, naturally, as soon as he clapped eyes on me, he realised he’d found his one true love. Hissaviourfrom all his rakish misdeeds! The next thing I knew, he seized me about the waist and . . .” A meaningful pause, a slow grin curving her lips. “We’re on the terrace. Alone. In the dark.”
The ladies dissolved into a fresh flurry of gasps and fluttered fans.
“Alone . . . with a strange man. But how thrilling!” one of them tittered.
“You wicked girl!” said another. “How positively . . .”
“American?” Isabel supplied, playing up her adopted persona.
“Just so!”
Isabel had to commend Callahan. When he finally reached them, he almost managed to look like a man in love and not someone contemplating murder. The matrons, of course, mistook his fixed smile for one of adoration. Bless their hearts.
Pressing herself to his side, Isabel cooed, “Darling, I was just regaling everyone with the riveting story of our first meeting. How you spirited me away in the heat of passion!”
Behind their backs, he gripped her dress hard. “Quite the tale, myradiantdiamond. Perhaps we should let the ladies catch their breath. I’d hate to overwhelm them with the intensity of our passion. Come, let me introduce you to Professor Ainsworth. He has the most fascinating theories about the mating habits of butterflies.”
And with that, he swept her away behind a tree.
