Page 1 of The Hired Hero
One
“I-Is everything all right, Lady Caroline?”
In her haste to know its contents, the young lady in question had torn open the letter in the entrance hall of the imposing manor house. Ringlets of honey-colored curls, still damp from the exertion of a hard morning gallop over the fields, obscured part of her face, but they couldn’t hide the furrow that had formed between her brows as she skimmed the pages.
A look of grave concern pinched at the butler’s craggy face as the furrow deepened. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I trust that His Grace and the young viscount are…well?” He hadn’t said the word “alive,” but his slight hesitation made the meaning clear enough.
Lady Caroline Alexandra Georgina Talcott, only daughter of the Duke of Cheviot, raised her gaze from the travel-worn paper. Their rich emerald color, usually vibrant with laughter and high spirits, had turned cloudy, and it seemed to take her a moment to compose her thoughts enough to respond.
“Y-Yes, thank heavens Papa and Lucien are fine. It’s just that…” Her voice trailed off as she abruptly folded the letter and tucked it into the bodice of her navy merino riding habit. “Darwin, will you please go find Mrs. Graves?” she continued. “And then I wish for the two of you to meet me in the library as soon as possible.”
Without further ado, Caroline hurried down the finely appointed hallway and made her way to the back of the house, where she clicked open a heavy brass latch and passed through a paneled oak portal.
The library was redolent with the scents of beeswax, Moroccan leather and a faint, masculine hint of bay rum. Drawing in a deep breath, Caroline felt her throat constrict at the familiar reminders of her father—this was his favorite spot—and a shiver skated down her spine. She hesitated, then made her way past his ornately carved desk and sat down in front of the hearth.
Despite the warmth emanating from the logs, she couldn’t shake the chill she felt creeping over her. Taking out the letter, she smoothed the creased sheets of paper and reread them once again. Another frown. Oh, the words were clear enough. More than clear. Her father was very emphatic about what he wanted her to do.
But why?
She shook her head in consternation. It made no sense. Her father wanted her to leave Roxbury Manor immediately upon reading his words. As to the journey, she was to dress as plainly as possible, pack only a modest valise for luggage and travel in an unmarked carriage, with only the coachman and one of the scullery maids to accompany her.
Even odder, he wanted her to make all haste to London, stopping only to change horses and for the coachman to grab enough sleep to be able to drive without mishap—and yet, he wanted them to avoid the main roads. Once they reached Town, she was to go directly to her Uncle Henry and stay there without revealing her presence to anyone else until her father and her cousin returned from the Continent.
Pursing her lips, Caroline pondered the instructions. She was well aware of her father’s current responsibilities. There had been too many visits to Whitehall, too many shadowy visitors at odd hours for her not to be aware of his part in the government’s efforts to defeat Napoleon now that the former emperor of France had slipped away from Elba and was on the march again.
And though her father usually trusted her intelligence enough to discuss his work with her as freely as he did with her cousin Lucien, on this particular mission, he had been unusually reticent. Even his sudden departure three weeks ago had been prefaced by only a terse explanation that he was needed urgently in Belgium for a short time. It was only slightly mollifying that he had told her cousin no more—but Lucien had been allowed to go with him.
Her eyes narrowed at the thought.
Men. They got to use their wits and have all the adventure.
She sighed and looked back at the last paragraph of the letter. It was even stranger than the preceding ones. Her father had written that a courier might appear at Roxbury Manor with some papers for him. While that in itself was not an uncommon occurrence, it was the next lines that sent the chill within her seeping even more deeply into her bones.
The duke’s orders were that the courier must on no account, leave the papers at the manor. Instead, he was to make all haste to London and not stop until he had delivered the papers to the minister of the privy council—and only the minister—at Whitehall. Most importantly, the courier was to be warned to stay on his guard, especially on the road.
Then she reread the last line several times…
I beg you do exactly as I ask. Be careful and trust no one.
* * *
“Hmmph.”Darwin looked over his wire-rimmed spectacles at Caroline.
“Why are you giving me that basilisk stare?” she asked.
“Because I know that jut of your jaw all too well,” he retorted as he passed the letter to Mrs. Graves, who had served the Duke of Cheviot’s family for nearly as long as he had. “Your father’s orders are quite clear, milady.” There was a slight pause as he fixed her with a stern look, doing a credible job of mimicking the duke’s expression when he would not tolerate any arguments.
Caroline assumed an injured look. “I don’t willfully disobey my father…”
Mrs. Graves snorted. “Like hell ye don’t, missy.”
“Mrs. Graves! Language, if you please!”
The housekeeper raised her brows. “Oh, don’t be ringing a peal over my head. ’Tis nothing that hasn’t tumbled out of her mouth or that of Mr. Lucien more times than can be counted.”
Caroline had to suppress a grin. The two old retainers had been going at it for more than her twenty years, or so she had been assured, and the battle showed no signs of abating—she imagined they would be utterly lost without each other.
Mrs. Graves turned to Caroline. “And don’t ye be putting on that air of innocence. You can hardly think to gammon us! We all know you are wont to do exactly as you see fit, but on this, I agree with Mr. Darwin. You must doexactlyas His Grace says.”
