Page 2 of The Hired Hero
She shook the letter at Caroline. “I can feel in my bones that something is dreadfully amiss.”
Caroline’s lips compressed in a tight line. She had sensed that too. There was a strange tone to her father’s words, something she had never felt before, as if he were… She searched for the right word.Afraid?Certainly not for himself, but for what?Feeling helpless?Because he and Lucien were so far away?
Damnation, she thought, mentally acknowledging that Mrs. Graves was right—her vocabulary did include a number of decidedly unladylike words. Why couldn’t her father have told her exactly what was going on? She couldn’t help but feel that if it had been Lucien instead of her, he would have explained matters more clearly.
Her jaw jutted out a fraction farther. Regardless, she would give him no cause to worry. For once, she would do exactly as she was told.
Darwin and Mrs. Graves were watching her intently. Her mouth quirked into a thin smile. “You two needn’t look at me as if you were trying to decide just how much rope you’d need to truss me up and toss me into the carriage.”
Darwin let out his breath. “I knew, of course, that your innate good sense would prevail.”
“Course it would,” muttered Mrs. Graves. “Females always show more common sense than men when trouble arises.”
Darwin shot a quelling look at her, then continued, his tone even more imperious. “Now, it is clear your father wants you to travel incon…incock…”
“Incognito,” murmured Caroline.
“Precisely!” He thought for a moment. “There’s a small carriage with no crest in storage in the east stable. It will be just the thing.” He rang for a footman and gave a number of terse orders. Turning back to Caroline and Mrs. Graves, he added, “John Coachman is a fine driver. He will get you to London and into your uncle’s care as quickly as can be done.”
“That he’s also a bear of a man and handy with his fives or a pistol is an added benefit,” Mrs. Graves observed before adding, “Polly can serve as your maid, and you must take your plainest gowns—the gray and olive ones you wear when working in the gardens will do—and alter a seam or two to make them even more unfashionable.”
“I don’t know why Papa does not want Mathilde to accompany me…”
Mrs. Graves rolled her eyes. “After all her years in this country, Matilde still can’t manage a sentence that makes any sense.”
“Mathilde speaks very good English,” said Caroline, more out of loyalty than truth. “At least, I understand every word,” she added.
“You—and only you,” observed Darwin. “Besides, you speak French nearly better than she does. The point is, she will attract attention?—”
“And attention is exactly what His Grace doesn’t want,” finished Mrs. Graves, ignoring the butler’s miffed expression. “Polly is a sensible girl and one who will keep her tongue to herself.”
Caroline frowned but didn’t argue.
Darwin rose. “I suggest you have Mathilde start on what needs to be done. Have her pack only a small valise, as befitting a country squire’s daughter. In any case, you will be in London in a matter of a few days and may send for your things at Grosvenor Square. I want you to leave at first light.”
She nodded but couldn’t refrain from giving a huff of frustration. “I wish Papa had seen fit to explain things to me. If I had a notion of what was going on, perhaps I could think of a way to help him…”
“Lady Caroline!” There was a note of warning in Darwin’s voice.
“You needn’t bellow at me. I said I would do as Papa asks. But this all doesn’t make any sense to me. Why shouldIbe in any danger?” She looked at the others, the question in her expression as well as her words.
“More than likely, His Grace is mistaken, but it’s better to be cautious. In all likelihood, you have nothing to worry about, save for a rather uncomfortable journey to Town,” replied Mrs. Graves, with a bravado that sounded rather hollow to all their ears.
Darwin remained silent. In all his years of employment at Cheviot Manor, he had known the duke to make precious few mistakes.
* * *
Caroline letthe book drop in her lap as she stared into the blazing fire. She had come back to the library after supper, knowing full well that sleep would be impossible just yet, even though she had to depart at dawn. There were too many questions racing through her mind, not the least of which was why her father was so concerned about this particular messenger. It was not unusual for documents to travel between the Continent, the ministry and the duke, and no doubt many of them were sensitive. Caroline had long ago figured out what sort of government work her father was engaged in—no doubt a penchant for ferreting out information ran in the family!
So why was this so different?
A loud noise suddenly jarred her from her thoughts. She shot up and hurried into the hallway. The sound was coming from the drawing room. Caroline threw open the door to find that Darwin, armed with a pistol and accompanied by two of their larger footmen brandishing heavy cudgels, was already cautiously approaching the set of french doors that led out to the garden terrace.
The banging came again.
Darwin undid the locks and flung the doors open as he stepped back, pistol at the ready.
A dark-clad figure staggered out of the gloom and crumpled onto the floor. With a cry of surprise, Darwin knelt beside the man’s motionless body and carefully turned him over.
