Chapter Nineteen
Hetty paced around the parlor earning an appeal from her aunt. She had barely slept after the trip to Hampstead. When she and the duchess called at Berkley Square, they were told Lord Strathairn had not returned. They could do nothing but go home and wait. Hetty had never found waiting easy, but now it was a torment.
Fanny wrote to say she would call at two o’clock. Hetty groaned. “Oh, not now. I can’t see Fanny while all this is happening!”
She and Fanny hadn’t met since she’d come to London. She guessed that Fanny’s season had been carefully orchestrated by her mother. Fanny had been presented in the Queen’s drawing room and would have danced at Almack’s. She would be bubbling over with news. Hetty only wished she was in a fit enough state to enjoy every detail.
As the clock struck two, Fanny swept in, dressed in a very smart half-dress of striped primrose yellow sarcenet, richly trimmed around the hem. Her face was rounder, and she’d developed quite a confident air. Pleased to find her looking so at home in her new surroundings, Hetty hugged her. Lady Kemble followed in a Turkey-red gown and puce turban.
“Almack’s is de trop,” Fanny said, ignoring her mother’s frown as she selected another tart from the cake stand. “You require a voucher from one of the lady patronesses to attend.” She giggled. “I danced with so many partners I can’t remember their faces, let alone their names.”
“No one was of particular interest to you?” Hetty asked, as her aunt poured more tea.
Lady Kemble took the flowery china cup and saucer with a nod in Aunt Emily’s direction. “Viscount Rothwell is enamored of Fanny. As are several gentlemen.”
Fanny wrinkled her nose. “Rothwell is too old.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Kemble said. “He’s years off forty with a large estate in Sussex.”
“He seems old.” A mulish expression tugged Fanny’s mouth down at the corners. “I don’t care for him.” She replaced her cup in its saucer. “Mr. Bonneville pleases me.”
“Forget Bonneville. He is known to be in dun territory and is in the market for a rich wife. Your dowry would not be acceptable to him, Fanny. He merely flirts with you.”
“I’ve met Mr. Bonneville,” Hetty said. “He has big, sorrowful brown eyes like a puppy.”
Fanny gave a trill of laughter. “That’s Bonneville precisely! Such a dear face.”
Lady Kemble turned her frown on Hetty. “You do look peaky, Miss Cavendish. You must make sure you get your sleep. A young lady in search of a husband needs a good complexion.”
Hetty swallowed and looked away.
“Hetty is a little tired,” Aunt Emily said quickly. “Her social life has been such a whirl.”
There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Hetty strained her ears for any activity in the street outside.
“Do you know if Lord Fortescue is in London, Hetty?” Fanny asked.
“I’m not sure where he is at present,” Hetty replied, careful to modulate her tone. She rubbed her bare finger. It distressed her, but she’d decided to remove her ring. News of her betrothal had not reached Fanny’s ears, and it wasn’t prudent to mention it now. She fought to maintain her composure, but her hand shook, and her cup rattled in its saucer.
“You’re very fidgety, Miss Cavendish,” Lady Kemble said with a sharp-eyed stare. “I was surprised to learn your father permitted you to come to London.”
“Is it so very surprising?” Aunt Emily’s eyes glittered. “My brother loves his daughter and wants the best for her.”
“I’m sure he does.” Lady Kemble put down her cup and saucer. She rose from her seat. “We must go. We have many calls to make, and then Fanny needs to rest before the ball this evening.”
Fanny cast Hetty a sympathetic glance. “I do hope you are enjoying your time in London. We must get together for a coze soon.”
Hetty returned the hug. “I’d like that, Fanny.”
After they left, Aunt Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “Mrs. Kemble is a spiteful woman.”
Hetty shrugged. “I fear she doesn’t like me.” It seemed unimportant now.
“That’s because you’re prettier and more intelligent than her daughter,” Aunt Emily said with a fond smile.
“Prettier than Fanny? Come now, Aunt.” Hetty kissed her cheek.
“You’ve had little chance to shine. When you become a baroness, you will come into your own, my dear. See if I’m not right.”
Her aunt clung to the idea that Guy meant to marry her. If only he was safe, she’d accept whatever happened, even if it meant losing him.
In the afternoon, a footman delivered a letter. Hetty pounced on it. It was from Guy. Her hands shaking, she sank into a chair in the entry hall to read it.
Guy’s note was appallingly brief. He was at Rosecroft Hall and would call on her when he returned to London. Exasperation fought with relief as she hurried upstairs to tell her aunt.
*
The morning after, Vincent was buried in the family crypt in the Digswell churchyard. Then Guy and John traveled to Whitechapel in Vincent’s curricle, John’s horse tied behind.
At Whitehall, Lord Parnham, a man in his fifties with thinning gray hair, put a plan to Guy. “You are in the enviable position of gaining these conspirators’ trust. You can lead us to them.”
“And just how might I do that?” Guy already had an inkling and dreaded to hear what Parnham would suggest. Bruised and saddened, he just wanted to be with Hetty. Lord Parnham’s grave voice broke into his thoughts.
“Your twin brother adopted the title while working to free Napoleon. We would like you to become him. No one could possibly suspect you.”
“But I don’t believe Vincent had any intention of joining them. He wished only to take my place at Rosecroft Hall.”
“They are not to know that,” Parnham said. “But it confirms the view that he has not been in contact with them.”
“But I neither know any of these conspirators nor what they plot.” Guy held out his hands, palms up. “This is madness! Vincent had a scar on his cheek. That would give me away immediately. Why do you need me?”
“Because we’ve lost our agent. One of Lord Castlereagh’s fellows got close enough to learn the secret code they go by. Unfortunately, he became too confident, and they grew suspicious. They slit his throat and threw his body in the river.”
Guy scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Nom de Dieu!”
Lord Parnham leaned forward in his chair. “This will work. Forney has seen you without a scar. It’s unlikely the rest of them have ever met Vincent. You are identical. They will not doubt you even if they have met him. It will give us the time we need to act. And it will draw out the rest of them. If you call one wolf, you invite the pack. Once you have entered their midst, we will pounce.”
“But they must suspect you’re on to them.”
Parnham shook his head. “No one has been arrested. They will be confident they’re safe.”
Guy eyed him. “I’m not trained in espionage.”
“We’ll help you with that.”
Guy’s eyebrows arched. “I cannot imagine how.”
“Lord Strathairn will assist you with the finer details.”
He’d had enough of the violence men do to one another. Guy huffed out a breath. He was spent. “I intend to visit my fiancée, Miss Cavendish. She will be concerned about me.”
Lord Parnham shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible until this is over.”
Guy pushed back his chair and stood. “Then I won’t do it.”
“Sit down, please, Fortescue.” Lord Parnham motioned him down again. “You can send word that you are ill.”
Guy shook his head as visions of Hetty banging on Strathairn’s door swam into his head. “That wouldn’t keep Miss Cavendish away.”
“I’m afraid my orders come from Viscount Sidmouth, the Home Secretary. I must insist,” Parnham said. “The future of England far outweighs the demands of one young lady.”
“This is preposterous. You cannot insist.” Guy swung around to look at John. But he shifted in his seat and wouldn’t meet Guy’s eyes.
“These saboteurs plan to strike here in London. Would you prefer to allow them to continue to work against England? To assassinate the prime minister or the Prince of Wales? To stir the masses to riot and work against the Crown?”
“I would not,” Guy said with heat. His love of England was deeply ingrained. “What do these Frenchmen hope to gain by this?”
“They are not all French, some are Englishmen. But the delusional souls are united in their quest to free Napoleon,” Parnham said with a tight-lipped smile. “Their reasoning being that as he escaped from Elba, he can do so again. Destabilizing this country’s government and stirring up the mood of the people will aid them in their cause. The present unrest plays into their hands. There’s revolution in the air and some of these Englishmen prefer England to revolt instead of–in their opinion–remaining enslaved. They hate Liverpool’s Tory government. They hate the Regent and his reckless spending and intend to ferment trouble wherever they can. There are organized societies with the same aim.
“What concerns us most is a new threat to the regent’s life. We have prevented one attempt recently. He’s unpopular, but to lose him would prove disastrous for England.”
Parnham held out his hands, palms up. “Your life has been badly affected by revolution, has it not? You do understand why England needs you to do your duty, Lord Fortescue?”
Guy released a long breath. “I’m quite prepared to do as you wish. But only if I can visit Hetty. She must be told the truth. I know she can be trusted.”
Parnham’s clever brown eyes assessed him. “On reflection, it might seem odd if you stopped courting Miss Cavendish. You may tell her about your brother if you wish. Continue as you were, but she must not learn of your mission. It would be too dangerous. Do I have your word?”
Guy had to agree. The last thing he wanted was Hetty involving herself in this, and he was sure she would. “You have it.”
Parnham rose, came around the desk, and shook Guy’s hand. “Then it is done. You are to infiltrate the group to discover their plans. Best you don’t come here again. I expect to learn something from you in the coming days. We’ll keep in touch through Strathairn.”
“And the scar?” Guy traced a line down his cheek.
“We might give you a fake one, but the count has already seen you so that won’t serve.” Parnham tapped the desk with a quill. “We shall have to trust no one has met Vincent.”
Guy crossed Whitehall with John to the carriage. “Hetty and I will marry as soon as my sister arrives in London to identify me,” he said. “Should I die, I want Hetty to inherit all my unentailed property.”
John eyed him as he settled back on the squabs. “You French are a pessimistic lot, aren’t you?”
Guy shrugged. “It would be foolish to be anything else, would it not?”
“I have your back, Guy. Remember that.”
“I’m not likely to forget it,” Guy said with a rueful smile.