A Spy's Honor (34 page)

Emily shook her head. “You and your imagination.”

As they descended three flights of stairs, Claire’s curiosity climbed. Stephen had never sent flowers when they were engaged, which fact emphasized all the more how unromantic he truly was. She didn’t doubt he loved her, but still, something had been missing. Anyway, she distracted herself from hoping overly much that those flowers were from John. She would be so disappointed if they weren’t.

They reached the entry hall and Emily triumphantly waved a hand toward a beautiful spray of flowers already neatly arranged in a vase. Red roses and violets provided a vibrant splash of color, complemented by little sprigs of white sweet peas. Claire leaned over and inhaled the heady fragrance of the roses while picking up the accompanying card. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the note.

Every fair lady deserves to have a poem written

in her honor. My ode to Lady Claire:

Last night your gown was silver,

And so was my waistcoat;

Tonight I will wear blue,

And offer something more than a biscuit.

Claire laughed and clutched the card to her bosom. Emily stared, but Claire paid her no mind.

The flowers were from John.

John had sent her flowers.

She looked at the card again, read the awful, laughable poetry in that neat, compact script once more and giggled. She’d been surprised by, yet always loved, his silliness.

“Are they from John?” Emily asked impatiently.

Claire looked at her sister from beneath moist eyelashes, feeling ridiculously giddy. “An admirer,” was all she would say.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “An admirer who makes you laugh?”

Folding the note into her palm, Claire slipped past her sister. “That’s the best kind, isn’t it?”

Yes, she would certainly forgive him for deserting her. Especially when he must mean to propose that evening.

Given the bouquet, time passed slowly, and the hours until Claire could begin dressing for that evening’s entertainment were interminable despite being hounded to play game after game with the children. Finally the two sat down to their supper, and Claire headed to her room, more enthusiastic about a social affair than she’d been in a long while.

Stephen, of all people, had given her an unexpected boost. She had received a letter from him stating his intention to retire to Wakebourne for a few days. More importantly, he encouraged her “not to put his reputation above her happiness.” He claimed his place in society was secure thanks to her family’s countenance and continued friendship.

So thoughtful of him. And oh, how she hoped he was right in regard to his standing. Society could be so fickle. She would still temper her enthusiasm, at least in public.

“I want to wear the sapphire satin tonight,” she finally informed her abigail. No one else would know she had matched her gown to what John intended to wear. She couldn’t wait for his proposal, even knowing they would have to keep it secret.

The maid brought out the gown Claire had worn to John’s homecoming dinner. It hadn’t been appropriate for that event, but it would suit tonight’s rout perfectly and Claire descended the stairs thirty minutes later, breath held in anticipation of John’s reaction.

Alas, only Emily, Allerton and the dowager waited in the entrance hall. Claire stemmed her disappointment. Perhaps John was simply late.

“You look lovely,” Emily said. Then her gaze strayed to the top of Claire’s head. “What pretty flowers. Are those from your bouquet?”

“I thought they complemented the dress.” Claire resisted the urge to pat the sweet peas wound through her upswept hair. She’d had her maid fetch them, as the mere thought of wearing something John had given her made her feel ridiculously…quivery. As if he were trailing those soft white petals across her skin, followed by the whispery touch of his lips. She very nearly shivered.

“They do look fetching,” Emily replied, linking her arm with Claire’s. “Let’s be off. Allerton doesn’t like to dither.”

Claire and her sister stepped carefully down the front steps and then turned north, heading one block over to Mount Street. Allerton and his mother followed behind. As they walked, Claire resisted the urge to ask after John. His note had indicated he would see her. She should trust that he would make an appearance.

Her resistance didn’t last long. “Do you know where John is?”

“Hadlow said he left this morning and hasn’t been back since.” Emily squeezed Claire’s arm. “He’s been much more social since his return, though. He’s more mature, more confident. I wonder what he will do with himself.”

A good question. He’d said he was returning to the Continent to spy again and had adamantly refused to consider Claire’s suggestion to stand for Parliament in truth instead of pretending to do so. That was unsettling now that she gave it thought. He didn’t live the life of a gentleman, and she wasn’t certain spying qualified as an occupation. It was a questionable one at best, especially for a man with a wife. He did want to marry her, didn’t he?

“Here we are,” Emily declared. She turned and hugged Claire, whispering in her ear, “It’s not always easy to get where we’re meant to be in life, but the journey is usually worth it. Don’t lose sight of your dream, Claire.”

Then she was gone, gathered close to Allerton’s side as they entered the party.

Claire and the dowager made a tour of the rooms, speaking to friends, acquaintances and those who looked at Claire as if she were infected with a new variant of the Bubonic Plague. Because of the latter, she was not at all distressed when the dowager accepted an offer to dance from a handsome, white-bearded gentleman and she could escape to a quiet corner to brood and train an eye on the entrance.

The minutes ticked away slowly. Half of her was angry and frustrated that John hadn’t shown up. The other half was worried he’d been injured in the course of his work. The information she’d provided last night about Stretton should have been enough to clear that lord’s name off John’s list. Did that leave only Stephen?

Her hand flew to her mouth. Stephen had gone to Hertfordshire. Had John followed him? When would John realize Stephen was innocent? Claire mentally kicked herself for not having found the “proof” John needed to cross Stephen off the list while she was searching out the other information. Why had she worried about Stretton when she should have focused on Stephen?

“Perhaps we should plant you in a pot and be done with it.” Eliza Cranstoun sashayed in front of Claire. “If you intend to skulk in the corner, you should at least pretend to be decorative.”

Claire had very little patience left. “Isn’t there some gossip you wish to pursue, Eliza? Or someone from whom you can extract a pound of flesh?”

Eliza’s smile was feral. “I was hoping to receive payment from you…or Kensworth, to be more precise. Where is your strapping former betrothed?”

“Not here,” Claire replied.

Eliza’s thin black eyebrows rose lasciviously. “Licking his wounds, is he? Perhaps I could help.”

“I really must—”

“I don’t see your brother-in-law either. The tall one with the mysterious air about him.” Eliza bit her painted lower lip. “I wouldn’t mind an introduction to him as well. But then, after witnessing your waltz with him last week, perhaps you’d like to keep him to yourself.”

Claire’s fingers curled into fists before her brain commanded them to relax. She would not hand Eliza gossip. Forcing herself to smile she said, “I am uncertain of Lord John’s whereabouts, but when next I see him I will mention how desperate you are for an introduction.”

Eliza looked ready to flounce off, so Claire gathered her skirts and swept past the woman first. She felt a headache coming on.

As she walked around the room, uncertain of her destination, she couldn’t stop herself from searching for John. He wasn’t there. Finally, finding herself near the refreshment table and being perfectly capable of getting her own food, she plucked a raisin-filled biscuit from a plate.

It did not taste good.

She waited an hour. Then two. Then three. People talked to her, but the conversations were of the stilted and awkward variety that ensued when one party had the lead role in much of the circulating gossip.

Playing at espionage was not the lark she’d once thought. Prying into the lives of the Strettons, dealing with people like Eliza Cranstoun, who cared for no one’s feelings; these weren’t things she could enjoy. Besides, she needed stability and at least the illusion of permanence in her life, not this unreliability that seemed to be part and parcel of John and his work.

Once they were married things would be different. Or so she told herself.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

After a restless night in which she listened for any little sign of John’s return, Claire rose, disgusted with herself, and went down to breakfast. This last was an achievement, for she so wanted to remain in her bedchamber and stew.

“Good morning!”

Allerton’s greeting grated on her overtired brain, but Emily, at least, was more sensitive. Claire’s sister studied her for a moment and then sighed. “Do come sit, Claire. Philip will fill your plate.” She nodded at the footman.

When Claire had seated herself, Emily leaned over. “Whatever is wrong, my dear?”

Claire simply stared at the empty chair which John usually occupied.

Her sister followed her gaze. “Oh. Where is he?”

Claire shrugged.

“Allerton, where is your brother?” Emily demanded.

Her husband flipped his newspaper down. “I haven’t the slightest idea. I haven’t seen him since…” He slid his eyes to the ceiling in thought. “Since yesterday morning. He was on his way out, in quite a rush. When did you last see him, Claire?” he asked, seemingly oblivious to her distress.

The memory of John—above her, inside her—flashed into Claire’s mind. Heat scalded her cheeks. Yesterday she’d told herself she didn’t regret giving herself to him. After twenty-fours of continued secrecy and no proposal, however…

She contemplated the flowering vines on the wallpaper as she answered Allerton. “Yesterday morning as well. He didn’t say where he was going.” That, at least, was the truth.

“Should we be concerned?” Emily asked.

“No. Certainly not.” Claire snapped her gaze to Allerton and then back to her sister. “John has the right to come and go as he pleases. His irregularity needn’t concern us.”

She was trying to convince herself of the same, of course. Common sense told her he was working, doing his best to apprehend…someone. However, common sense offered little in the way of comfort. The situation remained the same: John was gone without a word. She could not even tell her sister and brother-in-law her suspicions regarding his whereabouts. Or her worry over the danger he might be in. Or how deep was the hole his departure carved in her heart.

Emily slid a speaking glance at her husband. Allerton folded his newspaper and placed it on the corner of the table and said, “You have a point, little sister. He is his own man. I do hope, however, he puts in an appearance before we leave tomorrow.”

“What?” Claire looked to Emily.

“Allerton and I would like to return to Bellemere for a few weeks. The children enjoy the country so much more, and we only have a short time left before I begin my confinement.” She patted her round stomach.

“Oh, of course.” Claire nodded, just able to prevent a shiver as a cold despondency cloaked her. Emily and Allerton had never preferred Town and had only stayed so long because of her wedding. The wedding that was now canceled.

“If you wish to stay, and I’m certain you must”—Emily raised her eyebrows—“the dowager duchess intends to remain here. She will happily chaperone you.”

“I… Yes, I had best stay.” Claire managed a wan smile. Oh, how she wanted to go with them, to just disappear like John. It would serve him right. But she was not a coward and this time there would be no misunderstanding between them.

She spent the rest of the day assisting Emily with the packing and the taming of the children, who were so excited about returning to Bellemere they couldn’t stop hopping around like fleas on a dog. Claire relished the work and the distraction, though the latter wasn’t enough to keep her from listening for the opening of the front door.

By dinner, when the dowager herself commented on and fussed over John’s absence, Claire was done in. She participated in the conversation perfunctorily and excused herself as soon as politeness allowed.

She wasn’t deaf to Allerton’s footsteps behind her, but she kept moving until he called her name. “Claire. Should I be out searching for my brother?”

Grasping the staircase newel, she spun around to face him. How could she balance John’s need for secrecy with his family’s unease? This wasn’t the Continent, where John was answerable to no one but the British government. He had a responsibility to his family now he was back. He had a responsibility to
her
, after what they had done the other night.

She sighed. “Not yet. I’m certain”—no, she wasn’t at all—“he has his reasons for this absence. Perhaps we might speak of this again tomorrow, if…if he hasn’t returned by then?”

“Oh, Claire. I will kill him if he—” Allerton blew out a breath. Then he cupped the back of her head and kissed her on the forehead. “I won’t stoop to calling out my own brother, but if you need me to, I’ll gladly give him a sound thrashing.”

Oddly, Allerton’s assurance lifted her spirits, if ever so slightly. She called a thank-you over her shoulder and headed upstairs.

She spent the night, however, in another fitful sleep, her mind filled with doubts and worries. Even as she finally fell asleep, the answer to the most important question eluded her: What would she do if John didn’t return by the next day?

***

John fell back against the cracked leather seat of the hackney he shared with Duncan, massaging the bridge of his nose for a moment before putting his spectacles back on. At last he looked to be returning to Mayfair. After two days of dogging Robert Cahill, he might finally get the chance to see Claire. It had been torture not sending her a note, but he’d had neither the time or the liberty to do so.