Agent of the Crown (3 page)

“Why, because I’m pregnant? Or because of the
scandal?” Her flippant tone covered a much darker emotion.
Telaine’s heart ached for her.

“Because you get dizzy when you stand too
long, and I’m not strong enough to carry you out of here if you
faint,” she said.

Julia glanced her way, a faint smile touching
her lips. She was widely considered the most beautiful woman in
Tremontane, with her dark hair, cornflower blue eyes, and rosy
complexion. That she was nearly six feet tall and had a
well-rounded figure made her the perfect model of the fashion
Imogen North had set for curvy women. It infuriated Telaine that
Lucas could have abandoned her for any other woman, let alone the
sharp-nosed creature he’d taken up with.

“It’s not my fault you’re short and scrawny,”
Julia said, teasing.

“Oh, but I’m a Princess. That makes my figure
slender
instead of scrawny, dear coz, my hair ash blonde
instead of mousy, my eyes sparkling hazel, and my height petite
instead of just plain short. If not for cosmetics, I’d be
completely nondescript.”

“Cosmetics and your dimple.”

Telaine touched her cheek. “Ah, yes. I have
captivated many a man with my dimple. It has far more power than I
do.”

Julia’s smile widened, then disappeared
entirely. “Oh, Lainie, how did I come to this? Pregnant and
abandoned and the subject of gossip from Ravensholm to
Kingsport?”

“It’s sympathetic gossip. Everyone hates
Lucas on your behalf.”

“I can’t bring myself to hate him, Lainie. I
loved him so much—”

“And he taunted you about his woman and
called you a broodmare. If you don’t want to hate him, do you mind
if I do?”

Julia laughed. “You’re right. About
everything.” She stood and ran her hands over her stomach, which at
five months’ pregnancy was visibly rounded despite the high-waisted
cut of her gown. “And I do feel dizzy. I should leave. Enjoy
yourself, Lainie, and don’t worry about me.”

“Do you want help getting back to your
suite?”

“I think I can manage to walk up two flights
of stairs, Telaine. I told you, you don’t have to worry about me.”
She hugged Telaine, who followed her as far as the verandah, then
watched her cross the well-lit courtyard to the guest wing of
Harroden Manor. At least she’d stopped trying to lie to Telaine
about her situation; like her father, she knew about Telaine’s
talent, and for her to lie to her cousin regardless was a mark of
how miserable she was. Telaine pictured Lucas’s handsome, arrogant
face and wished she knew how to wield a sword or shoot a gun,
anything to make him feel even half the hurt he’d done her dearest
friend and cousin.

“Don’t tell me you’re hiding from me?”

Telaine recognized that voice. She put on a
smile she knew made her look vapid and turned around fast.
“Michael! Of course I’m not hiding from you! Shall we dance?”

Michael Cosgrove approached her with his hand
outstretched, a smile creasing his acne-pitted face. “I was under
the impression it was the man’s duty to ask the lady for the
pleasure.”

“We’re too good friends to bow to stuffy old
custom.” Telaine linked her arm with his. “I’ve missed you.”

“More to the point, you missed the Hardaways’
summer gala,” Michael said, escorting her to the center of the
ballroom. Golden light from the chandelier spangled the folds of
her dark green dress like drops of evening sunlight. “Though I
shouldn’t deny Elizabeth d’Arden’s prior claim on your
presence.”

The violins and cellos struck up the first
notes of the dance, and Telaine bowed to her partner. “It doesn’t
mean I don’t miss my other friends,” she said, taking his hand and
beginning the long, sweeping promenade around the ballroom. It was
a fast-moving dance, complicated, and she felt like she was flying
as Michael turned her once and then let her fly away again. The
pleasure of the dance and the excitement of her clandestine mission
combined into a laugh she couldn’t contain. It was a beautiful
evening.

“I say, you are in good spirits tonight,”
Michael said. “Dare I hope it’s my company that pleases you
so?”

He was teasing her; he enjoyed dancing with
her, but was attracted to men, had a fiancé even, which made him a
safe companion whose romantic overtures she didn’t have to fend
off. “Of course,” she said, winking at him as she spun past, “that
and the moon and the garden and my new gown—you like it, don’t
you?” It was lovely, but that wasn’t the point. Her lock picks
brushed her thigh from inside one of the gown’s many hidden
pockets, and she smiled again. So many secrets.

“Of course.” Michael smiled. “I wish I could
dance more than once with you.”

“I think Jonathan might be jealous.”

“He knows us both better than that.”

They bantered until the dance was over, and
Telaine, laughing again, clung to Michael’s hand for a moment,
dizzy and over-warm. “Champagne?” he said. “Or are you about to be
torn from my side by one of your many swains?”

She laughed again and swatted him lightly
with her green-gloved hand. “Swains?” she exclaimed. “I have no
swains
. I have
admirers.
”

“Your Highness?” Another man, much younger
and taller than Michael, with golden curls and an angelic face,
held a champagne flute almost in her face. “I took the liberty—that
is, I thought you might be thirsty—”

Telaine gave a wry smile to Michael, who
returned it with a bow. “Speak with me again later,” she said in a
low voice. He nodded and raised her gloved hand to his lips before
backing away gracefully.

She took the champagne from the young man’s
hand, which gripped the glass tightly enough that she almost had to
pull it away from him. “I thank you, Mister—I beg your pardon, I
don’t recall your name.”

“We haven’t been introduced, your Highness.
I’m Roger Chadwick. The Count is my father.” He blushed. “I
apologize… perhaps I should not have been so bold…but I
thought…”

“Not at all, Mister Chadwick—or should I say
Lord Harroden?” She laughed a brainless titter. “I’m so silly, I
don’t even know your title! Isn’t that foolish of me?”

“You could never be foolish, your Highness,”
young Chadwick said, and blushed again. “I wish you would call me
Roger.”

I bet you do, young one
. He couldn’t
be more than seventeen. They were so sweet at that age. “Oh, I
couldn’t possibly be so informal when we’ve only just met! Perhaps
later…” She used the arch of her delicate eyebrow, expertly plucked
and shaded, to devastating effect. Chadwick went almost beet red.
She sipped her champagne and enjoyed the moment. If the poor boy
was going to reach for the high-hanging fruit, he had better be
prepared to fall.

“I believe this is my dance, your Highness,”
said someone behind her, a man with an unpleasantly familiar deep
voice. Edgar Hussey. Who invited
him
? She put on her most
arch smile and turned to greet him. He bowed oh-so-correctly over
her hand. Unlike young Chadwick, he would be hard to get away
from.

“Mister Hussey! I had no idea you would be
here. Do you know Mister Chadwick? Or is it Lord Harroden? I’m
so
scattered tonight.”

Chadwick bowed stiffly to Hussey. “Her
Highness and I were having a conversation,” he said.

Hussey clapped him on the shoulder; Chadwick
winced. “I imagine you were,” he said. “Thank you for entertaining
milady until I could claim her for this dance.” He took the
champagne flute from Telaine’s hand and passed it off to the
sputtering youth. “Your Highness?” He linked his arm with hers and
led her onto the floor.

As she bobbed and swayed down the line of the
country dance, she thought furiously. Hussey was one of her most
persistent suitors, always trying to get her into dark corners and
hinting broadly at his family’s prospects. She needed a
distraction. Hussey passed her going up the line as she was going
down, and she smiled her most dazzling smile at him and saw him
stumble a bit. Good. Having power over him meant having some
control.

She swiftly glanced around the ballroom and
saw Count Harroden standing near one of the long windows, talking
to a few men. Now was a good time. And
there
was the
distraction she needed.

The dance ended and Hussey offered her his
arm again. “Would you care for a stroll on the verandah?
it’s
rather warm in here,
” he said.

Telaine flashed her dimple and cast her eyes
down, inwardly laughing at the lie that echoed, discordant, in her
ears; despite all the people, the room was comfortable enough that
anyone, magical talent or no, would have known Hussey was
dissembling. “I believe I’d prefer a cool drink,” she said, and
steered him gently toward the long table where a white-gloved
servitor in a dark brown jacket held a tray of drinks and a trio of
elegantly gowned women stood.

“Why, Stella Murchison, how
are
you?”
she trilled, putting just the right note of surprise and pleasure
into her voice. A blonde woman conversing with the other ladies
turned, gasped theatrically, and embraced Telaine. “Stella, I
haven’t seen you for simply
ages
. Do introduce me to your
friends.”

“Of course! My dear, this is Lady Patricia
Foxton of the Emberton Foxtons, you know the family. And this is
Diantha Wemberly, lately made Baroness of Marandis. Ladies, this is
her Highness Telaine North Hunter.”

“Charmed to meet you,” Telaine said, bowing
over each lady’s hand in turn. “Oh, I mustn’t forget—this is Edgar
Hussey of the Millford Husseys. You know, Lady Arabella’s nephew?
He’s the most divine dancer.” She giggled and squeezed Hussey’s
arm. “Are you enjoying yourselves? I certainly am! Oh, Mister
Hussey, would you mind keeping these ladies company while I freshen
up? I promise to be back soon, and maybe we can have that walk on
the verandah?” She raised her eyebrow coyly and made her escape
before Hussey could protest.

The facilities at the Chadwick manor were on
the floor below the ballroom, not convenient for guests, but
perfect for Telaine’s purposes. Telaine descended the well-lit
stairs, the ruddy wood paler in the center as if hundreds of guests
had walked away with the color, but turned left instead of right,
walking casually as if she had a right to be there. With every
step, she left the light behind, until she reached another
staircase, this one carpeted in dark blue but worn where feet had
trodden it over the years. The Chadwicks had never been a wealthy
family, but they kept that secret concealed from their many
guests.

Telaine went up two flights of stairs,
listening for servants or lost guests wandering the premises, but
she met no one. At the second landing, where a many-paned window
looked out over Lady Harroden’s garden, she paused and listened
again, but everything remained still. The servants were either busy
with the ball or taking a welcome rest from their employer’s
demands.

When she was certain she had this floor of
the manor to herself, Telaine made her way down the hall, staying
alert for the sound of anyone approaching. The Princess would
likely not be challenged on roaming the manor freely, but if
necessary she would claim she was going to a romantic rendezvous
and use her haughtiest manner to overwhelm whoever had the temerity
to stop her—a ploy she’d used more than once before. It hadn’t hurt
her reputation—or, rather, it hadn’t hurt her cover story—to have
the Princess be known as a flirt as well as a frivolous
socialite.

But that ruse wouldn’t be needed tonight; the
hall remained silent except for her own quiet movements. In her
dark green dress and gloves, she could barely see herself against
the walnut paneling, with only her fairer arms and face standing
out in the dimness. Her full skirt made the faintest noise as she
walked, like the distant whisper of conversation. Unfortunate, but
it couldn’t be helped.

She counted doors, one, two, three, then
gently turned the handle of the fourth door. It wasn’t locked. That
could mean her intelligence was wrong and the Count didn’t keep
anything important in here, or it could mean he was too cocky, or
too stupid, to imagine anyone might steal from him. She guessed the
latter.

Telaine silently pushed the door open and
entered with a quiet swish of fabric. Closing the door, she removed
her gloves and pulled a cubical Device out of one of the skirt’s
deep pockets and squeezed it. A thin beam of light illuminated the
room. She set it to hover over her right shoulder and began
searching.

The Count’s study was far tidier than her
uncle’s, though to be fair there were bird’s nests tidier than her
uncle’s study. Two cabinets with glass doors held books that were
too uniform to be anything but décor. A locked tallboy proved
absurdly easy to open, but held only the Count’s liquor supply; she
relocked it and moved on.

A door to the left was a closet holding only
a few old uniform jackets and a worn out side-ball bat, its padding
frayed and spilling out of its case. That left only the desk, a
beautiful mahogany creation with neatly organized pens in a stand,
a brass inkwell, a blotter, and a letter opener laid out across its
smooth red surface.

The desk held seven drawers, only two of
which were locked. She quickly went through the others, tapping
them for false bottoms, feeling behind them for anything concealed
at the back. Nothing. She slid her lock picks out and had the first
locked drawer open in less than a minute. Posy would be so
proud.

The drawer contained a stack of files, and
Telaine blessed the Count’s obsession with neatness; every one of
them was labeled and every paper sorted within its file. Telaine
skimmed the file names. It was probably too much to ask to find one
with the words “Veribold Smuggling Operation” written on it in
large block letters, but with luck one might hint at the Count’s
connection with the rebels.