Danger Wears White (15 page)

She should have gone to him. Nothing was more important. He’d been through so much. “Make sure you do.” She tightened her trembling jaw. “I’m sorry, you’ve done so much but I—I haven’t stopped thinking of him.”

“A simple soldier?” A smile quirked his mouth.

“Yes. I know I’m mixing with the highest in the land, but Tony means more to me than any other.” More than that she couldn’t say. Not to another person.

Julius crossed his ankle over his knee, his calf muscles flexing. Although he dressed like an exquisite, Imogen never underestimated the man sitting before her. She had no doubt he spent hours in the boxing saloon and fencing studio. Though she vastly preferred Tony’s rugged good looks, Julius’s sheer handsomeness had many men beaten.

“Tell me, Imogen, you control the estate completely, don’t you?”

“Yes. I administer it. I see every book and every set of accounts.”

“Highly commendable.” He regarded her in silence, a frown creasing his brows. “Have you ever seen a document you may have thought unusual? Different?”

“No.” She’d seen the original grant of lands to her farmer ancestor, the letters patent granting the earldom to her Jacobean forebear, and of course every account book that still existed. It still grieved her that some had been lost in the Civil War. Truthfully she loved reading the history of the estate she now owned, touching the documents people before her had created. But all the papers she’d seen, ancient and modern, were normal, what would be expected. “You mean the document that took my father’s title away?”

“Do you regret that?”

She shook her head. “He knew what he was doing when he followed the Pretender abroad. He knew the title was lost, and his lands, except for the ones he’d put in trust for me.”

Julius’s mouth tightened. “Whereas I believe that family comes before almost everything else.”

“Even principle?”

He shrugged, the shoulders of his beautifully cut coat following his movements, giving that hint of muscle. Did he have them cut that way on purpose? To minimize the power of the body beneath? The question intrigued her but didn’t interest her as it would have if Tony had been wearing the garment. Not that Tony would own a coat as fine as this. She still didn’t understand so many things. Tony was a Jacobite, and Julius had admitted he was a relation, but he didn’t seem to treat Tony as a disgraced relation.

“Principle,” he said, “only takes a person so far. It has the deadly hydra of corruption and self-interest to fight. However, I temper all that I do with reason. Tony was looking for an unusual document when he came to your house. He undertook the task without my sanction. And nearly got himself killed. That means that somewhere in your house that document still lurks. I have no idea when it came into your family’s hands, but following an elaborate trail from Rome, I discovered who had last been in possession of it. Unfortunately someone else followed a similar trail.”

Realization came immediately. “Lord Dankworth?”

He inclined his head. “Exactly so. He came, determined to hunt for it. Or to hunt for Tony. He found Tony. I don’t know if he found the document.”

“What does this document say?”

Julius tapped his finger against his lip. “I don’t believe I should tell you at present. It’s a dangerous secret, one I do not think you would be better knowing.”

Anger simmered in her stomach, churning the excellent breakfast she’d consumed a short while ago. “It is my house. Someone put something there of which I was unaware. I have every right to know.”

So used to men treating her as an empty-headed female, all hair and no brains, as she’d heard the squire put it once, she prepared to fight for the knowledge. A document? She was sure she’d been through every document in the office at her house. “I want to know what it holds.”

Julius’s mouth firmed. “State secrets, my dear. Your father may have come into possession of something that could affect the health of the nation. Will that suffice for now? I don’t want you to know, not because I don’t trust you, but because I want to verify that the document exists and that it is in your possession. If the document does not exist, if it has been destroyed, there is nothing to discover.”

It sounded like utter nonsense to her, but she had enough on her plate at the moment.

“I believe the knowledge is best hidden until we have proof of what it contains.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry. That’s too enigmatic even for me.”

“How do you expect me to search for something when I don’t know what it is that I’m looking for?”

Julius sighed. “Give me leave to search. I’ll go there alone and sift through every paper in the place.” He smiled. “I’ll also undertake to release Tony from his prison at Max’s house on my way. Though a more luxurious prison you’d find it hard to see anywhere. But he would not come near you while he was the least feverish. He would not even write.” He glanced at her. “You do deserve the truth whenever I can give it. But believe me, this truth is a burden, one I would prefer to see buried for all time.”

“So when you’ve found this mysterious paper, you’ll destroy it?”

“Yes. If I can possibly do so. It needs burning out of existence.”

She thought. Julius had shown her unrestricted kindness. He’d given her good advice, helped her by approving of her.

“I’ll write a letter of authorization, giving you leave to go where you will and search where you will. On condition that you tell me if it concerns me or my family. I will not be kept in the dark on this.”

Julius nodded. “Very well. I’ll see you established with the princess, and then I’ll set off for Lancashire. I’ll stop at Max’s house on the way and inform Tony he can come to London. Max will be starting a major building, or rather, demolition program. I can’t imagine it will be at all comfortable then.” He lifted his chin.

However much Imogen questioned Julius, he would not tell her what was in the document. But she trusted him to destroy it and leave the rest of her belongings intact. And to tell her what it contained. State secrets she could do without. He was welcome to them. No doubt it concerned the Pretender, father or son. They were always plotting and scheming. She wanted nothing to do with it. She squeezed a bit more of the silk of her gown under her fingers.

Julius got to his feet. “We should join the others, or your mother will have it that we’re planning to marry. You know that was what she believed?”

Imogen nodded. “She has a vivid imagination.”

“And do stop doing that to your gown,” he said, his voice turning lightly plaintive. “I know it’s not the height of fashion, but that’s hardly the mantua’s fault.”

She’d been wearing the thing for an hour and was managing the huge hooped petticoat perfectly well. Perhaps she could manage this appearance after all.

* * * *

After Julius left her at St. James’s Palace, the Princess’s chamberlain showed her to a tiny room and briskly explained her duties. “You are to attend her highness for the next month. She will be staying at the Lodge at Richmond, and you will be assigned a room there. Your maid will sleep next door. You are not required to wear court mantuas except on specific occasions, such as presentations.” He studied Imogen carefully, his pale eyes icy. “I understand you are a special case and you may not be required to return after the first month. The princess occasionally gives favors to friends, and this is one. That does not mean that you may shirk your duties.”

She dropped a small curtsey. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

Filled with trepidation, an hour later she followed the chamberlain to the room where the princess was attending her father, the king. He would leave for his favored palace of Kensington soon, where he spent most of his time. Having seen engravings of the modern smaller establishment, Imogen would prefer it too, to this place of cavernous formal rooms and heavy gilded furniture.

While her ancestors had worked with timber and plaster, the builders here had used stone and mortar. It was not an improvement, in Imogen’s opinion. She preferred the warmer smaller rooms of her own house. But if she wanted to keep it, she’d have to stay here for a while. Or, apparently, at Richmond.

The princess was Ranger of the park, and Julius had told her there was controversy about her decision to close the park to all but invited guests. He also warned her not to oppose the princess on her decision. “It’s her one blind spot. Princess Amelia enjoys a vigorous discussion on some matters, but not this one.”

Julius had proved more useful than the chamberlain, who only sketched out what she was supposed to do. Wait until summoned, and be ready at all times. Dress appropriately. The maid Imogen had acquired would now earn her keep.

Imogen yearned to go home. This place made her feel isolated. At her house in Lancashire, she might only have her mother as a relative, but the staff formed a cohesive unit. She missed the Georges, people she could go and complain to and know her words wouldn’t go any further. She could hardly confide anything in the superior being she’d been assigned as a maid. And she didn’t keep a journal. Perhaps she should. Develop some kind of code so she could pour out all her dearest secrets. Or just sit in this space, barely big enough for a small bed, dressing table, and washstand, and talk to herself. Her maid probably had a larger room, since she was in charge of her clothes. But this room was larger than the one in which she’d found ecstasy with Tony.

She longed to see him again, even more than she wanted to go home. It ached inside her, that need, as if part of her had left with him.

A knock on her door made her leap half out of her skin. She called out, “Yes?”

“The King awaits, ma’am.”

Lord, she hoped not. She’d hate to think he was waiting for her. She fixed a smile on her face and opened the door. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping his majesty waiting.”

She’d already learned how the king preferred people to address him. At least, people in his or his family’s household. Holding her fan at a precise angle, she followed the page sent to find her, her heart thumping hard in her chest. The man in royal livery took her along several corridors and through two huge breathtaking rooms, tapestries, triple chandeliers, and magnificent stately furniture on full display. They didn’t look like home, though.

The page knocked at a door and entered without waiting for a command. That surprised her, but not as much as the room. Broad windows opened on to a garden. It contained furniture she could have lived with, red-upholstered chairs and sofas. A porcelain clock ticked away on the mantelpiece, with a few choice china figurines. Porcelain, probably, because they were exquisite. Considering the King’s origins, probably German. Meissen, most likely.

The King sat in a comfortable wing chair, one heavily bandaged foot propped on a substantial footstool. Next to him sat the princess, her posture rigid and her fan in her lap, fine lace ruffles cascading over her forearms. Today she wore a leaf green, so Imogen was pleased she’d settled for her new white silk embroidered with daisies and buttercups.

The King’s weathered face broke into a smile. “You brought spring with you, Miss Thane.” His German accent was barely marked by his long sojourn in England, but he did visit his beloved Hanover as often as he could. Not that he was going anywhere with that gouty foot.

Imogen executed her curtsey faultlessly and waited until he bade her rise, which he did with a wave of his handkerchief.

“Do get up, Miss Thane. If you could pour us some tea, and then you may sit.” He indicated another stool close to him.

Her throat catching with tension, Imogen concentrated on her simple task, ensuring she didn’t spill a drop. She served the tea in the fragile flower-bedecked porcelain dishes, putting the king’s on the table at his elbow before curtseying again, but not so low this time.

“Thank you, Miss Thane.”

Considering her background, she should despise him, but she could not. He was old, and obviously not in the best of health, since his face was mottled and his complexion yellowed. But his smile was sweet.

She hadn’t realized before that the king was more than a figurehead. He was a man. The princess wasn’t just a royal figure, she was his daughter. His feud with his now dead eldest son was well-known, but his relations with the rest of his family were cordial.

Despite the fine clothes and grand drawing room, despite her upbringing, encouraged to regard the king as a figure of hatred or ridicule, Imogen’s heart went out to him. She sat on the footstool, but the king waved at her impatiently. “Get up, girl. Get yourself some tea.”

She hadn’t wanted to risk staining her new gown or revealing her nervousness, but she did as he bade her and found a place to perch the dish and saucer. The king poured his tea into the deep saucer with a shaking hand and slurped, with every sign of satisfaction.

He closed his eyes when he’d finished and put the saucer on the table, so close to the edge Imogen feared for its safety, but she daren’t get up to straighten it. However, Princess Amelia had no such scruples and she did so, straightening dish and saucer with precision.

“You will be accompanying me to Richmond tomorrow, Miss Thane, but my father wishes for a word with you before we leave,” she said. “You may have wondered at the lack of servants. It is because he wishes the conversation to be private. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Very well.”

That meant she must not repeat whatever they said.

The king reached into his coat pocket and drew out a paper. She blinked, and a surge of excitement leaped inside her. Was this the document everybody was hunting for?

He unfolded the single sheet and glanced at it. “You are a problem, Miss Thane. You are drawing rebels to your house.” The king cleared his throat. “You have a good fortune and a tidy estate, so we are decided you are to marry one of our loyal subjects, to keep you safely out of mischief.”

Shock reverberated through her, and she fought to retain her polite smile. The king continued, seemingly heedless of her inner turmoil. “My ministers and I have drawn up a list of suitable candidates.” His breath came in wheezes, a slight whistle with every inhale. “Select your future husband from this list. We will consider bestowing the title your late disgraced father possessed on your husband. The second creation of the Earl of Hollinhead will be better than the first. More loyal. It will restore your family’s good name.”