Lynne Connolly (15 page)

“He could do that in town, surely.”

Richard shook his head. “Not as easily. He knows of some of my activities, and my friendship with Fielding and other reformers is well known. We’re better here, in town. I only wish I could lock you up until I’d dealt with him.”

I laughed derisively. “You will not. I’m your partner, your helpmeet, your—”

“My love,” he reminded me. “My weakest position, or at least that is how he’ll see it. I fully expect him to solicit you to dance.”

I sighed. “I might grant him a contradance. We’re apart for much of it, anyway. But I won’t be more than civil to him.”

“We’ll leave early. I rather enjoy the early nights in town.” He lied, I knew it, but I didn’t challenge him. He’d touched me with that remark.

We arrived and a footman in dazzling livery ushered us inside. The Southwood livery of blue and silver appeared positively discreet against the gold and scarlet of the footmen adorning the Cobham residence. The ballroom was ablaze with candlelight. I recognised the grand salon her grace usually used as a drawing room because I’d attended a few of her literary salons. At least that was what she’d called them, although she’d lost interest in the last few months. I couldn’t blame her. If I had six daughters, I’d probably seek out something that would give me a daughter-free hour a week. Much as I loved Helen, I shuddered to think of her times six.

Many of my friends would attend tonight, and when I saw Caroline Fleming, wife of Sir George, I asked Richard to escort me there while he scouted the territory, or that was the way he put it. It took some time, since several people stopped us to ask about my welfare and scrutinise me carefully for any sign of strain. Then I knew that our predicament, rather than my pregnancy or any other of the scandals around, engrossed society at present. The last thing we needed, but only to be expected.

I mentioned none of this to Caroline. Dear though she was, and trustworthy, the fewer people we let into the secret, the better for all. Sometimes knowledge was a burden. Instead, we talked about society’s on dits, and although she gave me a curious glance a time or two, she didn’t ask about John. I longed to tell her, someone I could trust completely, because I needed to confide in someone.

At Caroline’s small groan, I glanced at the door to see my mother-in-law entering in the company of John Kneller. At least my father-in-law hadn’t accompanied them. Oh, but yes he had, he followed behind them, escorting their daughter Georgiana. Far away enough to put a significant distance behind them, I was pleased to see.

The room hushed as Richard saw them and took a couple of steps towards them. He bowed to his mother, nodded to John, who gave him a sweeping bow in response, the mirror of the one he’d just given to his mother, then made his obeisances to his father and sister. He took Georgiana’s hand and murmured to his father before turning around and placing her hand on his own. I watched the display like a theatre performance. Richard had done the best he could, but society watched and noted. Particularly the favour Lady Southwood showed to John.

As I suspected he would, Richard brought Georgiana over to me. I sat with Caroline on a broad sofa, but even then our panniers took up most of it, so he found a chair for Georgiana. She was considerably younger than my husband, pretty and with an abundance of suitors, none of which she’d selected yet.

Richard leaned over the back of the chair to speak to me. “Keep her away, if you can. I shall point Georgiana out to her admirers and indicate that she may be free for a dance. That should help give her some protection.”

I leaned back and spoke behind my fan. “Do you think she’s in any danger?”

Richard growled. “I don’t want her near him.”

“Don’t antagonise him.”

Now he gave a smile as if I’d said something amusing, no doubt for the benefit of the onlookers. And yes, they were watching. Avidly. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Not here, anyway.”

“My lord, my lady.” Now John stood before us, bowing reverently.

Richard straightened up. “You’re really getting very good at that. Especially the little flourish at the end. But you don’t have it quite right.”

John smiled and inclined his head. “I remain at your disposal, sir, as I should be.”

“You are quite at liberty to take another man as your model.”

He glanced at me. “When you have such lovely disciples?”

“I trust I have none,” Richard said, still sounding reasonable but with an edge of frost to his tones. “I don’t look for followers.” Although he had many.

“But servants. You have many of those.” John lifted his grey gaze to meet my husband’s. I didn’t need to look to know the shade of icy blue Richard was turning on his son.

An outright threat. A threat to expose our involvement in Thompson’s and our covert activities. Not that it was actionable, but it would destroy the agency. No one would employ a servant from Thompson’s if it became known that a few of them occasionally had extramural duties. John knew some of it because of what happened in Devonshire last year. He’d likely discovered more, but hopefully not the whole. We went to great lengths to prevent that being known, although now it seems the agency was growing more well-known. Mr. Pitt’s recent interest had indicated that, or perhaps the increasingly uncertain political situation was causing some of the more audacious politicians to clutch at straws.

“We have sufficient, but neither my wife nor I live in such state that we require an overabundance of them.” A rebuttal to the challenge and a challenge in itself—say what you know.

John smiled. “Servants can prove useful in certain situations. And very difficult in others.”

I raised a brow. “I’ve never found it so.”

He pounced on me like a cat on a mouse. This mouse had more defences than he imagined. “I had some very reliable servants until recently, my lady. But I was sadly mistaken in them.” Richard had planted some of Thompson’s most reliable men in his household. We had done it again, but they had discovered nothing so far. John probably knew we’d done so, or he’d learned discretion recently.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I can recommend some excellent domestics if you find yourself in need of them.”

Around us people listened raptly, having long perfected the art of continuing meaningless conversations while they eavesdropped. I didn’t betray my knowledge for one moment, although John’s glance seemed more restless, occasionally flicking to one side or the other. Of course he wanted people to listen.

He waved aside my comments with a graceful gesture. “I’m much beholden to you, my lady. My father is not so accommodating.”

The murmurs of pretend conversation stopped. Richard rested one hand perfectly steadily on the back of the sofa and the sigh of silk velvet told me he’d lifted the other, probably to raise his quizzing glass to his eye. “Indeed. I imagined you an orphan. I don’t believe you’ve mentioned your father before. Will we have the felicity of meeting him?”

Not admitting anything, but not accepting it, either. The crowd waited for the answer. What could he say? If he challenged Richard directly, Richard would have a lawyer on his heels in the morning, but he’d forced the issue. I felt a semblance of relief that it had come to this at last. The constant dancing around the subject wasn’t to my taste, and I found it gave me more stress than an outright accusation.

“I am the adopted son of Sir John Kneller of Northumberland. Unfortunately, he died two years ago, but he left his fortune to me on condition that I took his name. I was only too glad to do so. However I was not born with that name. One of my reasons for coming to London was to trace the family of my birth.”

Bold. Some of the highest sticklers in society would drop him, the ones who held breeding as paramount. Fortunately for John, British society had never assumed that breeding mattered above everything else. It had atrophied the ruling class of France, which was now nothing more than glorified attendants on the King. Here, the aristocracy ruled and the King did very little without its acceptance and encouragement. But we had new entrants into that elite group, and some of the merchants and bankers in the City held as much power. Still, some families would ostracize him. John had chosen his time well. The Duke and Duchess of Cobham were not sticklers for birth. But they did set great store by good manners.

“You must let us know if you have any success.” Richard walked around the sofa and glanced at me before holding his hand out to his sister. “I believe I owe you a dance, Georgiana.”

Georgiana stood and took his hand, pale but game. “You will tell me, Richard. I dislike not knowing.”

“I will tell you, Georgiana.” And he would.

As if dismissing Kneller, Caroline gave me a conversational opening. “I always knew her as Maria. Was I mistaken?”

I laughed, though it sounded artificial even to my own ears. “Her name is Maria Georgiana. As a sign of her adult status she decided to stop using her nursery name and use the other.”

“It suits her,” Caroline said, looking past John to the dance floor, where the graceful girl who had recently taken on the dignity of a woman stood with her brother waiting for the set to begin.

“A person may have many names and yet remain the same.”

I gave John my best
are you still here?
expression and was relieved to find Freddy bearing down on me. He walked straight past John and offered me his arm.

“I believe it’s my turn to take you in to supper,” he said. “We have a casual but excellent set of refreshments tonight. Knowing your passion for lobster patties, I thought to find you before they were all gone.”

Lobster patties weren’t exactly my favourites, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Thank you, Freddy, you’re a very thoughtful cousin.”

I stood and gave John a civilised nod but didn’t pause to receive his bow.

Richard had just refused to acknowledge John, pushing him a notch or two further towards taking action. Or backing down, but from the look of determination on his face I couldn’t imagine that happening soon.

An hour later we were done. Long enough for me to notice several sympathetic glances cast in my direction and some of disapprobation cast at Richard. The tide of opinion was turning against us. They had disapproved of him and his wild ways years ago, but for my sake he’d let it be known that he was a reformed character. It had seen me accepted into the best society. So whether he knew it or not, John was once more attacking Richard’s weakest spot—his love for me. Perhaps he’d been right and we should have maintained a barely cordial relationship in public, but I knew I couldn’t have done that. I loved him too much for that, and I considered it damaging to him to hide everything behind a society mask of indifference and arrogance. He would retreat behind it again, his easiest mode of defence, and I would find it hard to reach him this time because he’d see it as protecting me.

I didn’t want it, wouldn’t allow it. But neither would I appeal to him and make him my protector in all things. I preferred to look after myself.

Now he could have been wearing his heavy maquillage, as he had when we’d first met, a mask in reality. His expression didn’t alter, and his actions were all considered and careful. It had begun.

Once I’d donned my hat, gloves and cloak we went outside, where our carriage should have been waiting for us. We’d offered to give Freddy a ride to his next destination, since he had the hunted look of a man surrounded by matchmaking mamas. We had agreed to meet the carriage a little farther down the square, since the space in front of the house was crammed with vehicles. Even if ours had managed to reach the door, we’d have had to wait to fight our way out. I had no patience for that, and said so.

Freddy chatted as if everything was normal. “I have no desire to end this season leg-shackled. Beg your pardon, Rose, but none of the debutantes have taken my fancy this year, and the Cobham girls are alarmingly enthusiastic.”

Out in the cool air I took a couple of deep breaths and prepared to answer him. The scrape of steel alerted me to someone drawing his sword.

Richard picked me up around the waist and moved me aside to stand behind him while he turned to face whoever had drawn in my presence.

My heart pounding, my senses on alert, I stepped back to give him room but remained behind him.

Although Richard wore heavily ornate dress swords every day, he ensured that the blade was always of finest, serviceable steel. He met the downward slash of a sword with his own blade, checking its progress.

The larger sword, navy issue from its shorter length and curved blade, sliced through his.

I dived my hand into the inside pocket of my cloak and came out with a couple of the stiletto daggers I sometimes carried.

Richard dropped the glittering but useless hilt and did the same, drawing out a couple of blades and slicing up as he did so. He didn’t bother trying to shield the blow aimed at his head, but ducked aside, diving and rolling to stand upright again a foot or two from where he’d originally stood.

The clash of metal alerted me to Freddy, whose sword had withstood the first attack. I had time to take stock, but I waited, one lethal weapon in each hand.

Four men, all dressed in dark, shabby, heavy garments, bore down on us. I had tangled my feet in my voluminous skirts and for now I couldn’t move, but I wasn’t entirely without defence.