The Fashionable Spy (30 page)

“There,” she declared triumphantly, turning again to face her superior once the pins had been replaced. She handed him the well-creased and faintly lilac-scented papers, placing them so her solution lay on top. Julia’s letters were on the bottom, should confirmation be desired.

She again seated herself on the high-back chair, then watched with eager eyes as the import of what she had discovered sank in. His changing expression told her all.

“Egad, but I cannot fathom this all. Unbelievable! Here, Hawkswood, have a look at this.” He glanced from one to the other. “I believe you two do know each other.”

Victoria gasped as she turned her weary head to see Edward staring at her. His face looked oddly pale, and she wondered if he had been hiding out in a dark room while gone. He rose from his chair, taking a step toward Victoria, then realized the secretary still proffered the papers to him, and accepted them instead of going to her side.

It took all his willpower to read the papers. He knew the information was vital to the country’s security. But dash it all, his Victoria had been through a hellish time. She needed cosseting far more than he needed to read these wretched papers. Then he began to realize the importance of the names on the list as the first caught his eye.

“So it
was
a list. How did you figure it out? What cipher worked?”

Brushing her fatigue away, Victoria smiled, then revealed, “I spotted a letter while in Julia’s room—1 brought several along for comparison. When I read the first, I realized that I had mistaken the C for a G. His handwriting is so dreadful, it is a wonder I could read any of it. Anyway, once I had determined that change, the rest came fairly easily.”

“How many hours?” Edward demanded, suspecting it was not quite so simple as all that.

“Perhaps seven,” she admitted.

“Amazing,” he said, while narrowing his eyes in consideration that she must have been up half the night over this.

“The country owes you both a great debt of gratitude,” began the secretary.

“Padbury?” burst out Victoria, wanting to know if the man still went free.

“I trailed him from your home to the south, finally to Dymchurch. The last I saw of him, he was on a boat headed toward Australia. Not until I had wrung out every secret he possessed, however. He had a man watching you for a long time. That fellow was the one who learned of the windmill. Padbury knew of the iris connection.”

Sinking back in her chair again, Victoria felt drained, tired beyond belief. Her eyes were wary, wondering if he might now decide to disavow his proposal.

The two men exchanged looks, then Edward spoke.

“I trust the matter in hand will require consultation with someone else?” He motioned toward the door, taking the chance that the older man would understand.

“As a matter of fact, I must. If you would excuse me,” the secretary added on his way from the room, the packet of papers in his hand and a perceptive look on his face.

Neither of the occupants he left behind paid the slightest attention to his departure. Left alone, Edward gently pulled her from the chair and into his arms, whereupon Victoria promptly dissolved into tears and wound her arms about him as though she feared he might disappear again.

“I feared for your life; you were gone so very long and I heard nothing from you but that scrap of a note,” Victoria sniffed. “I love you so dreadfully, you see.” She took great comfort from the reassuring thud of his heart, then sniffed again, accepting his offer of a spotless white handkerchief with which to blot her tears.

“I aged ten years when I envisioned what you must have gone through on your way here today. My dearest love.” He tilted up her face so that he might have the kiss he so earnestly desired.

Her fatigue evaporating for the moment, Victoria cherished his words, welcomed his embrace—especially the kiss she had feared never to know again. His hands skillfully roamed the soft gown beneath her shawl, drawing her as close to him as was possible. No thought went to the possibility that someone might enter the room.

When at last he paused to give them both a breath, he murmured against her cheek, “I cannot fathom why I insisted upon banns. I think it would be far better to wed this moment. I want you in my arms and bed far too soon, I fear. I missed you quite dreadfully.”

Victoria chuckled, an endearing little sound to his ears. “I confess I did wonder if you were going to give me the mitten, my love. This is Friday. The third and last banns will be read on Sunday, and then we can be married without delay. All is in readiness for our wedding.” She bestowed a loving look on her adored husband-to-be.

Her locket with its lapis-lazuli stones set to form the blue iris lay outside her gown in plain sight. Edward looked down at it and frowned.

“Did Bathurst insist you wear this?” He gathered the locket in his hands, his fingers brushing her skin as he did.

“Yes.” She trembled, very aware of his touch, even though fleeting. “I was to wear it until the case was solved. I was torn, for the iris reminded me of the French, and how they murdered my beloved parents. I placed their pictures inside to carry over my heart, to remind me why I did all that I did. Now my job is finished, and I could remove this locket. Yet it is what brought us together, I suspect.”

“I saw it while we were in the windmill,” he admitted. “I decided to follow you, become acquainted, for I well knew what that symbol meant, and your activities were highly suspicious, my love. You cannot know how relieved I was when I found we worked for the same side.”

“No more so than
I,” she confessed.

He gathered her closer, the blue-iris locket forgotten, then claimed her lips again after murmuring, “Our wedding will be none too soon.”

Hence, the following week, friends and neighbors were treated to the sight of the elegant Miss Dancy, dressed in lace-trimmed cream crepe with a pretty veil hanging down her back, and the most handsome Sir Edward Hawkswood, attired in a smart blue coat, gray pantaloons, and a white pique waistcoat of the latest design, at the altar of St. George’s Church while the bishop performed the marriage ceremony. Behind them Julia and Elizabeth fondly watched as their dearest sister became united in wedlock with a man they admired.

It was highly doubtful if either of the pair before the altar took any note of those assembled.

Lady Chatterton sniffed as she viewed the joyous couple. “Shocking,” she whispered to her good friend. “It is not good
ton
to be so adoring. And whoever heard of blue irises in a bridal bouquet!”

Her friend, as she watched the couple exchange their vows, then kiss most tenderly before disappearing into a side room to sign the register, merely shook her head. It was quite obvious that here was a marriage truly made in heaven, and the couple so blessed were only to be envied.

A smiling Julia and Elizabeth waved off the carriage carrying a deliriously happy couple. That the sisters held vague dreams of their own was not known to others.

Inside the carriage that sped south from London on the way to their ultimate destination of Switzerland, the pair of lovers were wrapped in each other’s arms, saying little. If one had heard the words “At last, my love!” it would have been all.

Copyright © 1992 by Doris Emily Hendrickson

Originally published by Signet (0451174860)

Electronically published in 2009 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.