Children of the Shadows, page 3
“Tonight is purely social. I want you to enjoy yourself and act as a young debutante should.” He touched the tip of her nose. “No intrigues, unless it’s catching the attentions of a young man, right?”
“Speaking of intrigue, perhaps now is the proper time to discuss things with her.” Mother consulted the clock on the mantel. “Before our guests arrive.”
She focused her attention on her father, a thrill going through her. A new mission in the offing, perhaps?
“Of course, my dear. Juliette, won’t you sit? Bertie will come down soon, and we wanted to have a word with you in private.”
Uncle Bertie, her father’s brother, lived with them when they were in London, and Juliette adored him. What would her parents want to speak to her about that Bertie shouldn’t hear? She perched on the edge of a chair, pairing her feet close together, her back straight as she had been taught.
“Jules.” Her father went to stand behind her mother, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You know that our lives are given to the service of our king and country and that we have spent our entire adulthoods working secretly for the Home Office. When it came my turn to enter this service, I was given several years to decide if I would follow in my forebears’ footsteps. My father informed me of his true occupation and that of our family going back to the Norman Conquest before I went to university. He wanted me to study, to consider, and to weigh up all that being an agent would mean in my life. He wanted me to choose my path well before I considered taking a bride—what the consequences of my choice would mean not only to myself but to my wife and family.”
He bent and kissed the top of Mother’s head. Warmth seeped through Juliette at their obvious affection, but why was he saying this?
“When I met your mother, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt we were destined to be together. I had finished at Oxford, taken up the family business, and even been on a mission or two. I was committed. Your grandfather approved my choice of a wife, but he advised me to go carefully. He wanted me never to reveal to her my life as a spy, but I knew that would not work for me. And I believed Melisande Wyn-Jones would not only make the perfect wife, but she would make an excellent agent if she so chose. But the decision needed to be hers, and I wanted to give her plenty of time to consider before committing.”
Puzzled, Juliette nodded. Where was this going? Could they possibly already know of her feelings for Daniel Swann?
“We each had time to contemplate whether we would enter into a life of espionage,” Mother said. “You, on the other hand, were hurled into it with no time to ask yourself if it was even what you wanted. We had intended to inform you rationally and calmly, give you this season and summer to think and evaluate, and then you could decide.”
Her father leaned against the table, picking up the quill, running it through his fingers. “You’ve done remarkably well up till now, but you have not been afforded time to truly consider the path you’re on. It was more chosen for you than chosen by you.”
“What we’re trying to say is, we want you to take your time. A period away from any missions or activities related to spy craft to consider the true ramifications of this life.” Mother stood and removed the quill from Father’s hand, replacing it on the blotter.
Juliette didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed that they did not appear to know about her feelings for Daniel, but were they cautioning her because they doubted her suitability as an agent? She had no such doubts. Not about her calling, at any rate.
“I know it’s been a whirlwind, but I truly have given thought to the matter.” Juliette spread her hands. “I feel as if it is what I was destined to do. As you—or was it Uncle Bertie?—said, God didn’t make a mistake when He put me in this family. He knew what He was about, and I have no regrets. I love the work. Has the Duke of Haverly expressed any doubts?” The duke, as their superior officer in the agency, had the final say as to who was given missions and who wasn’t.
“Marcus seems more than pleased with your progress, but we have discussed with him the need for you to take your time making a final decision. You’ve only known of our calling for a few months, and those months have been full of missions and investigations and training. Not to mention, we’ve hardly been home to guide you through these early stages,” Mother said. She looked into Father’s eyes, grave and a touch troubled.
The door opened, and Uncle Bertie, resplendent in evening dress, entered. He looked from one to the other, then back at his brother. “Have you told her then? I’ve been waiting tactfully outside. I am not known for my tact, so I hope you appreciate the difficulty I’ve had. Guests will arrive momentarily, and you must be on hand to greet them.” He gently flexed his arm, now free of the sling but still recovering from the bullet wound he’d suffered on their last escapade.
“No, we haven’t told her yet,” Father said. “We had that other little matter to discuss first.” He turned to Juliette. “You cannot know how sorry we are, but we’ve been ordered to go on another mission. This time to the Low Countries.”
“Again? So soon?” Her heart fell. “You’ve only just returned from France.”
“We are sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. This time the mission is on behalf of the foreign secretary, and I suspect the regent himself.” Father shook his head. “Lord Castlereagh has requested … actually, he was more insistent than that. Regardless, he’s sending us to the Netherlands. There have been some rumors that the Belgian people are considering breaking away from Amsterdam to form their own country. Castlereagh believes a bit of diplomacy is in order, as well as information gathering. He was pleased with our efforts recently in France and feels we could be adept at investigating while not appearing to do so.”
Juliette stared at her hands for a long moment. “Am I to go with you?” She asked the question, though she wasn’t certain what she wanted to hear. To go would mean being with them, something she longed for fiercely. But to go also meant leaving Daniel behind, and how could she bear to be separated from him? Even now, after only a fortnight of being apart, he was never far from her thoughts.
He’d been away on a case up north, and in his absence, she had begun to doubt. Not her feelings for him, which seemed to grow stronger by the day, but his feelings for her. Was he certain? What if, in their time apart, he had reconsidered? What if he regretted all he had said to her that night? Their attachment was so new—was it tenuous as a result?
And what would happen when they made the attachment known? Would her parents be amenable, or would they refuse to entertain the notion? And what would the rest of society make of this? Would she and Daniel be ostracized? Or would it be a nine days’ wonder? Was that truly the reason she had yet to speak of their love, because she was afraid of what others would say?
Father released his hold on Mother and stood. He crossed to Juliette and took her hand, rubbing his thumb over the bump her ring made beneath her glove. “You are to remain here in London. It will give you time to consider your future and to make a rational decision. Bertie is under instruction not to involve you in cases while we’re gone. You can work at your training if you wish, or better yet take a complete break from it.” Father bent a knowing gaze on her. “I told you to stay out of the Montgomery affair last month, and what did you do? You helped capture the killer. However, while we’re on the Continent, you are to behave yourself and do as we say. The Duke of Haverly concurs. He is, in fact, providing his mother as your chaperone once more in our absence. Rest and think. Agreed?”
“Yes, Father.” She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice, but when he stroked her cheek, she knew she hadn’t fooled him.
Bertie shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t see why you’re taking this tack. She’s a natural. She won’t change her mind, not now that she has a taste for it.”
“We’re well aware, Sir Bertrand, of your feelings on the matter.” Mother lowered her chin and looked at her brother-in-law through the tops of her eyes. “That’s why we wished to speak with her in private without you butting in.”
Bertie took this mild setdown with grace, bowing and grinning, as unabashed as ever.
The knocker sounded on the front door, as did the echo of Mr. Pultney’s shoes on the foyer floor.
“Our guests are here. Let us go greet them. Juliette”—Mother arranged her skirts and checked her hair in the mirror—“did I tell you I invited Earl Winslow and his son? Henry Winslow is such a nice young man. Have you been introduced? At Almack’s, perhaps?”
Juliette shook her head. “I do not believe so.” Sad that her mother would not know to whom she had been introduced. If she would stay in London longer than a fortnight at a stretch, perhaps she would be more au courant with Juliette’s social encounters.
“Ah, Diana, Evan, welcome. Always a pleasure to have the Earl and Countess of Whitelock in attendance.” Father held out his hand to the couple Mr. Pultney showed in. “How are those delightful young sons of yours?”
“Growing like well-watered weeds.” The countess’s voice was filled with pride. Mother had told Juliette how Whitelock had been rewarded with an earldom for bravery on the battlefield, had been mentored by Marcus Haverly, and married the daughter of a duke.
Mrs. Dunstan opened the door at the back of the hall, poking her capped head out, making eye contact with the butler. He nodded and whispered to Mother. Discreet. No doubt the signal that dinner service could commence at their pleasure.
Mr. Pultney opened the door once more and admitted the Duchess of Haverly, the dowager duchess, and—a ripple went through Juliette—Miss Pippa Cashel.
Miss Cashel was Charlotte Haverly’s half sister and had, until not long ago, been a courtesan. Juliette had heard she was once the most sought-after Cyprian in the city, but Miss Cashel had left that life behind her and was now on a mission to rescue other unfortunates and rehabilitate them.
Juliette stole a glance at the dowager to assess her displeasure. Oddly, the dowager looked as serene as Juliette had ever seen her, which was to say, she didn’t appear totally disgruntled and displeased with life.
“Marcus had business to conclude and is arriving separately,” Charlotte began, but stopped as her husband nipped through the door before Pultney could close it.
“Business done,” Marcus said, bending to kiss Charlotte’s temple. He winked at her, and she laughed at his cheekiness.
It was sweet how the duke showed attention to his wife, keeping her arm tucked through his. Charlotte’s condition was evident now, her shawl covering the gentle roundness of her unborn child.
Another pair followed the Haverlys inside, an older gentleman and a younger. These must be the Earl of Winslow and his son, the viscount. Straightening her posture, Juliette considered the viscount. No doubt her mother had invited the young man as a potential suitor for Juliette, and though there could be no satisfaction there for Mother, Juliette determined to be polite and use the manners she had spent so much time acquiring.
“With everyone arrived at once, I believe we will expedite going in to dinner.” Father offered his arm to the Duchess of Haverly as the senior ranking female. The duke bowed and took Mother’s arm. It was a ritual for which Juliette’s etiquette lessons had prepared her, this pairing off by rank to go in to dinner. The Earl of Whitelock took a subtle hint from his wife that he should escort the dowager. As a man still fairly new to the peerage, the earl must rely often on his wife to show him the way.
Juliette vowed to do the same for Daniel should they be allowed to wed and should they be invited to any societal events.
She partnered the viscount, who bowed crisply and looked her in the eyes as she took his arm. “Good evening, Lady Juliette. I suppose, though we have not been formally introduced, we can dispense with the ceremonies and greet each other?”
“Good evening to you, sir.” She inclined her head. He had nice gray eyes, and chestnut hair, but the most striking thing about Viscount Coverdale was his confident bearing. Not bragging or snobbish, but sure of himself.
Juliette had to smother a smile as Uncle Bertie partnered Miss Cashel. What an unlikely pairing. She a former lady of the evening, and him a supposed sot and dilettante.
Miss Cashel was stunning, with glossy brown hair, a regal carriage, and intelligent brown eyes. Her golden gown flattered her coloring. She moved with grace and an air of aloofness, as if holding herself separate though surrounded by people. This gave her an air of mystery that piqued the interest. She looked nothing like Charlotte, who had curling blonde hair and eyes the color of the jade dragon Juliette had acquired on her first case as a spy.
Once seated at the dining table, again by rank, Juliette found herself across from Earl Winslow and between Whitelock and Uncle Bertie. Miss Cashel sat opposite Uncle Bertie.
With a mixed group, Juliette had expected there would be no mention of her parents’ departure, but from the end of the table, the dowager spoke up. “Off on another trip, Lady Melisande? I must say, you’ve spent more time packing and unpacking this Season than attending events. Marcus tells me I will be called upon to chaperone Lady Juliette once more?”
“We are appreciative, Honora. Hopefully, it will be a quick voyage. Tristan has business interests in Amsterdam and Brussels that are urgent. Did you know he’s branching out into the import trade? I am using the trip to stock up on chocolates and lace and to have a look at the latest fashions while I am there. Is there anything I may bring you as a thank-you for looking after Juliette so well?”
If by “well” Mother meant all but locking her into a tower. Juliette poked at the fish course. She detested fish.
The Earl of Whitelock looked at Juliette’s plate and leaned close, lowering his voice. “I hate it too. Fish, oysters, eels, anything that lives in water.” He had rearranged the items on his plate, but he’d eaten none of the filet. “I wouldn’t dream of sending it back untouched. I hear cooks are a testy lot and must be studied lest they decamp in a huff.”
They shared a conspiratorial grin. “I hear our cook has a tender heart and takes any uneaten fish into the mews to feed the cats that gather there,” Juliette whispered back. “I like to think I’m doing my part to sustain the mousers in the neighborhood.”
“Ah, reprieved. I shall join you in our support of the local felines.” Whitelock laid his fork on his plate. “Though when I was at war, we got so hungry at times, we would have fought the cats for the scraps.”
Juliette had heard his story, how he had saved one of the Prince Regent’s godsons during a battle in Spain, and as a reward, the prince had made him an earl. She liked the man and had a feeling Daniel would as well.
Father set down his glass. “George,” he said to Earl Winslow. “I am pleased you accepted our dinner invitation. And you as well, Henry. Whitelock here can appreciate the difficulty you may have acclimating to civilian life now that you’ve mustered out of the army. How are you finding your first few weeks back in London?”
The viscount dabbed his lips with his serviette. “It has been an adjustment, as you say, but most have been very kind.”
“He’s not met many new people yet, as his wish was to spend time at my estate when he first returned to England.” Winslow leaned across Miss Cashel to nod to his son.
Almost as if Miss Cashel wasn’t there. It dawned upon Juliette that thus far, no one had addressed Charlotte’s sister directly. Seated as she was between two men who were strangers to her, she must feel isolated.
Juliette nudged Uncle Bertie with her foot. He raised one eyebrow in silent inquiry. With a slight inclination of her head, she motioned toward the lady opposite.
He exhaled a small huff and put on a pleasant expression. “Miss Cashel, I understand you’re looking to expand your charitable efforts here in London.”
Her brown eyes widened a fraction, and her chin lifted. “That is correct. The greatest need is here in the capital.”
Perfect diction. The voice of a well-educated woman.
“And are you being met with resistance or welcome?” Bertie asked.
She studied him before answering, as if judging the sincerity of his inquiry. “Both, though more of the former, I am sad to report.”
“What charity would that be?” the viscount asked. “And why would someone resist charitable efforts?”
The dowager’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Though she might have assisted in the retraining and reformation of streetwalkers, it appeared she wasn’t prepared to discuss it in polite society.
Miss Cashel had no such qualms. “I seek to help unfortunate women leave their way of life and learn skills that will see them able to support themselves without selling their bodies to men in order to survive.”
“Pippa.” The dowager’s tone held a warning.
“I’ve asked you to call me Philippa, my given name. Pippa is a pet name used for a child, and I am hardly that, Your Grace.” A firmness in her tone drew Juliette’s admiration. The only other person she knew who could speak like that to the dowager was her son.
Philippa turned to the viscount on her right. “I have been involved in this work for a year and more now, and we’ve been able to help several women, but I can hardly continue to impose upon my sister and brother-in-law. Most of our work has taken place at their Oxford-shire estate. I’m raising funds to open my own mission here in London. I hope to have medical care, skills training, and a safe refuge for women in need. If you are willing to contribute, I can guarantee the money will do much good. In addition to skills and schooling, we also instruct the women in the Scriptures and seek to save their souls along with their bodies.”
The viscount blinked, and the dowager gasped, rolling her eyes. “Really, Philippa. This is neither the time nor the place.”
