Chapter 18

R upert’s heart was still pounding when he heard the orangery door open. Maybe he was still worked up over the near miss in the woods. Rupert wasn’t really the feats-of-derring-do sort of agent. He was more of a pretend-to-be-drunk-and-make-good-use-of-your-ears sort of agent. Then, he wrote everything up and sent it to the Home Office.

Or rather, his partner wrote it up and sent it to the Home Office. Which was the other possible explanation for his racing heart—that Clarissa had figured out that his excuse about forgetting his spectacles was just that.

An excuse.

Well, it was time to take his lumps. He hurried to the front of the orangery, where he found Clarissa shutting the door.

“Are we alone?” she asked.

“We are,” he confirmed. “What happened?”

She filled him in on her conversation in the Baxters’ sitting room. “He is torn between hiding in his rooms for the remainder of the house party and coming outside, trying to draw the assassin out so he can bring matters to a head.” She peered up at him. “You have more experience than I do as an agent. I would be curious to hear your opinion on the matter.”

“Do I?” Rupert asked. “I’ve only been at it a couple of years.”

Clarissa gave a startled laugh. “I’ve been at it less than that.” Her eyes grew guarded. “This is my second mission.”

“Truly?” Rupert asked, genuinely surprised. “I never would’ve known.”

Clarissa’s lips tightened as if she was unsure whether she believed him. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better.”

“No, really. You were fantastic. You saved them from that falling rock, for one. But when we had to search the woods, you were so confident! You looked just like an old hand.”

“Do you mean that?” she asked, her guard abruptly falling away. “Oliver Baxter has been treating me like I’m worthless.”

Rupert waved a hand. “I wouldn’t put too much stock in anything Baxter says. You’ve seen the way he treats his wife.”

“Yes!” Clarissa stepped forward, her eyes bright with annoyance. “The thought flashed through my mind that, had I not been tasked with protecting him, I’d be tempted to strangle him myself.”

Rupert laughed. “He seems like a miserable sort of fellow, to say nothing of a self-righteous prick.”

“I agree wholeheartedly.” Clarissa snorted. “I was so excited about this assignment, because I admire many of his political positions. But suffice it to say, meeting him in the flesh has been quite the disappointment.”

“Did he suspect anything with the way I tackled him just before the gun went off?”

Clarissa shook her head. “He did not. Speaking of a job well done, thank God you had the wherewithal to pretend to trip.” Her eyes grew rueful. “I was frozen with fear. Had you not acted, I would have stood there and watched him get shot.”

That was nice. That was very nice of her, considering what a slapdash effort it had been. “It wasn’t much. Tripping was all I could come up with in the moment.”

“Considering Oliver Baxter isn’t dead, I would say you couldn’t have done any better,” Clarissa said firmly.

Rupert rubbed the back of his head. “Aww, that’s kind of you. Really kind.”

She laughed. “I am not known for being kind. I have a reputation for being too plainspoken by half.” She poked him in the arm. “But it happens to be true.”

Rupert was fairly certain he was blushing. “Oh, gosh. Oh, golly.”

He wasn’t sure how much of this unfamiliar praise a fellow like him could take, so it was fortunate that she moved right along. “I also could not help but notice that Lord and Lady Helmsley do not seem to be aware that you are working for Sir Henry. Or are they merely skilled in putting on an act?”

“No, they think I’m here on a social call. I know it’s the usual practice to make certain parties aware of our activities. But I learned a long time ago that doesn’t work for me. That it’s better if I just go about my business with nobody the wiser.”

Clarissa tilted her head, studying him. “Why is that?”

“Look, Claire.” Claire ? Why had he called her Claire? She’d specifically asked him not to use her first name, much less a nickname, but it had just… come out.

Felt quite natural if you wanted to know the truth about it.

She didn’t protest, so he soldiered on. “I’m not what you would call a clever fellow. I’m sure you know that Sir Henry likes to pick agents nobody would suspect. But apparently believing that I could be of any use to the Home Office is a bridge too far for just about everyone.”

Claire was frowning—apparently, he was now thinking of her as Claire and everything. But not in an angry-at-Rupert sort of way. It was definitely more of an irate-on-his-behalf kind of expression. “What did they say to you?”

“They would accuse me of having made the whole thing up. The phrase ‘delusions of grandeur’ was used on more than one occasion.” Rupert shrugged. “I had a letter from Sir Henry and everything. I guess they thought I’d forged it.” He laughed blackly. “Now, there’s a task I wouldn’t be any good at.”

Well done, Dupree. Go ahead—bring the topic you least want to discuss right to the forefront. You’re doing a bang-up job .

Sure as eggs are eggs, Claire’s gaze sharpened. She was making that twisted-lips sort of face she seemed to assume whenever she was overthinking something.

But when she spoke, her voice was gentle. “I did want to ask you about that. You made an excuse about having forgotten your spectacles a couple of times and asked me to read something to you. But you seem to see perfectly well. I hope this doesn’t come out the wrong way, but… can you read, Rupert?”

He appreciated that she’d asked him straight out and also that she hadn’t done it in a judgey sort of way. “I can,” he confirmed. “I’m deuced slow at it. I’ve met seven-year-olds who read more fluently than me. The thing is, though, when I get nervous, I’m ten times worse. That’s why I asked you to read those things to me. I’d have stood there forever, struggling to pick my way through them.”

“Ah. I see.” Claire looked… thoughtful. He searched her face for any trace of disdain or mockery, but he couldn’t detect any.

Deciding she might as well know the worst of it, he continued, “And my handwriting… that’s the real disaster. It’s the reason I almost always work with a partner, so I don’t have to write up my own dispatches to Sir Henry. Believe me, nobody would be able to read them.”

Claire gasped. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

Rupert didn’t follow, not that this was all that unusual. “That’s how what happened?”

“The letter that appeared in the papers two years ago! You said you’d been sabotaged. You asked if I’d received your real letter.” She took a step forward. “You asked someone to take down your dictation, and they changed your words. That’s how it all went wrong. Isn’t it?”

Rupert inclined his head. “It is, indeed. Once I learned you weren’t as keen on the engagement as Lady Milthorpe had led me to believe, I determined I would release you from it. Privately , mind you. I never meant for any whisper of it to wind up in the papers. But there was only person around whom I could ask—a friend of my brother’s named William Ellison.” Rupert shook his head. “That was my mistake, all right.”

Claire frowned. “You mean to tell me that your brother’s friend is the one who falsified the letter? I wonder that he would risk your brother’s wrath.”

Rupert sighed. “I understand why you might assume my brother would be mad about it. I get the impression that you and your sisters all get along.”

Claire blinked at him, looking bewildered. “Of course. I would do anything for my sisters.”

Rupert gave one of those humorless laughs. “Not my brother. How can I explain? Of course, you’re acquainted with the Duke of Norwood and his younger brother, Felix.”

“Yes, I met both Jasper and Felix at a house party hosted by Lady Milthorpe. Although I would not say their relationship is always an easy one.”

“To be sure, Norwood can be deuced bossy. Goes with being a duke, I suppose. But let me tell you about your brother-in-law—if anyone so much as looked at Felix sideways, Norwood would beat them into next Tuesday.” Rupert’s shoulders sagged. “My brother was something of the opposite in that the one he was beating was me .”

Claire’s nostrils flared, and he half expected smoke to start coming out of her ears. “That’s despicable! Your own brother!”

Rupert shrugged. “You know how it is. You were telling me about your father, and how he sold your house out from under you.”

She inclined her head. “That’s true. So, you believe it was this William Ellison who fabricated that letter.” She tapped her lip, her expression thoughtful. “You know, it’s a common enough name, but I happen to know a William Ellison. His aunt and uncle have an estate just outside of Boroughbridge, so he would come and visit sometimes. He’s awful. When we were younger, he would make fun of my sisters and me for our threadbare dresses.” She froze. “Come to think of it, he was there visiting his aunt and uncle the summer the letter appeared in the papers.”

Rupert swallowed. “That would be the same William Ellison.”

“But if he was in Boroughbridge that summer…” Claire trailed off. She was studying him in a way he didn’t much care for. “You said you somehow learned that I wasn’t keen on the betrothal.”

Her brown eyes were intense as she asked, “How, exactly, did you know that?”