Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

I f only she'd been born a man, Patience bemoaned as she sat, legs curled up in the window seat staring at the blurred park through the stream of water running down the window.

Then she would not be stuck inside dratted houses all the time with little to do but embroider or write letters as the dowagers and the aunts did most of the day between their naps. How she loathed both pastimes! Reading was not half-bad, but one could only read a book so many times before every word was memorized and the story was no longer new. In London, there had been Hatchards for as many books as a person could read in a year, but there had also been endless diversions. Promenades in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, walks and rides other times in the park—she could at least do that here when the second great flood was not occurring, the theatre, shopping, picnics, museums…she sighed with futility. If she were a man, she could pursue any of those at her leisure.

Patience ought to be grateful. Had it not been for their guardian, she would now be a governess or companion. Now her appointed task in life was to be a lady and find a suitable husband. How that was supposed to happen while stuck in the country with no Society was beyond her. She twisted a long, black curl that had come loose around her finger then let it unfurl as she pondered.

She had earned a bit of a reputation for being partial to the military officers. It was to some extent well deserved, but everyone thought she only cared for a man in Regimentals for his looks. But it was much more than that. She wanted to be one of them.

When she was with soldiers, there was an endless supply of entertaining stories. Most of them had fought in the Peninsular War under Wellington.

They did not seem to mind a girl who knew about Corunna or Badajoz, or could differentiate a member of the Guards versus the Rifles.

But none of them wanted more than a brief flirtation and to dance with a pretty girl.

All of the other gentlemen? Their stories were confined to inanities and treated her like an empty-headed chit.

Patience had to find something to do or she would go mad. She stood and stretched, then began to circle the room. She'd likely paced from one end of the drawing room to the other hundreds of times since the great deluge began a fortnight ago. Would it ever end?

Surely her boredom and discontent were in large part due to Faith and Hope having married. The five sisters had been orphaned young and had always been together and reliant on each other for so long. It was odd to think that Faith was soon to be a mother, and Hope was now a duchess and a mother.

Patience was in no man's land right in the middle between her two elder sisters, and the two younger. She never complained about it, but often felt it, nevertheless.

Faith had been a mother figure, Hope the beautiful one and destined for a great match, Grace was more studious and an avid reader, while Joy was mad for all four-legged creatures. Patience wanted adventure.

She was no more likely to find it in the country than she would be to fly to the moon.

If only they could go back to the previous Season when they had first gone to London. Not that Patience would ever wish anything dangerous on her sisters, but how grand it had been to be escorted around by all of those gentlemen on endless amusements! Her sisters had married two of them, but now the rest were gone since the danger was over, and they were back to the way things had been before. Perhaps, if she hadn't known such adventure, she would be content now. That was a lie. She had always longed for adventure.

The worst part was, there had been opportunity, but Ashley Stuart had kept her from it. When Sir Julian had been determined to ruin her sister, Faith, he'd done everything to thwart her helping. Her own sister!

Then, when Hope had been in danger, he'd always redirected her to the safer tasks within the house when help was needed, instead of anything that might be minimally construed as dangerous. As if a mere female wasn't capable. Infuriating man! What she wouldn't give to prove him wrong. She could ride as well as any man and throw a knife with deadly accuracy. Not that she actually had the opportunity to throw a knife at a live target, but she could hit the centre of a still one with her eyes closed.

Maybe she would not be allowed to purchase a commission, but surely the Foreign Office had some use for lady spies. But could she convince Westwood to let her? Only he would be able to open that door for her. However, he was sure to be as bad as his brother.

Well, she was not going to find adventure sitting there. She might as well join Grace and Joy in the barn or stables.

After donning her sturdy boots and an oil skin cape to ward off the rain, she hurried to the barn, dodging mud puddles as she went. The edifice was made of the same stone as the house. A large paddock separated the barn from the stables, and several horses could be seen grazing on the lush, green grass.

When she entered through the wooden doors, she was assailed by the odours of hay and dung, and sounds from pigs, roosters, and goats. Large wooden beams crossed at the ceiling, and straw was spread across the floor. A welcome breeze entered through the other end, where the doors led out into a fenced-in yard.

Patience watched her steps carefully, though, despite the fact that one of the stable hands was sweeping the floor clean.

"Patience!" Grace called when she saw her. "Come and see the new doeling."

Grace was sitting cross-legged in the straw, feeding milk to the tiniest goat Patience had ever seen.

"Why are you feeding her? Shouldn't she be with her mother?"

"The mother is rejecting her, so we have to feed her for now," Grace explained.

"That is horribly sad. How could a mother reject her baby?" Patience asked, kneeling down beside Grace to pet the kid between its ears.

"It will be a lot of work to keep her alive. We will take turns feeding her around the clock."

"I could take a turn or two. Heaven knows I need something to do with this infernal weather."

"I do not mind it here so much. I always did prefer the country though."

"And I always need something to do."

Joy's cat, Freddy Tiger, walked by the stall and paused to inspect what they were doing.

"He is growing very fat," Patience observed.

Grace cocked her head and observed as Freddy rubbed against the edge of the stall.

"I suppose you're right. He's keeping the mouse population under control," she mused.

"Where is Joy?" She must not be too far if Freddy was here.

"Last I saw her, she was collecting eggs. She's so thrilled that she no longer has to do lessons since Miss Hillier left. Though she misses her company."

"That will leave you and me to read to her. I still do not understand why she prefers to be read to."

Grace shrugged. "Miss Hillier was a gifted reader."

"I fear that is all I have to look forward to—either being a companion or a governess." Patience knew she sounded pathetically self-pitying.

"Just because you did not make a match last Season does not mean you are destined for servitude."

"I know, but I cannot think I will be content as a wife and mother, either. At least as a companion or governess, I will have some measure of independence."

"I am not convinced of that, either. Miss Hillier used to tell those awful stories of the position she held before she came to us. Not every household is as agreeable as ours," Grace reasoned.

"Perhaps you are correct. We are wards instead of children, so maybe that makes it different. There must be some way to gain independence. Short of becoming a man."

"Do you want to become a man?" Joy asked, now standing at the front of the stall with Freddy in her arms, her skirts dirtied and tied up, with a streak of mud on her face.

"You cannot tell me you have not dreamed of such a thing, Joy." Patience scowled with disbelief.

"I suppose it would be more fun," she agreed. "But I do not think the Dowager or Faith will allow you to go unwed, let alone masquerade as a man. Think of how scandalized they were to see me wear breeches."

"That is an idea," Patience contemplated.

"Thus far, I am happy helping with the animals here. I dread being dragged back to London. I might be able to be spared one more Season, if I am fortunate," Joy groaned.

"At least in London we had more to do, friends to ride with, and go to balls with. Speaking of, have any of you heard news of Carew or Montford or Cunningham?"

"I had a letter from Vivienne just this morning," Joy said. "I was going to share it with you later. She patted her pocket.

Patience waved her hand. "A summary from you will suffice."

"She says that Mr. Cunningham is on his way here with our promised pup now that he is weaned. Oh, and she thinks Lord Montford will propose soon."

"It seems to be contagious," Patience muttered.

"I am happy for them," Grace said in her always agreeable tone. "After her parents' disappointment with Rotham, hopefully they will be pleased by this arrangement."

At least Patience did not really have anyone to disappoint. Not really.

"What of Carew? I thought he would be back from Ireland by now."

"Westwood does not expect him for another month or so when he will bring some weanlings," Joy answered.

There was still very little to look forward to, then, Patience surmised with a heavy sigh.

If you stared at the ceiling long enough, it looked as though it was coming to life. The scene was one of war; horse-drawn chariots were stirring up dust all about them as soldiers brandishing swords and shields clashed in the middle. Angels hovered in the sky, waiting and watching. Flames from the hearth flickered across the ceiling, adding to the mobile illusion, while the crack of a log consumed by fire added to the ambiance of the scene.

Perhaps he had consumed more brandy than he thought. Ashley lifted his head enough to see his companions looking equally contemplative and solemn. There was little to say that had not already been said between them.

It was often thus with their little troop. They had spent years together under Colonel Renforth with the army during the Peninsular War, but now that Napoleon was defeated for good, only six of them remained, and there was scarce little for them to do that utilized their skills. They remained under the guise of the Household Guards, but in actuality, they were an elite troop called upon to perform the odd tasks that no one else could or would do.

No one ever suspected what they were really up to since the Household Guards were nominally referred to as the window dressing of the British Army. They were usually second or third sons of gentlemen—the rich, titled and powerful, and therefore expendable. Those assumptions were what allowed them to move amongst the ton with no one the wiser.

They flirted and charmed their way through ballrooms one night, while scaling walls and breaking into vaults the next. However, the last fortnight, there had been not one single commission. Coupled with the fact that Society was at their country houses for the remainder of the summer, there were no social events they were required to make up numbers for. Not that any of them was sorely missing that responsibility, but it was better than absolute boredom.

"Will this devilish weather ever end?" Fielding asked of no one in particular as he set his empty glass down with a thud that seemed to echo through the wood-panelled chambers.

"Where did Renforth get off to, anyway?" Cholmely asked impatiently.

"Hopefully answering a summons for our services," Fielding muttered as he stroked his side whiskers.

Renforth was the second son of a duke but now a peer in his own right. His mother had been a baroness, and upon her death, was granted the request to bestow the barony on him rather than his brother, the duke, who already held more titles than he knew what to do with. In turn, Renforth had inherited this town house, which he deemed a club for this troop. Instead of hiring rooms elsewhere, they all lived here. Most of their families also had homes in Town should they need to make use of them, but no one understood their lives like each other.

Here, there was no need to pretend to be someone they were not. To a war-hardened, battle-scarred soldier, this was a refuge.

O'Malley, Renforth's former batman now butler, entered quietly and made his way around the circle refilling drinks. Ashley was not certain about the wisdom of drinking more when the cherubs on the ceiling already appeared to be flying before his face, but he did not protest the added measure of brandy.

"Did you happen to see the letter that came for you from Taywards today, Major?" O'Malley asked quietly enough as though not to disturb the general tenor of the room.

"I have not yet been to my chambers. Was it urgent?"

"I could not say, Major. I will bring it to you," O'Malley said, and left before Ashley could protest that he could fetch it himself.

"Do you think it is a summons?" Fielding asked. "I would not mind something to do besides this."

Ashley agreed, but the Whitford sisters were still there, and it did not feel like home when they were present. It was an awful thought to have, but it was not peaceful for a variety of reasons. Soon there would be a little one running about—hopefully this was not to do with the baby. It was too soon for news of a birth.

O'Malley returned and handed him the letter. Ashley broke the seal and scanned the missive. "It's from Westwood." He read a bit more. "There's been some unusual activity on the river."

His brother's property was in Greenwich, ten or so miles downriver from London. There were a fair number of ships that preferred to dock there just across the Thames and conduct their business outside of London. There was far less crime, and warehouses could be attained at a fairer price than having to compete with the likes of the East India Company.

The other gentlemen seemed to perk up at the words unusual activity . Ashley had to admit he was intrigued. He read on.

"There is nothing concrete, mind you," Westwood wrote. "However, too many small coincidences. Broken glass at one warehouse, stolen goods from another, lost or missing livestock."

"It could be vagrants," Baines pointed out. He had excelled at extracting information from people during the war. With his size and perpetual scowl, he intimidated people before he said a word.

"True. Read on, Ash," Fielding said.

"We've searched for vagrants and squatters, but thus far none have been found. As the magistrate, I can attest that this has been occurring with increasing frequency. Previously, there would be one or two incidents per year, and now it is weekly for the past two months. I suspect it is due to new activity around the docks, but my jurisdiction is limited there, and frankly, I do not have the time to investigate myself. If you and as many of your troop can be spared to look into the matter, I would be grateful. It may be nothing of consequence, but I would be at ease knowing."

Ashley scanned the rest of the missive and it was more personal, so he spared his friends the reading of it and tucked it away for later. "What do you think?"

"It could be one of the London gangs moving east looking for new territory," Baines suggested. "Especially now with the planned expansions."

"We will need a dossier on the companies that ship through Greenwich," Fielding remarked.

"Who can be spared to go with me? Assuming Renforth agrees?" Ashley asked.

"The countryside gives me hives," Cholmely said. "Besides, Fielding knows more about shipping and the docks than any of us."

Fielding's father had amassed a large fortune in shipping, but he wasn't born into the peerage like the rest of them. He'd raised his sons as gentlemen, with the best that money could buy, but Ashley suspected Joshua never really felt he belonged—especially in such elite company as the Guards. Of course, within their elite troop, his belonging was earned with blood.

"I think you credit me with more knowledge than I deserve," he replied to Cholmely. "We were quite sheltered from the trade."

"It's not in the blood, eh?"

"I suppose as much as raking and gambling is," Fielding drawled.

It was common knowledge that Cholmely's father and brother won and lost their fortunes at Watier's and Madame Fortescue's on a regular basis.

Baines whistled. "He has you there, Chum."

"Touché." Cholmely raised his glass to Fielding. Those words would have caused a dual with lesser friends, but neither took offence.

Manners, who had remained quiet, took another sip of brandy and merely raised one brow.

They heard O'Malley open the door for someone, and they paused their conversation to see if Renforth had returned. They heard him greet O'Malley before he entered the room.

"Good evening, gentlemen." He stopped and poured himself a drink before sinking into one of the red leather armchairs that surrounded the hearth. "I've come from dinner with the Duke and Duchess."

Each of them raised their glasses in empathetic silence. They all knew how familial dinners felt. It was much the same with all of them. What would they do with their lives now that the war was over? Why didn't they settle down and begin a family?

Whatever happened to no expectations for second sons? None of them were fit to be husbands or fathers. Not after what they'd seen and done.

"I received a letter from Westwood asking for our help," Ashley said, breaking the silence.

Renforth raised his brows in question, so Ashley repeated what he had read to the others earlier.

The colonel sat quietly drinking his brandy for a few minutes. It was always thus with him. Ashley knew he would speak when he'd made his decision.

"A large shipment of munitions went missing from an East India ship, whose docks are not far from Greenwich. This might be the connection we have been searching for."

Ashley exchanged looks of interest with Fielding and Manners.

"Why do you not go on ahead in the morning? Go and speak with the viscount and make an initial inspection. I will have Fielding and Chum search out the expected activity for the Greenwich docks from here while we await your report. I'd rather not send the whole troop down there and potentially alert anyone that we are on to them. No one will suspect you visiting your family."

"So long as you find something for us to do. I'm like to die of boredom else," Manners uttered what the rest of them had been feeling.