Chapter Eleven

“It has been well over a month, Maman, and nothing has happened.” Sophie had never seen her mother so tenacious or single-minded about anything in her life. “Please stay here so I can see that you are safe with my own eyes.”

Her mother didn’t answer. She merely continued inspecting the open trunks and boxes scattered around her bedchamber, supervising while her maid packed them.

“Maude, please leave us for a moment,” Sophie said to the maid. “Perhaps treat yourself to a cup of tea?”

The silver-haired matron who had served Sophie’s mother since the beginning of time folded her hands across her thick middle and arched a brow at her mistress.

“Yes, Maude,” the dowager countess said. “I understand there is still much to pack, but please give us a few moments. I shall ring for you once I fully impress upon my daughter that I know best.”

“There should be time for two slices of cake, then,” the woman said as she toddled out the door.

Sophie glared after the maid. “Was that bit of wit aimed at your ability to make a convincing argument or my stubbornness?”

“Both, I would imagine.” Maman idly pawed through an open box on the bed, frowning at the neatly rolled fichus and lacy handkerchiefs. “Some of these must be yours. I cannot imagine any good reason for possessing so many.” With a flip of her hand, she huffed, as though dismissing the items from her presence. “Wasteful extravagance.”

“Stay,” Sophie said, not giving ground or allowing time for Maman to launch into another rebuttal. “Mr. Wethersby wants you to stay as much as I do. So does Nash.” She decided to use the last possible weapon that might convince her mother to remain in London. “What if I am with child? I will need you here to help me.”

Her mother narrowed her eyes the slightest bit. She meandered closer, then slowly walked around Sophie, studying her from every angle.

Sophie clenched her teeth, forcing herself not to fidget. Maman could sniff out a falsehood better than any hound on a hunt.

“When you do discover yourself blessed to be in the family way,” her mother said, “I shall return well before my grandchild arrives. Do not lie about such things, Sophie. It is bad luck.” She softened the scolding with a smile. “I have delayed returning to Calais as long as I am willing. Without me here in the house, you and your husband will have the privacy you need to grow closer and, if you are very fortunate, forge the kind of love your papa and I had.” Her smile turned somewhat cynical. “And Mr. Wethersby is coming with me—even though I advised him his efforts are wasted.”

“He is quite smitten with you.” Sophie hated to see Nash’s friend crushed, but she hated seeing her mother’s loneliness even more.

“The man will eventually come to his senses and find a young woman who can give him children,” Maman said quietly. “I find my own company pleasant enough after all these years and have no desire to watch pity and revulsion replace the admiration in his eyes as I age.”

Sophie caught hold of her mother’s hands, not knowing any other reason that might change her mind. “Please stay, Maman. Please? It is almost August, and crossing the channel will be safe enough, but with fall and then winter coming—it could become too treacherous for you to return before spring. Please stay.”

Her mother’s expression hardened. “If I stay, the attacks upon you will not stop.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I have dealt with these situations before and will be better suited to deal with this one from Calais.”

Sophie released her mother’s hands and widened her stance as if ready to come to blows. “That argument makes no sense at all. If you can only suitably deal with this from Calais, then why did we come to London in the first place? Why did we not attack the matter from France?”

“We had to protect Her Majesty, and you know that. Do not attempt to trap me with my own words.” Maman strode over to the bellpull and yanked on it. “We are done here, child. I love you, and it is because of that love that I am leaving this afternoon. This conversation is over. You may leave immediately.” Her mouth tightened into a hard, displeased line that warned any further argument would be most unpleasant.

Sophie managed a nod, then left the room without another word. She hadn’t been dismissed from her mother’s presence because of her parent’s anger since the time she had accidentally shot another student at the academy. The bullet had only grazed the poor young man, but Maman had been incensed, and rightly so. Sophie had ignored instructions, and someone was hurt because of her carelessness.

Rather than go to the parlor, she went down to her workroom. After lighting a single candle, she dropped into the worn leather chair in the corner. Perhaps she could think better in the shadows.

It was the end of July, almost August, and nothing had happened since the shooting well over a month ago. No threatening messages. No lurking strangers. Nothing. Perhaps the man spotted by Mr. Wallace had only been an assistant to the marksman and took off to save himself. Even so, an uneasiness had remained in the air, an eerie quiet—almost like waiting for the unknown evil to exhale. But couldn’t that merely be because they were all so obsessed with the frustrating situation?

“Sophie?” Nash’s deep voice echoed through the dimly lit room.

“I am over here. In the corner.”

He lit the rest of the tapers on the candelabrum in the middle of the worktable, then joined her. “And why have you put yourself in the corner, my love? And in the dark, no less?”

“I had hoped it would help me think.” A disgusted groan escaped her. “She is going. This afternoon. There is nothing I can say or do to delay her further. It’s a wonder she remained here this long.”

He pulled up a stool and sat beside her. “Merritt will keep her safe.”

“She will never allow herself to love him. She told me so herself.” The entire situation lay heavy on Sophie’s heart, making it hard to breathe. “She doesn’t want to watch his love turn to pity and then revulsion. Her words. Not mine. Well, she didn’t say his love. She called it admiration.”

Nash took her hand like he always did whenever trying to console her. “He will still keep her safe, and as for the other, we have to let them sort that out for themselves.”

“I don’t want to let them sort it out for themselves. I want her to stay here and allow herself to love Merritt, and for all of us to live happily ever after.”

“It is never that simple, dear one.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Life is more like a war to survive, and we must make ourselves happy by winning one battle at a time and celebrating each victory as it comes. That is what enables us to persevere through difficult times.”

She scowled at him, knowing he spoke the truth, but hating it just the same. “When she leaves, I will be the mistress of this house, and that terrifies me.”

The golden glow of the candlelight shone upon his confused frown. “Why? From what I have seen, she always leaves the running of the household to you. You usually instruct Thornton and his wife on all matters.”

“You misunderstand. It is not so much the running of the house that bothers me. I know I am the countess now—even though I should be the earl.” Guilt pinched her for her pettiness, but it was true. Had she been born a male, she would have been the earl. “I am the countess now,” she repeated, pushing through her guilt. “I am the lady of the house, your wife, and someday, maybe, a mother. I do not excel at those roles as well as I do espionage, horsemanship, and weaponry. With Maman here, I am still the daughter, the child who plays at those things whenever it suits her. Sort of, anyway.” She allowed herself another groan, even though she hated sounding like such a petulant ninny. “I suppose you find me a spoiled, selfish wife and most disappointing. I am sorry and ashamed of being the way I am.”

“I find you honest and never disappointing.” He offered her an endearing, lopsided smile. “Did you ever pause to think that maybe the true reason your mother is returning to Calais is because she feels the need to push you, her beloved fledgling, out into the world? She knows you will not only fly but soar.”

Rather than admit he might be right, she rolled her eyes. “Why must you always compare me to some sort of bird?”

“Because you have the spirit of a bird, my dear one. The courage of an eagle, sauciness of a wren, and the loveliness of a swan.” He grinned. “And sometimes even the wisdom of an owl.”

“Tread lightly. I am in no mood to be trifled with.” If he had a bit of sense about him, he would leave her to her sullenness and save himself. She eased her hand out of his and curled deeper into her chair, tucking in for a good pout. Tomorrow, she would strive to be a better person. Today, she was what she was. “Now, if you will excuse me, I intend to sit here and fume until time to bid Maman farewell.”

“The post just came. Do you not wish to go through it? There are two letters, one from your Frannie, I believe. There is also a smattering of invitations. It appears your refusal to return to mourning dress after our ride in the park has been not only noticed but accepted—oddly enough.”

“We are somewhat of an enigma with those of the ton, what with most of our time spent in Calais. Since none of them ever met my dearly departed brother, it appears that poor, fictitious Solomon and his untimely passing have been easily forgotten.”

“Or the gossips simply wish to confirm the rumors they have heard.”

She was in no humor to deal with the politics of the ton, nor to become their latest source of amusement. As far as she was concerned, the invitations would be ignored. “Who was the other letter from?” She cracked her fingers, wishing she could make her problems pop as easily as she did her knuckles.

“The other letter?”

“You mentioned two letters. One from Frannie and the other from…?” She arched a brow, beginning to suspect he had lied to coax her out of her doldrums.

He shook his head, appearing somewhat perplexed. “I am not sure.”

A suspicion, an exciting premonition, pushed her up from the chair. “How could you possibly ignore a letter when we haven’t heard from our blackmailer in so long?”

“Because I had hoped, after all this time with no sinister activity, that our blackmailer’s health and wellbeing had ended with the self-poisoning of Horton Bainery.”

She hurried to the door, then halted when she realized he still sat on the stool beside her chair. “Well, come on, then. Let’s have a look at that letter, shall we?”

He did not appear as excited as she was, but that could not be helped.

“I cannot believe you hope the blackmailer has contacted you again.”

His tone struck her as slightly scolding, but she ignored it. “I am not hopeful…exactly.” Well, she was a bit, but it would sound somewhat mindless to admit it. Something deep inside her, whether it was instinct, womanly intuition, or simply a feeling, told her the game was not over—not with so many questions yet to be answered. Gathering her skirts in both hands, she rushed up the short flight of stairs and down the hall to the table that always held the mail. The silver tray was empty, prompting her to turn and glare at Nash.

“In the library,” he said tersely while pointing at the door. “Calm down, my swan. Everything is on your desk.”

She wasted no time in making her way to it and the pile of correspondence neatly stacked in front of her inkwell holder. The letter from Frannie was on top. Then what appeared to be several invitations, and then the missive she sought. An exciting sense of satisfaction settled across her as she tapped the neatly scribed postage amount in one corner. “Two shillings and fourpence. Fifty miles. Just like the others.”

“Bloody hell,” he growled. He snatched the letter out of her hands and ripped it open. The longer he stared down at the page, his gaze racing back and forth across the few lines, the ruddier his face became. With a hard shake of his head, he bared his teeth and handed it back to her. “Your mother must not leave here under any circumstances.”

Her satisfaction curdled into a lump of dread and plummeted to the pit of her stomach. Struggling to keep her hands from shaking, she smoothed out the folded paper and read:

The old one dies in the channel and the young one dies in the park. I shall let the queen rot in Kew. No money or thanks necessary. Liars and deceivers dead is reward enough.

“Quite to the point, isn’t it?” She swallowed hard, carefully re-folded the letter, and handed it back to him. “I am a fool and living proof of Aesop’s warning to be careful what you wish for.” How could she have hoped for more contact from that maniacal cove? She slowly lowered herself into the chair behind her desk, for once at a complete loss for words or what to do.

Nash leaned across the desk and propped his hands on either side of the paper. “I will send word to Her Majesty to double her guard at Kew. Your mother will not leave here even if I have to lock her in her rooms.” He gently cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. “And you, my precious one, will not go near any park in London or anywhere outside of this house without me or a proper guard at your side—understood?”

“Yes.” For the first time in her life, she would not be unreasonably stubborn about her independence. She would listen and pray that they caught the blackguard before he succeeded at any of his attempts. “I am so sick of living on tenterhooks, though. How are we going to stop this devil?”

“Merritt and I will call in a few favors. Several of those we served with in the army will be more than happy to help. Of that, I have no doubt.” A thoughtful bitterness seemed to settle across him. “You are right about that adage, though. Be careful what you wish for. I once wanted to return to serving my king and country in the army, and you wanted the blackmailer to make himself known to us once again. It appears we both got our wishes.” He caressed her cheek and gave her a tender kiss. “Once this is all over, we shall make ourselves content with enjoying a quiet life here in London. Yes?”

“Most definitely.” She had always wanted love and the joy and contentment Celia and Frannie had found. Now she had it, and that murderous fiend was trying to take it away from her. She tightened her hands into fists and popped each knuckle, growing angrier by the moment. “No one is going to take away what I have wanted since I first saw you flirt with Lady Withrington and ignore me. I will not allow that devil to destroy us.” She might sound bold, brazen, or perhaps even hoydenish, but she didn’t care. “I am going to kill him before he kills me or harms someone I love.”

Nash pulled her up into his arms and held her. “Let me do the protecting. It is not only my duty but my desire, and I promise you, Merritt feels the same. Did you not tell me you had maps in your workroom tracking the postal points of each letter?”

“Yes. In the map cabinet behind the desk.” She eased out of his embrace and almost cringed while eyeing the door. “Maman is already angry with me. I pray she sees sense when I tell her and doesn’t think this is some ploy to keep her here.”

“I shall tell her.”

“I am so sorry,” she whispered. She was so ashamed of her petulance, selfishness, and slowness in forgiving him for the silly hurts of their youth.

He frowned at her, appearing confused. “For what are you apologizing?”

“The queen sacrificed your life for Maman and me. It is so unfair.”

He didn’t respond for a long moment. Instead, he resettled his stance and looked away, as if uncomfortable in his own skin. “I will admit,” he finally said, “that I felt it unfair at first. Especially when you hated me so.” He slowly pulled her back into his arms. “But then I found it impossible to think of a life without you. You possess my heart completely.” He sealed the words with a kiss so tender and loving that it threatened to make her weep. “I will keep you safe, my darling swan. Do not be afraid.”

“As long as you keep yourself safe too.” She touched his cheek, thankful for his love, his patience, and his tenacity. “I hope our children are not as stubborn as you and I. We will be sorely pressed to keep up with them if they are.”

“Indeed, we will.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “Come. Let us go have a word with your mother.”

“Would you rather I do it alone? She is already angry with me.”

“I am not afraid of your mother.”

Sophie forced herself not to smile at his bravado.

“I do not fear her, Sophie,” he repeated in an injured tone.

“Of course you do not fear her. You merely have a healthy admiration of her.” She gave his arm a sympathetic pat. “As do I. Do you think we might get Merritt to tell her?”

Nash arched a brow but didn’t quite pull off a scowl. “You must stop tossing my friend to the proverbial wolves.”

“It was merely a thought.” She huffed. “Admittedly, a cowardly thought, but a thought just the same.”

Just as they reached Maman’s sitting room door, it flew open and the dowager countess herself rushed into the hallway, mumbling something in French. When she noticed them, she halted with a startled jerk but then quickly recovered. “What is it?” she asked rather snappishly. “I have much to do.”

“You do not, my lady.” Nash handed her the letter. “I find it deeply concerning that our blackmailing assassin is quite informed about the goings-on of this household. Read it. I am sure you will find it unsettling as well.”

Maman paled as she read the letter. “It appears we have a traitor among us,” she whispered.

“But who?” Sophie asked. “Only the staff knew of your plans to return to Calais, and they have all been with us for years.”

“No. There was one other.” The dowager turned almost thoughtful. “The malletier on Bond Street knew. Two of my trunks suffered some damage in the channel crossing and required repair before they could be reused. I was not aware of this until a few days ago, when Maude started packing. I had the trunks sent to Waldreges with the explicit instruction that I required them to be repaired and reinforced for a crossing to France this week.”

“Who delivered the trunks to Bond Street?” Nash asked. “And when?”

“Redmond took them last week, but he has been in our employ for well over five years.”

“Someone in the shop could have overheard him passing along your instructions,” Sophie said. “Especially if they were having the house watched and followed him there.”

“I shall speak with Redmond and send Merritt to Waldreges to have a word with the shopkeeper.” Nash tapped on the letter and leveled a stern look on the dowager countess. “You are staying here, my lady. For your own safety.”

Sophie held her breath, waiting for Maman to argue or fuss. But her mother did neither. She simply touched her brow as if suddenly overcome by a terrible headache.

“I shall inform Maude,” she said in a weak voice as she slowly moved back into the sitting room. Head bowed and her usually pristine posture now sagging and tired, she let the letter fall to the floor as she crossed to the sofa, settled down upon it, and draped a hand over her eyes.

“Maman.” Sophie went to her. “It will be all—”

Her mother held up a hand and silenced her. “Let me rest, daughter. Please, just let me rest.”

“Yes, Maman.” Sophie pulled a knitted throw from the back of the sofa, spread it across her mother, then quietly left the room and closed the door.

Nash stood in the hallway, his face shadowed with a grim look of worry. “It is not that I don’t trust your mother…”

“Perhaps Merritt should take up his post outside her door just to be certain.” Sophie trusted her mother too, but also knew the fearless woman was quite capable of taking extreme measures to protect everyone but herself. “I hope she doesn’t choose to do something dangerous, but I cannot say with any certainty that she won’t.”

“That is my fear as well. I believe Merritt is in his quarters packing. I shall speak to him now.”

“Here is the letter if you wish to show it to him.” Sophie pressed the vile thing into Nash’s hands, wishing there was a simple way of ridding themselves of this dark cloud constantly hanging over them. She stared at the letter, willing it to tell her the identity of its author.

“Sophie? Your look worries me.”

“We are going to have to set a trap. You do realize that?” She knew he wouldn’t like it, but surely he would agree with her reasoning. “It is the only way we will ever be rid of this blackguard. Capture him. Make sure he doesn’t have any poison to kill himself with before he talks, and then deal with him. I am sure Queen Charlotte would be more than happy to have Prinny order the man either hanged or beheaded for treason and murderous threats to the Crown.”

Nash scrubbed his face with one hand. “Yes. I realize that is the only way we will ever be free.” He caught hold of both her arms and pulled her closer. “But swear to me you will do nothing without my knowledge and approval.”

“I promise.” And she wouldn’t. Too much was at risk for her to rush in and be foolhardy. “I know you wish to speak to Merritt and your army chums. All I ask is that you include me in the plans. Please do not treat me like some delicate orchid that needs to be set on a shelf and isolated.” She gently patted his chest. “I can help. You know I can. Please respect that.”

“I will, my love.” He kissed her forehead as if sending her off to bed. “I remember your brilliance at strategizing and am sure it has only improved with age.”

“Such flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, hugging him closer.

“And here I thought you didn’t like flattery.”

“It depends on what kind.” She pulled him down for a kiss filled with determination and hope for their future. When he lifted his head, she smiled. “Onward to win this war, my husband.”

He nodded. “Onward, my love.”