Chapter 18

Simon looked up at the grandfather clock on the far wall of the room in which he sat waiting. It was rhythmically ticking away the minutes and the hours. Already, two throaty gongs had filled the hall since Simon first sat, and he was hopeful he would be seen before a third.

Still, he was at ease with waiting. Sometimes the business of espionage was more about patience than it was excitement and bravery. He would have been perfectly happy to sit just so with his hat on his knees and his own thoughts to keep him company… if his thoughts weren't so full of Bella.

Left to the company of his own mind, Simon found himself remembering every word she had spoken on their last encounter. He had been angry then, fully justified in his opinions about how she had changed to conform to society, but when he was called away to Wales on urgent business the next morning, he found himself with an inordinate amount of time to think back on all he had said. He found he was not entirely happy with how he had conducted himself.

In particular, Bella's words about her place in society rattled around in his head, taunting him. He could imagine the injury in her eyes as she fairly spat the words at him: You can very well sit by and judge the women who are forced to use giggles and sighs to secure the future of their families, while you enjoy the luxury of being a man who can marry whoever he wants. She was not entirely right about his place in society, but she certainly seemed to be right about hers.

He had thought himself so supportive, comparing her always to other women in the ton and placing her on a pedestal, but perhaps that did a disservice to her as well as the other girls. She was smothering under the standards he held her to.

"Captain?"

At last, another voice entered his thoughts, echoing against the paneled wood walls of the nearly empty room. Other than the clock, and a table without chairs in the very center of the grand space, there was only the settee upon which Simon now sat to furnish the hall. A door had opened in the paneling, and the speaker had just come through it, a gentleman in nondescript clothing with two other uniformed officers behind him. Simon knew at once the speaker was Quixote, though the man had acquired a mustache since their last meeting. He doubted it was real.

Simon stood, bowing crisply as the party of three approached him. Their shoes clicked against the hardwood floors, but no further words were spoken until an unseen hand pulled the door shut behind them again.

"Captain Lyndon," Quixote said, gesturing to the uniformed men. "Allow me to introduce to you Lieutenant Miller and his fellow officer, Grandville. I am given to understand you have not crossed paths in your previous lines of work for our beloved monarch?"

Simon shook his head. Neither the names nor the faces were familiar to him. Miller was the taller of the two, a gaunt man with circles beneath his eyes that belied some deep anxiety. Grandville was short and plump, with a good-natured expression on his face. He reached out to shake Simon's hand.

"Haven't had the pleasure," he said abruptly. "Too much to do, I'm afraid."

"I've heard of you," Miller said sourly, "though we've not met. You're the man who lost DeVilliers."

"I am afraid I can't take direct responsibility for that tragedy," Simon said, choosing to ignore the accusation in the other man's tone. "I do not have control over the lover's quarrels of my marks, even if I do spend a good deal of time in their social circle."

"There must be an awful lot of lover's quarrels amongst the French," Grandville said with a half-smile. "You would be kept quite busy if you attempted to put them all off." He cleared his throat. "It is not on the matter of DeVilliers that we have called you here today. I'm glad you were able to respond so promptly, and apologetic for the lateness of the hour. You must have been waiting for some time."

"Anything in the service of the king," Simon said easily. He had picked up, during the few sentences exchanged, that Grandville was the true leader of the two. Though Miller was taller and more imposing, the twinkle in plump Grandville's eyes did not fool a man trained to know a person's nature in a short time. Simon could see that Grandville's pleasant demeanor was as much of a disguise as Quixote's mustache and plain clothes. "So. Why did you call me here?"

"To give you a piece of unfortunate news, and to enlist you to help us decipher it," Granville said.

Miller interjected dully, without preamble, "Lloyd Wickham is dead."

Simon resisted the urge to step back in shock. He knew Wickham, though not well—nobody knew Wickham well, that was part of what made him such an excellent agent. He had no aristocratic ties and very few people knew his true identity.

He had been born on the streets of London, raised a pickpocket, and risen through a meeting of happenstance with an officer of the British navy into intelligence. The officer had seen something useful in Wickham, and he had been right to do so. Lloyd Wickham was—or had been –one of England's most valuable assets on the continent.

"One slight correction," Grandville said, watching Simon's face carefully for any reaction. "Lloyd Wickham isn't just dead. He was killed. By the French. They strung him up outside a tavern after discovering his true purpose." He fixed his eyes on Simon. "It is a dangerous business being a spy these days."

"Wickham was careful. More careful than most." Quixote's voice was low and deadly quiet. "Few knew his true identity, and most of those would have put their own lives at risk by revealing Wickham's secret."

"We do have our suspicions, unpleasant though they may be, that a particular British lord might have been in possession of the secret." Grandville pulled a paper out of his sleeve, with all the smoothness of a magician revealing a coin, and placed it in Simon's palm. "He was a good friend of Wickham's, and the two were often in their cups over a game of cards, if my sources are true. Find him and determine whether or not he was the leak."

"We have to stop the spread of information as quickly as possible," Miller said, stating the obvious, "or more men will die."

"Men like you, Captain Lyndon," Grandville said soberly. "I wouldn't want to see you swinging from a gibbet in France any more than I wished to see Wickham there."

Simon nodded, and tucked the paper with the lead into his own sleeve. It would not stay there. Sleeves were unreliable caches, at best. He would wait until the carriage arrived outside and then unscrew the top of his walking cane to put the information in the hidden compartment he'd installed there. For now, it would be safe enough amid the lace and linen of his garments.

"I'll be in touch," he said, nodding to Quixote.

"We count on your discretion," Miller said, glowering.

Grandville laughed at that, a dry and humorless laugh. "You forget, Lieutenant, you are speaking to a spy. Captain Lyndon likely doesn't know how to be honest with his own mother anymore. His discretion is confirmed, I'm sure."

A few more instructions were delivered, and then Simon took his leave.

***

Two weeks passed, and Simon used the time to travel around England in search of more information about Wickham's death. He gathered sources, took statements, and tried to put together the pieces of the puzzle. Still, something was missing. There was an informant somewhere—that much was clear—but the connection to the British lord Quixote had told him about was thin at best.

During this time, Simon received a letter from Grace informing him of her impending marriage to Lord Anthony. She had not known where to reach him, the letter stated, and so had sent it to the war office in hopes that they could find him in time for him to return to London.

The wedding was to take place as soon as possible, and by the time Simon had heard word of it he found himself with only a week to spare. He set aside his search for Grace's wedding only and returned to London only a few days before the event.

Grace met him on the marble stairs outside their family home, bursting with delight and excitement. "I knew the letter would reach you in time," she gushed. "I simply knew it. At the very least, I had hoped you would read the announcement in the papers, but you are so lax about keeping up with local scandals and gossip…"

"I would not miss your wedding for the world," he said, catching her up in a warm embrace. "Now let us go inside and you can tell me all about your plans."

Grace led him through the hall, which was filled with a bower of fresh-cut flowers and bolts of silk cloth. "We're to have a celebratory dance this evening," she said, smiling. "Mother insists. I told her that the wedding would be costly enough, but she refuses to admit that the price is a hindrance at all. She is so pleased I'm marrying Lord Anthony, and insists that all of London will expect her to host as though our home is dripping in diamonds."

"And how is your Lord Anthony?" Simon asked, teasing. "Are you still as smitten with him as ever?"

"I am," Grace blushed. "But everyone thinks we are taking this too quickly. Everyone except Mother and Father, of course. They fear every day that passes without me safely ensconced in Lord Anthony's title and wealth."

"He did not seem like a man to leap into marriage without forethought," Simon assured Grace. "If he wished to marry you a few weeks ago, I think he shall hardly change his mind over such a short amount of time."

"That is what I tell them," Grace sighed happily. She paused at a bouquet by the door and arranged it. "Did you come straight here, or did you stop in at Bella's first?"

Simon started at the sound of Bella's name. "Why should I go over to Lord and Lady Collingwood's before seeing my own family?"

"I didn't say anything about Lord and Lady Collingwood," Grace said quietly. She raised her eyes to Simon's, a sparkle of mischief glinting in them. "I asked if you'd seen Bella. She seemed rather forlorn after you left the house party early."

Simon cleared his throat. "I don't know why she should have been downcast. We'd argued, before I left."

Grace plucked a wayward rose from the arrangement and set it aside. "I don't know why I didn't see it before, Simon, but watching you at the house party confirmed it to me and I shan't be put off—you have feelings for my dear friend, don't you?"

He searched his mind for words, frustrated to find himself speechless. "I…" he hesitated. "I wonder how you could come to such a conclusion based off of Lord and Lady Collingwood's house party. After all, Bella spent most of her time in Lord Ramsgate's company, and I—"

"Could barely escape Lady O'Mara for the space of five seconds, yes," Grace interrupted him. She grinned. "Those circumstances made your feelings clearest, actually. You may have been physically beside Lady O'Mara, but no matter where you were at the event I caught you looking in Bella's direction. You looked to be equal parts pining and angry, the latter more pronounced when your gaze happened to settle on poor Lord Ramsgate."

He could see the laughter in her eyes but could not return her amusement. "Please tell me you have said nothing of this to Bella," he pleaded in a low voice. "It would be highly uncomfortable should she hear about this from you."

"Oh?" Grace asked, turning and putting her hands on her hips. "Then I hope that means she will hear about it from you?"

"I do not have a right to speak to her on the subject," Simon said quietly. "After all, if she has the chance to marry the heir to a dukedom why should I stand in her way? And, as I already mentioned, we argued upon our last meeting."

"Bella is not some shallow girl who will be satisfied with wealth and title alone," Grace scolded her older brother. "You know better than that. She does not need you falling on your sword either, keeping your true feelings to yourself under the guise of her well-being. If you truly love her, then you are the best for her."

"What if she does not love me in return?" Just speaking the words aloud, which had plagued him for so long, made them painfully real.

"Then be bold enough to put your heart out there and be rejected," Grace said. Her tone gentled somewhat, and she added, "She deserves that much, at least."

Simon shook his head. "Years ago, I gathered the very courage and boldness of which you speak to ask Lord Collingwood for Bella's hand—"

"Years?" Grace raised her eyebrows. "Heavens, I am behind."

"He forbade me to mention anything of that nature to his daughter," Simon said quietly. "He then made his feelings about my pedigree and that of my family quite clear. I know that he would not approve."

Grace crossed her arms. "That is an obstacle, to be sure. But I still maintain that Bella deserves the truth. If she chooses to go with her parents' decision, that is a risk you must take."

Simon gave a weak smile. "You have a very clarifying way about you, do you know that? I have been battling with these thoughts for weeks, and yet you push them all aside with a few tidy sentences."

"I could have been helpful much earlier if you hadn't kept your feelings a secret," she said, rolling her eyes.

"In all your time watching me at the house party…" Simon trailed off, unable to bring himself to ask what he wanted to know outright. Grace read his mind, nonetheless.

"You want to know if I watched Bella as well," she guessed. "And if I noticed any marked affection directed at you."

Simon nodded.

Grace sighed. "I cannot in all honesty claim to have seen her true heart that week. I did watch her—quite closely at times—but she is so guarded now, especially around her parents. Her expressions are difficult to read, and she is always so polite it is difficult to know where her true affections lie." She shrugged. "I do have my suspicions about her feelings for Lord Ramsgate, though."

"And?"

"You are blind, brother, if you failed to see how much he annoys her." Grace grinned. "She puts up with him hanging about for her father's sake, I'm sure. Beyond that, I do not think he commands her attentions, much less her heart."

Simon felt a stab of guilt, remembering the harsh words he had for Bella on their last meeting about her flirtation with Lord Ramsgate. How could Grace so easily see what he had missed? Some of the giggles and smiles Bella had for the marquess still haunted Simon's thoughts.

He had believed her to be infatuated with the man's wealth and title, if not his person. Was Grace right? It seemed too much to hope, and yet hope swelled in him, nonetheless.

"Alright then," he said, taking a deep breath. "I will tell her how I feel. Please, dear sister, will you do me one more favor? Tell Bella to meet me at Hyde Park the day after your wedding, near the lake, at noon. I will bare my heart for her, and pray that she returns my feelings."

"Why not send a letter?" Grace asked.

"Her parents could intercept it," Simon said, remembering how they had done so before when Bella lived in Ireland. "But be certain to specify the day after your wedding. I do not wish to steal from your beautiful day."

"You will not—"

"I am stubborn on this point," he said, raising a hand to reassure her.

Suddenly, Grace raised her eyes to some point behind Simon, and gave a little start of recognition. "Oh!" she cried. "I didn't see you there."

Simon turned and saw the last person he expected standing in the doorway. Amelia Lafleche stood in a halo of light from the outdoors, the bower of flowers all about her, scarlet gown and scarlet lips to match. She was not smiling.

"A friend told me Mr. Lyndon was back from his travels and I thought to stop in for a brief chat," she said, her eyes darting to Simon's face.

"He only just returned," Grace said.

"My friends are generally well-informed," Amelia said coldly. Something in her manner made Simon wonder just how much she'd overheard of his conversation with Grace. He'd been caught up in the conversation, as had Grace, and an intruder could have been standing there for some time without being noticed.

"I'm afraid I have not the time for a chat today," Simon said, bowing. "I must help prepare for the evening festivities. You will excuse me, Lady O'Mara?"

"Oh, I will excuse you anything, Mr. Lyndon." A humorless smile curled her lips upwards. "Please, don't let me intrude."

She turned and walked back outside, her heels clicking on the marble as she disappeared from view.

"What an odd woman," Grace said, as brother and sister watched her go.