“What if he threatens to disown you?”
“He knows better. I have my own competence, thanks to dear departed Aunt Gwen, bless her soul.”
Helena sighed.
“What?”
“I wish I had your courage, Livy. I’m not capable of standing up to Father, for I’ve no spine. I’m not even determined enough to convince Chris to elope with me to Gretna Green. He agrees with Father. Why do they both think I’m too young for marriage?”
Olivia hugged her sister in sympathy. “I know how much you love Chris Darlington, but bide your time, dearest.” She paused in thought. “Why not consider a new tack? Agree with Father that you’re too young. Then confess that you’re willing to wait to marry Chris, if only he will consent to a betrothal. That at least would be a first step for you.”
Helena brightened. “Do you think such a tactic will answer?”
“It won’t hurt to try, will it?”
The two left the withdrawing room in much better spirits, only to face a daunting ballroom crush.
“How shall I ever find Chris in this throng?”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you, love. Try to stand in place and allow him to find you.” For her sister’s sake, she tried to sound full of cheer, but her own quest to locate the home secretary appeared to be just as difficult as finding Helena’s beau. A tap on her shoulder caused her to turn her head.
“Oh, it’s you, Percy. I must thank you for the flowers, but you needn’t send a new bouquet every day.” Though the young man was tall and handsome, in her mind Olivia dismissed him as too bland looking. Besides, he was a dead bore. She had no intention of encouraging his suit for her hand, yet she didn’t object to flirting. The sport was second nature to her.
“They are meant to be a daily reminder of my suit for your hand, Lady Olivia. It is but a poor tribute, for no flower is as exquisite as you, my dear. May I have the honor of this dance?” Sir Percival Smythe-Jones offered his arm.
“I’m sorry, Percy. I’d rather not leave my sister in the lurch.”
“Go ahead and dance with him, Livy. I’ll be fine.”
Sir Sebastian Brooks suffered more than a twinge of regret. A stray lock of dark hair fell over his thick eyebrows. His gray-blue eyes stood sentinel above sculpted cheekbones and a square chin. At thirty years of age, the chief spymaster was a large man whose good looks never failed to please eligible ladies. He had no wish to marry, however, and learned to be adept at avoiding any such attachment, both from the young ladies and their marriage-minded mothers. No easy task during the London season.
“I envy you, Darlington. You’re a lucky dog to be posted to the Continent on such an exciting mission,” he said to his good friend and colleague. The two lounged near the open terrace doors to catch a breath of air, for the night was hot and humid.
Chris squinted at him. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and fiddled with his spectacles, an unconscious habit, yet vanity prevented him from wearing them in public. The twenty-five-year-old aide to the home secretary was tall and slim with flaxen-hair, eyes of pale blue and an aristocratic nose.
“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were filled with envy, Sebastian. You needn’t be, you know. You’ve already accomplished extraordinary work at Wilson Academy. It’s all the talk at the home office, I’ll have you know. Everyone who has seen them thinks your renovations to the building and the grounds are excellent for the purpose. I think the plans are so good, you might well have taken up architecture instead of spying when you sold out.” Chris paused, his eyes searching his friend’s face. “What’s eating you, Sebastian?”
“You’re very perceptive, my friend. All right. I’ll tell you what’s eating me. I thought Wilson Academy was just the challenge I needed after the devastation I witnessed at Waterloo. I was sick of the stink of death and the awful sight of the mindless destruction of war. I believed that this assignment was a challenge, so I jumped at the chance when it was offered to me.”
“It is a challenge. It’s time our country develops an organized spy system. What’s keeping you from enjoying your new position? What changed your mind? Why are you so troubled? It’s clear from the look on your face.”
As if Chris had wrung the words from him, Sebastian blurted out, “Chief spymaster is nothing more than a glorified clerk’s position! Day in and day out all I do is shuffle papers and sign them. It’s a dead bore, Chris. Maybe I should take up architecture after all. Designing Wilson Academy was the only part of this project that gave me any joy.” Sebastian paused, breathing hard. When he was calmer, he said, “Perhaps when I begin to train the next generation of spies, the post will take on a more stimulating aspect, but for now, I miss the challenge and the fellowship of army life.”
Chris sighed. “It is I who envy you, Sebastian. I wish I had been in the war. My brother even offered to buy me a commission, but the army rejected me as unfit because of my poor eyesight.”
“That you are standing here still alive tells me the army was right to reject you. You would not have survived Napoleon. Sorry if it troubles you, but they made the correct decision.”
Chris acknowledged this truth with a nod. “Why waste your time pining for the past? Has it occurred to you that, if you hadn’t sold out, you might have been just as bored in peacetime?”
Before Sebastian could answer, they were interrupted by a voice familiar to Chris. “Here you are, my dear. I’m glad I found you. Poor Helena has been looking all over for her beau. I left her pining away near the main stairwell.” Olivia pecked him on the cheek.
“Hallo, Livy.” He turned to his companion. “Allow me to introduce Lady Olivia Fairchild to you, Sebastian. I’ve lived next door to the Fairchilds all my life. I don’t mind admitting to you that I’m dangling after her lovely sister Helena. Livy, this is my good friend Sir Sebastian Brooks.”
“Pleasure,” said Olivia with the slightest of curtseys, yet her eyes held indifference.
“Will you both excuse me?” asked Chris. “I must go and find my lovely lady.” Without bothering to wait for a response, he hurried away with the eagerness of a man in love.
Sebastian was irritated as he watched Olivia’s eyes wander all over the ballroom. He was stirred by her extraordinary beauty. At the same time, he was annoyed by her indifference to him. It was not a response he was accustomed to from a lady of marriageable age. He wondered why she was not paying her attentions to him.
“It appears we’ve been abandoned, ma’am,” he said. “Will you join me in the next waltz?”
She looked up at him in surprise, as if noticing him for the first time. “My pleasure, sir.” She took the arm he offered and allowed him to lead her onto the floor. When the music began he placed his hand on her waist, she placed hers on his shoulder, and he guided her around the perimeter of the dance floor. She entered into the spirit of the waltz, enjoying its rhythm of movement, for she loved to dance. Yet her eyes wandered as she continued to search.
Bloody hell. I’ve chosen a dimwit for a partner even though she dances well. Why does her head keep twisting every which way? Why the devil is the chit so distracted?
“Are you feeling well, ma’am?” he asked in exasperation.
Olivia looked startled. “What a silly question. Of course I’m feeling well. Why do you ask?”
“If that is the case, ma’am, I can only conclude you must think me a dead bore, since your full attention seems well out of my reach. It’s clear to me you are not enjoying our dance. Would you prefer to take a stroll on the terrace?”
“Oh, but I am enj—” She paused, much in favor of his suggestion, for it would afford her another