She bent her head and examined her slippers, annoyed because they were beyond repair now that Lord Wentworth, unable to see beyond his protruding stomach, had ruined them with his clumsy feet.
Her eyes returned to the home secretary’s face. Should she shed a tear to advance her purpose, or would that be too theatrical? she wondered. She decided she shouldn’t. It might be overdoing it.
To her advantage, the home secretary was not too old to enjoy a harmless flirtation. “What is it you hope, my dear?”
Olivia looked around her. “Might we continue our conversation out on the terrace? The issue you spoke of to me is so sensitive, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish it to become common knowledge, my lord.” She took his arm and led him out, well aware that his eyes had glazed over. He still doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
She found an unoccupied marble bench out of earshot from inquisitive guests, took his hand and said, “First, let me thank you for arranging for me to be employed in your office sir. Of course, I’m very happy to be of service to you in any way I can. Indeed, my position is quite gratifying, but…”
“I gave you a position? What is it that you do in the home office, my dear?”
“I have been charged with handling secret documents, sir, but I yearn to give so much more of myself to my country. So much more.”
“You’ve placed me in a state of utter bewilderment, my dear. What on earth are you talking about?”
Her words rushed out like an avalanche. “I’m talking about your plan to train women as spies, of course. In truth, I have followed the progress of those plans, from the rebuilding of the property to the training program. I know it is already in place.”
The viscount eyed her with suspicion. “How do you know such a plan exists?”
“I came across the papers in the course of my work.”
His gray eyes smiled as an indulgent grandfather might to a child. “I’m not sure I understand you. What is it you’re really after, my dear?”
Olivia laughed, showering him with the musical sound of bells. “Ah. You have me there, my lord. I won’t lie to you, of all people. Like everyone else who petitions you, I want something from you.”
It was his turn to laugh. “No, no. I didn’t mean to imply that you are too forward.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She took a deep breath, looked both ways to make sure no one overheard her, and said, “Last summer at the Marshall garden party, you shared with me your desire to establish a program for women to be trained for clandestine work. A woman spy is a brilliant idea, if I may say so, sir. Will you honor your promise and assign me as one of the candidates, my lord?”
The viscount scratched his head. “Well, I…”
As if she hadn’t heard him, she continued, “To be in the forefront of such a bold program has become my life’s dream. You did promise you would consider me as a candidate for training, you know. May I hold your feet to the fire? Will you keep your word to me?”
“You wish to be a spy? An odd request, my dear. You can’t imagine how dangerous such an occupation can be. What put the idea into your pretty little head? You are much more suited to marriage and a family.”
Olivia now produced her single tear. To add weight to it, she sniffed. “My duty to my country comes before marriage and raising a family, my lord.”
“Now, now. No need to weep,” the home secretary said, squirming in his seat.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that I feel so passionate about this. The first training class is about to begin…”
He paused in thought. “You will have to allow me time to give your request some serious consideration.”
“Then you’ll entertain it? Oh, thank you, sir. To me, that is clearly tantamount to a yes. I knew you would honor your word to me. A man who has been prime minister and now heads the even more important position of England’s home secretary, has earned his place in history, to be sure.”
Viscount Sidmouth had the look of a helpless bear whose foot was caught in a trap, but Olivia gave him no chance to wriggle out of it. “Be assured I shall reveal our conversation to no one, my lord. My lips are sealed.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Forgive me for taking such a liberty, my lord, but you do remind me of my beloved father, the Duke of Heatham. Do you know him?”
“Tony Fairchild? We went to Oxford together.”
“You see? I knew there was a positive connection between us!” She stood up without letting go of his hand. “I shall make you proud of your decision when you allow me to be the first woman to enter your training program. It’s getting late, my lord. I must leave you, for my dear father is waiting to take me home.”
When she reached the terrace door, Olivia turned to wave to the viscount. She wasn’t surprised to find him looking confused, his brow lined with worry.
When Sebastian found the home secretary seated on the terrace bench where Olivia had left him, the old man was in a thoughtful pose.
“Are you all right, my lord? I’ve come to escort you home.”
“Oh, it’s you, Brooks. Yes. I’m fine.”
“It’s growing late, sir. Are you ready to leave? Shall I call for your carriage?”
“In a moment.” He raised his eyes to the spymaster and patted the seat next to him. “Tell me about your new training program, Brooks. Has it begun yet?”
Sebastian wondered why the viscount showed such a sudden interest when he never had before. “We hope to begin next week, sir, but…”
“Is there a problem?”
“Nothing we can’t resolve, sir. We’re one man short of our quota.”
The two sat side by side, the viscount lost in thought, Sebastian unable to decide whether the old gentleman was growing forgetful or whether he had something pressing on his mind.
“Let me ask you something, spymaster.”
“My lord?”
“No. Not now. See me Monday, Brooks.”
“Of course, sir.”
“You may escort me to my carriage.”
When he had handed the home secretary in, Sebastian folded the steps, closed the door, nodded to the driver, and stepped out of the way, all the while wondering what was on the old man’s mind.
Chapter Two
London—Monday, The Twenty-fourth of June
“Afternoon, sir.”
“Sit,” Viscount Sidmouth said. The home secretary, a short man, was conscious of his lack of height. Both the enormous desk and the high-back leather chair in which he sat were raised on a platform. The elevation was a reminder to visitors of who was in charge.
Sidmouth templed his fingers. “Tell me all about your new recruits.”
The old man’s up to something. Better tread carefully. But what? “Well sir, at twenty-two, the oldest is John Carter, a battle-smart soldier. We can expect good things from him. The next is Harold Perkins, aged twenty-one. A brilliant mind and a whiz at codes and deciphers. He’s one of Aaron Foster’s protégés. The youngest man—a likeable lad—is eighteen. Rufus Riggs was under my command. He acquitted himself well during the war. In fact, he was awarded a medal for bravery. And finally, we have a matched set.” Sebastian grinned.
“Matched set? What do you mean?”
“Identical twins, sir. Robert and William Reed are twenty-year-old country boys. None of us can tell them