Three, Adam thought, but held his tongue.
“It will be useful to have the resources of the Home Office and the duke engaged. But—to be clear—our priorities are paramount. We ensure the safety of the nation, and we want her to work for us. I’ll want reports as well.”
“What do you want her to do?”
“Nothing for now. We have some measures yet to put into place. If we are to embark on this, we wish to be able to carry it through. But in the interim, we don’t want to lose her skill. I don’t know how she does it, but we have no one else who can recognize any voice she’s ever heard.”
“You’ll have to come up with a way to convince her—if I find her.” Adam shrugged as if uncertain.
“Ah, that part’s already in place.” Joe sounded self-satisfied.
Suspicion twisted in Adam’s stomach, but he said nothing.
Joe waited, then seeming satisfied with Adam’s silence, he continued. “It seems both you and Lady Emmeline have disputed inheritances. When her ladyship didn’t appear for the ceremony, her cousin Mrs. Cane looked pleased, quite pleased, indeed.”
The wind blew cold through the carriage yard, and those remaining outside hurried into the manor house.
Adam thought of Em, waiting in the forest, with only her shawl for warmth. “Each minute I delay will make finding Lady Emmeline more difficult.”
“Yes, of course.” Joe patted Adam’s forearm as a footman made his way from Jeffreys toward them. “I anticipate only one problem.”
“Only one?” Adam’s patience was at an end. He needed to join Em.
“This time, you might lose your heart entirely.” His commander raised his hand in greeting to another man, and, nodding, walked quickly away.
Chapter Six
“He’ll do it.” Joseph Pasten lifted a basket filled with food into the carriage. Shutting the door behind him, Joe settled into his seat. “But I still think it’s a bad idea. His feelings for Lady Emmeline divide his loyalties.”
Mr. James, Joe’s superior officer and the mastermind of the Home Office, waited inside the carriage, his legs outstretched on the seat, his back bolstered by pillows. If it hadn’t been for Joe’s care, he would have died at Waterloo. But, even so, the ravages of his wounds couldn’t be hidden or overlooked. The tip of a sword had destroyed his once-handsome face, splitting it open from forehead to jaw, barely missing his eye, but slicing through the edge of his mouth. The parts had knit together unevenly, joined along the length by a thick, uneven scar. Seen from one side, he was still an angel; from the other, the devil himself.
“You may be right. I had predicted he would stay away.” Mr. James shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. “But we should be grateful. Had Montclair remained in town, my brother—I mean Lord Colin—would likely be married now.”
“You don’t usually make such a mistake.” Joe shifted the pillows that supported Mr. James’s back and leg and rearranged the blanket across his legs. “It wasn’t wise to come, Benjamin. It puts too much strain on your body.”
“I’ll survive—I always do with you to care for me.” When Benjamin smiled, his cheek from the edge of his mouth to his ear remained motionless, making him appear either clownish or terrifying, depending on the light. “I wanted to see my family together. The worst thing about being dead is missing all the gatherings: weddings, holidays, births, deaths.”
“They mourn you even now, Aidan most of all. Perhaps it’s time to tell one of them you are alive. Lady Judith could keep your secret.” Joe knew that the argument would go nowhere, but he had to try. “Or Lord Clive. He is known to be a fine surgeon. He could look at your leg.”
“If Aidan would remain duke and let me live in the shadows, I would try. But he would insist on stepping aside. I would be miserable as duke, and you as well.” Benjamin leaned forward to put his hand on Joe’s knee. “Death has its advantages, Joe. I have my family in you.”
Moved with sudden emotion, Joe tapped the ceiling, and the carriage began to move out of the yard. “I merely follow the Prince Regent’s orders. I’m to take good care of the hero who died for his country and now spends his afterlife in a hidden office suite, poring over information the way Wellington used to pore over maps.”
“So you have told me.” Benjamin leaned his head back, tired. “And you rarely make such a mistake with my name either. I’m Mr. James now, remember.”
“I’m too old to change.” Joe traced the lines of exhaustion and pain in Benjamin’s face. “As for Lady Emmeline and Montclair, I’m not certain this plan is going to work. It requires Lady Emmeline’s cooperation, and that didn’t end well before.”
“Yes, but Montclair is the only man Lord Colin would trust to manage the search. Anyone else, and Lord Colin would have felt obligated to search for her himself. Besides, if she’s given us such a gift as to run away from her estate and her obligations, we should take advantage of it. With Charters extending his reach across the country and the Continent, we must find him.”
“I told Montclair we have a plan to ensure her cooperation.” Joe removed two plates and some table linen from a drawer beneath the seat, then took several jars and packages of food from the basket.
“We’ll need the help of a solicitor for it to work.” Benjamin watched Joe prepare their meal, his hands deliberate and efficient.
“I wish you’d mentioned that.” Joe buttered a slice of bread and handed it to Benjamin. “Aldine was here escorting Miss Equiano.”
“No, we’ll need someone more willing to twist the law to suit our ends.” Benjamin took a bite of his bread, then closed his eyes.
“That’s half the lawyers at the Inns of Court.”
“Then choose one of those.” Benjamin’s smile split across the sides of his face, half warm, half terrifying. “We need one especially good at breaking wills.”
Chapter Seven
Jeffreys led Adam to the estate study and shut the door tight behind them.
The room was filled with trunks, all labeled Somerville. Adam could easily imagine their contents—he had three sisters, after all. But his sisters were not aristocrats, and, even combined, their trousseaus wouldn’t fill so many. The trunks were a striking reminder of what he’d never been able to forget: the great chasm between his place in society and Emmeline’s.
Queen Bess lay before the fire, her head resting on an overstuffed valise, her paws crossed regally before her. Her damaged leg—saved, he’d heard, by Lady Lucy’s skill at sewing up wounds—seemed mostly healed. The fur almost covered the long scar from her knee to her ankle. Beside her sat an old-fashioned leather pack.
“Ah, Mr. Montclair.” Jeffreys gestured to the leather pack. “It seemed reasonable that an old soldier would carry an old pack.”
“It depends.” Adam stared at the bag. “What war is it from?”
“I believe Queen Anne’s.”
Adam laughed.
Jeffreys didn’t.
Adam leaned over to scratch Bess’s head. The dog wriggled happily, moving Adam’s hand down her neck, between her shoulders, down her back, and then, with a giant twist, across to her belly. It was like trying to catch the rainbow’s end: his destination was always just a bit farther on. He patted Bess’s head in parting, and she lay back down next to the valise.
He picked up the pack, surprised at its weight, and slung it over his shoulder, settling it into a position familiar