Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 7: Spinster

Part seven in a Christian Regency Romantic Adventure serial novel with a supernatural twist

Miss Lena Penrose is no ordinary paid companion. Behind her composed exterior, she is one of England’s most trusted spies.

Assigned to the quiet village of Wittenden, Lena, her charge Miss Melinda Neybridge, and two members of Sol Drydale’s team must uncover the identity of a hidden enemy among the local gentry—one who could bring down England’s defenses. However, they have not one suspect—but three.

Lena’s task becomes even more complicated when she’s reunited with Barron Vipond, a man from her past with dangerous secrets of his own. Is his presence mere coincidence, or is Barron entangled in the very conspiracy she’s been sent to stop?

In a village rife with secrets, Lena navigates house parties, unexpected visitors, and the schemes of those intent on sowing discord. Lena’s faith is tested, and she finds her love and loyalty colliding.

As the team closes in on the traitor, they must act quickly—before the Citadel realizes spies have infiltrated their ranks.

PLEASE NOTE: Like the novels published in Jane Austen’s time, this is a novel in multiple parts, projected to be 12 volumes. Each volume has a completed story arc, but this is NOT a stand-alone novel and the story ends on a cliffhanger.

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Excerpt

Prologue

Portsmouth, England

Maxham was bored.

It didn’t help that he hated Portsmouth and the surrounding area. The wind bit sharply, and the air smelled too strongly of fish.

At the moment, he was simply waiting. He’d ridden several hours, only to discover the information he sought in less than an hour. He’d had an unexpected side errand, but that had been quickly taken care of, despite the fact it was broad daylight.

His horse was too tired for him to return to London immediately, so he headed into Portsmouth to look into booking a seat on the mail coach.

The next one would leave soon, but it was very full and he’d be cramped inside. He’d become more sensitive to smells the longer he took Ward’s potion (he refused to call it by the ridiculous name Ward had given to it), and being wedged into a coach with so many strange odors would curdle his stomach. So he decided to wait until his horse recovered.

He hadn’t been back to Portsmouth or the surrounding areas in more than two years, but he’d come because of a rumor that had reached him only yesterday through the various webs of communication that he maintained. So he’d hied himself to the little fishing village, questioned his sources, and discovered it was true. 

He’d never met Brigitte Despréaux, but her reputation was rather infamous, and a tiny, buxom woman with straight, fine, ice-blonde hair had been spotted in the small village, having just disembarked from a smuggler’s boat with four male lackeys. Certainly, it was not necessarily her, but Maxham had reason to expect the emperor to send someone to England eventually, so he’d had his sources keep their eyes open and report to him about anyone from France who might be just a tad more unusual than most.

Since Brigitte answered only to the emperor, she could be on these shores for any number of reasons. But Maxham’s source had overheard a snatch of conversation, complaints about “the botanist’s sensitive stomach” from the Channel crossing.

That told him exactly why she was here. Napoleon had sent her to steal from Maxham’s group.

Ward was going to be livid, but Maxham couldn’t really blame the emperor. After all, why not try to recreate the potion himself rather than paying someone else?

Unfortunately, before Maxham left London, he hadn’t bothered to leave a note for Jack, since at the time, he hadn’t known if it had truly been Brigitte who had been sighted, nor had he known anything about her purpose. However, he hoped to return to London tonight to warn his compatriot to guard his greenhouses.

He had judged that the news was not so urgent that he would need to endure the discomfort of the mail coach—after all, Jack had taken great pains to hide the location of his London greenhouse, and even if Maxham arrived at Jack’s new place of business at this very moment, there was little chance he’d speak to Jack in person. He was rarely there in the mornings, and he was notorious for showing up whenever he felt like it. Even if Maxham left a message, it could be days before he read it.

Also, as insurance, Maxham had sought out the smugglers who had brought her and her crew to these shores, and killed them.

He had nothing against them—they were merely making a living, after all—but it would inconvenience Brigitte to find that her ride back to France was no longer available. Maxham felt it his duty to inconvenience her, seeing as she was here to steal from them.

So, stuck in Portsmouth, he headed into an inn and arranged to stable his horse. Strangely, the interior of the building looked familiar to him, as did the portly innkeeper.

Even more unusual, the innkeeper recognized him. With a wide smile, he said, “Welcome. Back again, sir?”

So he had been here before. He remembered vague snatches of conversation, so to test his theory, he asked, “How is your red-haired daughter?”

The innkeeper chuckled. “Thank ye for asking, sir. Married last year, she was, and a babe on the way already.”

It was early for lunch, but Maxham requested a meal and a pint of ale, and he settled in a table near the window, his back to the wall so that he had a full view of the common room, which was only half-full. He tried peering out the window, but the glass panes were wavy and not very clean. There was little traffic on the road that ran outside the inn.

Portsmouth was a busier town than the small fishing village he’d left, and he preferred the bustle of people and vehicles. But it was probably fortunate that the small village had made strangers stand out, especially as it was known a smuggler’s boat would arrive with the tides high and the new moon out. So Brigitte and her men had been easily noticed.

Unfortunately, Maxham would have been noticed this morning, also, even though he only spoke to his source—the owner of a tavern in the small fishing village—for barely fifteen minutes. He was more accustomed to fading into the background. It had made him unwontedly self-conscious when the innkeeper had recognized him, which was itself odd since most people’s eyes slid right over him.

For many years he had wished he wasn’t invisible. Now he found himself becoming nervous if he was noticed like any other person.

Like the innkeeper had been, the taproom was familiar to him. The fireplace had one brick that was a paler white color than the rest, and the room had a faint smell of cinnamon from the innkeeper’s wife’s spice cakes, which were popular.

Maxham sipped his pint and stared out the window. He recognized the dressmaker’s shop across the street from two years ago, when he’d been searching for Mifflin’s wife.

They had tracked her through several towns and finally lost her in this one. Maxham didn’t know if she even entered Portsmouth. He remembered kicking the stones at the base of the dressmaker’s building, feeling the frustration buzz through him like bees under his skin.

She had only been an hour ahead of them by the time they reached the village before Portsmouth. Their close proximity had perhaps made them arrogant, and looking back, Maxham thought they might have mistaken the direction she traveled.

In recognizing the dressmaker’s shop, his mind drifted back through the unsuccessful chase. He recalled the different villages they’d passed through, the steps they’d taken, the information they’d found about Mifflin’s wife at each stop.

And then they’d reached Portsmouth, and there had been nothing.

But time had mellowed his frustration, or perhaps it was also the ale and the relaxing luncheon. His thoughts drifted to what they might have done differently, and then it occurred to him that perhaps he was starting from the wrong end.

He signaled the innkeeper and requested paper and pen, then he proceeded to write a letter to Jack, telling him about Brigitte but also asking for the name of the village where they had first seen Mifflin’s wife, at the start of the chase. If he was lucky, Jack would receive his letter quickly, although it often irritated Maxham how difficult it could be to contact him.

Even as he penned the message, he could imagine Jack’s inevitable annoyance, because finding the answer would be tedious. But he knew Jack would do it.

He gave the innkeeper the message and some coin and asked for an express rider to carry it with all speed to London.

Even though the trail was two years old, he might still find something. Maxham didn’t like having loose ends.

Chapter 1

Five weeks later

Wittenden, England

The spy sat on the sofa in Lady Faine’s drawing room and mangled the embroidery she was attempting to sew on the white linen handkerchief.

Outside the long drawing-room windows, the late spring sunlight was almost garish as it drowned out the colors of the rose garden. Insects created lazy patterns as they flew among the bushes, and only occasionally did they hear the chirping of birds.

Miss Lena Penrose floundered at her embroidery, but she was rescued by Lady Faine, sitting across from her.

“My dear Miss Penrose,” Lady Faine said with a bright smile, “I perceive that you have made a mistake in your embroidery. Would you like me to fix it for you?”

“I would be ever so grateful if you would.” Lena was so grateful she practically flung the mess of embroidery silks at her hostess, only then noticing that she had two needles strung on two different colors of silk.

Lady Faine looked down at the handkerchief and hesitated. Then she plucked her shiny scissors from her work-basket and began ruthlessly cutting threads until it looked like a colorful bird’s nest.

Lena felt rather sorry for the handkerchief.

It was strange to be sitting here in this domestic scenario. When she had first heard the details of her mission a few days ago, she had assumed this would be like other assignments—infiltrating a household under the guise of a servant, or posing as a curious stranger in a small village and encouraging people to share tidbits of gossip with her.

She had not expected to be asked to pose as … not quite as herself, but as the version of herself she had adopted for the past several years. And that made her far more nervous than she expected.

It was not simply that she felt a trifle more exposed than normal, answering to “Miss Penrose” just as she did in the safety of the Neybridges’ home in London rather than to a false name for her assignment. No, her unease was sitting on the sofa next to her.

Miss Melinda Neybridge, to whom Lena served as a companion, expertly tied off a thread on her own embroidery, which was far neater and prettier than Lena’s. “I must thank you again, my lady, for allowing us to quite invade your household for several weeks.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” Lady Faine said as she continued snipping silks. “You know that we are always pleased to have you and your father and Miss Penrose to stay with us at any time, but you arrived so suddenly. If you had written a few weeks earlier to warn us, I could have invited some other young people, perhaps even the daughters of some of my close friends, to join us for a house party to entertain you.”

“That is not necessary, my lady,” Melinda said. “My father’s business came up very suddenly. We are ever so grateful that when he realized he would need to stay near Wittenden, he was able to take the opportunity to write to your husband to ask him if we may stay with you, thereby combining his business with a long overdue visit.”

That was the story they had fabricated while they were still in London. Melinda’s father, Mr. Wilfred Neybridge, had received an urgent mission from his superiors at the Ramparts, a secret branch of the Alien Office. A treasonous group had sent a young prostitute into the area of Wittenden, accompanied by an older woman as a companion. She was likely posing as a young lady of quality.

Lena, as one of the few gently-bred female agents in the Ramparts, had been sent along with her superior, Mr. Neybridge, to uncover her identity.

Ever since Lena had begun work for the Ramparts, she had only worked with other agents, usually her supervisor, Mr. Neybridge. Melinda had always been aware of her father’s and companion’s clandestine work, but she had never traveled with them or been exposed to any danger. Mr. Neybridge had taken great pains to protect her from his work.

But now, Melinda’s presence was necessary in order for Mr. Neybridge and Lena to accomplish the task that had been assigned to them. While they would have fabricated any sort of reason to enter the area, the Neybridges were family friends with the Faines, who lived in Wittenden. They could not visit without Melinda, and so she had come along.

Lena hoped she would be able to protect her if things grew dangerous—but they’d been assured that this was a simple mission to gather information. In all likelihood, Melinda would not come to harm.

And while she didn’t like involving Melinda in this business, she was still grateful for her presence at the moment. Melinda’s long-standing relationship with their hostess was sure to induce her to unbend enough to gossip about any new faces in the neighborhood.

“It has been much too long since we last saw you,” Lady Faine said.

“Why, the last time I came, there was only Rebecca to play with,” Melinda said.

“Is that so? Then that means that you have not been to Wittenden since before Robina was born. That is disgraceful. I am very glad to have several weeks with you now. Miss Penrose, you and Mr. Neybridge did not join Melinda on her last visit,” Lady Faine remarked.

The last time, Melinda had been sent to stay with the Faines because Lena and Mr. Neybridge had traveled to Portugal to deliver secret orders to Major-General Wellesley.

“It was my fault, I fear, my lady,” Melinda said. “I gave Lena a holiday so that she may visit her family.”

Lena’s hands lay unseen in the folds of her gown pooled at her lap, so no one saw her tighten them briefly. The word family had quite a different meaning to her than it did to other people. Feelings most intense, most painful.

“You have been Melinda’s companion for many years, have you not?”

“Twelve years, my lady,” Lena said. Without the torturous embroidery, her hands were growing fidgety. If she were at home with Melinda, she could practice her lock-picking skills, but Lady Faine would likely be scandalized if she did that.

“In fact, it is nearly Lena’s birthday,” Melinda said. She gave Lena a smile, but there was an excitement behind it that hinted at something more in her words.

“Truly?” Lady Faine studied Lena’s face. “I declare, you look to be nearly Melinda’s age.”

Lena laughed merrily. “That is very kind of you, my lady. I am not ashamed to admit that I am nearly twenty-nine years old.”

Lady Faine paused in picking at Lena’s embroidery. “How extraordinary. Such a youthful face you have.” She gave a sigh. “I am quite glad the two of you are here to play with the girls. It has been quite tiring for me, at my age.”

The Faines had married late and also had children late. Lady Faine was the same age as Mr. Neybridge.

“Nonsense, my lady,” Lena said. “You are as hale as I remember.”

Lady Faine smiled. “All the same, I am quite glad that the Salloways are hosting a house party at the moment with several young people. It shall make the neighborhood more lively for the two of you.”

Lena was rather touched that Lady Faine included her. Most disregarded a mere companion, which suited Lena since her job as an agent was aided if she was not easily seen.

“The Salloways?” Lena asked, helping herself to another lemon biscuit from the tea tray. “Are they neighbors of yours, my lady?”

“Sir Huxley Salloway, baronet.” Lady Faine’s eyes crossed slightly as she frowned at a mound of silks that looked like a woman’s towering headdress. “He inherited Morley Lodge two or three years ago when old Sir Nesbit died.”

“I seem to recall that Sir Nesbit kept to himself,” Lena said, but too late she saw Melinda give a subtle warning shake of her head.

“A recluse and terrible grump, my dear.” Lady Faine gave a particularly sharp snip! of her scissors. “He never socialized. He even turned Sir Gilbert away when he went to complain about flooding in the east fields. Wouldn’t even deign to see him.”

Lady Faine looked to be whipping herself into a mound of irritation, so Lena quickly asked, “And Sir Huxley …?”

“Oh, Sir Huxley has been a wonderful neighbor. He is unmarried, but he assumed guardianship of his niece when his sister and her husband died. Since he has no sons, the title will go to his cousin, Mr. David Salloway. He has invited Mr. Salloway and his family along with other young gentlemen and ladies for a house party for the next several weeks.”

“It is a trifle early, as the Season in London has not yet ended,” Melinda said.

“But it is winding down,” Lady Faine said. “Miss Salloway, Sir Huxley’s ward, was presented this year, but she returned home early from the Season. Although that may have been to prepare for the party.”

“Will it be very large?” Lena asked.

“They have not yet all arrived, but it is rumored to be five young ladies and five young gentlemen,” Lady Faine said. “Goodness knows, the Salloways have the room for it, in their ancestral pile. Sir Huxley had to spend vast amounts of money to repair the castle when he inherited the title from Sir Nesbit.”

Although the Salloways would not knowingly invite anyone who was not good ton, it was entirely possible that the prostitute, Miss Dinorah Seiles, inveigled her way into a particular party and met the Salloways, coaxing an invitation to the house party. Supposedly Dinorah was able to pose as a woman much younger than her age—she had ordered dresses suitable for a girl making her debut and had even sacked her lady’s maid, probably in order to hire one more genteel. She had easily managed to pose as a gentlewoman and attend various ton parties.

“That sounds like quite a merry group,” Lena said. “Are there many other young people in the neighborhood who could join them?”

“The squire’s daughters have married and moved away, and the Jarnells’ three daughters are only one or two years out of the schoolroom—they will surely seem like veritable babes to you.”

Lena did all she could to suppress a smile while Melinda exerted the same amount of effort not to grimace. Employer and companion were both considered to be “on the shelf,” and while neither felt a strong desire to marry at the moment, Melinda had had her share of Mr. Neybridge’s relatives nagging her about her “advanced age.”

Lady Faine continued, “And of course Mrs. Aldred will be pushing her son on every eligible young woman. She was speaking quite avidly about him when I told her that you were coming, Melinda.”

Melinda had a long-suffering expression, and Lena knew she was attempting to keep herself from groaning out loud. From what she had told Lena about her last visit with Lady Faine, she had had quite enough of Mr. Denley Aldred, thank you very much.

She apparently knew Lena was hiding her snickering, because she said in an overly sweet voice, “Perhaps Mrs. Aldred’s son will find Lena to his taste rather than myself.”

Lady Faine caught Lena’s horrified look and chuckled softly. “Fear not, Mrs. Aldred will cast her net wide over all the new young ladies.” She suddenly stopped work on Lena’s handkerchief and blinked rapidly as she thought. “In fact, I believe I heard about one of the houses being to let recently …”

“Oh?” Lena asked. “Has someone else moved to Wittenden?”

But at that moment, the sound of a carriage approaching the house could be heard through the open drawing room windows. Lena peered out, but the view only showed the garden and the barest edge of the front driveway, not enough to view the vehicle.

“I wonder who could be visiting,” Lady Faine said, putting away Lena’s mangled embroidery. “I have not yet spoken to any of our neighbors about your visit.” Her wide smile brimmed with mischief and a hint of superiority. “At our gathering this evening, I intended to surprise our guests with your presence. Ooh, Mrs. Jarnell will be gnashing her teeth behind a close-lipped smile, because she had been hoping her girls would be the only ones in the neighborhood aiming to catch the attention of the young men at the house party.”

“I would think the young ladies at the house party would be aiming to catch the attention of the young men,” Melinda said.

“Yes, but she believes her daughters to be far superior in beauty and taste to any strays Miss Salloway picked up in London.”

“She might well find herself dismayed by the beauty and taste of the supposed ‘strays,’” Lena said.

“Oh, I am counting upon it, my dear,” Lady Faine said with an arch smile.

From the deep voice they heard from the entrance hall downstairs, the visitor was a man, but they couldn’t discern his words as he spoke to the butler.

Lena could have wished for better timing of the new visitor. Simply thirty minutes later, and she would have had the information from Lady Faine about possible new neighbors who could be Dinorah Seiles in disguise.

“Oh dear,” Lady Faine said. “Sir Gilbert is out in his fields at the moment with Wilfrid.”

“Perhaps he will return later,” Lena said, hopeful of that outcome. Although knowing her luck, yet another carriage would drive up as soon as she asked Lady Faine about her new neighbors.

Curiously, light footsteps indicated the butler approaching just before he scratched on the door and entered. “My lady, Mr. Thornwell has arrived. He has said that he is a new neighbor.”

Lena and Melinda looked at each other, both of them with eyebrows raised. Yet another new resident in Wittenden?

“Sir Gilbert is not here,” Lady Faine said.

“When I informed him of that fact, he indicated he wished to greet the lady of the household and that he is an acquaintance of the Neybridges.”

Lena kept a polite but curious expression on her face, but her entire body grew rigid with tension. She had been a companion to Melinda for twelve years now, and she knew a great deal more about the Neybridge family and acquaintance than a typical servant. She had met all the same relatives that Melinda visited over the years, and since he was entrusting her with his daughter’s safety, Mr. Neybridge had told her about any relatives she had not yet seen.

And since he was her superior officer within the Ramparts, he had pointed out agents with whom he had worked, and even agents he didn’t know personally but whom he cautioned her to stay away from. As a result, she knew a fair number of the members of the Ramparts, more than a typical agent.

She had never met a Mr. Thornwell. And none of their acquaintance should know the Neybridges were in Wittenden.

Perhaps this was an agent going by another name, sent with a message for Mr. Neybridge. But if so, why hadn’t he gone by one of a dozen secret keywords given to Lena and Mr. Neybridge so that they would recognize any Ramparts agents sent with messages for them?

Unless …

Within the department walls, most of the agents went by false names to protect the Ramparts should any be captured, but Lena happened to know the true identities of a few of them. The actual surname of one agent, Mr. Clay, was Thornwell.

Lena rather disliked him but had been forced to work with him on several occasions. However, because of the clandestine nature of the Ramparts department, Lena and Mr. Clay treated each other as strangers if they met in public. He had certainly not been formally introduced to Melinda.

And if this was not the Mr. Clay—or rather, the Mr. Thornwell she knew, then this man claiming to know the Neybridges was lying.

Melinda looked confused and glanced at Lena with raised eyebrows. To Lady Faine, she said, “I am afraid I am not acquainted with him.”

“Perhaps he is known to Mr. Neybridge,” Lena said. “We should greet him, if you would not mind, my lady.”

Melinda turned to Lena with eyebrows raised. “Oh yes,” she said in a flat voice, “I so enjoy meeting complete strangers in the absence of my father.”

Lena turned to her with a too-wide smile and an aggressive twitch of her eyebrow. “If he is indeed an acquaintance of Mr. Neybridge, would it not be better to see his face so that we may tell your father all about him later?”

“You mustn’t be so distrusting, my dear Melinda. I’m certain he is a perfectly nice man.” Lady Faine nodded to the butler, who withdrew.

“And you have your companion to protect you with her life,” Lena added. Her smile was sweet, but she gave Melinda a sharp look.

The young woman’s smile faltered, but she heard the unspoken command. In the face of any danger, she was to heed Lena’s instructions and escape. Hopefully, it would not come to that.

Soon, they heard the heavy footsteps as the man followed the servant to the first floor drawing room.

“Mr. Thornwell, my lady,” the butler announced.

The man who entered the living room was tall. He had dark hair with gold highlights, and he was smiling, but the smile somehow did not reach his green eyes, which were hard like emeralds. He had a rugged face, which might have been handsome if his eyes had been warmer. Strangely, he looked to be forcing himself to be charming. Despite his fine dark blue coat and embroidered waistcoat, which indicated him to be a modest but wealthy gentleman of the ton, the man would have looked more in place on a battlefield.

“My lady, thank you for receiving me.” He bowed. “I apologize for this improper introduction. I am Mr. Thornwell. My sister and I are moving into the area for a few weeks.”

The ladies had risen to their feet as he entered, and Lena had to concentrate to keep her hands softly folded in front of her. Her heartbeat raced in her chest.

This was not Mr. Clay. She had been an agent for the Ramparts for almost eight years, and despite most of the other agents, she had never seen this man before.

He was a stranger. Who had somehow known that the Neybridges were here, in Wittenden.

Chapter 2

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Thornwell.” Lady Faine’s eyes glittered with excitement as she took in his handsome, noble appearance.

Lena could almost see the machinations whirling in her ladyship’s head like a flock of circling sparrows. And they all involved bringing Mr. Thornwell into close proximity with Melinda. After all, he had mentioned his sister, but not a wife.

“Allow me to introduce Miss Neybridge and her companion, Miss Penrose,” Lady Faine said. “But perhaps you are already acquainted with Melinda?”

“Alas, no.” Mr. Thornwell bowed in Melinda’s direction. “I have met your father at his club, the Ivory Ramparts. I have played many a rousing game of chess with him.”

Many of the club members had no idea that the chess rooms had been built as a facade to hide one of the entrances to the Ramparts headquarters. However, while Mr. Neybridge was officially a member, he rarely actually played chess with other men at the club. Mr. Neybridge’s skill at the game was utterly horrible.

“It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Neybridge. Your father often spoke of how your beauty could rival a rose garden, but now I see he did little justice to the truth.”

Lena had to concentrate, but she managed to keep her face entirely composed. Melinda, on the other hand, looked as though she was trying not to gag.

Despite his flowery words, Lena had the distinct impression that he was unused to speaking such flattery, and they sounded like lines from a play. Which, of course, made him seem as suspicious as if he’d been caught trying to sneak into the house.

Lady Faine gestured to the seats in front of the fireplace, which was empty due to the pleasant weather today. Despite the hostess’s attempted maneuvering, Lena managed to sit next to Mr. Thornwell, leaving Melinda to sit across from them next to Lady Faine.

Her ladyship didn’t quite hide her disgruntlement, but Melinda shot Lena an understanding look. Melinda was not usually with Lena and Mr. Neybridge for their missions, but they had nonetheless trained her in how to react should a dangerous situation arise.

Lena could trust Melinda to forcefully pull Lady Faine from the room should things become violent, but she also didn’t think she could persevere for very long in a fight with Mr. Thornwell because of his height and weight.

She pretended to adjust her shawl in order to slide her hand into a concealed opening in the folds of her gown. Her stays had been outfitted with a special sheath to contain a small knife, which she slowly removed.

Mr. Thornwell glanced at her, and she could have sworn that he somehow knew that she had armed herself.

“How long have you known my father, Mr. Thornwell?” Melinda asked sweetly, although Lena heard the edge to her voice. “He has not mentioned your name to me.”

“I met Mr. Neybridge only within the last week,” Mr. Thornwell said.

“Last week!” Lady Faine said. “How fortuitous that you should meet him just before you both happened to stay in the same county.”

“Yes, very fortuitous,” Lena said.

“I am grateful for the coincidence,” Mr. Thornwell said. “We were introduced by Mr. Drydale.”

The mention of the name of Mr. Neybridge’s fellow officer made her relax her death-grip on the hilt of her knife. She had worked with Mr. Drydale before and found him an honorable man and an excellent agent.

“It is one of the reasons I came here today. I was hoping to speak to Mr. Neybridge,” Mr. Thornwell said, reaching into his coat pocket.

Lena tensed until she saw him remove a small object loosely wrapped in a white silk cloth.

“On the day I met Mr. Neybridge, directly after he had left the Ivory Ramparts, I happened to notice that he left his pocket watch behind,” Mr. Thornwell said. “I was about to relinquish it to the club management to return to him when Mr. Drydale mentioned that I could return it to Mr. Neybridge directly. Mr. Drydale was aware that my sister and I would be removing to Wittenden soon, and he informed me that Mr. Neybridge would be staying nearby at Sir Gilbert Faine’s home.”

Mr. Thornwell unwrapped the silk to reveal a very nice but unfamiliar pocket watch. Mr. Neybridge’s pocket watch was an old family heirloom, while this one was newer and had more delicate etchings in the metal.

He handed the watch to Melinda. “I was surprised to find that your father’s watch is an original design by Prettejohn.”

The air rushed out of Lena’s lungs in a long, low sigh of relief. “Prettejohn” had been one of the Ramparts keywords. Mr. Thornwell was indeed an agent. She realized that he had not used it as his surname because he would be moving into the area and likely needed a particular identity.

Lena smiled more naturally at him. “I am impressed you recognized the maker, Mr. Thornwell. Mr. Neybridge is fond of that watch.”

Melinda’s shoulders also relaxed as she accepted the watch, wrapping it back up in the silk hastily in case Lady Faine noticed it was not his normal one. “Thank you for returning it, Mr. Thornwell. I shall give it to my father.”

Lady Faine asked, “Mr. Thornwell, whereabouts in Wittenden are you and your sister residing?”

“We are related to Colonel Raddon, my lady. He is leaving early to go fishing in Scotland for the summer, and he has allowed us to stay at Raddon Lodge.”

“The colonel is quite passionate about his fishing,” Lady Faine said.

“We are indebted to him for enabling us to move in at such short notice,” he said. “My sister is rather frail and sickly, and the doctor suggested that she retire to the country for a few months to restore her health.”

“The weather here in Wittenden is quite mild,” Lady Faine said. “I am certain your sister will recover quickly.”

“We both expect the same,” he said. “I came yesterday to prepare the house for Bella, who will arrive in a few days. We are looking forward to socializing with the neighborhood, once she is feeling better.”

“You are in luck,” Lady Faine said. “There are many young people who have come into the area at this time.”

“That is indeed quite fortunate.” Mr. Thornwell gave a charming smile to Melinda. “I, too, find that the company of new friends gives me great pleasure, particularly in such delightful circumstances.”

Melinda’s replying smile was stiff, but Lady Faine looked over the moon.

There was again that lack of gilding to his smiles and fulsome compliments, which made it seem as though he were but lackluster in his attempts. But now that Lena knew he was an agent, she wondered if perhaps he made amorous advances toward Melinda in order to establish his character as a flirt. No one would consider it unusual for such an attentive gallant to speak to practically every woman, young and not so young. He would be ideally placed to ferret out the prostitute, Miss Dinorah Seiles.

Mr. Thornwell’s eyes strayed to the open drawing room windows, where the afternoon sunlight streamed through and pooled golden on the richly colored Axminster carpet. “As I was driving up to your home, I noticed that you have a lovely garden,” he said to Lady Faine. Then he turned to Melinda. “Miss Neybridge, the roses cannot hope to match your radiance, but perhaps you would grace them with your presence on a stroll with me?”

Lena was certain she’d heard at least two other London bucks repeat exactly the same phrase to Melinda at garden parties, but she set aside her critique of his wooing since this would enable them to hear if he had messages from the Ramparts for them.

“I’m certain Melinda would love to do so,” Lady Faine said excitedly.

Melinda looked to Lena first, and she gave her employer a subtle nod.

“I should be delighted.” Melinda rose to her feet. “Lena, will you accompany us?”

“There is no need for a chaperone, surely,” Lady Faine said. “We can see you clearly through the windows.”

“But I would dearly love for Lena’s company,” Melinda insisted.

“It will be twice the honor for me to have two lovely ladies on my arms,” Mr. Thornwell said.

Lady Faine looked slightly disgruntled when Lena stood, clearly hoping that Lena would have politely refused. However, Lena and Mr. Neybridge were more apprehensive about Melinda’s safety than they would be during a normal visit to the Faines, and she had been instructed to keep Lena close by no matter where she went. The garden paths seemed safe, but Lena preferred to go along, just in case.

She slipped her knife back into its sheath without anyone noticing as they made their way out a side door into the rose garden. Mr. Thornwell walked beside Melinda, but Lena held back in order to walk behind them, which would likely please Lady Faine. Lena preferred this position since she could clearly see Mr. Thornwell’s broad back and watch his hands for any sudden movements.

Insects buzzed lazily around them, and sometimes their aerial paths would waft upward from the hot air rising from the sun-baked flagstones. The heat made the scent of roses a strong perfume in Lena’s nose.

“The flowers are not as sweet as your lovely countenance,” Mr. Thornwell said. “Do you favor any particular bloom, Miss Neybridge?”

“The one with the most thorns,” Melinda snapped, although Lena could see that her profile still wore a polite mask.

Strangely, Mr. Thornwell laughed. “Indeed. You remind me very much of Bella.”

Lena suddenly realized why his amorous words seemed to lack a bit of conviction. When he spoke of Bella, his face softened almost imperceptibly. If he was indeed a Ramparts agent, Bella was likely not his true sister, and Lena wondered if they were close outside of their missions.

After several more turns of the garden path, Melinda called back to Lena, “Are we far enough from the house now, Lena?”

Lena bent to smell a rose so that she could casually glance back at the house. “When the path curves left, we shall be out of sight of the drawing room windows.”

They had barely stepped past the curve in the path when Melinda turned to Mr. Thornwell with a businesslike demeanor. “What message do you have for my father?”

Mr. Thornwell hesitated. “I was instructed to speak to him directly.”

“You will be unlikely to see him alone since he is with Sir Gilbert, unless you specifically request for privacy, but that might cause the Faines to become curious. To them, my father is a simple merchant, and he has come to visit them because he is making business arrangements with some nearby mills. It would be wiser to give the message to me, and then I may be able to relate it to my father later in private.”

Mr. Thornwell still hesitated, this time glancing at Lena.

“My companion is also an agent working under my father,” Melinda said in a lowered voice.

He nodded quickly, likely because he had suspected as such when she confirmed his story about the pocket watch earlier. “I apologize, Miss Neybridge. I underestimated your understanding of your father’s business.”

“Your expectations were entirely reasonable,” Lena said as she walked closer. “Unfortunately, Melinda likes to know more about her father’s business than is good for her.”

Melinda playfully made a face at her, then held out the silk-wrapped pocket watch to Mr. Thornwell. “This is very fine, but my father is already attached to his current watch.”

“I picked it up at a secondhand shop,” he said. “It might be better for you to give it to him to keep up the story.”

“Very well.” Melinda kept the object in her hand since she had no reticule.

Mr. Thornwell removed some folded papers from his coat but seemed undecided about the recipient. Melinda was eagerly reaching for them when Lena intercepted them. However, upon unfolding the sheets, she showed them to Melinda as well.

“You are aware that the Ramparts received word about Dinorah Seiles from Mr. Drydale’s informant?” Mr. Thornwell asked. “The same was able to speak to one of the seamstresses working for Dinorah’s dressmaker and acquire descriptions of several of the dresses she commissioned.” He gestured to the sheets, upon which were drawings of dresses.

“These dresses are all modest, appropriate for young women making their debut,” Lena said.

“These designs first appeared in some French fashion plates,” Melinda murmured, looking through the papers. “In fact, these look to have been copied exactly.”

“The dressmaker apparently has little experience with the attire of young ladies of society,” Mr. Thornwell said with a slight cough of embarrassment.

Meaning the modiste likely catered exclusively to ladybirds and mistresses.

“Unfortunately, they are among the most popular this Season,” Lena said. “Many women of all ages have worn them. Does the Ramparts know if Dinorah will continue to pose as a young woman, as she did in London?”

“Dinorah apparently sacked her uncouth lady’s maid and hired a more genteel one, so it is likely she will continue to pose as a young lady of quality in Wittenden,” Mr. Thornwell said. “And the neighbors across from Dinorah’s townhouse said that there was an older, respectable-looking woman in the carriage with her when she left town.”

“A chaperone for a young woman?” Lena guessed. “If Dinorah hired the woman, she may be unaware of the scheme. But if she poses as a mother for the youthful Dinorah, she is likely involved in the plan. She may even have ties with Apothecary Jack, just like Dinorah.”

Mr. Thornwell’s eyes darted to Melinda. “You have been informed about Apothecary Jack?” His voice had grown low and serious.

“When it became apparent that I must accompany him to Wittenden, my father included me when discussing the mission with Lena,” Melinda said in an equally serious voice. “He said that Apothecary Jack, a poisoner, hired Dinorah to come to Wittenden.”

“Jack distributes to his men a potion that gives superior strength and increases aggression.” Mr. Thornwell’s eyebrows drew down into a crooked V-shape. “I am concerned about your presence here, Miss Neybridge.”

“You are here to simply uncover information, is that not so?” Melinda asked.

“That is true, but …”

“Will there be men in Wittenden becoming violent while influenced by this potion?” Melinda’s voice quavered slightly.

Mr. Thornwell considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “He did not send his gang members here, he sent a woman in disguise. His plans here are likely more subtle than those he used in London. But while there may be less danger out here in the country, you would do well to be wary of anyone involved with such a vicious murderer.”

“I am not unprotected,” Melinda said. “Lena is not only my companion but also well-equipped to serve as my bodyguard.”

Lena braced herself for skepticism or disbelief, for she had often had occasion to suffer the sneers of her colleagues at the Ramparts. The other Mr. Thornwell—rather, Mr. Clay was also especially antagonistic because Lena had once bested him in a sparring bout, bruising his pride. After that incident, Mr. Clay would find a way to denigrate Lena’s abilities or contributions whenever presented with an opportunity, but especially in front of their peers and superior officers.

Mr. Clay had some slender ties to the aristocracy and was quick to put down those he considered inferior to himself. It was ironic because while he was quick to curry favor with the nobility, yet he treated Lena with such contempt, unaware of her true identity.

However, this Mr. Thornwell did not respond in the least like Mr. Clay in London. “I can believe that you are so skilled, Miss Penrose, for you were quite vigilant when I first arrived. I know other women who are able to defend themselves and others.”

It was both shocking and gratifying for someone to be so accepting of her abilities. Lena faltered in how to respond. “I know few women in the Ramparts.”

“I was in the Foreign Office,” Mr. Thornwell said. “At the time, I knew no women like you.”

“I am acquainted with another Mr. Thornwell, and you are very different,” she blurted out.

This Mr. Thornwell suddenly grinned. “I know the Mr. Thornwell to whom you refer. I chose this name deliberately.”

“Whyever for?” Lena asked.

His grin deepened. “I hope that any mischief I cause here will reach the ears of that other Mr. Thornwell back in London.”

Lena liked him already.

“Have I met this Mr. Thornwell?” Melinda asked.

“I do not believe so,” Lena said. “He is the one who …” She pointed to her nose.

“Oh, you are referring to Mr. Clay! The one on whom you planted a magnificent facer!”

Lena was accustomed to Melinda’s use of cant, which was a result of the influence of stableboys in her childhood before Mr. Neybridge, her uncle, took guardianship of her (they considered themselves father and daughter rather than guardian and ward). She usually did not revert to such language in the presence of strangers, but Mr. Thornwell did not seem the sort to object.

“Did you, now?” Mr. Thornwell smiled. “I believe we shall work splendidly with each other.”

Lena smiled, but said, “We should be returning to the house soon. Have you any other information for us?”

“No. Have you learned anything of which I should be aware?”

“There is a house party at the Salloways, although not all the guests have arrived,” Lena said. “We shall send any other findings to you as soon as possible.”

“Bella will arrange the times and places of our exchange of information, although if there are to be as many gatherings as I would expect with a house party in the area, it may not be necessary.”

“However, the house party will disperse after a few weeks,” Lena said. “I hope we may find this woman before then.”

“I wish it were possible to simply pay one of the prostitutes in town to come to Wittenden and take a glance at all the young women,” Melinda said. “She would point out Dinorah in a trice.”

“But it would alert her employers of the fact that their plans were known,” Mr. Thornwell said. “They might decide upon another course.”

“Is this woman herself such a grave threat to England?” Melinda asked. “Or are you hoping to find her employer through her?”

Mr. Thornwell’s face grew stony. “We are unclear as to her reasons for being here, but we know that Apothecary Jack belongs to the Citadel, a group that has killed many people in their desire to accomplish their goals. They have also been in contact with Napoleon, and Mr. Drydale is determined to prevent them from assisting the French in the war.”

Lena felt her entire body grow cold despite the warm sunlight as she thought of the potential for thousands of French soldiers to be stronger and more violent than the armies of England and its allies. “We had not known about that, but we were told that Dinorah’s information was likely to be useful since she is a close friend of Apothecary Jack.”

“That madman has few friends,” Mr. Thornwell said. “But we believe he is one of the leaders within the Citadel. He has been incredibly cunning and has no care for innocent people—he kills them without a thought. Be extremely cautious and suspicious, for Dinorah may have the same philosophy.”

Melinda had grown slightly pale, but she nodded firmly.

“I shall be vigilant,” Lena said. The fact that Dinorah was specially chosen indicated that Apothecary Jack trusted her and that she was very capable.

“Shall we return to the house?” Melinda suggested, and they headed back.

Trailing behind them, Lena kept Melinda’s figure in sight. No matter what happened, she would protect Melinda from any danger. She owed the Neybridges a great deal, and she would not fail them.

She hoped they could conclude the mission before her birthday. Before she had to leave them.

Chapter 3

Lena mentally apologized to her future unfortunate victims this night, in the event that she was forced to dance.

When Lady Faine had received word that the Neybridges would be coming to Wittenden, she hastily arranged this informal gathering for the day after their arrival, wanting to provide entertainment for Melinda. She had also planned for dancing later once the servants moved aside the furniture into a corner of the drawing room. Lady Faine had enthusiastically invited as many young, single people as possible, but as there were more women than men, it was unlikely that a mere companion would be asked to make up a set.

Lena rarely attended social events in London since the presence of a companion was unnecessary if Melinda’s father accompanied her. As a result of her unorthodox upbringing, Lena’s dancing was terrible.

It may not have been entirely because of her upbringing—she had only practiced half-heartedly with Melinda’s dancing master, even though he had been more than willing to teach Melinda’s companion as well as his charge. He had very kindly told her that her dancing was “strong and quick” rather than admitting she was as graceless as a draft horse on ice skates.

The first to arrive were the Aldreds, accompanied by their son, Mr. Denley Aldred. Mrs. Aldred had likely planned this deliberately in order to allow her son to monopolize Melinda before the other guests arrived.

“My dear Melinda,” Mrs. Aldred gushed as she approached, “you remember my son, Denley, surely? You were such scamps when you played together as children.”

“Oh, er … of course.” Melinda curtsied to him.

From what Lena remembered of Mr. Denley Aldred as a child, she would hardly call him a “scamp”—perhaps “indolent” would fit him better. She seemed to recall he always had jam smeared on his face from eating jam tarts.

The jam smears were not in evidence, but he did have a rather stout waistline for his age. He muttered something that Lena didn’t catch as he bowed.

“You perhaps recall my companion, Miss Penrose?” Melinda said.

Before he could reply, Mrs. Aldred interjected, “I am sure Miss Penrose could play the pianoforte later for dancing. Melinda, Denley was just saying how he longed to dance with you.”

Mr. Denley Aldred was apparently used to his mother claiming things that he had said, for he kept a calm expression on his round face. Aside from an inarticulate sound in greeting, he had yet to open his mouth.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Aldred, but I do not know how to play the pianoforte,” Lena said.

Mrs. Aldred’s eyes grew wide. “Goodness! And yet you were hired as Melinda’s companion? My dear Melinda, surely you require a more proficient woman in your employ.”

Melinda’s brandy-colored eyes darkened to the color of mahogany, and Lena subtly clasped the young woman’s arm, gripping tightly to try to prevent an insult from exploding from her employer’s mouth.

Lena had posed as a servant many times for missions, but she had rarely needed to pose as a servant who also needed to interact with polite society. If she needed to tease information from a member of the nobility, she disguised herself as one of the nobility. If she needed to hear gossip from servants, she disguised herself as a servant.

Lena began to fully realize the difficulties she would face in posing as “Miss Penrose” on this particular mission.

She also realized that it might be a stroke of good fortune that Melinda was with her. It would be entirely natural for her to be introduced to the young ladies, and she would be able to talk to them and learn more about them.

Lady Faine rescued Melinda from Mrs. Aldred’s soliloquy about the requirements of hired companions, which was excellent timing, since Melinda looked as though she were about to yank off her slipper and throw it at the woman’s head.

Following Lady Faine was Mrs. Lindsel, whom Lena remembered from past visits to Wittenden, and a very tall, thin woman with dark hair ruthlessly styled in perfect waves beneath a silk turban. Next to her was a short young woman with hair slightly lighter in color and falling in more natural curls at her temples. The eyes of the older woman were dark, heavy-lidded, and scornful, and the eyes of the younger seemed to be gleaming like a poisonous snake about to strike.

Lady Faine made the introductions, adding, “Mrs. Rosley and her daughter are staying with the Lindsels for a few weeks.”

Miss Rosley gave a sweet smile to Melinda, but her eyes remained cool. “Miss Neybridge, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am looking forward to meeting many new people in Wittenden.”

“I see that Miss Salloway has arrived,” Lady Faine said. “If you would care to accompany me, Miss Rosley, Melinda, I should be happy to introduce you.”

“I should love to meet Miss Salloway,” Melinda said. Her manner had a hint of her desperation to escape Mr. Denley Aldred and his mother as quickly as possible.

“I would be delighted,” Miss Rosley said, and the three of them headed toward a group of people who had just arrived.

Mrs. Aldred suddenly said, “Please do excuse us. I am sure Denley would wish to be amongst the young people.”

She marched after Lady Faine and the two young women, leaving Lena trying not to gape in her wake. Just a glance at Mrs. Rosley made it clear that Mrs. Aldred’s (likely unintentional) insult had turned her mood into vinegar.

Lena attempted to engage her in conversation anyway. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Rosley. What has brought you and your daughter to Wittenden?”

“Ah.” Mrs. Rosley didn’t quite sneer, but there was a tightening of her upper lip as she looked at Lena as though she were a beetle.

Lena felt perverse satisfaction in the fact that Mrs. Rosley would have been able to look down her nose at her splendidly if Lena were a bit shorter, but since she was the same height as the matron, she had to angle her head back in an awkward way.

“Make yourself useful, like a proper companion, and fetch me a glass of wine,” Mrs. Rosley said.

As Melinda’s companion, Lena had certainly been treated in the same way by others in high society. However, it had only rarely happened because Mr. Neybridge’s circle of acquaintance comprised of either fellow Ramparts agents who were aware she wasn’t truly a servant or his old friends who were just as casual and open-minded as himself.

Reminding herself that she was simply playing a role with the same name as her life in London, Lena curtsied. “Of course, Mrs. Rosley.” She kept her voice low so that no one would hear the bite in her tone.

“There is no need, Miss Penrose. I shall fetch a glass for you, Olive. I am parched myself,” Mrs. Lindsel said, with an uncomfortable glance at Lena. She had met Mrs. Lindsel during previous visits to Wittenden, but the older woman attempted not to acknowledge her under the more powerful presence of Mrs. Rosley.

“Very well,” Mrs. Rosley said, appeased by Mrs. Lindsel’s words. She turned away. “Neda, I depend upon you to introduce me to more suitable company.”

She stalked away at a fast clip, leaving Lena feeling a trifle exposed. She headed after Melinda, not only for the opportunity to be introduced to the Salloways’ party of young men and women, but also because she saw some older chaperones with whom she might converse.

Lady Faine was quick to perform introductions, first turning to a young woman standing next to Melinda. “Miss Wishdon, allow me to introduce Miss Penrose, companion to Miss Neybridge. Miss Penrose, this is Miss Wishdon, the daughter of Baron Kellerton. She is a guest of the Salloways’ house party and has arrived early.”

Despite Lena’s lower social status, Miss Wishdon curtsied and gave Lena a polite smile. She was strikingly beautiful, with white-blonde hair contrasted with dark brown eyebrows over dark blue eyes. She carried herself with a confident air, aided by her slim figure which was nearly as tall as Lena, and her exquisite gown was in a pastel color rather than the white of a young woman in her first Season.

The dress was the same as one of the designs Mr. Clay had shown to them earlier this afternoon.

Next, Lena was introduced to Sir Huxley Salloway and his daughter Miss Calea Salloway, who resided at Morley Lodge. Sir Huxley’s smooth ash-brown hair swept away from his high forehead, and his pale blue eyes slanted down at the outer corners, giving him a gentle expression.

His daughter looked nothing like him, and Lena guessed she took after her late mother. Miss Calea was quietly pretty, with brown hair neatly pulled back from an oval-shaped face. Her full lower lip made her almost look as though she were pouting, but her smile was wide and sweet. Something about the shape of her face and eyes tugged at Lena’s attention … but then she was introduced to the others.

Mr. Salloway, a widower who was Sir Huxley’s cousin and heir apparent to his title, was invited to the house party and had arrived early with his family—his two sons, Mr. Drake Salloway and Mr. Damon Salloway, and his only daughter, Miss Daphne Salloway, who was a year older than Miss Calea, but who had debuted in London this year with her.

Mr. Salloway looked so much like his cousin that the two could be brothers. In contrast, his children looked nothing like him. Lena once again guessed that they took after their mother, who, like Miss Calea’s mother, was deceased.

Miss Salloway had similar coloring to Miss Calea but completely dissimilar features. She was considerably shorter than her cousin, but with a more mature, narrow face, and her thick dark hair was in a casual loose knot that seemed to match her sanguine personality.

Miss Salloway’s brothers were similar to each other in features, but not in build—Mr. Drake Salloway was five or six inches taller than his younger brother, with broad, meaty shoulders, while Mr. Damon Salloway was slimmer. Mr. Drake Salloway’s face, wider than his sibling’s, had arching eyebrows and a broad smile, while Mr. Damon Salloway seemed a quieter, more introspective personality.

The Salloway cousins, Melinda, and Miss Wishdon began chatting about the Holmendale Diamond Ball, which had been held in London earlier in the Season. Lena had not attended with Melinda and Mr. Neybridge, but she knew there had been a scandalous theft during the ball, which was still a popular topic of conversation.

Meanwhile, Lady Faine spoke with Sir Huxley and Mr. Salloway, and Lena used the opportunity to speak to Mrs. Bradbrook, Miss Wishdon’s chaperone. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bradbrook,” Lena said. “Is this Miss Wishdon’s debut Season?”

“Er … this is her second,” Mrs. Bradbrook said.

She confirmed what Lena had suspected, but her hesitant reply roused her curiosity. “Has she enjoyed her Season even more this year than last?”

“She seems to be enjoying this year quite … er, enthusiastically.”

“I have met Lord and Lady Kellerton once,” Lena said. “I hope they are in good health?” It had been years ago, and she had not met their daughter.

“Er … her father, Lord Kellerton, is ill and remains at their country estate. Lady Kellerton is visiting relatives up north, and so I was asked to chaperone her for this Season. We are distant cousins, although we look nothing alike.” Mrs. Bradbrook smiled. She was perhaps five or ten years older than Lena and a very beautiful woman, with soft brown hair and silvery-brown eyes framed by long lashes and arching eyebrows. Her mouth formed a perfect Cupid’s bow above a delicate jawline.

“Do you perhaps live in London?” Lena had never seen Mrs. Bradbrook before, and the Neybridges, while not mingling in the highest levels of the nobility, nonetheless had many friends among the aristocracy.

Would Dinorah Seiles be audacious enough to impersonate a baron’s daughter? And yet Miss Wishdon had arrived not with her well-known mother, but with an unknown chaperone.

“Oh, no, I reside in Bath,” Mrs. Bradbrook said. “I have been there for many years, and when Lady Kellerton asked me to accompany Justina, I was delighted to help out. It had been many years since I visited London during the Season, although I do prefer the country.”

“Did your husband accompany you?” Lena looked around. “Or did he perhaps remain in Bath?”

Mrs. Bradbrook adopted a sad mien. “I am afraid my husband died many years ago.”

Lena caught the movement of her eyes, a little too fast, and the subtle emptiness in her expression. She was lying. But was it about the fact her husband was dead? Or the fact that she had a husband?

Mrs. Bradbrook began to look around uncomfortably, but Lena didn’t want her to run off just yet, so she changed the subject. “Miss Wishdon and Miss Calea appear to be quite fast friends.” The two women stood next to each other with arms loosely linked together. While Miss Wishdon spoke to everyone in the group around her, she would occasionally smile, bringing out adorable dimples in her cheeks, as she leaned over to say something especially to Miss Calea. “How did they meet?”

“They met at Miss Calea’s first ball after being presented at court,” Mrs. Bradbrook said. “Justina seemed quite … drawn to her.”

Lena wondered at the way Mrs. Bradbrook paused. Was she apprehensive about how Miss Wishdon had attached herself to Miss Calea? If Miss Wishdon were really Dinorah Seiles in disguise, then surely Mrs. Bradbrook would be an accomplice. Why would she be unhappy with something that was apparently an aim of Miss Wishdon?

“How fortunate for them to connect so quickly,” Lena said.

“Indeed, it was such a … delight for them to form a friendship.” Mrs. Bradbrook smiled, but Lena thought she saw a hint of relief in her expression.

That was curious. Why would she be relieved that Miss Wishdon and Miss Calea had become friends? Lena had spoken to Mrs. Bradbrook in hopes of learning more about Miss Wishdon, but she had ended up with only more questions.

Lady Faine then indicated that the dancing was to begin. Mrs. Jarnell sat at the pianoforte to play, although it was not clear whether she had volunteered or if she had been bullied into it by her three daughters.

Sir Huxley led out Miss Wishdon, while his cousin, Mr. Salloway, led out his niece, Miss Calea. Miss Rosley and Miss Salloway paired up with her two brothers, while Mr. Neybridge led Melinda out to dance.

Lena thought she might have escaped when the curate, Mr. Hume, approached her, his eyes alight and his hand outstretched to her. “Miss Penrose, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”

Lena was startled, even more so when she realized that not all of the Misses Jarnell were dancing. “Mr. Hume, would you not prefer a younger partner?”

“My dear Miss Penrose, I may dance with the Jarnell daughters at any time, but it has been an age since I last danced with you. Come, please indulge me.”

Lena had forgotten how much Mr. Hume enjoyed dancing.

“Please do dance with him, Miss Penrose,” Mrs. Bradbrook said.

“I shall return shortly for you, Mrs. Bradbrook,” Mr. Hume said with a wink.

Mrs. Bradbrook laughed. “You are quite audacious for a curate.”

“I am audacious when it comes to my Almighty God and dancing.”

Lena found herself partaking in not one, but three consecutive sets—after Mr. Hume deposited her and collected a blushing Mrs. Bradbrook, Sir Gilbert asked her to dance, followed by Mr. Salloway, who apparently enjoyed dancing as much as Mr. Hume. Mr. Hume and Mr. Salloway were both skilled enough that they avoided her missteps, but she unfortunately stepped on Sir Gilbert’s foot at least once.

While it was flattering that they would wish to dance with a plodding bovine such as herself, she would have wished to remain unnoticed. Not only to spare their toes, but also to have the opportunity to speak to others about the new additions to the neighborhood, and maybe, if she was lucky, to overhear a bit of whispered gossip.

After the dance with Mr. Salloway, Mr. Denley Aldred approached, but Lena didn’t hesitate and excused herself before he could ask her to dance. She loitered in her bedroom for a few minutes, then returned to the drawing room.

She entered unnoticed, standing against the wall to watch the couples weaving in and out. This was her usual place, detached from the guests enjoying themselves. It was an appropriate place for a paid companion.

She had been “Lena Penrose” for so many years that she didn’t feel as though she belonged amidst the gaiety of the party, despite the fact that they were part of her true social class. Even after her birthday, when everything would change, would she ever truly fit in anywhere?

Since she was not dancing, she was the first to notice some late arrivals who entered just as the set concluded, two young men and a young woman. The taller of the two men glanced briefly at her.

At this distance, all she could see was that his eyes were dark. He was only perhaps three inches taller than Lena, with a strong nose and chin. His thick brown hair had darker roots, and it waved up from his forehead instead of lying flat.

He did not stare at her—she wondered if he even saw her, if he were simply gazing about the room in general. She did not recognize him, and yet something deep inside of her stirred, and she thought she smelled the faintest whiff of the sea.

And then the feeling was gone, leaving her with a strange, gentle sense of loss.

The man had already turned away, focusing on Lady Faine, who was hurrying toward him.

What was it that she had felt? And why had it happened when she looked at him?

Who was he?

Chapter 4

As Lady Faine approached the three guests with a smile, the tall man said, “I do apologize, my lady, for our tardiness. I am afraid a carriage horse threw a shoe …”

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Vipond,” Lady Faine said.

“I also apologize, my lady,” said the shorter man, “but my uncle sends his regrets. He had a sudden attack of the gout and could not leave his bedroom.”

“I do hope Mr. Ellswood will recover soon,” Lady Faine said as she led the trio toward the Salloways. Lena was close enough to overhear when she introduced them.

“Miss Wishdon,” Lady Faine said, “may I introduce Mr. Vipond and his sister, Miss Vipond? And this is his friend, Mr. Ellswood. They are our near neighbors.”

Melinda came up beside Lena, but her eyes were also on the trio. “So they are the Viponds and Mr. Raphael Ellswood.”

Before the party, Lena had asked Lady Faine a bit more about the expected guests. She had not known who the Salloways would bring with them, but she had been able to describe Mr. Barron Vipond and his sister, Miss Tabitha Vipond, who had bought a house nearby two years ago.

Mr. Vipond was a good friend of Mr. Raphael Ellswood, who was the nephew of the Faines’ neighbor, Mr. Fraser Ellswood, an older single gentleman. All three men were merchants—in fact, after Mr. Vipond and Mr. Raphael completed their studies at Cambridge, Mr. Ellswood took them to India, and they made a fortune before returning to England two years ago.

“You never met Mr. Raphael when you visited the Faines before?” Lena asked Melinda.

“No, he never visited his uncle while I was here. He only came to live with Mr. Ellswood after his parents died while he was in university.”

“Both his parents? How sad.”

“Lady Faine said that Mr. Ellswood is very close to his uncle because of that.”

Mr. Ellswood was bowing to the Salloways. He was of slightly shorter than average height, and he had facial features more beautiful than masculine. With his wavy blond hair, he looked like an angel in a painting.

Melinda nudged her with a bony elbow, but because of her short stature, the nudge dug into Lena’s hip. “Well? Now that you’ve gotten a look at him, do you think he might be your Barron?”

She was referring to Mr. Barron Vipond, who was speaking to Sir Huxley and Mr. Salloway.

Lena turned to Melinda, who had an excited light in her eyes, and squashed her excitement. “I’ve met three other Barrons in the past twelve years,” Lena said. “I’ve stopped wondering if each Barron is going to be the one I knew.”

Melinda deflated. “So you didn’t recognize him? How disappointing.”

“I would prefer that my life not contain even more complications than it already does.” She could not afford for her past to catch up to her here, not when Melinda was with her.

But she did not admit to her friend what she had felt when she first saw him. She didn’t understand it herself—there might be something about him that was familiar, but it was like the remnants of a dream that one couldn’t remember upon waking, feelings which she couldn’t trust were real or simply imagined.

She had never learned the surname of the boy Barron whom she had met when she was fourteen years old, but she recalled him as being short and slender, despite the fact he was sixteen years old at the time. By now, she could only vaguely recall his face and wasn’t certain if she would recognize him as an adult.

Next to Mr. Vipond was his sister, who looked very like him. She was also tall, but her hair was a bit lighter brown than her brother’s and her face narrower. However, she had his same strong chin, which made Lena wonder if she had a forceful personality.

Melinda clasped Lena’s arm. “Come, let us go to meet them.”

But Lena had noticed Mrs. Lindsel and Mrs. Rosley whispering to each other next to the now-silent pianoforte. Lady Faine had not placed anything so convenient to hide behind as a large potted palm nearby, but the two women stood next to a window which had been opened to air out the stuffy drawing room.

“You go ahead,” Lena told Melinda. “I see an opportunity.” She didn’t need to explain what sort of opportunity.

“Very well.” Melinda drifted toward the Viponds while Lena left the drawing room.

She hurried down a hallway and into the library, where she then exited a small door that led out into the garden. But instead of heading down the garden path, she followed the wall of the house until she reached the open window where Mrs. Lindsel and Mrs. Rosley were speaking. She stood in the darkness, listening.

“Look at her, fawning all over him. It’s shameful, even if she weren’t already betrothed.” The sharp voice could only belong to Mrs. Rosley.

“Miss Wishdon is hardly fawning over him, Olive,” Mrs. Lindsel said. “She only just met him. Of course she would wish to speak to him.”

So Miss Wishdon was betrothed? And yet she was showing avid interest in either Mr. Vipond or Mr. Ellswood. Lena wondered why.

“She’s forcing my Eunice out of the way,” grumbled Mrs. Rosley. “I’m surprised she could show her face after that incident.”

“Incident?”

“During the early part of her Season last year. Surely you remember I told you, Neda.”

“Oh, yes. She was not much seen afterward and left town early.”

Whatever this “incident” had been, would it be possible that not many people in town would recall what Miss Wishdon looked like by the following year? Lena had not thought Dinorah Seiles would attempt to take the place of a baron’s daughter, but if what Mrs. Rosley said was the truth, it could be entirely possible that this Miss Wishdon was an imposter. Also, Miss Wishdon was accompanied not by her mother but by a middle-aged chaperone, the same age as the woman with whom Dinorah left town.

Mrs. Rosley suddenly gasped. “He is not dancing with anyone! Not even Miss Wishdon!”

“Are you certain?” Mrs. Lindsel asked. “Perhaps Miss Wishdon is already engaged for the next set?”

“It looks as though he did not even ask.” Mrs. Rosley sounded shocked. “My poor Eunice looks devastated. I must go to her …”

Lena crept away from the window and reentered the house through the library. When she snuck back into the drawing room, she saw that Mr. Vipond was speaking with Sir Gilbert in a corner of the room. Mr. Ellswood was leading Miss Wishdon in the next dance set, while a disgruntled-looking Miss Rosley was just accepting Mr. Hume’s hand for the dance.

She danced prettily with Mr. Hume, but all the while Miss Rosley cast glances back at Mr. Vipond. Strangely, Miss Wishdon also glanced at Mr. Vipond even as she danced and conversed with Mr. Ellswood.

After the dance ended, both women made their way to Mr. Vipond’s side as soon as they could politely disentangle themselves from their dance partners. As the two women glanced at each other, identical expressions of irritation pinched their faces for a moment before their good breeding smoothed it over.

Lena found it interesting that the very young women she wanted to investigate were both so aggressive in their flirting with Mr. Vipond. Why him?

However, even in the face of such blatant interest, Mr. Vipond made polite small talk with them before excusing himself, again avoiding dancing with either young woman. Lena was shocked, since each woman’s gown was of the finest silk and they wore modest but expensive jewelry. While dress did not always indicate if a family was solvent, it seemed that Miss Wishdon’s and Miss Rosley’s families were quite well off.

Lena wandered the room, occasionally speaking to residents of Wittenden whom she had met during her previous visit, but more often standing where she could overhear conversations, especially with one of the two young women who could be Dinorah Seiles in disguise, Miss Wishdon and Miss Rosley. However, they did no more than dance and relay London gossip to others at the party.

She also found herself watching Mr. Vipond, but mostly because his actions intrigued her. He continued to avoid dancing and instead devoted his time to conversing with the gentlemen and the older guests sitting along the walls, such as Mrs. Jarnell’s widowed mother, Mrs. Hoyt, who lived with them. He apparently did this often at social gatherings, since they spoke to him with easy friendliness.

Even as she watched, he rescued his sister, who had quite literally been captured by Mrs. Nott—the elderly woman had a bony hand grasping Miss Vipond’s wrist as she talked vociferously about something. Mr. Vipond approached and gently extricated his sister’s wrist, then sat to chat with Mrs. Nott himself while Miss Vipond escaped to dance with Mr. Ellswood.

Eventually, Mrs. Nott began to nod off and seemed to fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. Mr. Vipond leaned her back against the chair and adjusted her shawl around her shoulders, then stood up.

She thought he might speak to another guest, but he surprised her by slipping out of the drawing room.

Lena felt the urge to follow him, but resisted. As curious as she was, she needed to remain here, gathering information about …

Miss Wishdon suddenly headed out of the drawing room as well. Lena hadn’t even noticed that the young woman had hidden herself behind a cluster of men arguing politics.

Lena needed no other excuse to slip out after them.

She saw Miss Wishdon turn into the library, probably following Mr. Vipond. He had visited the Faines often and likely knew his way around the house. She hesitated outside the library door, but heard no voices within. Instead, she heard the click as the door leading from the library directly into the garden closed.

Lena followed them outside. She hadn’t felt the coolness of the air when she’d slipped outside to eavesdrop on Mrs. Rosley and Mrs. Lindsel, but as she picked her way deeper into the garden, the breeze made her skin break out into goose-flesh. She didn’t have time to return to the house for a shawl, so she continued sneaking down the path.

She was in time to see Miss Wishdon hurry up to Mr. Vipond’s figure. At least, she assumed it was Mr. Vipond—it was just past the new moon, so the garden was dark except for some lights that Lady Faine had set up to illuminate the paths. Lena couldn’t hear their conversation, although she saw the coyness of Miss Wishdon’s figure. If Lena was only going to overhear a bit of flirtation, perhaps it had been a waste of time to follow her.

Lena was attempting to sneak closer when she suddenly saw a shadow detach itself from an apple tree and rush at the pair.

The attacker drew into the circle of light on the path, and she saw his upraised arm, the soft gleam of a knife blade. He was aiming for Miss Wishdon.

Mr. Vipond reacted first, knocking aside the man’s arm to deflect the attack. He followed with a skillful punch to the man’s face as he tried to regain his balance.

Miss Wishdon screamed and raced back toward the house. At first, Lena feared she’d head down the path where she was crouched, but she took a different one.

Mr. Vipond and the man were trading blows, although because of the shadows, only every other swing connected. Lena was startled at Mr. Vipond’s skill at fisticuffs—unlike the gentlemen who had been trained at a boxing salon such as Gentleman Jackson’s Rooms, Mr. Vipond fought with viciousness and a looseness to his limbs. His style reminded her of …

Of the men who had attacked her when she was fourteen. Of the man whom she had …

Lena shoved aside the memory, physically scrubbing at her forehead to tear herself from the vividness of the images. She needed to focus! What should she do?

She wanted to help Mr. Vipond, even if it jeopardized her mission. She couldn’t simply allow him to be harmed when she could do something. But what would be the best course of action?

Mr. Vipond’s back was toward her, but then she suddenly saw a second man leap onto the path between her and the two fighting men. This man had run from a different corner of the garden, so he had not been able to immediately help his fellow to attack Miss Wishdon and Mr. Vipond.

The young man didn’t see the attacker behind him. But the attacker obviously hadn’t seen Lena, hidden in the shadows.

She reached down, scrabbling in the dirt beneath the bushes around a plum tree. Lady Faine’s gardener was diligent, but perhaps he’d missed something that fell under a bush …

Her fingers curled around a stout branch that had broken off. She could tell from its weight that it was short—barely longer than a knife—but it had more heft than a blade and was better than nothing.

Lena leaped at the second attacker and swung the branch hard at his elbow. However, the seams of her bodice did not allow full use of her arms, so she could not put as much force behind her attack. Also, the thickness of his coat sleeve absorbed some of the blow, and he didn’t drop his knife. He whirled to face her.

She saw nothing more than a round, dirty face and the flash of the garden lights in his eyes before he attacked her.

Lena had been tutored for many years by Mr. Ackerman, who trained agents from the Ramparts in fighting. She still continued to drop by the Ramparts once or twice a month to spar with him.

He had ensured she knew how to use all sorts of weapons, including the short sword. The branch was thicker and heavier than a knife, but it was similar to a short sword, and so she used it to parry the attacker’s swings with his knife.

He was quick, and Lena was hampered by the tightness of her bodice. She twisted to deflect a particularly fast thrust of the knife and felt the shoulder seam of her dress tear.

But she found it easier to counter the next thrust, which surprised him. She didn’t intend to, but his knife stuck fast within the wood of the branch she held.

At that moment, voices were heard behind her, coming from the house. Miss Wishdon had alerted the hosts of the party. Soon, Lena and Mr. Vipond would not need to defend against these men alone.

But the men had no intention of allowing that to occur. “Let’s go!” shouted the man she was fighting, and he darted away through the bushes, heading deeper into the garden toward the back gate, which was likely where they entered.

Lena tossed aside the branch and tried to follow, but she was forced to grab her skirt and petticoat to hike them up, and those few seconds lost caused the man to disappear into the shadows.

Mr. Vipond also tried to follow his own attacker as he fled, but he only made it a few feet before he lost the man in the darkness.

Lena was breathing heavily, as was he. “Are you injured?” she asked him.

A dark line ran down from Mr. Vipond’s cheek, and he dabbed at it, the color sticking to his glove fingers. “It is not deep,” he answered.

A breeze slipped into the torn shoulder seam, but she also felt a chill on the front. Looking down, she realized she’d also torn a seam alongside the front of her bodice.

Lena glanced behind, seeing lanterns as people entered the garden. She held the torn fabric of her bodice together. “Mr. Vipond, I must leave you. I am not fit for company.”

He might have blushed at the sight of her torn dress, but she couldn’t tell in the dark.

“May I ask that you not mention my presence here?” She didn’t know how she would explain to him—let alone to the other guests at the party—her ability to fight. However, if he had not seen her closely, she might be able to convince him she had simply flailed around with the branch.

“Of course,” he said. “But how will you leave unnoticed?”

Lena had explored the grounds thoroughly even though she had arrived only the day before. “I shall sneak out the side gate into the kitchen gardens.” From there, she could take the servants’ stairs to her bedroom. “Goodbye.”

She turned to leave but was stopped when he said, “Wait. What is your name?”

For a brief moment, Lena considered lying. However, while she had not been introduced to him in the drawing room, she would likely meet him soon.

But had he seen her face clearly in the dark? Perhaps not. So she introduced herself like a servant.

“Lena,” she told him, and then slipped away.

Chapter 5

Barron waited for one woman whilst thinking of another.

To be fair, the woman he waited upon was his sister, and she was always late for their morning rides. She disliked riding, but hated walking even more, so she grudgingly accompanied Barron and Raphael on horseback. In her words, exercise was only tolerable when in the company of others, even if said company was merely her brother and his best friend.

In contrast, the woman who occupied his thoughts was a mystery. Miss Penrose had not merely helped him to fend off the two attackers last night, but she had fled before being discovered with him.

He was not a vain man, but Barron had been the victim of two attempts to compromise him into marriage. When he was attending a soiree at a townhouse in London, a woman had tried to trap him in the library, but before they were discovered by the hostess of the party, he barely escaped the room through an overlooked servants’ door. If the scheme had succeeded, he would have been forced to propose marriage to the fortune-hunting young miss. He also suspected that he may have avoided another compromising situation at a Venetian Breakfast a year later.

Last night in the dark garden, he’d been disheveled and bloodied, and Miss Penrose’s gown had been torn. He couldn’t have imagined a more condemning situation if he tried.

And yet she’d left him and asked him to keep silent about her presence.

They hadn’t been formally introduced last night, but when he saw her in the garden, he recognized her as the tall woman he’d noticed when he first entered the drawing room. Even while his party was being introduced to the guests staying at the Salloways, something about the woman had made him glance back at her, and he’d seen her speaking to a petite young woman with curly golden-brown hair. Later, he was introduced to the young woman, Miss Neybridge, and she mentioned that her companion, Miss Penrose, had left the drawing room but would return shortly. It was easy to deduce that she would be the only person he hadn’t met.

So he knew that Miss Penrose was but a lowly companion, poor but respectable. And yet she had not tried to take advantage of a rich gentleman such as himself.

Along with his shock, he was grateful—enough to make him break out into a cold sweat at his narrow escape—but perversely, a part of him was also miffed that she hadn’t found him appealing enough to want to ensnare him. He fully realized he was being contrary, and he was ashamed of himself.

And as if that weren’t enough, he was also curious about Miss Penrose’s history. It was obvious she had been trained to fight, and she was skilled enough to use only a stick to fend off an assailant with a knife.

The long shadows across the stable yard cast by the sun’s early rays had shortened as Barron paced back and forth, boots scuffing against the gravel. He glanced back at the manor house for the hundredth time and was finally rewarded with the sight of his sister, dressed in a riding habit, grumpily exiting the side door and making her way toward the stable, followed by his friend Raphael.

“Finally,” he said.

“Do I deserve no pleasantries this morning?” Tabitha complained.

“Not when we’ve been waiting since before dawn and I had to send Raphael to spur you out of bed.” Barron would have gone himself, but Tabitha was apt to ignore his pounding on her door, whereas she was less likely to be so rude to Raphael.

“I can’t believe you picked the lock on my door,” Tabitha grumbled to Raphael as a stable hand helped her to mount her horse, which had been saddled and waiting for nearly thirty minutes.

Barron retracted his thought. Apparently, his sister did not discriminate against whoever had the thankless task of rousing her in the morning.

“Yes, I collected a bevy of interesting skills in India,” Raphael said airily. “Besides, you had locked your maid out so she could not wake you. I was simply being helpful.”

Once they had all mounted their horses, they set off towards the woods. Barron rode in front, chilled from waiting so long in the early morning air.

When his horse, Merlin, had warmed up enough, Barron called back, “I’m going ahead.” He then spurred Merlin into a gallop.

“Heartless beast!” his sister hollered after him, her crossness making her even less ladylike.

Barron merely laughed. Tabitha hated galloping, and Raphael was only an indifferent horseman, so they usually lagged behind while Barron rode the restlessness out of Merlin’s legs.

The cold air stung his skin. Merlin wanted to go faster, but he kept the black gelding at a slower pace since the dewy grass underfoot might create slippery patches. The morning mist still clung to the ground in places, muffling the sound of his horse’s hooves.

He had rounded the edge of a copse of trees shaped like a narrow finger when he spotted a figure walking a footpath up the hill. He was surprised to recognize Miss Penrose. It was as if she had appeared because he was thinking about her.

She turned toward him as he cantered up to her.

“Miss Penrose,” he said as he reined in beside her. “I hope you will forgive me, but we were not formally introduced last night. I am Barron Vipond. Your employer, Miss Neybridge, mentioned your name to me.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vipond,” she said. Her cheeks held a slight flush from her exercise.

“We are nearly a mile from the Faines’ home.” He dismounted and began walking next to her, leading his horse. “You must have set off quite early this morning.”

“I am accustomed to riding in Hyde Park just after sunrise. Unfortunately, Sir Gilbert does not own a large stable, and so I am unable to go riding, but I do enjoy a brisk walk.”

“I regret that I also do not own an extra horse for you to ride.”

“It is hardly your responsibility to provide a mount for me, but thank you all the same, Mr. Vipond.”

“It may not be my responsibility, but it would be but a small token of my gratitude for saving my life last night.”

“I am certain you could have fended the men off by yourself admirably, Mr. Vipond. You have experience in fisticuffs, perhaps?”

He unwillingly remembered the bullying at school because of his low birth, and how he had observed the pugilists in prizefights to learn how to defend himself. “Somewhat,” he answered with a vague smile. “Your own ability to fight was also impressive.”

“Oh, hardly,” she said with a small laugh. “My father was a sword enthusiast and trained me as a child. I simply remembered the movements as though I were fighting my father.”

Something about the way she spoke of her father struck him as odd. She was describing a perfectly plausible reason why a genteel young woman had been able to wield a tree branch against a man with a knife, but a twist in his gut made him think she may have been lying. He didn’t know why he would respond this way—after all, he hardly knew her—but he had learned to trust his instincts over the years.

There could be many reasons why Miss Penrose would need to lie about where she learned to fight … and all of them made him instantly wary of her.

“I was perhaps too far away to view it clearly,” she said, “but the man who first attacked appeared to be attempting to harm Miss Wishdon.”

He thought back to the night before and realized she was correct. He’d been so desperate to survive that he had forgotten that fact. “Yes, I believe so. When Miss Wishdon ran into the house, did the second man attempt to harm her?”

“No, he simply attacked you.”

“And you prevented a surprise blow to the back of my head,” he remembered. “I cannot agree with you that I could have fought both men. You saved me from, at the very least, a grievous injury.”

She seemed a bit embarrassed, and she gave a brief curtsy. “I am relieved that I was present to be of service to you, sir.”

It was a curious way to phrase it, but it also reminded him that because of her skills, he was alive this morning and not wounded or dead.

She continued, “Do you perhaps know why the two men attempted to harm you?”

He couldn’t prevent the chill that swept through him, as though he had been caught by a swirl of the north wind. He remembered the feeling of helplessness when he and his mother fled in the middle of the night, and it caused a rush of anger within him. He hated feeling this way again, even now as a grown man.

“I cannot say,” he managed to say in a neutral voice. “Perhaps they were thieves who saw an opportunity to prey upon vulnerable individuals? Had we been walking along a dark London street, we would undoubtedly have been targeted by all manner of unsavory men. So why not in a dark, secluded garden belonging to a man known in the neighborhood for his wealth?”

“Yes, that could be the reason,” she said in an expressionless voice. “The men were perhaps motivated by mere greed.”

However, there was a hard glint in her eye as she glanced at him before looking away. Barron wasn’t certain, but he thought perhaps she knew he was lying. They were like fencers, dancing around each other and testing their steel.

The sound of a horse’s hooves reached them from behind. However, they had just walked around the edge of the copse, and he couldn’t see behind them. He automatically drew her closer to him, out of the way of any unwary rider, as though she were Tabitha instead of a woman he’d met (barely) the night before.

Raphael appeared around the edge of the clump of trees, grinning as he saw Barron, but then with a slightly wider grin as he spotted Miss Penrose. It was not unusual—women tended to flock to Raphael, and he only responded in kind. Raphael was not overly charming like the beaus in London, but he was friendly and had a cherubic countenance that drew female attention, even though he himself abhorred his “girlish” looks.

He dismounted on Miss Penrose’s other side. “I believe I remember you from the party last night,” he said to her, “but I apologize that we were not introduced.”

Barron did the honors, and Raphael gallantly kissed the back of her hand. “A pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Penrose. I met your employer, Miss Neybridge, and her father.”

“Yes, I have been Melinda’s companion since she was a little girl—”

Her words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot from the woods nearby. It was unexpected because they were on Barron’s lands, albeit on the border of his property and Sir Gilbert’s. The two men would usually send a note to the other out of courtesy if one were going hunting in this area, but Barron had not received anything this morning.

The sudden noise startled Raphael’s horse, a skittish mare he had recently purchased because his aging brown gelding had sprained a fetlock and was recovering. The mare responded with more panic than Barron would have expected, rearing up on her hind legs, her hooves waving in the air only inches from Raphael’s head.

Miss Penrose reacted faster than Barron did, moving almost before the horse had risen to its full height. She hurled herself at Raphael, grabbing him to pull him away from the horse, but the sharp movement made him stumble, and he tangled his legs in her skirt. The two tumbled to the ground, thankfully away from the frightened mare.

Barron caught the loose reins and kept a firm but gentle grip on them. When the horse dropped back down, he spoke soothingly to it, calming it until it stopped stamping its feet.

“Are you injured, Mr. Ellswood?” Miss Penrose had fallen on top of Raphael, but now she rose up on her hands and knees and leaned over him.

Barron could understand the concern in her voice because his friend was simply staring and blinking. At first, he thought Raphael was shocked at what had happened, but then he realized that Raphael’s eyes were dazed as they gazed up at Miss Penrose’s face, only inches away from his, and a delighted smile was curling his lips.

For some reason, irritation burned through Barron like coals in his stomach. Raphael fell in love quickly and often, so Barron should not be surprised that his friend would be entranced by a woman who so dramatically rescued him from what could have been a grave injury.

And yet he felt it was an insult to Miss Penrose, for Raphael was surely not serious about her, as he had not been serious about a score of women in the past several years. However, Barron did admit to himself that Raphael typically did not fall for respectable women like Miss Penrose—his tastes usually ran toward petite members of the demimonde who had the air of indulgent older sisters.

Now, seeing Raphael gazing at Miss Penrose in rapture and even placing his hands on either side of her waist, Barron found himself gritting his teeth.

“Mr. Ellswood?” Not receiving a reply to her inquiries, Miss Penrose had started smacking Raphael on the cheek with her gloved palm.

It annoyed Barron that Raphael would continue to remain on the ground in such a scandalous position, even though the only witnesses were Miss Penrose and himself. “Miss Penrose, allow me to assist you to your feet,” he said, his jaw still tight.

As though only just realizing their predicament, Miss Penrose jerked away from Raphael, her face flushing. “Oh! I do thank you, Mr. Vipond.”

The sound of more horse hooves heralded the appearance of his sister, who had been following at a slower pace. “Good gracious!” Tabitha exclaimed at the sight of Raphael and Miss Penrose rising from the ground.

Barron seemed to breathe more easily when Miss Penrose was back on her feet, only to be irritated again when her attention was immediately caught by the mud on the back of Raphael’s coat. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Ellswood! I have quite ruined your coat.”

Raphael paid it no heed, instead staring beatifically at Miss Penrose. “It is a mere trifle, Miss Penrose, in the face of your rescue. You have quite saved my life.”

“I fear I may have been overly hasty in my panic.” She glanced at the now calm mare.

“What in the world has happened?” Tabitha pulled her horse to a halt and dismounted.

Barron quickly explained, but his sister’s eyes were curious as they shifted from Raphael to Miss Penrose and back again. It was no difficult feat for her to piece together what Barron had neglected to mention, and delight suffused her face even as she said, “To think, you both could have been gravely injured. How frightful!”

It took an extraordinary amount of effort for Barron not to roll his eyes.

“Indeed,” Raphael said, taking Miss Penrose’s hand in both of his. “Miss Penrose’s actions were most gallant and courageous.”

His rescuer’s cheeks reddened, and she tried to tug her hand away from Raphael, but he held her fast.

Barron grew annoyed that Raphael held her hand for so long, but Tabitha was clearly in alt at how the situation was progressing.

“Miss Penrose, your dress is quite soaked through,” Tabitha said.

The companion had worn only a spencer over her plain brown gown, but the dewy grass had darkened it with spots.

“Please accompany us back to our house so that the maids may dry it,” Tabitha continued. “You may borrow one of my dresses, and I would dearly love for you to join us for breakfast.”

“Oh, there is no need.” Miss Penrose finally yanked her hand from Raphael’s iron grip. “It is but a few minutes for me to return to the Faines’ home.”

“Nonsense,” Tabitha said. “Our home, Taunett Lodge, is much closer. I must insist that you allow me to care for you.”

His sister’s assertive will reared its head in her forceful manner with a young woman she’d just met. Usually, Barron was embarrassed at her high-handedness, but in this instance, he was beholden to it. He would have been unlikely to convince Miss Penrose to join them for a meal, but for his sister, it was mere child’s play.

“If … it is not too much of an imposition,” the young woman finally relented.

“I am so glad. I should like to know all about you.” Tabitha tucked Miss Penrose’s arm within hers and headed back toward their home, leaving Barron to grab at the dropped reins of his sister’s horse.

Raphael hurried to walk on Miss Penrose’s other side, leading his mare behind him.

Trailing at their heels, Barron regarded the straight back of the young woman. She chatted comfortably with his sister and did not give Raphael too much of her attention, making it appear she was not encouraging his affection.

He knew very little about her, and what he did know was unusual and would normally have alarmed him. He should be worried for Raphael, that he had set his sights on a woman with more mystery than Barron was comfortable with.

But although he was wary of her, he still owed her his life, and he didn’t like owing a debt.

Well, he wanted to know more about her—so he would simply speak to her about how he could thank her for her actions. How she responded could reveal more about her background and if she was, in fact, more of a danger to Barron and his sister than he initially believed.

Because above all, he would do everything in his power to continue to protect Tabitha from the men who might still be pursuing him.

Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 7: Spinster/ Camille Elliot. — 1st ed.

Copyright © 2024 Camy Tang