Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow. Anne O'Brien
waved towards a chair as he himself took his seat behind his desk. ‘Nothing is to be gained by us facing each other in this manner.’
Joshua sat, but was in no way mollified. ‘What right do you have to set one of your minions to follow my wife whenever she sets foot outside the house, and to loiter outside my London address?’
‘I have every right, as you well know if you will consider the matter calmly. My duty is to British security. You are, have been and will be again an important link within my information network. Your recent marriage was very—ah, precipitous—and the lady is unknown to us. Given your connections to myself, you should not have entered into this marriage without my knowledge.’
The air between them remained positively charged with hostility. It was clearly a stand-off. Lord Faringdon continued to fix his employer with a narrowed stare as he diverted to the other problematic issue. ‘I suppose you have not heard the rumours. Unless Felton has also seen fit to feed you the vicious content of London gossip.’
A bland look was the only response he got.
‘A nasty little rumour. Started, I wager, by Olivia Wexford out of a fit of pique when I dispensed with her… her services, shall we say. Another one of your ideas, to disguise the reason for my return to England and paint my character a particular shade of grey, if not midnight black! Another one of your plot-tings that has landed me in serious difficulties. Olivia threatened to get even.’ His laugh was without humour. ‘She is a lady of considerable, although dubious, talent. I can safely say that she has achieved her ambition.’
‘I know little of such matters. I do not move in the same exalted circles as you, my lord.’ Wycliffe watched his noble employee with keen eyes. They were beginning to walk on dangerous waters here.
‘Don’t tell me that you have no knowledge of the accusations—I would not believe it! Your ear is always close to the ground. Olivia has confided to the Polite World that I murdered Marianne in a crime of passion. The whole town is discussing the methods I might have used before consigning her body to some secret grave in the forests around Versailles. My wife now looks at me askance—she thinks that I am having her followed with the prime motive of having her done away with.’
Barely visible, Wycliffe’s whole body had stiffened. ‘You will not comment publicly on such matters. I do not want the Marianne affair to be discussed.’
‘No. I will not.’ The reply was sharp, immediate. ‘But the accusations do not sit well with me.’
‘The rumours are not our problem.’ Wycliffe shrugged. ‘They will soon die a death when a new scandal breaks.’
‘Perhaps. But you are not blameless in the whole unfortunate episode.’
Wycliffe hesitated. ‘Your marriage to Marianne was a terrible mistake.’ It was the only admission that Mr Wycliffe would make.
‘That may be so, but why should I have to continue to pay the price?’
Wycliffe swept the papers on his desk together with a wide gesture of impatience at the direction of the whole conversation. He tried for a softer approach, unwilling to antagonise one of his most gifted informants any further than he had already achieved. He would try for a deflection. ‘Do you want my advice, Joshua?’
‘Advice, is it? Or a demand?’ There was no softening here.
‘Whichever way you wish to see it! You are fit again. Go back to Paris for us. We need information.’
‘So you wish to make use of my talents again. You amaze me. I thought my cover had been effectively infiltrated and I was of no further value in that area. That The Chameleon had outlived his usefulness.’ The arrogance should have warned Wycliffe that his lordship was not to be won over.
‘Perhaps—but I think you still have much to offer. You have innumerable valuable contacts in Paris and at the Bourbon Court. You will be made welcome, invited everywhere. It will not be difficult for you to listen and report back. We need you, Joshua. I never foresee a time when The Chameleon has no value to my plans.’ The gentleman leaned forward, all persuasion. ‘We could be facing a major crisis here.’
‘Listen to what? Still the plot to restore Napoleon—unless he dies first?’ Lord Faringdon’s lip curled. ‘I cannot see there is much of a realistic threat there. The Emperor was fading by the day, as I last heard. The Bonapartists will have to accept failure without any intervention from us.’
‘I agree. But we have received warning, the merest whisper, of a planned assassination. Against whom we are unsure. Or when. Or even the perpetrators. Yet the whispers continue. If it is against one of the royal family, it would not be in our interests. Think of the upheaval if it was a success, encouraging all the dissonant groups to rise against the Bourbons. Their popularity is on shaky ground as it is and they are hardly blessed with a handful of heirs to secure the throne into the future. After Louis XVIII, his brother Charles and his nephew, the Bourbon line stops. An assassination could be highly damaging to stability in France. We need to know more, Joshua. And prevent it coming to fruition, of course.’
‘I see.’
‘We need information that you would be in the perfect position to obtain with an entrée to all the best houses.’ A sly smile coloured Wycliffe’s face. ‘It could also be in your own interests, my lord.’
A raised brow.
‘If you go to Paris, you will escape all the gossip here. When you return,’ Wycliffe snapped his fingers, ‘it will all have dissipated and the haut ton will have forgotten Marianne.’
‘And my wife? What are your plans for her?’
‘Leave her in London. We will continue our surveillance of her until we are certain that she is uninvolved—or until we have proof that she is in the pay of others.’
‘And if I object?’
‘Where government security and policies are concerned you have no right to object. You do not know Sarah Russell. You do not know that you can trust her. We need you and your expertise in Paris.’
He did not like Wycliffe’s reply, but was forced to acknowledge the truth of the man’s assessment of French politics. Even as he damned the man’s callous disregard for any matter other than national security.
‘And the Countess of Wexford?’ he asked. ‘What are your plans for her?’
‘She is not your concern. Forget her. Will you go to Paris?’
‘I will consider it.’
‘Do so quickly, my lord. It is approaching the time of Carnival in Paris. When all the world and his wife celebrates.’ Wycliffe sniffed in distaste of such excess and the openings it provided for those who would destroy the restored government. ‘What better opportunity to carry out a coup d’état against the royal family when no one is prepared to consider anything other than his own pleasure?’
Lord Joshua Faringdon made no response, but slammed out of the room, no more satisfied with the situation than when he had entered the premises half an hour previously.
‘Going somewhere?’ Lord Nicholas Faringdon refused the services of Millington and announced himself in Hanover Square that same afternoon. He found Joshua in the library, folding documents into a well-worn leather case.
‘To Paris.’ Joshua barely looked up, but Nicholas could see the hard-held temper on his face, in every line of his body. Every movement was an essay in simmering fury. A brief, authoritative note from Wycliffe had followed hard on his earlier visit to and conversation with that gentleman, delivered by hand. Lord Faringdon was expected in Paris within the week and should make contact with Sir Charles Stuart, British Ambassador to the Bourbon Court. Further instructions would follow. Thus Lord Faringdon was not in a mellow frame of mind.
‘Oh.’ In no way put out, intimately acquainted with his cousin’s moods, Nicholas helped himself to a glass of brandy and cast himself into a chair to await repercussions. ‘A sudden