A Harmless Lie and a Dangerous Spy Read online

  Caroline’s eyes shot wide open as she realized where she had seen him before. It had been one of the many times she’d spied on her father in his study. This was the Duke of Danver’s heir, Viscount Something or Other. She scanned through her memory of Debrett's trying to place his full title.

  The gentleman’s gentleman cleared his throat. “I believe Mr. Bickle might hold a good deal of the Earl’s debt. He made his money in railroads before moving into investments. There are rumors that he has been buying debts from various merchants for pennies then moving to collect them himself. He could easily have amassed the Earl’s debt into a single sum if he wished.”

  Viscount St. David nodded as if this explained everything although it meant little to Caroline beyond explaining how her father and the odious Mr. Bickle might have met. If their first encounter had been the enterprising Mr. Bickle coming to collect his substantial debt, the encounter could not have been pleasant.

  “So, your father wishes to trade you for his debt, and you do not wish to accede to his request.”

  “You have not met Mr. Bickle.” Caroline turned away again. Her eyes narrowed at the scenery flashing by their window, but she didn’t see it. She saw Mr. Bickle licking his lips every time she entered a room. She once again felt the rolling nausea that rose whenever she was within a furlough of him.

  “My offer still stands,” St. David said. “I need a wife in the short term. You need to not be marriageable.”

  Caroline turned back to him, her eyes still narrowed. “Tell me exactly what it is you need.”

  Chapter 4

  Jerry leaned back, satisfied that she hadn’t given him an outright no or even a slap across the face. She studied him with narrowed eyes, like a student trying to solve a complicated equation. With her head for sums, perhaps she considered him along those lines.

  “Two weeks ago, Thomas Alset was found dead in his home,” Jerry began.

  Lady Caroline frowned. “I can see how you might need the police at Scotland Yard, but I cannot fathom why that requires a wife.”

  Wellburn snorted. Jerry turned and raised his eyebrows at his man. Wellburn rarely lost his sense of propriety enough to actually snort. He must find the girl as amusing as Jerry.

  “I apologize, my lord.” Wellburn continued to look directly ahead, his countenance as stiff as ever. “The dust in this carriage seems to be affecting me.”

  “I see.” Jerry turned back to find Lady Caroline covering her mouth, presumably to hide the smile reflected in her eyes.

  “As I was saying, when Alset was found dead, it was also discovered that key drawings had vanished. Although Alset appeared to have died from an apoplexy, the missing papers suggested a more sinister interpretation.”

  “Was this Alset likely to die of apoplexy?” Lady Caroline asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  Lady Caroline fidgeted for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. Jerry liked that she didn’t rush into speech like many of his acquaintances. “If Alset was a young, vigorous man, then apoplexy would be an odd thing to strike him down. However, with a much older man, it would be more probable.” Lady Caroline nodded to herself like she’d been thinking out loud. “Also, an artist seems an odd choice to murder although perhaps he precipitated a scandal.” Lady Caroline leaned forward as if sharing a great secret. “Mother says that artists are not the most moral of individuals.”

  Jerry grinned at her innocence. It was endearing. Dangerous, but endearing. “Good point,” he said, suppressing his smile so his countenance would reflect the gravity of the situation. “Yes, Alset was the sort who very well might die of an apoplexy. His temper was uncertain and his habits intemperate. However, none of this detracted from his genius. And he wasn’t an artist. He designed advanced weapons for Her Majesty’s troops. The drawings were for a revolutionary design of bayonet, one that might change the course of the Crimean War.”

  Eyes widened, Lady Caroline sat back on her bench, her mouth set in a hard line. She turned and stared out the window. Jerry waited while she thought things through.

  Finally, she turned back. “I can see the problem, but I don’t see where you or I come in to it. Or why you need a wife,” she added.

  Jerry nodded. “My father is the Duke of Danvers.”

  Lady Caroline rolled her eyes. “I’ve been supposedly confined to my bed for the last three years not a remote convent. I know who your father is.”

  Jerry metaphorically bit his tongue for a moment. Her sharp wit was what would suit her for the job he had in mind. He would just prefer not to be the object of it. “You may know who my father is, but I doubt you know what he is. For the past decade, my father has served the government beyond his seat in the House of Lords. Under the cover of business dealings and diplomatic negotiations, the duke has been piecing together a large network of informants willing to share their secrets with Britain. Two days ago, one of his informants brought word that the drawings for the bayonet were in the hands of a Russian agent who intended to smuggle the plans out of England, possibly to the Americas. From there they hope to manufacture the bayonets and smuggle them to the Crimea on American ships. As a neutral country, their ships have not been blocked from the region.”

  “I suppose,” said Lady Caroline. “It seems a needlessly complex way to do things. If I were the agent, I would smuggle the plans directly to Russia and manufacture the weapons there.”

  Jerry shrugged. “The logic of nations rarely makes sense. My father has sent me to find the agent and reclaim the plans before they can be passed on. According to the informant, the agent will be taking the SS Adriana from Bristol to New York tomorrow morning. I have been booked a berth on that ship. However, it only just occurred to me that we cannot confirm that the agent is a man. Aboard this vessel, there is a parlor and several other spaces restricted to women. Although Wellburn will have access to the staff spaces, and I will have access to the Gentlemen’s areas, we won’t be able to cover the whole ship between the two of us.”

  “Which is where I come in.” Lady Caroline tilted her head, considering Jerry. Jerry stared back meeting her eye to eye. He needed for her to see the honesty, to trust he wasn’t concocting an elaborate ruse to justify an illicit affair. “You need a woman to gossip and perch in the Women’s Parlor, someone to ferret out the secrets of the other passengers.”

  She glanced down at the boy’s trousers she wore. Jerry glanced away since it wasn’t really decent for him to be seeing the shape of her legs, even if they were covered. “Well, I suppose it was fun while it lasted,” she said with a small sigh. “You’ll have to get me a complete wardrobe, and I mean complete,” she emphasized. She gestured at her lack of luggage. “I don’t carry a corset in my pocket.”

  Jerry’s cheeks burned at the mention of such an intimate item. He refused to make eye contact with the brazen girl, but from the corner of his eye, he caught her silently snickering at him.

  “You needn’t worry, my lady.” As usual Wellburn jumped in to save the situation. It was one of the ways he made himself indispensable.

  Lady Caroline nodded, satisfied. She eyed both men. “Your clothes are well-tailored,” she said to Wellburn, “and if you’re in charge of his lordship’s sartorial choices, then I shall choose to trust you.” She leaned forward again. “Just don’t put me in pale yellows. I look terrible in that.”

  Wellburn managed to convey shocked outrage without altering a single muscle in his face or body. If anything, his stiff posture became stiffer. “I would never dream of insulting my lady in such a manner. Clearly, with that complexion, you look best in richer tones.”

  Lady Caroline leaned back, satisfied.

  “So that means you’ll do it?” Jerry asked. “You’ll help catch a spy by pretending to be my wife?”

  “Obviously,” Lady Caroline said. “But I have some conditions.”

  Chapter 5

  Caroline had expected the little lord to be put out when she announced she had conditions. Most people
, most men like her brother and father, didn’t take kindly to demands made of them, especially when those demands came from females. With his self-assured manner, Caroline had assumed that Viscount St. David would be the same. Instead, he surprised her by gesturing for her to continue. “Naturally,” he said. “This is dangerous, high stakes work. You will want guarantees for your safety.”

  Caroline blinked for a moment, unsure how to respond. She hadn’t been thinking of her safety at all. She eyed the men sitting across from her. Of course, she had noticed that St. David was handsome, much better looking than her family’s second footman back home, her previous highest example of male beauty. Now, though, she studied him in light of having to rely on him as a protector of more than her virtue.

  The Viscount wore a coat over his suit, but his shoulders were broad, and he seemed strong like he could have carried his own luggage rather than relying on the porter. When standing, he had been taller than either her father or brother. St. David would positively tower over Mr. Bickle if the two ever met. The thought brought out a grim smile.

  Wellburn, although nearly as tall, was narrower than his employer, but the man had the sort of wiry build Caroline had seen back in the country. He reminded her of some of the farmers, the ones who handled the heavy bales of hay as if they weighed less than a newborn child.

  Caroline tore her eyes off the muscles in St. David’s thighs, and tried to refocus on her conditions. “I have full faith in your ability to shield me from harm,” she said. “I will of course defer to your greater expertise when it comes to physical matters.”

  Viscount St. David’s eyebrows nearly shot off his head. He looked at Wellburn as if searching for support, but his man remained as wooden as the seat he sat upon. St. David’s mouth contorted in a strange manner, but Caroline couldn’t decide if he was trying not to laugh or bite back a comment. Perhaps it was both.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, confused why he seemed to be so disconcerted by her statement.

  The Viscount managed to nod, and a gurgle escaped from the back of his throat.

  “Then I would like to discuss my conditions.” Caroline sat up as straight as she could. Her old governess would have been pleased. The old bat always maintained that perfect posture gave one the perfect authority in a conversation. “First, you will see me safely to New York and, under a new name, apprenticed to a modiste there.”

  “You wish to be a dressmaker?” The Viscount had calmed back down, but he seemed skeptical about her chosen profession.

  “There is more to a modiste besides dressmaking, and yes, I can do more than embroider since you were about to ask. I made many of my dresses back home, some in the latest styles. Mother still let me have the latest magazines despite my ‘lingering illness.’” Caroline couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. She could not believe she’d been a virtual prisoner in her home, that her parents would rather tell the world she was dying rather than possibly embarrass them in public. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. It was all too typical.

  “It is a trade requiring diligence and a great attention to detail,” broke in Wellburn, surprising Caroline. She’d rather forgotten he was there. “I am certain my lady would be well suited to the task.”

  Caroline flushed, embarrassed by the sudden praise.

  “I stand corrected,” St. David said, with a small bow of his head. “I will find you the finest modiste in the Americas. Your other condition, my lady?”

  Caroline took a deep breath. She was pretty sure this one wasn’t going to go over as well. “I refuse to pretend to be your wife.”

  The viscount began to sputter, so Caroline held up a hand to stop him before he even started. “Hear me out. It’s beyond foolish for me to pretend to be your wife. You are the heir to the Duke of Danvers. You are one of the most eligible men around.”

  St. David tried to break in again. “I’m but twenty-two. No one could possibly think me in the market for a wife.”

  Caroline waved away his protest. “And I am but eighteen, and my parents wish to marry me off as soon as possible. It’s true that most men marry older, but marriages have happened at twenty-two. You’re of age and can sign a marriage contract. I occasionally take tea with my mother’s friends. You have been considered as potential husbands for all of their unmarried daughters.”

  The color had drained from St. David’s face, leaving him pasty. “I had no idea,” he muttered. He tried to rally. “Then you see it’s more important than ever that I appear to have a wife. No one can expect me to marry if I am already married.”

  Caroline stared daggers at the little lordling. “And what happens to me when you decide to wed for real? Do I succumb to a wasting disease and go rusticate in the country for the rest of my days? Or does one of the more disreputable members of your father’s network dispose of me for real?”

  Viscount St. David recoiled back, horrified, while even Wellburn looked shocked for the briefest of moments.

  “Bring your mind to bear on the pertinent topic, please, my lord,” Caroline said. “My point is that every well-born woman on that ship will know both you and your marital status. For you to show up claiming a wife will be a scandal all its own and will draw a great deal of attention. I am assuming that undue attention is not the goal?”

  With a reluctant nod, St. David agreed.

  “Then I need to be some distant relative from a branch of your family not likely to be in Debrett’s.”

  The viscount disagreed. Loudly, and at length. He seemed to most object to her lack of a chaperone. Caroline conceded that to travel with a young man, even a distant relative, without a chaperone would also cause undue attention.

  “Unless, I was your widowed cousin,” Caroline pointed out. “As a widow, I wouldn’t be bound by such strict propriety.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea. “Mrs. Wickingham,” she added, trying the name out. “I rather like the sound of that.”

  “You aren’t old enough to be a widow. No one will believe it for a moment,” tried St. David.

  “Silly man.” Caroline shook her head at his innocence. “Sarah Barrows was widowed at seventeen. In fact, my odious younger brother told me that if I was lucky, Mr. Bickle would ‘ride old Charon’s Ferry-boat’ and leave me rich. As if even Hades would have someone as reprehensible as Mr. Bickle.” Caroline stared out the window for a moment, having in the moment forgotten her companions.

  When she turned back, Viscount St. David had a funny look on his face. “It gives me great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Wickingham.” He held out his hand. She gave him hers, and for a moment he held it, enveloping her hand in his.

  Chapter 6

  They spent the rest of the train trip constructing the life of the late, lamented Mr. Wickingham. Although she may have spent most of her life isolated from large swaths of society, Jerry found Lady Caroline to be a witty conversationalist and as well-versed in the manners of polite society as every other well-born miss. His mild concern that she might not be able to hold her own against the fearsome matrons she might encounter on the ship withered away into nothing.

  That evening Wellburn worked his magic, and no one in their crowded inn seemed to notice that Viscount St. David checked in with a male cousin but left with a female one. Wellburn even managed to procure the services of a maid to help pack Lady Caroline’s new trunk. According to Wellburn, the lady found her new wardrobe “adequate.”

  When Jerry met her in the hall the next morning, he felt adequate to be a vast understatement. Jerry had never been one to pay much attention to anyone’s dress besides his own, but Lady Caroline’s ensemble drew his eye. It was a vivid emerald that accented her brown hair and eyes. A bit narrower than the latest style, the dress still gave her a waist and hips and even a bust, the body parts that had been hidden by her trousers and long jacket the day before. He had known she was a girl from his brief glimpse of her on the stairs years before. He hadn’t considered she might actually be a woman.

/>   “Either Wellburn is a genius or you have promise as an elite modiste,” Jerry said.

  Lady Caroline’s face brightened, her smile seeming to illuminate her carefully arranged curls. “I’m sure it’s a bit of both,” she said, with a nod towards Wellburn.

  “Indeed,” said the manservant, inclining his head a fraction of a degree at the compliment. He then turned to Caroline. “I apologize, my lady, that on such short notice I was unable to find the new style of wire caging many ladies currently sport to enhance their silhouette.”

  “Is that what makes dresses so wide these days?” Caroline glanced down at her skirt that nearly took up the width of the hallway. “I think I’ll be able to make due. Besides,” said Lady Caroline turning her attention back to Jerry, “it’s customary to tell a young lady she looks lovely in her new dress, not to praise your valet.”

  Jerry’s cheeks began to burn. He attempted to distract her by taking her arm and escorting her down the stairs and out the public rooms onto the street. Their carriage took them the short distance to the docks with very little conversation between them. Wellburn had opted to ride up top with the driver, leaving the two of them in an uncomfortable silence. Lady Caroline watched the town pass by their window. Jerry watched her curls bounce with every jitter of their conveyance and resisted the urge to curl one of the ringlets around his finger. He froze for a moment, wondering what had possessed him. He shook his head to reorder his thoughts in a more productive direction. He pulled out the scrap of paper where his father had written what they knew about the Russian agent. Whoever the person was, he—or perhaps she—spoke accent-less English and had passed as native-born. The person had access to the highest reaches of government, so it was not someone posing as a laborer or a country lad. Jerry felt safe discounting the servants and crew members of the ship as well for the same reason. The recently deceased Aslet had been a notorious snob. He would not have shown his revolutionary bayonet ideas to a deckhand. A deckhand would never have made it past Aslet’s London butler.