A Love Laid Bare Read online

  Richard,

  I know you have been dashing around the countryside putting things to rights, but by now you should have everything ship-shape enough to get away for a few days. I need you, my friend, for a special project. I assure you it is extremely important or I would not call on you for help. I’d prefer our meeting go unnoticed, so I will not invite you to stay with me as I would prefer. Come as soon as possible.

  Colin

  The earl folded the paper and tapped it on his hand while he thought about the summons—and it was that, however politely worded. Summerton had his fingers in more than one pot. Halcombe was not sure just what position the man held, but he knew the viscount was deeply involved in the government. Well, he owed him too much to refuse and the timing was right. It gave him an excuse to avoid Victoria, it resolved the problem of his mother, who had been badgering him to visit, and it took him away before the shipment of books arrived from Clifftop. He wanted to be free of Frances and any reminders of her.

  Halcombe laughed shortly. He would never be free of Frances. Not while he still pictured her curled up in his library chair engrossed in some book, or striding across his fields in that ridiculous sunbonnet, a dog or two trotting beside her. He had been too much the fool to know what he had had until it was gone. If he ever did remarry—and it would not be to Victoria—he would take care to cherish any affection that might be offered.

  He tore the letter into pieces, tossed them onto the cold hearth, and set them ablaze with a spark from his flint. You are getting as paranoid as Colin. He scowled, stirred the ashes with the heel of his boot, and went to make arrangements for the journey.

  Chapter Four

  London was dirtier, noisier, and more crowded than usual, or so it seemed to Halcombe as he guided his team along the busy streets. It was a relief to reach his mother’s house. His house, more accurately, as it was part of the estate, although he seldom came to Town these days. He preferred country life—and avoiding his mother as much as possible. She was only happy here in the city, immersed in the endless social round, and if it kept her here, she was welcome to the house. He wished he had packed her off to Town when he’d brought his bride home. Leticia—never anything as uncouth as Letty—had strongly disapproved of Frances and had gone out of her way to make her daughter-in-law feel unwelcome.

  The earl turned his rig over to the groom, mounted the steps, and knocked on the door. It was not worth the scold that would ensue if he let himself in and that starched-up butler of hers would be sure to tell her. But a footman opened the door, not Mason, and Halcombe cocked his head in question.

  “Lady Halcombe has guests, my lord.” The soft-spoken servant took his hat, gloves and cape and stepped back. “They are in the drawing room, if you care to join them.”

  “No, I am going out directly after I change. Peters, isn’t it?” Halcombe’s voice was equally low. At the man’s nod, he went on, “Send someone up with some hot water and arrange for a hackney to pick me up in a half hour. Oh, and Peters, I won’t be in for dinner. Have Mason inform Lady Halcombe I will see her in the morning.” He walked to the stairs. Now to get in and out before the fact of his arrival traveled through the house and reached his mother. Craven it may be, but he had no desire to socialize with a room full of women whose sole source of entertainment appeared to be gossip.

  ***

  Halcombe had the cab driver set him down a few blocks from his destination and he walked swiftly along the sidewalk. The high, iron gate that lead into the small garden of Summerton’s house was unlocked. He went through and around to a side door and knocked. The door opened almost immediately. A plainly dressed, unobtrusive man gestured for him to enter, bowed gravely, and turned around without saying a word. Halcombe followed his escort through a narrow corridor and up the servants’ stairs. Summerton’s was a bachelor establishment—the staff was small, well trained and discreet. He was surprised to see his host seated at his desk, a glass of wine at his elbow. Colin’s schedule was frequently uncertain and Halcombe had been prepared to wait.

  “You are earlier than I’d expected.” The viscount stood, walked across the room and greeted Halcombe with a handshake and hearty clap on the shoulder. “I appreciate you coming so quickly. You appear quite fit.”

  Halcombe gripped his hand and punched him lightly on the arm. “You, my friend, look as if you have had too many late nights.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you, even if you did drag me from the country for one of your crazy schemes.”

  “Does you good to venture out of that rut you’ve made for yourself.” Summerton stepped back, gestured at a chair by the fire, and went over to pick up his glass. He held it up and raised his eyebrows. “Some port?” At Halcombe’s nod of agreement, he moved to the sideboard and unstopped a decanter.

  Halcombe took the chair indicated and used the opportunity to study the other man. Friends since their school days, they were close in age, but at six feet, Summerton topped him by several inches. His light brown hair was cut in one of those fashionable styles Halcombe never remembered the name of and faint lines rayed from the corners of his changeable hazel eyes.

  They put too much on his shoulders, the men who fought the war from their government offices. Summerton needed a wife, a family, but it appeared the tragic death of his young bride still haunted him. Halcombe knew not to broach the subject.

  He shook off the gloomy thoughts, accepted the offered glass, and took a taste of the ruby-red liquid. “Very nice. I hope you have laid down a few bottles for my next visit.”

  “I’ve laid down several cases, in fact,” Summerton said with a smile. He sat in a nearby chair and stretched out his legs. “Gad, it feels good to relax. It has been a long day.”

  “I have a feeling all your days are overly long. You should try to get away for a time,” Halcombe suggested.

  “That is not possible, I’m afraid. There is too much going on to leave Town right now. This cursed war. And Bryce is abroad on a special…project…at the moment.” He shrugged, took a sip of his wine, and looked questioningly at Halcombe. “Dinner first, or the details of my ‘crazy scheme’ as you put it earlier?”

  The earl knew better than to ask for details of any venture Harry Bryce was involved in. Colin’s trusted secretary was often hip deep some covert action. Richard set aside his glass. “By all means, business first, since it is bound to ruin my digestion.”

  “It is not as bad as that,” Summerton said dryly. He emptied his glass, placed it on the low table between them and tented his fingers in front of him. “It is nothing onerous at all—on your part.” He grinned at the skeptical look Halcombe gave him and shook his head. “Truly, it is nothing terribly difficult. I would not ask it of you if it was not important. There are few people I can trust with this kind of information these days.” He paused, his eyes narrowed, and then he waved his hand as if to clear the air.

  “Have you noticed or heard of any increase in smuggling in your area over the past few months?”

  Completely caught off guard at this unexpected topic, the earl frowned. “Nothing that has come to my attention, but that is not out of the ordinary. It goes on, of course, but as long as it remains at a low level, it is generally ignored. The Manor is some distance inland, as you are aware, and we have never had much involvement.” He grinned. “No kegs on the doorstep, if that’s what you are implying.”

  Summerton smiled, but worry appeared in his eyes. “No, I did not think that, but you are in a position to hear things, and you are not that far from the coast. Lately, there have been rumors that more than brandy is coming ashore.”

  “Indeed, and that would be…?” Halcombe had a suspicion, unlikely as it seemed, but he still experienced a shock of disbelief at the terse answer.

  “Men. Frenchmen, to be exact.”

  “Do you mean spies? Coming ashore in Sussex? For what reason? They’d stick out like a sore thumb, which I imagine is the exact opposite of what they would want.”

  “Not spies,
” Summerton said with a mirthless laugh. “Agents, whose job it is to make contacts here who will ferret out information for them to send back to France.” He sounded unusually grave. “They have deep pockets and money is a great persuader.”

  “As I well know,” Halcombe said. He was a perfect example of allowing need to overcome conscience. Halcombe’s bitter tone and sour expression earned him a quick, curious glance, but the viscount made no comment.

  “We’ve had some indication that this is occurring in your part of the country. You know the area—know those likely to be involved, if there is any basis to it.” He paused, and then added in a level tone, “Your…Lady Halcombe’s property is directly on the coast, is it not?”

  “It is,” Halcombe said curtly, “but I don’t believe Nesbitt had anything to do with any smuggling. And I plan to let it out soon, so if there is any unusual activity around there, it will stop once there are tenants about.”

  “But the house has been unoccupied for some time.”

  The quiet statement did nothing to lessen Halcombe’s annoyance at having his missing wife come up in the conversation, even obliquely, and his voice roughened. “Not entirely. Some staff remains.” He frowned. “Where did you get this so-called information? How reliable is it? Rumours abound along the coast—tales of smugglers, wreakers, ghosts that walk the cliffs. It’s all a pack of nonsense.”

  The speculation in Summerton’s eyes was enough to cool his fit of temper. Halcombe picked up his port, drank, and changed his expression to one of mild curiosity.

  “I have had previous correspondence from this source that has proved to be most accurate,” Summerton said with a lift of his brows.

  “One of your own agents? Then why can’t he investigate?” There was something in the viscount’s manner that made Halcombe curious, in spite of his determined disinterest. Was there something suspicious about the informer?

  “Not one of my agents.” Summerton’ mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I wish it was. He is a well-informed fellow, whoever it is.”

  “You don’t know who it is? And you trust him anyway?” Surprised, Halcombe straightened. “Why?”

  “For some months, I have received occasional letters with information concerning Napoleon’s political movements across Europe. It has, at times, been extremely helpful.”

  “Do you even know where these letters come from?”

  “No,” the viscount admitted with a shrug. “The letters simply show up, most often delivered by some scruffy errand boy, and they are signed ‘a friend’. At this point I don’t care who it is, although I’d like to respond, if solely to say thanks.” He grinned. “I wish I could ask a dozen questions, to be frank, but will take what I can get.”

  Halcombe shook his head. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. I will find out what I can—assuming there is anything to discover, which I doubt.” He changed the subject with a wave of his hand. “What do you hear of Montford? Is he still skulking around Europe?” Edward Hollings, Baron Montford, was the third of their ‘terrible trio’, as Colin’s sister delighted in dubbing them. Montford was rarely in England these days. Halcombe had not heard from him in close to a year.

  Summerton laughed. “Ned is with the army in Spain, doing a bit of exploring. Last I heard, not too long ago, he was well and just as elusive as ever.”

  Halcombe’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Good for him. From what I hear of conditions there, it is wise to keep your head down and keep moving.” He stood and held up his glass. “It has also been a long day for me. I am more than ready to eat. Is there anything to be had in this palace of yours?”

  “Hardly a palace, my lad. Obviously you have not seen the Prince’s latest obsession. His Brighton pavilion is a sight to behold—an extremely expensive one.” Summerton rose, walked over to ring the bell, and then cleared a chess set from a small table on the other side of the room. “But food there is and it will soon arrive. Come and join me.” He gestured to the table, picked up a bottle from the sideboard, and turned the discussion to the latest London gossip.

  This interested the earl not at all, but left his mind free to think over the earlier conversation. The whole thing sounded improbable to him, but if Summerton needed an investigation, he would do his best to determine if there was any basis to it. He owed the man more than a few discreet inquiries could repay. If Colin had not sent him off to draw maps for the government, who knew what folly he might have committed? There was no question in his mind that the years he had spent wandering in Europe were the making of him, and the one thing that had kept him from a total break with his father. Yes, he would do what he could to help.

  Chapter Five

  London1809

  Aunt Olivia’s business manager met Frances and her companions at the dock in Portsmouth and settled them in a comfortable coach soon after they disembarked. Charles Reede was a soft-spoken gentleman who kept Olivia’s winery and household well run, and Frances counted him a friend. The man had been in love with Livvy for years, and she hoped one day her aunt would realize it. Perhaps she did to some extent. At times, Frances judged Olivia was flustered in Charles’ company. It was a hopeful sign.

  The trip to London was uneventful. In a surprisingly short time they were installed in a suite at Grillon’s Hotel. The first few days were spent recovering from the long journey and seeing about new clothing for them all. Livvy’s English dressmaker personally delivered the wardrobes they had ordered before they left Portugal. Now, the fittings were done and the completed clothing hung neatly away. Frances no longer had the excuse of outmoded gowns to put off the inevitable. However unready she felt, it was time to proceed with her plans.

  She studied her reflection soberly while Nancy did up her hair. The dark blue walking dress and matching spencer were elegant and restrained, with just a hint of dash provided by the single feather on the hat that lay in her lap. It was a far different outfit than the more girlish clothing she had worn before she left England, but she had no intention of appearing before Lord Summerton resembling some penniless waif.

  Suddenly impatient to get on with it, Frances picked up her rouge pot and applied the faintest blush to her pale cheeks. The instant the maid thrust the final pin into her upswept hair she put on her hat and stood.

  “Thank you, Nancy. It is time for us to go. Mr. Reede will be waiting downstairs to escort us.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey and smiled shyly. “I’ll just get my cloak, madam.”

  She hurried off and Frances sighed. Nancy was kind enough to act as a ladies maid for them, but her first responsibility was to Flora. Although the hotel had supplied a maid for general duties, that was a temporary measure at best. She must remember to ask Charles to send some applicants for her to interview.

  As Frances expected, Charles was waiting, and with his usual grave courtesy saw them seated in the cab before he stepped in and took the seat opposite. The distance was short and all too soon the vehicle stopped before a tall house on Cavendish Square.

  “Are you sure you do not want me to come in with you?” Charles’ expression held such concern that Frances reached over and patted his hand.

  “Quite sure. Lord Summerton will do me no harm. In fact, I expect he will be so shocked as to be speechless.” She grinned impishly at him and was rewarded with a reluctant smile.

  “Yes, I suppose he will be.” Charles stepped from the carriage, helped her out, and then assisted Nancy. He escorted them to the top of the steps, knocked on the door, and squeezed Frances’ hand before he returned to the cab to wait for them.

  Frances gave the maid an encouraging smile and schooled her face into that haughty, superior mien that butlers seemed to appreciate. When the door opened, she stepped inside as though she were an honored guest—not someone who might be turned from the door!

  “Lady Halcombe, to see Lord Summerton.” Without the slightest tremor, Frances gave the man her card and added smoothly, “Please tell him I would appreciate a few minutes o
f his time.” No need for anyone to know her stomach was fluttering up and down like a seesaw.

  The man stared at the card, looked at her face, and swallowed. “Certainly, my lady. I will ascertain that Lord Summerton is at home.”

  Since Frances had made inquiries to make sure his lordship was indeed at home this morning, she was certain of his presence. The butler showed her to a graciously appointed salon before going in search of Lord Summerton. She bade Nancy to have a seat on one of the benches in the passageway, laid her hat and gloves on a chair, and glanced around. The room was charmingly done up in rose and gold and was somewhat delicate in style. Perhaps Summerton’s mother had chosen the furnishings. He also had a sister, if she remembered correctly. She might have been the decorator.

  Too nervous to remain still, Frances went to gaze out the window. Calm, she had to stay calm. She could not display the slightest fear in front of this man. He was Richard’s best friend and someone she, too, had considered a friend, although they had not spent much time in company. He would undoubtedly be angry—for Richard’s sake, if not his own. But she believed he would help her. Forcing her breath to steady, Frances opened her clenched hands, dropped them loosely at her sides, and assumed a polite expression at the sound of footsteps approaching the door.