Page 23 of His Wife, the Spy (His Enterprising Duchess #4)

T he London garden was too small to provide much of a distraction, so Annabel took her time in examining each stalk before pruning it and second-guessing whether a weed was actually a weed. However, pondering every decision allowed her to consider every decision.

Not everyone in your life wants to hurt you.

Yet he’d still been in Claudette’s room. The look on his face, like a child caught sneaking a forbidden treat, had flayed her heart to pieces.

“It’s your own fault,” she muttered as she uprooted a weed, ferreting out all the sprawling tendrils to prevent its return. “You told him to keep going as he had been, and he has.”

She stripped off her gloves to dig her fingers in the dirt. It was easier to follow the roots’ paths and determine if they’d tangled with useful plantings. “And his enjoying you in bed doesn’t prevent him from enjoying other women.” She dug under the errant plant and lifted it away, shaking the usable dirt back into the hole. “Or vice versa.”

The weed landed in the bucket with a soft whump . “If peers with mistresses ceased sleeping with their wives, there would be no one in Lords by now.”

Jasper’s pale face had been grooved with pain, and he’d held himself awkwardly. She’d had a doll once that, if twisted, lost its head. She’d treated it with care, cradling it in her arms. She’d wanted to do the same with her husband.

I overdid it while you were gone.

He and Claudette had been apart for months.

Not everyone sought to hurt people, but they were hurt all the same.

She moved to the next rosebush, dead-heading the faded blooms and checking for pests. They had been honest about their reasons for marriage, and he’d lived up to his side of their bargain. Fairness demanded she do the same.

But she loved him too much to knowingly share him with someone else. She would have to make plans to leave. Annabel blinked to clear her vision before she lifted her clippers to a stray stem.

“Lady Ramsbury?”

Annabel dropped her tool, and the stem whipped forward, driving the thorn into her thumb. The tears she’d been ignoring trickled down the edge of her nose. “Blast.”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Claudette said in her soft voice with its musical lilt. “If you would prefer, I can wait inside until you are finished.”

I would prefer you go back to bloody Paris and wait until hell freezes over . Annabel paused. None of her etiquette lessons had taught her to how to behave when having her husband’s mistress as a houseguest. Spiteful and hateful would be easy, but looking herself in the mirror would be difficult.

The Warren family was always kind to others, and she was a Warren for a little while yet.

“It’s too lovely this morning to stay inside.” Annabel looked up to the sky, noticing the sunshine for the first time. “There is coffee on the table.” She motioned toward the tree where Barnes had insisted on setting the service.

“Will you join me?” Claudette asked. She sounded impossibly young.

“I believe I will.” Annabel stopped short of thanking her for the invitation. This was still her home. Instead, she washed her hands in the nearby basin and used a cloth to clean her nails.

She joined Claudette at the table. “How do you prefer it?”

“Two creams and three sugars.” Claudette grinned. “Jasper teases that I like it so my spoon stands up on its own.”

“That sounds like something he would say.” Annabel handed the cup to her guest without tipping it into her stupid French lap. “Did you sleep well?”

“Eventually.” Claudette sipped her coffee. “I can never sleep aboard ship for fear we will sink, but the exhaustion worsens my cauchemars . Sleep is elusive most days.”

“Why not come over land, then? Surely Lord Warwick—”

“Kit says the sea is safer because there are fewer people and narrowed avenues for attack, but I believe he simply likes it.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I tease that he and Gareth would have been happier in the navy, though we likely never would have met.”

“They were stationed in Paris?”

“Oh no. My father represented the French government in Egypt. I met them in Cairo during the Ottoman War.”

“It must have been frightening.” Annabel had been in danger only a handful of times. She couldn’t imagine living in a country where death was a constant threat. No wonder the young lady had nightmares.

“At times.” Claudette gave her a sideways glance. “But it also had its thrilling moments.”

Annabel’s fingers tingled with the memory of firing the pistol and the thrill of watching her prey retreat. Nothing had prepared her for that feeling, or for how alive she’d felt when they were out of danger. “Most things in life have two sides.”

“That is true.” Claudette refilled her coffee. “My friends in Paris are always shocked when I tell them Egypt was the happiest time of my life.”

“Because of Gareth?”

The other woman nodded. “I had traveled Europe with Father for several years, so each post had begun to resemble the others. Gareth had never been farther from Wales than London, so he was eager to see everything as his time allowed. In between, he and Kit told me stories of growing up in Cardiff surrounded by his father’s horses and the fun they’d had with Jasper.” She was quiet for several moments, lost in her memories. “ En chemin, je suis tombé amoureux .”

Love did happen when it was least expected, for better or worse. “You married after the war?”

“No, during. My father was… livide , but he eventually gave us his blessing. I believe he didn’t want any harshness between us when I followed the regiment to stay near Gareth.”

“You followed him onto the battlefield?”

“As close as I could be. He insisted I stay at the rear, but I wanted to do my part. I volunteered in the hospital, helping with surgeries and praying I would never see Gareth—or Kit—on the surgeon’s table.”

Jasper had said Gareth survived the war. Despite her better judgment, Annabel wanted to know how Claudette had gone from happy bride to widowed mistress. “You came back to Wales after the war ended?”

“We settled in Paris. Gareth’s family was not happy with him for marrying a French girl.” She stared at her folded hands. “For five years, they returned every letter he wrote to them. And so he decided to go to Cardiff and confront them. He never returned.”

Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. What would she have done if Jasper left and never returned? What if he’d been attacked while he was alone and bled to death in the street? “You came looking for him.”

Claudette nodded. “Kit met me on the docks in his very solemn way and brought me here to meet Jasper.” A small, quick smile flitted across her face. “He is so like Gareth. He thinks more than he says, and his body races to keep up with his mind.”

A knife pierced Annabel’s heart. That was one characteristic she loved as well. She’d couldn’t bear this story any longer. “I should return to my weeding.”

“You are worried for Jasper? Is he worse again?”

Again?

The word, combined with the concern in Claudette’s eyes, pricked Annabel’s conscience. “He is too stubborn to get worse. He’s likely prowling his room like a tiger in a cage.”

“He does that when he thinks,” Claudette said. “And the faster his feet, the faster his thoughts. Cela me donne le vertige .” She fastened her gaze on Annabel. “We all have our ways. I bake. You garden.”

And yet nothing was solved. Everything was still as confusing, as dizzying, as watching Jasper wear a path in the rug. “Mrs. Hughes, what is your relationship with my husband?”

Claudette inhaled deeply, held the breath for a moment, and then released it. “I am grateful that you asked.” She frowned. “That is the wrong word. Reconnaissante . Do you understand that word?”

Thankful . Annabel nodded, her heart thudding.

“Society sees a Frenchwoman who is dependent on a handsome man and assumes many things that are untrue. The more the hypothèse is repeated, the easier it is to believe. Even if it is painful.” Claudette briefly squeezed Annabel’s fingers. “There is more to our story than the superficial.”

Biting her tongue, Annabel forced herself to wait for the rest of the tale.

“All I have of Gareth is the letter he sent me from Cardiff, saying his family was still angry, and he was sailing for home. I don’t even have a grave where I can grieve.” Her fists tightened until her knuckles were white. “For the past year, they have accused me of killing him when he returned to Paris empty-handed. I, in turn, have been foolish enough to retaliate—accusing them of harming him when he refused to abandon me.”

Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Jasper and Kit have been infatigable in finding the truth, in convincing all of us that we were stronger together if we focused on the same goal. Without them, I would have lost my will to fight for Gareth. And for myself.”

Again, Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. She had slept very little last night, and Jasper was still alive on the other side of the wall. How much would it torture her to know he was lost and might never be found? That she would never see him again, even if it was only to argue?

“That is the cause of your nightmares?”

Claudette shivered. “They are terrible. Jasper says I scream the house down, though I never remember it. All I know is his kindness when I wake.”

Is that what you think of me ?

“I have misjudged you,” Annabel said, meaning every word. “I am sorry.”

“It is already forgiven.” Claudette dabbed her eyes and smiled. “I was often jealous of Gareth. When you find someone you love, it is easy to believe that everyone loves them in the same way. I am happy that Jasper has you.”

“Yes, well…” Annabel floundered for a topic that was not her marriage or the husband she had disappointed. “Have you been in Cardiff since we first met at Kennet Hall?”

Claudette nodded. “Jasper and Kit convinced me to stay, to see if villagers might talk to a widow more easily. That worked in two ways. The women were more willing to talk to me, but Gareth’s family also observed from a distance. I wrote them an apology, and we have met. Our friendship is fragile, though, and they look for any reason to doubt me.”

Which was why she couldn’t stay at Kit’s new home. A newlywed marquess and his wife were the perfect hosts. “Are you closer to finding the truth?”

“We have a name and a collection of stories, but we don’t know how anything ties to Gareth. It couldn’t have been his military service, not in Wales. He’d been gone so long that any grudges would have likely faded. That only leaves his father’s stables, but the family has no records of dealing with Mr. Collins.”

Annabel lost her breath. Mr. Collins from Wales. A body that would never be found. A scheme in danger of failing.

Spencer.

She pushed away from the table and fought to keep her chair upright. “Excuse me. I must speak with Jasper right away.”

*

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Jasper demanded.

“I was distracted by your collapsing in my arms in a bloody heap,” Kit said around a mouthful of scone.

He made it sound far worse than it had been. “And after that?”

“You were unconscious for a good bit. I had to choose between watching you sleep or catching up on things at Warwick House.”

“You mean home , Cousin?”

It was odd to call Kit that, but it felt good to do so. And now that he was privy to the family secret, Jasper could see the resemblance between his best friend and the uncle he’d known all those years ago.

“Is that what it is?” Kit filled his coffee cup. “My staff hates me, the reading from Lords puts me to sleep, and there are calling cards piling up at the door. And tenants? Jasper, I have tenants .”

Jasper understood the feeling. Sometimes it seemed as though the only real privilege of a title was waiting to get it. Once you had it, the responsibilities fell heavily. Especially the care for those who had no privilege at all.

“You will be an excellent landlord.” He meant it. There was no one better at logical decisions than Kit.

“Thank you,” Kit said. “It will help that I have you to ask.” He drew a deep breath. “But to the matter at hand…”

Finally. Jasper rocked forward and put his elbows on his knees, only to straighten when his body protested.

“Collins is making the rounds to every mine. He goes to the nearest pub, finds the biggest groups, and feeds them money and alcohol while bragging about his new job as a foreman at a new concern. Better pay, better conditions, more opportunities.” Kit shifted in his chair. “The authorities there haven’t given him much thought. Bragging, even lying, isn’t a crime.”

“But murder is,” Jasper said.

“Which is where Claudette has helped. We know for certain where Gareth was, and at what time. We know Collins and some of his cronies crossed his path. We just don’t have a motive.”

Without that, they’d fail to give solace to Claudette and to Gareth’s family.

And if Spencer wasn’t tied to the scheme, they’d likely fail the queen.

The key in the lock turned, and Annabel stepped from her room to his. “We need to talk, right away.”

“Your husband and I are discussing matters not for public knowledge, Lady Ramsbury,” Kit barked. “Kindly leave—”

Annabel squared off to face him. “Do you mean trying to find an embezzler in the palace? Or finding a murderer in Cardiff?”

“Christ, Jasper. Do you ever stop and think?” Kit pushed himself upright. “Isn’t it convenient that you’ve never been set upon by highwaymen until you were traveling with her? And now your attacker was waiting outside a house that has been vacant for months?” He thrust a finger toward Annabel. “Perhaps she told him—”

“Oh yes, perhaps I told them so I could try to kill one of them in the dark. Or so I could have the joy of a dress covered in my husband’s blood while we raced home,” Annabel parried.

“It would be a wise move to thwart an assassination as part of your role—”

“Enough.” Jasper resisted the impulse to tighten the belt on his dressing gown. It was difficult to issue commands while dressed in silk, but perhaps if he acted like he was wearing trousers, he could bluff his way through it. “She is my wife, Kit. I trust her.”

There was a difference between that and disappointment that she suspected him of things far worse than being a traitor.

“Why?” Kit demanded.

Jasper held up his hand and ticked off his reasoning with each raised finger. “I told her of the embezzlement but not the murder. The visit to Ramsbury House was a surprise. I was on foot, so it would have been easier to follow me.” He drew a deep breath and raised his pinkie. “I wasn’t the target.”

It haunted him every time he was still. A thin man all in black, a cap pulled low over his eyes, a scarf pulled to his nose as he strode toward Annabel. The knife glinting in the sunlight.

“I apologize, dearest. I didn’t mean for you to find out that way.” He extended his hand and was relieved when she took it.

Despite her paler-than-normal complexion, she wore a predictable frown. “You’re wrong, Jasper. He called for you, not for me.”

“I am not wrong.” The stranger called Lady Ramsbury in his nightmares. “But we can argue over it later.” He indicated the chair nearest him, even though her sitting meant releasing his hand. “What did you need to tell me?”

“I can tie Reginald Spencer to Mr. Collins,” she said. A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips, but her eyes held questions that broke his heart anew. She didn’t doubt her conclusion. She feared what he would do with it.

“How?” Kit snapped. “How do you know Mr. Collins?”

“I don’t know him, exactly.” Her fingers writhed in her gardening apron, twisting the fabric first one way and then the other. “It’s more that I know of him.”

Kit snorted, and Jasper shot him a quelling look before refocusing on Annabel’s story. “Tell me.”

“The last time I was in Spencer’s home, he was there.”

“Before your wedding?” Kit’s sharp question would have been welcome any other time, with any other witness.

Annabel ignored him. Her deep brown eyes focused on Jasper as her color heightened. “Two days after the Haverstocks’ ball.”

“Why that day?” Kit asked. “What did you—”

Annabel’s eyes flashed before she turned to face her inquisitor. “Lord Warwick, you will have your answers if you allow me to finish my explanation without interruption.”

Given their midnight activities after the ball, Jasper could understand Kit’s concern over the timing of her visit. That didn’t keep him from laughing. “Just so. Please continue, my marchioness.”

It wouldn’t hurt to remind Kit that he wasn’t the ranking member of their party. It also wouldn’t hurt—at all—to hold her hand. If nothing else, it would be a show of unity. It would also save her apron.

“I went to tell Spencer that I was through, and he could do his worst.” Her hands stilled, reminding Jasper of her midnight confession. Annabel took confessing very seriously. “He held my father’s debts.”

“The sale of the library satisfied them, and I made certain Patton paid him directly.” Jasper glanced at Kit. This distinction was important for his point. There was no longer a reason for Annabel to keep Spencer’s secrets. It made her a threat. A target. “But back to Collins. He was there?”

Annabel nodded. “He and Sir Reginald were in the library. I heard them when I went in search of his dreadful housekeeper. Collins confessed to a murder, and I believe it was Gareth’s.” She glanced from Jasper to Kit and back again. “He said the man had heard too much of their scheme.”

And now she’s heard too much. Jasper resisted the urge to draw the curtains and move her into a corner of the room. “What else?”

“Collins was here to meet with someone named Christian—”

“The man I met with your father.” A thrill went through him as his instincts were confirmed.

“And there was talk of someone from Cork and something about…powder?”

“Holy God,” Kit breathed from his chair.

Jasper had forgotten he was in the room. “Are you certain, dearest? Was there anything else?”

“Their partnership is not an easy one,” Annabel said. “Collins seems to have as much sway over Spencer as Spencer has over him.”

“Not a position Spencer would enjoy,” Kit murmured.

He also doesn’t like people telling him no. Jasper turned back to Annabel and hoped his fingers weren’t as cold as the rest of him. “Do they know you overheard them?”

“The door stayed closed.” Her brows knitted together. “But there is a chance that his housekeeper saw me listening. She’s a dreadful busybody.”

Jasper fought the urge to laugh, but only until he saw the sparkle in her eye.

“It won’t hold up in court.” Kit prowled the other end of the room. “All she can say is that she heard Spencer call someone Collins while discussing a murder in Wales. Collins is a common enough name that it could have been anyone.”

“He walked with a cane,” Annabel said. “If that helps.”

“Slightly.” Jasper squeezed her fingers. “And though it may not hold up in court, which I’d prefer you not be involved in anyway, it gives us a wedge to put between them. If Collins thought Spencer was about to betray him…”

“And Spencer thought Collins was about to do the same…” Kit dropped into the nearest chair.

They were quiet for a long few moments. “It could work,” Jasper said.

“It has to.” Kit’s jaw was tight. “A new mine with outlandish promises, staffed by men who are already disgruntled, and an Irish bomber who already has half his money?” Blowing up a mine wouldn’t be cheap. “How did Spencer get it?”

“He has new curtains in his drawing room,” Annabel whispered.

“What does that matter?” Kit’s question, though abrupt, was not dismissive.

Jasper was accustomed to Kit’s brusque debating style, but it had chafed at first. He was relieved to see Annabel’s reaction limited to a slight frown and a deep inhale.

“He has several new expenses tied to Elizabeth’s Season. The house here is leased, and Mrs. Spencer is in Bath. Even though she’s in the family home there, her upkeep is not free.” She shifted in her chair to face Kit. “While I lived with the family, the furnishings weren’t sparse, but they weren’t lavish. We ate well enough, but not sumptuously. Elizabeth went out, but he rarely went anywhere but his club.”

Jasper thought back over his social outings, considering where he’d seen Spencer outside of Parliament. The last was when he’d met Gwennie Harris at the latest stage comedy. “He has a box at the theatre.”

Jasper had thought it odd. Spencer always seemed too dour to enjoy dramatics.

“And?” Kit motioned for them to get to their point.

“He’s third.” Jasper smiled as Annabel’s voice chimed with his. A glance her way revealed her impish grin and set his heart racing.

But he needed to focus.

“His role as chaplain doesn’t command a lavish salary, and even before that, his earnings as a clergyman would have been adequate, at best.” Jasper stood, driven by his whirring brain to pace the floor. “His eldest brother, Lord Benton, is parsimonious, even with his own family.” The man never went anywhere, and his daughters were so seldom seen that there were frequent rumors they’d been shuffled off to nunneries. “He’s not going to waste money on his youngest brother’s new drapes.”

“So you believe he’s stealing it from the queen for furniture ?” Kit cast him a dubious look. “That seems rather shortsighted. Perhaps he’s just blackmailing someone for the coin.”

“No.”

Annabel’s decisive contradiction drew Jasper up short. “Explain.”

“Someone recently told me that Spencer’s schemes are never far from the truth.” She looked from him to Kit, then back. “He told me you two were plotting upheaval in Wales. Which he is doing.”

“He is tying you to the investment,” Kit said.

Jasper snorted a laugh. “He’s not going to use gunpowder to ruin my reputation.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “You haven’t been to Cardiff in a while, Jasper. Unrest is a mild term. Those men are tired of risking their lives to heat all of England for only shillings a day. Another unsafe hole in the ground will lead to a strike. The queen won’t let them hold the country hostage.”

“And Spencer gets to be the hero,” Jasper said. He’d spun his role in Stratford’s scandal in a similar fashion, benefitting from Drake and Jocelyn Fletcher’s desire for anonymity. “He already has Collins and Christian to make the introductions so he can smooth things over. The queen will give him anything he asks.”

“Like the promotion he’s been chasing,” Annabel added. “He also sees your reputation ruined. You’ll be tied to the mine by gossip, and you will lose your influence in Parliament and with the prime minister.”

Kit uttered the curse that Jasper’s mind couldn’t yet form. No wonder Spencer wanted Annabel dead.

“Graydon’s giving him the money, Jasper. It’s the only way he’d have enough to pay for something this large this quickly.” Kit had the look of a pointer on the trail of a fox. “And Graydon owes him his help in securing the Exchequer position.”

Jasper didn’t want to believe that Charles Melton, the Marquess of Graydon, had any role in this scheme. The man had a reputation for horse racing, yes, but it was a long way from gambling debts to treason. And he was never in Spencer’s company.

Not that anyone had seen—or at least noticed. But the Graydon family also had a box at the theatre. It was near Jasper’s.

“ Much Ado About Nothing is on stage in two days’ time.” He walked to Annabel and smiled at her curious frown. Her shoulder was firm against his palm, but her collarbones were delicate. It would be too easy to injure her. Or worse. He should send her to Ramsbury until this was over. “Would you like to go to the theatre?”

“I love Shakespeare.” Realization lit her eyes, and she curved her warm, strong hand over his. “Thank you.”