Page 15

T he following morning, Harrington reported to Horse Guards in response to another summons from William Windham.

The vote had taken place the previous day, and both acts the Secretary of State had asked him to support had passed by a comfortable margin.

For once in his life, Harrington wasn’t dreading the prospect of going before his superior.

He’d done a deuced good job, if he said so himself.

He was once again escorted into the room with the large, circular desk. Windham rose and came around the desk, then proceeded to pump Harrington’s hand and thank him for his good work.

Hoping that would be it, Harrington leaned toward the door, but Windham gestured for him to sit. “You have been of great use to the government on this initiative.” His brown eyes bored down on Harrington. “I hope you will prove to be equally effective in accomplishing your next task.”

Next task? Fuck . Harrington was reminded why he had never made any effort in school. Letting on that you were competent led to nothing but trouble.

But he could hardly deny the Secretary of State, so he said, “What did you have in mind, sir?”

Windham peered at him. “What I am about to tell you is a matter of national security. I only entrust this information to you because you are a member of Parliament. I trust you will hold it in the strictest confidentiality.”

Bloody hell . How had it come to this? He was Harrington Astley . One of the worst-behaved students in the history of Eton. He was the last person who should be trusted with state secrets!

He shifted in his chair. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable being privy to such sensitive information.”

Windham inclined his head. “I understand your reticence, especially as you are so new to your role as MP. I’m afraid it is necessary. You see, you are in a unique position to accomplish the task I am about to set before you.”

“Really?” How the hell was that possible ? The only thing he could think of that he was in a unique position to accomplish was making an arse of himself.

But Windham’s face was sincere. “Indeed. I believe that during your deployment to Hanover, you befriended a young Swedish duke.”

“You mean Carl Frederick?” Harrington blurted.

Which was an idiotic thing to say, because who else could it be?

Swedish dukes weren’t exactly thick on the ground.

Harrington thought of Carl Frederick as a captain, which was his rank in the army.

But he knew he was also somehow related to the Swedish king—his second cousin once removed, perhaps?

And that he was the duke of the Swedish province of V?rmland.

It was funny that Windham mentioned Carl Frederick, because Harrington had received a letter from him just that morning.

It seemed Carl Frederick was in Britain on a diplomatic errand and had rented a country house just outside of London.

He had invited Harrington to come out for a few days to attend an impromptu gathering.

Windham leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “Precisely. He has invited you to attend a house party he is hosting.”

Harrington sat back in his chair, stunned. “How did you know that?”

Windham waved a hand. “This is another thing that I must ask you to keep confidential. The Royal Mail has a secret division charged with… keeping the government abreast of matters of state interest.”

“At The Royal Mail?” Harrington gaped at him. “You’re saying that they… open and read people’s mail?”

“They open and read people’s mail,” Windham confirmed. He pointed a finger at Harrington. “You are to tell no one of that.”

“Right.” Harrington ran a hand through his hair and noticed it was shaking.

He was in so far over his head right now.

How did Windham not understand that he was speaking to the man who was once arrested for being so drunk, he didn’t notice that the wall he was pissing against belonged to the offices of the Bow Street Runners?

It hadn’t helped that the incident had taken place at three in the afternoon, rather than three in the morning.

Fortunately for Harrington, Peter had made a handsome donation of new firearms to the Bow Street Officers, and the charges had been dropped.

Still, the point was, he was not the sort of man you entrusted with state secrets. “But… The letter I received from Carl Frederick hadn’t been opened. It was still sealed.”

Windham brushed this off. “The men employed in this particular office are experts in opening and re-sealing letters in such a way that makes it impossible to tell that the letter has been tampered with.”

“I… I see.” Harrington tried to stop squirming in his seat. “So, what is it you want me to do?”

Windham’s expression grew pained. “I’m sure that during your time in Hanover, it did not escape your notice that Sweden’s king is…” He waved a hand, trying to come up with a diplomatic way to describe Sweden’s eccentric monarch.

Harrington appreciated his struggle. On the one hand, King Gustav IV Adolf was Britain’s staunchest ally, the only head of state who hadn’t stabbed his erstwhile allies in the back or promptly folded when Napoleon marched on Germany.

On the other hand, the king’s assertion that the six thousand troops Sweden had garrisoned in Stralsund could stand against Napoleon’s Grande Armée was not what you would call realistic.

To make matters worse, the king persisted in addressing the man who had proclaimed himself emperor as Monsieur Bonaparte, an insult that had moved him to the very top of Napoleon’s list of enemies.

“A bit of a fruitcake?” Harrington offered.

Windham cleared his throat. “Just so. Although, once again, I trust you will keep that comment confidential.”

Harrington inclined his head. “Of course.”

The Secretary of State clasped his hands before him on the desk.

“In spite of his idiosyncrasies, King Gustav remains a potential ally, and a valuable one at that. We are currently attempting to build a new coalition to challenge Napoleon, and it would behoove us to know which way the wind blows.” At Harrington’s blank look, he continued, “We have considered the possibility that King Gustav was disappointed by Britain’s choice to retreat from Hanover, rather than stand and fight, as he wished to do. ”

“Stand and fight?” Harrington surged to his feet.

“That would have been madness . Napoleon had 180,000 men! Maybe if Emperor Francis hadn’t given that idiot, General Mack, command of the Austrian army, all because he told him what he wanted to hear—that Austria’s forces could stand against the Grande Armée when they weren’t trained and weren’t even armed ?—”

Windham held out both palms, placating. “Please?—”

Harrington was unable to stifle the words spilling from his mouth. “And if Prussia hadn’t double-crossed us, and Russia hadn’t jaunted back to the safety of their ice-encrusted?—”

“ Lieutenant .” Windham spoke the word sharply enough that Harrington managed to stop his rant.

“I’m sorry, sir.” He rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed.

The Secretary of State gestured for Harrington to resume his seat. “There is no need to convince me. You are correct on every point.” He gave Harrington a wry smile. “I’m sure the issue feels very personal, given that you were the one abandoned by our allies in the field.”

Harrington cleared his throat. “Just so, sir.”

“But our concern is that, in spite of the eminently reasonable points you have raised, King Gustav might see the situation differently.”

“And so, you’d like me to speak to Carl Frederick about it.” Harrington put his hands on his thighs, preparing to stand. “I’d be glad to.”

Windham held out a finger. “I would not say that we want you to speak to Carl Frederick about it, precisely.”

Harrington wasn’t sure where this was going, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it. “Oh?”

“The young duke is a clever man who will, naturally, tell us what we wish to hear. His correspondence, on the other hand, may contain the king’s… unvarnished opinions.”

Harrington laughed nervously. “I thought you were already opening and reading his correspondence.”

Windham cringed. “We are. But we missed a letter. Carl Frederick was overheard mentioning it to one of his advisors. He referred to it as containing, ‘state secrets.’”

“Oh, God.” Harrington leaned his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. “And you want me to… steal it?”

Windham waved a hand. “Not at all. We would prefer for you to make a copy and bring it to us. That will arouse far less suspicion.”

Harrington squinted at him. “But won’t it be in Swedish?”

Windham shrugged. “Yes. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out. The house party isn’t for a few days, after all.”

Harrington gaped at him. So, he was supposed to learn Swedish ? That was the actual plan? And that was assuming he could even find the bloody letter.

Harrington tugged at the stock around his neck, which felt unaccountably tight. “How will I know which one is the right letter?”

“Our associates at the Royal Mail have a guess. Although they do not have the capacity to open all the duke’s correspondence, they have been cataloguing each piece of mail he receives.

Upon further review, one of those unopened letters was sealed with an old crest associated with the Swedish crown, dating back to the period when it was in the hands of the House of Mecklenburg. ”

“M-mecklenburg?” Harrington stammered. Hope blazed inside of him. Because… Diana’s Aunt Griselda had been born on the Continent. Her last name was Saxe-Mecklenburg!

He couldn’t find Mecklenburg on a map to save his life. But he was damn sure Diana could. And from the sound of things, Mecklenburg and Sweden were more closely connected than he had realized.

She spoke a half dozen languages, didn’t she? Maybe she even spoke Swedish…

Harrington looked squarely at the Secretary of State. “I will do my best. Tell me exactly what I’m looking for.”

A half-hour later, he stepped outside. The day had dawned bright and sunny, which was incongruous, given the despair welling in his heart. He was still convinced that he was doomed to almost certain failure.

But thanks to Diana, there was a sliver of hope.

He needed to speak with her. His sister, Anne, and his brother-in-law, Michael, were hosting a gathering tomorrow at their villa a few miles outside of town. Diana and her family were bound to have received an invitation.

He would need to find a way to have a private word with Diana. As he mounted his horse, he mused that getting her alone would probably prove just as difficult a task as stealing the letter from Carl Frederick.