Page 3 of The Scarlet Spy (Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies #3)

Chapter Three

“ S horten your stride, my dear.” Mrs. Merlin murmured a low reminder. ”A lady never appears to be in a rush.”

“Sorry.” Sofia swallowed a sigh as she took another turn around the Academy drawing room. “I shall try not to trip up again.”

The headmistress smiled. “You are doing very well.”

“ Si, si, bella .” Marco eyed her with obvious approval. “Lift your chin a touch higher, add a curl of condescension to your smile—yes, that’s it. Now you are the very picture of a regal contessa .”

“You are looking rather respectable yourself,” she shot back. The starched cravat was a perfect counterpoint to his olive complexion, and the tailored fit of the elegant evening coat accentuated his broad shoulders and slim waist. Even his hair had been trimmed, though it still fell nearly to his shoulders. She had to admit that the effect was impressive. “Indeed, I think you are an even better impostor than I am.”

“What makes you think you I am merely playing a role?” he asked, sweeping low in a courtly bow.

Sofia’s laugh ended on a note of uncertainty. The school instructors included a former courtesan to King Carlos, a convicted cardsharp, a Jamaican pugilist and an India yoga guru . It was not beyond the stretch of imagination that the Milanese swordsman could be . . .

“Watch your step, Sofia,” cautioned Mrs. Merlin.

Watch your step. Those words would be her mantra for the coming months.

“You must always appear cool, calm and collected,” added the headmistress.

Sofia nodded, though her insides were aflutter. Her traveling trunks were already in the entrance hall, packed with the costly silks and glittering jewels that would turn a nobody into a noble lady. Her fingers felt the plain gold locket under her lace fichu. Unlike in a fairy tale, there was no golden wand to help with the transformation.

They would all have to hope that Mrs. Merlin’s magic was enough.

“Excellent.” The headmistress removed her spectacles and pinched at the bridge of her nose. “I think we’ve finished with the lessons. Come have some tea before the coach arrives.”

Sofia assumed a seat on the sofa and smoothed her silks into place. “Thank you,” she said with a hint of hauteur. “You have no idea how difficult it is to get decent tea in Rome. It is only when I am at my summer calle near Venice that my cook can purchase a proper oolong blend from Ceylon.”

“The accent is perfect,” said Marco. “You have a good ear for Italian, bella .”

She grinned. “I’ve been listening to you whisper sweet nothings for long enough. Something was bound to rub off.”

“A pity it was not my hands doing the caressing.”

“Behave yourself,” she muttered under her breath.

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot—I must act like a gentleman. How very . . .” He mouthed the word ‘boring,” then winked.

Sofia bit back a grin. “Not for much longer.”

Steam swirled through the air as Mrs. Merlin poured hot water over the tea leaves. “Actually, Marco will also be traveling to London. Lord Lynsley is arranging for you to have an English escort to ease your way into Society. But given the complexities of this mission, we decided it would do no harm to have an ally on hand. Besides, his amorous attention will also serve to spark the interest of the other gentlemen.”

Marco flashed a wicked smile.

“I trust I don’t have to remind you not to overplay the role,” added the headmistress with a warning wag of her finger.

“ Non, non . When I put my mind to it, Signora Merlin, I can recall all the rules of proper etiquette.”

Sofia arched a skeptical brow. “I shudder to think of where you might have picked up such knowledge.”

He exaggerated a look of reproach. “My family is one of the oldest and most respected names in all of Lombardy.”

Skeptical, she looked to Mrs. Merlin, only to see the headmistress nod. “I think it is about time we cleared up any misconceptions regarding our assistant fencing master. Marco’s full name is Marco Musetti della Ghiradelli. Heir to the Conte of Como’s title and fortune.”

“A bloody conte ?” Sofia could not contain her shock.

“Ladies must never swear, bella ,” he murmured.

“On second thought, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.” Shaken by the revelation, Sofia felt somehow betrayed. She had seen Marco as a kindred soul—a rascal with no place in the world, save for what he could carve out for himself with his blade. To learn his august bloodlines ran back for centuries made her feel even more alone.

“Damn it, you lied to me.”

His look of amusement was gone in a flash. “Never. I may have omitted some parts of my background, but I never told you anything that was not true.”

“It comes down to the same thing,” she snapped. “You deliberately deceived me.”

“Deception is one of the basic teachings of the Academy. It must fit as easily as a second skin if we are to serve our purpose.” Mrs. Merlin was observing her through hooded eyes. “Marco’s true identity was something that Lord Lynsley wished to keep a secret. But as he is acquainted with one of our suspects from their school days in Geneva, it was decided that his presence could prove useful in making your mission successful. If you have any problems with that, Sofia, please voice them now.”

Drawing a deep breath, Sofia willed the heat to cool from her cheeks. “I’ve no problem at all,” she replied. “You are right, of course. It simply took me by surprise that a friend . . . It won’t happen again.”

“There is no such thing as friendship in our world,” said Mrs. Merlin. “The only emotion allowed is a dispassionate devotion to duty.”

“I won’t make that mistake again.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ticking of the tall case clock. Sofia sat very still, spine rigid, wondering if her slip had just cost her dearly. Perhaps Mrs. Merlin was recalling all the times she had bent the Academy rules to help keep her roommates out of trouble. Personal loyalty would no doubt be seen as a weakness, not a strength.

The crackle of papers seemed loud as cannonfire. The headmistress edged forward, light flashing off the lenses of her spectacles. “Let this be a last lesson before you go—you must never lower your guard, Sofia.”

Her muscles relaxed ever so slightly, allowing her to nod. “I won’t fail you, or Lord Lynsley.”

Mrs. Merlin skimmed over her notes, then looked up. “It won’t hurt to use the last few minutes here to review the assignment. The first order of business is to establish your welcome with the highest circles of Society. You are . . .”

“I am Contessa Sofia Constanza Bingham della Silveri,” recited Sofia. “My father, a younger son of Lord Whalley, was an English expatriate living in Rome who married an Italian barone . My husband was an elderly Venetian nobleman who passed away a little over a year ago. I am just coming out of mourning, and wished to visit the country of my father’s birth.”

She paused. “I take it all these people are real, seeing as there are several Italians among the group you wish me to infiltrate.”

“Of course,” replied Mrs. Merlin. “Mr. Bingham and his wife passed away years ago. Their only daughter—who, by the by, is living in a nunnery in Sicily—has never met her English relatives. As for your late husband, he was a notorious recluse, and sheltered his young bride from Venetian Society for the few months of their marriage. She then slipped away to Greece with her head gardener. You should encounter no awkward inquiries concerning your identity, but if you do?—”

“If I do, I shall improvise,” said Sofia.

“Excellent. And course, Marco will lend credence to your story. He will appear in London a day or two after your arrival, and take up residence at the Pulteney Hotel.” Mrs. Merlin turned a page. “Once you are accepted in London Society, you are to cultivate a friendship with a group of gentlemen who fashion themselves as The Scarlet Knights.”

The headmistress glanced at Marco. “Again, the conte will help with the necessary introductions.”

Sofia avoided his eye. “Have we a name for the Englishman who is providing an entree into the ton ?”

“Not as yet.”

“Not that it matters. I don’t imagine I will be seeing much of him after the first round of parties.” She quickly continued with the review of her orders. “The plan calls for me to hint that life as a proper young widow is a bit boring, and that I am not averse to experiencing a little adventure.”

“Exactly. From there, however, you will have to script your own moves. You have read over the pages from Lord Robert Woolsey’s diary. Lord Lynsley not only wishes to learn whether the Duke of Sterling’s grandson was the victim of foul play, but whether the hints of government corruption have any merits.”

The headmistress meditated for a moment on the dregs of her tea, as if some last bit of advice might be hidden in the leaves. “Make no mistake, my dear—it is a daunting, dangerous task. I regret that we can give you no more specific information as to what you are looking for. Lord Lynsley will have a few more details to add once you arrive in Town. After that, you will simply have to go by your own instincts.”

Another oblique hint that the only one she could trust was herself?

“I understand.”

A brusque knock on the door announced the school porter. “The carriage is loaded and ready, ma’am.”

Sofia rose. “Time to go.”

Finding Lynsley awaiting him in the foyer of White’s, Osborne didn’t bother removing his overcoat. The marquess was punctual—a pity, seeing as the club had some of the finest port in Town.

“Thank you for keeping the appointment, Osborne,” said the marquess. “My carriage is right outside.”

He waited until they both were settled back against the squabs before asking, “I confess to being curious, Lynsley. Why me?”

The marquess took a moment to answer. “London can be daunting for one unfamiliar with its manners and cliques. You move with ease through all the circles within circles of Society, while a stranger would likely find it hard to navigate through the hidden shoals and currents. I am hoping that your charm and your connections will help smooth the way for Lady Sofia Constanza Bingham della Silveri.”

Sofia. It was a pretty name.

“Your own stature in Society would surely guarantee invitations to any soiree worth attending,” observed Osborne.

“My current duties will not permit me to spend much time in Society during the next few months. The contessa cannot appear unescorted without giving rise to unpleasant gossip.”

“I fear you may be overestimating my influence in Society. I am sure you know others with more power and prestige. After all, I’m only a mere younger son of a marquess.”

“That is true. But power and prestige tend to create enemies.” The marquess slanted a sidelong glance at him. “From what I hear, you have none to speak of.”

Osborne felt himself color slightly. Though Lynsley was by no means an elderly gentleman—the marquess’s age appeared to be just a shade under forty—he felt a bit like a grubby schoolboy being examined by a demanding schoolmaster.

“I see. So then, tell me a bit about the lady,” he said, anxious to change the subject.

“As I mentioned before, she is the widow of an Italian count,” answered Lynsley. “Her father was, however, English, and she is anxious to spend some time in the country of her heritage.”

Osborne frowned slightly. “Why aren’t her own relatives handling her introduction into Society?”

Lynsley didn’t hesitate a fraction. “Her father was estranged from his family. She has never had any contact with them, and has no desire to attempt a reconciliation.”

“And how, may I ask, are you acquainted with the lady?”

Again, the marquess’s response came without a hitch. “I have known the young lady since she was a child. My diplomatic travels have allowed me to keep in contact over the years, and indeed, I recommended the school she attended. It was natural that she looked to me for advice.”

The explanation was perfectly reasonable, yet Osborne could not help feeling an odd prickling along his spine. His closest friend, the Earl of Kirtland, had briefly crossed paths with Lynsley eight months ago, only to be caught up in a swirl of mystery and murder at a remote Devonshire castle. Not to speak of the strangest rumors regarding a tattooed woman . . .

Damn Kirtland for being so tightlipped about his experience . And his new bride. The couple had left soon after their marriage to make the Grand Tour of Italy, so he could not press the earl for more details. There were a great many questions he would have liked to ask.

But seeing the faintly quizzical curl of Lynsley’s mouth, he set aside his musings. “Ah, that explains the connection,” he said politely. Crossing his legs, he went on. “As you mentioned before that she was attractive, I assume that she doesn’t have a squint or a limp to impede her acceptance into Society. You know the tabbies can be quick to seize on a weakness, and their teeth are unmercifully sharp. It is not that I would refuse to help, I simply would like to be warned in advance.”

“I assure you, Lady della Silveri’s physical appearance leaves nothing to be desired. Nor do her manners. She is poised, polished, and well-educated.” Lynsley’s smile grew a touch more pronounced. “She can converse on art, music and literature in several languages, she plays the pianoforte with exceptional skill and she is a picture of grace on the dancefloor.”

“She sounds like a paragon of perfection,” replied Osborne. “A pattern card of propriety. Everything should go smooth as silk. Indeed, I cannot imagine what could stand in our way.”

“Let me have one last look, milady.”

Sofia turned slowly, her skirts brushing lightly over the Axminster carpet.

“Very good.” Her lady’s maid gave a gruff nod. “Let me just add another hairpin to your topknot, and then we are done.”

“You are very skilled with your hands, Rose.” Sofia watched in the looking glass as the agile fingers give a deft twist to the curls. “You appear to have a good deal of practice in dressing a lady.”

“Yes, madam.” Rose smoothed a hair ribbon and stepped back from the dressing table.

“Have you worked with Lord Lynsley before?”

“Yes, madam.”

Sofia did not try to prolong the conversation. Like all the servants staffing the London townhouse, Rose was highly efficient at performing her duties, but seemed to have little inclination for discussing anything of a personal nature.

A tacit reminder that they were not here to become friends.

“Thank you,” she murmured, observing the final effect with a wry smile. “I don’t even recognize myself.”

“I daresay you will have all the gentlemen asking for an introduction, once you begin appearing in public.”

Sofia was unsure how much Rose knew about her mission. Quite a lot, she would guess, seeing as the maid had not batted an eye on seeing a case of swords and assorted weaponry among the bandboxes and dress trunks.

“Will you be going out tonight, milady?”

“I—I am not sure.” Sofia moved to the windows and peered down to the street below. It was still strange to see the parade of fashionable carriages and phaetons rolling by, rather than the spartan training fields and bridle paths of the Academy. The noise, the dirt, the gallimaufry of colors—it was all a bit overwhelming.

“I shall lay out the emerald silk with the ruched bodice. The color will set off your eyes very nicely.” Rose tapped her chin. “And the pearls, rather than any fancier jewels. I believe the marquess wishes the first impression to be one of understated elegance.”

Understated? Sophia regarded the gold and ruby ring on her finger. Lynsley had provided a king’s ransom in jewelry to go along with the trunkfuls of stylish clothing. She had never seen such a rich assortment of costly gems. A single earbob would have fed and clothed her and her ragtag urchin friends for several years in the stews.

The marquess had also provided ready blunt—a good deal of it, according to the accounting of the major domo in charge of her townhouse. Her orders were to spend it freely in the shops along Bond Street. It was her wealth as well as her looks that would attract the attention of the Scarlet Knights. Their sort of pleasure did not come cheap.

Neither did the vast assortment of sumptuous ballgowns and elegant day dresses. Sofia looked longingly at the dressing room where her breeches and boots lay tucked away in a bandbox. Curse corsets and petticoats. Such feminine finery felt terribly constricting after the freedom of her Academy uniform.

“The ivory gloves and fringed India shawl . . .” Rose was surveying the armoire full of accessories. “And the sea green reticule, to match the silk flowers I will thread through your hair.”

A knock at the door interrupted the maid’s murmuring. “Lord Lynsley has arrived,” announced the footman. “He and his companion are waiting in the drawing room.

Sofia felt a flutter of nerves. Had she mastered the mannerisms of a real lady? Or would a stranger see her for what she was—a nameless urchin, a nobody?

Steeling her spine, she reminded herself that she was no longer a frightened little orphan, alone in the streets. She was a Merlin. And Merlins were meant to fly.

“This way, madam,” The footman inclined a bow before leading the way down the curved staircase.