A Masquerade in the Moonlight(16)
“But as I was saying, Totton,” Thomas continued quickly, after turning his back on Dooley, “it came upon me last night—rather suddenly, as I remember—that you and your brethren, in your zeal to undermine your own country, might just as easily apply to France as to America. Or both. With France, you have another ready market for your diverted goods and armaments. My president would not much care to see France built up, even if she has been our ally. Bonaparte is too unpredictable, too greedy for power.”
“There will be no dealings with the French,” Sir Peregrine stated firmly, rising to his feet, which left him a full, unimpressive head shorter than Thomas. “Sir Ralph would not countenance it!”
Sir Ralph. Now he knew who was in charge. This was almost too easy, Thomas decided. Sir Peregrine peeled like a grape, dispensing information almost without prodding, eager to show his superior knowledge. “Ah, yes,” he said, nodding, “you must mean Sir Ralph Harewood, our mutual friend at the Admiralty. You’re correct—he’s been doing a splendid job of managing your attempted treason thus far. My president is most impressed. Very well, Totton. I’ll suspend my suspicions for the moment. And now,” he said, stubbing out his cheroot in a marble dish that he sincerely hoped was dear to the heart of Sir Peregrine, I suggest you begin to bluster and steam at the ears as you show my assistant and me the door. We wouldn’t want Grouse to return to see us chatting like bosom chums, now would we? A too-congenial scene might raise suspicions.”
“What? We’re going to leave without the bread and cheese?” Dooley pushed himself to his feet, shaking his head. “Doesn’t seem fair somehow, boyo.”
”Little ever is in this life, Paddy,” Thomas told him as he waved his arm, inviting Dooley to precede him back through the maze of statues.
They had almost reached the double doors leading to the antechamber when the carved wooden panels were flung open unceremoniously and Miss Marguerite Balfour swept into the room like brilliant sunshine appearing after a summer storm. “Perry, where are you hiding in this mass of marble? You simply must come with me at once! I know we promised to meet tonight at Lady Sefton’s, but I have just this afternoon discovered the most delicious little bookstall in Haymarket and need your discerning eye to tell me if I have unearthed a heretofore unknown original manuscript or if the owner is attempting to gull me with a brilliant copy.”
She turned to Thomas and blighted him with her smile—a smile that told him she had only been ignoring him thus far because it suited her to do so and she had been aware of his presence all along. “Oh—hello, Mr. Donovan, what a pleasant surprise to see you again. Am I barging in on some dreadfully important conference? Forgive me, please. I’ll just take myself off, and you may continue uninterrupted. There you are, Perry, dear friend and mentor. I’ll just see myself out and then wait downstairs in my carriage with dearest Maisie.”
Marguerite had been beautiful last evening in her demure white gown. This afternoon she was glorious, dressed in a lemon yellow walking dress, a deeply green velvet Spencer flattering her narrow waist as well as her flushed cheeks. Her bonnet, a silly confection of straw and flowers and ribbons, a large bow tied fetchingly close below her left ear, was truly a crowning touch, perched as it was atop her glorious coppery curls.
Her bewitching green eyes were dancing with mischief, as if she had found amusement in some joke the rest of them had somehow failed to comprehend, and Thomas didn’t know if her obvious intelligence intrigued or infuriated him. He did know, either way, he was attracted to this fiery minx, and if it were to turn out she was his enemy, that knowledge would most certainly prove to quite ruin his day.
“No, no, Miss Balfour,” he said hastily, realizing he had been silent too long and quickly bowing over her offered hand. “Sir Peregrine and I have just now completed our meeting, and I was at the point of retiring to my rooms at the Pulteney Hotel to lick my wounds, as he is a most formidable adversary in this business of diplomatic fencing. You are right to seek his counsel on the manuscript you have unearthed, for I’m convinced Sir Peregrine’s opinion on any subject will be invaluable. God knows it certainly will be offered. Good day to you, Miss Balfour—Sir Peregrine. Come, Paddy. Introductions must wait for another day. We must be off and leave Sir Peregrine to his charming visitor.”
So saying, he bowed once more to Sir Peregrine and left the room, Dooley trailing in his wake. The door had barely closed behind them before the portly Irishman piped up, “So that’s the one with the Frenchie name, is it—the girl you were melting over last night? I take it all back, boyo, you were right to wonder about her. What’s she doing here, do you suppose?”