A Wedding In Springtime(24)

“Do I have the pleasure of addressing the Duke of Marchford?”

“Yes,” replied Marchford, unaccustomed to being addressed so directly in his own home. “And I believe you are Mr. Neville? What can I do for you, sir?”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” said the man. “I have been sent by the Foreign Office to give you this.” The man handed him a sealed envelope. “Please read it, Your Grace.”

Marchford noted the seal with displeasure. He had served the Foreign Office for the past eight years. Some of his service he could discuss; other operations would remain forever in secret. No one understood why he had returned to Spain after his brother died. Everyone assumed he was avoiding marriage or did not wish the responsibility of the title, but those reasons would not have kept him from doing his duty.

The truth was Marchford had been in the middle of a sensitive mission and had made important contacts with the enemy. If he had not returned, the mission would have failed. It took him three years, but they finally tracked the spy back to its source and foiled an attempt to seize the city of Cadiz. Marchford turned the sealed letter over in his hands. He thought he had made it clear he was done working as a spy.

Marchford broke the seal with a small sigh and quickly read the contents. The letter contained a warning that the Foreign Office feared French agents had infiltrated London society. Marchford was warned he himself might be the target of spies trying to gain information regarding his covert work by any means possible.

“Any number of French agents know you have been working for the Foreign Office,” said Mr. Neville. “I am to take any sensitive information you have and store it for safe keeping.”

“If I had any such information, I assure you it is quite safe.”

Mr. Neville’s brows collapsed together. “I need not tell you the war with Napoleon and his coalition goes poorly. Most of Europe has already fallen under his power. It is of vital importance any information you have does not fall into enemy hands.”

“It will not.”

Mr. Neville chewed on his bottom lip, clearly displeased with the duke’s answer. “You must be wary of those around you. Anyone could be in league with Napoleon. He pays his spies well. You have been seen in the company of a Mr. Grant and Lord Thornton.”

“Friends from my days at Eton. Not spies.”

“And you live with your grandmother.”

Marchford cut off the man with a laugh. “My grandmother may have her faults, but I doubt being a secret French spy is one of them.”

“She recently took up a companion, a Miss Penelope Rose.” The man pulled some papers from his case. “The daughter of a country parson, now deceased. She has four sisters, all married. She remains unwed.” The man spoke the last words like an indictment against her.

“I see you have done your best to pry into my affairs. I must remind you that this is my business and none of your concern.” Marchford let his voice drop.

“She has gained access to your house as have others who come to visit you or your grandmother. Any one of them could be a spy. The French can offer enough money for information even my own mother would be tempted to switch allegiances.”

“Then you should be concerned with getting your own house in order and stop meddling in my affairs.”

“Speaking of affairs, you were seen speaking with an opera singer.”

“Thank you for your service to the Crown, Mr. Neville,” said the duke, holding open the door. “Have a good day.”

The dismissal was undeniable. Mr. Neville bowed and quit the room.

Marchford sank into a chair and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth. He had thought he had left this life behind when he returned to London, and yet here he was again, never knowing who to trust. It was ludicrous to think any of his acquaintance could turn against him, and yet the amount of money Napoleon would be willing to give for valuable information might well turn even the most loyal of hearts. That kind of money must be quite tempting to someone of Miss Rose’s circumstances.

As much as he was loathe to admit it, Mr. Neville was right, Marchford needed to keep a wary eye on those around him. It was only a matter of time before he would be the target of a spy.





Eight





After their company departed, Penelope remained in the drawing room, alone with the formidable Dowager Duchess of Marchford. She was uneasy about the conversation regarding the matchmaker and sorely suspicious. Yet the dowager was a daunting woman and Pen’s employer, so she understood she needed to keep her forthright manner reasonably in check.