No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(113)
“What is this?” Helen asked. “Rafe is in love?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” Rafe said, standing and depositing his nephew in Mary’s lap.
“Then why did you call on her?” Mary asked.
Helen, Rosamund, Mary—and even John—peered at him, waiting for an answer.
“Because…” But what was he to say? He couldn’t exactly admit he was gathering intelligence on her for the Foreign Office. Even if that revelation would not endanger his mission, his family would never believe it. He hadn’t told them his role in Draven’s troop. How did one tell one’s parents the other men called him the Seducer because he charmed wives and daughters out of information? How did one tell one’s brothers that he rarely even saw battle and did not even need to carry a weapon? While his friends fought for their lives, Rafe fought to divest a lady of her corset. Of course, his role was necessary. The intelligence he’d gathered had saved all of their lives time and time again. But it always annoyed him that he usually had to sit out the dangerous aspects of the missions.
And while Rafe hadn’t lied to his family, he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the truth. And he’d substantially embellished the few stories he had where he had been involved in actual fighting.
“Because?” Mary prompted.
Rafe gritted his teeth. “Because…I thought we had a prior acquaintance. I thought we had met when I was in France.”
“I thought you were too busy thrashing the French to meet gentlewomen and form acquaintances,” John said, arching a brow. Rafe wanted to hit his eldest brother. As the heir, John had grown up with a smug sense of entitlement and a hearty dose of arrogance.
Rafe gave his brother a serene smile. “I don’t expect you to know this, as you have never defended the country, but we did occasionally encounter men and women sympathetic to our cause. Kind families who offered us shelter or a meal.” This was true enough.
“Thank God for their generous hearts,” his stepmother said.
The door to the drawing room opened, and Rafe had never been so relieved to see his father’s butler. “Dinner is served,” the man announced.
Everyone began to gather up children and spouses. Lady Haddington spoke quietly to Rafe. “Will you call on Miss Fournay again, dear boy?”
“I might,” he said cautiously.
“Good. If you do, make sure to bring flowers.” And she thumped him lightly on the head again. “You should know better,” she muttered as she walked away, taking her husband’s arm and leading the family into the dining room.
Four
“Are you certain this is a good idea?” Collette asked Lady Ravensgate for what must have been the third time that evening. They were in the lady’s carriage on their way to Lord Montjoy’s ball. An invitation had arrived just the day before, much to Lady Ravensgate’s surprise and pleasure.
She’d fluttered it in front of Collette. “This is Mr. Beaumont’s doing, I presume.”
Collette had agreed, but she had not agreed they should accept the invitation. There was a dinner party that same evening, and Collette had it on good authority Draven would be there. But Lady Ravensgate had wanted to attend this more prestigious affair. She’d ignored Collette’s objections, just as she did now in the carriage, and accepted the invitation to the ball.
“It is an excellent idea. I have been discussing Mr. Beaumont with some of my most particular friends.” By the phrase most particular friends she meant the others she knew who gathered information for France and the restored king. During their exile, the Bourbons had spent quite some time in England, and Lady Ravensgate had become well acquainted with the daughter of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. To Collette’s knowledge, her sponsor maintained a faithful correspondence with Marie-Thérèse, who was married to her cousin and the heir to the French throne, the duc d’Angoulême.
“And what do your particular friends have to say about Mr. Beaumont?” Collette attempted to keep the resentment from her voice when she mentioned the royalists. She had never had a reason to hate the Bourbons or the monarchy before they were overthrown. She had disliked Napoleon immensely because he had forced her father to do unspeakable acts. But now that the royalists held her father captive, she despised them as well. And though she made every effort to hide her feelings, she loathed Lady Ravensgate for her association with them.
“No one is entirely certain what his role under Lieutenant Colonel Draven might have been. But there is no doubt he was part of the troop and that the troop was assigned the most dangerous, most impossible missions of the war. Only twelve of the original thirty men came back, and that in itself is a miracle. The Survivors are considered heroes. Mr. Beaumont is not to be underestimated.”
What a font of information Lady Ravensgate had become. “You think his association with Lieutenant Colonel Draven might be useful?”
“It is possible. And that, my dear, is exactly the kind of connection you need in order to help your father. Poor man. Have you heard from him lately?”
Lady Ravensgate certainly knew the answer to that question. Collette received no letters. All were addressed to Lady Ravensgate, who passed the correspondence to Collette after she read it herself. “No,” Collette answered.
“I am certain you will hear from him soon.” She patted Collette’s hand. Collette stiffly drew her hand away. She detested her sponsor’s pretense that she cared a whit about Pierre Fortier’s life. For her, this was all a game to entertain a wealthy widow whose children had grown and no longer needed her. Collette did not know if Lady Ravensgate bore her father any ill will—after all, he had killed many nobles—but neither did she believe Lady Ravensgate wished her father well. To her, and to those who held him captive, Fortier was simply a means to an end.