Twelfth Night Secrets Read online

  “An empty belly can cause forgetfulness, sir,” the Earl said lightly. “May I offer you my arm?”

  “No . . . no, give it to Harriet.” The Duke waved a hand in an irritable gesture of dismissal. “We’re dining in the yellow salon. I don’t want those brats creating havoc in the dining room.”

  “Oh, dear,” Harriet murmured as her grandfather stalked from the library. “Tom . . . Grace, just try not to say anything for a while. Sit still, keep your hands in your laps unless you’re eating, and eat slowly. Don’t gobble, and don’t grab.” She pushed them in front of her.

  “Turkeys gobble,” Grace said, seizing her brother’s hand. “Children don’t.” She tugged Tom to the door.

  “For some reason, she always has to have the last word.” Harriet shook her head in resignation. “I’m surprised the Duke invited them downstairs tonight. Normally, he wouldn’t think of it when we have guests.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t think of me as a guest,” Julius suggested, offering his arm. “And perhaps soon you will not, either. Shall we, ma’am?”

  Harriet laid her hand on his arm, annoyed that she could come up with no suitably repressive response. To her relief, the Duke seemed to have recovered his good humor as they took their places around the table in the yellow salon. It was a more intimate setting than the dining hall, where forty covers could be laid comfortably under the brilliant light from the succession of chandeliers. The Duke sat at the head of the oval table, Harriet on his right, Grace next to her. The Earl took his place on the Duke’s left, with Tom beside him. The twins hated to be separated, but they were sufficiently subdued to accept their places without protest.

  “So you’ve been at Charlbury for a week, my lord?” Harriet observed, taking up her soupspoon.

  “His grace was kind enough to invite me for an extended stay,” he replied, deftly sliding Tom’s neglected napkin onto the boy’s lap just as Harriet was about to remind the child.

  “And very good company you are,” Lionel declared, taking a sip of his wine with a considering frown. “This is the ’67, Mallow?”

  “Indeed, sir. As you ordered.” The butler lifted the decanter. “I thought it robust enough for the shoulder of mutton . . .” A question mark lingered.

  The Duke inhaled the bouquet, took another sip, then nodded. “Yes, definitely. How many bottles do we have?”

  “Six cases, sir. If your grace recalls, your grace laid it down just after Lord Edward went away to school.”

  A spasm crossed the Duke’s face at this mention of his dead son. “I recall,” he said shortly. “How many guests are you expecting tomorrow, Harriet?”

  “I followed your list to the letter, sir.” She buttered a roll. “We will be forty in all. Great-aunt Augusta is expected before noon tomorrow. I understand she’s staying overnight with her friends in Witney. She prefers to do the journey in easy stages.”

  “Milksop,” Lady Augusta’s brother muttered with a derisive sniff. “The woman’s ten years younger than I am. Can’t think why we had to invite her, anyway.”

  “We do have to have a nominal hostess, sir,” Harriet reminded him.

  “Can’t think why. You’re perfectly capable . . . do all the work as it is.”

  “Yes, sir, but I am neither married nor a widow. People would talk.” He knew this perfectly well and, she suspected, would have been horrified if she had suggested such a breach of convention herself, but the Duke found his sister a serious irritant. She made much of what she insisted on calling her frail constitution, even while consuming large quantities of sweetmeats and glasses of ratafia while languishing upon a daybed among paisley shawls and bottles of sal volatile.

  Julius stepped smoothly into the momentary tense silence with a question to the Duke about the coverts, and Harriet gratefully continued with her dinner, monitoring the twins as she did so. They were hungry enough to concentrate mostly on their plates, and the meal passed without further incident. The first cover was replaced with a Rhenish cream and a basket of macaroons, and harmony continued to reign.

  When they had finished, she put aside her napkin. “If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, we’ll leave you to your port. It’s time the children were in bed.”

  “We’re not tired,” Tom protested.

  “No, not in the least,” Grace stated. “I haven’t yawned once.”

  “Nevertheless, Nurse Maddox will be waiting for you. Say good night.” Harriet rose from the table, and reluctantly the twins followed suit. They dutifully bade their grandfather and his guest good night, and their sister hustled them out of the salon.

  “We’ll repair to the library soon, my dear,” Lionel said. “We’ll take tea there.”

  “I’ll be down shortly.” She propelled the children past the footman holding the door and hurried them up to the nursery floor, where she left them in the charge of their nurse and her underlings.

  “We’re going to ride our ponies tomorrow, Harry,” Tom informed her as she kissed him good night.

  “Yes, we have to practice before the hunt,” Grace said. “Just riding in the park in town isn’t as exciting as riding across the fields and jumping the hedges, is it?” Her voice was muffled as one of the nursemaids lifted her muslin dress over her head.

  “No, probably not,” Harriet agreed. “We must hope it’s a fine day tomorrow.” She blew them a final kiss and left the nursery with a sense of liberation. An entire day in the twins’ close company was quite exhausting. She went to her own chamber before continuing downstairs. Agnes was passing a copper warming pan between the sheets as Harriet came in.

  “Oh, m’lady, are you coming to bed now?”

  “No, no, not yet, Agnes. In an hour, perhaps.” She sat at the dresser and adjusted her hair, repositioning a couple of pins that had worked loose, before going down to the library. It was empty, the men were still sitting over their port, but Mallow had brought in the tea tray, and she sat by the fire, poured herself a cup, and took up a copy of the Morning Gazette. She had read only a few lines when the door opened.

  “Ah, Lady Harriet . . . did the children go to bed without complaint?” The Earl smiled as he came over to the fire.

  “I left before they could start complaining,” she said, pouring tea and handing him the cup. “Did you leave the Duke at the table?”

  “No, he said he was fatigued and was going straight upstairs. I was to wish you a good night. He will see you at breakfast, ‘without the brats,’ and I quote.” He sat opposite her and took a sip of tea, still smiling at her over the lip.

  “He puts on a pretense of finding them annoying, but generally, they amuse him as long as they don’t get under his feet,” she said, wondering why she felt a little quavery, as if she were nervous about something. It couldn’t be because she was alone with the man, surely?

  “I rather thought so. But what of you, Lady Harriet? It must be quite a burden to assume the day-to-day responsibility for such a lively pair?” He sounded genuinely concerned, genuinely interested, and his eyes were on her again with that warm glow that made her feel oddly special.

  “It was certainly easier when Nick was around,” she replied, carefully folding the Gazette, using the task to conceal her strange agitation. “We had responsibility for them, really, since they were born. Our mother died in childbirth, and our father was not around very often. He seemed content to leave them in the nursery and let them grow as they would.” She shrugged a little, laying the newspaper on the table beside the tea tray. “It’s not an unusual way of parenting, but Nick and I were more interested in them, we felt an obligation, and it grew from that.”

  “It must be doubly hard for you now, then?”

  “Yes,” she said bluntly. “You say you knew Nick well?”

  “As well as I’ve ever known anyone,” he responded.

  “How did you meet?” she asked casually, pouring herself more tea. How would he answer? Not with the truth, she was sure.

  “In Paris,” he answered. “At a soiree
given by the Countess de Fauviere. We discovered we had some interests in common and grew to enjoy each other’s company.”

  “How long ago was that?” She leaned back in her chair, her senses alert even as her voice remained casual, as if the conversation were only mildly interesting.

  He frowned, stretching his long legs to the fire. “About two years ago, I think.”

  “Strange he never mentioned your name,” she mused. “If you were that close. We never had secrets from each other.” Except, of course, that he never mentioned his clandestine work until he’d taken that last mission . . . the mission that had ended with his death.

  A slight, chilly smile touched his mouth. “Perhaps I thought the relationship more important than he did.”

  “Or perhaps Nick considered it too important to share, even with me.” She couldn’t help the retort, although she instantly wished it unsaid.

  “Well, we’ll never know,” Julius said, his tone once again light and easy. “Even those we know well can behave in mysterious ways.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” She set her cup down, preparing to get up.

  “The family resemblance is quite remarkable, you know.”

  The comment kept her in her seat. “In what way?”

  He laughed. “My dear, the hair color, the green eyes, the shape of the nose . . . all four of you. A man would have to be blind not to know you as siblings. You all take after your grandfather.”

  “Maybe so. The portraits in the Long Gallery might prove your point.” She rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, it’s been a long and tiring day.”

  “Of course.” He rose with alacrity. “If you have time in the morning, perhaps we could take a stroll in the Long Gallery and look at some of the family portraits. I own I would be very interested to trace the resemblance.”

  “If I have time, of course,” she responded. “But the guests arrive tomorrow, and I daresay I shall be very busy. However, please feel free to take a look yourself.”

  “But I would not enjoy it nearly so much without your company.” He accompanied her into the hall and to the foot of the stairs. He lit a carrying candle from the thick wax taper beside the night-lights and gave it to her, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. His eyes seemed to see right into her, and again she felt that sense of being caught in their own universe.

  “Good night, Lady Harriet.” His hand fell from hers, but his eyes remained upon hers as he made a slight bow.

  “Good night, Lord Marbury.” She sketched a curtsy and swept away up the stairs, her free hand resting on the banister.

  Julius watched her go, a little smile playing over his mouth. She was all and more than he had expected from Nick’s glowing descriptions. But something was not quite right. Unless he was much mistaken, she seemed suspicious of him for some reason. But why? He was simply a Christmas guest, a friend of her brother’s, invited by her grandfather. It felt as if she had taken an instant dislike to him, but as far as he knew, he had done nothing to warrant it.

  And just why had she been hovering outside his bedchamber door? For a moment, she had looked as guilty as sin when he’d accosted her, but why? Maybe he had been a little sarcastic, but then, he didn’t like being surprised.

  He shrugged and returned to the library. If his manner had caused her to take offense, he would do what he could on the morrow to remedy it. He would go about his own business in the afternoon, when his absence would not be remarked amidst the flurry of arrivals.

  Chapter Three

  Harriet entered her bedchamber with the sense of achieving sanctuary. Every minute in the Earl’s company that evening had put her on edge. She had to be on her guard. He mustn’t suspect her of taking any unusual interest in him, but foolishly, she hadn’t expected to find such constant vigilance so exhausting. However, she didn’t think she’d slipped up so far.

  “Shall I help you to bed, m’lady?” Agnes jumped up from an ottoman in front of the fire, where she’d been waiting for her ladyship.

  “Just help me into my night robe and brush my hair, and then you may fetch me up a glass of warm milk with a little brandy and go to your own bed, Agnes.” She began to unpin her hair, running her fingers through it to loosen the tight knots.

  Agnes unbuttoned and unlaced her gown and helped her into the muslin nightgown and warm velvet robe before taking up the ivory-backed brush and beginning to draw it through Harriet’s wheat-colored hair, which now hung in a shining curtain to below her shoulders. It was a little darker than the twins’, Harriet thought, watching the candlelight catch the reddish tint amidst the fair strands. But their heads would darken as they grew older, just as hers and Nick’s had.

  A sense of loss washed through her as she thought of her brother, saw in her mind’s eye the lively sparkle in his green eyes, the little hazel glints in the background. She heard his voice as clearly as if he were in the room with her, sitting as he so often did astride a chair, his arms resting along its back, chatting with her as she got ready for the evening.

  Had Julius Forsythe been instrumental in Nick’s murder? If Harriet could find one piece of incontrovertible evidence during these twelve days when she and the Earl were under the same roof, it would be over. The whole wretched mystery, the twists and turns . . . over. And she could grieve for her brother’s death without any of the questions and ambiguities that made simple grief so difficult to embrace.

  “Is everything all right, ma’am? Do you feel quite well?” Agnes’s concerned voice interrupted her reverie.

  She managed a smile. “Yes . . . yes, of course. I am quite well. I was just thinking about something.” She must learn to school her countenance, she thought guiltily. How could she expect to fool as skillful and experienced a spy as Julius Forsythe if her expression revealed her thoughts to an innocent child like Agnes?

  “You seemed sad, ma’am.”

  “A little, perhaps. That will be all for now. You should seek your bed.”

  “I’ll fetch up your milk, then, my lady.” Agnes set down the brush on the dresser and hurried to the door.

  Harriet remained at the dresser, examining her reflection critically. Her green eyes, flecked like Nick’s with hazel, were large and luminous, something she had always valued, but now she thought it a grave disadvantage. They were far too expressive for a spy. And her creamy pallor was far too quick to flush up with anger or embarrassment. A positive curse in the present business. How did one control these natural responses?

  She got up restlessly and walked to the window, moving the heavy velvet curtain aside. The glass panes were freezing, needles of cold air creeping around the window frame. Shielding her eyes, she pressed her forehead against the glass. A few faint specks of white were drifting against the darkness. The twins would be ecstatic if it really snowed, but it would play havoc for their guests in the morning, making already tedious journeys utterly miserable.

  “ ’Tis snowing, m’lady.” Agnes’s voice, sounding almost jubilant, came from the room behind her, and Harriet backed out, letting the curtain fall again.

  “Yes, so I see.”

  “Oh, I do ’ope we ’as a white Christmas, my lady. My brothers and me, we love to ’ave snowball fights.”

  Harriet laughed. “Yes, we used to as well. And the twins will be over the moon if it settles.” But maybe it won’t, she thought to herself. It was a shame to be so grown up that one wished away snow over Christmas, but that was the reality. And the Duke would be mad as fire if snow prevented the Boxing Day hunt.

  Agnes set down the silver tray with a glass of hot milk and a plate of mince pies on a low table by the fireside chair. “Will that be all, then, ma’am?”

  “Yes, thank you. Go to your bed now, and wake me at eight in the morning, if you please.”

  Agnes bobbed a curtsy and disappeared with a murmured good night. Harriet sat down by the fire, taking up her drink with a smile of pleasure. These quiet moments before bed were her favorite time of the day, when she
could reflect on the day’s happenings and contemplate the morrow. It would be a busy day, and somehow, in all the bustle, she must manage to field the twins while keeping a close but covert eye on the Earl of Marbury.

  For some reason, she found the prospect of the latter task rather appealing, for all the anxiety it caused her. She seemed to take a perverse pleasure in his company, even as the strain of watching her every move and expression grew stronger. It was most inconvenient—so much simpler to find him distasteful, unpleasantly arrogant or secretive, or just plain unattractive. And yet he was none of those things, at least not on the surface. He actually seemed to enjoy the children’s company, which in itself was sufficiently unusual to be interesting. In Harriet’s experience, bachelors of the Earl’s means and stature barely noticed children, let alone bothered to gain their confidence.

  Had Nick really liked him? Had he trusted him? She sipped her milk and frowned into the fire. She no longer found it surprising that Nick had never mentioned Julius to her. They were engaged together in the same clandestine work, and Nick had been involved in the covert world for at least a year before he had told Harriet about it.

  Just before he had gone on his last mission, just after Spain had declared war on England . . . she remembered she had been picking grapes in the hot house at Charlbury to send to London as a present for her old governess, when Nick had come into the damp, overheated conservatory. He was on leave before shipping out, and she was already steeling herself for the moment of good-bye. She had looked up at him, brushing a damp tendril of hair from her eyes, smiling at him through the misty atmosphere. But his expression had been oddly somber, she remembered, and when he had spoken, his voice had been barely above a whisper.

  He had told her he was leaving Charlbury that night, heading for Dover, where he would take a fishing boat to France. Apart from his masters, only she was to know that he was not leaving with his regiment.