Chapter One

 1812

The drawing room was dead quiet. If a servant had been listening at the door they would certainly have thought the room empty.

The snap of a biscuit and then the quiet crunching drew the attention of two of the women in the room. Lady Chadwick, from whom the sound had come, frowned at the two young ladies. “This is ridiculous,” she stated after clearing her mouth with a sip from her teacup. “Have neither of you anything to say? You know this will be entirely unacceptable once we reach London.”

“But Mother…” Miss Claire Sadler said. It came out as a bit of a whine, and it was clear that she realized it right away because her cheeks turned bright scarlet.

“I would be most happy to converse, my lady. Only whenever I bring up a subject, it is brought to a close almost immediately,” Teodora said.

Lady Chadwick gave a meaningful look to her daughter.

Claire said nothing but lowered her eyes to her teacup sitting in her lap.

“The two of you are going to be presented to society in less than a month!” Lady Chadwick remonstrated. “We are leaving for London in three days,” she added with a meaningful stress on the word three.

“What does one speak about in society?” Teodora asked her hostess. She’d been given only a little training on how to behave in society, but then it had been more tailored to the society in Florence, where she had been born and raised. Lady Chadwick had said–or was that hoped?–that Florentine society was very much like London society. What worried Teodora the most was that the lady was basing this opinion on absolutely nothing. She had never been beyond the English shores. Teodora wasn’t much more traveled than her, but she had left her home country to come here, after all.

It hadn’t been Teodora’s choice, of course. Her uncle and aunt who’d raised her had insisted—her uncle more strongly than her aunt. He was English. She was Florentine and didn’t see anything wrong with Teodora marrying a man from there. But Uncle Benjamin had insisted, so here she was in the home of his cousin, trying to learn all she could about how to behave in English society while also getting used to speaking English all the time and getting to know Lady Chadwick and Claire.

If only Lady Chadwick was a little more forthcoming with her tutelage. Teodora sometimes felt as if she were forcing the information from the lady. And Claire… Well, even after being here for two weeks, Teodora still didn’t know Claire very well. She was such a quiet girl. She mainly kept to herself, spending hours in her room–reading, so she claimed. It could never be verified because she never spoke about what she read. She never spoke–ever–unless she was forced to.

“What do you speak about in Florence?” Lady Chadwick snapped.

Teodora opened her mouth in surprise at the sudden attack. She quickly pulled herself together, however. She would not be intimidated by this woman. She was stronger than that. And as her aunt had reminded her many times before she left, she was beholden to the lady for agreeing to present her to society. So, Teodora took in a deep, calming breath and lifted her lips into a small smile. “The weather, naturally. And we speak of food—what is currently available in the market. If I am speaking with another lady, we might share recipes. If it is a gentleman, I will ask him what he prefers to eat or perhaps what his favorite dish is.”

Lady Chadwick pulled her head back in disgust. “We do not speak so much of food here. The weather, as you say, is always a safe topic.”

“If you don’t speak of food, do you speak of…” Teodora scoured her mind for some likely topics. “Crops? Fashion? The sermon you heard the previous Sunday at church?” Now she was really pulling at straws, but she couldn’t imagine what people might speak about.

“The sermon?” That idea even got Claire to speak.

“No. We do not speak about what we heard in church,” Lady Chadwick snapped. “Fashion and horses are acceptable. Most commonly, people speak about… well, who they saw in the park, or who was dancing with whom at the ball the previous evening. Perhaps even regarding the performance one witnessed at the theatre, opera, or a musicale.”

Teodora frowned. “So, they… gossip mostly?”

“It’s not gossip per say…” Lady Chadwick hedged. But it was clear that it was.

“And if one doesn’t know anyone?” Teodora asked. “What do I speak about then?”

The lady picked up her teacup again and took a sip before answering, “You get to know people.”

This wasn’t exactly the most helpful advice, especially since Teodora had been here for two weeks already and couldn’t say she knew either her hostess nor Claire very well. If it was this difficult getting to know the people she was living with, how was she going to fair in society?

Sebastian Clemens, Earl of Everston and head of the Carlisle Group—an intelligence gathering organization—was hunched over his desk converting the letter he’d just written into code. It would be sent via courier to his new operative in Paris.

It wasn’t easy getting used to having a new person there, but last spring after Irène, one of his best, returned to London bearing the official seal of the Minister of War, he’d decided to bring back her partner George, Lord Marron  as well. He’d put a new team in there right away, but they were still finding their footing and working on embedding themselves into French society. He knew it wasn’t an easy task, and he was trying to be patient, but it had been nearly nine months, and they still were sending back information that could be found in any newspaper in France.

The tip of his quill nearly bent with all the frustration he was putting on it. Finally, in disgust, he threw the damn thing across his desk. Sadly, throwing a feather was never very satisfying. His eye fell on the bottle of ink, and he was seriously considering it when there was a knock on his door.

“Come!” he shouted more loudly than he had intended.

“I think you believe your door to be thicker than it is,” the foreign secretary said as he came into the room.

Sebastian jumped to his feet. “Lord Wellesley, good afternoon. Did we have a meeting which I forgot?”

“No, no, I just thought I’d stop by, see how things were going,” the older man said, easing himself into the chair on his side of the desk.

“Oh. May I offer you…” Sebastian checked the time on his watch. Still before noon. “Some tea?” he finished.

His lordship chuckled. “No, thank you. If it were a little later, I would have been happy to accept a glass of that fine French brandy you keep in your desk, but I suppose it’s still a little early in the day for that. No matter.” The smile slipped from his lips. “How are you, Everston?”

“Other than a little frustrated with my new people in Paris, just fine,” he said, taking his own seat again.

Lord Wellesley nodded his understanding. “It’s always hard waiting for new people to get settled. Such a shame the comte and comtesse were not able to return to duty.”

“They requested a year to help his aunt get acclimated to London,” Sebastian said.

“And Marron?”

“He was helpful in introducing Dumont around before he left, but I believe he is at his estate in Gloucestershire trying to make up for years of neglect.”

Lord Wellesley shook his head. “Not an easy task.”

“No, but I think he’s enjoying a new challenge.”

“And what of you?” his lordship asked, meeting Sebastian’s eyes with his steel blue gaze.

“Me, my lord? As I said, I’m only a little—”

“Frustrated, yes. But how are things going otherwise—in the rest of your life?”

“I’m not certain I understand the question, my lord,” Sebastian answered honestly.

“Well, you aren’t married. Are you looking around for a wife? Planning on participating in the Season, even though you have no protégée to squire around as you did last year?”

“I did very little squiring of Irène. Between my mother and Lady Preston, my presence was hardly required at all.”

Lord Wellesley nodded. “And now that she’s married? What are your plans?”

Sebastian opened his mouth and then closed it again, a little at a loss as to how to answer. “Business as usual, I suppose,” he said finally.

“Not on the lookout for a wife?”

Sebastian had not planned on looking for a wife for another few years. He was not yet thirty. Surely there was plenty of time no matter what his mother said. But then, it was her job to pester him about marrying—one which she took very seriously. Actually, having Irène around to take the brunt of his mother’s attention last year had been really nice. “You’re nearly thirty, are you not?” Lord Wellesley asked.

“Just after the new year,” Seb admitted.

His lordship nodded. “Then it is past time you started looking.”

“Well, with my position here and my estate, I hardly—”

“That won’t be an issue, Everston. You will soon have a great deal more time on your hands to go to parties, routes, rides through the park, whatever.”

“My lord?” A bad feeling was beginning to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Everston, you’ve been working in this position for nearly ten years now. You were still at university when you began, for God’s sake!”

“I believe both my father and Lord Liverpool saw great potential in me.”

“And they were right to do so. You have led the Carlisle Group successfully through the most difficult years of this war,” Lord Wellesley agreed.

“And it’s not over yet,” Seb pointed out.

“Sadly, it is not. You, however, need a break, and I think now, this year, would be an excellent time to take one.”

“Does this have anything to do with Lord Castlereagh taking over as Foreign Secretary, sir? Are you thinking that he’ll want to put his own man here?”

“It is a fair question, but Castlereagh has assured me that he is very happy to have you continue on in your position. He did agree, however, that this would be the best time for you to take some time for yourself. It doesn’t need to be a full year, six months should give you the time you undoubtedly need to relax and see to your personal affairs.

“But…”

“No, no, Everston. No arguing, I quite insist upon it. I want you to live a little, find a wife, enjoy yourself. Most young men have had the time to do this, but sadly, you have not. I think now is the time.”

Lord Wellesley stood, and Sebastian followed suit.

“So rewrite that letter,” he said, pointing to the coding Sebastian had been working on, “and inform your operatives that you will be taking a long holiday starting immediately. They will soon hear from me as to who will be taking your place.”

“Yes, sir, who—”

His lordship held up a hand stopping Sebastian’s words. “Don’t you worry about that. I’m certain Castlereagh has someone in mind. It will also give Castlereagh time to appreciate your work. He’ll never find anyone as good as you.” He headed toward the door but before leaving said, “Enjoy yourself, Everston. Relax a little, have fun, and find yourself a wife. You’ll thank me later.”

Sebastian could do nothing for a good two minutes but stare at the closed door.

Irène would laugh when she hears of this, and Sebastian would never hear the end of it.