Page 3 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
Hugh grinned. “I daresay my mother would have preferred more time to prepare a lavish wedding, so your request for an immediate ceremony came as a shock. However, my parents are overjoyed that you have finally come up to scratch.”
James turned his glass, the amber liquid catching the glow from the flickering hearth. “As is my mother. She is visiting my aunt and uncle with Alice after celebrating Twelfth Night, and her response to my letter was more than enthusiastic.” James smiled at Hugh’s infectious laugh at that piece of news, but he still lacked the answer to his most pressing question. “Tell me of Kate’s reaction. Has she expressed any hesitations? I have no wish to force her into an arrangement she does not want.”Hehad no choice in the matter, but he didn’t want the same for her.
It wasn’t that he had no intention to marry Kate someday. Because he had, in that vague and distant way one imagines a future too far off to feel real. But not like this. Not now. And certainly not on orders.
Hugh shrugged. “Kate hasn’t confided her feelings to me, but I don’t think she is as content as she pretends to be. She is always dutiful to our parents’ wishes, however. I cannot imagine this will be any different, especially since your betrothal is not an unexpected one.”
Dutiful?The word sat badly. The Kate he remembered had followed him on a chase through the blackberry briars, laughing and smiling until their legs were covered in scratches. He pushed down a flicker of disappointment. Perhaps it was for the best. If she had changed, she would be less likely to question his irregular hours, the bruises he often bore, or his frequent journeys to less than reputable establishments.
Hugh rose from his chair. “I am sorry to cut our visit short, but I must leave if I am to conclude all of my business and make it to your wedding on time.” Hugh flashed his irrepressible grin. “It will be soon, I presume?”
How was Hugh so blasted happy all of the time? His friend’s relentless optimism had only faltered once during a brief spell last summer after returning home from a house party. James had often teased Hugh about his tendency to see only the sun and overlook the shadows it left behind, but he was grateful. It helped him forget his own troubles, if only for a brief time.
James rose. “If Kate accepts my proposal, I hope to have the wedding within the week. I was able to secure a special license from the Archbishop.”
“It doesn’t hurt to have friends in high places.” If Hugh meant to hide his cheeky smirk, he failed.
“He was my father’s acquaintance. And your sister being the daughter of a marquess was certainly no hindrance.”
Hugh dipped his head, conceding the point before his amusement faded. He fidgeted with the sleeve of his jacket.
“I do have one favor to ask of you.”
“Name it, my friend.”
Hugh cleared his throat. “Keep an eye on Kate, will you?”
James’s eyebrows lifted. “You of all people should know that she will always be safe with me.”
“I know that,” Hugh said quickly, though his posture remained tense. “Just ... be alert for anything unusual.”
The uncharacteristic gravity in his tone made James pause. “Is there a particular reason I should be concerned for her safety?”
Hugh blinked and gave a quick, reassuring smile. “No. No, of course not. I suppose I am merely being an anxious brother. Pray, forget I spoke of it.”
James shook off his unease and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Just be sureyoureturn in one piece. I’d hate for my bride to be upset before the vows are even spoken.”
Hugh’s laughter followed him into the hall, and James sank back into his chair with a sigh. Spending time with those he loved was an exhausting and careful game of truth and omission. He suppressed the sudden urge to call Hugh back, to tell him who he was, the things he had done.
But ignorance was the only shield he could offer them. His life in the service of the Crown was a burden he was destined to bear alone. Were his secrets ever laid bare, his family would be cast out from polite society. Worse, everyone close to him, friends and family, would become targets of the enemies he hunted.
He did not even have fellow agents who would understand, now that Henry was gone. There was no formal network of spies, only powerful men who employed agents of their own. Names were rarely shared. Questions, even less so. Westmarch had alluded to a future network of trusted operatives, but that would take years to put in place.
The fire in the hearth sank low, the bright embers casting uneven shapes on the walls. He needed to stay among those shadows. The true Earl of Brenton would have to remain a ghost, even to those who loved him best.
After rising early the next morning to exercise Apollo and check on the welfare of a few tenants, James refused Barlow’s plea that he allow a manservant to help him dress since his valet had not arrived yet. James had become accustomed to dressing himselfas he was often in unusual circumstances and could achieve a cravat precise enough to satisfy even the most exacting matrons. He secured his favorite gold sleeve buttons, then smoothed pomade through his dark brown hair, arranging the locks into a semblance of order. Satisfied, he strode from his chamber, wishing the task was already behind him.
He spent the early afternoon on overdue correspondence and a meeting with his steward, though he was aware of every tick of the clock on the mantel. When the hour finally arrived, he strode toward the stables, keeping his nerves in check. This, he reminded himself, was a perfectly sensible arrangement. It had the approval of both sets of parents. Compared to the dangers he was used to—uncovering secrets, intercepting messages, unmasking traitors—proposing marriage should be absurdly straightforward.
It might be, if one ignored the fact he was asking a woman to commit herself to a life of half-truths and long absences. A wife deserved affection, honesty, and a husband who was not constantly hunting shadows and expecting them to find him in return. He could offer none of that.
And the entire affair would undoubtedly be far simpler if the lady in question were anyone but Kate.
She’d always possessed a talent for getting caught up in adventures, particularly the troublesome kind that ended in scraped knees and stern lectures. She had been laughter and sunshine and that particular brand of mischief that made regret impossible. But that was the girl of his memory, and the five years since he had last seen her stretched between them like an unbridgeable chasm.
He mounted and guided Apollo toward the well-worn path between Brenton Hall and Fairhaven Park. During the night, the rain had stopped and the air had gone frigid, freezing yesterday’smud. The faint afternoon sun flickered through the empty branches above as he navigated the familiar road.
Their families had been close for as long as he could remember. The two fathers had grown up as childhood friends, and their wives had become inseparable as well. When Kate was born, so was the expectation of a match between the families. Over the years, those hushed whispers grew bolder. Eventually, everyone in their circle and most of society accepted that James and Kate were a matched set.
