Page 2 of A Courtship of Conspiracies
The butler examined the folded paper closely. “It is difficult to say, my lord. Different members of the staff collect the post, but I shall make inquiries to see if anyone recalls this specific piece.”
“Do so. I want to know exactly when this was left at my door.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Left with his own thoughts, James reached for the letter. Memories tinged with regret and anger assailed him, but his curiosity finally overcame his hesitation at visiting a ghost.
He broke the seal. Inside was a single sheet of paper, a list of twelve names and a date written in a hurried script:
One name, The Sentinel, bore a small deliberate mark. Why would Henry mark only one? There had been rumors of a traitorous secret society, and Henry had been attempting to discover and track its members. Was the marked name someone he had identified? Perhaps the most dangerous one?
James clenched the letter. Had Henry sent him the name of his killer before his death? His friend and fellow agent had seemed on edge in the weeks leading up to the night he was killed. James knew better than to question another agent’s secrets, but the fact that Henry hadn’t confided in him stung.
If James had known—if he had made a different choice—he could have prevented the events that followed. But now he had Henry’s final warning, a trail that might lead to his killer.
The Sentinel.It was not a name, but it was a target.
And the date above it, the twenty-second of February, was a mere six weeks away.
The numerals sharpened on the page. The significance was immediate. It was the night of the Privy Council meeting. The Prince Regent remained under restriction, but at that meeting, he would finally be allowed to make changes to his cabinet and staff. Every high-ranking government official would be present. Could the clandestine society be planning something? Henry’s list seemed to suggest so.
And if Henry had marked The Sentinel on the same page with the date, it stood to reason there would be a connection. Would his killer be in attendance, hidden among dark coats and chandelier light?
James tapped his finger on the letter, wishing he had found it sooner. While it had sat undiscovered on the desk, he had wasted weeks chasing dead ends and pursuing the reckless ventures that had earned him Westmarch’s censure. Now Henry’s list offered the first true path toward his killer, and James could not afford to lose it by acting rashly. Defying his superior outright would not merely cost James his standing at the Home Office; it would cut him off from the only resources powerful enough to bring Henry’s killer to justice. Westmarch might be only a decade older than James, but few men dared oppose him.
Obedience, however, did not require surrendering information before he understood what he held. James would keep this letter to himself. For now. If he approached Westmarch with nothing but aliases, a date, and suspicion, his superior would only sideline him further and assign the matter to another agent before James could verify a single name. And James would not risk sending another man blindly into danger, not when he did not yet understand the extent of the threat. He had already made that mistake once.
He would begin alone, quietly gathering what intelligence he could, confirming the names, and determining whether the threat was as grave as he feared before involving anyone else. Even so, he was not fool enough to believe he could dismantle a criminal network alone. Before the Privy Council met, he would need Westmarch’s resources and considerable connections, which meant he had to follow his orders and earn his standing back by finding a wife.
He sighed. In Westmarch’s view, marriage was evidence of steadiness, restraint, and a man’s willingness to anchor himself to the world instead of courting danger as though he had nothing to lose. James had already sworn he was done throwing himself headlong into peril, but Westmarch clearly had not believed him. It seemed the only vow that would satisfy the man was the one James would make on his wedding day.
The timeline was now alarmingly tight. A mere five weeks. He could not afford a delay or misstep and would have to insist on a quick wedding. Everything depended on securing this marriage without drawing further scrutiny from his superior. He reached into his coat pocket, feeling the weight of the special license he had already procured. He had hoped Kate would agree to the match without waiting three weeks as the banns were read, but now that hope had become a necessity.
Barlow’s knock interrupted his thoughts. “Lord Rutherford to see you, my lord.”
As the door swung open, James adopted the disarming smile he always wore in company. He probably did not need it with his closest and oldest friend, but the mask was a difficult habit to break. He rose as Hugh crossed the room in a few quick strides, his grip firm on James’s shoulders as he took him in without a word.
“James, it’s good to see you.”
James crossed to the sideboard and poured brandy from the decanter. “What brings you home? I thought you were still in London.” He passed a glass to Hugh as they settled into the leather armchairs that flanked the hearth. In public they were Lord Brenton and Lord Rutherford, but in private, their closest circle of friends used first names, leaving titles only for society.
His service to the Crown over the last five years marked the only secret he had ever kept from Hugh.
“My plans were altered. I am only at home for the night, and then I am off to Sussex on some pressing business. Rest assured, I shall return for your wedding before I make my way back to London.” Hugh swirled the brandy in his glass, a wicked grin appearing. “My parents told me of your letter. What manner of friend would I be if I did not keep you company on your last night of liberty before your betrothal is official?”
James raised an eyebrow. “Are you comparing an engagement to your sister with imprisonment?”
Hugh nearly choked on a sip of brandy. “No, nothing of the sort.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I only meant that your days of doing as you please are numbered now that you plan to marry. Duty and family and all that.” There was a wistfulness in his tone James had not heard before.
A response lodged in James’s throat, a denial he couldn’t quite voice.
Hugh’s brows shot upward at his silence. “Surely you of all people are not looking forward to such an existence.”
James was almost a year Hugh’s senior, but just then, a lifetime seemed to separate them. “It would appear I am ready for a change in circumstances.” The lie stung as it left his mouth.
Hugh let out a low whistle and raked his hand through his tousled blond hair. “You and Kate truly are a perfect match then. I cannot fathom why neither of you has ever raised an objection to this betrothal.”
“You believe she’ll accept my proposal, then?” James asked, half hoping she might refuse, even knowing it would dismantle all of his plans.
