Page 88 of The Smuggler’s Escape

“Told you so,” Lord Harry said around a mouthful of turnips.

Richard surveyed the company and bowed to his mother. “Forgive me, Mama, for coming to dinner in all my dirt.”

“When a gentleman is as dashing as you, Lord Boltwood, how could we object?” Lady Darsington said archly. “I wager you would be an excellent choice for catching a spy.”

“I fear not. I’m far too lazy.” Richard took his place at the head of the table. “Pray continue this enthralling discussion.”

Dorothea flushed. “I didn’t mean Miss de Vallon, Mother, and you know it. I meant everyone. If it’s confidential information, no one should be told!”

“Quite so.” Richard’s expression conveyed no more than mild interest. “Indiscretion, I hear, is endemic in political circles. What a tragedy if due to some blabbing, rather than a spy’s machinations, our esteemed government should fall.”

Lord Harry laughed. “Bravo, Boltwood.”

“Noelle is as loyal to England as the rest of us.” Lady Boltwood, whom Richard’s arrival had calmed somewhat, patted Lucretia’s hand. “She left France to escape the guillotine. Her mother, dear Lady Tifton’s sister, was English.”

Lady Darsington’s eyes narrowed to slits. “And yet I hear you hold revolutionary views, Mademoiselle de Vallon.”

Noelle glowered. “The revolution was inevitable. The people of France were dreadfully oppressed under the Ancien Régime.”

“Your parents were revolutionaries, I believe? Both your parents, even your English mother. Inappropriate for people of noble birth, don’t you think?”

Noelle’s voice rose. “It was entirely appropriate. People were starving.”

“Still, to betray their own kind—”

“Their own kind, as you put it, are human beings. All human beings. They didn’t betray anyone.”

“Precisely,” Dorothea piped up. “When you are in London, Noelle, we must attend abolitionist meetings together.”

Lady Darsington’s fingers clenched around her knife.

“I should be delighted,” Noelle said.

“Many French aristocrats were in favor of the revolution,” Lord Harry said, “including my own maternal uncle.”

“What a pity,” Richard drawled, “that everything got out of hand.”

Noelle rounded on him. “That doesn’t invalidate the principles on which the revolution was based. My parents, had they lived, would never have supported wholesale slaughter.”

Under the table, Richard’s hand took hers and squeezed it gently. His eyes, their expression inscrutable, held hers. “No, your mother would have been guillotined like your father and Harry’s uncle, and so would you. How fortunate for me that your mother sent you here.”

~ ~ ~

Noelle didn’t know what to think of Lady Darsington’s insinuations. Did she actually know that there was a spy in the area?

Maybe, but just as likely she was making mischief in her attempts to snabble Richard for poor Dorothea.

Regardless, Noelle decided, she must leave now. Tonight. If an agent of the Home Office were nearby, she might have no other chance of escape. Should she plead a headache, retreat to her room, and leave by the secret door?

Not yet. The Restless Rose would sail on the tide tonight if she paid the captain well . . . but not till after midnight.

What about her promise to let Richard come with her? Could she spring it on him at the very last minute?

She had no choice.

Immediately after Lady Boltwood gave the signal for the ladies to leave the dining room, Lady Ariadne Luttrow demanded pen and paper and had a message conveyed to her coachman. “He will be back directly with the pattern,” she said, her hands fluttering agitatedly. “I could do no less.”

They took their places in the drawing room in an atmosphere that crackled with tension. Lady Ariadne Luttrow, always garrulous, gabbled even more than usual. The notion of a spy in the area had taken possession of her mind, and she raised the topic ad nauseam. Lady Darsington took obvious pleasure in aiding her speculations. Dorothea stabbed her needle jerkily through the embroidery in her tambour frame, and spent more time unpicking than creating new stitches. Lucretia, with the patience born of countless evenings with Uncle Matthew, worked painstaking white stitches on a white linen ground. Lady Boltwood tried in vain to change the topic to bride-clothes and wedding dates. Noelle sipped tea and plotted her escape.