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Chapter One
April 1802
Lady Perdita Tinleyslammed her stick against her opponent. The loud sound of smacking wood resounded against the garden walls. Alfie’s subtle hesitation before shifting his weight to his right side signaled he was about to attack, and that was her cue to strike first.
She read Alfie’s defense as he would anticipate her counterattack. She had been practicing her fighting skills with her father’s Irish stable master since she was a girl. Dita tightened her grip and pushed forward. She had a surplus of uncontrolled emotions now that the societal pressure mounted, and stick fighting was the perfect release. Her plans for starting a school for female spies and defying society’s expectations that she marry this Season fueled her fierce strikes, forcing Alfie to step back.
Alfie immediately responded to her aggression as she knew he would with a quick strike, not sparing her from retribution. Her weapon vibrated in her hands from the force of his hit. “Sparring with you must be our students’ final test to ensure they have the required skills to be safe in the field.”
Alfie, a man of few words, grunted. “I’ll think about it when you have Lord Rathbourne’s approval.”
Alfie had been an outspoken opponent of her newest scheme. Once she learned from her brother that there were French spies among men and women of breeding betraying their country, she knew she had to act. The French had killed her grandfather and her uncle during the Reign of Terror and countless relatives. She wouldn’t allow them to harm her family again or her country. After long hours of discussion with her classmates at Miss Danvers’ School for Ladies, the plan was hatched for the school.
She’d talk Alfie around once the school was up and running. Dita laughed out loud with the sheer exhilaration of the spring sunshine, the mental and physical demands of stick fighting, and the excitement of a new beginning.
Mrs. Tottle’s piercing voice halted Dita’s forward motion with her stick raised to attack. “Miss Dita, you must stop immediately. Her Ladyship is in the drawing room and demands your presence.”
Dita lowered her hands and turned to face the housekeeper.
“Why are you staring at me with your mouth open like a dead trout? Go change your dress and fix your hair.”
Totty had been with the Tinley family since before Dita was born and still treated Dita as a child and not the mistress of the house. “Totty, what lady is in our drawing room?”
“Lady Beaumont herself. She told me to say to hasten since she doesn’t have much time today before her family realizes she’s escaped.”
Escaped? Was Lady Beaumont, an elderly woman, losing her faculties? She’d been ill and hadn’t left home for some time, but Dita hadn’t heard any rumors of a decline in her mental state. And the lady had agreed to be her sponsor for the Season, which would require stamina for the late-night parties and balls.
“I was to call on her tomorrow to plan for the months ahead.” Dita tucked the damp curls plastered to her cheek into her braid and smoothed the old worn dress with the relaxed seams that enabled her to swing her arms.
“It doesn’t matter now. She’s here. You have to make yourself presentable.”
“I won’t inconvenience the lady by changing. It must be important for her ladyship to have come instead of sending a message.”
“You won’t look respectable in that old dress,” Mrs. Tottle said as an aside as she strode away, mumbling to herself about unexpected guests and whether the biscuits were still hot. She suddenly stopped and whipped around at the appearance of Dita’s friend. “At least Miss Emmaline looks like a proper lady. Take her to meet her ladyship.”
If Totty knew how unladylike quiet Emmaline could be, she’d have heart palpitations. Emmaline and two classmates had saved Perdita when she had been shipped to finishing school after her mother died. Her three close friends were different in appearance, disposition, and social standing, but they had become her family. The friends became inseparable. And discovered that they shared a vital connection—they all were rebels in their own ways.
In the two and half years at the school, Dita had forged a bond with the capable girls who, like herself, questioned everything and everyone. Miss Danvers had said the foursome had aged her more than any other students. But Perdita liked to believe—to avoid guilt—that their schoolmistress secretly nurtured their intellectual curiosity and tenacity, despite the school’s mission to shape them for their roles as wives and mothers for the future of Great Britain. The friends had other plans for their roles for the future of their country. Each girl had personal reasons for wanting to join in the fight against France. Using their varied skills, they planned to train women to gather information for Lord Rathbourne’s Office of Intelligence.
“You have a very important guest, Dita. You mustn’t keep her waiting.” Emmaline used her finger to push her glasses back on her nose. Poor Emmy’s eyesight suffered from her constant reading. Her thick brown hair was pulled tightly into a knot at her nape, her dress modest with long sleeves and lace fichu covering any exposed skin as a good vicar’s daughter should dress.
Emmy Rothsby’s father was the third son of the Earl of Maylesbury, scorned by his father for having made the grave mistake of marrying below him. Emmy didn’t have funds or connections to take in a London Season. A few years older, Emmy served as Dita’s companion, which was perfect since her friend had no desire to mingle with her “betters” or be on the marriage mart. And Perdita needed a companion to go out into society.
“I’m sure Lady Beaumont will understand that this is not the time of day that you call upon people. Catching me unawares, she can’t expect me to be dressed for a formal call.” Dita quickened her pace, curious about the reason for Lady Beaumont’s visit and her comment about escaping her family. Surely Emmy would have heard rumors about the lady’s decline.
“Her ladyship don’t have to follow any social rules. She makes them. And don’t she know it. Bossing me around like I was her servant.” And with the last tidbit, Mrs. Tottle hurried through the kitchen door. “I must get the tray ready.”
Emmy linked arms with Dita as they headed toward the house. “It is probably better if Lady Beaumont doesn’t learn of your stick fighting or any of the other techniques Alfie has instructed you in, such as knife fighting. I doubt she would find it behavior acceptable for a lady.”
Alfie had traveled to the Far East before he became their stableman, then eventually the stable master. Alfie had a way with fearful animals and spirited girls. He had trained Dita in martial arts that he had learned during his time as a sailor. He had taken it upon himself to tutor her, filling her lonely days. He loved to wink and say she had a talent for finding trouble and needed to know how to extricate herself.
“I’m hoping that my connection to the lady will give me many more opportunities to engage with her nephew. Lord Rathbourne must be persuaded by the information that we’ve gathered on Lord Yardley that we are capable of training other women to spy for the war effort.” Dita patted her curls down to try to have some semblance of propriety. “The idea of our school sounded more credible when we were hatching this mad scheme.”
“We agreed that we have to try.” Emmy patted her arm. “What is the worst thing that could happen?”
“Lord Rathbourne thinks we’re a bunch of meddling spinsters, or Roddy finds out and forces me into a marriage for behaving in a manner unfitting to my position.”
“Your brother will never force you to marry anyone.”
