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Chapter Two
“You must infiltrate his house, Jacqueline, and find the letters from the Duke of Wellington. Commit them to memory and then report to your contact.”
The words of Chevalier Pelletier, her commanding officer, rang through her head as she tried to get the study door open. She’d searched every other room in the house, even once offering to clean the master’s bedchambers in order to have a thorough look…and nothing. Not so much as a torn off section of a note had she found. It was immensely frustrating to her.
“Surely he does not carry everything around with him? There must be a secret compartment somewhere or else everything is in here.” She tried yet another key from the bunch she’d pilfered from the butler, but not one of them fit.
“Does nobody go in there to clean?” she murmured in frustration.
“Who are you talking to?”
She jumped, hand to racing heart, as she turned to see George looking curiously up at her.
“Do not scare me like that,” she breathed.
George grinned impishly. “Did you think I was a ghost?”
Jacqueline took a deep breath and turned to face him. “What doyouknow about ghosts?”
“I know they haunt castles and get you if you’re bad.”
Her brow furrowed. “Who told you that?”
George inclined his head to the side curiously as he ignored her question. “Were you being bad?”
“What? No! Why would you even ask me that?”
George looked around her at his father’s study door. “Well, because Papa doesn’t like anyone to go in there but him and you were trying to.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was cleaning the, er, knob.” She winced internally at the stupid lie. Straightening up, she began to move away from the study door. “In any case, I’m quite sure it’s time for your tea so come along unless you don’t want any cakes.”
That had George running to catch up with her, and he put his tiny hand in hers quite naturally. They walked, arms swinging between them, towards the kitchen where the boy had taken to having his tea ever since Jacqueline began baking. It reduced his waiting time between cakes since one plate was just never enough.
Mrs. Gendry had remarked on his expanding waistline and even Mrs. Haversham had ventured to say that he could perhaps eat a few less cakes. It suited Jacqueline’s purposes to indulge him and so she made no effort to regulate his intake. Although knowing how quickly boys got bored, she made a note to make other dishes that might tempt him.
George was by no means the only fan of her fare, but hewasthe most important because it was his father she meant to spy on.
“When do you think your father will come to see you again?” she asked as they approached the kitchen.
George shrugged rather indifferently. “He didn’t say.”
“Do you not miss him?”
George shook his head. “He doesn’t stay long even when he’s here and he always has visitors and guests and he doesn’t talk to me much.”
Her brow quirked. “Really? I thought he came home to seeyou.”
George just shrugged but said nothing else. Jacqueline was surprised to find she felt an irrational anger towards the Duke. Clearly he did not pay enough attention to his offspring although he was the child’s only parent. She resolved that before she left, she was going to change that.
* * *
Bertram was exhausted from the campaigns as well as traveling. He had not been home in three weeks and was feeling quite eager to see his son again. He regretted that his lifestyle did not allow him to see much of the boy, but according to his nanny’s letters, he was doing quite well. There was reportedly a new employee whose cakes were a delight and George was apparently enjoying her presence very much. Bertram was glad to hear it, although he felt a bit of reserve at having a new person that he had not met so close to his son.
As he rode into the gates of his home at Rose Manor, he heaved a sigh of relief, finally able to relax for a while. The Manor had been in his family for generations, ever since his ancestor escaped the Huguenot massacre of 1572 in France. It had been passed from father to son like a sacred legacy and when he passed from this world, he would leave it to his son.
Speaking of George, he smiled as the boy appeared in the doorway, watching the carriage excitedly. Bertram was happy to see that he was glowing with health, perhaps even a littletoo much. He banged against the roof of the carriage so that his driver would stop and he could climb out. Unlike most Dukes, he did not believe in withholding affection from his children. He held out his hands and George came running into them.
George hardly allowed himself to be held for a minute, however, before he was asking to ride in the carriage. “Please, Papa! I haven’t been in one for so long.”
