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Sophia Galloway was hardly beside herself. She had plenty to keep herself occupied. But she had remarked, a time or two, that she would like to meet her grandchildren before she was dead.
“Lord and Lady Smythe patiently await the happy day,” Will said diplomatically.
“Where is your sister now?” the prince asked. “Perhaps she can come to Court for a week or so while you are here visiting. We could host a ball.”
“Oh, yes!” Lady Jocelyn cried. “A costume ball would be divine.”
For a moment the voices at the table rose with excitement, and Will couldn’t have been heard even had he tried. Lucy definitely could not come to the palace. The prince didn’t know Lucy was part of the Royal Saboteurs. The less known about the members, the better. That’s what Baron believed. The prince only knew that Will had been sent to uncover any plots against the queen. Albert had thought it prudent to keep this information from his wife. The queen did not like to be managed, and she would see Will as a bodyguard, intent upon keeping her locked away. She’d evade him, rather than invite him into her inner circle, which was precisely the sort of access Will needed. Thus, Will and Prince Albert had concocted a story explaining how they’d met and become friends on the Continent before the prince had wed Queen Victoria. This same story had failed to impress Lady Averley, but Will could hardly tell her he’d never met the prince until a week ago. She too needed to believe the story and his rakish persona.
Finally, the voices lowered enough that Will could be heard. “I’m afraid Miss Galloway is currently rusticating in the country with friends. She would not ignore a summons from her queen, but she would sorely miss the company of her friends.”
The queen pursed her lips and turned the conversation to the second course as the footmen were even now clearing away thedishes from the first. Will breathed a sigh of relief. He’d spoken the truth—Lucy would have come if she’d been commanded, but as she was currently training as a Royal Saboteur at the secret facility they all called The Farm, she would not be pleased. She was probably crawling under fences right now or practicing her bomb-making skills. She would hate to have to sit and embroider with the likes of Lady Jocelyn and the Duchess of Charlemont.
“It seems as though you’ve saved your sister for the time being,” Lady Averley said as her plate was whisked away by one of the footmen.
Will looked over at her, surprised she had spoken to him voluntarily. But he didn’t waste any time. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. “I do hope you will mention my gallantry to her if you ever meet. She won’t believe me if I tell her myself.”
Lady Averley smiled slightly. She looked pretty when she smiled. Her light blue eyes warmed slightly, and she looked less regal and more human. “I imagine you teased and tormented her enough when she was a child that she has little reason to trust you now.”
“You have an older brother then?” Will asked.
“Two of them, and I cannot count the number of times they put a frog in my apron pocket or jumped out from behind a door to scare me.”
Will laughed. “If I’d put a frog in Lucy’s apron, she would have retaliated by placing a snake in my bed. She’s not one to let anyone best her.”
Lady Averley’s eyes widened with, if he was not mistaken, admiration. “She sounds quite fearless.”
“I can’t think of a single thing she fears, except”—he leaned close—“being leg-shackled.”
Lady Averley didn’t lean away from him. “But why should she not want to marry?”
Will couldn’t tell her the truth—that Lucy would rather chase after spies and assassins than toddlers. “I think she will marry one day, when she finds the right man. She hasn’t met him yet.”
“Then I hope she does meet him, and I wish her a long, happy union.”
It was exactly the sort of thing a well-bred lady would say. Will could play the part of a well-bred gentleman, but that wouldn’t help his mission.
The footmen set down Lady Averley’s plate, and she might have ended the conversation there, if Will had allowed it. “I was sorry to hear that your own union ended prematurely,” he said. “You honor your late husband by still wearing mourning clothes.”
Lady Averley looked down at her gray dress, which was fashionable but still modest and suitably somber. “He has been dead two years,” she said, poking at the fish on her plate. “But it seems like only a few days to me. Lady Jocelyn has encouraged me to put away my mourning clothes, but I haven’t felt quite ready.”
“You must have loved him a great deal.” Two years was far longer than required for a young widow to mourn a husband.
She glanced up, her pale blue eyes seeming to look right through him. “I did, yes.”
Will was startled by the honesty and naked emotion in her eyes. Neither was something he often found among the upper classes.
Finally, she looked away, and Will allowed himself to be drawn into another conversation. That conversation centered on the food and the way each dish was prepared and didn’t require Will’s full attention. His mind wandered back to his mission. This might be his first mission with the Royal Saboteurs, but covert work was in his blood. His parents had been operatives for the Barbican, a secret group formed in the time of theNapoleonic Wars. Their missions had been varied—to protect the country from French plots as well as investigate more domestic matters of public safety. Now the French were not as much a threat, and the police force could deal with murders and other incidents. Will had worked with the Foreign and Home Offices to follow suspected spies. He’d even done some spying himself. But the Royal Saboteurs was the position he’d wanted. Not only was Baron, one of the original members of the Barbican, at its head, but the Royal Saboteurs were not just following suspected spies and reporting on them. The Saboteurs were protecting Queen and Country.
Will had jumped at this chance to come to Court and ferret out the traitor helping those who wished to assassinate the queen. All suspicion was on Lady Averley. Will had thought he would come in; charm the pretty, young widow; gain her trust; and find the incriminating evidence.
Now he realized it wouldn’t be so easy. She might be a pretty, young widow, but that did not mean she was bored. He’d found a quiet young woman still in mourning. She had obviously loved her late husband and was not looking for a handsome young man to take the earl’s place by her side or in her bed.
By no means did any of these qualities remove her from suspicion. In fact, she was even more of a suspect now than before. Everyone knew the Earl of Averley had been an opponent of the queen and her policies. Unlike most peers, the earl had been in favor of reform and limiting the power of the upper classes. That included limiting the power of the queen. There was no proof the earl wanted the queen dead, but he had been involved in several Parliamentary schemes that would have made Victoria little more than a body on a throne and the House of Lords little more than a social club.
If Averley’s countess shared his views, then might she be ripe to support a group who sought to remove the queen altogether?
“Have you been to Lyme Regis, Mr. Galloway?” Lady Jocelyn asked.
