Rendezvous by Amanda Quick
“Yes, I imagine you are.”
“I hope he stays home.”
“I am certain he will for the most part. I believe your father prefers the country.”
“When he went off to London at the beginning of The Season to find a wife, he said it was a necessity.”
“Rather like taking a purge, I should imagine.”
Meredith nodded soberly. “No doubt. Aunt Clarissa told me he had to find a wife so that he could get an heir.”
“Your father is a man who is very conscious of his duty.”
“Aunt Clarissa said he would find a paragon of a female who would follow in my mother’s illustrious footsteps.”
Augusta stifled a groan. “A difficult task. I saw the portrait of your mother in the picture gallery last night. She was, as you said, very beautiful.”
“I told you so.” Meredith wrinkled her brow. “Papa says beauty is not everything in a woman, though. He says there are other, more important things. He says a virtuous woman has a price beyond rubies. Is that not a pretty phrase? Papa writes very well, you know.”
“I do not want to disillusion you,” Augusta muttered, “but your papa did not exactly invent that phrase himself.”
Meredith shrugged without apparent concern. “He could have, if he had wished to do so. Papa is very smart. He used to play the most complicated word games you have ever seen.”
“Really?”
Meredith began to show some real enthusiasm at last as she warmed to her favorite topic, her papa. “When I was little I saw him working on one in the library one day and asked him what he was doing. He said he was solving a very important puzzle.”
Augusta tipped her head, curious. “What was the name of the game?”
Meredith frowned. “I do not recall. It was a long time ago. I was just a child. I remember it had something to do with a spider’s web.”
Augusta stared down at the top of Meredith’s bonnet. “A spider’s web? Are you quite certain?”
“I believe so. Why?” Meredith lifted her head to peer up at her from beneath the brim of the bonnet. “Do you know the game?”
“No.” Augusta shook her head slowly. “But my brother once gave me a poem named ‘The Spider’s Web.’ I have always found the poem very strange. I never really understood it. In fact, I never even knew my brother wrote poetry until he gave that particular verse to me.”
There was no need to mention the fact that the paper on which the poem had been written had been indelibly stained with her brother’s blood and that the verse itself was unpleasant.
But Meredith was off on a new tangent. “You have a brother?”
“Yes. But he died two years ago.”
“Oh. I am very sorry. I expect he is in heaven like my mother.”
Augusta smiled wistfully. “That depends on whether the lord allows Northumberland Ballingers into heaven. Now, if Richard had been a Hampshire Ballinger, I am certain there would have been no question. But with a Northumberland Ballinger, well, it is open to speculation.”
Meredith’s small jaw dropped. “You do not believe your brother is in heaven?”
“Of course he is. I am merely teasing. Never mind me, Meredith. I have a very inappropriate sense of humor. Just ask anyone. Come along, now, I am quite famished and I see a perfect spot for lunch.”
Meredith eyed the intended location, a grassy bank above a small stream, very warily. “Aunt Clarissa said I must be careful not to get my dress dirty. She says true ladies never get muddy.”
“Nonsense. I used to get muddy all the time when I was your age. Still do, on occasion. In any event, I’ll wager you have several other dresses just like that in your wardrobe, do you not?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then if something dreadful happens to this one, we shall simply toss it out or give it to the poor and you may wear one of your other dresses. What is the point of having any number of dresses, if one does not use them?”
“I had not thought of it quite that way.” Meredith took a renewed interest in the luncheon spot. “Perhaps you are right.”
Augusta grinned and shook out the cloth that had been packed in the basket. “That reminds me. I believe we shall send for a seamstress from the village tomorrow. You need some new dresses.”
“I do?”
“Definitely.”
“Aunt Clarissa said the ones I have now will do for another six months or a year at least.”
“Impossible. You will outgrow them long before that. In fact, I daresay you will outgrow them by the end of the week.”
“A week?” Meredith stared at her. Then she smiled hesitantly. “Oh, I see. You are joking again, are you not?”
“No, I am quite serious.”
“Oh. Tell me more about your brother. I have sometimes thought I might like to have a brother.”
“Have you, indeed? Well, brothers are a very interesting lot.” Augusta began to talk easily of all the good times she had known with Richard as she and Meredith set out the appetizing repast of cold meat pies, sausages, fruit, and biscuits.
Augusta and Meredith had just seated themselves when a long shadow fell over the meal. A pair of glossy black boots came to a halt at the edge of the white cloth.
“Is there enough for three, do you think?” Harry asked.
“Papa.” Meredith leaped to her feet, looking first surprised and then anxious. “Augusta said someone must show her around the grounds today and she said you were too busy to do so. She asked me to do it.”
“An excellent notion.” Harry smiled at his daughter. “No one knows this estate better than you do.”
Meredith smiled back, clearly relieved. “Do you want a meat pie, Papa? Cook made several. And there are lots and lots of biscuits and sausages. Here, have some.”
Augusta scowled ferociously. “Do not go giving away all our food, Meredith. You and I have first choice here. Your father is an uninvited guest and he only gets the leftovers.”
“You are a hard-hearted woman, madam wife,” Harry drawled.
Meredith’s fingers froze around a pie. She looked first at Augusta with stunned eyes and then turned to her father. “There is plenty for you, Papa. Truly there is. You can have mine.”
“Not at all,” Harry said easily. “I shall just take Augusta’s portion. I would much rather eat her share.”
“But Papa—”
“Enough,” Augusta said, laughing at the child’s earnest expression. “Your father is teasing both of us and I am teasing him. Do not concern yourself, Meredith. There is plenty of food for everyone.”
“Oh.” With an uncertain glance at her father, Meredith settled back down on the cloth. She arranged the skirts of her dress very carefully so that they did not fall onto the grass. “I am glad you joined us, Papa. This is fun, is it not? I do not think I have ever been on a picnic. Augusta says she and her brother used to go on picnics all the time.”
“Is that so?” Harry lounged back on one elbow and bit into a meat pie as he slanted Augusta a veiled glance.
Augusta realized with a small sense of shock that Harry was dressed in riding clothes and his throat was bare. He was not wearing his usual impeccably tied cravat. She had rarely seen him this casually garbed, except in the privacy of their bedchambers, of course. She blushed at that thought and bit into a pie.
“Yes,” Meredith said, growing increasingly chatty. “Her brother was a Northumberland Ballinger, just like Augusta. They are noted for being quite bold and daring. Did you know that, Papa?”
“I believe I have heard that, yes.” Harry continued munching his pie, his eyes never leaving Augusta’s flushed face. “I myself can testify to the rather daring temperament of the Northumberland Ballingers. One can hardly imagine the sort of bold things Northumberland Ballingers get up to. Especially in the middle of the night.”
Augusta knew she was turning a very bright shade of pink. She shot her tormentor a warning glance. “I have found the earls of Graystone can be astonishingly b
“We have our moments.” Harry grinned and took another healthy bite of pie.
Meredith missed the byplay and continued chattering away to her father. “Augusta’s brother was exceedingly brave. And a wonderful horseman. He was in a race once, did Augusta tell you?”
“No.”
“Well, he was. And he won. He always won his races, you see.”
“Astounding.”
Augusta cleared her throat gently. “Would you like some fruit, Meredith?”
She managed to deflect the child’s conversation until the end of the meal. Then she encouraged Meredith to try the game of floating two twigs in the stream to see which one reached a certain point first.
Meredith hesitated, but when Harry got up and showed her how the game was played, her enthusiasm for the sport grew rapidly. Harry stood on the bank watching her play upstream for a moment and then he walked back to the cloth and reseated himself beside Augusta.
“She is enjoying herself.” Harry propped himself on one elbow, one leg drawn up with lazy masculine grace. “It makes me wonder if perhaps she needs more of this kind of outdoor activity.”
“I am glad you agree, my lord. It is my feeling that a certain amount of frivolous pastimes are as crucial for a child as history and globes. With your permission, I should like to introduce a few additional subjects into her curriculum.”
Harry frowned. “Such as?”
“Watercolors and novel reading, to start.”
“Good God, most certainly not. I absolutely forbid it. I will not have Meredith exposed to such nonsense.”
“You said yourself, my lord, Meredith needs a greater variety of activities.”
“I said she might need a few more outdoor activities.”
“Very well, she can paint outdoors and read novels outdoors,” Augusta said cheerfully. “At least in summer.”
“Damn it, Augusta—”
“Hush, my lord. You would not want Meredith to overhear us quarreling. She is having enough trouble adjusting to your marriage as it is.”
Harry glowered at her. “You certainly seem to have impressed her with tales of your brave, adventurous brother.”
Augusta frowned. “Richard was brave and adventurous.”
“Mmmm.” Harry’s tone was noncommittal.
“Harry?”
“Yes?” Harry’s eyes were on Meredith.
“Did the rumors that circulated at the time of Richard’s death ever reach your ears?”
“I know of them, Augusta. I do not consider them important.”
“No, of course not. They are all lies. But there is the undeniable fact that certain documents were found on him the night he was killed. I confess I have often wondered about those documents.”
“Augusta, sometimes one must accept the notion that one does not always get all the answers one seeks.”
“I am well aware of that, sir. But I have long had a theory about my brother’s death that I would very much like to prove.”
Harry was quiet for a moment. “What is your theory?”
Augusta took a deep breath. “It occurred to me that the reason Richard had those documents on him that night was because he might have been a secret military intelligence agent for the Crown.”
When that comment brought no response, Augusta turned to look at Harry. His eyes, hooded and unreadable now, were still on his daughter.
“Harry?”
“Was this the theory you wanted Lovejoy to investigate for you?”
“Yes, it was, as a matter of fact. Tell me, do you not think it very possible?”
“I think it highly unlikely,” Harry said quietly.
Augusta was incensed at the casual dismissal of her long-held theory. “Never mind. I should not have mentioned the subject. After all, how would you know anything about such matters, my lord?”
Harry exhaled heavily. “I would have known, Augusta.”
“Not bloody likely.”
“I would have known because, one way or another, had Richard been a legitimate intelligence agent for the Crown, he would most likely have been working for me.”
“What do you mean by saying you would have known if my brother had been secretly working for England during the war?” Augusta sat tensely, her mind reeling. “And what on earth were you doing that you would have such information in the first place?”
Harry did not move from his reclining position, but he finally took his gaze off Meredith and looked directly at Augusta. “What I was doing is no longer a matter of importance. The war is over and I am more then content to forget my role in it. Suffice it to say that I was involved in gathering intelligence for England.”
“You were a spy?” Augusta was stunned.
His mouth curved faintly. “Obviously, my love, you do not see me as a man of action.”
“No, it is not that.” She frowned, thinking quickly. “I confess I did wonder where you learned to pick locks and you do have a habit of turning up when I least expect you. Very spylike behavior, I should imagine. Nevertheless, a career in that sort of thing is just not you, Harry.”
“I could not agree with you more. In point of fact, I never saw my wartime activities as a career. I saw them as a damned nuisance. The business was a vastly annoying interruption to my real work of pursuing my classical studies and looking after my estates.”
Augusta bit her lip. “It must have been very dangerous.”
Harry shrugged. “Only on the odd occasion. I spent most of my time behind a desk directing the activities of others and pouring over letters written in code or sympathetic ink.”
“Sympathetic ink.” Augusta was momentarily diverted by that. “You mean ink that is invisible on paper?”
“Mmmm.”
“How marvelous. I should love to have some invisible ink.”
“I shall be happy to make you a batch sometime.” Harry looked amused. “I should warn you it is not terribly useful for general correspondence. The recipient must have the chemical agent which renders the writing visible.”
“One could keep one’s journal in it.” Augusta paused. “But perhaps code would be better. Yes, I like the idea of a code.”
“I would prefer to think that my wife does not have anything so very secret to write in her journal that it requires invisible ink or a secret code.”
Augusta ignored the mild warning in his tone. “Is that why you spent so much time on the continent during the war?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“You were supposed to be furthering your research in the classics.”
“I did what I could, especially when I was in Italy and Greece. But a great deal of my time was spent on Crown business.” Harry selected a hothouse peach from the basket. “Now that the war is over, however, I can think about going back to the continent for more interesting purposes. Would you like to go, Augusta? We shall take Meredith, too, of course. Travel is very educational.”
Augusta arched a brow. “Is it me or your daughter you feel needs the education?”
“Meredith would no doubt profit the most from the experience. You, on the other hand, do not have to travel outside our bedchamber in order to further your education. And I must say, you are a very apt pupil.”
Augusta was scandalized in spite of herself. “Harry, I vow, sometimes you say the most improper things. You should be ashamed.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear. I had not realized you were such an authority on the proprieties. I bow to your greater knowledge of such matters.”
“Do be quiet, Harry, or I shall dump what is left of our picnic over your head.”
“As you wish, madam.”
“Now, then, tell me how you can be so certain my brother was not also involved in secret work for the Crown.”
“The odds are that if he had been, he would have worked for me, either directly or indirectly. I explained that a chief portion of my duties consisted of directing the activities of others in the s
Augusta shook her head in amazement, still unable to envision Harry in such work. “But there must have been a great many people engaged in that sort of thing, both here and abroad.”
“Too many, at times,” Harry agreed dryly. “During wartime spies are rather like ants at a picnic. A great nuisance, for the most part, but it is impossible to conduct the event without them.”
“If they are as common as insects, Richard could have been engaged in such activities and you might not have been aware of it,” Augusta insisted.
Harry munched his peach in silence for a moment. “I considered that possibility. So I made some inquiries.”
“Inquiries? What inquiries?”
“I asked some of my old friends in the business to see if Richard Ballinger had by any chance been officially involved in intelligence work. The answer was no, Augusta.”
Augusta drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them while she grappled with the finality of Harry’s tone. “I still think my theory has merit.”
Harry was silent.
“You must admit there is a small possibility that Richard had gotten involved in such work. Perhaps he had discovered something on his own and was going to take the information to the proper authorities.”
Harry remained silent as he finished the last of his peach.
“Well?” Augusta asked, trying to conceal her anxiety over his answer. “Won’t you agree that there is at least a chance that was the case?”
“Do you want me to lie to you, Augusta?”
“No, of course not.” Her hands clenched into small fists. “I merely want you to agree that you could not have known everything there was to know about intelligence activities during the war.”
Harry nodded brusquely. “Very well. I will agree to that. No one could have known everything. There is a great deal of fog surrounding war. Most of the actions, both on and off the battlefield, take place in a gray murk. And when the fog clears one can only count the survivors. One can never really know all of what happened while the mist was shrouding things. Perhaps it is best that way. I am convinced there is much it is better not to know.”