When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,107
scheme to get so out of hand,” he said.
Nobody spoke. The maid set down a fourth serving of ale and withdrew.
“I missed my wife,” Wakefield went on softly. “I was drifting from one city to another, and I was offered a chance to do more than peddle inferior portraits and incomplete tea services.”
Carlu flicked a glance at Tomas and Petras. All hands were in evidence—Carlu’s casually wrapped around his tankard, Petras’s resting on the table, Tomas’s linked behind his head. In the time it took the maid to curtsy, all three men could be holding knives.
“You were offered easy coin,” Carlu said. “You had enough, you simply wanted more.”
“Greed is so unbecoming,” Petras observed. “So common.”
“A sin,” Tomas added. “A deadly sin. Of the seven deadly sins, I prefer lust myself, though gluttony and sloth have much to recommend them as well.”
“Pride is more your forte,” Petras suggested. “Envy besets me.”
“Leaving wrath to me,” Carlu said. “What are your orders, Mr. Wakefield? Do we return to London in search of Colonel Parker, or will you continue on to Oxford without us?”
Wakefield would never make it to Oxford. His fate would be a cold, muddy ditch on a lonely road, and not because he’d taken coin for advancing the affairs of this or that party, but rather, because Matilda had been caught up in his schemes and left to shift for herself. Those engaged in espionage did so according to rules as well defined and unrelenting as the Code Duello, and even more rigid.
Silence stretched while the maid came by again and used her rag to wipe down the table. Tomas turned a soulful gaze on her.
“Fair lady of the dazzling smiles, might you know where a handsome, lonely stranger such as myself could find employment in the area?”
She looked him up and down. She could apparently be charmed, but she could not be made a fool of. “Mayhap they need a new footman up at Brightwell.”
“Brightwell?” Carlu asked, all innocence.
“That’s our ducal estate,” she said. “Not far through the woods, though the lanes take a bit longer. Mr. Duncan Wentworth is putting it to rights for His Grace of Walden. They might need a new footman or groom.”
Petras passed her his empty tankard. “They’re short of help?”
“The Jingle boy usually comes for the mail. He’s not here and the morning is long gone. Relying on a boy is never a good idea when the task is important. My sister works at Brightwell as the upstairs maid, and she says…”
The maid fell silent, glancing around the common. Wakefield had taken a corner table, as always, and the rest of the room was deserted.
“Sisters have the best gossip,” he said. “My own could fill your ear with more nonsense and tattle than any London newspaper.”
He had no sister.
“Molly is like that,” the maid replied, bending closer to scrub at the table. “She doesn’t listen at keyholes, but she hears things. That lady who was biding up at Brightwell must have come with Jinks yesterday to pick up the mail, you see, and then she got into the coach with that regimental pest, and now Jinks is neglecting his job. Something’s afoot, though you didn’t hear it from me.”
Carlu laid a coin on the table. “We have enjoyed the ale and service here exceedingly. I don’t suppose you know where our friend Colonel Parker got off to? Proud fellow, not overly burdened with patience?”
The maid pocketed the coin. “If that lout is your friend, you have my sympathies. Never heard such a lot of giving orders and sending back trays. Missus says his brother the marquess isn’t like that, but the Quality can be a trial.”
“Would you happen to know if this particular trial traveled on to Oxford or back to London?” Carlu asked.
Always verify intelligence when possible, Wakefield thought. What had his servants verified about him?
“London. His coachman were determined to return to Town whether his colonelship was willing or not. They took the woman with them, though she had no baggage. Danny what works in the stables said she hugged that obnoxious colonel like he were her long-lost husband.”
He nearly is.
Petras laid another coin on the table. “We’re for Oxford, and we appreciate your fine service.”
Tomas rose and bowed over the maid’s hand. “I will remember you in my dreams, fair lady.”
She swatted him with her rag, and even Carlu smiled.
Wakefield was not smiling, though he was determined to reach London before the day ended. Petras, Tomas, and Carlu were minions,