One Thing Leads to a Lover (Love and Let Spy #2) - Susanna Craig Page 0,93

the sleeping and dressing space from a little sitting area made up of two upholstered chairs and a round table between them. On that table, Mrs. Drummond placed the tea tray.

“Thank you,” she said after Amanda had seated herself on the far side of the table. “For what you said about who’s to blame. I think all this time I—I’ve taken a selfish sort of joy in the guilt Langley’s felt.” The faintest blush rose on her pale cheeks. “Because I was angry. And because I didn’t want to admit my own fault in the matter.”

She sat down in the other chair, poured a fresh cup of tea, and held it out to Amanda. Amanda considered taking Fanny’s hand instead, offering some gesture of consolation. But the other woman’s stiff, wary posture did not invite such familiarities. So she accepted the cup and said simply, “Fear and grief can make us strangers to ourselves, Mrs. Drummond. Sometimes a wound must be cleaned before it can heal.”

Mrs. Drummond nodded, rose, and began bustling around the room, gathering towels and a hairbrush. “I’ll put these on the washstand, behind the screen. You’ll feel more yourself after you’ve washed your face and combed your hair.”

Amanda felt positively grimy next to Mrs. Drummond, with her neat black dress and perfectly coifed blonde hair. “Thank you.”

When Fanny reappeared from behind the screen, she stood and looked at Amanda for a moment, her head cocked to one side. “May I give you a piece of advice, Lady Kingston?”

“Please.”

“Don’t let these men persuade you against your own judgment.” She cast a disparaging glance in the direction of the workroom. “They will persist in believing that women are fragile creatures with little but comfort and cakes to offer up to the cause,” she said, with an embarrassed gesture toward the tea tray, “whatever I say.”

Amanda knew firsthand the frustrations of feeling overprotected and undervalued. She wondered whether Mrs. Drummond might have been quicker to forgive both Langley and herself if she had been given some meaningful work to do. If she had been allowed to exercise more than her feminine charms.

“Thank you, Mrs. Drummond. I shall make certain Colonel Millrose knows I haven’t any intention of being kept in the dark about matters pertaining to my sons.”

At last, Fanny stepped toward the door. “I’m sure you could do with a little quiet, my lady.”

Though in truth she would’ve been glad of the company—any sort of distraction from thoughts of Jamie and Philip, or even Mama and the Hursts, who must be worried sick and probably blaming themselves—Amanda let her go. For the second time that day, she unpinned her hair, brushed it smooth, and coiled it up again, then washed herself as best she could. Finally, she sat down again, took up the now tepid cup of tea, and tried not to think of anything at all. Especially Langley.

Tried…and failed.

She loved her mother, no matter how they got on one another’s nerves. And she could not imagine a love stronger than the one she had for her sons, whose present peril was like a wild beast rending her heart, and she unable either to fight off the terror or stanch the wound.

Perhaps it was wrong, then, to fancy that what she felt for Langley was love, when it bore so little resemblance to the other. Although she was occasionally exasperated with him. Afraid for him, too, and the risks he was willing to take to protect her and her sons.

All those familiar feelings were overlaid with a quiet certainty that without him, her life would be immeasurably poorer. No quipped conversations. No scolding glances. No mischievous wink when she refused to mind her step.

But what sort of life could the pair of them—a dull, respectable lady and a daring secret agent—build together? What sort of life did she want?

She was still mulling that nebulous future when a knock came and the door opened to admit the room’s rightful occupant

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Kingston,” Mrs. Drummond said, “but Colonel Millrose would like to see you in the workroom. He has something to report.”

Amanda stood up and glanced around the windowless room, searching for a clock. “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure. Things don’t go according to any schedule in the Underground.”

“But how can you stand it, always in darkness, not knowing whether it’s night or morning?” No wonder Langley didn’t sleep properly.

“I suppose it’s a bit like life, my lady. You can’t always see what’s in front