Page 33 of The Duke of Aces
Charlotte stared across the coach at him. “Since you were not listening to my plan, what are you thinking that has you scowling?”
He couldn’t maintain eye contact with Charlotte. Eyes closed, he rested the back of his head against the coach wall. “I was thinking about Isadora.”
After a minute or two of silence, his sister asked, “You’re not worried she will become engaged while we are away, are you?”
Yes. Yes, he was, but there was naught he could do to prevent such a tragedy while hundreds of miles away. “If we complete our mission quickly, within a week or two, I believe…”
Charlotte kicked his ankle.
“Ouch.”
“You want me to become Comtesse Du Montford’s confidant within a week!”
Tom blinked at his sister in confusion. He really should have paid more attention to her plans.
Charlotte shook her head. “I’m affable, brother, but the comtesse will not simply share with anyone who her husband’s consorts are. Plus, Isadora won’t trade her membership to the Wicked Ladies Salon for anything less than love.”
She was right on both points. Tom’s shoulders relaxed. “I have faith in you, sister.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Do you believe there is any validity to the chatter regarding yet another escape by Napoleon? Escaping Elba was a feat, but to escape and return to Paris all the way from Saint Helena…is well, it’s unfathomable.”
“I won’t know until we dock in Calais and I can investigate. This will not be an easy assignment, Charlotte. I need you to be on guard at all times and focused. We shall have to postpone further discussion regarding Isadora or the Wicked Ladies Salon until our return. Agreed?” He held his breath as he waited for his sister’s reply.
“Agreed.”
The coach rattled over wood slats. They were nearing the docks. He turned his focus away from the lady he was leaving behind and said, “Once we are aboard theQuarter Moon, let’s discuss the details of the assignment and agree upon a strategy.”
Charlotte nodded and turned to peer out the window, her hands tightly clutched in her lap.
Tom focused on the commotion outside. Men scurried back and forth, preparing ships for departure. Flags fluttered at the tops of masts. The tension in his shoulders returned. “Captain Bain is the best seaman in England, he shall see to it we make it to France and back safely.”
“I don’t doubt Captain Bane’s ability.” Charlotte pressed her palms to her stomach. “I hate sea travel.”
Tom empathized. The combination of rolling seas and the memories of their parents’ death made crossing the channel a terrifying experience. He let out a slow breath. “I’m glad you agreed to accompany me.”
Charlotte continued to look out the window. “I’m happy you asked.”
He had always worked missions alone, and now he was about to embark on one of the most difficult assignments he’d been given with the aid of his little sister. Rather than dread, he was filled with optimism. They would be back before Isadora could miss him.
Chapter Seventeen
Isadora stood infront of Mr. Wembly’s desk and waited patiently as the landlord dipped his quill in the inkpot and dabbed the nib on a scrap parchment. She bit down on her tongue to refrain from yelling at the man to get on with it. Finally, he signed the blasted contract and blew on the parchment. Once the ink was dry it would be official. The Wicked Ladies would have exclusive rights to Wembly Hall for the duration of parliament, which was scheduled for the next five and a half months. Isadora should be elated at her triumph, but it was bittersweet, for she hadn’t won it fair and square.
For nearly a week she had been tied up in negotiations with Mr. Wembly unable to enact upon any of the tasks required to prepare for the official opening night of the Wicked Ladies Salon. She filled her days with planning and devising lists all in an effort to banish Tom from her thoughts and her dreams. While she had succeeded in exhausting herself, she had failed at eliminating Tom from her mind both during the day and the night. She was constantly wondering what Tom was doing while away on Crown affairs. She hadn’t expected him to send any correspondence, and none had arrived. Frustrated at her lack of progress on Wembly Hall and angry at herself for expending precious time and energy thinking about the man when he probably hadn’t given her a second thought.
Isadora leaned to the side to peer out Mr. Wembly’s office. With the curtains drawn back, she spied Minerva standing center stage looking out at the empty space before her. Isadora blinked and squinted at her sister. A peculiar feeling of familiarity prickled the back of her neck. Bah. She needed more sleep. Her eyes were playing tricks on her. For a moment in the midafternoon sun, Isadora thought Minerva resembled Madame Rosa the most highly sought-after opera singer that usually only crossed the channel to perform on British soil once or, on the rare occasion, twice a Season.
Mr. Wembly cleared his throat. “Wembly Hall is officially yours for the Season.”
“My thanks and a good day to you, Mr. Wembly.” Isadora took the signed lease and slid the parchment into the hidden pocket of her cloak.
Grumbling beneath his breath, Mr. Wembly stood as she turned to leave. Without a backward glance, Isadora left the man’s office and climbed the side stage stairs, and froze. Her sister’s lips were slightly parted, and the tip of her tongue peeked out of the corner. Minerva was scheming.
Isadora strode across the stage and stood next to Minerva. “The contract is all signed. We can return home now.”
“I’m so proud of you. Championing the Wicked Ladies Salon is no trivial feat.” Minerva smiled and gave Isadora a hug.
“My thanks for your vote of confidence, sister. I was beginning to wonder if Mr. Wembly and I would ever come to an arrangement.” She looked over her sister’s shoulder and scanned the room.
