Capturing the Governess’s Heart by Sally Forbes
Chapter One
Thomas Kenworthy slowed his pace and brushed a strand of ash-blond hair out of his blue-green eyes. He held his breath, covering the lower half of his face with one hand to regain control of his breathing before he took another step forward. After a moment, he lowered his hand, running it through his circle beard in a vain attempt to soothe his raw nerves. At just under six feet, he had to slouch to pass beneath a broken archway down the dark alley he was traversing, but he did so with practiced stealth. The smells assaulting his upturned nose were nauseating, but he forced himself to take another quick, deep breath and hold it as he continued with his mission.
A sudden movement ahead of him in the alleyway refocused his attention. Thomas narrowed his eyes and watched the stranger he had been tracking, careful to make a note of his every movement so as not to lose sight of him. He saw the stranger was now walking a bit faster, so he picked up his own pace. As he walked, he scanned the ground, searching for any holes or obstacles littering the broken road before him, so he did not step on something that would make a sound and alert the stranger to the fact he was being followed. His heart leapt into this throat when the man stopped abruptly and looked over his shoulder, and Thomas had to press himself against the wall beside him. For a horrible moment, Thomas was sure the man had detected him, and he held his breath.
After a moment, he glanced toward the man and saw he had knelt and was making a tugging motion. Thomas realized the fellow had gotten his trousers caught on a jagged piece of brick and was trying to free himself with relief. Thomas waited until the man began moving again before stepping away from the wall and continuing his pursuit. He saw the alley was coming to an end soon, and, once more, Thomas stopped. He did not know this part of London well, and he could not see clearly enough to tell if the path stopped at a dead end. A moment later, the man ahead of him turned to his left and disappeared around a corner.
Thomas moved faster, walking on his toes to keep his footsteps quiet. He could not afford to let the man get away from him, but he did not wish to run straight into him either, should the path be blocked or come to a sudden end ahead. He clung to the wall as he reached the corner, slowly peeking around it to assess the situation. The man was walking several paces ahead of him, and Thomas could see, just ahead, the little light that had illuminated the road thus far was all but gone. If he was going to act, it must be now.
He crouched low and sped up his steps, remaining as quiet as he could. He reached the man from behind without being detected and wrapped his arm around the fellow’s neck. Fortunately, he caught the man completely unaware and was able to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out the cloth he had previously doused with laudanum before the man had time to understand what was happening. It took little effort to place the cloth over the man’s mouth and nose, and he only struggled against Thomas’s grasp for a moment before his body began to go limp.
Thomas held the cloth in place for another moment more to be sure the laudanum had taken effect. Then, he lowered the unconscious man to the ground. He took a moment to look around to ensure they were still alone in the alley. He could not calculate exactly how far away from his carriage he was, but he prayed it was within earshot. He gave a single, high-pitched whistle, the signal for his driver to bring the carriage to his location. He expected to have to give the signal again, listening carefully for an indication that the driver was struggling to find him. However, a moment later, his carriage appeared from around the same corner he had rounded before grabbing the stranger. He sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead with the palm of his hand, as the coach came to a stop in front of him.
Thomas made quick work of lifting the man into the landaulet. At first glance, the man had seemed light enough to handle on his own. However, as Thomas hoisted the man onto the floor of the carriage, he realized he had grossly underestimated the man’s weight. With a sigh, he shoved the man’s legs into the coach, groaning as he felt a terrible pull in his back. He paused for a moment, rubbing what he was sure would be a horrifically sore spot the following morning. Then, he positioned the man on the floor and slammed the landaulet’s door shut as quickly as he could. The coach began moving shortly thereafter, and Thomas sat back on the bench, wincing as the pain began to radiate throughout his entire back. This is a cursed business. Thomas cursed his superiors for tasking him with such a difficult mission, but he knew the man would prove very valuable to the current case the War Office had assigned him. They could have assigned someone to help me, though, he thought bitterly, wincing again as the carriage’s rough progress shot bolts of searing pain through his back.
***
“Look,” the man, who had told Thomas his name was Jones, said, trembling, “I have told you everything I know. I swear. I am not mixed up in anything deeply enough to know any more.”
Thomas nodded slowly, glaring suspiciously at the man. In truth, he believed him. But one could never be too confident that one had gotten all the information from someone until they had their informant, voluntary or unwilling, properly frightened.
“My tastes don’t run in that direction, lad. Why don’t you tell me again?” he asked. “Let us make sure you don’t suddenly remember something new.”
The man sighed, his breath as shaky as his body.
“The Marquess of Turlington,” he said hoarsely. “There are rumors circulating that he is working for the French as a spy.”
Thomas nodded, reciting the man’s words with him silently as he spoke.
“And how can I be sure these rumors are reliable?” he asked.
The man shook his head.
“I do not know for certain,” he said. “No one does that I know of. But he has been spotted carrying around a black leather journal from time to time, and he has been seen getting very testy if anyone gets too close to him while he has it. One man swears that he saw a page of it one day when walking past a table in a club where the marquess was sitting, though.”
Thomas nodded again. So far, the man’s account matched the few details he and Rupert had managed to gather since beginning the case. But he wanted to be sure the man’s story did not suddenly change. Rarely was that the case in such interrogations, but too much was at stake for Thomas not to be positive the man was speaking the truth.
“And what did this man say was on the page?” he asked.
The stranger sniffed.
“I have not the remotest clue, but it is said it showed a list of French names,” he said. “The man did not make a note of any of them, as the marquess noticed his presence and glared at him, but he did see a large note written in the margin beside some of them which read ‘Report to.’”
Thomas took a deep breath. He refrained from exhaling it in a sigh of disappointment. He had truly hoped the man would give up the names listed on the journal page, but it was becoming clear to Thomas he truly did not know any of them. He knew there was a chance that what the man had said could be misinformation calculated to mislead. There was no shortage of rumors in London on any subject people found interesting enough to gossip about. However, Thomas had also heard from other sources that the marquess did seem to favor one certain book and was very protective of it. And this was the most information about the book Thomas had garnered so far, so he would have to make do with it.
“And you give me your word this is all you know about the matter?” he asked at last.
The stranger nodded fervently.
“Good God, I swear, sir,” he said. “That is everything I know.”
Thomas nodded slowly, allowing his stern, professional persona to slip away. He gave the man a warm smile. This man was, after all, not a criminal. At least, not as far as Thomas knew. His presence in that seedy alley indicated he was most likely a gambler, but that alone did not make him part of London’s scum.
“Very well,” Thomas said calmly. “You are free to go.”
***
Thomas spent much of the following day in bed. His back, as he anticipated, was bothering him immensely. He used heated cloths and some herbal pain medicine he had at home from a previous injury to ease the pain and tension in his back as much as he could. By that evening, he felt almost fit enough to tackle the important task that awaited him. He rose from his bed and freshened himself up, adding a splash of some nice cologne. Then, he got himself dressed, taking great care with the mask, which matched his outfit. Once he was ready, he took one last look at himself in the looking glass. Although he had not chosen it for himself, he had to admit he looked quite dashing in the midnight-blue suit. Even the matching mask complimented his slightly triangular-shaped face rather than making him look awkward or out of place. Though he had not thought so at first, he was now certain he would blend in well with all the other guests in attendance at Lord Turlington’s masquerade ball. Thomas himself was no lord or nobleman, but he had worked with many of the ton over the years. He knew he could act the part, and now he would truly look the part, as well.
Satisfied, he hurried down the stairs, where the butler opened the door and led him to the waiting carriage. Inside, Rupert, the Viscount Daleshire, and Thomas’s partner and friend already waited for him. When Thomas entered the carriage, Rupert looked up from the paper he had been studying, no doubt a review of the notes for their mission that evening. He smiled approvingly at Thomas, tucking the paper snugly into his coat pocket.
“You clean up rather nicely, good sir,” he said, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Aren’t you glad you let me pick out your outfit for this evening?”
Thomas rolled his eyes, but he could not help smiling.
“Your taste is, as always, far better than my own, my lord,” he said, giving an exaggerated half bow from his seated position on the bench across from his partner.
Rupert laughed heartily.
“It is too bad, though, that I could do nothing about that face of yours,” he teased.
Thomas glared at him but joined his friend in a chuckle.
Rupert signaled for the carriage to begin moving. Then, he looked back at Thomas.
“Shall we go back over the plan for tonight?” he asked.
Thomas nodded. He knew the plan, but Rupert was always one to overprepare rather than the opposite. Though his partner could be a bit of a handful sometimes, he took his errand very seriously. He had to, as he was considered one of the best operatives the War Office had ever employed.
Rupert gave a single nod and then continued.
“As soon as we arrive at the ball, we will go our separate ways,” he said. “I will mingle with as many people as I can to see if I can gather any more tidings on the marquess. You may mingle as you please, but I want you to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. I shall be keeping a close eye on Lord Turlington, but if he should slip away from me, you must be on alert. I do not expect him to do anything this evening, not at his own ball. But he might be meeting with someone to plan something. A packed ballroom would be the perfect place for him to do so, after all, especially his own.”
Thomas nodded again, imagining everything as Rupert spoke.
“And I am to be prepared to slip into the marquess’s study at just before eleven o’clock,” Thomas said, reciting the words from memory. “Once I am inside, I am to search for, and retrieve, a thick black journal.”
Rupert nodded.
“Precisely,” Rupert said. “I plan to meet with you at five minutes before eleven, so I can keep watch for you. Or, at the very least, keep Lord Turlington busy for a few minutes, so I can be sure he does not leave the ballroom for any reason.”
Thomas nodded once more and sighed.
“It is strange how suddenly he has managed to bring himself back from the brink of bankruptcy,” he mused.
Rupert shrugged.
“Such is the life of a good criminal,” he said. “He claims that a recently deceased uncle on his mother’s side of the family named him as the sole heir to his entire fortune. But stranger still is that no one close to the marquess seems to know anything of any such relation.”
Thomas shook his head slowly. He already knew that information, as well, but he had spent a great deal of time leading up to that evening trying to make the details add up. He supposed it was plausible that what the marquess had said was true. But surely, at least one person would know something about this alleged uncle. Instead, though, the information they had received about the marquess seemed to indicate his sudden fortune had been obtained by far less legal means. And it was Thomas’s and Rupert’s job to find out exactly what they were. The book Thomas was assigned to find would contain all the answers they sought. Therefore, Thomas was determined to find that book and turn it into his superiors at the War Office. And absolutely nothing would stand in his way.
