Secrets in the Regency Ballroom: The Wayward Governess / His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

about.’ The doctor replaced the dish on the side table and smiled.

      For a moment neither man spoke. Then Marcus met his friend’s eye.

      ‘Thank you for all you’ve done, George. That’s two I owe you now.’

      ‘You owe me nothing.’

      ‘Not so. I only hope I can repay you one day.’

      ‘My hope is that the men responsible for the outrage are found and brought to justice.’

      ‘You’re not alone in that.’

      ‘You were lucky, Marcus. It was a bad business. Seven men dead and six others injured. Those are the ones I know about. The wreckers took their wounded with them.’

      ‘They had no choice. Arrest would mean a death sentence.’

      ‘Aye, desperate men will do anything it seems.’

      ‘Including murder.’ Marcus’s jaw tightened. ‘They knew we were coming, George, and they knew our route. They chose a perfect spot for the ambush.’

      ‘So it would seem.’

      Seeing the other man’s quizzical gaze, Marcus smiled faintly. ‘You want to know how the devil I got mixed up in it, but are too polite to ask.’

      His friend laughed. ‘Is it that obvious?’

      ‘You were never good at hiding your thoughts. But I do owe you an explanation.’

      ‘I admit to curiosity.’

      ‘When I returned from India two months ago I was summoned to Whitehall.’

      ‘Whitehall?’

      ‘Yes. The government is keen to break the Luddite rebellion. That’s why the rewards for information are so generous. Intelligence gathering is dangerous, though, so they knew whoever they chose would have to be experienced.’ He paused. ‘They sent one of their finest operatives up to Yorkshire, a man born and bred in the county who, suitably disguised, would blend in.’

      ‘What happened?’

      ‘He was betrayed and murdered. Shot in the back.’

      ‘Good Lord!’ George shook his head in disgust. ‘But betrayed by whom?’

      ‘That’s what I mean to find out. I am his replacement.’

      ‘You?’

      ‘Who better? I’ve done this kind of work before, for the Company in India. It seems word of that got back to London.’

      ‘But you could have refused.’

      ‘They knew I wouldn’t, though.’

      ‘How so?’

      ‘Because the murdered man was my brother.’

Chapter Three

      For a moment George stared at him dumbfounded before the implications of the words struck home.

      ‘Greville?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Dear Lord, Marcus, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I read about his death in The Times, but the piece said he’d had a riding accident.’

      ‘The matter was hushed up and the story fabricated. The authorities didn’t want the truth made public. Greville was a government agent working under the alias of David Gifford.’

      ‘Ye gods.’ George sat down while he tried to marshal his scattered wits. ‘The news of his death made quite an impact in these parts, what with Netherclough Hall being virtually on the doorstep.’

      ‘I can imagine. It rocked London, too. Greville was well known in diplomatic circles. Besides which he left no male heir, only a young daughter.’

      ‘Then the title and the estate pass to you.’

      ‘Yes. Behold the new Viscount Destermere.’ Marcus accompanied the words with a humourless smile. ‘It is a role I never thought to have.’

      ‘But one you will perform well nevertheless.’

      ‘Thank you for that vote of confidence. I’ll do my best, though I never wanted to step into my brother’s shoes. He was always welcome to them, for it seemed to me that my destiny lay elsewhere.’

      ‘Circumstances have a habit of changing our plans, do they not?’ said George.

      ‘As you say.’

      ‘So what now?’

      ‘Officially I’m not back from India yet, but I shall have to put in an appearance soon.’

      ‘And what of your niece?’

      ‘Lucy is now my ward. At present she is being cared for by an elderly aunt in Essex. Hardly a suitable state of affairs. I shall bring the child to live here in Yorkshire. After all, Netherclough is her ancestral home.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘After that I shall pursue my investigations.’ He paused. ‘The house is ideally situated for the purpose, being right in the heart of things.’

      ‘You can’t be serious. These men are dangerous, Marcus. They’ve murdered Greville and tried to kill you. I know they had no idea of your true identity but, even so, if they got wind of your real purpose here…’

      ‘Let’s hope they don’t. But come what may I shall find out who killed my brother. It is a matter of family honour that the culprit be brought to justice. That is the very least I can do for his daughter.’ He paused. ‘Besides, I owe it to his memory.’

      George nodded reluctantly. ‘I can’t blame you for wanting to discover the truth, but have a care, I beg you.’

      ‘I’ll be careful. As soon as I’m able I shall leave for London and Mark Eden can disappear for a while. Give it out that he went back to his family to convalesce.’

      ‘Very well.’

      ‘How much have you told your sister and Miss Davenport?’

      ‘They don’t know your real identity. Apart from that I stuck as close to the truth as possible.’

      ‘Good. I regret the necessity for deception.’

      ‘So do I. Ellen and I are very close and I should not like to impose on Miss Davenport.’

      ‘When the time is right they will be informed. I owe them that much at least. In the meantime I take it I can rely on your discretion.’

      ‘Need you ask?’

      ‘I’m sorry.’ Marcus sighed. ‘That was unpardonably rude after all you’ve done.’

      ‘Just promise me you won’t leave until you’re strong enough.’

      ‘You have my word. Besides, at this moment the thought of a journey to London fills me with dread.’ He ran a hand over his chin. ‘In the meantime I need to bathe and shave. I’m beginning to feel like a pirate.’

      Having spent over two weeks abed, Marcus was determined to get up and, as George provided no opposition to the idea, he did so the very next day. Though still weaker than he would have wished, the pain of the wound had almost gone and provided he made no sudden movement it felt almost normal. Somewhat reluctantly he submitted to wearing a sling for a few days, but felt it a small price to pay, all things considered. A message had been sent to his lodgings and his things were duly sent round. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Marcus smiled wryly. The best that could be said was that the clothes were clean and serviceable and they fitted. They were hardly in the first stare of fashion. Just for a moment he saw his brother’s face in the glass and it wore a pained expression. Almost he could hear his voice: