A Love Laid Bare

Chapter One

Sussex, England 1809

They never did find her body.

Mine, mine, mine. The sea’s mocking litany beat in his head with each wave that crashed against the rocky shore below. Lord Halcombe settled his restless horse with a reassuring touch on its neck and allowed the animal to back away from the edge of the cliff. It was ill judged, stopping here today. Almost two years now, and he was no more reconciled to his wife’s absence than he had been in those first months of disbelief.

Halcombe shook his head, mouth tight to contain the shout of denial he wanted to throw at the sky boiling above and turned Zeus toward the house perched on the hill behind him. He at least had enough sense to not have them both soaked and in lightning’s path when the fast building storm slammed ashore. Was that what happened that day? The storm blowing up so quickly as to take her unaware, experienced sailor though she was? It ate at him, not knowing.

Clifftop. It was a surprisingly mundane name for his wife’s childhood home, considering she had named his horse Zeus, but perhaps Frances had not chosen it. Perhaps the house already bore the name when she moved here. It was yet another thing Halcombe did not know, and that gnawed at him as well, the many things he had never learned about her. He did feel, however, that she would have been pleased to see the house as well kept now as it was before her father’s death—something owed more to the careful ministrations of the steward than any effort on his part.

The earl rode up the winding path, thinking of the first time he had done so. The image of Frances was in his head, the picture of her as clear as on the day he first saw her, framed in the window as he walked up the front steps. So achingly young, her eyes wide with surprise at his sudden appearance. He learned later she had been deep in her studies, not expecting company, which explained the careless sweep of hair, tumbling childlike around her face. He had been amused at the quick rounding of her lips and the sudden laughter in her eyes.

My lord?

The groom’s hesitant voice drew him from the past. Halcombe dismounted and handed over the reins with an absentminded nod. His steward, Thomas Blount, stood waiting for him on the wide porch.

I trust your journey was agreeable, my lord, Blount said in his grave voice. Halcombe smiled. Blount said the same thing every time he arrived here, and if the man ever smiled, Halcombe had yet to see it.

Mr. Blount. You are keeping well? The steward nodded again and, the ritual over, they entered the house. It smelt of beeswax and lemons and was scrupulously clean, exactly as it was when Frances and her father, Lawrence Nesbitt, had lived here.

Halcombe cut off the memory of his visits here and said, more curtly than he had intended, You take good care of this place, Blount, but it does no good for a building to sit empty. I am considering letting it out. The staff is welcome to stay on.

Of course, my lord. Have you someone in mind? Shall I make inquiries?

Please do that. In the meantime, I want the contents of Mr. Nesbitt’s study boxed up and sent to Halcombe Manor, along with any personal belongings of Lady Halcombe’s that remain here.

Certainly, sir. The work will begin at once.

The earl braced himself for the effort of walking into Nesbitt’s study. This would be the last time he would put himself through this ordeal. He would not come here again.

Chapter Two

Portugal, 1809

Those who claim that eavesdroppers usually hear ill of themselves speak wisely. Frances certainly knew this as a truth. She stared at the waves rolling onto the Portuguese shore and pictured another sea, one that tossed cold grey water roughly upon the Sussex cliffs. Home. She had to go home. The thought of it swamped her with a mixture of longing and dread. Now she had no choice, and if she were honest, she’d admit knowing weeks ago that she could not put it off much longer. Only the thought of facing Richard and the certain knowledge that he would never forgive her had kept her here.

"Judging by the look on your face, you have read my letter from England? From Thomas Blount? Olivia declared as she entered the room. She took Frances’ arm and led her to a chair. Sit down, child, and tell me why it has upset you. Shall I get you some port?"

Frances summoned a smile. Aunt Olivia was convinced that a glass of rich wine could soothe most ills. The news is not such as to take spirits at this hour of the morning, Aunt Livvy. In truth, I have expected it. She opened her hand and smoothed out the letter she had crumpled up earlier.

Perhaps I am reading more into it than is needful, Frances said. But the fact that Richard is going to let Clifftop, and have all the books removed to Halcombe Manor, makes me think he is finally attempting to put my disappearance behind him.

Olivia sank into the chair beside Frances. I see. I’ve become so accustomed to Mr. Blount’s correspondence that this did not seem anything out of the ordinary. I believe the dear man writes with these little anecdotes about your father to console me, and I do enjoy them. But, yes, other than an occasional snippet about your childhood scrapes, he seldom writes of anything else. She smiled, somewhat sadly. You will be going back to England, I imagine.

It was the hint of fear in Livvy’s sympathetic expression that moved Frances to reach over and take her hand. Yes, I must. I have already done enough harm. I cannot allow Richard to make an irreconcilable mistake through no fault of his own. What if, thinking as he must, that he is a widower, he petitions the court to have me declared dead? I believe there is usually a seven-year wait, but I know him. He will not allow that much time to pass, and he has very influential friends to support him with such a petition.

Livvy nodded, clearly having expected no other answer. I will go with you, of course.

Frances looked at the lovely face of her father’s sister, strained now with worry, and blinked away the moisture filling her eyes. You are kind to offer, but I know how much you love your home here in Portugal. I’d never ask it of you. You have already done so much for us. Olivia Blake had taken Frances in when she and Flora arrived without warning, both wretchedly ill, and nursed her and her daughter to a full recovery. Then Livvy had coaxed and bullied Frances into building a productive life.

Nonsense. I’ve done nothing I did not choose to do, and now I choose to return to England. It’s more than time I visited my homeland. When do you plan to leave?

There was to be no argument with that firm voice and straight back. Frances knew Livvy considered most displays of emotion a waste of time and energy better spent elsewhere. She bit back a sigh, released the older woman’s hand, and stood.

As soon as I can book passage and pack. I will ask one of the men to get a shipping schedule. Frances looked down at her aunt. You do know it will be unpleasant, at best. The scandal will be horrid. I cannot begin to predict what Richard will do.

We will deal with it as it comes, Livvy said briskly. Now, I believe we have company.

Frances turned to see her daughter dance into the room. Mama, Mama! Pretty dress! Flora twirled around and around until she plopped down in a heap. Her laughter was infectious and both Frances and Livvy chuckled at her antics.

How fancy you are! Did Nancy make that for you? Flora’s nursemaid sewed beautifully and enjoyed making clothing for her charge. Frances went over and picked up her elfin daughter. I hope you thanked her, young lady.

Flora nodded so vigorously that her hair ribbons were in danger of sliding out of her red-blond hair. T’ank you.

That was well done, pet. Perhaps I should thank her too and ask her if she will make some more pretty clothes for you. We are going on a journey—a grand adventure. Shall we go and see if Nancy wants to go with us?

Frances exchanged a smile with her aunt and walked from the room with Flora. What would they do if the young woman did not want to go to England? Nancy had been Flora’s nursemaid since they arrived in Portugal. The child faced so many changes. She did not need to adjust to a new nursemaid as well. You will have to be very persuasive. The one thing working in your favor is that Nancy would not easily be parted from Flora. That might be enough of an incentive. Frances certainly prayed so.

***

The weeks that followed were hectic. Frances was almost relieved as she watched the brightly colored houses that dotted the Portuguese coast dwindle as the ship drew away from the shore. She leaned on the rail, ignoring the wind that tugged at her hood, and tried to order her mind. Her thoughts had tumbled about in her head like the oft-wild Sussex waves ever since the letter from Thomas Blount had arrived.

Are you having second thoughts?

Frances turned at the light touch on her shoulder. I don’t know, Aunt Livvy, she admitted with painful honesty. Part of me wants desperately to go home, but I also dread it. Facing everyone …especially Richard. She took one of her aunt’s hands and tried for a lighter tone. It may be that we will become permanent guests, after all.

Livvy smiled, but the concern in her eyes remained. You know you are welcome to live with me as long as you wish, she said firmly. It is your choice.

Frances leaned over and gave her aunt a hug. No one could be kinder than you, dear Aunt, but as soon as I read that letter from Thomas Blount my path was set, whatever the future may bring. She stepped back. Now, why have you come on deck? I know how you dislike navigating the ladder.

Livvy accepted the change of subject with her usual grace and took Frances by the elbow. Flora insists her mama come to tuck her in. She is delighted with the ‘funny bed’ and won’t sleep until you see it.

A treat, to be sure, Frances said with a laugh. She took one last look at the receding shoreline and allowed Livvy to guide her to the gangway that led to the lower deck. With fair winds, they might reach Portsmouth in less than a week.

Chapter Three

Sussex, 1809

The earl handed Zeus’ reins to one of the grooms and walked across the stable yard toward the manor house. He was pleased with the condition of the estate. The land was in better heart than it had been for a long time, and he was justifiably proud of all he and his people had accomplished in the past two years.

He halted at the bottom of the shallow flight of front steps and eyed the building critically. The exterior was sound and the slightly askew tower in the center gave the building a rather charmingly unique character. The tower was all that remained of the original keep.

Frances had loved it on sight. She had talked of putting a study in the room on the second level, but for some reason it never happened. Nor had the place been redecorated, which it sorely needed. It was something he had expected Frances to do. Halcombe shook aside the thought and ran up the steps. He spent far too much time dwelling on the past.

You have a guest waiting to see you, my lord.

There was nothing in Benson’s careful expression to indicate an opinion of any kind, but Halcombe knew the man well. It was obvious that the butler did not approve of this guest, and the earl raised an eyebrow in question.

Lady Merton, the butler said stiffly.

Hell, what was Victoria doing here? She knew better than to call on a single man and he would bet a monkey she was here without her maid. His jaw tightened. The woman delighted in flouting convention. He had suffered through enough gossip and did not appreciate being involved in any of her nonsense.

She stood motionless, her perfect face bathed in the sunlight that streamed through the large window and though he was sure her stance was deliberate, it was an effort for him to remain impassive. He knew her to be close to his age, but she was still impossibly beautiful—flawless skin as creamy as the finest ivory, hair like spun gold—and a voluptuous figure that had a man itching to bed her. She was also totally self-centered, ruthless and had the instincts of a viper, something it had taken him a long time to learn.

Victoria. I thought you fixed in London for the season. Halcombe crossed the room and halted a short distance from her.

She shrugged and glided forward. I was bored. The same tiresome people, doing the same tiresome things.

You expect life in the country to be less tedious? He did not try to disguise his disbelief, and the flick of anger in her eyes told him the barb had hit home.

I thought you might be glad to see me. She raised a languid hand to brush her fingers along his rigid jaw. "I am glad to see you."

The breathy whisper stirred him in spite of his efforts. He caught her hand in a tight grip. What do you want? Surely you have some reason to be here, the ‘most boring place in the world’ I think you once said.

She swayed toward him, a pleading expression in her blue eyes. I want you, Richard. I’ve always wanted you. Fate has kept us apart for so long. Now that we are both free, it’s time…

It is time for you to go, Lady Merton. Come, I will walk you to your carriage.

He settled his expression into one of weary patience and even with that it seemed she might balk, but other than the narrow-eyed look she gave him, she made no protest.

I see this is a not a good moment for you. Perhaps you will come to a dinner party I am holding next week, she said smoothly as they walked to the door.

Halcombe handed her into her carriage and stepped back. I believe I am unavailable next week, but thank you for the invitation. It was a thinly veiled insult and the look she gave him was cold enough to give him pause. Fool to make an enemy of her, no matter how you feel. He forced a smile and bowed. Perhaps another time. Good day, madam.

Perhaps, she murmured with a regal nod and turned her face away.

He waved a hand at the coachman to proceed and watched until the vehicle was out of sight. Would he ever finish paying for his infatuation with her? A young man’s folly that he sorely regretted.

Returning to the house, Halcombe went into his study and picked up the handful of envelopes on his desk. Bills, for the most part, a few invitations, and several letters that appeared to be personal. He scanned through the missive from his steward at Clifftop first. All Frances’ belongings were boxed up and should arrive here within the week. He must remember to tell Benson to ready some storage. The other letter he carried over to a window. He braced one foot on the low stone embrasure and broke open the seal. Colin Hunter. Halcombe had not heard from his closest friend in several months, something that was neither unusual nor necessarily a bad thing, since the Viscount Summerton had a habit of pulling him into one scheme or another.

Richard,

I know you have been dashing around the countryside putting things to rights, but by now you should have everything ship-shape enough to get away for a few days. I need you, my friend, for a special project. I assure you it is extremely important or I would not call on you for help. I’d prefer our meeting go unnoticed, so I will not invite you to stay with me as I would prefer. Come as soon as possible.

Colin

The earl folded the paper and tapped it on his hand while he thought about the summons—and it was that, however politely worded. Summerton had his fingers in more than one pot. Halcombe was not sure just what position the man held, but he knew the viscount was deeply involved in the government. Well, he owed him too much to refuse and the timing was right. It gave him an excuse to avoid Victoria, it resolved the problem of his mother, who had been badgering him to visit, and it took him away before the shipment of books arrived from Clifftop. He wanted to be free of Frances and any reminders of her.

Halcombe laughed shortly. He would never be free of Frances. Not while he still pictured her curled up in his library chair engrossed in some book, or striding across his fields in that ridiculous sunbonnet, a dog or two trotting beside her. He had been too much the fool to know what he had had until it was gone. If he ever did remarry—and it would not be to Victoria—he would take care to cherish any affection that might be offered.

He tore the letter into pieces, tossed them onto the cold hearth, and set them ablaze with a spark from his flint. You are getting as paranoid as Colin. He scowled, stirred the ashes with the heel of his boot, and went to make arrangements for the journey.

Chapter Four

London was dirtier, noisier, and more crowded than usual, or so it seemed to Halcombe as he guided his team along the busy streets. It was a relief to reach his mother’s house. His house, more accurately, as it was part of the estate, although he seldom came to Town these days. He preferred country life—and avoiding his mother as much as possible. She was only happy here in the city, immersed in the endless social round, and if it kept her here, she was welcome to the house. He wished he had packed her off to Town when he’d brought his bride home. Leticia—never anything as uncouth as Letty—had strongly disapproved of Frances and had gone out of her way to make her daughter-in-law feel unwelcome.

The earl turned his rig over to the groom, mounted the steps, and knocked on the door. It was not worth the scold that would ensue if he let himself in and that starched-up butler of hers would be sure to tell her. But a footman opened the door, not Mason, and Halcombe cocked his head in question.

Lady Halcombe has guests, my lord. The soft-spoken servant took his hat, gloves and cape and stepped back. They are in the drawing room, if you care to join them.

No, I am going out directly after I change. Peters, isn’t it? Halcombe’s voice was equally low. At the man’s nod, he went on, Send someone up with some hot water and arrange for a hackney to pick me up in a half hour. Oh, and Peters, I won’t be in for dinner. Have Mason inform Lady Halcombe I will see her in the morning. He walked to the stairs. Now to get in and out before the fact of his arrival traveled through the house and reached his mother. Craven it may be, but he had no desire to socialize with a room full of women whose sole source of entertainment appeared to be gossip.

***

Halcombe had the cab driver set him down a few blocks from his destination and he walked swiftly along the sidewalk. The high, iron gate that lead into the small garden of Summerton’s house was unlocked. He went through and around to a side door and knocked. The door opened almost immediately. A plainly dressed, unobtrusive man gestured for him to enter, bowed gravely, and turned around without saying a word. Halcombe followed his escort through a narrow corridor and up the servants’ stairs. Summerton’s was a bachelor establishment—the staff was small, well trained and discreet. He was surprised to see his host seated at his desk, a glass of wine at his elbow. Colin’s schedule was frequently uncertain and Halcombe had been prepared to wait.

You are earlier than I’d expected. The viscount stood, walked across the room and greeted Halcombe with a handshake and hearty clap on the shoulder. I appreciate you coming so quickly. You appear quite fit.

Halcombe gripped his hand and punched him lightly on the arm. You, my friend, look as if you have had too many late nights. He smiled. It’s good to see you, even if you did drag me from the country for one of your crazy schemes.

Does you good to venture out of that rut you’ve made for yourself. Summerton stepped back, gestured at a chair by the fire, and went over to pick up his glass. He held it up and raised his eyebrows. Some port? At Halcombe’s nod of agreement, he moved to the sideboard and unstopped a decanter.

Halcombe took the chair indicated and used the opportunity to study the other man. Friends since their school days, they were close in age, but at six feet, Summerton topped him by several inches. His light brown hair was cut in one of those fashionable styles Halcombe never remembered the name of and faint lines rayed from the corners of his changeable hazel eyes.

They put too much on his shoulders, the men who fought the war from their government offices. Summerton needed a wife, a family, but it appeared the tragic death of his young bride still haunted him. Halcombe knew not to broach the subject.

He shook off the gloomy thoughts, accepted the offered glass, and took a taste of the ruby-red liquid. Very nice. I hope you have laid down a few bottles for my next visit.

I’ve laid down several cases, in fact, Summerton said with a smile. He sat in a nearby chair and stretched out his legs. Gad, it feels good to relax. It has been a long day.

I have a feeling all your days are overly long. You should try to get away for a time, Halcombe suggested.

That is not possible, I’m afraid. There is too much going on to leave Town right now. This cursed war. And Bryce is abroad on a special…project…at the moment. He shrugged, took a sip of his wine, and looked questioningly at Halcombe. Dinner first, or the details of my ‘crazy scheme’ as you put it earlier?

The earl knew better than to ask for details of any venture Harry Bryce was involved in. Colin’s trusted secretary was often hip deep some covert action. Richard set aside his glass. By all means, business first, since it is bound to ruin my digestion.

It is not as bad as that, Summerton said dryly. He emptied his glass, placed it on the low table between them and tented his fingers in front of him. It is nothing onerous at all—on your part. He grinned at the skeptical look Halcombe gave him and shook his head. Truly, it is nothing terribly difficult. I would not ask it of you if it was not important. There are few people I can trust with this kind of information these days. He paused, his eyes narrowed, and then he waved his hand as if to clear the air.

Have you noticed or heard of any increase in smuggling in your area over the past few months?

Completely caught off guard at this unexpected topic, the earl frowned. Nothing that has come to my attention, but that is not out of the ordinary. It goes on, of course, but as long as it remains at a low level, it is generally ignored. The Manor is some distance inland, as you are aware, and we have never had much involvement. He grinned. No kegs on the doorstep, if that’s what you are implying.

Summerton smiled, but worry appeared in his eyes. No, I did not think that, but you are in a position to hear things, and you are not that far from the coast. Lately, there have been rumors that more than brandy is coming ashore.

Indeed, and that would be…? Halcombe had a suspicion, unlikely as it seemed, but he still experienced a shock of disbelief at the terse answer.

Men. Frenchmen, to be exact.

"Do you mean spies? Coming ashore in Sussex? For what reason? They’d stick out like a sore thumb, which I imagine is the exact opposite of what they would want."

Not spies, Summerton said with a mirthless laugh. Agents, whose job it is to make contacts here who will ferret out information for them to send back to France. He sounded unusually grave. They have deep pockets and money is a great persuader.

As I well know, Halcombe said. He was a perfect example of allowing need to overcome conscience. Halcombe’s bitter tone and sour expression earned him a quick, curious glance, but the viscount made no comment.

"We’ve had some indication that this is occurring in your part of the country. You know the area—know those likely to be involved, if there is any basis to it. He paused, and then added in a level tone, Your…Lady Halcombe’s property is directly on the coast, is it not?"

It is, Halcombe said curtly, but I don’t believe Nesbitt had anything to do with any smuggling. And I plan to let it out soon, so if there is any unusual activity around there, it will stop once there are tenants about.

But the house has been unoccupied for some time.

The quiet statement did nothing to lessen Halcombe’s annoyance at having his missing wife come up in the conversation, even obliquely, and his voice roughened. Not entirely. Some staff remains. He frowned. Where did you get this so-called information? How reliable is it? Rumours abound along the coast—tales of smugglers, wreakers, ghosts that walk the cliffs. It’s all a pack of nonsense.

The speculation in Summerton’s eyes was enough to cool his fit of temper. Halcombe picked up his port, drank, and changed his expression to one of mild curiosity.

I have had previous correspondence from this source that has proved to be most accurate, Summerton said with a lift of his brows.

One of your own agents? Then why can’t he investigate? There was something in the viscount’s manner that made Halcombe curious, in spite of his determined disinterest. Was there something suspicious about the informer?

Not one of my agents. Summerton’ mouth twisted in a wry smile. I wish it was. He is a well-informed fellow, whoever it is.

You don’t know who it is? And you trust him anyway? Surprised, Halcombe straightened. Why?

For some months, I have received occasional letters with information concerning Napoleon’s political movements across Europe. It has, at times, been extremely helpful.

Do you even know where these letters come from?

No, the viscount admitted with a shrug. "The letters simply show up, most often delivered by some scruffy errand boy, and they are signed ‘a friend’. At this point I don’t care who it is, although I’d like to respond, if solely to say thanks. He grinned. I wish I could ask a dozen questions, to be frank, but will take what I can get."

Halcombe shook his head. I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. I will find out what I can—assuming there is anything to discover, which I doubt. He changed the subject with a wave of his hand. What do you hear of Montford? Is he still skulking around Europe? Edward Hollings, Baron Montford, was the third of their ‘terrible trio’, as Colin’s sister delighted in dubbing them. Montford was rarely in England these days. Halcombe had not heard from him in close to a year.

Summerton laughed. Ned is with the army in Spain, doing a bit of exploring. Last I heard, not too long ago, he was well and just as elusive as ever.

Halcombe’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. Good for him. From what I hear of conditions there, it is wise to keep your head down and keep moving. He stood and held up his glass. It has also been a long day for me. I am more than ready to eat. Is there anything to be had in this palace of yours?

Hardly a palace, my lad. Obviously you have not seen the Prince’s latest obsession. His Brighton pavilion is a sight to behold—an extremely expensive one. Summerton rose, walked over to ring the bell, and then cleared a chess set from a small table on the other side of the room. But food there is and it will soon arrive. Come and join me. He gestured to the table, picked up a bottle from the sideboard, and turned the discussion to the latest London gossip.

This interested the earl not at all, but left his mind free to think over the earlier conversation. The whole thing sounded improbable to him, but if Summerton needed an investigation, he would do his best to determine if there was any basis to it. He owed the man more than a few discreet inquiries could repay. If Colin had not sent him off to draw maps for the government, who knew what folly he might have committed? There was no question in his mind that the years he had spent wandering in Europe were the making of him, and the one thing that had kept him from a total break with his father. Yes, he would do what he could to help.

Chapter Five

London1809

Aunt Olivia’s business manager met Frances and her companions at the dock in Portsmouth and settled them in a comfortable coach soon after they disembarked. Charles Reede was a soft-spoken gentleman who kept Olivia’s winery and household well run, and Frances counted him a friend. The man had been in love with Livvy for years, and she hoped one day her aunt would realize it. Perhaps she did to some extent. At times, Frances judged Olivia was flustered in Charles’ company. It was a hopeful sign.

The trip to London was uneventful. In a surprisingly short time they were installed in a suite at Grillon’s Hotel. The first few days were spent recovering from the long journey and seeing about new clothing for them all. Livvy’s English dressmaker personally delivered the wardrobes they had ordered before they left Portugal. Now, the fittings were done and the completed clothing hung neatly away. Frances no longer had the excuse of outmoded gowns to put off the inevitable. However unready she felt, it was time to proceed with her plans.

She studied her reflection soberly while Nancy did up her hair. The dark blue walking dress and matching spencer were elegant and restrained, with just a hint of dash provided by the single feather on the hat that lay in her lap. It was a far different outfit than the more girlish clothing she had worn before she left England, but she had no intention of appearing before Lord Summerton resembling some penniless waif.

Suddenly impatient to