Alistair didn't reply, and Phoebe realized he wondered the very thing everyone else did: whether he and her uncle had reached her and her new husband in time to prevent a true wedding night.
Alistair and her uncle had arrived in time to find her in her shift and Brandon, his trousers hanging open as if in hurried disarray. She remembered all too well the rare look of disappointment in her uncle’s eyes.
She straightened. “Enough of this. Alistair, I expect your help in dealing with the marquess.”
“Don’t you mean the duke?”
“Both. I have no intention of marrying. It would interfere with my work. Lord Briarden wouldn't be pleased.”
“On the contrary, he may be very pleased. You wouldn't be the only married woman employed by the British government, and it will give you a fine cover. Your reputation, I might add, has been sorely compromised as a result of this escapade.”
"How can I possibly consider marriage to a man who might be connected with criminals?"
"You don't know that Lord Ashlund is connected to this Alan Hay. When you consider the facts, it doesn't make sense. You said Hay happened to come into the village. Why would the marquess conspire with a stranger to murder the duchess?"
"I don't know," Phoebe admitted. "But there's more."
Alistair sat patiently as she told him all that happened and ended with, "When I questioned Lord Ashlund about contacting the authorities to report the planned assassination against the duchess, he told me to keep my nose out of it. I saw nothing suspicious in the letter from Clachair, but given Lord Ashlund's attitude about the planned assassination attempt on the duchess, everything is suspect."
"The last you saw of Ashlund he was laid up at the inn?" Alistair asked.
"Yes."
Alistair nodded. "I have apprised Lord Briarden on the situation with the duchess. If anything comes to fruition, we'll have our answers, at least in regards to Lord Ashlund's involvement. As for Clachair, we have heard nothing of him in years. I'm doubtful the Clachair of Ashlund's letter is our man. We have suspected for some time that he may be dead."
"What are his crimes?" Phoebe asked.
"He is charged with trying to overthrow the government."
"Just like my father," she murmured.
"He is of your father's generation, in fact."
Phoebe scowled. "Was there something in the water in those days, my lord?"
He laughed. "It was a tumultuous time. Many changes for the positive were taking place and, as is always the case, there were those men who tried to use the uncertainty of the times to gain power."
"Men like Arthur Thistlewood."
"In fact, Thistlewood had some good ideas," Redgrave replied. "But he intended those ideas as a means to gain followers who he hoped would seat him in power. As we know—" A sharp rap cut him off and the door opened and Gaylon entered.
“Forgive me, madam, but you have more visitors.”
Phoebe frowned. “I wasn't expecting anyone. Who is it?”
“Lady Carlton, Lady Mansford, and Miss Smith.”
“What do they want? By heavens, I just returned home. Tell them I'm busy.”
“As you say, Miss,” Gaylon replied. “However, I suggest you see them.”
Phoebe paused. “I have never known you to suggest a blessed thing, Gaylon. What has happened?”
“There is talk of a certain announcement in the paper, Miss.”
“An announcement?" Feminine voices in the hallway caused Phoebe to glance sharply in that direction. “Gaylon, who is that I hear on the second floor of this house?”
“I believe that would be your visitors, Miss.”
She snapped her gaze onto him. "What are they doing up here?”
Gaylon looked as if he were exerting a great deal of patience. He opened his mouth and Phoebe shot him a narrow-eyed look.
He cleared his throat and said, “I informed the ladies I would inquire as to whether or not you were entertaining. I left them in the drawing room. They must have followed me upstairs.”
“Which room is it, girls, do you remember?” Leticia Mansford’s voice was uncomfortably close.
“Get rid of them,” Phoebe said in a low voice. “And make it quick.”
“Here we are,” Leticia said as she appeared in the doorway.
Phoebe caught sight of the golden brown satin of Leticia’s dress as Gaylon took a step back against the door. The ridiculously puffy sleeves of her dress were a strange contrast to the tiny corset-constricted waist. The combination made Leticia look like a cartoon.
Alistair rose as Leticia said, “She's hiding, just as I said.”