“Oh, that is quite all right,” Mrs. Saxenby declared. “We cannot all hold the floor. Someone must act as the audience.”
Collette smiled. She was quite content to act as the audience. She had always been somewhat shy and averse to attention, and these traits were valuable considering one of the best ways to gather information was to sit back and listen. Tonight she hoped to find out more about Lieutenant Colonel Draven. Since the ball where they’d danced, she had not seen or heard any news about Draven. But Draven’s secretary in the Foreign Office, a Mr. Palmer, was supposed to frequent Mrs. Saxenby’s salons.
In the three months since she’d landed on the coast of England, in the dark of night and in secret, Collette had made her way to London and sought out Lady Ravensgate, a wealthy widow. She’d been told the widow had been friends with her father, and Lady Ravensgate had certainly treated her like a long-lost daughter. Collette even remembered her father mentioning the late Lord Ravensgate as a man who would help them if she and her father ever needed to escape Napoleon’s France. But so many people had dual loyalties that Collette had learned not to trust. And if the Ravensgates were so loyal, why had her father not fled when the Bourbons had retaken the throne? He must have known under the king he would suffer and be imprisoned for his work for the upstart Bonaparte. Had her father thought the Bourbons would forgive all or did her father not trust Lady Ravensgate as he had her husband?
She wished she could ask him, but he was imprisoned in Paris, and the only way to free him was to bargain with the royalists. That was why she needed the British codes.
“Won’t you have a seat?” Mrs. Saxenby led Collette and Lady Ravensgate to a couch off to the side of the main grouping. In the center of the room several men in crisp evening dress stood discussing a poem Collette had not read. Collette looked down, pretending to study her reticule’s drawstring while she listened. These few moments before the formal discussion began were the best time to glean information, if there was any here to be gleaned, which she rather doubted. Once the program commenced, most of the conversation would stick to that topic.
It was the ideal time for a spy in London. The Season was at an end and most of the key political figures were in the country. But Britain’s security was always at risk, and men like Draven and others at the Foreign Office were still in London.
Collette fingered her drawstring, listened to the voices around her, not hearing anything of substance, and then lifted her head and scanned the room. Her gaze landed on Mr. Beaumont. But then she’d been looking for him, hadn’t she?
As usual, he was surrounded by a wall of women. No fewer than five vied for his attention tonight, and he seemed to entertain them effortlessly. The ladies tittered every few moments. If only she had a reason to believe Beaumont would say something of interest, she might join those women. But Lady Ravensgate had instructed her to pay close attention to William Thorpe, a writer and political satirist, and it just so happened that Thorpe was in conversation with James Palmer, Draven’s secretary. Neither man was half as attractive as Mr. Beaumont, but Collette brought her attention back to them nonetheless. Palmer had a snooty attitude and round spectacles he liked to remove and polish as he spoke. Thorpe was thin and looked hungry as he listened to Palmer discuss poetry.
“Would you like some wine or lemon water, dear cousin?” Lady Ravensgate asked solicitously.
“Wine, thank you,” Collette replied. Her sponsor rose and made her way around the room on the pretense of fetching refreshments for herself and her cousin. In reality, she was listening and collecting as much useful information as she could. But why? Did she have her own agenda or could Collette believe all her efforts were in sacrifice to her father?
Palmer and Thorpe continued to discuss the poem, and Collette found her gaze once again straying to Mr. Beaumont. What was the matter with her? She needn’t pay him any attention. His presence here didn’t signify. She’d had a fleeting moment of worry after he’d been at the last two events she’d attended, but Lady Ravensgate had dismissed her concern. Beaumont was a gallant who went wherever pretty women might be. His intellect, if he had any, was focused on persuading women to join him in bed. He was a former soldier and a war hero, but since returning from the war, his life had been given over to debauchery.
“Not someone you should associate with, my dear,” Lady Ravensgate had warned. Collette detested Lady Ravensgate’s insistence on calling her cousin and dear even when the two of them were in private.
“But do you not think it odd that he is at the same events we have attended?”
“No. With so few social events in London this time of year, everyone is at the same events.” Lady Ravensgate had narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re half in love with him too?”
“No!” Collette had answered far too quickly.
“Good. Because he isn’t chasing after you. Women pursue him, not the other way around. And I’ve yet to see him with the same woman on his arm twice.”
Collette’s face flushed hot now as she remembered Lady Ravensgate’s words. Of course, a man like Beaumont wouldn’t be interested in her.
Except he was looking at her.
Collette’s cheeks heated, and she lowered her gaze. She should be paying attention to Palmer and Thorpe, not staring at Mr. Beaumont like some moonstruck girl of sixteen.
“Well, between you and me, Draven hasn’t relaxed his guard just because the Bourbons are back on the throne in France. In fact, certain communications we intercepted seem to imply…” He turned away from Collette and lowered his voice.
Collette almost swore in frustration. She’d been attending the theater, salons, garden parties, and every other social outing Lady Ravensgate could arrange, and this was the first time she’d heard anything directly referencing coded messages, even if these were not the codes she needed. If the English were intercepting coded French messages, they had to have the ciphers in order to read them. But what did the French communications say? And what would the English response be? It would be a good time to attack as France’s government and political system was in tatters at present. The French would only know the British response if she could somehow obtain the ciphers England used to code its own messages.
Those ciphers would decode the letter her father had entrusted to her as well.
She attempted to calm herself. She had to move closer and find a way to participate in the discussion. She had to determine if Draven himself coded missives to operatives. If so, he was in possession of the British ciphers she needed. She lifted her reticule and began to rise, only to look up and find a tall figure standing over her.
“Miss Fournay?” Mrs. Saxenby stood before her as well, but off to the side. The figure in front of her blocked her path to Palmer and Thorpe.
“May I introduce a dear friend to you? Miss Fournay, this is Mr. Beaumont.”