Nothing. She was a paid companion, hired to step in due to Mrs. Spencer’s illness. Two day dresses and something for evening meals were the only requirements. Her days of croquet and ballrooms were over.
But that didn’t mean she had no say. She had a job and, to her, part of that was bringing Elizabeth out properly. That meant using her own experiences about which events were better suited to find quality husbands.
The last house party she had attended with Jasper Warren had ended prematurely in a drunken display that left all the ladies in tears and one young man—not a gentleman, despite his upbringing—with a broken nose.
“With respect, sir, are you certain of this? Lord Ramsbury’s reputation for bacchanals is no secret, and Elizabeth, frankly, is too impulsive. The environment will most likely—”
“Elizabeth will have the month to grow accustomed to the crowd she will likely mingle with for the rest of her life. As for her impulses, that is why she has you.”
“A month?”
A month at the sort of party where Annabel would have been a guest only a year ago. A month with ton ladies she knew from ballrooms and rides in the park. They could be horrid to each other in the best of circumstances, and this was not Annabel’s best circumstance.
It likely wouldn’t be Elizabeth’s either. She was better in shorter events where there was little chance for her manners and temper to wear thin.
“Sir, since we will be near Bath, perhaps a visit to Elizabeth’s mother would be in order. Maybe a fortnight there would ease Elizabeth’s mind over Mrs. Spencer’s health.”
The lie was a gamble. Elizabeth was no more worried about her mother than anyone else in the household, including the lady’s husband. Annabel wrote to her of Elizabeth’s successes in the Season, detailing everything she was missing, but she rarely saw any other letters in the outgoing post.
Spencer looked at her from under his brows. “At month’s end, if Elizabeth wishes to see her mother, she may visit for a week, no more. Her mother will not bear the upheaval for a fortnight. But you will spend the month at Kennet Hall. That is plenty of time to accomplish my goal.”
His goal? Surely he wasn’t title-hunting for his daughter amongst Warren’s set. “Sir, Elizabeth has many well-situated suitors in London.” Annabel scoured her memory for the standouts amongst Elizabeth’s recent dance partners. “Mr. Cameron is heir to the Earl of Whitestone, and Mr.—”
“I do not care to send my daughter husband-hunting more than she already is,” Spencer said. “I want to know what goes on in that house.”
“You want a scandal.” Annabel wasn’t a fool. She’d investigated Spencer before entering his employment. The reports had been good, though there were a few whispers of his ability to sniff out secrets and use them to his benefit. There were suspicions that he’d helped bring down Viscount Stratford just a few months earlier.
Spencer shook his head. “I have a well-founded suspicion that Jasper Warren is plotting some sort of upheaval in Wales.”
“Surely not.” It was one thing for a man to care little for his reputation and his title. It was another thing altogether to hang because of it.
“His man, Yarwood, is a Welsh-born, British-trained soldier. With his connections both in trade and in the military, and Ramsbury’s wealth and political sway, they could create havoc. If Ramsbury includes his French mistress, some bit of fluff with a diplomat father, the interference could cripple London.”
The connections were difficult to overlook, but the plan had one flaw. “Sir, Elizabeth will never be able to discover this secret.” The girl could barely keep a secret.
“Not Elizabeth.” Spencer’s sharp stare scraped Annabel’s skin. “You.”
No. Annabel’s lot in life had changed, but she would not stoop to sneaking through someone else’s house and listening at keyholes. She shook her head. “Sir, this is unwise.”
She was risking dismissal, but no one else would speak for her. Learning that had been a bitter lesson. Besides, the Season provided a bit of courage. Elizabeth couldn’t go into Society without a chaperone, and unemployed candidates were thin on the ground.
Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “It is not. Dressed as you are, with the role you have, no one will notice your moving through the house. Chaperones are unnecessary for rides and games, even balls at the house. You will have time on your hands and fewer eyes on your activity. Plus, you are bright enough to realize what will, or won’t, be important.”
It was clear from his smile that he’d intended the last to stroke her pride. Bright enough.
Enough.
Annabel wanted to throw something at him. Better yet, she could leave his employ altogether. While he might not dismiss her, she could still resign.
But the lack of available chaperones also meant there were no suitable open positions. This job was all that kept Annabel from begging. Or worse.
At least Spencer had a good reputation. His older brother was the Earl of Denton, and his sister was married to the Duke of Somerset. Even his middle brother had retired from the navy as a hero and a wealthy man. Rumor had it that Spencer himself was being considered for a promotion that would give him the ear of the queen.
Perhaps this mission, while distasteful, was valid.
“Find the truth and return with Elizabeth,” she said, confirming their agreement.
He nodded. “And to my gratitude.”
Annabel stood. “As you wish.”
Perhaps Reginald Spencer’s gratitude would earn her a letter of reference for her next employer.
*
Jasper Warren, the latest Marquess of Ramsbury, held out his hand to yet another guest and shaped his face into a smile. “Wareham, good of you to come.”
The earl’s brow was as sweaty as his palm. “Wouldn’t miss it. Raines has promised a rousing party.”
“Oh, it will be a memorable month.” Jasper discreetly wiped his palm against his trousers and focused on the familiar coach lumbering up the lane. “Raines is in the billiards room enjoying my scotch, I believe.” Scotch, port, madeira—it made no difference if it kept the gentlemen talking and off their guard.
He stood to the side, encouraging Wareham to clear the way for the next guest. The earl did not take the hint.
“Starnes will show you and your valet to your rooms.” Jasper crooked an eyebrow and swept his fingers toward the door. Good Lord, no wonder the man was so horrible at cards.
Without waiting to see if Wareham moved forward, Jasper descended the stairs, waited for the footman to open the door, and stepped forward to offer his hand to the lady inside. For the first time this morning, his smile was genuine. “Welcome, Fi.”
Fiona Allen’s hat was almost as wide as the door of her coach, and its crown was circled with blue silk flowers exactly matching her day dress. The only thing that spoiled her transformation into a respectable young lady was the twinkle in her dark eyes. “Your lordship.”
