Charming the Spy (Scandals and Spies Book 4) Read online

  Rocky nodded stiffly, wanting to reclaim her hand. She was here to root out an enemy spymaster, not to make friends. Could this stranger be Monsieur V? A fur hat obscured his hair, but he had the height the Duke of Tenwick had described. Mostly clean-shaven, too; a few whiskers poked out the bottom of his chin, where he’d missed shaving.

  “Botanist,” Catt corrected as he exited the carriage. Disdain tinged his voice as he pulled his greatcoat closer around his shoulders.

  Rocky reclaimed her hand and adjusted her hood to better shield against the winter chill. Did Catt think that her job was somehow lesser than his? They both worked with plants. Why quibble over what name they were called?

  The footman didn’t seem perturbed by Catt’s clipped tone. His smile never wavered as he held out his hand. “I’m David. David Joyce, hostler ’round here. You must be Rocky.”

  Rocky bristled. “I am, actually. Joy Rockwood, taking on the botanist position in the hothouse. This is my assistant, Mr. Catterson.”

  Catt hunched his shoulders at the word ‘assistant.’ Rocky lifted her chin. He couldn’t contradict her, but he would do well to at least attempt to appear subservient.

  David the hostler wasn’t at all upset by Rocky’s correction. His convivial expression remained in place as he shook Catt’s hand. “Forgive the mix up, Miss Rockwood. Mr. Catterson.”

  He still looked more at Catt than he did at her. Rocky gritted her teeth. She was spoiled at Tenwick Abbey, accustomed to servants who accepted her position of leadership despite her gender. It hadn’t always been that way, but she’d worked with the same people for so long that even the new arrivals soon learned that, when it came to the plants around the abbey, she was in charge.

  Here, she would have to eke out a place of respect while juggling the assignment the duke had given her. She didn’t relish the challenge.

  “I prefer to be called Rocky,” she corrected. The less people who referred to her as “Miss,” the better.

  David tipped his head and turned to the driver, still seated ramrod straight on his perch. Perhaps he’d frozen that way. “Will you be staying a spell to warm up?”

  The driver shook his head, proving that he had not, in fact, frozen in place despite the prolonged travel. “I’ve got orders to return the carriage to Tenwick straight after we unload.”

  With a shrug, David turned. “Seems I’m not needed, then. Shall I show you inside?”

  Hesitating, Rocky turned to the boot. The footmen at Tenwick Abbey had helped her to load, since her trunk was too big for her to handle. Would she be expected to carry it herself?

  David waved his hand, chasing her away from the coach. “I’ll help Stefan unload them trunks once you’re inside and warmed. Come now, both of you.”

  When she exchanged a tense glance with Catt, he swept out his hand to indicate that she should precede him. How nice of him to give her permission. They locked gazes, Catt’s eyes as cool a blue as the overhead sky. Despite his calm demeanor, Rocky got the impression that he was just as uncomfortable as she was at their reception. The signs were subtle—the stiffening of his upper lip and the way he flicked a strand of his reddish-blond hair beneath his cap once more—but Rocky had been subjected to his presence for years. She knew him. She gave him a tiny, surreptitious nod. They would complete their assignment and return to their respective lives.

  Which, come to think of it, intersected far too often.

  She followed David to the manor. Although the neighborhood was less affluent than Mayfair, where the Duke of Tenwick resided, this house didn’t match its modest surroundings. The grounds seemed to consist of two houses that had been strung together with a new wing built at least ten years ago. The manor soared in the air four stories tall. To the right, a short drive led to a stable big enough to lodge six horses. The hothouse couldn’t be seen from the street.

  The painted green door swung open at their approach. A bland-faced butler with short, bushy sideburns and an air of disapproval around him held the door wide as Rocky entered. He wore a black coat trimmed with the same green-and-gold braid as the hostler’s greatcoat. Although he must be seventy if he was a day, his hair hadn’t gone completely to gray. There was enough color left in it for Rocky to know that it had once been brown.

  “Thank ye kindly, Lewis,” David said, his voice chipper as he knocked the snow from his boots before he entered. “It might be a good idea to let Lady Belhaven know her new gardeners have arrived—or, botanists, I should say.” He tipped his hat to Catt as the lanky man stepped in after Rocky.

  The butler, Lewis, shut the door after them. Rocky shivered as she waited for the warmer air to thaw her.

  Without waiting for a response from the butler, David strolled into the house. His boots left wet prints as he stepped off the rug and onto the wet floor.

  “Abby, get off your pretty arse and fetch Lady Belhaven, will you?”

  The square foyer of the home was framed by four doors, two of them shut. A woman with dark brown hair loose around her face emerged from one open door. She had a feather duster in her hand. Her gaze skated from David, who stood closest to her, in order to rest on Rocky and Catt in the doorway.

  Unlike David, she neither broke into a friendly smile nor introduced herself. “You’re the new staff?”

  Rocky nodded.

  “I’ll fetch Lady Belhaven.” After setting down the duster just inside the other room, she stepped through another archway into what appeared to be a corridor, given the echo of her steps. Her hips swayed as she passed David. He followed her with his gaze, his attention likely on her rear.

  Rocky turned away, happy she wasn’t under his inspection. She didn’t need to be ogled. In fact, it undermined her authority. Better people thought of her as genderless, not that that was possible when she wore skirts.

  With a shake of the head, David turned in the opposite direction, hollering for Stefan.

  “May I take your winter clothes?”

  Rocky bit the inside of her cheek to keep from jumping at the butler’s voice. It was just as stiff as he was. His eyes were a piercing blue and seemed to cut her almost as deep as the Duke of Tenwick’s. Hopefully, he was not as astute, or Rocky and Catt would have their work cut out for them in hiding their true purpose while in the manor.

  With a soft, “Thank you,” Rocky removed her pelisse, hat, and gloves. She wiped her feet on the rug as best she could, not wanting to track water into the spotless house the way David had. As Catt bestowed his outerwear upon the butler as well, the maid, Abby, returned.

  “Lady Belhaven is this way,” she informed.

  Rocky squared her shoulders and followed without bothering to see if Catt did the same.

  Instead of walking with purpose, Abby strolled as though she was out for a walk on a warm summer’s day. Her hips swayed with every sashay. Rocky gritted her teeth and tried to find some other way to occupy herself other than envisioning pushing Abby into motion. The woman was young enough to be able to walk faster—not yet forty at Rocky’s estimate. She seemed in no hurry.

  Rocky took a deep breath so as not to snap at her. “Have you worked for Lady Belhaven long?”

  Abby cast a glance over her shoulder, her expression guarded. “Most of us have been with the household for years.”

  Why was she avoiding the question? Rocky’s skin prickled with instinct.

  The duke had informed them of his suspicions about Monsieur V operating out of the household, but he’d given precious little information about the staff members. According to the French spy the Crown had captured, Monsieur V was a man. Abby, with her curvaceous figure and decidedly feminine strut, most certainly was not. But could she be working with him?

  Rocky opened her mouth to ask another question, if only to discover if the maid would evade that one as well, when the woman stopped outside a closed door. She rapped twice, then informed, “The gardeners are here.” Opening the door, she stepped aside in order for Rocky and Catt to enter.

  The r
oom was a spacious one. Dressed in shades of red and burgundy, it had a warm glow to it that made her feel as though wrapped in a blanket. The roaring fire in the hearth helped. The sitting room contained just as many plants as furniture, each in an expensive patterned pot.

  An old woman rested in a wing-backed armchair close to the fire. A wool blanket covered her lap. A pair of spectacles perched on her nose, but they didn’t appear to make much difference, for as she hunched over to prune a miniature rosebush, she squinted and jutted out her lower lip. Her gray hair looked thin and was cut short. A green turban covered all but a few wisps escaping the front to frame her lined face. Her skin was so pale that even from across the room, Rocky could pick out some of the purple veins transecting the flesh beneath.

  A young man in his twenties with dark, burnished gold hair by the light of the fire lounged in a second armchair. He had a book open on his lap, but he didn’t appear to be engaged with its contents. He drummed his fingers against the arm of the chair instead.

  As Rocky stepped inside, Catt close behind her, Lady Belhaven glanced up. The grooves around her mouth deepened as she smiled.

  As she started to stand, only to have the color drain from her face and force her to sit again, the young man jumped to his feet.

  She waved him off. “I’m fine, Stanley.”

  She grimaced, then slowly got to her feet again. Stanley helped, his hand on her elbow and concern written across his face.

  “I was only dizzy for a moment. I’m fine now. I’m not an invalid.”

  Rocky wanted to agree with the lady, considering that she had too often been assumed weaker by men. However, Lady Belhaven must be eighty if she was a day. Her back was bowed. Her arms were thin. She likely was frail and weak, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

  Shaking off the young man’s hold, she beamed at Rocky and Catt. “Come closer, let me see you.”

  Rocky exchanged a glance with her partner. Had Lady Belhaven confused them for someone else? They were employees, not long lost grandchildren. Hesitantly, Rocky shuffled forward.

  “Pay no mind to Stanley. He’s one of my grandsons and a bit overprotective,” the old lady told them. “I’m as fit as I ever was.”

  Rocky doubted that very much.

  “It’s only my eyes that have gotten a bit weaker with age and there’s the extra work for the masquerade ball. That’s why you’re here, of course.”

  She reached out to clasp Rocky’s hand. Having given her gloves to the butler, Rocky’s hands were bare. Even after being outdoors, they were warmer than Lady Belhaven’s. Her palm was clammy and her fingers might as well have been of ice. She clutched Rocky in an iron grip.

  “You’re Miss Rockwood, of course.”

  “Rocky, yes.” She tried not to show how much she hated being referred to formally. While she was here, she might have to grow accustomed to it.

  Lady Belhaven turned her attention to Catt, who loomed over Rocky’s shoulder. “And you’ll be Mr. Catterson, then.”

  He gave her a shallow bow. Although with her bowed back she wasn’t as tall as Rocky, the movement brought him within range of her hands. She clutched his chin, keeping him in a half-bent position.

  Rocky bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the alarmed expression on his face.

  After a moment’s scrutiny, Lady Belhaven released him. She beamed and leaned forward, her voice lowering to a confidential murmur as she spoke to Rocky. “A handsome companion, you have.”

  Catt, handsome? Rocky glanced sideways at him in time to watch a blush climb up from beneath his collar. He’d heard, even if he pretended he hadn’t.

  No one refuted that the Graylockes were handsome. They all shared the same chiseled jaws, dark colorings, and devil-may-care smiles. In comparison, Catt was like a pale shadow. But, now that he wasn’t standing next to one of the ducal sons, Rocky noticed him more. His hair swept over a narrow forehead in the same haphazard way Gideon’s often did. He had a straight nose, and his mouth was softer-looking than any of the Graylocke brothers. Odd how she’d never noticed that detail before. He was nearly as tall as them and carried himself with a straight manner of bearing that drew the eye to the cut of his tailcoat. And his eyes… Not even Tristan, with eyes like molasses, had a gaze as inviting as Catt’s. It reminded Rocky of a summer sky. He was handsome.

  At least, before he opened his mouth. Rocky had far too much experience with his particular faults to be able to see him with any degree of admiration. She straightened her spine and turned back to Lady Belhaven, hoping the old woman hadn’t noticed Rocky’s lengthy perusal.

  From the twinkle in her eye, she had. Though maybe that was a reflection of the fire on her spectacles.

  “You make a handsome pair,” the old woman pronounced, louder.

  Pair? Oh, no… “We are not…” What? Married? Romantically inclined?

  “A pair,” Catt completed for her, his voice clipped. He offered a thin smile to their employer. “I am her…assistant.” His mouth twisted with the word.

  Rocky glared. You could look more pleased about it. Or, at the very least, he could pretend as though he hadn’t just sucked on a lemon.

  “Nothing more,” he added. As if his statement hadn’t been clear enough.

  Lady Belhaven’s lips curled in a knowing smile, as if she didn’t quite believe him and had her own ideas about what was going on between Catt and Rocky. “Very well then. If you’ll lend me your arm, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

  Trepidation crossed Catt’s face, but he did as she asked and held out his arm.

  As Lady Belhaven stepped past Rocky to take it, she winked. “I might be old, but I’m not dead.”

  Rocky pressed her lips together to keep from giggling.

  For such a large manor, there weren’t nearly as many staff members as Rocky assumed. They passed David and Stefan, a brawny man in his thirties with brown hair, as they joked while carrying Catt and Rocky’s belongings. Both fell quiet as Lady Belhaven approached. Stefan tugged on his forelock, whereas David only grinned.

  Aside from that pair, Rocky glimpsed Abby from afar once more, and no one else. Lady Belhaven gave a cursory tour of the manor as they crossed from the servant quarters—where Rocky was relieved to note she would have a room in a separate wing from Catt, housed next to the men—to the hothouse.

  The hothouse jutted out from the back of the manor. The walls were glassed in on two sides, the roof also made of glass. The wall along the right hand side was shared with the kitchen, the back of the brick oven used to heat the vacuous space. The left side of the hothouse faced the stables, though with all the frost and fog clouding the glass, Rocky couldn’t discern more than the silhouette.

  The hothouse itself was like a jungle. The floor was made of marble tile. Rows of wooden tables with levels similar to shelves circled the perimeter and cut down the center of the room. On and beneath these were potted plants, all of them in various stages of flowering. The air smelled sweet with the fragrance of so many flowers. As Rocky breathed it in, the tension in her shoulders dissipated. Even if this was her first official mission as a British spy, she felt better knowing that at least some of her time would be spent putting her skills to good use.

  “This room is my pride and joy,” Lady Belhaven confessed. “All the plants are in the pink of health, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be without work. I get many orders for flowers in a given week, more now that the Season has begun again. There are few in London who can deliver their product in the winter months and I pride myself on being one of them. So, you’ll have to tend the plants, coax them to bloom, and fill those orders as well as put together the ornamental plants and arrangements for the ball.”

  “A tall task, I’m sure.”

  Rocky jumped at the man’s voice. Mr. Stanley Belhaven stood in the open doorway, looking aggrieved. He strode forward to reclaim his grandmother’s arm. “Cook’s sent up some coffee and seedcake, Gram. I know how you like your seedcake. Yo
u can inform them of the particulars of their duties after you sit for a spell.”

  “I’m not an invalid,” Lady Belhaven snapped, though even Rocky could see that her strength was beginning to fail. Throughout the arduously slow tour, she’d leaned more and more heavily on Catt’s arm.

  “The seedcake has the iced glaze you like.”

  “Maybe just a thin slice,” the old lady agreed as she let herself be steered out of the hothouse. “To keep up my strength.”

  Rocky shut the door behind them to keep in the heat and humidity of the hothouse. She and Catt met each other’s gazes, then looked away. The silence stretched between them.

  They had work to do.

  Steeling her spine, Rocky lifted her gaze to meet Catt’s. He leaned against one corner of the nearest table. He nearly toppled a potted plant before he leaped to catch it.

  Rocky crossed her arms. “Watch what you’re doing. We can’t afford to earn Lady Belhaven’s enmity. We need to stay in the household.”

  He made a face. “I’m not an imbecile. I know that.”

  That remained to be seen.

  She lifted her chin as she approached nearer. Given the remote location of the hothouse and the thick brick walls that separated them from the kitchen and corridor, she didn’t think it likely that someone could overhear them, but it couldn’t hurt to lower their voices, just in case.

  She took charge of the investigation. “The first thing we must do is find a way to insinuate ourselves into the household. We are newcomers right now, strangers. They have no affinity to us.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you speaking from the many years of experience you have fitting in to a large household?”

  Rocky balled her fists. Was he trying to insinuate that she was somehow less capable than he was, simply because she worked as a servant? She only did that to give her sister the best life she could—and a Season, if possible.

  No, that wasn’t completely true. She’d searched for work as a gardener because she hoped to give her younger sister, currently residing with a distant aunt, those things. But once she’d been brought into the Tenwick household, she’d realized how much she loved and thrived on the work. She lived and breathed plants.