A Matter Of Delicacy

The End

Mother Quinn,

     I hope you do not mind my writing to you at this address. As I'm sure was your intention, no one seems to know where you live. But, as you've so often told me, London talks. In addressing this to you via The Broken Coin, I feel secure in the knowledge that it will probably find you, or you will find it.
     I enclose, along with this letter, two packages. The first is a necklace that was part of my payment from Princess Caroline. She told me it was worth rather a lot. While I remember you scoffing at the idea of financial payment in exchange for the information you provided me, I nevertheless hope that this will soothe the burden of my reneging on our bargain.
     The second is the deed to The Broken Coin. The previous owner seemed rather keen to get rid of it when I showed him the matching earrings to the aforementioned necklace, and I believe he has now set himself up with a bakery in Bristol. It's not much, but I remember you once telling me how those with money rely on those without to do their dirty work and then abandon them to face the consequences without a care in the world. I did just that, and I can only apologise. I broke my word to you, and regardless of my reasons why, that debt must still be paid. The ownership of The Broken Coin, I hope, will allow for your safety and that of your community. Now that I am lucky enough to have the Prime Minister as an acquaintance, I have it on his authority that you will not be bothered by law enforcement there (though I should warn you that any large-scale criminal activity traced back to it will force his hand, so perhaps keep to subtlety for a while). Do with it what you will, but I believe strongly that it will remain the disreputable haven of London's talkers for many years.
     Neither of these items heals a broken word, I understand. But I do not beg your forgiveness, mercy, or endeavour to explain myself in any way. I simply had a change of conscience. God willing, I hope that these items can, at least, go some way in making up for it.
     I do not think I shall be in London again for some time, but, if I am, I am sure you will hear of it.

Yours respectfully,

K.W.

     The mid-spring of London was nothing to late Summer in Somerset. For the three weeks I'd been back home I'd spent the majority of my time in the garden, drilling with my smallsword behind the hedges that were thick with bees and butterflies, or flopped on the grass under the shade of a blossoming tree with a book. The air was almost solid with the smell of farmland, fruit trees, and heat.
     It made a nice change – I'd even been amiable to the Lorrises when Father and I had gone to dinner with them. The new Mrs Lorris was lately with child, and though it was still early both she and Henry seemed pleased. I genuinely looked forward to my spurned prospective fiancé coming into his own as a father.
     I breathed deeply and stretched my toes out into the grass, enjoying the give of the soil and the warmth of the sun on my hair, and smoothed out a letter from Caroline that had arrived this morning. I smiled as I read – one of the young countesses was threatening to run away with a footman, Lady Bruce had won a horse from an earl foolish enough to play her at cards, and one of the kitchen cats had wandered into my old room and given birth to a litter of kittens on my bed.
     I looked up as Eliza appeared, humming to herself and carrying a tray of glasses and a large jug of lemonade with mint and lots of ice. A bowl of strawberries sat tucked beside a plate of biscuits and a set of napkins.
     'What's this?'
     'Your father has a guest, Miss Katherine, thought they might want refreshment when they're done in the study. It's awful warm out here, Miss. You'll be brown as a berry.'
     I smiled and poured myself a glass of lemonade, revelling in its sharp sweetness. Eliza bobbed a curtsey and left me alone.
     The crickets in the hedge chirruped loudly, a woodpecker hammered away at a tree somewhere in the distance, a cart trundled past the back wall of our garden.
     I sighed and sipped at the lemonade again. Perhaps I'd go for a walk this afternoon, or maybe I'd work on escaping ankle restraints. Father and I didn't have any plans and we had no dinner invitations tonight, so the day stretched out before me like a wide, empty plain.
     Voices came from the far end of the path and I recognised my father's chuckle. But they were hidden by the large buddleia bush.
     'I believe Eliza has left some refreshments out here with my daughter, you'll take some before you go?'
     'Most kind, thank you.'
     Surely not.
     I sat up properly, eyes fixed on the leaves that obscured the pathway. Surely it could not be.
     Father rounded the corner, followed closely by a man in a caramel coat with neatly tied hair.
     It was Grenville.
     I let out a cheer of laughter and leapt to my feet, hurrying over and clasping his uninjured hand warmly in mine, 'by God Grenville, is it really you?'
     He smiled widely back and bowed, pressing my fingers in his, 'it's a delight to see you looking so well, Miss Wentworth.'
     'Oh I look like a heathen and you know it, you won't tell the Princess, will you?
     'I suspect Her Royal Highness would be utterly supportive.'
     I waved him over to the table and together the three of us sat in the sun and drank lemonade and ate strawberries.
     'Tell me the news from London,' I badgered him. 'Are the assassin's hammering at your door?'
     He smiled indulgently, 'ah, alas, our capital has been rather dull since you left us, Miss Wentworth. Princess Augusta is staying with Princess Caroline at present, so she is keeping things relatively subdued. They spend most of their time with the young Princess Charlotte, who, I've been tasked with updating you, climbed a thirty-foot tree the other day with no help from anyone. I believe you are not a favourite among her nursemaids.'
     'She'll make a fine Queen,' I raised a glass to the sky.
     Grenville and Father chuckled and, for a moment, I was almost totally content. Then Father stood and squeezed my shoulder, 'I shall leave you to it – Lord Grenville wanted a moment.'
     I nodded and Grenville and I watched as Father made his way cheerfully down the path back to the house.
     'Do you mean to say you didn't come all this way just for my housemaid's lemonade?'
     'Alas no, though I will be asking for the recipe.'
     Smiling, I sat back and tipped my face to the sun, feeling the warmth deep in my soul. Already it had left a smattering of freckles across my nose and cheeks, as Eliza was constantly fretting over.
     'How is everyone really, Grenville?'
     His voice came after a moment from the other side of my closed eyelids. 'They are well, truly. We speak often of how we miss you. Caroline would have you back in a trice, Lady Bruce asked me to send you her best – which is perhaps the most vociferous I've ever known her to be. Even Humphrey asked after you the other day.'
     My heart warmed.
     The crickets around us were still deafening and the sound of Eliza humming rolled up the path from the open kitchen window.
     He let the silence stretch for a moment longer before murmuring, 'Mrs Lynton is said to have settled into her confinement on the Isle of Barra, though I hear little else of her.'
     I nodded slowly, my fingers running up and down the engraved patterns on the glass in my hands. Condensation was beading on the outside and running down my skin.
     'And Willoughby?' I asked, after a while.
     Grenville smiled, slowly and knowingly, 'he is well.'
     I nodded, refusing to meet his eye.
     'How have you been settling back home?'
     'Oh, Somerset is as it always has been,' I waved a hand around the garden. 'I arrived back just as Summer did.'
     'You must appreciate the free time.'
     'I've been doing a lot of reading.'
     'And the smaller community?'
     'We have some family friends here, it's been good to see them.'
     'You must enjoy the quiet.'
     'So relaxing after Montagu House.'
     'Are you bored yet?'
     'Intensely.'
     We grinned at each other and I leant forward, elbows on the table, 'come on Grenville, you didn't come all the way here just for the pleasure of my company.'
     He reached into his jacket pocket and fished out a neatly folded document, wrapped in ribbon and sealed with his dark green wax. 'I have a proposal for you.'
     'Europe?'
     'One of our American friends actually,' he placed the envelope in front of me and helped himself to another biscuit. 'Not working for me, per se, but more as a consulting eye across the whole affair. Less protection and more espionage.'
     I raised an eyebrow, 'I say, Prime Minister, are you suggesting I spy for you?'
     He waved the biscuit at me, 'their political climate is somewhat rocky at present, and considering Napoleon's threats it would be in both our interest to maintain a healthy working relationship. I need someone in Washington to keep an ear to the ground, even if it is very recently independent ground.'
     I picked the document up and spun it between my fingers, 'I can't imagine Congress will be particularly happy having an English girl with connection to the Royal Family poking her nose into things.'
     'We've got a new identity ready and waiting for you – something non-threatening but with door-opening potential.'
     Already I could feel the warmth of excitement pooling in my belly, the flutter in my pulse, the deepening pound of my heart.
     'When do I leave?'
     'Three weeks. We'll set you up in Washington and begin to make the important introductions before Autumn.'
     'How are you explaining away a lone woman moving across the ocean and getting in with the political elite?'
     'Oh, you won't be alone.'
     Around me the garden stilled, the birds seeming to stop silent for just a moment. An apprehensive shiver ran up my neck. Father's laugh came echoing up the garden. Our back door opened and closed.
     'Do you have someone already set up over there?'
     Grenville had a glint in his eye, 'no, I'll be sending them with you.'
     Footsteps came up the path and my heart started beating very fast. My eyes darted between the pathway and Grenville, Grenville and the pathway.
     The infuriating Prime Minister just sat back and grinned at me.
     Surely not.
     Surely not.
     I couldn't stop my hands from shaking.
     I rose, suddenly acutely away of my bare feet in the grass, the scruffy breeches I'd thrown on this morning, my grass-stained shirt and wild hair.
     I laughed – this was ridiculous. 'Goddammit Grenville.'
     A man rounded the bushes and came to face me.
     My face could have split from smiling.
     He bowed, looking up at me, and I recognised every glint in his eye and quirk of his lips and twitch of his eyebrow.
     'It's good to see you again, Miss Wentworth.'
     I shook my head in disbelief, hands on my hips and cheeks flushed.
     'And you, Willoughby. Although I thought I told you to call me Kate?'
     He held my gaze for a moment, just a moment.
     Then the three of us sat and started planning the next adventure.