It was difficult to fall back into sleep after what the doctor told him. He would have wanted to discuss the matter thoroughly, but with the doctor’s assistant within earshot, Nick decided against it. Instead, he played the obedient patient who was man enough not to flinch at the doctor’s ministrations. Still, he couldn’t shake away the thought of two ladies entering a prison. What’s worse was that one of those ladies was his wife, who was not supposed to be in any way connected with Hawthorne.

Nick turned to his good side slowly where he could have a good view of the glass doors leading to the balcony. It was already night time. She had been gone for quite a long while and he stayed awake the whole time. He couldn’t help but wonder what she did at Newgate and how was she related to the Hawthornes. Her files failed to mention that she was a close friend of Lucy Hawthorne. Although there was possibility that that piece of trivial information was missed out, just like it was possible that Claire had an affair with Matthew.

Just as he was pondering what reasons Claire had to lie to him about her nightly activities, the door opened and somebody slipped into the dimly lit room. He remained still in his position, pretending to be asleep, while he peered at the person who entered his room. It didn’t take him long, though, even in the dark, to identify the new comer as his wife. She moved to the closet, which was fairly visible from his position on the bed.

Claire’s back was to him. Even in the dim light, he could see her open the closet and unceremoniously undressed. Because of the poor lighting, he could not see her fingers moving to unbutton her dress, but it did fall to her feet leaving only her undergarments. Nick composed himself. He ought to look away but he couldn’t bring himself to do just that. He vowed to himself that he would not take advantage of their situation, but she was so beautiful. The yellowish glow of the lamp touched her skin in an intimate way he wished he could, while the shadows only made her look more mysterious.

Before he could think any more thoughts admiring her, he cleared his throat to catch her attention. “Claire, where have you been? It’s late, a lady like you shouldn’t be outside without a chaperone at this hour.” He moved to give her more room on the bed, which he instantly thought was a bad idea. He was inviting her to spend the night with him, what was he thinking? Shouldn’t they be sleeping separately like he proposed?

“I do not want you wandering outside after dark without a chaperone. Take one of your maids and our carriage if you must, but I need to know where you are going.” He thought he sounded like his mother, but continued nevertheless. “It doesn’t feel very nice to be left here in this bed, helplessly worrying if my wife will make it back home. Tell me where you’ve been and who you are with,” Nick demanded. If he was worried, he thought to himself, it was only because she might do something to compromise his position and therefore his mission. It was all about his work, there was nothing personal about worrying for her safety.

Claire jumped at the sound of Nicholas’ voice, having assumed he was asleep. She was about to apologize for waking him when he started bombarding her with questions and accusations. A sharp anger flickered within, and she was thankful for the distance and darkness between them to hide her shock. She walked over in her underclothing to see he had made room for her in the bed, but made no move to fill it.

“I do not want you wandering outside after dark without a chaperone. Take one of your maids and our carriage if you must, but I need to know where you are going. It doesn’t feel very nice to be left here in this bed, helplessly worrying if my wife will make it back home. Tell me where you’ve been and who you are with.”

A demand. What was more, a demand for something she had made a point to give him before she left! Claire bit the inside of her cheek, taking longer than necessary to respond. If she didn’t, she just knew a very unlady like tone would come from her, and all her work at being pleasant to a man she disliked this morning would be a waste. Besides, did she really want to argue at this time of night? From an outsider’s point of view, that being of one that didn’t know she had ended a life tonight, she had done nothing wrong. She was in the right on this, not him.

“I did tell you where I was going before I left in our carriage this afternoon, and whom I was going out with. You seemed awake at the time, but I suppose you’ve forgotten,” she said, unable to look at Nicholas. Claire didn’t think she could meet his gaze and keep a straight, much less apologetic look. “I invited Lucy Hawthorne over for tea. Remember? But before I could even take a sip she starts crying that her husband has been taken to prison. Traitor to the country, or some nonsense if what she said is true. At any rate, I couldn’t just do nothing and I knew if I used father’s name I could get her a visit with him. So that’s what I did.”

Claire started busying her hands by taking the pins out of her hair, letting those golden locks, now in waves, fall past her shoulders. “I just wanted to do what was right, it wasn’t exactly a trip I would label as fun, Nicholas. And you can call me what you like for using my family name in such a manner, but I informed you of my whereabouts beforehand and was with Lucy the entire time. We went straight to Newgate prison, left, I let her off at her house, and I came straight back. If my being gone bothers you then you can rest easy tomorrow because I’m staying in all day.” Her hand gripped the bottom bedpost where she stood, her eyes trailing over the bed. Her voice sounded so cold, so empty, so…done with him by the time she finished her explication. So much for the comfort of his body against hers.

Why did it bother her so much that he was cross with her? It wasn’t just the annoyance of someone demanding something from her, it was more than that. There was disappointment. Why did she keep letting him in just enough to hurt her? Claire sighed, shaking her head before going to the closet and shutting the door whether he spoke to her or not. His bride would not come out until she had put on her nightgown, and even then went to the couch by the balcony doors to sleep. It was humiliating to be the one sleeping on the blue cushions while he got the large, plush bed with its layers of blankets, but it was better than the alternative. And sleeping outside the bedroom would cause talk, just as they’d decided in the first place.

“Do you need anything else, Nicholas? It has been a very, very long day and tomorrow I will be busy planning our first ballroom party as a couple. You did marry me for my name, I thought it appropriate as soon as you’re well to meet some potential clients.” That should shut him up. She had business to do at the little get-together, but honestly did hope he found business during it. Work seemed to be his first love, it was only appropriate she help it grow.

“I did tell you where I was going before I left in our carriage this afternoon, and whom I was going out with. You seemed awake at the time, but I suppose you’ve forgotten.”

Yes she did. Nick’s brows furrowed together as if concentrating to remember. He did remember, of course. She told him that she was going somewhere with someone – nothing specific though. At first, Nick thought it was just a dream, but after the physician told him that Claire went with Mrs. Hawthorne to Newgate, he became certain that he was not dreaming. Still, he wanted to hear from her where she went and who she went with.

It was obvious, though, with the tone she used on him, that his wife was not pleased by his dominant and demanding nature. Claire was an alpha on her own, which was expected of an only child of a very powerful man. She seemed to be the type who was used to giving orders and having things her way. However, she was a married woman who was expected to submit to her husband. Therefore when she stood at the foot of the bed in her undergarments, even her lack of decent clothing did little to uplift his mood.

”I just wanted to do what was right, it wasn’t exactly a trip I would label as fun, Nicholas. And you can call me what you like for using my family name in such a manner, but I informed you of my whereabouts beforehand and was with Lucy the entire time. We went straight to Newgate prison, left, I let her off at her house, and I came straight back. If my being gone bothers you then you can rest easy tomorrow because I’m staying in all day.”

“You did not inform me where you were going, Claire. I was half-awake, but I certainly heard and understood what you said,” he countered, getting up to a sitting position. His voice had its usual authoritative tone, touched with a hint of annoyance. “Had I known that you were going to visit an accused spy, I would have insisted that you stay in the house.”

Claire just stared at him. Her emerald eyes reflected the amber glow of the lamps as if they were the ones lit by fire. She looked as if she was both mad and disappointed in him. He couldn’t see why. She was the one who left without telling him where she was going, worse the night was certainly not young when she got back. He was worried. Did he manage to emphasize that? He was worried.

“I was worried…”

Nick broke eye contact at the same time she sighed and went out of his sight to change. The young man closed his eyes and leaned his head back to the headboard. Why was he letting this girl get into his head? He was supposed to be level-headed and tolerant of whatever she wished to do with her life. That was how they envisioned his short married life would be – with him doing his own business while she did hers.

He heard the closet doors creaked then opened his eyes. She stepped out in her nightgown, but instead of sharing his bed, she went straight to the couch. “Do you need anything else, Nicholas? It has been a very, very long day and tomorrow I will be busy planning our first ballroom party as a couple. You did marry me for my name, I thought it appropriate as soon as you’re well to meet some potential clients.”

It was Nick’s turn to sigh. “Yes, I did marry you for your name,” he muttered, then looking at her in the eyes, he added, “I suppose I should not, and I have no right, to meddle with what you do with your life. Therefore, allow me to thank you for agreeing to help me with our family business by lending your father’s name.”

He swung his legs to the side of the bed then used the bedpost to help him get up. Whatever Claire’s reaction was, he missed it. His back was already on her and he was busy steadying himself on his feet. If he wanted to avoid making a fool of himself, he should also avoid falling flat on his face. “Use the bed. I will find an empty bedroom,” which was what she proposed the night before – to sleep in different rooms, far away from each other.

The nightshirt he wore tightened around his shoulders as he almost limped to the door. If she said anything about his actions, he ignored it and went straight to the door, closing it quietly behind him.

Finding a spare bedroom was not a difficult task in a house as big as theirs. However, he did ask one of the house staff to prepare the room while he waited in his study. At the same time, Nick asked for a bottle of whiskey. That particular request earned an unwarranted protest, but being the master of the house, he won and a few minutes later a bottle and a glass was brought to his study.

It was at this state, sitting on a winged chair with a book on one hand and a glass of whiskey on the other, that Timothy found his colleague. The other man was dressed in black trousers and gray waistcoat. His hat had been entrusted to Nick’s butler and his blonde hair was loosely touching his shoulders.

“To what do I owe this visit, cousin,” Nicholas acknowledged Tim’s presence in a grim voice that hinted he was not in the mood to chat.

Tim put-off answering Nick’s question until he was perched on Nick’s office table. “An observation, Rochford, if you will. You look to be in better shape tonight than you were this morning.”

Nick nodded before taking a sip from his glass as if to make a point.

Timothy shifted his weight and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have news for you,” he explained, earning him a raised brow from Nicholas. “However, this is not the kind of news that will improve your apparently sour mood tonight.”

“He still refuses to talk?” Nick asked in a low voice. How he wanted to get down to Newgate and squeeze the answers from the traitor himself. Anything to take his mind off Claire’s annoying and confusing attitude. “Bring me in. Talk to Dr. McQuerin, and testify that I am well enough to --”

“That is not it,” Tim interrupted. “Nick, he is dead.”

Those blue eyes narrowed at Timothy. What did he just say? “How is that possible?” he asked slowly. “You did give him water, correct? And some excuse for food to keep him sane enough to talk, did you?”

Timothy was shaking his head. He was as at a loss as Nicholas. Matthew was their key to closing the assignment. He was supposed to give them answers and not die on them to take his secrets to the grave.

Nick looked away and refilled his glass almost to the brim. He guessed what was coming next. “Matthew’s wife and Claire are among the last people that Matthew saw before he died,” Tim confirmed what Nick was thinking. “He ate food the ladies brought, but the prison also gave him food for dinner, which he also ate before we brought him to the chamber.”

Half Nicholas’ glass was empty when Timothy finished talking. They already brought Matthew to the chamber, which meant Tim was prepared to resort to physical and mental torture to break their prisoner’s resolve. They might have already started when Matthew died, and by the look Tim was giving him, they did. There were so many variables to consider. Nick downed the other half then breathed a long heavy breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he set down his glass. “Does this mean Claire is a suspect?”

“Unfortunately,” Tim admitted. “So is your cook and Hawthorne’s cook. Your household will be under the scrutiny of the police in the next few days.” And most of the police was not oriented with their operation due to its sensitivity and the thinking that the spies might be anybody, even the people behind the MET. “I came only to warn you, cousin. I’m afraid I cannot join you for a drink.”

Claire couldn’t believe what was happening. The proud, arrogant Nick Rochford was leaving his bed for her, even with an injury. Was this a trick to make her feel guilty? Was he making her the bad guy? “Nick, stop it. You shouldn’t move, get back in bed!” Nothing. Her husband simply shut the door behind him, leaving with every bit of dignity left in the room.

“What a selfish man,” she grumbled to herself, but didn’t move off the couch. Doing so would feel like he had won…somehow. It didn’t make sense, she was the one with the big bed, so why didn’t she feel accomplished? Eventually, unable to sleep and blaming it on the couch, Claire got up and slipped into bed, a bit disappointed it wasn’t still warm from his body heat. She curled up, Nick’s annoying commanding voice running through her head again and again until she fell into a very restless sleep.

**************

The next morning Claire was woken by her maidservant. She had slept longer than normal, and the woman knew things would go worse if she didn’t wake the lady up. Claire blinked at the morning light, her heart sinking as soon as she realized where she was. Exhaustion was not clouding her mind as it had been last night, and the entire conversation came back to her as quickly as her eyes had opened. After getting dressed in one of her many lovely dresses, the time it took and fixing her hair giving her plenty of time to think about her next move, Claire went on her search for Nicholas. It wasn’t hard, one question to a member of the staff about which room had been readied for him last night and she found it.

A small knock was given before entering, but she’d have come in no matter what the response was. “I hope I didn’t wake you,” she said quietly, swallowing hard before slowly coming to sit at the foot of the bed, her hand gently touching the bedpost, much differently than the firm, angry grip from last night. She wore a dark green dress with white lace along the edges of the cloth, and shorter gloves that barely went up a few inches on her forearm. “I understand if you’re cross with me, but may I speak with you?”

If granted permission, or he at least didn’t object, Claire would continue. “I’m sorry. I said a lot last night, but I don’t think those much needed words actually came up.” The young woman took a deep breath, slowly letting it out before continuing. “I told myself I gave you all the necessary information before I left to take the blame off me, when in truth I realize I did not. I’m not really used to reporting to anyone with father being so busy and no mother. That wasn’t the right way to handle it, and certainly wasn’t how a lady should act with her husband.”

Apologizing was harder than she thought it would be. What would he do when she was done, laugh, tell her it was beyond forgiveness, or just not care? “No one has ever really cared where I went. Father set boundaries, but they were just meant to be broken growing up. I can’t tell you how many times I was found covered in mud after going riding when I was told it was too rainy or too cold outside,” she grinned, gazing up at him to see if he was taking her apology well. “What I mean to say is this is a little new for me, and I’ve definitely never had anyone…worry about me. I’ve always had to make decisions on my own and judge for myself what was right and wrong.” Claire paused, studying him for a moment. He was getting some color back, which had to be a good sign. “Were you really? Worried, that is. I suppose I didn’t think there should be a reason for you to be, and didn’t fully explain because I didn’t realize you would care. I thought getting out of the house would give you the time away you wanted.” Claire laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand you, Nick, I really don’t. Whether it was true worry or a simple lack of respect, I will inform you of my whereabouts next time, I promise. As long as you promise to be patient and reasonable,” she added, pointing a finger at him.

“I know you did not like me going to the prison yesterday, but it was for a very good reason. That is a woman’s husband, Nick. And I…I really think those two are in love. She loves him very much, anyway.” Another sigh. “Nick, I’ve talked a lot and I feel like nothing has been accomplished. What I’m saying is I want you to come back to your rightful bed and I was wrong. And if you need me I’ll probably be in the parlor reading or making a guest list. Do you think you can forgive me for acting like a child?” If only his forgiveness was the only thing she needed to be concerned about. In the back of her mind she wondered if Matthew was dead or barely hanging on. She had almost slipped up by using past tense when speaking of the man, but had caught herself in time.

The empty bottle was beside one which was half empty. The second bottle he asked from the maid who informed him that one of the guest rooms was ready. Nick had no idea what time it was when he finally admitted to himself that he’d had enough to drink and that his stomach was feeling funny. Lucky for him, the butler was right at the door to assist his drunken self back to the guest room, where his first order of business was not to lie down in bed, but to go to the washroom to throw up.

The morning was not nearly as merciful. He awoke to a blinding headache and what must have been gentle knocks on the door. To him it sounded like a huge drum was being beaten furiously inside his room. He groaned but opened his eyes, thankful that nobody had pulled the curtains back yet. And then there was Claire in a green dress that emphasized how beautiful her eyes were.

Nicholas fought to keep his eyes open. The night before, with his bottle of whiskey as company, he had enough time to contemplate his relationship with this confusing woman. They were husband and wife in the eye of the ton, but the fact remained that he was James Flannagan and not Nicholas Rochford. She was correct to get mad at him for being nosy and arrogant. He decided the night before that he would stop caring – that was his original plan, anyway.

Therefore, when Claire talked, he listened. He made sure to listen to her explanation and act interested with her apology. He thought none of it mattered. None of it, except that his head was throbbing and she was speaking at length. He liked the sound of her voice normally, but that morning it seemed too loud for him.

Nick slowly sat up then he went to his knees, bringing one finger up as she continued talking. His index finger was inches to her lips when she finished her question.

“Nick, I’ve talked a lot and I feel like nothing has been accomplished. What I’m saying is I want you to come back to your rightful bed and I was wrong. And if you need me I’ll probably be in the parlor reading or making a guest list. Do you think you can forgive me for acting like a child?” she asked.

Those blue eyes blinked twice, his whole body frozen in place for a short moment, before he said, “Oh, you’re done.” As if on cue, he let his body fall to the bed, after which he groaned and clutched at his side. He lay on his stomach with his feet on the pillow and his head beside the spot where Claire sat. “I was about to say I forgive you, you don’t have to explain further,” he confessed, but his voice was muffled.

Even if she hadn’t chosen to apologize he would forgive her, because he had decided not to care and with that decision. In the first place, he should not be offended with her words last night and her actions yesterday. He turned his face to the side so his cheek was on the mattress. “I apologize for demanding a lot from you last night. I just got… I find it…. Yes, I was worried. It was late and none of the house staff knew where you went. And then you admitted to going to the prison, which made it worse.”

He sighed. “Anyway, I shall stay here for now. You may go about doing what pleases you, but please be a dear and allow me to sleep for a few more hours. My head is killing me right now.”

“I was about to say I forgive you, you don’t have to explain further.”

Claire flinched, realizing she really had been bothering him. Assuming so and being told so weren’t the same, and she sighed when he confirmed her worry.

“I apologize for demanding a lot from you last night. I just got… I find it…. Yes, I was worried. It was late and none of the house staff knew where you went. And then you admitted to going to the prison, which made it worse. Anyway, I shall stay here for now. You may go about doing what pleases you, but please be a dear and allow me to sleep for a few more hours. My head is killing me right now.”

She nodded, leaning in to brush her fingers through his hair. He smelled of alcohol…he’d been drinking. Was it because of their fight, or was this normal for him? “As you wish. I didn’t know you’d been drinking or I wouldn’t have bothered,” she whispered, kissing his forehead before helping him move back into place and putting the blankets over his bottom half. She had opened up to him about the way she thought, how she had grown up with no one really there, and it had completely been pushed to the side. She allowed herself for a moment to imagine a world where they grew close enough where she could even ask for his advice on her current activities, but that was no reality. Nicholas cared not for the politics of England and their dealings with the world, unless it was going to profit his business. Bad timing, she told herself, not that he didn’t care.

Without another word Claire went back out into the hall, standing there for a moment as she decided what to do next. A part of her was eager to hear whether she had succeeded, but the other didn’t want to know. Lucy would be distraught, and would probably run to her for comfort now. They would be alike on some level, but Claire had no time to watch a woman cry on her couch. Her mind was filled with decisions and plans… She frowned, slowly making her way to the parlor with her brow furrowed in thought. They hadn’t been married very long, and already she felt like she was failing at that.

Claire was the type of person who, more than anything, wanted to be useful. Most found they could do this by taking up sewing or playing the piano, but none of those things ever filled her with accomplishment. She wanted very much to have the romance she’d been dreaming of since their first visit to the estate, but that was a lost cause. So, with nothing else to fill her time, Claire dove into working on the guest list, making sure to include the few high ranking officials that would be helpful in obtaining the information she desired. Name after name of people she knew and those she didn’t that would want to come were added afterwards, a bigger crowd making it easier for her to get away from Nicholas for the evening. Dinner would be a waste of time- the conversation she wanted would not be well for all ears to hear, so appetizers would be served in the ball…they might need to borrow a few of father’s staff for the night.

Just as she was finishing up a member of the house staff interrupted with a note from someone who had stopped by. Your fabrics are ready, Mrs. Rochford, it read,[/i] Stop by and pick them up as soon as possible.[/i] Which really meant immediately. They just met…couldn’t he have sent a note telling her if they had heard anything yet? She sighed, telling the maid to have the carriage readied. She silently wrote a note for her husband as well, informing him she had to visit the tailor to have her dresses fitted. The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted. I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back! With love, Claire.

It was habit to write the ending signature, and afterward she stared at it, wondering if she should rewrite a new one altogether. She decided against it, telling someone to slip it on his bedside table before leaving. So much for a peaceful day at home.

*****

Claire had only met them at the business once before. They had been afraid her being seen somewhere new in broad daylight would give the girl away, but all she had to say was the shop was a client of her husband’s business, and it made sense. The details were never explained to her, of course, but everyone that worked there must have been on ‘their side’, because nobody questioned her contact and she speaking while a tailor fitted a gorgeous, top of the line dress on Miss Claire.

“Do I actually get a dress out of this? It would look silly if I didn’t, my husband might wonder,” she said, looking up at the man. He rolled his eyes, having enough of her snide remarks. “Fine. So, what am I here for? If you keep calling me out like this someone will truly start to wonder, you do realize that.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, Mrs. Rochford, and you just do as you’re told. With Hawthorne dead, you-“

“He died? He actually died, he’s gone?” Claire looked at him with sadness, her hand going to her chest. Why was she surprised?

“Yes, during the night. I don’t think they’re suspicious, but they would be stupid for your visit to not seem a little odd.”

“So you bring me here? Why would you-“

“Calm down, woman…I wanted to know the date of this brilliant ballroom party you’ll be holding,” he said, a sarcastic tone to his voice. “I need the information in a week, two tops,” he told her, slowly pacing around her as he spoke, looking up every few moments to make sure nobody was close enough to hear their conversation. It was a large store with a few employees, but it would by like some ditsy woman to come fawn over what Claire was wearing while they spoke.

“That quick? My husband is still injured, Sir, I don’t know how you expect me to do anything with him in bed.”

There was a pause as the larger man thought to himself, the sound of his shoes against the hardwood floor stopping. “What the hell is keeping him bedridden for this long?”

“If you must know,” Claire sighed, “he was shot. Someone tried to steal money from his carriage the night before. Poor Nick, he went through the entire wedding without telling me.”

“Shot?” His eyes narrowed, but he said no more on the subject. He would have someone look into it, a woman would not believe his wonderings without stronger evidence. Surely he was wrong, anyway, and Claire could barely handle what he’d given her so far. She was so suspicious…speaking ill of her husband now, without proof, would give unwise. It would be just like her to go right out and ask him without thinking. “Two weeks, Claire. Give the information to Stephen here, at the shop when you get it. And be careful, Claire…I don’t need another ending like Hawthorne.

And that was that. Within a few minutes after he had left she was out the door and back on her way home, frustrated with her time constraint. Putting a time limit on things always made her antsy, but there was nothing to be done about it. Her only wish, with her marriage seeming completely hopeless to work on, was that this would go as smoothly as her visit to the prison had…her life depended on it.

When Nicholas woke next, it was to the sound of his handler’s voice. He would much prefer waking up to Claire’s voice, but then he remembered that he shouldn’t prefer Claire over business. “Father,” he murmured, blinking back sleepiness. Sleep had done nothing to improve his headache and he still felt as if it was summer and he was under the sun. Nevertheless, it was not as if he had ever let a hangover stop him before. But just the same – just as any other morning after he drank too much – he vowed that not a single drop of alcohol would ever touch his lips again.

“The fabrics arrived early and I’m very eager to have them fitted,” the older gentleman read from a card, which Nick assumed might have come from his wife. Lawrence Bennett wore a gray waistcoat that morning, with his cravat tied in a simpler knot than it was at Nick’s wedding. If he had anything to say about Nick’s hangover, he didn’t Nick hear it. Instead, Mr. Bennett stood at the foot of the bed, fixing his agent with a very serious look before he continued reading. “I’ll be at Olden’s Custom Tailors if you need anything, won’t be but a couple hours. You may not even wake before I come back!” He looked up from the note again, possibly enjoying the slight discomfort on his agent’s face upon having read the note aloud. He was probably hoping Claire wouldn’t mention or that she hadn’t yet discovered about his recent exploits involving two bottles of whiskey.

“With love,” Bennett finally continued, “Claire.”

Nicholas quickly switched to defensive mode. “That is most probably just an expression,” he sat up and ran his hand through his tousled hair. “Did you finally want to let me back in the operation?”

The gentleman shrugged. “Is a father not allowed to visit his sick child? How are you doing, Nicholas?”

“We had a fight last night,” Nick answered. It was a small, petty fight and it shouldn’t have bothered Nick, and still when Bennett asked about him, he mentioned about the fight. “Which is why I’m in a different bedroom, which also means I can stand and walk on my own.”

Bennett sat at the foot of the bed. “It seems to me that you two had already made up with each other. ‘With love,’ it said.”

Nick grunted. It would have been worse if Timothy was the one who found the innocent note. “However, the real reason I came here this morning is this piece of gossip reported by your cousin last night.”

“Our lead is dead,” he supplied. Both the man itself and the said lead was dead. “Which was why I resorted to drinking.”

“That is not how Timothy reported the chronology of events.” Of course, he saw Nick with a bottle of whiskey even before he broke the news.

“That is irrelevant information, father,” he objected. “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this already to you, but I did receive the mission of Hawthorne. They are after the specifications and perhaps the blueprint of the weapons that England and France are developing. Have you heard of such a thing?”

Bennett nodded. “Of course. About time they target those. Do you have a plan?”

Nick grinned. “Yes. Last night I was relaxed enough to think of a plan. I will steal the plans and mess up the logistics to throw them off our tracks. Just let me in on some more confidential information.”

“I have good reason to doubt your ability to be discreet at the moment, Nicholas. Let Timothy do this job.”

Whatever Nick was about to say next was cut by a knock on the door. It was the butler, who informed them that there were a couple of police officers looking for Mrs. Rochford.

“Thank you, please tell them to wait a few minutes. I will be with them,” Nick instructed, getting up from the bed with the help of the bedpost. He would have to be quick to dress as these people were rarely patient.

“No, don’t get up,” Bennett instructed, getting up himself. “This is the other reason I came over. I will be talking to them in your stead.”

“Father, I need to exercise.”

The argument went on, but in the end Nick had it his way. He thought his handler might have wanted it to end that way as well. In a few minutes, the father and son tandem arrived at the front parlor to entertain their guests.

The carriage ride home was much too short for Claire's liking. It wasn't like she had anywhere else she wanted to go or disliked the estate, but just the idea that Nick, a man that had gained little of her respect despite yesterdays (minimal) efforts, was controlling her moves even while asleep was an annoying one. She arrived in good time just as promised, but was unnerved to see horses outside, ridden by a guest. Who would come on horses and not by carriage...and today of all days. She hoped her fears would prove to be wrong.

Claire stepped through the front door, putting on the most curious, innocent face possible. "Do we have visitors? I didn't realize anyone was coming today, I would have stayed home!" she exclaimed to the butler.

"Yes, Mrs. Rochford, it is the police," he answered reluctantly, wanting to be left out of it. He hadn't yet learned if Claire was the type to get angry or cry at unsettling news such as the police looking for you, but he would rather not find out today. Claire swallowed hard. The police were involved? She'd thought this all might be kept under the table, that it wouldn't come to this...apparently she'd been wrong. A silent 'no thanks' to her contact went through her mind before she went on.

"Oh! Are they here about the man who hurt Nick? I do hope they caught him," she asked as the butler took her coat and hat.

"I'm not sure, my lady," he answered awkwardly, being as vague as possible. The police and her father in law could explain why they were there. "They are in the first floor sitting room, with Mr. Rochford's father. I believe they've requested you join them."

"Of course. If it hasn't been done, do get some tea." Busy yourself with making "company" comfortable, and being upset at the news. Not with guilt or the politics of the situation. Claire slowly made her way to the parlor, pushing open the door that was cracked open. Within were two officers and, as mentioned to her before, Bennett Rochford. Nobody was sitting.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?" Please, please let it be about Nicholas.

"No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you." Blunt and to the point. Well, hopefully that just meant this would be over that much sooner. Innocence, Claire... What was done wasn't wrong...or, at least, it was done for a purpose...

The two gentlemen waiting at the front parlor were Detective Inspector Morse and Sergeant Browning. The former was a middle-aged man with light brown hair and gray eyes. A thin layer of moustache lined his upper lip, which seemed to be used to smiling quite generously. He was obviously older than Sergeant Browning who looked to be only in his mid-twenties. The sergeant, though taller than the detective, lacked the confidence that his older partner must have mastered through years working as a police. Although what the younger officer might have lacked in apparent confidence, he paid for with the amount of physical strength his tall and well-built body implied.

The pair of officers got up from their seats when their hosts entered the room. They waited for the door to close before formally introducing themselves to the older Rochford first then to the younger. Nicholas raised a brow and turned to his father for an explanation.

The explanation, however, was supplied by Detective Morse. “We managed to coax the division to pass on the case of Mr. Hawthorne to our people,” he elaborated in a low voice. “We will take over the investigation. But I am surprised to see you already up and about, Mr. Flanagan.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Bennett replied, sighing in relief.

Good, because he could worry less that their cover might get blown. Now that people in the service, who were hand-picked by the Prince Regent to participate in the operation, were handling investigations regarding Matthew Hawthorne’s death, Nick felt more at ease. “I cannot stress enough how important it is to exercise, Detective Morse. I’m afraid that lying in bed for two whole days made me and my muscles bored,” Nick mentioned as an answer to the detective’s question. “Is there anything I could get you? Tea perhaps?”

The two officers nodded in unison, but it was only Detective Morse who answered, “Tea would be great, but if you can fetch your cook for us, that would be even better. Thank you, James.” He turned to Mr. Bennett. “Tests made on the body came back this morning. Our laboratory partners had been up all night.”

Mr. Bennett nodded. “And the most probable cause of death is?”

“Poison, Mr. Bennett,” the detective readily supplied.

Nick, who was half-way across the room and was on his way back to the conversation after ordering tea and his cook to come to the front parlor, stopped in his tracks. Instead of joining the other gentlemen, he retreated and leaned against the wall beside the door, with his arms crossed about his chest. Though he did not voice his concern, he hoped the tests on the body would show that Matthew died of other reasons. Any other reason would do except for poisoning, which would place Claire in a more awkward position.

As if on cue, the lady in question burst through the door. Her attention went straight to the three gentlemen in the middle of the room. "I do hope I'm not interrupting, but I wanted to know if everything was all right. Is this about Nicholas?"

Detective Morse first met Nick’s eyes behind Claire, then with very little hesitation or regard to her gentle upbringing, blurted out, "No, Mrs. Rochfoard, this is actually pertaining to you."

Nick cleared his throat and pushed himself off his spot on against the wall. “Claire, I would like to introduce you to Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning,” he said walking up to her. He was once again dressed as a gentleman – with his jaw free from stubbles, and his hair, though still wet from his most recent trip to the washroom, was presentable. If one didn’t know he was still recovering from a gunshot wound, one would not suspect it. There was nothing in his movement but the casual grace of a gentleman, even his expression was very similar to the one he wore the night they first met.

He held his wife’s gaze a moment longer, then he placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to the sofa. “Please, gentlemen. Let us all have a seat.”

Everyone obliged. The detective and the sergeant sat on an opposite sofa, while Mr. Bennett took a winged chair. Nick and Claire sat beside each other. “Everything is going to be alright,” he explained in a soft voice, his blue eyes staring into hers with reassurance. Then his hand found hers and entwined their fingers together. “Remember Matthew Hawthorne? He passed away last night, dear.” He didn’t know how Claire would take it, but just the same, he held her hand firmly. Were they close friends or did she only befriended Matthew’s wife?

“We are here to try and learn as much information as we can, Mrs. Rochford, regarding the circumstances preceding Mr. Hawthorne’s death. Do you confirm meeting with Mr. Hawthorne yesterday? Until what time did you stay? How did he seem to you, did he seem ill? Was there anything worth noting that he mentioned to his wife while you were there? Tell me everything there is to know about your visit.”

“Isn’t this a bit overwhelming, detective?” cut in Nick.

Detective Morse smiled a wry smile, regarding Nick for a short moment. “Unfortunately, we don’t have the luxury of time, Mr. Rochford. And I believe I missed out the sandwiches. Please do tell us about the sandwiches you brought with you. Mrs. Hawthorne swore that it came from the kitchen of this house.”

“Isn’t this a bit overwhelming, detective?”

Oh yes, quite overwhelming. How could the detective be so cruel and blunt to someone like her?

“No, it’s all right Nicholas,” Claire assured him, though she kept her surprised, worry filled eyes flickering from him to the other men in the room, as if unsure where to draw her attention with so much anticipation and questions. “They’re just doing their jobs.” As soon as he mentioned Ms. Hawthorne, however, she focused on Morse with purpose. He was the one she would need to fool in this room, but at the same time the last thing she wanted was to cause Lucy, or anyone fully innocent for that matter, harm. Claire already felt bad enough for what she’d been forced to do, the poor woman…

“Yes, yes, the sandwiches came from here. Please don’t bother Lucy with questions again unless absolutely necessary. It was my suggestion to help her visit him in the first place. The poor dear was just so upset, it broke my heart… I can’t imagine what kind of state she’s in now.” Guilt clutched at her heart, but she kept going. “And there is no need to get the chef either, Detective. I fixed the sandwiches myself.” Lying about that would get her nowhere, especially since one conversation with the kitchen staff would give that away. Besides, perhaps such blatant honesty of what was not in her favor would help. There was no way they could actually know it was her!

“It was just a quick snack, and I wanted to leave quickly so we would get home at a decent time,” she slowly explained, squeezing the hand that was around Nick’s without even realizing it. If only she could explain, confide in him what her small part as a spy had somehow escalated to. What would he think… “So of course I confirm going to meet Matthew. But sir, as much as I would like to help, I had little contact with him. I’ve barely met the man, I was really only there for Lucy. You don’t honestly think my food…” she said, her eyes gleaming with what would soon be full on tears. “Surely bad food wouldn’t kill a man that quickly! Or…no, you cannot be assuming that I had something to do with- on purpose, surely not,” she whispered, looking at Nick then back to the police. Worry, confusion, and now faked panic.

“No, I would- Lucy loved him!” she exclaimed, “I- the guard! The guard had some of what I fixed to see if it was all right. You can ask the men at his cell, there were two of them.” Claire’s words came quickly, and she hoped it was convincing. “And anything worth noting? Detective, he looked like he hadn’t eaten or slept in a while, he was terribly weak. I trust how our government handles crime, but he had dark circles under his eyes, and his hands at his back. He was an innocent man that died for no good reason! I’m just glad Lucy could see him one last time before…he loved her so, I could see it as they spoke…that’s- that’s so rare to see such…”

Her own defense was killing her inside. Claire touched the corner of her eye as she started crying, but it was no use. Emotions were coming on too hard and too fast. “I do not remember what time we left,” she answered in what was almost a whisper, her voice shaking now. “They were eager to get us out, but I threated to get my father involved if they were not given time. Nicholas, what…what- what time did I get back, do you remember?” she asked, hoping he would take over as she could barely speak anymore without sniffling. “I suppose I left- not half an hour- before that.” Another stifle of tears, and she looked down to her lap. “Nick, someone should be there for Lucy and she should not be alone in that big house, nor with family that might just make things more difficult.” She knew what it was like to have family make snide remarks when things were difficult. That’s it, Detective Morse, I’m changing the subject and Nicholas should keep you at by now… “Perhaps I should bring breakfast over tomorrow.”

Claire gasped, putting a few gloved fingers to her lips with wide eyes. “Unless you think she blames me too. She might not want to eat what I have, or ever see me again… Nick, I was just trying to do what is right,” she repeated both to herself and her husband, looking over at him with pleading eyes. Get us out of here, away from the police…please…

“It’s alright, Claire,” Nick whispered, patting her on her arm. His wife was tensed and obviously stressed out by what to Nick was unreasonable questioning. They ought to put the witness at ease first before firing question after question, but this was outside his jurisdiction. Besides, now that his cover was not in the danger of being compromised, he was interested to hear what his wife knew about Matthew’s death. Judging by the looks on the other three gentlemen in the room, they were thoroughly interested as well.

“I will go with you to visit Mrs. Hawthorne after Detective Morse and Sergeant Browning are done,” he promised. “I’m sure she is not placing the blame on you. Nobody is.”

At least nobody was blaming her yet. However, was it indeed possible that this woman had something to do with the poisoning of Mr. Hawthorne? He looked over at her pleading, panic-stricken eyes. There were a number of variables to consider and it was true that one of the guards sampled her sandwiches before they proceeded. The guard turned out to be very alive and there were no more sandwiches which they could sample and test to prove the hypothesis.

“Do you have any more questions, detective?” he asked just as a servant entered to serve tea and biscuits.

Detective Morse didn’t waver from the flat stare that he was giving Claire. Her panic, stuttering, and high-pitched voice didn’t seem to bother the detective. He continued staring at her with his gray eyes and his mouth in a thin flat line. “I would like to point out again, Mrs. Rochford, that this initial inquisition is meant to hear your side as a witness to this crime. You may or may not be directly involved in murdering Mr. Hawthorne. At this point in time nobody, not even Mrs. Hawthorne, believes you’re your kind-hearted gesture had anything to do with Matthew Hawthorne’s untimely passing. However, since you have admitted to preparing the sandwiches yourself, I feel the need to ask if there is someone else who knew that you planned to visit Mr. Hawthorne yesterday.”

Nick turned to Claire. If there was another person then the suspicion might be diverted to that person. “And perhaps you can share with us how the sandwiches were transported to the prison? Did someone else handle it apart from either you or Mrs. Hawthorne?” added the detective.

“I’m sure she is not placing the blame on you. Nobody is.”

Claire thought a little differently with one look at Detective Morse. He went on with a few more questions and she took a slow, deep breath before continuing. “Of course.” Actually…anyone else who knew she was going. This could somehow be her chance to tell someone about her contact and the people holding her life over her head. She could say…no, there was no way it would work. Even if Claire could put the blame on the contact, Matthew, Wallace…there was no time in her story for her to have innocently told anyone. Besides, they would surely rat her out. No, there was no way to get out of her duties to the other side of this war.

“No, no one else knew,” she finally answered, avoiding eye contact by looking to the side. “I didn’t even properly inform Nick as I should have. The carriage driver, he was ours and his name is Samuel but I didn’t let him know until we were ready to leave.” Claire looked up at the detective, feeling quite done with his questions. “I only saw him for a few hours, I am sure there are others that were around him longer than I was so asking me for information is going to get you nowhere. “Lucy and I were the only one to touch the food I brought besides the guard that ate some. Perhaps he did something to Matthew…I have a feeling those guards did more harm to him than I am capable of imagining.”

Claire stood, finished crying and finished answering to them. “I told Lucy where we were going, I fixed the sandwiches, we went to the prison and left. I was there for such a short time, and had so little to do with Matthew that if I did notice something, then the murderer must not be very good at his job,” she said. “Excuse me gentlemen, I would like to be with my husband now,” she said, walking to the door that led to the hallway and opening it. “Our doorman will show you the way out. I do hope you find something, for my friend’s sake.”

Detective Morse could do nothing else. She had answered their questions and she was right, the food had been checked before going in the door. Besides, anything laced with poison would have been thrown out by now. “Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford,” he said, “I will be back if we have anything else to ask, anything you could help with.” Claire was very outspoken and he had a feeling she wasn’t afraid to speak harshly to man if needed. Strange woman, and Morse was glad he wasn’t the one married to her. At any rate, she needed to know they were in charge of this case, and her attitude wouldn’t keep them away if something brought them back.

Thankfully for her they were out the door within minutes. Finally alone with Nick and his father she sighed, holding her hands together. “Shall I order us something to eat? My lands, what time is it…” she murmured, trying to change the subject. Honestly, part of Claire wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but that wouldn’t help anyone. “Perhaps we should wait to see Lucy. I…I just want to stay home.” Should she speak with Nick about her secrets? Would he hate her if she found out? Perhaps after the party she wouldn’t be given another job, everything would be fine… "I just want to be with you." He had been so sweet, so supportive through the entire questioning. Was it sincere, or would he start doing his own investigation now?

Nicholas was almost surprised at how relieved he felt when the two gentlemen failed to make an argument as Claire asked them to leave. He found himself staring at his wife when she slipped her gloved hand from his and got up to the door, showing the officers the way out of the room.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I would like to be with my husband now. Our doorman will show you the way out. I do hope you find something, for my friend’s sake,” she said.

Detective Morse and his escort both turned to Nick, as if silently asking him to contain his wife. Nick, in turn, twisted in his seat to look at Claire who was imperiously holding out the door for their two visitors. She did give them answers and there seemed no more reason for the two to stay. Besides, he was having a headache and he didn’t really feel like dealing with the government if he could do something about it so he shrugged and let Claire shoo their guests.

Having nothing else to ask or do about the situation, Detective Morse declared, ”Thank you for being so cooperative, Mr. and Mrs. Rochford. I will be back if we have anything else to ask, anything you could help with.”

Nick and his father got to their feet and shook hands with the officers. “We will be glad to be of your assistance, Detective Morse, Sergeant Browning,” he said.

Mr. Bennett added, “Please feel free to let us know how we can help solve this case.”

After a few minutes, Nick leaned against a window pane overlooking the driveway where the carriage of the officers had just driven by. He let the curtain fall and turned to the remaining occupants of the room. His father still occupied his winged chair, sipping on his cup of tea while Claire stood holding her hands together. “Shall I order us something to eat? My lands, what time is it…Perhaps we should wait to see Lucy. I…I just want to stay home.”

“It is a rather pleasing weather outside, don’t you think? I suggest we go have a picnic,” Nick offered, crossing the room back to the sofa where the couple sat earlier. Although, based from experience, the brightness of the sun and the sound of hooves against the road would not do any good to his headache, he would rather be outside breathing fresh air than cooped inside their house. Besides, it would do them good to be as far away as possible to the house. He turned to his father, who nodded ever so slightly.

”I just want to be with you,” Claire added, seemingly oblivious of the brief exchange that happened between father and son. Nick smiled and, in front of his father, closed his eyes and rested his head on his wife’s shoulder.

“As do I,” he murmured. “But I’ve been confined inside this place for two days. Another day without the sun will drive me mad.”

Mr. Bennett cleared his throat. “Surely my presence is not anymore required,” he announced. “I shall go back to the townhouse and deal with business, Nicholas. Should you need my assistance, you know how to reach me.”

Nick opened his eyes and started to get up. “Yes, father. I shall walk you to the door.”

Normally, Mr. Bennett would argue with Nick for moving around so much, but that afternoon, he didn’t. He allowed his agent to accompany him out the front parlor and into the hall. “Where do you plan to take her?” he asked in a voice barely above whisper.

With a shrug, Nick answered, “Riding to Hyde Park? To the banks of Thames? I’m not so sure myself, but we will be out of the house until the sun is down. You can have the house to yourself until then.”

“Good.” He nodded, retrieving his hat and coat from the butler. “Then I shall be on my way for now, my son. Take care that you do not overexert yourself. It has only been two days.”

“I understand, father. Take care of your health.”

Nick watched him go up his carriage then he watched the horses led the carriage away. He sighed, thinking how big a liar he was.

“Hopkins,” he called to the butler. “Please inform Cook to prepare food for two. Claire and I are going on a picnic.”

The butler answered affirmation to his request then bowed. Nick, on the other hand, strode back to the room where he left Claire and sat by her side again. At first, he let the silence stretch for a few moments before turning to face his wife. “You did well, Claire,” he commented, touching her face with one hand. Not many had the courage to speak to detectives the way she did, he just knew that there was something very unique in his wife. He couldn’t help but smile as he recalled the look on both officers’ faces. Then his hand traveled to the back of her neck and he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

He didn’t like that her eyes looked so sad, that it was red and just a bit puffy because of tears. He would have stopped the inquisition if he could, but what happened that afternoon might be important to the future of his own investigation. Nigh hoped not, but it was a possibility.

“Now, I would like us to enjoy the lovely weather,” he whispered as he pulled away just enough to look at her face. “I have asked the kitchen to prepare something for us, but if you don’t want to go, we can spend the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom.”

“You did well, Claire,” her husband complimented, but Claire could take no joy in it. She had done well, but not for the reasons he thought. She had lied without anyone suspecting a thing.

“Now, I would like us to enjoy the lovely weather,” Nick said to her after speaking with his father, “I have asked the kitchen to prepare something for us, but if you don’t want to go, we can spend the rest of the afternoon in the bedroom.”

“No, no. I see no reason for the two of us to spend time in the bedroom any longer than necessary. Let's enjoy the sunshine,” she said, attempting to remind him that all his flirting was just that, flirting, and the bedroom was nothing more to them than another room in the large estate. Yes, she was still flustered with his confusing attitude toward their marriage. “A picnic is just what we need. It will give me plenty of time to count my blessings that you are not caught up in this mess like Matthew, and apparently I am as well,” she told him with a smile, though it quickly faded. “Or- he was caught up in it," she corrected, squeezing his hand.

That was why she was working to end this. If England hadn’t gotten involved, if they had simply and quietly stayed out of the damned war then Lucy would still have a husband and she wouldn’t have had to commit such a terrible act. Sacrifices had to be made…yes, that was it. But still, something tugged at her heart. Who could she discuss such matters with that would listen without being suspicious?

Perhaps her husband was the person to talk to. A business man like him could care less about her opinion on such things, and would never think her questions would have a deeper meaning. Claire waited for the carriage to be readied along with their food, not saying much as they stepped in. She voiced her opinion on their destination, a public area that was just perfect for a picnic beside the river, but didn’t say much on the way there either. When they arrived she was happy to find a spot beneath an oak tree, giving shade so she didn’t need to worry about an umbrella.

“It’s the perfect weather for you to finally be walking,” Claire said as she stepped out, adjusting her hat before shifting the basket on her arm. “Oh, Nick did you grab a blanket to sit on? I can’t believe I forgot one, I don’t know where my mind is,” she muttered, looking out toward the water with a deep, quiet sigh. She knew exactly where her thoughts were, and it wasn’t the food or a blanket. Hopefully he was thinking ahead more than she.

When they were settled and unpacking the snacks brought she finally spoke, wording each thought carefully as to not seem too interested. “Nicholas, may I ask you something?” she started. “This whole ordeal with Matthew and Lucy, it’s got me thinking. What if he was a spy? I know it’s silly to think about,” she added quickly, “but- but if he was, he did it for a reason, didn’t he? He must have believed he was doing right.” Claire pressed her lips together, not sure where this conversation would go, or if he would just dismiss it as quickly as she’d brought it up. “So does that make him a bad person, just because he did what he thought was right and it made certain people angry? Hypothetically speaking,” she added, patiently waiting for his answer with a look of anticipation that she failed to keep off her face.

Hyde Park would have been perfect except that a number of people frequented the park and Nicholas was not really in the mood to socialize. On the outside, he might look like his charming old self, but really, the man was still suffering from the effects of his excessive drinking the night before. Therefore, they chose to spend the afternoon watching the river Thames. Although the place was not to themselves, he believed that they had more privacy than what they would get in Hyde Park.

The ride to Thames was uneventful. The couple sat on opposite seats in the carriage, discussing menial topics and mostly dwelling in the silence of each other’s company. Silence which he thought was more abundant at home, in his room, but Mr. Bennett or perhaps Timothy would be conducting a search in every bedroom under the pretense that he seemed to have lost an important notebook in the house. They had done this routine before. Of course, Claire need not know so it was Nick’s duty to stall even if the noise and the brightness of the day was torture to his sensitive senses.

When the carriage stopped, Nick was the first to step out of the carriage, helping Claire when it was her turn. He might be already walking around, but he was still very careful not to overexert himself just as the doctor advised.

“It’s the perfect weather for you to finally be walking,” Claire commented as she was stepping down the carriage. “Oh, Nick did you grab a blanket to sit on? I can’t believe I forgot one, I don’t know where my mind is.”

“I did,” he nodded, but then gestured for the servant to setup their spot under the shade of an oak tree, where the slope was gentle and the grass was a healthy shade of green. He took the basket from Claire and passed it on to the same person laying down the blanket for them. They waited in silence while their picnic spot was being arranged, and sat only after Nick dismissed his staff.

Having not yet consumed any solid food for the day, Nicholas was hungry. Just by looking at the food that Cook prepared for them made his stomach grumble in protest. He grinned sheepishly and stuffed a quarter of a sandwich in his mouth. It was chicken and the dressing was very deliciously made. He nodded in approval, swallowing slowly, as he watched the peaceful Thames. Good thing his stomach did not reject it. He was already on his fifth slice when Claire spoke.

“Nicholas, may I ask you something?”

With his mouth full and another quarter of a slice on one hand, he turned to his wife and nodded. “This whole ordeal with Matthew and Lucy, it’s got me thinking. What if he was a spy? I know it’s silly to think about. But- but if he was, he did it for a reason, didn’t he? He must have believed he was doing right. So does that make him a bad person, just because he did what he thought was right and it made certain people angry? Hypothetically speaking

Nick swallowed his food and placed down the slice he was holding. Was she trying to justify Matthew’s deeds? He couldn’t quite tell what she was thinking by just watching her facial expression. She looked genuinely curious, but the question shouldn’t have formed in her head.

“If he was a spy,” Nicholas answered slowly, keeping his eyes on her, “He was in the wrong.”

It was that simple. He reached for a cup of fruit juice and took a tentative sip. Staring at the crafted design of the porcelain, he continued, “He was in the wrong, because selling information to Russia is treason. Nevertheless, I have no intentions of meddling with the military’s and the queen’s business. I have my own to take care of.” Nick paused then his eyes suddenly looked up to hers and smiled. “And also, I have you to take care of.” He placed the cup down then plucked a grape from the cluster and raised it to the level of her face. “Say ‘ah’ I’m sure you haven’t eaten lunch yet. Don’t think about the officers. We went out here to enjoy the sun and to keep your mind off Matthew and Lucy.”

When he thought she was going to take him up on his offer and open her mouth, Nick popped the fruit into his mouth and grinned like a schoolboy at her. “You want some?” he teased while still chewing. “Hmmm… That tastes brilliant. Where did they buy these?” he mused as he lowered himself until his head was on her lap. Looking up at Claire, he gestured to the grapes. “More, please.”

He was, after all, supposed to be just a businessman. He was to care very little to what the government was up to. He just said what he thought should be said in order for her to be comfortable around him. The success of a good spy lie in his ability to make the people around him feel at ease, enough for them to speak to him freely.

“If he was a spy,” Nicholas answered slowly, “He was in the wrong.”

Claire frowned, not ready to accept that answer. He should know that about her by now, and he must have by the way he went on. “He was in the wrong, because selling information to Russia is treason. Nevertheless, I have no intentions of meddling with the military’s and the queen’s business. I have my own to take care of. And also, I have you to take care of.” Nick suddenly picked up a grape and held it out.“Say ‘ah’ I’m sure you haven’t eaten lunch yet.” His wife couldn’t help but smirk, despite the troubling thoughts running through her mind.

She was hungry, though, he was right. Claire parted her lips to accept his offering, only to gasp when he quickly took the treat away. She laughed at his sudden playfulness, adjusting so she was comfortable with his head where it lay. “More? You know you’re making us look very silly out here, lying about like this,” she said, glancing side to side to see who was close enough to see the couple acting so…so in love without a care of who saw it. “Besides, aren’t the roles supposed to be switched? How ill-mannered,” she commented before breaking off a smaller cluster of grapes that would fit in her hand. She ate one herself before finally giving him one, and continuing the pattern with what she’d picked up. “I hope you choke on it,” she added nonchalantly, though the corner of her lips showed she was attempting to hide a smile.

Their previous topic of conversation, however, was of even more interest to her now than before. Nick clearly could care less what she said, and he definitely didn’t believe it was her. If he did, he wouldn’t be act like- well, like a married man who was out having lunch with his wife, whom he at the very least didn’t hate being around. He might even enjoy her presence a little with the way he was teasing her.

“I know it is treason, Nicholas. What Matthew is- was accused of. But why. Perhaps he did it not to be on the side of Russia, and not because he thought the queen was wrong to follow either. Perhaps he was just…trying to end it. Saves lives. I’m just saying how does anyone know he was doing wrong. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t his fault. What if Matthew committed treason because he was pressured into it? Felt there was no other choice?” she asked, abandoning some of her previous hesitation. If Nick thought his wife was too curious, too involved in politics, then what would come of it? It wasn’t as if there was a loving marriage that would become uncomfortable because she wasn’t limiting their conversation to the weather and the latest fashion. She had nothing to lose with Nick. He had no evidence, and they had no love.

“Nobody significant is around,” he drawled, smiling all the while as he watched his wife check if anybody was spying on them. She was concerned, but at the same time he could tell that she was enjoying herself. Nicholas didn’t care if anybody saw them wasting the good weather under a tree beside Thames. In the eyes of London, they were a married couple. Besides, they were not doing amorous activities in broad daylight, just lying around and being lazy for once.

”Besides, aren’t the roles supposed to be switched? How ill-mannered,” Claire commented, but she did reach for the grapes which only made face look more self-satisfied.

Nick feigned illness, allowing his eyes to go soft and his voice to be a bit raspy. He answered as Claire chewed on her grape, “I’m still sick, Claire. My head is throbbing and sharp pain stabs me from my side whenever I move.” Both of which were true, and also, he liked teasing her. His blue eyes dramatically closed as he sighed for additional effect. “But lying here, with my head on your lap, it makes me feel a little better. Now where’s my fruit?”

“I hope you choke on it,” she retorted. He opened his mouth but kept his eyes closed, yet even then he could hear the smile that was hiding in her voice. Nick was surprisingly happy to hear that tone in her voice. After the sitting beside her unable to do anything about her distress that morning, he felt relieved that she was smiling and laughing again. At least for a few hours his demons and hers – the ones he didn’t know of – were far away, hiding in the darkness that was in their future.

But then, she kept on rousing their demons. “I know it is treason, Nicholas. What Matthew is- was accused of. But why? Perhaps he did it not to be on the side of Russia, and not because he thought the queen was wrong to follow either. Perhaps he was just…trying to end it. Saves lives. I’m just saying how does anyone know he was doing wrong. Besides, perhaps it wasn’t his fault. What if Matthew committed treason because he was pressured into it? Felt there was no other choice?”

Nick fell silent for a few moments, the smile lingering on his features slowly faded and he opened his eyes and looked away from his wife. Thames was blue and peaceful. Not too many boats were sailing on its waters that afternoon, only one which had just left his line of vision.

One thing he learned that afternoon was that Claire was better informed than other women of her status with regards to politics. First, she knew the country which was England’s enemy. Surprising as it was, most ladies had no idea and didn’t care to learn about that piece of information. Second, she might have had an idea on the background of the mentioned war to be thinking that their queen might be wrong in her decision. Thinking her as a well-informed woman was far better than thinking that she might have it in her heart to sympathize with someone who thought that their queen was wrong. She was sympathizing with Matthew, wasn’t she? Was he really one of the men she slept with? Because, if she was not, then why couldn’t she let the topic go. And if that was true, then what she confessed the day before was all lie. Why would she lie to him?

Finally ending his silence, Nick sighed. He spoke without looking at her, “Treason is treason no matter what his reason may be. Because of him, a number of our countrymen are dying every day. Our military prowess is doubted by the world and most of all we look silly. All of these because our plans and tactics are being compromised, supply routes are cut by the enemy, and they anticipate our every move.”

What else did she believe to be a reason that could justify causing unnecessary casualties of British men – their countrymen? Nick turned to look at his wife, his guards were up and every trace of the man who took pleasure in teasing her was gone. “There is always a choice, Claire, but sometimes it is easier to believe that there is none. It’s just a shame that he died before the authorities learned anything useful from him. ”

And then he added. “Now, if you open your mouth again to speak of Matthew Hawthorne, I will kiss you on the lips right here where you are sitting, right now in broad daylight, with Thames and all the random passers by as witnesses.”

“Treason is treason no matter what his reason may be. Because of him, a number of our countrymen are dying every day. Our military prowess is doubted by the world and most of all we look silly. All of these because our plans and tactics are being compromised, supply routes are cut by the enemy, and they anticipate our every move.”

Dying? That wasn’t what she wanted at all, and it wasn’t what her contact had promised. Claire wanted to ask more questions, get more details on what her actions had caused, but doing so would blow her cover for sure.

When the job had first been proposed she had tried to get details on the war from her father, but had been pushed away so easily. “Don’t worry your little head about such things. Such things will never concern you,” she had told him, brushing away her questions. And now, just enough information was being given to tease her, but no more.

“There is always a choice, Claire, but sometimes it is easier to believe that there is none. It’s just a shame that he died before the authorities learned anything useful from him. ”

Claire met his gaze, his words hitting her hard. There was always a choice… “Yes, it is a shame,” she replied quietly.

“Now, if you open your mouth again to speak of Matthew Hawthorne, I will kiss you on the lips right here where you are sitting, right now in broad daylight, with Thames and all the random passers by as witnesses.”

It took her a moment to respond, but at least the conversation had accomplished something. She knew Nick was not one to talk about these things with her, and would never understand the reasoning behind her actions. Once again she was stuck feeling very alone and very, very unsure of herself. “Well, I might just have to keep talking if that’s my reward,” she flirted right back, but didn’t lean or make any move to follow through with it. It wasn’t as if he meant it either.

Taking a deep breath Claire closed her eyes, letting the soft breeze that moved the few loose locks of her hair against her neck. “I’m sorry you’re in pain,” she finally commented, looking down before popping another grape into his mouth. He had a beautiful face, especially now that he wasn’t so pale. “Hopefully you’ll feel better soon. I plan on having a ball very soon. I’ve already written the guest list and am giving it to the house staff to send out invitation today. I’m thinking the upcoming weekend. It will be so uplifting after the terrible news of today, don’t you think? Besides that ballroom is so beautiful! Ooh, we could make it a masquerade, Nicholas! Wouldn’t that be fun? It’s been ages since anyone held one. You won’t have to worry about a thing, of course, I’ll give all the instruction to the staff.” Claire smiled down at him, brushing her fingers, her long nails through his hair to his scalp.

She wanted to talk of normal things, to see the real Nick that wasn’t trying to charm his way through a situation. What did he enjoy talking about? “Then, when the doctor permits you to ride, we can go together if you would like.” No, that wouldn’t do. He enjoyed his horse, but it probably wouldn’t hold his attention long. What else did they have in common? She had no idea. “Tell me about yourself, Nicholas. I know you enjoy work…are you in it just for the money, or do you honestly have a passion for it?” She gave him another grape. “I’ve spoken enough to last an entire day. I want to hear you.”

“Masks,” he said very slowly, chewing on a very juicy grape. His eyes softened, focusing somewhere beyond Claire’s face and to a faraway memory of a young James entering the ballroom of his very first masquerade. His cover was a young graduate from Eton named Benjamin Black Keaton. He remembered it so well, how terrified he was and how close he was to throwing up on his shoes. Looking back, he realized how much he had grown in the trade he dedicated his life to. He was no longer the jumpy boy pretending to be a man, but was a man still pretending to be another man.

A ghost of a grin touched his face. “I like it,” he confessed then his lips twisted into a grin. “That way you won’t know if it is I who is flirting with the closest red head. Oh, yes. I do believe I will be better by then.” A short pause followed his words, but it was unlike the one before. As if Claire hadn’t pushed him into voicing his thoughts about Matthew and treason, Nick had a dreamy expression of a boy who had just seen his crush. “And do keep doing what you are doing with my hair.” Because it felt good, better even, than when he was lying on Caroline’s bed, listening to her endless chatter about the latest gossip in the pub.

“Then, when the doctor permits you to ride, we can go together if you would like. Tell me about yourself, Nicholas. I know you enjoy work…are you in it just for the money, or do you honestly have a passion for it?” she added at the same time she fed him. “I’ve spoken enough to last an entire day. I want to hear you.”

Funny how the events that usually led to marriage was mixed-up considering what happened to them. It was generally accepted that a gentleman would call on to the house of the lady he intended to court. The time they spent together would allow them to get to know each other, which would eventually lead them to the decision whether or not they would marry. Most of the time, they did marry. With Claire and Nick, on the other hand, everything started with the marriage, leaving the couple to pick up the pieces from there. They were husband and wife, but they barely knew each other.

“Me?” What should he tell her? “I enjoy riding at breakneck speed, but the crowded city will not let me ride as fast as I would have wanted. I like horses. Nightshade is my favorite and I miss riding on horseback to Hyde. I believe we have promised each other a match when I get better?“

“Now, if you are asking about business,” he sighed a deep heavy sigh. “I cannot possibly express how much relieved I am to be forced into vacation by this injury. If I can redo that night, I would still trace the steps that led me to that gunpoint if only to have a few days to myself. So to answer your question, no. No, I don’t enjoy working and I don’t have the passion for it.” Nick caught the hand that was stroking his hair and kissed her palm. “Money is a good motivation though. I am working for the money that will provide for me and my future family. How many children do you want?” He blurted the last question before he could stop the thoughts from spilling into his mouth. Blood rushed to his face. He let go of her hand then looked away.

“You don’t have to answer that.”

Surely Nick felt the twitch of her fingers at the mention of him flirting with another, but she said nothing. Perhaps he was thinking of the red-head he spoke with at the dinner where they first met. Whoever was on his mind, his smile was like nothing she had ever received, but still her hand kept running through his thick brunette hair. She even leaned over as much as her corset would permit, letting the wide brim of her hat cast a comfortable shadow over his face.

“Oh! I had forgotten about our little wager. I suppose we’ll have to come up with something else to race for now that I’ve enjoyed your warmth as I slept.” Claire shuddered at just the memory of being held in such an intimate way.

It was then, under the warmth of the sun with such pleasant conversation, that she realized they could possibly, probably be friends. Love in a marriage was a fairytale girls hoped for, but eventually found to be unrealistic. To find a man whom one could rely on financially and speak with comfortably? Even that was rare, and she should be content with such a thing.

“Now, if you are asking about business,” he continued with a sigh, “I cannot possibly express how much relieved I am to be forced into vacation by this injury. If I can redo that night, I would still trace the steps that led me to that gunpoint if only to have a few days to myself. So to answer your question, no. No, I don’t enjoy working and I don’t have the passion for it.” Claire let him kiss her hand, going limp in his hold. “Money is a good motivation though. I am working for the money that will provide for me and my future family. How many children do you want?” His blush made her giggle, but she managed to keep her own pale complexion and simply ran her thumb along that pink tint on his cheek.

“You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, that’s all right, I don’t mind. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,” she replied coolly, remembering she was talking to a friend and ignoring that this was the man she would be having said children with. “I believe three is a lovely number, if there are no complications with the first two,” Claire smiled, looking out toward the water. She had heard stories of mothers bearing children despite previous issues, and she had no desire to push her luck if there was a problem, even with modern medicine. Her closest friends had teased she did not possess “child bearing hips” to begin with, but it didn’t really mean anything. She would do just fine with three.

“One is too little. It was no fun growing up without a playmate, and I would have learned to share a lot sooner if I had had a reason to do so,” she smirked, twisting Nick’s hair along a gloved finger, looking down at him again. “Four…well, then they would out number us two to one, and that would just be asking for trouble,” Claire grinned, eating a few more grapes now that the mood had changed. "How many children would you like to have?"

“You know, I never would have guessed that about you and your work. And I’m glad you want to work so many hours to provide, it’s a wonderful reason to go, but…Nick, do not forget to actually enjoy that which you are working for. Else what is the point in having it?” she asked, giving him a weak smile. “Or find something else that makes you happy, gives you reason to get up in the morning. What I mean to say is- I’m proud of you for your business, but remember to spend time doing what you do have a passion for, Nicholas. Whether it be your family, spending your day riding alone, or that red head you’ll be flirting with at my party,” Claire added with a grin. “I’m not trying to steal you away, I promise, but simply remind you to be happy with something or someone in this world. I’m afraid you’ll wake up one day with regret if work, something you do not enjoy, is all you have lived for.”

At that moment a beautiful black and orange butterfly landed on Nicholas' knee. Claire gasped softly, her hand moving to lightly grasp his shoulder. "Nick, will look at that! You have good luck coming your way," she giggled, looking from the tiny creature down to his gaze.