overstepping the bounds of polite behavior. He was sure he had caught sight of her turning and walking in a different direction when their paths were about to intersect. He made excuses to himself and others not to go to the nursery. Even when his sister mentioned young Bertie thought his friend had abandoned him, Arthur could not bring himself to visit.
If he did, he would have to make conversation with Miss Oliver. How could he when the first words he needed to speak were
Why do you cringe when I am near?
She did not act that way with anyone else in the house. That she had been hurt by another man was the only possible explanation for her bizarre behavior.
Who was the cur? Neither Baricoat nor Mrs. Hitchens would allow such behavior in the great house.
What bothered Arthur even more than Miss Oliver not telling him why she had reacted as she did was that she feared he would treat her the same way. He could not reassure her he would never treat a woman so. Not when even bringing up the subject was impossible.
Now Goodwin had brought a missive from Gwendolyn. Arthur must turn his attention to his duties as a courier. Never before had that been so difficult.
He had done nothing with the letter she had sent last week. The instructions—assuming they were instructions—had been such a garbled muddle he had not risked leaving the enclosed page at one of the designated drop-off points. It invited disaster to leave any message in one place for long. Someone other than the next link in the courier chain might find it, and valuable information could be lost.
So he had waited, gladly spending time with Miss Oliver and the children. The reality of his obligations returned when he saw the black wax Gwendolyn used to seal her letters on the folded sheet his valet held. Though tempted to order Goodwin to take the letter away so Arthur was not drawn into the subterfuge anew, he took the page and waited until his man left the room before he broke the wax seal.
A quick scan of the contents sent waves of relief and tension through him. Relief that, even on first glance, he could see Gwendolyn had resumed using their familiar code. Tension because he had no doubts the contents must be sent onward without delay.
First, he needed to read the page folded around the message he had to convey to the next courier. Arthur never broke the seal on the inner sheet, though curiosity teased him to peek. The inner page was written in a different code that would be deciphered by the final recipient. A necessary precaution, because the information could mean the difference between life and death for the king’s men who fought Napoleon’s forces.
Arthur carried the letter to his desk. As he did each time, he placed the page he would not read under a porcelain box of blotting sand. There, it would be safe while he decoded the page with his instructions.
More than two hours later, Arthur leaned away from his desk and rubbed his eyes. The message was straightforward. As soon as he possibly could, he must pass along both sealed pages from the last two letters Gwendolyn had sent. They must be placed in his primary location so the next courier could continue the messages on toward London. The spot was a small opening between two stones in the ancient foundation of a circular structure on the moor.
Usually he took messages when visiting one of the tenant farms. Once he was far enough out onto the moor that nobody would see where he was bound, he sped to what his father believed was an original Celtic settlement.
Arthur’s stomach growled, and he realized he had missed the midday meal. He rose, kneading his lower back. When he saw a plate of cold meats and cheese set on a table near one of the windows, he smiled. He was fortunate Goodwin kept track of time.
He ate as he returned to his desk to check one last time the information Gwendolyn had sent. He must code his own instructions to the next courier. It was far too simple to make a mistake, and
If he did, he would have to make conversation with Miss Oliver. How could he when the first words he needed to speak were
Why do you cringe when I am near?
She did not act that way with anyone else in the house. That she had been hurt by another man was the only possible explanation for her bizarre behavior.
Who was the cur? Neither Baricoat nor Mrs. Hitchens would allow such behavior in the great house.
What bothered Arthur even more than Miss Oliver not telling him why she had reacted as she did was that she feared he would treat her the same way. He could not reassure her he would never treat a woman so. Not when even bringing up the subject was impossible.
Now Goodwin had brought a missive from Gwendolyn. Arthur must turn his attention to his duties as a courier. Never before had that been so difficult.
He had done nothing with the letter she had sent last week. The instructions—assuming they were instructions—had been such a garbled muddle he had not risked leaving the enclosed page at one of the designated drop-off points. It invited disaster to leave any message in one place for long. Someone other than the next link in the courier chain might find it, and valuable information could be lost.
So he had waited, gladly spending time with Miss Oliver and the children. The reality of his obligations returned when he saw the black wax Gwendolyn used to seal her letters on the folded sheet his valet held. Though tempted to order Goodwin to take the letter away so Arthur was not drawn into the subterfuge anew, he took the page and waited until his man left the room before he broke the wax seal.
A quick scan of the contents sent waves of relief and tension through him. Relief that, even on first glance, he could see Gwendolyn had resumed using their familiar code. Tension because he had no doubts the contents must be sent onward without delay.
First, he needed to read the page folded around the message he had to convey to the next courier. Arthur never broke the seal on the inner sheet, though curiosity teased him to peek. The inner page was written in a different code that would be deciphered by the final recipient. A necessary precaution, because the information could mean the difference between life and death for the king’s men who fought Napoleon’s forces.
Arthur carried the letter to his desk. As he did each time, he placed the page he would not read under a porcelain box of blotting sand. There, it would be safe while he decoded the page with his instructions.
More than two hours later, Arthur leaned away from his desk and rubbed his eyes. The message was straightforward. As soon as he possibly could, he must pass along both sealed pages from the last two letters Gwendolyn had sent. They must be placed in his primary location so the next courier could continue the messages on toward London. The spot was a small opening between two stones in the ancient foundation of a circular structure on the moor.
Usually he took messages when visiting one of the tenant farms. Once he was far enough out onto the moor that nobody would see where he was bound, he sped to what his father believed was an original Celtic settlement.
Arthur’s stomach growled, and he realized he had missed the midday meal. He rose, kneading his lower back. When he saw a plate of cold meats and cheese set on a table near one of the windows, he smiled. He was fortunate Goodwin kept track of time.
He ate as he returned to his desk to check one last time the information Gwendolyn had sent. He must code his own instructions to the next courier. It was far too simple to make a mistake, and
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