Mr. Summersby hesitated for only a moment. “Because,” he said simply, “I used to work for him as an agent for the Foreign Office. But after my last mission, I chose to return to Oxford instead, in order to finish my studies and get a degree. The fact of it is, Sir Percy wanted this matter to be kept private and confidential, so he enlisted me rather than an agent already employed by the Home Office.”
Mary gaped at him. She simply did not know what to say. Clearly, they had rushed when it came to considering something as permanent as marriage; they really didn’t know each other at all, yet she’d practically been prepared to toss away her innocence only five minutes earlier. It didn’t even bear thinking about.
“I know you must be shocked by all of this,” he told her apologetically. “I hope it does not change anything between us too drastically.”
“Ryan, I. . .Mr. Summersby,” she amended. “How can you possibly think that this will not change anything between us? This changes everything. Your only interest in me was based entirely on your assignment. You do not really want me, sir, but you appear to be stuck with me all the same, and somehow that has clouded your better judgment. So, in answer to your previous question, no, I will not marry you. I want someone who truly cares for me, not someone who is prepared to go blindly to the altar because society dictates that he must.”
Mr. Summersby stared back at her in bewilderment. A slow frown had begun to mar his handsome features. “I am sorry if you see it that way, my lady,” he told her in a clipped tone. “I assure you that I meant no offense. In fact, I genuinely like you and—”
“If such a bland word is the best you can think of to describe the way you feel about me,” she shot back with growing agitation, “then we truly are ill-suited for one another.”
“Well, you are entitled to your own opinion, of course.” He crossed his arms in a highly annoyed fashion. “However, there is still the matter of your safety to discuss. As it is, I have already encountered a stranger prowling about outside your house on two separate occasions. He asked that you stop meddling with matters that do not concern you.”
Mary’s eyes narrowed into two angry slits. “You’ve been watching my house at night?”
“My lady, I cannot help but find it rather vexing that the point which seems to have you most aggrieved is not the presence of a dubious stranger outside your home, but rather the fact that I have been trying to keep you safe from harm.”
Mary grimaced. She couldn’t deny that he had a point. “What did he look like?” she asked.
“I do not know. It was dark, and he was using a scarf to conceal his face.”
Mary clenched her jaw. “In short, you have nothing useful to tell me, other than admitting that you’ve been spying on me.”
“I was not spying on you, my lady. I was merely trying to determine why somebody might wish to harm you,” he told her defensively.
“Well, your answer is as good as mine,” she snapped as the carriage rolled to a sudden halt. Not bothering to wait for a footman, she reached for the handle and opened the door to get out.
“Then at least tell me who the young man is that I have seen leaving your house on two separate occasions. Is he a messenger of some sort?”
Mary gave him a frosty glare. “That, Mr. Summersby, is absolutely none of your concern.”
He grabbed hold of her wrist before she managed to alight, forcing her to stay and listen. “I only want to help you, Mary. That is all.”
Mary paused in the doorway of the carriage. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and against her will, they spilled over and poured down her cheeks. “Is that so? Because only a moment ago, you were telling me that you wanted to do a whole lot more.” She snatched her arm away. “And in the future, you will please refrain from using my Christian name. I am Lady Steepleton to you. I suggest you try to remember that. Good day, Mr. Summersby.”
Unwilling to be detained by him a moment longer, she quickly snatched her arm away, stepped down onto the pavement, and ran inside her house, fleeing from the ridiculous hope she’d allowed her mind to foster: that a man like him might genuinely care for a woman like her.
CHAPTER NINE
Mary raced up the stairs to her bedroom, locking the door firmly behind her. She didn’t care that Thornton had gawked at her or that Emma had made a heroic attempt to follow. No, she needed to be alone for a while; she needed to think. Her heart raced as she contemplated her time alone with Mr. Summersby in the carriage. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d behaved in the most deplorable manner, but God help her, she’d liked it. But then to discover that he’d sought her companionship, not out of choice, but because it had been his job to do so left her heart close to the point of breaking.
Still, he’d told her something that she had to consider. The letter that she had received hadn’t been the only threat. There was the stranger Mr. Summersby had mentioned. Mary contemplated this for a moment, then thought back on the conversation she’d had with Lord Woodbridge. He’d advised her to consult her father’s journals, but until now she hadn’t had the opportunity to do so.
Moving quickly toward her wardrobe, she yanked the door open and sank down onto her knees, pushing her shoes aside as she began pulling out the boxes that she’d brought with her from Belgium. She paused for a long while on a couple of the ones containing her father’s more personal effects: his pocket watch, a monogrammed handkerchief, his favorite pipe, and a few other knickknacks.
Wiping the sentimental tears from her eyes, she put the boxes carefully aside and grabbed hold of a larger one that had been shoved into one corner. Dragging it out onto the floor, she took a deep breath before slowly lifting the lid and setting it aside on the carpet. Inside were ten leather-bound books, all arranged in two neat rows, their spines all facing up. Mary just stared at them, almost too afraid to touch. These had been her father’s most prized possession, notes that he’d accumulated over a span of thirty years relating his trials and tribulations, his successes and aspirations, all with one purpose in mind: to advance medicine.
She traced her fingers over them in wonder. Was it possible that they held a secret so powerful that people she’d never even met felt threatened by it? It seemed ridiculous, yet she had the letter and had also been made aware that someone was keeping a watchful eye on her. She shook off the shudder that threatened to run down her spine and returned her attention to the books. Each volume had been branded with a gold number. Mary picked up a dark green edition with the number 1 etched into it and, opening it to the first page, began to read.
It was almost ten in the evening when Mary found herself awakened by Emma, who was kneeling beside her and urgently shaking her shoulder. “What is it?” she asked, looking about with sleepy eyes and seeing that she’d fallen asleep on the floor. Her father’s journal had slipped from her fingers and was lying snugly in her lap.
“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, my lady, but it appears that the Dowager Duchess of Warwick is here to see you. She claims that it is a matter of utmost importance.”
Mary was confused. “Is it not the middle of the night, Emma?”
“Not quite, my lady, though I must say that it is rather late for a social call. I did attempt to tell her so, but she’s a rather formidable woman and refused to take no for an answer. When she insisted upon seeing you this very instant, I found it hard to refuse her once she explained that Lady Arlington had told her about you and that she has come to seek your help. I am sorry, my lady, truly I am, but I really did not know what else to do, short of sending her on her way, which I fear would have been rather rude—especially if the matter is as urgent as she claims.”
“It is quite all right, Emma. Would you please show her ladyship into the parlor and offer her some tea. I will be down shortly to greet her.”
“Yes, my lady.” Emma offered Mary her hand and helped her mistress off the floor before smoothing her skirts with her hands. “Should I call upon any of the other servants?”
Mary had no desire to disturb any of her staff. Still, she knew she’d probably be hungry later, having missed her supper, so rather than answer Emma’s question, she asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know if Thornton left a plate for me in the dining room, would you?”
“He did—some ham and cheese with bread and pickles, I believe.”
“Then I do believe that we shall manage just fine without disturbing anyone else, as long as you will see to the tea. After that, you may go back to bed.”
Emma bobbed a small curtsy and went to see about her business, while Mary removed her spencer. She’d been in such a hurry upon arriving home earlier that she’d quite forgotten to take it off. She thought of Mr. Summersby again and sighed in annoyance. What an infuriating man he was! Well, she was better off without him, she decided, grabbing a shawl and winding it about her shoulders. A man like that would only get in the way of her work, no matter how appealing she might find him.
I will not think of it, she told herself as she made her way downstairs to greet her uninvited guest, pausing for a brief moment in the hallway to glance at her reflection in the mirror. No, she wouldn’t think of the handsome Mr. Summersby at all.
Groaning at the impossibility of the task that she was setting for herself, she quickly adjusted a few stray hairs, took a deep breath, and opened the door to the parlor. “How do you do,” she said politely as she took in the slim figure of the elderly woman who was sitting on the sofa. Lady Warwick’s posture was exceedingly dignified as she gracefully balanced her saucer in one hand, while holding her teacup in the other.
“I apologize for troubling you at such an unseemly hour, Lady Steepleton, but I wish to discuss a matter that requires complete discretion. I hope you will forgive me.” Her voice held a distinguished tone that spoke of true aristocracy, while the intensity behind her eyes told Mary that she was in the company of a highly intelligent woman. She was immediately curious to know what had brought her ladyship to her home so late in the evening.
“Lady Arlington is my grandniece, you see, so when I visited her earlier today and discovered what you did for her. . .well, I immediately knew that I must seek your advice. You cannot begin to imagine how many physicians I’ve spoken to about my predicament.” A deep frown creased her forehead, and her lips drew together in a thin line as she shook her head in open frustration. “They all claim that an operation will be far too risky, especially with my age taken into account. If you ask me, they’re all a bunch of cowards. Still, the matter remains that I refuse to live with the pain a moment longer. I dearly hope that you will be able to help me.”
Mary walked quietly over to one of the armchairs and took a seat across from Lady Warwick. “You know, it would help me a great deal if you could tell me precisely what it is that’s troubling you,” she told her kindly as she refilled Lady Warwick’s teacup before pouring herself a cup as well.