Ree found a way to bid her farewell a short time later. Back on the street, Quill eyed the house across from them. “A late riser, it seems. I’ll ask Alex to station himself nearby. He may catch of glimpse of our elusive Mr. Smith.”

  “Alex is supposed to be guarding you,” she reminded him. “I’ll slip up later tonight.”

  “You will not.”

  The firmness in his voice set her brows and her back up. “You are not really my betrothed, Captain St. Claire,” she reminded him. “And even if you were, I would take exception to such a command.”

  He inclined his head as they started toward High Street. “Forgive me. Command is second nature to me.”

  “So is charm, I noticed,” she replied. “You might think about employing it a bit more often.”

  “Your servant, madam,” he assured her. “I meant no disrespect. I would simply prefer to know that you had someone guarding your back as well. I’ll call for you as the sun is setting. No one would remark on an evening stroll. Together, we can discover the identity of this Mr. Smith, and why he’s in Grace-by-the-Sea.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Quill could not fault Ree’s logic. Though he had preferred to do things alone for a good part of his childhood, his friendship with James and his associates in the Navy had taught him the value of partnership. He could not have asked for a more zealous partner than her.

  Or a more worried one than Hugh.

  “What do you mean, you may have found the assassin?” he asked, trailing Quill from the entry hall to the sitting room. “Where? When?”

  Quill leaned a hip on the back of one of the armchairs. “Calm yourself, man. Mademoiselle Fortier and I merely identified a stranger in the village, one who avoids closer acquaintance at all costs. We intend to see if we can catch him at his lodgings this evening.”

  Hugh licked his lips. “Lodgings? Then he’s staying in the village proper.”

  “One of the leased cottages off Castle Walk.” Quill cocked his head, eyeing his bosun. Sweat was standing on Hugh’s brow. “What are you worried about, Hugh? I wasn’t asking you to accompany us.”

  He snorted and stomped for the kitchen. “Oh, but I’ll be brought along. You wait and see. Little mam’selle won’t want you walking about on your lonesome, even if it’s just from here to the inn. And Alex sent word he must help with family preparations for the wedding.”

  “You can cool your heels in the public room at the Swan, then,” Quill called after him. Shaking his head, he straightened and went to change for the evening.

  After a hasty supper, Hugh walked with him back to the village as the sun was setting. His bosun’s gaze darted in so many directions, he stumbled twice on the uneven path. Quill put a hand on his shoulder as they reached the Swan. “If we’re not back in an hour, go to the magistrate. He’ll know what to do.”

  In the light trickling out from the inn’s front windows, he could see Hugh swallow. “Aye, Captain. Fetch me when you’re done.”

  “Aye, Mr. Baffin,” Quill said, saluting him.

  Muttering, his man went inside to ask for Ree.

  She came out so quickly Quill knew she had been waiting for him. Her hair was partially covered by the little yellow-banded cap again, and she’d donned a jade-colored wool gown with a thick brown short jacket, golden fur peeking out along the collar, down the front, and at the cuffs.

  “Nice night for a stroll,” she said, taking his arm.

  It was. The setting sun painted the eastern horizon in indigo and violet. Shadows stretched long across the road as they wandered down toward the cove. The rigging of the sailing vessels looked like spiderwebs in the gathering dark. The water was as still as glass.

  Even though he knew they might be walking into danger, he could not deny the pleasure of her company. As if she thought any of the few people they passed might wonder, she kept up a bright conversation, sharing stories of her performances, her childhood. All too soon, they had passed the Swan once more, then turned onto Castle Walk and Lavender Lane.

  Lights glowed in most of the cottages, but the one leased by Mr. Smith was dark, and no sliver of smoke rose from the chimney.

  “Late to rise yet early to bed,” she mused. “Perhaps he is older than he appears.”

  “Then he’s a remarkable specimen to run so quickly,” Quill replied. “A shame we cannot let ourselves in and see.”

  “A decided shame,” she agreed, turning away.

  Quill tucked her arm closer. “Don’t do it, Ree. Or am I wrong that you number lock picking among your skills?”

  The light was nearly gone, but he thought she made a face. “Alas, you are wrong. That is one skill I have not learned.” She paused and leaned closer. “Perhaps you could teach me.”

  “I never learned either,” he admitted. “It was easier to convince someone to open a door for me. The promise of an extra helping of food generally worked at the foundling home. A command generally worked once I joined the Navy.”

  She sighed. “Then I suppose we will have to pursue our Mr. Smith after the wedding.”

  They were nearing the Swan. The last coach of the day had just rumbled in and was letting off passengers—an older couple, faces worn in the light of the coach’s lamps; and two young fellows in caped greatcoats, grins attesting to the fact that they might have started imbibing on the way. No one who looked the least bit nefarious, as Ree would say.

  She stopped just short of them and turned to him. “Perhaps you should kiss me, to further the story of our engagement.”

  No one watching had the least idea they were engaged, but his pulse jumped higher at her suggestion. “Perhaps I should.”

  She licked her lips and looked up at him. Was he mad to see hope shining in those deep blue eyes?

  He bent and pressed his lips to hers. Once more, lightning danced in his veins. He wasn’t sure of the day or the time when he broke off. He probably stared down at her as if he’d lost his wits.

  “I will expect you at half-past ten tomorrow,” she said, loud enough to carry to those who had stopped to watch them. “We will attend Lord Peverell’s wedding, and see how it compares to the plans for ours.”

  Clever lady. With a few words, she made sure all knew of their ruse. Would that he could find the words at the moment.

  “Until then, my love,” he managed with a bow.

  As he straightened, she whispered, “Be careful in the meantime. I will be much put out if I learn you have discovered Mr. Smith’s true identity without me.”

  “Never,” he promised. She turned to disappear into the inn.

  “Congratulations, guvnor,” one of the men called to him as Hugh came out to join him.

  Quill nodded and made a show of sauntering out of the yard.

  “You didn’t catch him, then,” Hugh surmised as they started back for Dove Cottage. He sounded relieved. He’d likely expected to have to come dashing to the rescue.

  “No,” Quill told him. “Can you pick a lock?”

  Hugh jerked to a stop on the path. “What? No. Why would you ask a thing like that?”

  “Because Mr. Smith, as he calls himself, won’t answer a knock and tends to leave his doors latched,” Quill said. “Never mind. As Mademoiselle Fortier said, we’ll tend to him after the wedding. I have a feeling he isn’t going anywhere.”

  ~~~

  The night passed uneventfully, though Hugh was still in such a state of nerves that he scorched the last of the chocolate. The Inchleys generally purchased Quill’s supply. He’d have to ask them for more after the wedding.

  “Take some of those apples down to the ship this morning,” Quill ordered Hugh as he finished dressing. A blue coat, white satin-striped waistcoat, and white breeches today. No need to wear his uniform.

  Hugh stepped back from tying his cravat. “Aye, Captain. Watch yourself.”

  Quill raised a brow. “I sincerely doubt my assassin will attempt to do me in at a wedding attended by half the people in the village.”

  “You never know,” Hugh muttered. He stood on the stoop and watched Quill all the way down the walk to High Street.

  Ree was waiting for him when he reached the inn. He’d passed several carriages on their way into town, everyone coming for the wedding of one of the area’s peers. She certainly did the event justice. She wore a pale yellow silk gown embroidered with ivy along the hem and in a diagonal up the skirt to her waist. The tall lace collar framed her face and called attention to her dark hair, which was wound around her head in a coronet. A fringed shawl patterned in daisies draped her shoulders.

  “No nighttime rambles?” she asked as they set out to walk the short distance to St. Andrew’s.

  “None,” he told her. “You?”

  “I slept like a babe.”

  He almost believed her. But she offered nothing more as they approached the church and joined the crowd attempting to enter.

  He’d heard many in London only asked family and a few close friends to attend their wedding. The Peverell family owned half the land in Grace-by-the-Sea and most of Upper Grace. It seemed the viscount had invited everyone in both villages, for Quill spotted shopkeepers, Regulars, and the members of the Spa Corporation Council among those crowding the church. Lord Featherstone was evident among the spa set near the front. Jesslyn and her husband Lark were in places of honor as well, as he was the brother of the bride. Alex and Maudie sat with them. No sign of Mr. Guthrie, but perhaps he was too new to warrant an invitation.

  Lord Peverell hadn’t spent much time in the area either. The groom’s late father and the former Lord Howland had never been close, but the new viscount must have mended fences with the new earl, for Lord Howland stood up as his attendant. Rosemary, his wife, attended the bride, her sister. And little Rebecca Todd, the bride’s daughter, walked ahead of her mother down the aisle, carrying a basket of daisies.

  Quill had never attended so many weddings before coming to Grace-by-the-Sea. He’d been too young to marry when he’d entered the Navy. A few of his friends had married on returning from their assignments. After the Battle of the Nile, those recuperating with him at the Royal Hospital Haslar near Portsmouth had had sweethearts ready for the banns to be read.

  But here? James had succumbed in June, Jesslyn and Lark had married in July, Abigail and Linus Bennett had tied the knot in August, and Rosemary and the earl had wed in September. At times it seemed an epidemic!

  One that had never touched him. Yet as Peverell and Hester pledged their devotion, love shining from their eyes, he caught himself wondering. Could he stand in front of his friends and promise to love and honor until death parted him from his bride? In the past, the idea had seemed foreign, impossible. He had dangerous work that might bring about a premature death. And a wife had every right to expect complete honesty from her husband. He hadn’t been completely honest with anyone, perhaps ever.

  One look at Ree, and those objections melted. He could imagine standing up there with her, taking her hand to promise eternity. Was that love? He’d always found himself caught up a little in any role he played, whether the son of a Romany princess or Lord of the Smugglers. How could he know that what he felt now was true?

  ~~~

  Ree couldn’t help her sigh as the two at the altar vowed to love and honor each other. So much hope, so much joy. And when Lord and Lady Peverell turned to face the congregation, everyone seemed to glow, as if giving back some of their happiness.

  “A beautiful affair,” she said as she and Quill exited the church among the others making their way to the reception. After signing the registry, the bride and groom had climbed into a fancy carriage along with the little girl who had carried the flowers. The bride’s sister, the earl, his mother, and another girl were taken up by a different coach. Most of the rest of the guests strolled along Church Street, heading for the assembly rooms, where the wedding breakfast was to be served.

  She spied one redhead among them. She tugged Quill closer, only to confirm the hair belonged to a tall, slender woman walking with Doctor Bennett, the spa physician.

  “Abigail Bennett,” Quill said as if he had seen Ree’s look. “The painter.

  Ree sighed. “Apparently our Mr. Smith did not come for the wedding.”

  “Apparently not,” he agreed as they turned onto High Street.

  She lifted her silk skirts out of the dust to climb the hill. “I will still watch for him at the reception. Easy enough to blend into the crowd.”

  Not for Quill, of course. Gentlemen nodded respectfully as they passed, and women gazed with admiration shining from their eyes. That dark-blue coat made the perfect target among all the pale colors of the ladies’ gowns.

  She couldn’t help glancing around. Most of the cottages along this stretch had thatched roofs, with fairly steep pitches. Not easy for a marksman to lie in wait. The summer gardens had been cleaned out so that only a few hardy vines and shrubs remained. Not much cover either. Quill was right, as usual. The most dangerous spot would be the reception.

  So she stayed close to his side and kept her gaze moving. Long tables had been erected in two lines in the assembly rooms, with another crosswise at the top. The dais that she had used for her first performance had been returned to its place under the musicians’ alcove and decorated with white and pink crepe. Very likely they’d expect her to stand there to sing.

  For the moment, she allowed Quill to lead her to a spot at one of the tables. Mr. and Mrs. Greer sat across from them. She hadn’t seen the apothecary since the Serenade, though his wife had popped into the spa often enough in the last week.

  “Captain,” she called now, smile appearing, “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  She made it sound as if this was her wedding.

  “Lord Peverell has been kind to me,” he said. “I’m delighted to help celebrate his union.”

  “And dear, dear Marie,” she said as if remembering her belatedly. “Still with us, I see. How they must miss you in London.”

  Ree smiled up at Quill. “London was delightful, but I may never return now that I have given my heart to Grace-by-the-Sea.”

  He took her hand and kissed the back. Mrs. Greer sighed. It sounded a bit envious.

  “Not much call for singers here, I fear,” she said as Quill handed Ree into her seat. “The occasional wedding, a special evening, that sort of thing.”

  “I don’t see why that should concern Miss Fortier,” her husband put in, craning his long neck forward. “She’ll be marrying. She’ll have a house to manage, a husband to take care of.”

  Well, that sounded rather limited. Not that she lacked the skills. She’d managed her father’s household for years. But Quillan St. Claire balked at being taken care of when his life was in danger. Doubtful he’d be overjoyed at her hovering when it wasn’t.

  “I would never stand in the way of my beloved’s career,” Quill said to the Spa Corporation Council president. “Until I’m recalled to a post, I can go wherever she needs.”

  “How very…democratic,” Mrs. Greer said. “But we would miss you so, Captain. This is your home.”

  Ree was more interested in his statement. “You expect to be recalled to duty?”

  He shrugged. “I haven’t officially resigned my commission. The War Office has been generous in allowing me time to recuperate.”

  And they would not want to stop him from gathering secrets from France. Or at least, his friend didn’t. How many times had Captain Dorland had to reroute assignments to keep Quill from receiving another ship?

  Servers began bringing food then, and conversation dwindled as everyone tucked in. Ree sighed as the chocolate pot passed by. She never drank the rich stuff before singing, but she tried some of the sweet rolls, ham, and coddled eggs. Coffee was being served when the musicians began filling the alcove. The violinist caught her eye.

  “Excuse me,” she told those around her. She felt Quill’s gaze on her as she went to take her position on the dais.

  She wasn’t sure whether Lord Peverell had assigned someone to introduce her, but she wasn’t surprised when James Howland stepped up beside her and turned to address the crowd.

  “May I have your attention, please?”

  He would have made an excellent baritone in the opera. That voice carried to the farthest corner. Conversation stilled, and everyone looked in her direction.

  “Lord Peverell has persuaded Mademoiselle Fortier to give us one more performance, in honor of his bride.”

  Applause spread down the tables. The new Lady Peverell gazed at her husband adoringly.

  Ree curtsied to the magistrate, then to the happy couple. The violinist played the introduction, and she began to sing.

  “The heavy hours are almost past

  That part my love and me.

  My longing eyes may hope at last

  Their only wish to see.

  But how, my Hester, will you meet

  The man you’ve lost so long?

  Will love in all your pulses beat

  And tremble on your tongue?

  Will love in all your pulses beat

  And tremble on your tongue?”

  Other verses spoke of the happy reunion of lost lovers, but Lady Peverell had laid her head on her husband’s shoulder, and his gaze was hers alone. Ree wasn’t sure they heard another word.

  Quill did. When she finished to warm applause, her gaze sought his. His dark eyes were bright. Tears? Surely not! Yet she could not help but be warmed by the thought that her singing could touch his heart.

  Mr. Howland helped her off the dais, and she returned to Quill’s side.

  “What made you pick that song?” he asked after she was seated and the servers began clearing.

  “Lord Peverell suggested it,” she admitted. “I wondered at the time, since it talks of love coming, not having arrived.”