Free The Lady’s Secret by Joanna Chambers

ensconced in Nathan’s shaving chair.
    In his hand Fellowes held a letter, which he had plainly just been reading. His expression at being caught in the act of reading a personal letter whilst sitting in his master’s chair was one of comical horror, but Nathan didn’t have time to indulge in amusement.
    “I need a shave and clean evening clothes right away,” he said while removing his cravat.
    “Of course, my lord.” Fellowes scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he folded the letter hastily and pushed it in a pocket. He went to the bell rope to summon hot water and within minutes was wielding his razor. Within short order, Nathan was as immaculately turned out as if he’d spent two hours at his toilette instead of twenty minutes.
    “No need to stay up,” Harland said as he departed. “One of the footmen can help me when I come back.”
    It was an execrable dinner, yet he had to be there. Lady Hillington kept a dismal table but two of her guests were undecided on the next day’s vote in the House. Nathan had undertaken to use his powers of persuasion tonight to bring them round to the Whig point of view. He spent the evening charming the pair of them, and when he returned home, at half past one in the morning, he knew he had at least one vote in his pocket. Perhaps two. Time would tell.
    The house was silent and dark. Jed let him in and handed him a candle to see his way up the dark stairs. Nathan trudged upstairs wearily, opening and closing his bedchamber door with care, cupping his hand around the candle to protect the fragile flame. It glowed dimly in the cavern of his spacious chamber.
    He made his way to the dressing room and put his candle down on the armoire, bending down to remove his evening slippers. And then he saw it. A folded paper on the floor, all but hidden beneath the armoire. Unthinkingly, he reached for it, lifting it up to the light to examine it.
    His mind had absorbed the first few lines before he realised that this was a private letter; the same letter, he realised, that Fellowes had been reading earlier. But by then he was so intrigued that he read to the end, despite a gnawing sense of guilt at committing so gross an invasion of privacy.
    Dear George,
    I have little to report, but I am writing anyway—I don’t want you to worry over my silence.
    I must have been through scores of records now, and still no luck. However, I chanced upon an unexpected titbit of information that has given me a new direction. I am heading north and west, where I am more hopeful of meeting with success.
    As for you, I beg of you to be careful. I worry about you. I would feel much happier if you would reconsider and go home. As I write this, I am hoping you will think on these words and the wisdom of them. You are more important to me than any evidence you might find.
    I will send this to you by Lily. She will get it to you.
    Fondly,
H.
    Nathan sank into his armchair and read the letter over and over, his mind teeming with questions. Who was H, and why was he—or she—worried about Fellowes? What evidence was Fellowes looking for? And of what?
    Something about the letter sounded clandestine. Was Fellowes engaged in some sort of scheme with this H? Something illicit? Possibly even illegal? The letter implied Fellowes was putting himself in danger. It bothered Nathan.
    And intrigued him.
    No wonder his instincts had taken notice of the man. Interest stirred in him—interest, and a growing sense of justification.
    A sensible man would summon Fellowes before him first thing in the morning and ask for an explanation. It would be unwise to allow a man who seemed to have some sort of secret agenda to remain in his house without seeking an explanation. But after an hour of mulling it over, he knew that he wasn’t going to do as he ought.
    Fellowes had already been interesting. Now he was fascinating. He was an enigma; a puzzle. And Nathan wanted to delve into that puzzle. To solve it. He wanted to see how