Lady in the Stray Read Online Free Page B

bursting waistcoat, upon which could be detected food stains and snuff. Difficult to envision the Noble Ruin in his younger days, with his fellow Macaronis sporting blue hair-powder and red-heeled shoes. “What is your opinion of the peace?” he suddenly inquired.
    Expecting his godpapa to confess to difficulties either of the pocketbook or the heart, Lord Stirling was taken aback. “It is infamous, of course. The whole war with France has been unjust and disgraceful, and never more so than in its termination. I don’t expect the peace will last; relations between France and England are already strained. Why do you ask me? You have been in Paris recently.”
    “So I have.” Untidily, the corpulent gentleman took snuff. “Little Boney occupies the Tuileries in state equal to Louis XVI and goes about in a carriage drawn by white horses, attended by a splendid body of guards. I was privileged to meet him. The young man is considerably intoxicated with success.”
    Lord Stirling began to wonder if his godpapa might not also be a trifle foxed. “Devil take it, Richard. This not-so-pretty affair of yours concerns Bonaparte?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” The corpulent gentleman rested his hands upon his straining midriff, touched his fingertips together, looked wise. “The peace has given Boney opportunity to engage in even more grandiose scheme of conquest. He has sent out expeditions to examine every region where England has a settlement, you will be interested to know. He has even sent spies here, their mission to prepare plans of our chief ports, complete with all pertinent details.” He twiddled his thumbs. “Fortunately, the French agents became known.”
    This much, if not common knowledge, was not news to Lord Stirling, who became increasingly curious about his godpapa’s reticence. “Anyone known to have entered the country for such purposes is forthwith asked to leave it. And so?”
    “Little Boney sent his agents not only to us.” The corpulent gentleman’s heavy jowls quivered with his sigh. “Secret agents have also been established in Holland and Italy. It is as good as a play to observe the Corsican’s antics—or would be if there was less at stake. I fear, Yves, that we were too hasty to disarm. Even do hostilities resume, I doubt Boney would venture upon an English invasion, nonetheless.”
    Lord Stirling contemplated one of his brilliantly polished boots, purchased from Hoby, the bootmaker whose select shop was located on the corner of Piccadilly and St. James’s. “You fear a French invasion, Richard?”
    “I do not.” The corpulent gentleman quirked one of his bristling brows. “If Boney did embark upon so rash a venture, he would most likely be destroyed. And even if he managed to achieve a landing, he’d cause more fright than real harm. I didn’t wish to speak to you specifically about Boney, Yves, although from what I know of the Corsican, he’s nourishing some ambitious design. This matter is more serious than that.” He paused.
    More serious than impending French invasion? Lord Stirling disliked the tenor of his godpapa’s remarks. Yves wished very much that he was elsewhere—inspecting the latest acquisitions at Tattersall’s, perhaps, or practicing his science in “Gentleman” Jackson’s boxing saloon, or fencing in St. James’s—anywhere but sharing White’s famed bow window with his devious companion.
    Growing bored with his gleaming Hessian boot, Lord Stirling elevated his gaze. Established as a chocolate house over a hundred years before, White’s had soon become a select gaming club. Though the hour was very early, rich lords of the Whig aristocracy were already deep at play.
    Richard followed his godson’s thoughtful gaze. “I squandered my fortune at Brooke’s,” he remarked. “But that is fair and far off. I crave your attention, Yves.”
    “You have my attention!” retorted Lord Stirling. “You have had it this past half hour. I wish you’d get