“At times, yes,” Baldwin replied. “But I have more than enough to keep me busy at the moment.”
“I can imagine that is the case. After all, your investments and portfolio are quite extensive.”
Baldwin glanced down at the pile of ledgers on his desk. “I could always use your help, you know.”
“I am not interested in helping to run an estate,” Oliver said. “Perhaps you could ask Jane. She has already proved that she has an aptitude for it.”
“I believe I might, especially since she did such a wonderful job while I was gone.”
Oliver walked over to the settee and sat down. “I do wonder if Jane will ever be able to look at me without disdain in her eyes.”
“Give her time,” Baldwin encouraged. “She has started to come around with me.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t think time will change it.”
“Then what will?”
Oliver shrugged. “Frankly, I don’t know. It isn’t as if I can stop the ruse of being a rakehell, and I can’t tell her the reasons behind it.”
A familiar voice came from the doorway. “No, you most assuredly cannot,” Corbyn said as he closed the door. “That could jeopardize your cover.”
Oliver turned his attention towards the leader of the agency. Corbyn may have only been a few years older than him, but he was responsible for all the agents of the Crown. He was dressed in a blue jacket, white waistcoat with matching cravat and buff trousers.
“I take it that you are not attending the ball this evening,” Oliver commented.
Corbyn huffed. “I’m afraid I am much too busy to be attending frivolous social events.”
“Do you require any assistance?” Oliver asked hopefully.
“I do not,” Corbyn replied. “Besides, you need to be at the ball and listen for anyone that spouts radical nonsense.”
“I tire of this assignment.”
Corbyn grew serious. “I have received a tip that a radical group has recently formed, and members from Society are joining their ranks.”
“Truly?” Oliver asked.
“I checked the information myself,” Corbyn replied, “and it sounded credible.”
Oliver leaned forward and placed his glass on the table. “I shall keep my eyes and ears open then.”
“Good,” Corbyn said as he came to sit down across from him. “I knew I could rely on you.”
Baldwin rose from his desk and walked over to the drink cart. “Would you care for something to drink?”
Corbyn bobbed his head. “That sounds delightful.”
As Baldwin filled the glasses, he commented, “You work entirely too hard, Corbyn.”
“Someone has to,” Corbyn replied with a smile. “I don’t have the luxury of retiring to spend time with a lovely wife.”
Baldwin chuckled. “You could rectify that problem by finding a wife.”
“I think not,” Corbyn remarked firmly. “I have no desire to be tied down to a woman.”
“I don’t know why you and Oliver are both so opposed to matrimony,” Baldwin commented as he walked a glass over to Corbyn. “I find it suits me most admirably.”
Corbyn accepted the glass and said, “Oliver almost got married, but he was wise enough to cry it off.”
Baldwin shifted his curious gaze towards Oliver. “Is that so?”
Frowning, Oliver replied, “It is not something I like to speak of.”
“I hadn’t realized you were even engaged,” Baldwin pressed. “When did this happen?”
“While you were in France,” Oliver revealed.
Baldwin came to sit down on the settee next to him. “Who were you engaged to?”
He paused. “Miss Charlotte Lockhart.”
With an expectant look, Baldwin asked, “Pray tell, what happened?”
“If you must know, she broke the engagement off.”
“Why?” Baldwin pressed.
Oliver shook his head. “Are you always such a busybody?”
Baldwin grinned. “I am just trying to make sense of what happened.”
Rising, Oliver walked over to the darkened window and stared out. “I always knew that I was going to marry Charlotte, even from a young age,” he shared, “but she took issue with my growing reputation amongst the ton.”
“You mean being a ‘rakehell’?” Baldwin questioned.
“Precisely,” Oliver replied. “I tried to convince her that I would be faithful, but she didn’t believe me. Eventually, she decided to call off our engagement.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” Baldwin said.
“It was for the best,” Oliver remarked, his words sounding forced to his own ears. “Sadly, she went on to marry Lord Albert Hughes but died during childbirth.”
Baldwin’s voice was filled with compassion as he murmured, “That is awful news. I had no idea.”
“Being an agent is not conducive to having a wife,” Oliver muttered as he turned back around to face them.
Corbyn nodded. “I would agree.”
“Regardless, a foundation built on lies would have eventually come crumbling down,” Oliver remarked. “It wasn’t as if I could tell her the truth about me.”
“That is true,” Baldwin agreed, “but I—”
Oliver cut him off. “May we speak of something else now?” he asked firmly.
Baldwin eyed him with concern. “I suppose we can,” he hesitated, “for now.”
“Thank you.” Oliver walked over to the table and picked up his drink. He tossed it back before returning the glass to the table. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Charlotte. He had loved her, desperately, and he had let her walk out of his life… willingly. He had been a blasted fool for doing so, and his heart had yet to recover from it.
A knock came at the door, and Baldwin ordered, “Enter.”
The door opened, and Madalene stepped into the room. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she greeted politely.
Corbyn rose and bowed. “Good evening, Lady Hawthorne.”
Madalene smiled kindly at him. “It is good to see you again, Lord Evan,” she said. “Will you be attending the ball this evening with us?”
“I will not,” Corbyn replied, “but I hope you have an enjoyable evening.”
Baldwin walked over to his wife and whispered something into her ear, causing a blush to stain her cheeks.
Oliver felt a twinge of jealousy at the display of affection between his brother and sister-in-law. They were truly a love match, one that was the envy of the ton.
Madalene turned her attention towards him. “Are you looking forward to the ball, Oliver?”
“I suppose I
