Edward’s eyes twinkled with good cheer. “You are very welcome, Lady Adelaide.”
“Adele, Your Highness.”
“And I am Bertie—at least here among friends,” he told her. “You do light up this chilly old place in a most pleasing manner.”
Adele gave a polite laugh. “Thank you, Your…Bertie.”
“Yes indeed.” He smoothed his moustache with one finger. “I would be interested to see how you improve the northwest corner of the floor above us.”
Everyone tittered nervously. Adele made herself smile, although she didn’t understand the King’s comment.
Boyd swayed toward her. “The royal bedroom,” he breathed.
“Oh…” Adele smiled even more brightly at the King. “You are too kind, Your Highness.”
King Edward beamed at her.
The butler standing at his elbow cleared his throat and murmured, while the King turned his head to listen. “Ah!” Edward said. “Arthur has arrived back from Ireland. I must have a word with my little brother before he hides in his room to sulk.” He nodded at everyone, who bowed and curtsied.
The King hurried away.
“Oh, dear,” Adele murmured, watching him go.
Boyd turned to Adele. “You did make an impression.”
“I’m afraid so.” How could she properly assess the King’s guests, if the King was far too interested in her? And time was short…
She turned on her heel and surveyed the room. “I must speak with Miriam,” she murmured. A footman eased toward her and proffered his tray of full glasses and she swapped hers for a fresh one, then moved toward the small group Miriam Lynwood was part of.
When she was only part way across the room, Miriam turned her head. Her expression was utterly blank, as if she was glancing at a stranger.
Adele stopped short, her heart stirring. “Oh, dear…” she murmured.
Thirty minutes later, Adele had switched from mild exclamations to pithy curses—purely in her own mind. She stood by herself at the end of one of the elegant French sofas, drinking moodily and assessing her progress.
She had forgotten a fact of society life since leaving for the Cape. Women in Cape Town could speak to whomever they wished, for everyone knew everyone else there, and one’s station was immaterial.
Too, her station had diminished somewhat since she had last mingled with the upper classes of England. She was the widow of a commoner, now. That was something she was sure William Melville had failed to take into account when he had convinced her to help him with his work.
He had called upon her unannounced only ten days ago, wearing an insipid suit and unremarkable bowler hat and introduced himself, with a near-bow, as a friend of her husband’s.
Adele had stood amidst trunks and sea chests and mounds of packing straw, feeling hot and dispirited, while Melville explained why he had come to the house her father had grudgingly acquired for her only two days previously, when Adele had not yet announced her new address to anyone in London.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Adele said bluntly, after he had spoken for several minutes. “What has my husband to do with German colonial efforts?”
“Nothing at all, Lady Adelaide,” Melville replied. “It is you who can help me.”
“I?”
Melville’s jovial expression faded. “You speak fluent German with an upper-class accent, thanks to your three years in Cape Town. You are a peer and a member of society. And you are…well, forgive me for saying so, Lady Adelaide, but you are a woman and are therefore easily discounted in the minds of men—if they notice you at all.”
Adele brushed her hands. “I see. You’d best get to your point, Mr. Melville. I have a dinner appointment to prepare for.”
“You are eating alone, as usual,” Melville replied. “Cod, tonight, I believe.”
She stared at him. “You are uncommonly informed.”
“It is my responsibility to be so informed,” Melville replied. “You could achieve that level of understanding, too, Mrs. Becket. You are uniquely placed to serve Britain in a way few women can.”
Adele blinked. She sank onto a still-closed tea chest. “Go on.”
Melville spun his bowler brim in his fingers. His eyes no longer appeared to be amiable but filled with a quick intelligence which didn’t match the outward demeanor. “I must be blunt and short, Lady Adelaide, for time is ticking. My work is very simple. I root out German spies, here at home and abroad, if necessary, to stop them from undermining Britain. Five days ago, I learned of a conspiracy that reaches to the highest levels of the land.”
Adele gripped her fingers together. “A…conspiracy?”
Melville nodded. “I have learned there is a plot to assassinate King Edward, for he holds little regard for Germany and his attitude tends to filter downward to the Houses, and to those who make official policy in Britain.”
“Oh my,” she breathed. Then, “How can I possibly help with such a dire matter as that?”
Melville pointed to the other nailed-shut tea chest. “May I?”
She nodded.
He perched on the edge of the chest. “The King is holding a weekend house party at Balmoral, in two weeks’ time.”
Adele shook her head. “If you think I can help you with that, you are wrong. I have not been invited.” In fact, she had told no one outside her immediate family that she was back in the country. She had wanted time alone to adjust to the dampness of England and the sounds and smells of London which she had once known very well. St. James was a stranger to her now. Mayfair was distressingly unfamiliar. Even Hyde Park was…changed.
Melville shook his head at her refutation. “The King’s secretary has learned that you are recently returned. You will receive your invitation this afternoon.”
Adele pursed her lips. “I wonder…did you tell him that?”
Melville smiled, which changed his features and made him appear to be a completely different
