Page 117 of A Perilous Passion

It was proving an interesting one.

Which was just as well, otherwise he’d be consumed with guilt. How low had he fallen that he was reduced to eavesdropping on a chattering group of chits barely out of the schoolroom?

“Hester, you were going to tell me about Lady Butler-Davis’s new gown,” one of the other ladies had said a moment ago.

Miss Allston’s voice had then chimed in, “Did you say it had a two-inch flounce of lace?”

At which point Rafe’s ears had perked up.

Lace. She was asking about lace.

“Oh yes, indeed,” answered the young woman they’d called Hester. He wished they’d said her last name, as well. “At least two inches deep at the hem and maybe even three at the neckline. It puts the sorry bit of lace on my bonnet quite into the shade.”

“What sort of lace was it?” Miss Allston asked. “From the Midlands, perhaps? Or closer to home, Downton maybe?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Or could it have been from Brussels?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. She’d make a terrible spy if she couldn’t be more subtle than that.

“Oh dear,” said Hester. “I didn’t look that closely. It had motifs and was more like the Buckinghamshire sort, I suppose. Why are you so interested?” She giggled. “Have you taken up lace-making?”

“Heavens, no. One just likes to keep abreast of fashion, you know.”

Does one, indeed? thought Rafe, his lips quivering.

The third young lady said, “Well, I don’t think any of us can quite aspire to the grandeur of Lady Butler-Davis. Her husband keeps her in the height of fashion, lucky old thing. My papa is against lace altogether. Why, he even mentioned it in one of his sermons the other week, as a sign of sinful vanity.”

So, she must be the vicar’s daughter. Dorothea Daniell, he believed her name was.

Rafe grimaced, recalling the usual tenor of her father’s sermons. It was enough to put a man off church altogether.

“I wonder what they paid for the lace,” mused Hester.

“Probably less than they should, considering the amount of smuggling that goes on round here,” offered Miss Daniell.

He leaned in closer. Perfect! Now if they would only mention a few names…

“Good heavens, there are free traders around here?” Miss Allston asked, sounding shocked. As if she didn’t already know. “Are they local men, do you think?”

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” Miss Daniell said. “But Papa often writes sermons condemning them.”

“Is it so very wrong do you think?” Miss Allston asked innocently.

There she was again, actually supporting the illegal trade. Thank Moses he’d not hinted at his mission to her. Then again, it was hard to picture her dashing off in search of one of the villains to warn them a government spy was on their tail.

“Anything that’s illegal is wrong. You know that,” countered Miss Daniell.

“But not everything that’s wrong is illegal,” said Miss Allston. “I think it very wrong that men should struggle to feed their families while customs monies go into the pockets of corrupt officials. And a profligate prince.”

“Good lord. Are you a revolutionary, Charlotte?” asked Hester.

Rafe was asking himself the same question.

But no. That was a ridiculous notion. She was too young and too inexperienced to hold such radical beliefs.

“Of course not,” Miss Allston snapped. “But I’m still curious. Are all the smugglers from hereabouts? You’ve not heard of any links with Essex or East Anglia?”

“I would not assume,” said Hester, rising to stroll farther back into the room, making Rafe duck down below the sill, “that every criminal knows every other criminal in the land.”

Damn! He could barely hear her now. Miss Allston replied at some length, but she must have followed her friend.