The Secret History of the Pink Carnation Read Online Free PDF Page A

Napoleonic ambitions, stood in the front hall of his parents’ London home and scuffed his boots like a sulky schoolboy.
    ‘That will be enough of that.’ His mother shook her head at him in fond exasperation, setting the egret feathers precariously perched on her coiffure wafting in the still air of the front hall. ‘It’s an evening at Almack’s, not a firing squad.’
    ‘But, Mother…’ Richard caught the whine in his own voice and winced. Bloody hell. What was it about being home that instantly drove him back to the manners and maturity of a twelve-year-old?
    Richard took a deep breath and made sure his voice came out in its proper register. ‘Look, Mother, I’m quite busy right now. I’m only in London for another two weeks, and there are a number of things…’
    His mother made a noise that in anyone of lower rank than a countess would have been given the unmannerly name of snort. As a cowed member of the ton had once commented, ‘Nobody harrumphs quite like the Marchioness of Uppington.’
    ‘Tush!’ His mother waved his words away with a sweep of her feathery fan. ‘Just because you’re a secret agent doesn’t mean that you can put off settling down forever. Really, Richard.’ She took a furtive look around the hall to make sure no servants were in evidence, as, after all, it wouldn’t do to have her son’s secret identity getting out,and servants did gossip so. Having ascertained that none were about, she warmed to her theme. ‘You’re nearly thirty already! Just because you’re the Purple Gentian – ridiculous name! – doesn’t mean that you don’t have responsibilities !’
    ‘I’d say saving Europe from a tyrant is a jolly good responsibility,’ Richard muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, the marble foyer had excellent acoustics.
    ‘I meant responsibilities to your family. What if the Uppington title were to die out entirely because you couldn’t be bothered to spend one little evening at Almack’s and meet a nice girl? Hmmm?’ She cocked her head to one side, narrowing her green eyes at him, green eyes which were, Richard thought sourly, altogether too shrewd for either his good or hers. His mother, as he knew from unfortunate past experience, had the rhetorical slipperiness of Cicero, the vocal endurance of an opera singer, and the sheer bloody-minded tenacity of Napoleon Bonaparte. Sometimes Richard had the sinking suspicion that he had a far better chance of preventing Bonaparte from conquering Europe than he had of thwarting his mother’s plans to see him married off within the next Season.
    Nonetheless, Richard battled on valiantly. ‘Mother, Charles has produced a child for every year he’s been married. I sincerely doubt that the title is in any danger.’
    His mother frowned. ‘Accidents do happen. But that’s not even to be thought of.’ Reconsidering her tactics, Lady Uppington began to pace along the expanse of the foyer, bronze silk skirts swishing in time to her steps. ‘What I meant to point out was that sooner or later you’re going to have to give up playing at espionage.’
    Richard’s jaw dropped. Playing at espionage? He shot his mother a look of equal parts outrage and incredulity. Just who had provided Nelson the intelligence that destroyed Napoleon’s fleet at Aboukir? And who had prevented four determined French assassins from murdering the king in his gardens at Kew? Lord Richard Selwick, alias the Purple Gentian, that was who! Had he not been constrained by the immense respect and filial affection he bore his mother,Richard would have produced a harrumph that would put the marchioness’s to shame.
    But as all this never made its way from Richard’s mind to his mouth, his mother blithely carried on with her lecture. ‘All this gadding about on the Continent – you’ve been at it for almost a decade, Richard. Even Percy retired after he met his Marguerite.’
    ‘Percy retired because the French discovered he was the Scarlet