Fortune Favors the Sparrow Read online

“Don’t be ashamed of it, Clara,” Pippa urged, placing a hand over her arm. “It is not your fault that your family came to such reduced circumstances. You were not hired on here out of pity, either. I consider you a woman of very fine conduct and hold you in the highest regard. Surely you must see that.”

  Clara’s throat closed briefly with emotion, and she tried several times for a swallow before succeeding. “Thank you, Miss Bradford. I’d hoped… that is… I am very grateful to have been here for the time that I have.”

  Pippa raised a brow. “I hope you don’t believe I’m about to release you from employment, Clara, and I desperately hope you have no intention of leaving us.”

  “No!” Clara cried before laughing. “Heavens, no. I will stay as long as you like.”

  “Marvelous.” Pippa’s smile returned, then softened shortly thereafter. “I trust you implicitly, Clara. More than that, I believe you to be loyal to your core. Do you consider yourself to be honest, trustworthy, and loyal?”

  Clara blinked at the direct, almost heavy question. “Yes… yes, I think so, Pippa.”

  The woman’s gaze intensified on her, smile still in place, though there was a hard edge to it. “I need you to be sure, Clara.”

  She took a moment to inhale and exhale even as her heart raced within her before answering. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

  Pippa nodded once, and a corner of her mouth lifted with the answer. “And will a secret told to you remain in your confidence, Clara?”

  “Of course, ma’am,” she answered immediately. “It will never pass my lips or leave my heart.”

  “I need a promise, I am afraid. I mean no offence or implication on your character, it is just the principle of the thing.”

  Clara stared back at this kind, warm, remarkably influential woman who suddenly asked so much of her without any foundation or explanation. Could she blindly swear to keep in confidence whatever she would hear next?

  “I promise, Miss Bradford,” Clara vowed solemnly. “Whatever I am told, it will go no further.”

  Pippa’s smile grew, and she moved her hand to Clara’s. “I knew you would say that. I knew you were made of the strongest character. And for that, I thank you.”

  Clara shared her smile. “Thank you.” When Pippa moved her hand away, Clara sighed once, steeling herself. “What is it that you need me to keep in confidence, Pippa?”

  “That, I am afraid,” Pippa told her, rising and moving to the second door in her office, further down than Clara had come in, and almost hidden in comparison, “is not something only I require of you.” She knocked lightly on the second door, then stepped back.

  A tall, well-dressed man with dark hair entered, and Clara rose in surprise, recognizing him at once. “Lord Rothchild.”

  He bowed with a grin. “Miss Harlow, good day. I trust Alicia and Eliza are behaving themselves in your classes?”

  “They are, my lord, of course!” She nodded fervently. “And, if I may say so, they have their mother’s gift for art.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. I was dreadfully afraid they might have my poor talents instead, and there would die all hopes of accomplishment.” He glanced at Pippa, seeming to take on a different light as he did so. “Are we ready?”

  Pippa dipped her chin. “I believe so.”

  Ready? What in the world would any of them need to be ready for at this moment?

  Clara looked between them in confusion.

  Lord Rothchild took pity on her. “You may wish to sit down, Miss Harlow. Just a suggestion.”

  Slowly, Clara did so, a feeling of dread nudging its way from her stomach up toward her throat.

  Pippa gave her an encouraging smile. “As you know, this school was founded in 1790 by Leonora Masters.”

  “Yes,” Clara said slowly, not entirely sure what the founding of the school had to do with any kind of secrets of such significance.

  “The purpose was, of course,” Pippa went on, “to provide a sterling education and accomplishment opportunity to the young ladies of England, ideally to become the most respected institution of its kind.”

  “A feat that I, for one, believe it has accomplished splendidly,” Lord Rothchild interjected.

  Pippa nodded at that. “There was, however, a secondary purpose to the founding of this school. I would venture to suggest that this secondary purpose was, in fact, the primary purpose for its foundation.”

  “As one who has been involved from the beginning,” Lord Rothchild added with a rueful smile, “I can attest to that.”

  Clara blinked hard. “Another purpose?” she asked, feeling rather stupid with the two of them sharing this same understanding and appreciation of which she was so ignorant.

  Pippa inhaled slowly, then exhaled in a quick rush. “Clara, Miss Masters’ Finishing School is England’s primary training academy for female covert operatives.”

  The words pounded furiously against Clara’s head, permeating somehow into the root of each hair on her scalp, setting the entire expanse on fire while the sinking feeling from before seemed to radiate to her entire body. It seemed a miracle she still sat in her chair when she had so clearly sunk through the furniture and the floor beneath it. Yet somehow, she had not moved in the slightest, her headmistress and one of their most important donors staring at her as though she might perish on the spot.

  “Primary?” she repeated, though there were several other words she likely should have chosen out of the selection.

  Lord Rothchild seemed to find amusement in her choice as well. “Yes. The only official academy, to be sure, but there are other private establishments elsewhere in England, Scotland, and Wales, and a rather promising one in Ireland, if you can believe it.”

  Clara wet her lips, the new information barely registering with her. “Covert operatives? As in…?”

  “Spies, Clara,” Pippa told her frankly. “We are training spies as well as ladies. We are training both. You must have wondered about some of the details of this place that never quite made sense. The Rothchild Academy, for instance.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Lord Rothchild protested playfully, winking at Clara. “That is my pet project you speak of.”

  Pippa ignored him. “We fought a great deal of complaints about the scholarship program and that rudimentary establishment, but it was critical to the success of our primary purpose, and the only manner with which we could make it happen. A great many secret and noble donors have ensured that we have the funds to do so, and it has borne the country rather sweet fruit at times.”

  “We’re not raising girls of a lower station for proper employment?” Clara asked, her heart cracking at the thought.

  “Of course, we are,” Pippa insisted. “Not every scholarship girl becomes an asset or operative. Only those that, when educated and trained enough, show a proclivity to that sort of work.”

  There was some relief in that, though the rest of the revelation still had her reeling.

  “So…” Clara said slowly, her thoughts feeling twice as slow as normal. “Both of you are… spies, then?”

  The pair of them nodded in an eerily calm unison.

  “Miss Bradford here is the highest-ranking female spy in England,” Lord Rothchild told her. “She also leads them and manages their missions, and only answers to the Chief Spymaster of England.”

  “And you,” Pippa pointed out with a smile.

  He inclined his head in modest yet playful acknowledgement.

  How could anything be playful for any of them at this time?

  Then again, only Clara had received news that altered the way she looked at everything that surrounded her. Everything remained unchanged for the other two.

  There might have been something playful in what they said, when all was considered.

  “Lord Rothchild is the second in command of covert operations,” Pippa explained, as though somehow that was what had Clara so silent and befuddled at the moment.

  She found herself nodding all the same, taking in the famed
diplomat with a new consideration. There was nothing surprising in what had been revealed about him. She could easily believe that he was a spy, that he had been a spy, and that he was, in fact, leading all sorts of spies. He possessed the sort of charm that would be infectious to anyone, and the air of danger and mystery that made one somehow still wary around him. The blend of all three made him a captivating individual, and had he declared himself the most feared pirate on the seas, she would have been equally as nonplussed.

  But Miss Bradford… this school…

  Miss Masters…

  Everything Clara had thought about any of them had been a lie.

  Yet none of it had been.

  All that Clara had thought things to be truly had been. They had simply also been something else.

  There was some sort of dishonesty there, but she could not identify the exact vein of it.

  “Who all knows?” Clara found herself asking, though she doubted it mattered as much as the content of what she had been told.

  Yet somehow, she cared enough to know if she was the only ignorant teacher in this school. She knew full well that parents would have no idea, and that at least a portion of the students would be unaware of what else was happening here. Who else was a spy in this place? Which of the girls were being trained to become operatives? Were there rooms used strictly for the operative training? Hidden facilities?

  Questions spun and swirled like toy tops in her mind.

  “I’m afraid I cannot tell you that,” Pippa told her apologetically. “I may reveal my own status, but not that of anyone else. You are not the only one unaware of this other aspect, I will tell you that. And none of this was done with the intention of deception. It is entirely for your protection and the protection of those we are training and have trained. Nothing more and nothing less.”

  Clara nodded slowly, satisfaction with such reasoning filling her.

  Lord Rothchild stared at Clara, no doubt seeing each shift of emotions play across her face. “Miss Harlow, you will have questions upon questions come to you the longer you consider what has been said here. I suggest you do not try to think of them all now and let yourself mull things over.”

  She nodded at the advice, thinking she would need days upon days of consideration for any of this to make sense.

  But there was one question that absolutely required an answer before she considered anything else.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Clara whispered.

  Pippa and Lord Rothchild looked at each other before returning their attention to her. “Because we have received information about potential dangers in the area,” Lord Rothchild told her, “and we need your help.”

  Chapter Two

  Boredom was a dreadful thing for a gentleman to endure.

  There wasn’t always something to be done about it, and those times only made the whole thing more maddening.

  George Russell, Duke of Kirklin, hated boredom more than he had ever thought he did, now that he was fully and completely engrossed in the duties and responsibilities of his dukedom. The tedium of it all was more taxing than renovating the whole of it would have been. He’d been pleased a few years ago to discover that his uncle had taken such care during his tenure with the title, but he hadn’t thought it would mean he had nothing to do.

  Tapping his pen against his desk now, he pored over the perfectly noted ledgers with their perfectly ordered lines and the perfectly accurate numbers beneath them. There wasn’t even anything to look at, but his estate manager had requested he look them over today and see that all was to his satisfaction.

  Of course it was to his satisfaction. It always was. The estate was so well set up that it would have run itself with very little prodding from anyone.

  Every passing day, it was becoming more and more clear that his uncle had spent the time he might otherwise have spent with children or a wife perfecting his estate and making it the most enviable, impeccable estate that could be found.

  It might have been preferable that he had married and sired children, if for no other reason than it would have removed the present duke’s boredom.

  It would also have meant that Hawk would have had to go by George instead of his near-permanent nickname referencing his position as Marquess of Hawkendale. What would that have done for him in this life?

  He might have been trounced more at school than he already had been. Even his mother hadn’t called him George when she was alive. She’d only ever called him Hawk, though it had been his father’s title. They’d known he would have the title one day, unless his uncle managed to defy his lifelong pattern, and so it had been.

  His father had passed when Hawk was only twelve, so it had come rather sooner than any of them had expected, but there was nothing to be done about that.

  “Mr. Robinson to see you, Your Grace.”

  Hawk looked up in relief, though his butler maintained his placid expression of indifference. “Thank you, Hughes.”

  Nat strolled into the room with his usual lopsided, carefree smile. “Hawk! What the devil are you doing being so dull?”

  Hawk gestured to his study as he sat back in his chair. “This is the life of a duke, Nat. Tedious doldrums of estate management, and duties without end.”

  “All the more reason to be grateful I am a peasant,” his friend shot back as he dropped himself into a chair near the window, plucking a book irreverently from the shelf and thumbing through it.

  “Ten thousand a year and the estate at Daveney hardly makes you a peasant.” Hawk scoffed and initialed the page of his ledger to indicate it met his approval, then closed the book with a sigh. “What are you doing here? I thought London was your present hunting grounds.”

  Nat glowered at him over the pages of his book. “You make it sound so inelegant.”

  Hawk shrugged and laced his fingers across his chest. “Am I wrong? Are you or are you not specifically aiming to find yourself a wife of good breeding and more than adequate fortune?”

  “You forgot exceptional beauty,” Nat reminded him before returning his attention to the pages before him. “And yes, I am, but there is a great deal more craft to the game than a hunt, I can assure you.”

  “I see I have offended your skills as a sportsman; I do apologize.” Hawk rolled his eyes, marveling for the hundredth time this year alone that he was friends with this man.

  “I heard that,” Nat informed him simply.

  Hawk raised a brow. “Heard what?”

  “Your eyes. Don’t strain yourself with the effort, we can’t have you injured. Your prospects might suffer.”

  Now Hawk barked a hard laugh. “My prospects? Nat, I’m impeccable as a catch, but it’s irrelevant.”

  “Is it? How fortunate for me, I do so hate being compared to you.” He scanned the book with apparent interest, but Hawk knew better.

  If Nat were actually reading a single word in there, Hawk would be most surprised.

  He waited to see if Nat would prompt him to expound further, and when it was clear he would not, Hawk sighed. “You will not be lured, will you?”

  “Not easily, no,” came the reply. “You are not a pretty woman with distracting assets, and I am presently more enjoyably occupied.”

  “Well, Adrianna is not here, so there are no pretty faces to see.” Hawk smiled with some satisfaction, knowing his friend rather enjoyed shamelessly flirting with his sister, despite the distance in their ages.

  Nat snapped his book shut and rose with a startling efficacy. “Then I see no reason to be here at all. Good day.” He turned on his heel and started out of the room.

  “Have a nice ride,” Hawk called, not moving from his present position.

  By the count of five, Nat was back in the room, grinning shamelessly. “All right, Hawk. Why is it so irrelevant that you are an impeccable catch, as you say? I’m not saying you are, just repeating your own words.”

  “Thank you for the distinction.” Hawk glanced out of the window and shook his head. “I need to see
my sister secure first, if not my brother, as well. My mother would have been lost without my uncle to offer financial security when my father died, and I will not leave my siblings without means.”

  “Are you dying, Hawk?”

  Hawk looked at his friend in surprise. “No.”

  Nat barely even blinked at the response. “Are you terribly unwell?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m in perfect health,” Hawk protested.

  “Are you needlessly reckless in your riding or prone to overindulgence of strong spirits?”

  Sensing where his friend was headed with this line of questioning, Hawk scowled. “No, Nat, I am not.”

  Nat crossed one knee over the other and gave him a scolding look, his fair eyes hooded with the expression. “Then I fail to see why securing Griff and Adrianna’s futures should prevent you marrying whenever you like. Don’t you need an heir?”

  Hawk made a face at the notion. “Yes,” he grumbled, drumming his fingers on the surface of his desk. “Griff has said many times that he will not do it, nor will he truly take up being the marquess. I don’t even think he’s gone to Worsley Park since I’ve inherited, and it is supposed to be his now.”

  “Your brother is a nomad, Hawk,” Nat reminded him without any hint of playful airs now. “Why else would he take every assignment the Foreign Office gives him on the Continent? Where is he now, anyway? Italy?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” Hawk admitted blandly. He managed a weak smile. “He writes every month or so, but whatever court he is involved in tends to take up most of his time. I think he writes to Adrianna more than me.”

  Nat snorted once. “Who wouldn’t? So why not ask her what he’s up to?”

  Hawk waved off the suggestion. “She’s far too occupied with her studies to pay much attention.”

  “Now that I cannot believe. She’s intelligent and bright, I’ll not deny it, but if I know your sister, she’s far too occupied with other matters of accomplishment or forming various committees with her fellow students about something or other.” He grinned at the thought. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  As much as Hawk would have loved to tell his friend that he was being ridiculous, the truth of it was that it was a very likely scenario. Adrianna was as educated as any young woman of her station could hope to be, if not more so, given her insatiable curiosity, but she was vivacious and took to new challenges with an enthusiasm that worried Hawk at times. Were she a man, she would have been called driven and determined, if not ambitious, but as a woman…