From them, he had been gathering information on French movements in France, and throughout the Peninsula. He had been the linchpin of the operation. His skill, planning, bravery. His passionate commitment to both England and France. It all made sense. They must have found out, and tried to kill him, but not before he told them-
What?
The identities of his network of informants, for one thing.
But that would not be important now, with the war over. Though revenge was a powerful motive, it was a lot of trouble to take, and a great deal would have changed in two years. What else could they want?
A vague memory of a couple of conversations that she had overheard the Duke and her brother having about the Earl of Ferncliffe also rose to the surface.
She remembered the spectacle her sister-in-law Pamela had made at their last ball at Bath in an effort to make Jonathan jealous. She had been about to console her brother when she had overheard him speaking to Clifford. What was it he had said?
Jonathan had said, "All right, I admit it. I wanted one last day and night with her, one memorable ball, one romantic evening when she was all mine, and I could hold Pamela in my arms and pretend that it would be forever, and then let her go. At least I would have a memory of one perfect night with her."
Clifford let out a short laugh. "Except that you've made a complete muddle of it. You haven't spoken one word to her in hours, and she hasn't stopped long enough for you to get in one dance."
"Let her go her own way," Jonathan said with a wave of his hand. "I can't keep her, I can't stop her. I have to let her go. You know all her family and she want is for her to marry well. I will do whatever I can to stop her from becoming any further involved with that bastard Ferncliffe, but I will have to be careful that my interference does not seem as if it's motivated by selfishness and jealousy."
Clifford asked in a low voice, "Have you found out anything useful yet?"
"My people have come up with nothing, but I'm sure Thomas's will do better."
"Let's hope so. The more I see Ferncliffe, the more he worries me."
"Me too. Though I'm even more worried about our old friends."
"As am I. But we can only do our best to find the answers. And try not to fear the worst," Clifford had added, seeing Jonathan's grim expression.
What could she infer from that? That Ferncliffe had laid claim to an estate he was not entitled to because someone else had first claim upon it. But something had happened to them, and the Rakehells had been trying to find out what it was only a few weeks ago.
So Breedon had met Alexander in Bath, and gone straight to the supposed Earl of Ferncliffe if her guess was correct. What had been the name she had heard him mention? Simon? No, Jason.
Jason Alexander Davenport, if the false Marielle were to be believed. JAD. The initials on her lover's arm.
So Alexander was the true heir to Ferncliffe Castle? But who would care? It was only a run-down old place anyway, so far as she knew.
But Agnes had said Alexander came from the south. She had guessed as much from the accent. From Lyme Regis, on the coast... Not too far from France, just a boat trip away, and an easy one if a ship was flying the English colors. They would be allowed through the blockade with no questions asked. Merchants had ships...
"Oh God, no. They're planning to invade!" she gasped, and spurred her mount harder.
Sarah tried to calm herself. Alexander had been injured and out of commission for two years. Why had they not acted before? Because they needed his information, they needed him? What difference could it make now? If Napoleon were now defeated, exiled to Elba, if he had been overturned by his own people, what did they hope to gain?
Perhaps they'd decided not to go ahead with the plan after all, given Wellington's spectacular successes in the Peninsula in 1812 and Napoleon's huge failure in Russia in the autumn and winter of that year. Fighting a war on two fronts had been bad enough. To fight upon a third, and one overseas as well, with no fleet to speak of, must have struck even the imperious little Corporal as the height of folly.
So why now?
A simple case of wanting the inheritance, she supposed. And as long as Bonaparte remained alive, there would be people who rallied to him, who shared his dream of conquest. They needed Alexander if they wanted to get their hands on his wealth. As Jonathan had said, the tattoos were proof if a man was killed. No body, no inheritance.
They could of course have had his name or initials tattooed upon any other man's limb. There had to be something she was missing. Some other precondition which had to be met before the estate was given to Ferncliffe. Something he was hiding, which they would torture him to get.