Surrender Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  Garrett murmured, “Jack and I thought you might enjoy some privacy.”

  “Did you now?” Marcus commented. “How very kind of you.” He cast a look around the table, before his gaze came to rest on Isabel’s face. Smiling ruefully, he said, “Well, my dear, it would seem that everybody has been very busy on our behalf and that we would be churlish not to accept the plans they have made for us.”

  Isabel slapped on as happy a smile as she could and said, “It is very kind of everyone and we thank you.” Something occurred to her and she glanced at Mrs. Appleton, sitting across the table from her. “Will you be returning home soon, too?”

  Mrs. Appleton blushed like a green girl and the baron cleared his throat. When Isabel looked at him, he said, “And that brings me to the most important toast of the evening.” His gaze on Mrs. Appleton, he said softly, “A toast to my future bride! Clara has done me the honor of accepting my proposal.”

  Several more toasts were drunk and there was an excited chatter around the table. When the first flush of conversation had begun to die down, Marcus asked, “When is the wedding? In the fall?”

  Lord Manning shook his head. Grinning at Marcus he said, “Clara and I liked your wedding so much, we’ve decided to do the same. Her brother will provide the special license and he will marry us in the morning!”

  Chapter 11

  From the expressions of those gathered around the table, it was apparent that Marcus and Isabel were the only ones who were taken by surprise by Lord Manning’s announcement and the plans put forth by his mother. Even Jack and Garrett seemed to know what was afoot. Now that he considered it, Marcus realized that there had been an unusual amount of activity in and out of the house all day long, but he had thought nothing of it. Even his mother’s early arrival, which had coincided with Bishop Latimer’s arrival and their private visit with Lord Manning and Mrs. Appleton before dinner this evening, had not seemed out of the ordinary. It was obvious now that they had all put their heads together and plotted tonight’s stunning announcement. But there was more to follow and, looking proud and thrilled at the same time, Edmund blurted out, “And I am to go with Mrs. Sherbrook to Brighton!” His face flushed with pleasure, he said, “She says that as my new grandmother, it is her duty to see that I gain some town bronze.” Nearly vibrating with excitement, the brilliant blue eyes glittering, he added, “Oh, Mother! Is it not grand? Once Grandfather marries Mrs. Appleton, I shall have two grandmothers instead of none at all!”

  The ground cut beneath her feet, Isabel could only smile and nod. While the other arrangements might fill her with trepidation, she could respond wholeheartedly to Edmund’s open delight. “Wonderful, indeed!” she said, smiling warmly into her son’s face. Only to herself would she admit that she was dreading the removal to Sherbrook Hall and what would come... .

  On a lovely morning near the end of the first week in May, Lord Manning took Clara Appleton to be his bride. The wedding party had grown slightly; the vicar and his wife, as well as Sir James and Lady Agatha, had been apprised of the impending nuptials and were in attendance. After a charming exchange of vows in the gardens abloom with roses, a wedding breakfast was served that put to shame anything the finest London chef could have prepared. By end of the meal, though there was a broad grin on his face, the baron was looking tired and there was a flurry of good-byes as the house quickly emptied.

  The intervening twenty-four hours had flashed past Isabel in a blur. She had overseen the packing of Edmund’s things that would go to Brighton with him and the packing of her own most necessary items for removal to Sherbrook Hall. While Deering and the staff had eagerly thrown themselves into the preparation for the wedding, there was still much that called for Isabel’s attention, and she had spent hours consulting with Deering, Mrs. Deering, and Cook to ensure that all went without incident. She had tried to confer with Clara on some points, but Clara had merely patted her cheek and murmured, “My dear, I shall be quite happy to leave everything in your capable hands. Tomorrow will be soon enough for me to take up the position of lady of the house.” Beaming at her, Clara had added, “There is no use confusing the staff with the pair of us giving them orders, and I know that you shall do a splendid job.”

  Freed from any restrictions that might have been imposed upon her by the bride, Isabel had set to work seeing that the baron’s wedding was without incident. From the erection of the blue silk canopy under which the bride and groom would stand and the bouquets of lilies and baby’s breath that adorned the corners, to the tiny puff pastries filled with shrimp served at the breakfast that followed, all had passed by her for approval. She was glad of the distraction because it kept her from dwelling on what the night might hold for her.

  Her trunks had been sent over to Sherbrook Hall hours ago; Lord Manning, his bride by his side, had retired upstairs; Jack, Mrs. Sherbrook, and Edmund had been the last to leave and after hugging Edmund she had waved them good-bye only a few moments ago. She had bid a tearful farewell to Deering and the other servants and now Marcus’s carriage awaited her just outside the big doors of Manning Court. Standing alone in the entryway of the house that had been her home for a decade, she felt bereft and fearful of the future.

  I should be happy, she told herself fiercely. My son has two doting grandmothers where before he had none. Lord Manning, whom I love dearly, is on his way to recovery and has one of the kindest women I have ever known as his bride. I am not leaving him alone. He and Clara will be happy here together. There is so much in my life, she thought wretchedly, that should make me happy. I have a handsome husband. A good man. A man, she admitted with a catch in her heart, I have loved nearly all my life. So why am I so miserable?

  One of the doors opened and Marcus stood there, smiling at her. “Are you ready, my dear?” he asked quietly.

  Suppressing all her fears and anxiety, her head came up, her spine stiffened, and, pulling on the lavender gloves that matched her muslin gown, she murmured, “Yes. I am.” She glanced around the entry hall one more time. “It isn’t,” she said as much to reassure herself as anything, “as if I’m moving that far away.”

  Marcus had not been idle during the preceding twenty-four hours. With Isabel enmeshed in the plans for the wedding and the packing to remove to Sherbrook Hall, beyond giving Bickford his orders, there was little he could do at Manning Court. Deciding this would be an excellent time to talk to Jack before his cousin left to escort his mother and Edmund to Brighton, and from there to travel to London, he excused himself and rode home.

  Looking slightly harassed, Thompson met him as he walked across the wide foyer. “Mr. Sherbrook! I didn’t expect to see you until you brought home your bride. Is all well?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine. I just wanted a word with Jack before he left for London.”

  “Oh. You’ll find him and Mr. Garrett in your office.” Thompson paused and, a frown creasing his forehead, he said, “I hesitate to bother with what may be nothing... .” At Marcus’s questioning look he said in a rush, “There has been some suspicious activity around the house at night ever since the break-in. As you know, since then, we’ve taken to locking the house after dark and have had two of the footmen, young Daniel and George, sleeping on the main floor of the house. Both of them have said that more than once they thought they heard someone attempting to find a way into the house, but when they’ve investigated, they’ve found nothing out of the ordinary. It happened again last night.” His expression troubled he said, “I do not understand it. Daniel and George are convinced that someone is still trying to get into the house. The whole affair has been most unsettling.”

  Marcus kept his features bland, but his brain was working furiously. What the devil was Whitley up to? Or was he mistaken in believing that Whitley had been the culprit in the first place? It made no sense for the intruder to be anyone other than Whitley, but if so, then why was the man still skulking about the house? Deciding he’d have a conversation with the two footmen later in the day, Marcus
sought to allay some of Thompson’s concerns. “This past week,” Marcus said mildly, “has been one of great ups and downs. All of us have had our normal routines turned topsy-turvy and the break-in certainly only added to the extraordinary events taking place. As for George and Daniel, I will speak with them later this afternoon.” He smiled at Thompson. “Knowing those two rascals, I suppose they imagined a horde of bloodthirsty robbers hiding in the shrubbery. Things are returning to normal and I suspect that the situation will resolve itself harmlessly before much time elapses.” Especially, he thought savagely, if I get my hands on Whitley.

  Putting away Thompson’s disturbing revelations for the time being, Marcus strode through the house in search of his cousin. As Thompson had said, he found Jack closeted with Garrett in his office. Both men looked comfortable as they sprawled in the chairs by the empty fireplace and Marcus sensed that he had interrupted a private meeting. He noted the friendly ease between the two men, but wasn’t surprised. They were of the same age and background and the pair of them, though they would vigorously deny it, were adventure mad. Smiling, he continued on into the room and half sat on the arm of the sofa that faced the fireplace and the two men.

  Talk was general for several moments, with the baron’s recent nuptials taking up the lion’s share of the conversation.

  “So,” Marcus said to Jack after a while, “how long do you think you will be in London?”

  Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. Garrett and I were discussing that very thing when you came in.”

  “That and a mutual acquaintance of ours,” Garrett said with a wry grin. “Roxbury.”

  Marcus looked astounded. “Never tell me,” he said as he looked from one face to the other, before his gaze settled on Jack, “that his grace has enlisted someone else in our little problem.”

  “Indeed he has,” Jack admitted. “I would remind you that there is some urgency to the matter and Roxbury felt that you and I might have our hands full and that another pair might be useful.”

  Since there was no way to tiptoe around the subject, Marcus motioned to Garrett and said, “Am I to understand, then, that Garrett is fully in our confidence?”

  Jack nodded. “I was bowled over when he gave me the note from Roxbury the day after you married Isabel.”

  A hint of embarrassment on his face, Garrett said to Marcus, “I apologize for not telling you at once, but Roxbury was vague about who was involved. I was told that I should see Jack and give him the letter of introduction that Roxbury provided. Jack and I had only spoken briefly before I came to call at Manning Court and he hadn’t mentioned, at that time, your involvement. When Jack and I met later, he told me all, but there was never a moment to bring you current.”

  “Actually,” Jack said, “it has been a good thing. With you tied up at Manning Court, Garrett’s help has been much appreciated. Between the pair of us we have been able to keep a close eye on Whitley.”

  “For all the good it has done us,” Garrett said disgustedly. Glancing at Marcus, he added, “I have spent far too many nights drinking with the man. I am noted for being a good tankard man myself, but I am appalled at the amount of liquor he can consume—and still be coherent.” Thoughtfully, he continued, “The liquor does loosen his tongue, but so far he has said nothing that would help us.”

  Thinking of Thompson’s concerns, Marcus inquired, “Were you with him last night?”

  Garrett nodded, curiosity evident in his eyes. “As I am most nights. Why?”

  “Thompson informed me that someone has been trying to get into the house. There was, if my two footmen are to be believed, another attempt last night. Whitley seems the most likely candidate.”

  Garrett made a face. “Well, I don’t crawl into bed with him, so I can tell you nothing of his activities once we part.” He looked thoughtful. “Now that I think of it, there have been a few nights that Whitley has retired early, and by that, I mean around midnight. It’s possible that he’s been sneaking out later.” Garrett frowned. “As I recall, he had an early night last night.”

  Jack was frowning, too. “I wonder why Thompson didn’t mention any of this to me?”

  Marcus grinned at him. “While you may have been running tame through my home with my blessing, my servants, thank God, still remember that I am master here. It probably never occurred to Thompson to say anything to you. He most likely didn’t want to trouble a guest with a minor irritation. Remember, he doesn’t know what is in the wind.”

  Jack nodded slowly. “You’re right.” He glanced at Marcus. “What do you make of it?”

  Marcus shrugged. “At best, it is merely Whitley’s way of further twisting my tail. At worst ...” Marcus scowled. “At worst, he’s up to something dangerous and means to attack me in some manner to pay me back for my supposed attack on him.”

  “Think that’s it,” Garrett chimed in. “He doesn’t say a lot, but when he gets to drinking it’s clear he holds a vicious grudge against you. He’d do you damage if he could.”

  Marcus shrugged again. “Let him try,” he said with a note in his voice that made the other two men look at him sharply. He merely smiled and said to Jack, “It appears for all our efforts and suspicions, we have still not discovered any sign that Whitley has the memorandum.”

  “No, and that is one of the reasons why I am returning to London,” Jack admitted. “I must speak with Roxbury and discover if anything else had turned up.” Jack looked downcast. “I fear that we have been wasting our time and that the document must either have been taken by someone else, or it really is lost in the files at the Horse Guards.” His expression bleak, Jack added, “That bloody memorandum is somewhere and, until it is found, whether in Whitley’s possession or not, none of us can rest easy.” He sighed. “If only we could eliminate Whitley... .”

  Marcus stared at the tip of his boot, wondering if another dip or two in the fishpond would loosen Whitley’s tongue. He suspected not. Having possession of a locket and whatever secrets it held was not quite the same thing as having a document that could lead one to the gallows for treason.

  “I’ve considered getting the man alone and beating the truth out of him,” Jack said abruptly, echoing Marcus’s thoughts. Wryly, Jack added, “Of course, he could be innocent.”

  “I know we haven’t found any trace of the memorandum, but I don’t think he’s innocent. He’s up to something,” argued Garrett. “Don’t forget Keating told me that he’s seen Whitley being very cozy with Collard, and I know for a fact, when in his cups, Whitley alludes to Collard being in his confidence. Now, he could just be bragging to make himself seem more interesting by being acquainted with someone of Collard’s stripe, but I think not. Our major holds himself in rather high esteem, and I can’t imagine him rubbing shoulders with one of the local smugglers unless it benefited him in some way. And the only benefit I can see to that relationship is that Collard is a smuggler and has contacts with his French counterparts on the continent.”

  “But that brings up another question,” Jack said. “If Whitley has the memorandum and has made contact with Collard, why the devil is he still here? Why hasn’t he lit out for the Channel Islands or France and taken the bloody memorandum with him?”

  “Because,” Marcus said slowly, “he’s waiting to hear from the French.” At the skeptical looks of the other two men, he added impatiently, “He has something very valuable and he’s not a stupid man. He might have previously met the person he’s dealing with in France and trusts him. It’s even possible that he has already made arrangements for the transference of the memorandum in exchange for gold, but I doubt it. If he stole the memorandum, it was probably a spur-of-the-moment act. From everything we know, his visit to the Horse Guards that day had nothing sinister about it; he was merely going to visit old acquaintances and listen to gossip. Spying the memorandum on Smithfield’s desk and having the opportunity to whisk it out from under his very nose must have seemed like divine intervention.” He smiled grimly at the other men. “But havin
g the memorandum and making it profitable is another thing. I don’t know about you but, if I were in his position, I wouldn’t just hop on the first smuggler’s ship to France and go traipsing into Paris waving the memorandum under the noses of Napoleon’s generals. I’d want to make certain that, number one, I could get back to England with my head still attached to my neck and, number two, that I was well paid for the memorandum and not cheated.”

  “Of course!” Jack exclaimed, his deep blue eyes glittering with excitement. “He has no guarantee that whoever he meets to give the memorandum to won’t just steal it from him and possibly kill him. They have nothing to lose.”

  “Don’t forget: having gotten his price, and presumably in gold, he has to get it back to England,” Marcus reminded him.

  “So it’s most likely that he’s using Collard as a go-between to work out the exchange and to transport the money back to England,” Garrett muttered. “Which, knowing Collard, would be damn risky. I wouldn’t put it past Collard to murder him and keep the gold.” Glancing at Marcus, he asked, “I wonder if Collard knows what Whitley is up to?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Who knows? But while Collard is a smuggler, known to be dangerous and ruthless, and though he might thumb his nose at our Revenuers and trade with the French, in his own fashion, I’d like to think that he’s a loyal Englishman.” Staring at Garrett, he asked, “How well do you know Collard?”

  Garrett smiled ruefully. “Probably better than you. In my, ah, wilder moments, I’ve been known to consort with, uh, some characters that would never grace the drawing room of even the least member of the ton. I know him and his reputation and I’m aware of a cask or two of truly exceptional French brandy that has found its way to my cellars at Holcombe. And while I’ve shared more than the occasional tankard with him and others at Keating’s inn, we are not bosom friends.”