by Ann Chaney
She wanted to stand up in the middle of the quarrelsome group and scream for everyone to be quiet. Instead she gave her new husband a second speaking look.
Moreham raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes in the direction of their fractious relatives. Only when he stood did she relax. “Your Grace, I would like to say a few words?”
The others stopped talking and gave him their undivided attention.
“Whitney, I promised my wife if she should want to leave to give me a sign and I would take her home. Gillian has just done so. I do have something to say first before I honor my vow to her.”
Lady Sylvia feigned a confused countenance while Lady Philly smirked at her aunt.
“Tomorrow morning, Gillian and I will be leaving Town. I want us to enjoy a short wedding trip.” He took her hand and smiled. “It was supposed to be a surprise, dearest. I hope you are pleased.”
She smiled at him so broadly that her cheeks hurt from the strain. “You dear man. You are too good to me. A trip to the country is just the ticket for us both.
I wanted to make you all aware of our plans.” He turned to her and winked as he helped her stand.
Whitney’s head popped up from his contemplation of a seeded cake. “A wedding trip now? No, no that will never do.”
Lady Sylvia reared back in her seat. “And may I ask why you have any say in the travels of the Earl of Moreham and his countess?”
Whitney looked from Moreham to Gillian. “We have need of Gillian. She must attend our house party at Whitings. Isadora and I are leading the caravan in two days. Someone must go in advance to see all is in order at the house. She always sees to the details of these affairs for us.”
“That may have been the case before but now she’s married. I’m stunned you would ask that of her. Not well done of you Whitney. Not at all.” Lady Philly chimed in with a huff.
Not to be outdone, Lady Sylvia sat down her cup of tea and directed a hard look at both Gillian’s aunt and uncle. “Whitney, Isadora, you have a household staff to see to it your wishes are carried out. Send them a letter detailing what you want done. Moreham and Gillian are deserving of some time to themselves.”
Gillian remained silent for the several seconds before moving into the second act of her performance. “James, I do feel badly for our hasty wedding. Aunt Isadora and I sent out the invitations for the house party and the guests will arrive in three days. In all the excitement, I forgot all about it. Perhaps we could start our wedding journey at Whitings?”
“After the house party, we could continue on to that lovely hunting lodge in Scotland you told me about. Do you mind, dearest?” She puffed out her lips in what she hoped was a flirty pout. From the gleam in Moreham’s eyes, she failed. No doubt she looked more like one of the carp from one of his lakes near that Scottish hunting lodge he kept mentioning.
She fought the urge to bash him on the arm for making light of her efforts as a new bride. The room was quiet while everyone stared at them. They couldn’t have planned the conversation to move forward more smoothly.
Moreham grinned and winked at Gillian. “Dearest, if you want to attend the house party before proceeding on, we shall. I did wish to have you to myself for a few days…”
Whitney laughed. “Oh, Moreham, if I may suggest, take your bride off to Whitings in the morning and you will have two days to yourselves before the duchess and I arrive with our guests. We’ll delay our departure for another day.”
“Whitney, what a wonderful idea. What say you, wife? A few days alone before the horde arrives?”
Gillian leaned over and kissed his cheek. His mother’s sigh was the only sound in the room.
“Thank you, dearest.”
“My pleasure, maybe in the country we will manage to enjoy a meal without family encroaching on our time together.” She burst out laughing at the sight of his thunderous glare directed at his mother. To Gillian’s delight, his efforts fell short of the mark as his mother beamed at him.
“Whitney, how generous of you. The rest of us will arrive on Tuesday by nuncheon,” the countess gushed.
Gillian cleared her throat. “My lady—”
“Oh no, you must call me Mama.” Lady Sylvia waggled her finger at Gillian.
“Mama, you were not invited to the party.” Gillian explained.
“Oh, dearest, I know, but that was before you married my son. We are your new family. Whitney, you would not countenance such a slight to Moreham, I am certain. Besides, you have that spacious house with what is…fifty bedchambers, at least.”
For a moment, Gillian felt badly for her uncle. The man truly resembled a carp well and truly caught on a bent hook.
Whitney cleared his throat. He looked to Moreham for aid. Gillian knew her aunt would rant at Uncle Whitney for falling into the earl’s trap. The last two guests, the duchess would want at Whitings were his mother and Lady Philly. Both ladies were a trial for her aunt. The three ladies had made their debut together. Since that first season there was always discord over who was the most fashionable, whose ball was the best attended each season and a myriad of other sore points each fostered with enthusiasm.
“Of course, Moreham’s family is welcome to attend,” Aunt Isadora said through clenched teeth as Uncle Whitney pulled out his handkerchief and wiped at the sweat off his brow.
Moreham squeezed Gillian’s hand, an affectation she found she enjoyed very much. She kept her head down closely examining the flowers in the carpet under her feet. She knew if she glanced his way, they both would burst out laughing. How she wished he could be present when the duke and duchess discussed this visit in the privacy of their rooms.
“Well, it is short notice, but we will make it work, won’t we Philly?” Lady Sylvia replied.
The mantel clock chimed the half hour.
Lady Sylvia jumped up then bobbed a curtsey to the duke and duchess. “Look at the time. We really must be off. Philly and I are expected at Carlton House this evening for cards. Moreham, I sent my carriage home. Would you mind taking us up in yours?”
“Of course, Mama. We’d be delighted to do so,” Gillian answered for him and hugged her aunt and uncle who both looked worse for the experience of their new relatives.
“Don’t fret, Aunt. I’ll see to it that all is how you wish it when you arrive.”
Moreham took her hand and walked at her side as they left Whitney Place in the wake of their two co-conspirators.
Once the four of them were in the carriage, Lady Sylvia patted Gillian’s hand. “My dear, you are a true joy to have among us. Your entreaty to Moreham was worthy of the stage. Have you ever considered treading the boards?”
“Mother, Gillian is my wife and will be the mother of my children. Please do not fill her head with nonsense about going on the stage.”
The carriage stopped in front of Philly’s townhouse and the two ladies disembarked with waves and promises to pass on Moreham’s regards to the Prince of Wales.
Moreham remained silent until they arrived home and were in their private sitting room with all doors closed.
“As for our visit, I think that went exceedingly well.” He said as he joined her on the settee positioned in front of the fireplace.
“Husband, you have a gift for understatement.” Gillian shot back. “That was horrible. The only person who behaved properly was Lady Philly and I am beginning to believe she is the puppeteer pulling all our strings.”
“You must learn to see beyond the obvious.” Moreham leaned over and whispered in her ear. “We now have two days to search your uncle’s house and lands. If someone in his household is involved with Arnold, then we will know before the guests descend on us. Once the guests arrive, it won’t hurt to have Philly nearby should we need assistance.”
“Very well, I bow to your much greater knowledge on such things. I’m certain you wish to deal with your affairs without me lingering to distract so I’ll go and see how Maisy is coming along with my packing.”
He snared her
hand and kissed it. “Until dinner.” He grimaced as she left the room. He sounded like a besotted fool. He would do well to remember what was at stake here.
Moreham left on his own, returned to his library and called for his secretary to join him. After spending a few hours going over the latest reports from his estates. Dressed for dinner, he stood at the bottom of the stairs watching his wife—how odd that sounded—make her way down the stairs to join him for a quiet dinner. Just the two of them.
Yes, she was the epitome of English feminine nobility. Still her ignorance as to what transpired between a man and a woman rendered him speechless. In truth, her innocence paired with her quiet beauty sent his blood pounding southward.
No, she did not turn heads when she entered a room. One had to engage Gillian in conversation to see her beauty. Her eyes sparkled as if she knew a delectable secret no one else knew. Her smile hinted at a mischievous nature that would cause any gentlemen to consider spiriting her away to engage in naughtiness.
He stepped forward to meet her and reached for her hand. She smiled at him and in doing so presented him with a special gift. Moreham knew spending this time alone was dangerous. He should have invited his mother and Philly to dinner. He hadn’t done so because if he had his mother would have asked far too many questions about his feelings. One conversation he refused to have with his mother was one where she dissected his feelings. Nothing good ever came from such a discourse.
A man in love with his wife would never invite guests to dinner the day after his wedding day. The fact they were dining formally was bad enough. Had their marriage been of the usual sort, he would have asked Timmie to have dinner served in their sitting room. He would not allow this woman to worm her way into his life. The moment he could lock the door on Whitney’s prison cell, he’d send Gillian off to the country. He knew what was best for both of them.
With his resolve strengthened, Moreham led his wife into dinner. They chatted during each remove until the dessert course was placed in front of them. She spoke more than he did. The footmen had refilled their wine glasses, he motioned for Timmie and the footmen to leave them.
Gillian raised her glass in his direction. “May I offer a toast to a wonderful dinner. Tomorrow, before we leave, I’ll visit the kitchen and tell the chef myself. The flounder was cooked to perfection. I adored the lemon sauce on the asparagus—”
“My dear, there are no witnesses so you can cease pretending to be the happy bride.” Even as the words flowed from his mouth, he wanted to call them back. Never had he been such an arse.
Her glass clunked on the table. Gillian folded her napkin and placed it by her plate with exaggerated precision before rising to her feet. He stood then moved her chair back. He knew he should offer his apology for his harsh words but doing so would bring that sweet gleam back into her eyes when she looked at him. It was better this way.
Both of them jumped at a tap on the doors. “Enter.”
Timmie entered the room with a concerned look on his face.
“Timmie, what’s the matter? Mother is not here, is she?”
“No, my lord, the Earl of Crossley and Viscount Sturmbridge are asking to see you in the library.”
His friends’ arrival could only mean trouble. He threw down his serviette and left without another word to Gillian.
He entered the library and found his friends pacing the floor. “What are the two of you doing here?”
Cross ignored Moreham’s inquiry. Moreham didn’t need to turn around to know his bride was at his back. He wasn’t used to having her around. He had assumed wrongly she would retire above stairs and leave him to deal with his business.
He turned to Gillian. He attempted to intimidate her to no avail. She returned his glare with her own in kind. He took her hand and brought her to his side. “I thought it was understood you were retiring for the evening.”
“You have told me I am to help you with this investigation, so I followed. No reason for the gentlemen to recount their tale twice.”
Gillian smiled up at him then turned away to close the library doors. She made her way around him and greeted his friends. “Cross and Sturm, so good to see you. Have you had dinner? I can ask Timmie to have a tray prepared for you both.”
“Thank you for the gracious offer, but we will only be interrupting your evening for a few minutes to pass on the events of the day to Moreham, and you it seems.”
Moreham motioned for everyone to have a seat. Gillian perched on the arm of his chair. Moreham surrendered and sat down while his friends took their seats across from his desk. He bit back a smile at the looks on his friends’ faces— their mouths hung open, no doubt from disbelief.
Moreham gave his friends his attention. “I assume if you both are here you have something to report.”
Cross shared a look with Sturm. “Yes, we were outside Baldock when a gang of ruffians attacked us. Took our horses and the package.”
“Would you gentlemen stop referring to a prisoner as a package. I’m no ninny who only cares about what particular shade of blue ribbon will bring out the green in my eyes. I thought you both understood my role in this business.” Gillian’s quiet voice resonated with impatience.
Cross shot him a speaking look. No doubt his friend would prefer if Gillian left the room. Cross being the more traditional of the two did take offense when a lady was included in their discussions. A fact Gillian no doubt understood. The small woman was a force of nature when someone she loved was in jeopardy.
Sturm took up the explanation since Cross was obviously flummoxed by Gillian’s presence. “One of the outriders was shot. Still living, at least, he was when we left the group.”
“What about Thomas Jones?” Moreham demanded.
“Who is Thomas Jones?” Gillian asked.
Impatient to hear more from Cross and Sturm, Moreham rapidly fired off his answer. “Mr. Jones is one of Arnold’s compatriots. Weatherington and Lady Serena captured him. He’s been held in custody since the day after your aunt’s ball. With his interrogation completed, I wanted him out of London. He was on his way to that hunting lodge we have discussed.” He nodded to his friend to continue.
“The gang grabbed him shackles and all. The dastard rode away on Georgie.” Sturm turned his attention to Gillian. “Georgie is my gelding. Raised him from a foal. Named him for the king, I did. Wanted to give chase, but Cross insisted we return to London.”
“There was nothing we could do. No need to comb the countryside when Jones and his rescuers headed towards Town. I’m a better hunter here than I am in the countryside. Here I can ask questions and for the right amount of coin gain the information I want.”
Moreham cleared his throat. “Enough. Do you have anything else to report?”
Cross took control of the explanation. “We walked to the next village, paid for horses and rode the old nags back to Town. We did stop by the mews at Whitehall. Our scheduled coachman sent word by his cousin he was ill, but his cousin could drive as well as any man. The stable master hired the cousin. Worst case, our intended coachman is dead or sleeping off a drunk somewhere.”
“Who knew of your plans? Did you tell anyone?”
The two men exchanged a concerned look. “We did stop by Whitehall after we left your wedding to nose around Arnold’s desk. Found his personal ledger. Never seen a gentleman who kept a ledger on his personal expenses. Arnold does. Our prisoner, Thomas Jones, was listed as receiving payments of nominal amounts over the last six months which bears out what Jones has told us. No other gentlemen were listed as receiving funds from Arnold. All the other entries were the usual merchants on Bond Street. By the by, the man spends a fortune on cravats.”
“So, it appears Arnold isn’t the only traitor working at Whitehall.” He reached for Gillian’s hand. “We have news as well. Fitz decoded the note Gillian found. It’s an invitation to a meeting at an old abbey. Whitney and his duchess are hosting a house party this week at their country estate, Whitings where there so
happens to be some old abbey ruins on the property. We may be one step ahead of our prey this time.”
Cross looked over at Sturm before speaking. “We could be walking into a trap. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“You’re right, but we have no choice. Every clue must be investigated.”
Sturm leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “We do have reports to write. We could add a few clues of our own. Could divert whoever is passing on our particulars, a bit more to report. We may buy ourselves more time to run these fellows to ground.”
“Excellent notion that. Write your reports. Send them to Whitehall. Join us at Whitings as quickly as you can manage it. Best friends since Eton, couldn’t miss the celebration of our marriage and all that. Have Fitz assign others to look for Thomas Jones.”
He patted his wife’s hand. “Dearest, will there be room for our friends?”
To his delight, Gillian caressed his face and kissed his cheek. The gel gave as good as she got. “As large as that old pile is. Of course, I will see to their rooms personally. I am ever the dutiful wife intent on seeing to my new husband’s happiness.” She grinned.
Moreham rather enjoyed seeing her obvious mirth. He wondered when she’d last done so. The duke and duchess were not prone to joviality, so he wondered if Gillian had ever had a reason to laugh.
Moreham looked back at Cross and Sturm. “Gillian and I are going to travel to Whitings in the morning. Whitney asked us to see to the last-minute details for the house party.”
“Interesting so the four of us will have the house to ourselves. Plenty of time to look around.” Cross surmised.
“Yes, and to also decide which room should be yours and who should be given the rooms on either side of you.” Gillian added.
Moreham decided all had been said that was needed. He stood and took Gillian by the hand.
Gillian stood, and the two men bowed to her. “I hope you will consider our home yours. James holds both of you in high regard. I hope you will come to bestow the same friendship on me.”
