by Ann Chaney
“I like it when you call me special names like little one or sweetness. I feel special. Should I not admit such to you?” Gillian rolled over toward him.
“I like calling you such as well. Maybe, this marriage business will not be so badly done for us both.” He reached out then ran a finger down her cheek.
Gillian took hold of his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. Moreham closed his hand into a fist as if to keep hold of the kiss.
He leaned back from her. “Dearest, close your eyes. Sleep. Morning will be here far too soon for either of us.”
“Moreham, I want you to know I do trust you to keep me safe.”
With her words, Gillian smiled up at him before rolling back to her side of the bed. He wished she had stayed in his arms. Maybe one day soon, they would be able to sleep thusly.
Reconciled to his current sleeping arrangement, Moreham closed his eyes and listened to Gillian’s breathing ever so slow. Those little puffs of air were the last he knew until he felt the morning sunlight on his face hours later.
“His Grace’s coach is at the gates, my lady.” Perkins called out to Gillian.
Relief coursed through her veins at the news of her uncle’s imminent arrival. The butler had sent for her when one of Uncle’s grooms arrived ahead of the caravan of traveling coaches to alert the household of its master’s arrival. Mrs. Osgood hurried from room to room calling out orders to the staff.
Gillian stood back out of the lady’s way. Her work was done. Bedchambers had been aired and cleaned, ready for the guests. Philly and Lady Sylvia had done a splendid job of assigning bedchambers so they could keep an eye on each guest. She knew Aunt Isadora would be most put out with her for making the changes. There was nothing the duchess could do with her guests arriving hard on her heels.
Moreham and Cross had ridden out to the abbey ruins earlier. To her distress, the two men had returned to spend the rest of the day in the library. She tried to discern what they were planning, but every time she joined them, they stopped talking.
“You have done a wonderful job of seeing to the details of the house party, my dear.”
She turned to Lady Sylvia and Philly. “Thank you for saying so. I hope Aunt Isadora is pleased as well.”
“Never doubt that for one minute. I can put her in her place with little effort, can’t I Philly?” The dowager turned to her friend for confirmation.
“Don’t fret, child, Sylvia has been a force to be reckoned with more years than you have been alive. She is fairly prancing in the traces to have a go at Isadora. The duchess needs to be reminded occasionally she is human like the rest of us.”
The dowager frowned at Philly and muttered, “Not that many years, Philly.”
Gillian smiled at the two ladies, thanking them for their help. From the look the dowager was giving Philly, retreat was the best recourse for Gillian.
All too soon, the staff lined up in the entryway, and Moreham appeared at her side on the front steps of the manor. Uncle’s black traveling coach with its gold gilt trim and ducal crest appeared with the horses running full out toward the front door. John Coachman expertly pulled back on the reins at the exact moment to bring the lumbering coach to a stop dead center of the front steps.
Gillian waited for the footman to open the coach door and assist her uncle and aunt.
She hurried down the steps to hug them both. “Welcome home, Uncle, Aunt. I hope the journey from Town was an easy one.”
Aunt Isadora fussed with her skirts. “Gillian, my dear, so good to arrive with you at the front door to greet us. The ride down was uneventful, but long. All I want is refreshment and a hot bath before dressing for dinner.”
“And you shall, my love.” Uncle Whitney took Aunt Isadora’s hand and moved toward Moreham and the ladies. “I’ll see you to your suite. You must be well rested and in the pink for our welcome dinner this evening.”
Moreham joined her and greeted the duke and duchess with all the aplomb one would exercise when greeting the king and queen. “Your Graces, so good to see you once again. I must say my thanks for offering us a few days to ourselves. I have enjoyed our visit. Gillian and I have enjoyed exploring the estate. We even had a picnic lunch yesterday.”
“Excellent! We have always loved our time at Whitings. Haven’t we dear?” Uncle turned to the duchess for her confirmation. She gave a nod and resumed her preoccupation with the wrinkles in her skirt. “Feels more like home than the pile in Town. Used to have the grandest times here just us. Fond memories.”
“The Dowager Countess and Lady Philly are here, Cross joined us yesterday. I hope you don’t mind his inclusion in the party.”
Uncle clapped Moreham on the back. “Of course, Cross is welcome. Now, the good news is you may take my niece off and enjoy yourselves. My duchess and I will take charge of the house party.”
Moreham shot Gillian a heated look. “Your Grace, How very gracious of you. I like the sound of a couple of hours with my wife.”
Gillian interrupted, “Uncle, someone has to welcome your guests and see them to their rooms.”
Uncle Whitney laughed and patted her on the back. “Oh, never mind that. I am a duke and can make my own rules in my own house. I’ll see to the arrival of our guests and Mrs. Osgood can escort them to their rooms. After a day in a coach no one wants to socialize until they have refreshed themselves.”
“Hot water will be taken up to all the bedchambers.”
“See, you are such a wonder. Now off with you.”
Uncle Whitney called Perkins and Mrs. Osgood to his side and headed for the stairs. The foursome made their way up the stairs. Her uncle seemed to like her husband, but Aunt Isadora had always been a hard nut to crack. Gillian only hoped her aunt’s stubbornness did not cause a problem with Moreham’s plan.
Cross wandered out of the library as the ducal couple disappeared at the top of the next landing. “Never have understood all the folderol of being a duke. The duke arrives, servants scrape and bow while he only wants a brandy and a hot bath.”
Cross’ words echoed through the hallway. For a peer, the man had a pragmatic viewpoint of the world. It must have been his years of working for the Crown.
“Enough, Gillian and I are going out for a ride. Keep an eye on everyone while we are gone. We will meet before tea to discuss the arrivals and any surprises you have uncovered. My dear, shall we?”
Moreham took her hand in his grasp and led her up the stairs. She was in agreement—a quiet ride was called for after that flurry of activity. She hoped with a little encouragement from her, Moreham would keep her out until after tea.
Moreham did, in fact, agree to ride further afield. They arrived back at the house after the guests had retired to their rooms to rest before dinner. The sun was setting and shadows lengthening by the time they entered the stable yard. She couldn’t remember ever enjoying an afternoon so. Moreham had been funny and charming. He seemed to be courting her. She loved the notion of him doing so.
“Hurry up, Gillian. I’ll tell Cross we are back and will join you momentarily.” Moreham urged her up the stairs.
She was looking forward to the evening at his side even if there were traitors among them. When she was with Moreham she felt as if she could take on the world. She wondered if he felt the same.
Maisy and a hot bath were waiting for Gillian when she entered her bedchamber. The maid fussed and saw her dressed and coifed with only moments to spare. Moreham waited for her in their sitting room. She couldn’t fight back the sense of trepidation seeing him dressed in formal black clothes. She worried he would not think her pretty.
“You look beautiful, my dearest. I will be the most envied man in the room tonight. I will fight Cross to the death if he tries to spirit you away to a corner. I will not leave your side all evening. I find marriage makes me possessive. Do you mind?”
“No, Moreham, I find I share that sentiment where you are concerned as well.”
Moreham joined her in the middle of the ro
om and kissed her cheek before taking her hand. She moved to take his arm, and he refused to let go of her hand. “No dearest, I want to hold your hand. I am newly married and will be forgiven for doing so. Or not forgiven which I will not care about as long as you are by my side.”
The man surely possessed the skill of uttering pretty words to make her heart sing. The hours following their arrival in the drawing room seemed to fly by. All too soon they were back in their sitting room. Frustrated, Gillian wanted to know what would happen next. Moreham had not spoken with Cross, as he had wanted.
Gillian watched Moreham pace back and forth. She said what she knew he was thinking. “How will you manage to speak with Cross? I won’t be able to sleep not knowing what transpired this afternoon.”
Moreham smiled at her and nodded to the settee by the fireplace. “Have a seat, dearest, once the house quiets down, Cross will come.”
A knock on the door punctuated Moreham’s words. He left her to open the door. Cross slipped into the room. “Hurry, Whitney just went to the stable. I fear he is riding out.”
Without another word, Moreham headed for the door behind Cross. She hurried after him and pulled him to a stop. “This way. There is a servants’ door. Better chance of leaving the house unseen.”
Gillian led them down the stairs and out into the cool night air. All three walked briskly through the gardens to the back gate. Once they arrived at the stables, Gillian directed the lone groom to saddle three horses.
“Don’t even think to leave me behind,” she declared.
Chapter 15
Take Gillian with us to who knows what.
Moreham wanted to take his wife, toss her over his shoulder, return her to their bedchamber and lock the door. He knew he was not going to do any such thing. He’d made a promise and she intended for him to honor his vow. He should’ve known his wife would not stay behind no matter what she’d said to Philly.
The groom led their horses out. When Gillian stepped forward and whispered to her horse and set about to ready her to ride as well as any man would. Moreham marveled at the many surprises his reluctant bride had rained down on his head since the night she lured him to Preston House.
Cross grinned at him. “You owe me a guinea.”
“Pretty sure of yourself, weren’t you?”
“No, I was certain of her ladyship. You would not be aligned with a milkwater miss. My lady, may I give you a leg up?” Cross offered.
Gillian smiled her thanks. Moreham neatly stepped in front of Cross and took her in hand. Cross laughed as Moreham tossed her up into her saddle. Once Moreham was mounted, he threw a coin through the air to the groom.
“That’s the first payment. Keep our ride out tonight to yourself and I will match that when we return. Speak of it and I’ll see you without employment.”
“Moreham, must you threaten the staff?” Gillian asked from behind him.
“Dearest, that was not a threat that was a fact.”
The chastised groom nodded and faded into the shadows.
“Now, shall we be off? We must walk our mounts. If Whitney hears the horses, he will know someone is following him. Such a discovery will only mean a fruitless midnight ride for us. Whitney will claim he couldn’t sleep and decided to take a midnight ride to tire himself.”
“I’ll ride ahead. Better chance of not being discovered if I go alone.” Cross offered.
“Excellent idea. We will hold back. Wait for us at the fork.”
“Will Whitney go to the rear of the abbey?”
“At night? I think not. Uncle is not that brave. The abbey is much more unsettling in the dark than in daylight. If he is going to the ruins, he will take the left lane at the fork.”
“There you are, Cross. We need to know if he is going to the abbey. If he takes the left lane, we can take the right and enter the abbey through the rear gate.”
Cross doffed his hat. “Would you think less of me if I pray for the duke to be in search of a pint at the tavern in the village?”
“Not feeling up to traipsing through a haunted abbey tonight.” Moreham asked.
“The ruins make my blood run cold even in the daylight. Can’t imagine the flights of fancy I will suffer in the dark.”
With those words, Cross urged his horse forward and rode off into the darkness.
Moreham waited for her to ride up beside him. “Cross owes you his thanks. He wagered you would not be put off.”
“You wagered on my loyalty to my uncle?”
“No, we wagered on your ingenuity, or rather Cross wagered you would not remain in the background. I wagered I had you firmly under my thumb. I was the fool soon parted from his coin as the old saying goes.”
He hoped Gillian felt a twinge of remorse. She was causing him trouble at a time when he needed all his faculties trained on Whitney. He rather enjoyed watching her emotions flicker in her eyes. Even in the darkness he could see the trepidation assaulting her. She deserved no less.
Gillian took hold of his hand and halted his horse. “Moreham, I am not a simpering lass you can charm to do what you want. I will be by your side every moment until I prove my uncle is innocent of any wrongdoing. Now, let’s be off.” Denying Moreham the opportunity to speak, she took the lead and headed down the darkened lane.
Moreham urged Paladin forward. “Gillian, you win this time. However, you will do as I say. I will have your word, or I will tell Cross to follow your uncle while we return to the manor and our bed.”
“I promise to be a good girl. Now, shall we be off? If we tarry for very long, we’ll miss whatever my uncle is planning to do tonight.”
He wished he could believe her meekness was heartfelt. The woman loved her uncle and Moreham knew she’d never desert the duke. Not for the first time that night, he prayed she was correct in her faith in Whitney.
Moreham couldn’t help hoping Whitney was on his way to the village for a game of chess with the squire at the inn. Even as he prayed, he knew better. The duke was on his way to the abbey. How he would console Gillian when Whitney’s subterfuge became known weighed heavily on his heart. A novel event since everyone knew Moreham did not possess such an organ.
Cross was exactly where he was supposed to be. At the fork in the road. Gillian held her breath as they rode up to his side. No one spoke.
Cross shook his head. “He went to the left, not more than ten minutes ago.”
Gillian couldn’t hold back her gasp. She had prayed so hard that her uncle was innocent. She had not exaggerated about how much he disliked going to the ruins. The only reason he would go there was out of desperation or by force. Moreham was right. Uncle was a traitor.
Moreham looked down at her. “You still want to remain with us?”
Gillian nodded her assent.
Moreham turned his horse to the right and led the way. No one talked during the short ride to the grove where they tied off their horses.
Moreham took her hand and they hurried up the path to the rear gate with Cross following behind. Moreham was the one to open the door. He slowly eased the latch up and pulled the door open only enough for them to each slip through. No one spoke a word as they made their way down the dark corridor.
Just as earlier that day, voices echoed down the corridor from the courtyard above. Moreham recognized the duke’s voice, raised in anger.
“—I have done all you asked of me. Now leave me and mine in peace. You can meet here. You have no need of me.”
“Your Grace, you are wrong. You underestimate yourself and your worth. We have a great need of you. A member of Parliament? A friend to the King? You are very valuable to us. We like to keep those who can assist us with our cause close. Remember, your niece is now a countess. It would not do for her husband to find out about her connection to Napoleon.”
Gillian stiffened beside him.
“You are a despicable man with no honor, my lord. Leave my niece out of this evilness. Now, I have done as you asked. I saw to Percy Arnold’s appointment t
o the Quartermaster, I introduced him to my niece. And yes, I arranged for your so-called brotherhood of traitors to meet here. Now, have your meeting tomorrow night and leave my property. I will not betray my king. Not even to preserve my niece’s marriage to Moreham.” Whitney declared.
Gillian shook her head in disbelief.
Uncle is being blackmailed.
She had been right. Why would that gentleman believe her to have a family connection to the Corsican? Nothing could be further from the truth. Did the stranger believe she carried French blood in her veins? No one had ever said so. The notion of such was simply unthinkable.
Moreham pulled her into his arms and whispered in her ear. “Don’t take a word the man says as truth.”
He motioned for Cross to take position in the next cell. Gillian, too numb with shock to feel the cold, knew was all around them. She waited for the stranger to explain his comment. Part of her hoped he would not speak.
Gillian leaned forward to peer down into the courtyard. She could make out two men. Uncle was the shorter of the two. She did recognize the stranger’s voice from the day before. When she would have moved further forward, Moreham reached for her and held on tight.
“Gillian, you must help me. We have to listen again. One of us could recognize the stranger’s voice. To do so would be a major coup for us in running this band to ground.”
“But, Moreham that man said I’m—”
“—not now, dearest. Later.”
Gillian leaned against him. Moreham urged her upward to look out the stone opening. As luck would have it, the stranger had his back to them. The man removed a pair of gloves from his greatcoat then tugged them over his hands. She wished the evil man would turn in their direction. Just a glimpse would be of some help to them.
“Whitney, we will see if you can be of further service. Meanwhile, keep your new nephew by marriage away from here. I don’t trust the man. If you don’t want an accident to befall your wife or niece, you will see to Moreham’s entertainment. No rides out without you. Your houseguests are very private men. See to it that Moreham and his friends do not stumble across what we are doing here. Should they discover our meeting, someone will die.”
