"He's probably sleeping in until noon," Colin grumbled. "Or still getting dressed. It can take one of Brummell's disciples all morning just to tie a cravat."
"If he is," Jarrod warned, "and I find out about it, I will kill him." He stifled a yawn. "I haven't slept more than three hours in nearly two days."
Griff nodded. "It reminds me of my cavalry days. When we slept with our fingers around our horse's bridles." He reached for the flask. "And to think I left a warm and willing wife for this." He winked at Jarrod. "I may kill him myself."
Jarrod smiled. "If it takes him all morning to tie a cravat, think how long it takes him to select one of those godawful waistcoats."
Colin laughed. "And those tight breeches! I swear he must be sewn into them. And I have to ask myself why. It isn't as if he appears to have much of which to be proud." He rubbed his hands together, then reached for the flask and took a swig of the potent coffee.
"I've heard the dandies who are a bit light in the front of their breeches supplement their length, so to speak, with sausages wrapped in a stocking," Griff said.
Jarrod threw back his head and roared with laughter. "I'll never look at another hound sniffing someone's crotch without wondering."
"Be thankful you don't have a father-in-law who's mad for the hunt. Or the fact that you go along once in a while just to please him. Those bloody hounds sniff so many crotches in the space of hunt that your ribs would be aching from silent laughter all day."
"If he doesn't hurry up, I'm going to freeze to death." Jarrod waited for Colin to pass him the flask again, but Colin reached over him and handed it to Griff.
"No more for you, my lord." Griff shook his head. "Until we find out if Dunbridge is going to make an appearance or an apology. How long has it been since you've held a dueling pistol?"
Jarrod glanced at Colin. "Almost a year. Why?"
"Because these are perfectly balanced" — Griff patted the mahogany case — "but they're ornate and heavy. His Grace, the Duke of York, presented them to me when I returned from the Peninsula."
"His Grace gave you a pair of dueling pistols?" Colin thought that was incongruous, considering Griff's horrendous experience on the battlefield.
"What else do you give a man returning from war?" Griff asked with a sardonic look on his face. "And the worst part is that I received several other gifts of firearms and these are the best of the lot. Unfortunately, they're so heavy your arm will drop a bit when you extend it. Your aim will be low. If you want to hit him in the arm, aim above and slightly to the side of your target. Try not to hit his shoulder or chest unless you want to seriously wound him."
"I don't." Jarrod looked at Griff. "That's why I would have chosen swords."
"Firearms are quicker." Griff took a swig from the flask and handed it back to Colin. "Dueling with swords is hot, sweaty work and we might be here all damned day if we have to wait for Dunbridge to change linen every time he breaks a sweat."
Jarrod laughed again, then quickly turned somber. "Thank you," he said. "For leaving your warm beds and your lovely wives to come out in the cold and act as my seconds."
"Wouldn't miss it for anything," Colin said. "That's what friends are for," he teased. "To provide a bit of excitement and adventure to those of us who prefer to stay in bed with our wives." He raised the flask. "Here's to the League and the original Free Fellows!"
"Trijuncta in uno!" Griffin said.
"Three joined in one!" Jarrod repeated.
* * * * *
The note arrived at Ibbetson's Hotel shortly after dawn.
After dressing and then spending the better part of a half hour pacing the width and breadth of the bedchamber, Sarah finally left the room. She exited the bedchamber at the sound of a knock on the outer door and discovered Aunt Etta and Lord Mayhew locked in an embrace. "Pardon me." She blushed.
"No need, my dear." Aunt Etta spoke from her place within the circle of Lord Mayhew's arms. "This isn't a passionate embrace, it's one of relief. And it includes you."
"Jays is all right?" Sarah asked, her heart in her throat. "He survived?"
"He's fine," Aunt Etta breathed. "We just got the news."
"Thank heavens!"
"The duel didn't take place," Lord Mayhew said. "Dunbridge failed to appear. Look!" Reaching up behind his neck, Lord Mayhew removed a sheet of paper from Aunt Etta's fingers and offered it to Sarah. "Read it for yourself."
"'Lady Dunbridge,'" Sarah read, "'in the days to come, you will no doubt hear rumors about the small part I played in aborting the duel between your nephew-by-marriage and the Marquess of Shepherdston in regards to your niece Miss Eckersley's honor. Whatever you hear, know that I did what I could to prevent the late Lord Dunbridge's heir from certain injury at the hands of Lord Shepherdston, but more importantly, I wished to repay you in some small way for the kindness you showed me in allowing Calvin to spend his last years with me and for presenting me with the deed to this house when he died. I cannot thank you enough or express my sincere regret for the pain I caused you in loving your husband. I care not a whit what happens to the present Lord Dunbridge (as he has always been irksome to us both), but gentlemen have been bringing news and gossip from Lady Garrison's ball all evening and I am given to understand that your niece and Lord Shepherdston are an item and that you and Lord Mayhew spent a great deal of time together. Although I have never had the pleasure of meeting you or your niece, I know that you both deserve the very best life has to offer. You are a true lady and your niece cannot fail to be likewise and Lord Shepherdston and Lord Mayhew will find themselves the most fortunate of gentlemen to have a place in your lives. Please, know that I wish you only the best and that you need never fear I've designs on Lord Mayhew or Lord Shepherdston. My door is closed to them as they no longer have need of my services. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I shall always hold you in the highest regard and shall be happy to render assistance to you again should you ever require it. Sincerest regards, Theodora Morton-Jones, number forty-seven Portman Square, London.'" Sarah finished reading the note, then carefully folded it and gave it back to her aunt, then furrowed her brow. "Forty-seven Portman Square? But that's Miss Jones's Home for Displaced Women. She sent a card after Papa died and I intended to call upon her if my plan to win Jarrod failed…" Sarah's mouth dropped open as she looked up at her aunt. "Oh, my…"
Lady Dunbridge nodded. "Your threat of becoming a courtesan was more real than you knew. Paying a call at that particular address would have all but guaranteed it. The house belonged to my late husband. She was his mistress. And now, it seems she's become your champion and our ally."
Scooping Precious from her basket beside Lord Mayhew's feet, Sarah cradled the little dog close to her heart and allowed the tears she'd held in check to flow. Moments later, she bent and fastened the leash to the spaniel's collar.
"Where are you going?" Aunt Etta asked.
"I thought I'd take Precious for a walk so you could dress for your appointment at Lambeth Palace."
"You heard?" Aunt Etta asked with some trepidation.
"I heard," Sarah told her. "And I'm very happy for you." She glanced at Lord Mayhew. "For the both of you."
"Sarah," her aunt said, "we weren't trying to exclude you. We simply didn't want to wait any longer and we didn't feel we should announce our intentions to marry on the heels of your misunderstanding with Lord Shepherdston. And that's all it is, my dear, a misunderstanding." She patted Sarah's cheek. "You'll see."
"I know." Sarah blinked away her tears, refusing to be sad on Aunt Etta's wedding day. "I also understand that if you and Lord Mayhew desire a private ceremony, that's what you should have." She smiled up at her aunt. "I'll take Precious and — "
"Oh, no, my dear," Lord Mayhew pronounced. "This is a family celebration and you're going with us."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Eight
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At every word a reputation dies.
— Alexander Pope, 1688
-1744
Jarrod took out his timepiece and looked at it. Lord Dunbridge was a half hour late. "He isn't coming."
"Doesn't look that way," Colin agreed. "Of course, I seriously doubt he's seen a sunrise in years."
Griff nodded. "At least not since he's become a follower of the Beau."
"Well… " Jarrod paused. "What's the etiquette here? Do we stay or go?"
"That's up to you," Colin said. "He challenged you. Now, he's failed to keep the appointment. You can do whatever you like."
Jarrod nodded. "I believe I'd like breakfast at White's."
"With the usual companions?" Griff asked.
Jarrod nodded. "We've got business to which to attend. Sussex is still missing and now we've got the greater worry of relaying the information Gillian gave us regarding the troop movements to Wellington and informing him of the assassination plot against him, because Gillian's deciphering has proven to be entirely accurate." And alarming. In breaking the code, she had uncovered not only the troop movements, but a plot to assassinate Wellington and a great many other prominent members of British society — including the Free Fellows.
"We need to discover how our names got on the list of targets," Colin reminded them.
"I don't think there's any mystery as to why our names are on the list," Griff said. "I'm a national hero and you and Jarrod are attached to the War Office. What we need to discover is whether whoever is behind the leak of this information knows about the League or has targeted us for other reasons. There were other names on the list that have nothing to do with the League. Lord Bathhurst, for instance. Lord Cheltenham and Lord Naughton."
"That's true," Colin said. "We don't know if there is a solid connection to the League, but we know there is a connection to the War Office."
"So there is a good chance the source of the information is someone connected to the government," Griff replied.
"A much better chance than it being one of us." Jarrod grinned.
"Now all we have to do is convince Wellington that the threat is real and convince the men at Whitehall that the deciphered messages are correct," Colin said. "They're going to want to know who deciphered the messages and we all know that the men at Whitehall will never believe the information contained in the messages if we tell them Gillian deciphered them."
Jarrod nodded. Convincing the men at Whitehall that the threat was real might prove to be most challenging — especially if he couldn't offer credible evidence to prove it. But Wellington was regarded as England's best hope for defeating Bonaparte and a threat against him had to be taken seriously — especially in light of Gillian's uncanny ability to decipher so accurately. The Free Fellows all knew that she had yet to be wrong. And Wellington's wasn't the only life at stake. There were others to consider.
"Let's find out what Barclay and Courtland discovered, and then I'll brief the men at Whitehall," Griff said.
Jarrod started to protest that that was his job, but Griff stopped him. "I know that's your forte, Jarrod, but I can use Knightsguild as an excuse. They know I've purchased it and plan to use it as a training college for the military. I'll tell them I intend to devote a section of it to the art of ciphering and deciphering. The government won't want to fund the education and training of cipherers once the war is won, but I intend to fund it privately so we will have a ready supply of cipherers when and if we ever need them. Let me make that argument to them at Whitehall today while you're at Lambeth Palace."
"As a national hero, your job is to remain neutral, Griff," Jarrod told him. "You shouldn't be arguing this issue. Not when they already know my political leanings and that I excel in securing financial backing for government ventures."
"Ordinarily, I would agree." Griff laughed. "But today…"
"But today, I have to get to Lambeth Palace and purchase a special license to marry. Christ!" Jarrod swore, feeling for his watch. "Hang Dunbridge! What time is it? I've got to be at the palace by nine."
"And after Lambeth Palace comes shopping," Colin reminded him.
* * * * *
White's was crowded when Griff, Colin and Jarrod arrived. The jeers and the catcalls began as they made their way to their customary meeting room.
"You don't seem to have any holes in you, Shepherdston," someone called out. "I guess that means Dunbridge got the worst of it."
"Congratulations in order yet? Or shall we say commiserations?"
"Shepherdston, have you seen the morning papers yet?"
"Why?" Jarrod shot back. "Is your obituary in it?"
"No, but yours will be soon." Someone laughed. "Just as soon as they print the announcement of your nuptials."
"Ignore it," Colin advised, walking beside him, his Scottish burr thick with anger. "Remember that they're bunch of ignorant Sassenach lords." Colin reached out and snagged a newspaper from the stack on a nearby table."
"Page three," came the helpful comment.
Colin opened the paper and quickly flipped it to the third page, in the gossip section of the paper, to a column called "Ton Tidbits," and began reading. "'What's to become of Miss Sarah Eckersley, who was seen at Lady Garrison's elegant gala last evening in the company of the elusive Marquess of Shepherdston? Has she been taken off the market? No one can say for sure, but Miss Eckersley proved to be the bone of contention last evening when Lord Dunbridge, a devoted follower of the prince regent's close friend Mr. George Brummell, challenged Lord Shepherdston to a duel. Are wedding bells in the Marquess of Shepherdston's future? Has the perennial bachelor marquess finally succumbed to the lure of orange blossoms? Can a rustic rector's daughter take him off the market? No one seems to know for sure… But we will surely find out soon…'"
"Imagine the mighty Shepherdston being brought low by a rather homely rustic!"
"One Dunbridge claimed!"
There was a burst of laughter all around.
"One the Beau talked Dunbridge into pursuing for the Beau's own amusement."
There was another round of hearty laughter.
"Egads! But I heard she has red hair and freckles!"
"I'll wager Shepherdston will be increasing the size of his family by two. But will the brat look like Dunbridge or Shepherdston?"
"Won't matter," a voice answered. "It'll have Shepherdston's name and he'll have to claim him."
"Better hope it's a female, "cause I heard that the next Marchioness of Shepherdston has the same inclinations as the last one."
Jarrod took a step toward the gentleman who'd made the last comment, but Griff took hold of his arm. "Easy, Jarrod," he said. "Keep the larger goal in mind."
"And her a rector's daughter! Why, the old man must be spinning in his grave!"
"Still waters run deep. Look at Shepherdston. There hasn't been a hint of scandal attached to his name in years. Not since that thing with his parents… And all of a sudden, he's ruined a girl and fought a duel within hours of one another."
"Couldn't have done much ruining," someone else called. "Not when she's already spread her legs for Dunbridge."
"Was that you, Mannington?" Griff spun on his heel as he recognized the voice. "Look to your own glass house before you cast stones in someone else's direction. Your father was a bishop. And everyone can see what a gentleman you've turned out to be. How many governesses have you ruined now? Four? Five?"
Jarrod whirled around. "What the devil is wrong with you? You call yourselves the cream of English society while you sit in judgment on others. You imagine me brought low by a rustic," he continued. "You relish the idea, yet I know that I couldn't be brought low by any young lady, rustic or otherwise. I've been low. I couldn't sink any lower. After searching the width and breadth of England for love, I've found myself the grateful recipient of it. I haven't been brought low, I've found my wings… Love doesn't limit," Jarrod said. "It expands. You should all be so fortunate."
"Nicely done," Griff congratulated him as they passed through the main room and into their usual one and found Barclay and Courtland waiting. "If
you do half as well with Miss Eckersley, you're home free."
Barclay and Courtland rose to their feet and greeted the other Free Fellows cordially.
"Glad to see you hale and hearty this morning," Barclay told him.
"Thank you." Jarrod wasted no time in starting the meeting. "Did you hear anything about Sussex?"
"No," they answered in unison.
"But we heard you had a spot of trouble at Lady Garrison's last night," Barclay said.
Jarrod lifted an eyebrow.
"It's all over town," Courtland said. "Everyone was talking about the duel."
"There was no duel," Griff said. "Dunbridge didn't appear."
Barclay bit back a smile. "Imagine that."
Colin narrowed his gaze at the two newest members of the League. "Do you know anything about his failure to appear?"
They tried to look innocent and failed. "Spill it," Griff ordered.
"He was at Madam Theo's after the ball last night," Courtland told them. "Boasting of his impending duel with you." He nodded at Shepherdston.
"And?" Jarrod prompted.
Barclay grinned. "Madam Theodora turned ashen, then quickly recovered and instructed the girls that as long as Lord Dunbridge remained in the house, the night's entertainment and drinks were free." He shook his head. "It was some party."
Jarrod stared at Barclay's pallor and red eyes and agreed.
"Needless to say, no one wanted him to leave. Every time he attempted to go, someone pulled him back inside and handed him a drink," Courtland continued the story. "After he passed out, in the arms of the new redhead — Mina, I believe her name is — Madam Theo went to Barclay and asked for assistance in removing him. I assisted Barclay." Courtland's grin matched Barclay's.
"Did you harm him?" Colin asked, more out of curiosity than out of concern for Dunbridge.
"Not at all," Barclay said.
"But he will need to replenish his wardrobe." Courtland fought to keep from chuckling at the memory and failed. "We decided it best not to take a chance on him waking from his drunken stupor and attempting to keep his appointment at the dueling oak," Barclay told them. "So we appropriated his clothes."
Hardly a Husband Page 27
