Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  Thorpe was already shaking his head. “You were not shot at Waterloo. You were shot the night before Quatre Bras, four nights earlier.” He frowned. “Behind enemy lines.”

  “Oh God,” Jared mumbled. “I was afraid of that.”

  “Were you two close in the military?” Bullen suddenly asked.

  “Like brothers,” Thorpe answered without hesitation. “Right from the start. We both loved horses.” He smiled. “And racing. That is what got us transferred to Wellington’s Communiqué Riders squadron.”

  He glanced at Jared. “You don’t remember any of this?”

  Jared shook his head. Best to say as little as possible.

  “All right then. How much do you want to hear, and where do you want me to start?”

  “Do you know who wanted me dead?”

  “You mean other than most of the light cavalry who didn’t make it into the squadron?”

  “That bad?”

  “They hated all of us in the Riders squadron because Wellington loved us. We were the fastest horsemen in the heavy and light cavalry and were handpicked by Wellington and his second-in-command, Uxbridge. Wellington was tired of delayed dispatches and wanted his communiqués delivered at lightning speed to better control his army’s movements. So he had Vandeleur create the elite squadron in his Eleventh Light Dragoons.”

  “That sounds like you.” Bullen grinned and took a long drink from his ale mug.

  “Keep going, Major. Who besides the entire cavalry wanted me dead?”

  Thorpe sighed deeply. “A week before you di—um, were shot, you came to me after you made a long run to reach some of our folks behind the French lines.”

  “Spies?” Jared whispered.

  Thorpe shrugged. “Sort of, I suppose. Information gatherers, more like. Wellington had cavalry scouts undertaking regular reconnaissance expeditions behind the lines, and we carried the information back to the field marshal, so he could familiarize himself with the possible battlegrounds. By the first week in June, Napoleon was on the march, and you were making routine runs behind enemy lines. Even though you were an officer, you were always given those dispatches, if you were available, because your French was perfect.”

  Jared smiled. “I do remember my French.”

  “That will help us,” Bullen muttered.

  “You never know.” Jared elbowed him. “Go on, Major.”

  “You pulled me aside when you returned and said you had been waylaid behind enemy lines by some Frenchies who wanted you to work for them.”

  “What?” Jared roared and heads turned. The highwaymen had said he knew about their plan to get Wellington, not that he was part of it, or worse yet, to be the one to do it.

  “Careful,” Bullen warned.

  Thorpe put a hand on his arm. “It is not what you think. You were badly shaken up. These Frenchies said they knew you were English. Your cover had been blown somehow, which surprised me since your French really was perfect.”

  “Enough about the French already,” Bullen muttered. “Get to the spies.”

  “Right. These frogs had you cornered in the stable where you were to meet your contacts who had not shown. You had been sure they would shoot you right then as a spy, though they did not mention your contacts.” Thorpe took a long slug of his ale. “Instead, these slimeys asked you to work for them. Offered you a thousand pounds to give them information on Wellington’s whereabouts for that next week.”

  “Good Lord!” Jared exclaimed, and again, heads turned.

  Bullen shot him a glare.

  This was worse than he had ever imagined. Seven was to spy on Wellington for the French? Jared would be cast as a traitor. Or rather Seven would. But still in his bloody family.

  “Did they tell me what they intended to do with the information?” he asked in a lower tone.

  “No, but you suspected kidnapping or an assassination attempt.”

  “We went to Wellington with this, right?” Jared asked hopefully.

  Thorpe shook his head.

  “To the authorities or our commander, at least?”

  Thorpe shook his head again.

  “What the hell was wrong with me? Had I gone daft?” Jared hissed.

  “You were afraid if we went to the higher ups, they would suspect you had a part in it somehow. These frogs knew who you were. Had been watching for you.”

  Jared felt sick at his stomach. He could be hanged for treason before he made it back to the future.

  He had to ask. “You did not suspect me, did you, Thorpe?

  “Of course not. You were too shaken up. Besides, I knew you. You would not be a part of something like that.”

  Jared blew out a sigh of relief, and Bullen gave him a supportive nod.

  “So, what did we do about this?”

  “That is where things got a bit sticky. After you calmed a bit and we talked things over, you decided our best plan was to feed the frogs bad information.”

  “That was a stupid idea. The Frenchies would still be out there gunning for Wellington.”

  “And when they showed up at the wrong location,” Thorpe went on as though Jared had not spoken, “we would be waiting to take them out.”

  “That was a much better idea.” Jared grinned.

  Thorpe did not. “Things did not turn out quite the way we planned.”

  “What happened?” Bullen asked before Jared could.

  “Ours was the smallest squadron in the army. Reston and I each commanded a troop in the squadron and reported to Lieutenant Colonel Money, commander of the Eleventh Light Dragoons.”

  “How did I end up a major? A duke surely would have purchased a higher commission,” Jared cut in to ask. “Do you know?”

  Thorpe nodded. “When you signed on with the military, the only purchase vacancy available to you at that time came with the rank of captain. You always said you accepted that lower rank because you arrived in France late in the game and you had something to prove. When Wellington’s communique squadron was formed, we were chosen by Uxbridge to command the two troops. Wellington was desperate for his speed riders and you were the fastest of all of them, so Uxbridge waived the purchase requirement and the length of service requirement for you to be promoted to an upgraded major commission.”

  “Huh.”

  “Keep going,” Bullen pressed.

  “Right. The night we were to ambush the frogs, Wednesday, June fourteenth—”

  “The night before the Battle of Quatre Bras,” Jared said, cutting in.

  Thorpe nodded. “We had found out Wellington was to attend Lady Richmond’s ball on Thursday, the fifteenth, and you were afraid the spies would make a play for him there, so you sent them word to meet you on the fourteenth.”

  “So we could get rid of them first,” Jared offered.

  Thorpe nodded his assent. “You and I were to leave separately from our camp near Nivelles and meet up at a cathedral, called the Notre Dame d’Espérance, north of the crossroads, because you thought it unwise for us to be seen taking off together.”

  “The crossroads is where the Battle of Quatre Bras eventually took place.”

  “Right,” Thorpe said grimly.

  “You remember that?” Bullen asked warily.

  Oops! Focus, Jared, focus.

  “It just popped into my head,” he fibbed. Long addicted to European history and battles, he had read several books on Waterloo and the Peninsular War.

  “That is a lot of popping into your head for one day,” Bullen muttered.

  Jared ignored him. “Where was I to meet the spies?”

  “At a farm on the Nivelles-Namur Road behind the French lines.”

  “So what happened?” Bullen asked.

  Thorpe suddenly looked like he had eaten a meal of bad fish. “You had just run a dispatch, so you were off duty for the night. Our commanding officer, Lieutenant Colonel Money…” He raised his brows at Jared to see if he remembered.

  Jared shook his head, and Thorpe went on. “Well, he was c
alled away to the Fifteenth Hussars to meet with their lieutenant colonel over reconnaissance assignments the next day for two of their troops.”

  The major stopped to take a long pull on his ale.

  “And?” Bullen prodded impatiently.

  “There is one die-hard rule in the army. It is forbidden to have both the lieutenant colonel and the majors absent from their squadron at the same time. I could not leave until Money had returned. You, Reston, had wanted to go ahead and seek out a spot where we could hide and wait for the spies. Money should have been back in plenty of time, but the Earl of Uxbridge showed up at their meeting. The earl wanted everything to go perfectly the next day, and Money got delayed.”

  “Oh God,” Jared groaned. “That does not sound good.”

  Thorpe shook his head. His complexion had gone pale.

  “Finish it.”

  “I galloped out the moment I could. When I reached our meeting place, you were nowhere in sight. So, I searched the immediate area and prayed no one would come along, because my French was not very good. I found you in a field a half mile away—shot.” He grabbed Jared’s arm. “I swear by all that is holy, I thought you were dead. You had been shot near the heart, and I could not feel a pulse.”

  Bullen glared. “So, you left him there?”

  “I had no choice,” Thorpe ground out. “Frogs were coming. I heard their horses, a dozen or more, and without Reston to identify them, I could not be sure they were the ones we were after.”

  “Killing any frogs is better than none,” Bullen muttered.

  Jared put a hand on his brother’s arm. “You did the right thing,” he told Thorpe.

  The major blinked and swallowed hard. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “I have carried all that guilt around ever since.”

  “Did you ever go to Wellington and the authorities?” Bullen wanted to know.

  “And tell them what? I didn’t know anything. Neither did Reston really, just suspicions about what they were up to. I barely made it back before dawn, and by then, everything was chaos, and we all had our orders. I figured it was better the military found Reston’s body as a battle casualty the next day, than me telling them he was shot behind enemy lines the night before with no authorization to be there.”

  The lines of strain on Thorpe’s face deepened, and Jared gripped his shoulder hard. “You did the right thing,” he repeated.

  Thorpe scowled. “I don’t know if I feel worse about leaving you behind thinking you were dead or leaving you behind and finding out I could have saved you.”

  “Stop!” Jared ordered. “The important thing is that I survived. I just don’t remember how.”

  “Thank God,” Thorpe whispered, and some of the color returned to his face.

  “Absolutely. Did I perchance mention the names of any of the Frenchies who solicited my help?”

  Thorpe stared off into space for so long Jared almost gave up hope of an answer.

  Suddenly, the major’s eyes flashed. “Only one.”

  “And?”

  “Jean-Claude Bellevere, Comte Roulet.”

  Bullen choked on the swig of ale he had just taken. “Bloody hell!” he wheezed through a cough.

  “What is it?” Jared demanded.

  “That is the name of the French count Lucilla bragged about meeting when she returned from London a couple years back. You had already left for the continent,” Bullen explained.

  Jared scowled. “Coincidence?”

  “Not bloody likely.”

  “Who is Lucilla?” Thorpe asked.

  “A lady from our county back home,” Bullen said.

  “Trustworthy?”

  “No!” Jared and Bullen exclaimed in unison.

  “She is wrapped up in this somehow,” Jared said. “We will just have to reason it all out, but she is definitely another lead to follow up.”

  “That is all of it for me,” Thorpe said and drained his mug of ale.

  “You are not in uniform,” Jared said. “Are you on leave?”

  “I sold my commission.” Pain flashed through Thorpe’s eyes. “My father and my older brother were killed while inspecting the new stable at our family’s estate. One of the footers gave way, and the roof collapsed right where they stood, killing them instantly.”

  “Good Lord, man! You have my deepest sympathies.”

  Bullen added his own “Sorry.”

  Thorpe nodded. “I was the spare, you see, which is why I entered the military like a good second son. Apparently, I am to be the new Viscount Hadden.” He sighed. “I just haven’t made it back yet to take over. My father’s estate manager is running things.”

  “What about a mother? Sisters?”

  Thorpe winced. “That’s right. You would have forgotten that, too. My mother died when I was young. My father and brother were all I had left. I am not anxious to take over, to say the least. The title was never meant to be mine.”

  “Well then, I have a job for you,” Jared said, grinning.

  “What kind of job?”

  “The Frenchies are still after Reston,” Bullen told him, careful to keep his voice low. “They have made three assassination attempts already.”

  “Evidently more happened that night than you or I remember,” Jared added.

  Thorpe gaped at the brothers.

  “We are in London at present to search for them,” Jared said and quickly briefed his former comrade on what had transpired. “Want to help us?”

  “Hell, yes,” the major declared.

  Jared nodded at Thorpe’s now-empty ale mug. “How many of those have you had?”

  The major looked chagrined. “A few.”

  “Well, sober yourself up and meet us at the Bear and Beagle Inn by seven o’clock tonight in Knightsbridge to help us catch these bastards.”

  Thorpe saluted. “Aye, sir.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jared and Bullen arrived at the Bear and Beagle Inn before seven, and the brothers caught up to Dexter in the public room. He still had Collins with him.

  “Where the hell have you two been?” Dexter demanded angrily.

  “Gathering information. Where are your Bow Street Runners?” Jared asked.

  “Ex-military runners to be exact. I checked with my contacts at the War Office at Horse Guards, and they hooked me up with a soldier from your old regiment—a bloke named Fields. Ring a bell?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “Well, this Fields says, ‘I expect you will want the other mates from the major’s old command,’ and I told him I did. Runners with military experience are usually the best Bow Street has to offer.”

  “How many were there?” Jared asked.

  “According to Fields, there was one more from your old command and another retired from a hussar regiment plus Fields’s supervisor. He said it would take him a few hours to round them all up, so I instructed him to meet us here. Now, where were you?”

  “Finding help. We have a man coming from my old unit as well.” Jared filled him in on everything they had learned from Thorpe.

  “So, we still do not know the bastards’ original motive.”

  “No, though Thorpe insisted he and I were certain their intent was either kidnapping or assassination.”

  “More like assassination,” Dexter said.

  “That was my thought,” Jared agreed. “What about him?” He nodded at Collins. “I thought you were going to have the War Office interrogate him.”

  Collins visibly paled.

  “I changed my mind,” Dexter said. “If I turn Collins over now, I might not get him back, and we need him tonight.”

  “Good thinking.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dexter’s sarcasm was not lost on Jared. “You have planned everything thus far. What is your plot for this night?”

  “That depends on our Bow Street Runners. If they are as good as I think they are, they will arrive here tonight with the name of Cochran’s contact in London or at least a possibility. We will set our
trap at the location Collins claims to be his meeting place with Cochran unless the runners come up with something better, and then we wait.”

  Jared glared at Bullen, talking softly to Collins. “You’re awfully chummy with the prisoner. You two have been chatty ever since we left the inn at dawn.”

  His brother only shrugged. “Just passing the time.”

  “You are quite sure Cochran’s meeting was tonight?” Jared asked Collins.

  “Aye, m’lord. Wif you or wifout you.”

  Jared took a step toward him, and Bullen stayed him. “At least he is trying.”

  “When?” Jared demanded.

  “I am not exactly sure.”

  Collins had flushed when Jared came after him. “I didn’t want no part of this. I swears it.”

  “Like I believe that. You were there for all the attempts on my life.”

  “But I didn’t know they wanted to kill ye till Cochran says so at the ball. By then, it were too late.”

  “What do you mean too late?”

  Collins swallowed hard, and Bullen nudged him with a shoulder. “Go on. Tell him what you told me.”

  The highwayman eyed Jared warily. “He—I mean, Cochran made threats. I had no choice.”

  “Explain,” Dexter ordered, leaning in close.

  “See, I owed Cochran some money.”

  “Gambling?” Jared snorted disdainfully.

  “No! No, I swears. I borrowed money from a solicitor to open me shop in Cheapside. I make belts. See?” With some pride, he raised his threadbare waistcoat to show a belt with beautifully carved horses in the leather.

  “You made that?” Dexter asked incredulous.

  “Aye.” Collins sounded offended.

  “So, tell them how you ended up with Cochran,” Bullen nudged again.

  “I thoughts I’d be safe borrowing from a solicitor and not one of them St. Giles sharks. But I thoughts wrong. The solicitor changed the interest rate with every payment I made, so’s I couldn’t keep up.” He took a deep breath. “When I gots good and far behind, Cochran shows up wif two of his footpads.”

  “And he threatened you.”

  Collins scrunched his eyes shut for a moment. “Worse. He threatened me wife and me little girl. She’s only two. Cochran said he would make ’em disappear where’s I could never find them iffen I didn’t pay up.”