Colin looked to Gillian for the answer.
“Please have someone bring them up to the Ivory Suite,” Gillian instructed. “And leave them outside the outer door in the corridor.” She met Colin’s questioning gaze and smiled her most brilliant smile. “And Pomfrey, there’s no need for you to hunt them tonight. Tomorrow will be quite soon enough, for Lord Grantham and I will be otherwise engaged until afternoon.”
Chapter Twenty-five
“I am not in the roll of common men.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry IV, Point I
“What’s this?” The Duke of Sussex looked up from the morning newspaper as Jarrod, Marquess of Shepherdston, walked into their customary private room at White’s and tossed a stack of deciphered messages on the table in front of him.
“Trouble,” Jarrod answered succinctly.
Griff set his cup of coffee aside, picked up several messages, and began to read. “Where did you get these?”
“From a French agent operating between Edinburgh and Paris,” Jarrod told them. “Our agent lifted these from his person and replaced them with duplicates.”
“Risky move,” Sussex said.
Jarrod smiled. “She’s very good at what she does.”
Sussex nodded in complete understanding.
“Colin recruited her,” Jarrod continued. “And we provided enough of the original code to make the messages appear authentic as long as our Frenchman didn’t look too closely at the placement of some of the codes. And our agent made certain he had more important things on his mind.”
Griff closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn’t like using prostitutes as agents, no matter how patriotic or how good they were. It troubled him to know that in addition to bartering their bodies to earn a living, these women were bartering their lives for snippets of information. But if the work the female agents did prevented one British soldier from losing his life to a French sword, saber, rifle, pistol, or cannon, Griff deemed the work worthwhile and was grateful to them for doing it. Griff opened his eyes and finished reading the deciphered messages and passed them on to Sussex.
“You’re right,” he said, looking over at Jarrod. “This can’t be good.”
“But what does it mean?” Sussex wondered aloud.
“It means we bloody well sent Colin into the viper’s den!” Jarrod snapped. “We married him into a family of bloody traitors!”
“We didn’t marry him into anything,” Sussex protested. “He did that himself.”
“Colin allowed the baron to blackmail him into marrying his disgraced daughter, and he did it in order to protect the League,” Jarrod reminded them. “And we let him walk into Davies’s trap.” Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair, then got up and began to pace the length of the room. “I knew what it was, and I sent him into the viper’s nest. Alone.”
“Spilled milk.” Griff shook his head. “Besides, we don’t know that the baron is a traitor.” He held up his hand when Jarrod would have protested. “It may look bad, but things aren’t always what they appear to be. And it’s possible that Baron Davies could be as ignorant of these”—he gestured toward the stack of papers—“as Colin is.”
“You think the fact that Baron Davies and his Bow Street runner pursued our Colin under the guise of pursuing Colin Fox is a coincidence?” Jarrod demanded.
“You know better than that.” Griff made a circling motion with his finger. “Pace the other way, Jarrod. You’re wearing out the carpet on that side.”
Jarrod complied.
Griff resumed his argument. “I don’t believe in coincidence any more than you or Daniel.” He nodded toward the Duke of Sussex. “I’m just saying that it’s possible that something bigger is going on. Something we’re not seeing.”
The use of his Christian name took Sussex by surprise. It was the first time in nearly two years that Griff had addressed the duke by anything other than his title or his style. It might not mean much to Jarrod or to Griff—in fact, neither one of them seemed to notice—but Sussex noticed, and for him it meant he’d finally been granted complete acceptance into the Free Fellows League by its founding members.
“I agree with Griff,” Sussex replied. “And with you, Jarrod. This isn’t a coincidence any more than having the impostor use Colin’s alias was a coincidence, but like Griff, I believe it’s possible that the baron is unaware of what’s going on around him.”
“These messages tell us the baron’s fleet of ships is ferrying French agents all over the globe, and you want me to believe he’s unaware of it?” Jarrod was astounded by his fellow Free Fellows’ willingness to accept the baron’s innocence.
“We expect you to believe it’s possible,” Griff said. “Because it is.”
“It’s unlikely,” Jarrod insisted.
“I don’t think so.” Sussex looked Jarrod in the eye. “How aware are you of what takes place in your London home or your country estate? Are you aware of the power struggles within your staffs? Can you say for certain that every man in your employ is completely trustworthy? Do you know where they are every hour of the day? Can you be certain that they earn the salary you pay them?” He paused. “Because I know that I cannot,” Sussex told him. “I trust my butlers and housekeepers to know and not trouble me overmuch with the details of running the households. But, if the truth is known, I have no idea if what they tell me is the entire truth or only a portion of it. And I suspect the same is true with Lord Davies. But in his case, the situation is magnified tenfold because his estates are ships at sea, hundreds, even thousands of miles beyond his control.”
Griff nodded. “All it takes is one dishonest or desperate sea captain.”
“Point taken,” Jarrod acknowledged.
“There is no doubt that the business with the impostor Colin Fox and this information that Davies’s ships are being used by the French as a means of transportation for its agents is connected,” Griff said.
“What we need to discover is how,” Sussex concluded. “What we need is to warn Colin that his father-in-law is under suspicion and find out bow much he knows about the situation.”
“Interrupt his honeymoon?” Griff asked.
“It’s going to be interrupted anyway,” Jarrod said. “He’s scheduled to make a clandestine trip to France at the end of this week.”
Sussex winced. “He isn’t going to like that.”
Jarrod shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no one else to send. I can’t leave and go to France, and neither can you or Griff.” He thought for a moment, then brought up the subject the Free Fellows League had been dancing around since Sussex had joined them. “We need more Free Fellows.”
The other two Free Fellows nodded.
“We’re in agreement about that,” Griff said. “We’ve known it since we decided to work through the War Office.” He looked at Jarrod. “And you and Colin recognized the problem and used Daniel while I was away at war on the Peninsula.”
“And now that you and Colin are married, we need more unmarried Free Fellows. The question is who? And how do we decide?” Jarrod turned to Sussex. “Any suggestions?”
Sussex took his time before answering. “The problem, as I see it, isn’t finding young men to recruit. There are plenty of young bucks willing to join us. The problem is finding the right match. The candidates need to be like us. Of a similar age and backgrounds. They need to be men who won’t draw attention to themselves or make anyone stop and wonder why they are suddenly in our company.” He looked from Jarrod to Griff. “And I think that whomever we select as candidates should go through an apprenticeship similar to mine.”
Griff frowned mightily. Sussex had earned his place in the Free Fellows League by pursuing Griff’s bride while Griff was away at war. His mission was to test Alyssa’s fidelity and protect her from less honorable would-be suitors. “You want to find someone to pursue Colin’s bride?”
“No,” Sussex shook his head. “But we need someone to help us kee
p an eye on her while Colin is away. Our candidates will have to prove themselves worthy of the honor of being a member of the Free Fellows League, as I had to prove myself worthy. If the new Lady Grantham and her family are involved in traitorous activities, the impostor Colin Fox may still be on the scene.” He looked at Jarrod. “And that could be dangerous for our Colin.”
Jarrod nodded. “We’re not forgetting that someone hired an assassin to kill him.”
“Exactly,” Sussex said.
“Have we any League candidates?” Griff asked.
“Well,” Sussex took a deep breath, “there’s my cousin, Manners...”
Jarrod groaned. “Not Jonathan. He whined incessantly.”
“Have you seen him lately?” Sussex asked.
“No, thank God.”
Sussex chuckled at Jarrod’s quick reply. “He’s almost as tall as I am. He doesn’t whine anymore, and he finally inherited a title.”
Griff arched an eyebrow.
“Paternal uncle,” Sussex explained. “No relation to me. But Manners is now the Earl of Barclay, and the title came with property and a healthy income.”
“But, Manners...” Jarrod hadn’t yet gotten past his distaste for the chubby whiner who had occupied the cot next to his in the dormitory of Knightsguild. “He was under my feet every time I turned around back at Knightsguild.”
“He’s wanted to be a Free Fellow since the day you formed the League,” Sussex argued. “He’s entirely trustworthy, and he worships you, Shepherdston.”
“What?”
“You’re his hero,” Sussex confided. “When we were growing up, all he talked about was how much he wanted to be like you.”
Jarrod glanced over at Griff. “What do you think?”
“He’s kept our secrets for nearly twenty years,” Griff said.
“He told Sussex every move we made,” Jarrod protested.
“I was the only person he told,” Daniel said. “And he only told me because we were all we had. I was his only friend and he was my only friend. And we both wanted to be a part of the Free Fellows League more than anything.”
“All right,” Jarrod gave in. “We’ll give him a try, but if he whines or complains, he’s out.” He looked at Griff. “How about you? Any candidates?”
Griff took another sip from his coffee cup. “I’ve had my eye on the new Marquess of Courtland.”
“Alex Courtland?” Sussex asked.
Griff nodded. “He’s a year or two younger than we are, but I’ve been impressed by what I’ve seen so far.”
“He was a year behind me at Eton,” Sussex said.
“If I’m not mistaken, he danced with Colin’s bride at Lady Harralson’s the other night,” Jarrod added. “Handled himself very well. Made a favorable impression on me and on Colin.”
“We’ll take a vote,” Jarrod said. “Shall we approach Courtland and Barclay?”
“Yea.” All three of them raised their hands.
“And Colin?” Jarrod asked. “Yea or nay?”
Griff and Sussex turned to Jarrod. “Send for him.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“He is the half part of a blessed man,
Left to be finished by such a she;
And she a fair divided excellence,
Whose fullness of perfection lies in him.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King John
The toy sailboats sat outside the outer door to the Ivory Suite for two days before Colin and Gillian decided to put them to use. It rained all day the first day and part of the second. But the sun came out from behind the clouds on the afternoon of the second day, and the honeymoon couple emerged from their bed in an effort to prevent their honeymoon from becoming a deadly dull affair.
Gillian picked up her bonnet and gloves as Colin buttoned her into a simple pale green muslin gown. She hummed a happy little tune and swayed to and fro while he struggled with the buttons. “Hurry.”
“Hold still,” he said. “Or I won’t be responsible for what happens to your buttons.”
Gillian stared at the toy sailboats resting on the table. “Do you think they’ll still float?”
“I’m sure of it,” Colin said. He and Gillian hadn’t left their bedroom in two days, but Pomfrey had sent word that he’d located two toy sailboats in the attic and would leave them outside the suite as soon as he’d cleaned the decades of grime from them.
Colin had retrieved the two boats after he and Gillian had climbed out of bed following a leisurely morning of lovemaking and a hot bath. The two boats—one red and one blue—were as clean as Pomfrey could make them, and Colin had no doubt that they would float.
He leaned forward and placed a kiss on his favorite spot at the nape of Gillian’s neck. “All done.”
Gillian pulled on her gloves and preceded Colin out the door, the red sailboat cradled safely in her arms. Colin followed close behind with the blue sailboat.
They exited the house through the back door and made their way across the garden around the labyrinth to the fishpond. Gillian ran toward the pond, and Colin gave chase. He caught up with her as she reached the water’s edge and gave her a quick kiss before they prepared their boats for launching.
“Shall we race?” she suggested.
“What shall we wager?” he asked.
“Wager?”
“What’s the point of racing if there’s nothing to win?” he asked.
“Papa and I used to race to prove who was the better sailor,” Gillian told him.
“I suppose that’s reason enough,” Colin agreed. “But not nearly as much fun as the wager I had in mind.”
“What did you have in mind?” Gillian’s palms were damp inside her gloves as she smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from her muslin skirts.
Colin untied the ribbons of her bonnet, moved it aside, then whispered in her ear. “Deal?”
His words sent shivers of anticipation up and down her spine, and Gillian was tempted to lose, just to see how creative Colin could be, but she was made of sterner, more competitive stuff. And if she won, she got to choose.
She stuck out her hand. “Deal.”
Colin ignored her hand. “I prefer to kiss on it.”
Gillian reached up and locked her arms around his neck. “So do I.”
* * *
“Ready. Set. Go!” Colin called out as he and Gillian launched their boats from the side of the pond, then raced downstream following their course as they headed toward the finish line. Gillian raced ahead of him, and Colin watched as a gust of wind lifted her skirts and blew them back around her legs, displaying the outline of her long, slim thighs.
“I won!” she shouted, plopping down on the bank, stripping off her gloves and bonnet and hiking up her skirts so she could roll down her silk stockings and wade into the pool to retrieve her boat.
“I’ll get it,” Colin offered. He was wearing tall boots, and although they weren’t completely weatherproofed, his boots would keep him from getting wet.
But Gillian was already splashing across the pond to get her boat.
Colin’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her.
She waded to the edge of the pond, handed her boat to Colin, then waded back for his blue one. Her dark, curly hair was loose and hanging down her back. Her arms and feet were bare and exposed to the afternoon sun, and her skirts soaked from hem to hip. She looked a mess, and yet Colin thought he’d never seen her look so beautiful in bed or out of it.
As he reached out a hand to help her out of the pond, Colin realized that somewhere between London and Shepherdston Hall, sometime between his wedding and the third day of his honeymoon, he’d fallen in love with his wife.
They raced the boats three more times, and Gillian beat him twice more. Colin laughed as she proclaimed victory once again. He had given serious consideration to losing on purpose, but that hadn’t been necessary; Gillian had beaten him fair and square. The only race he’d won had been the one where the sails on
Gillian’s boat had come loose, causing the boat to capsize.
Normally, he hated losing, but he was honored to lose to his wife and happy to find that her winning had made her so happy. Colin swept her up into his arms.
“I won,” she crowed once again. “I beat you three out of four times.”
“Yes, you did,” he answered agreeably.
“So,” she looked up at him. “I get to claim the prize.”
“Your wish is my command.”
“I choose the labyrinth.” Gillian reached up and framed Colin’s face between her hands. “Now.”
Colin shrugged. “Let’s hope it’s the gardeners’ day off.”
* * *
Colin and Gillian were enjoying the second course of dinner when Pomfrey quietly entered the carpeted dining room, leaned over Colin’s shoulder, and spoke in a low voice.
“I apologize for interrupting your dinner, Lord Grantham, but the military dispatches have arrived from London. Several are marked urgent, including a note from the master.”
“Thank you, Pomfrey. I’ll attend to them right away.” Pomfrey bowed. “Very good, sir.”
“Did the dispatch rider return?”
“No, sir.” Pomfrey glanced at Gillian, then back at Colin. Colin nodded, and Pomfrey elaborated. “He’s having his supper in the kitchen, and we’ve made room for him in the servants’ wing.”
“Is he expected to return tonight?”
“He didn’t mention it,” Pomfrey answered. “And the dispatches are sealed.”
Colin toyed with the stem of his wineglass. Sealed dispatches usually contained enciphered messages—messages that had been deciphered and required action by Colin or messages that required Colin’s help to decipher them. And the fact that Jarrod had sent him the dispatches while he was on his honeymoon meant they were important.
Although he hadn’t yet seen or read the dispatches, he was willing to bet that he was about to resume the mission that Baron Davies and his Bow Street investigator had interrupted. He exhaled. “Please have a pot of coffee sent to the study,” Colin said.
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