Merely the Groom Page 13

  Chapter Twelve

  “This happy breed of men, this little world.”

  —William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

  Richard II

  The Free Fellows League gathered to compare notes in their customary room at White’s before dinner that evening.

  Griff and Sussex were already there when Colin entered the oak-paneled room and handed his hat and coat to the butler. “Good evening, Griff. Sussex.”

  Griff looked up from the leather sofa. “Jarrod’s on his way. He had a last-minute meeting with two of the cryptographers charged with enciphering the information to be sent to Scovell and Grant on the Peninsula.”

  “How goes the cryptography work today?” The Duke of Sussex folded the newspaper he’d been reading and placed it on a mahogany side table. He lifted his feet from the leather ottoman, set them on the Turkish rug beside the fire, and then reached for the glass of French brandy he had been nursing for the past three-quarters of an hour.

  “The ciphering or the deciphering?” Colin glanced around the room, then poured himself a whisky from the tray of decanters on the drinks table and sat down in the leather chair opposite Sussex’s.

  “Both,” Sussex answered.

  Colin shrugged. “The good news is that our code appears to be unbroken.”

  “The bad news,” Jarrod interrupted, from his place just inside the doorway, after entering the room in time to hear Sussex’s question and Colin’s answer, “is that according to dispatches I received from Major Scovell and Colonel Grant, so does theirs.” Jarrod tossed his hat and coat onto a chair, then walked over and joined Griff on the leather sofa.

  “Drink?” Sussex offered.

  Jarrod nodded toward the silver pot warming on a tray sitting on a butler’s table. “Coffee.”

  Sussex poured a cup and handed it to Jarrod.

  “Thank you.” Jarrod took a sip of coffee, then set it aside and rubbed his palms together and began the meeting without preamble. “What did we learn from our excursion into the ton last night?”

  “That an evening at Almack’s is not to be borne unless one is already married,” Griff chuckled.

  “That’s not news,” Jarrod told him. “We,” he nodded to include Colin and Sussex, “haven’t been to Almack’s since we accompanied you on your bride-seeking mission. We know to avoid the place like the plague. That’s why we’re still single.”

  “You’re fortunate you cut lower cards.” Griff looked at the others. “Because Almack’s was crowded with young ladies seeking husbands last night.”

  “Any clues to the identity of the young lady?” Jarrod asked.

  Griffin took a deep breath. “Grant’s sources were correct. There have been a spate of elopements to Scotland this season, but none—at least at Almack’s last evening—that were unaccounted for. Alyssa and I made discrete inquiries and turned up several minor peers, and one member of the royal family with daughters who eloped to Scotland this season, but as far as we could tell, all of them have either accepted the marriages or secured other, more suitable husbands for their wayward daughters.”

  Sussex leaned forward in his chair. “Just out of curiosity, have you the name of the families to whom those wayward daughters belong?”

  “Lord Chemsford and Lord Barfield are barons. Lord Wensley is a viscount, and Exeter’s an earl. And the rumor, though unsubstantiated, is that the daughter of the royal family member belongs to the Princess Royal.”

  “Good work, Your Grace,” Jarrod grinned. “I’m impressed that you and your duchess were able to learn so much in so little time.”

  Griff gave his friend a mockingly regal nod. “We had help.”

  “Your parents?” Jarrod guessed. “Or Lord and Lady Tressingham?”

  “You know better than that.” Griff laughed. “My father only dons knee breeches and buckles for appearances before the king, the regent, and on state occasions. Almack’s must survive without him. And as for Lord Tressingham...” He rolled his eyes heavenward. “Alyssa’s father would never cross Almack’s threshold unless the patronesses suddenly allowed horses and hounds on the premises. And although my mother-in-law rarely declines any invitation she thinks her daughter, the new duchess, might accept, Lady Tressingham did not accompany us last evening.” Griff stared at Sussex. “Lady Miranda St. Germaine did.”

  “Miranda made an appearance at Almack’s?” Jarrod was stunned. It was well known in their circles that Lady Miranda St. Germaine avoided Almack’s as often as the Free Fellows did.

  “She did, indeed,” Griff repeated. “And she was almost as beautiful as Alyssa.”

  “Miranda at Almack’s,” Sussex murmured. The fact that she’d accompanied her close friend, Alyssa, Duchess of Avon, to Almack’s explained why Miranda hadn’t put in an appearance at Lady Compton’s last evening after Sussex had sent a note around to her town house inviting her and her mother to meet him there. He had hoped her presence would enliven the conversation. Although Lady Compton spread the best buffet table in town, the time spent waiting for it could be long and tedious, especially if one tired of gambling. And Miranda St. Germaine was intelligent, well read, possessed a biting wit, and played chess extraordinarily well. As far as Sussex was concerned, Miranda was the ideal female companion, so long as her sharp tongue and quick wit were directed at someone else. He’d been looking forward to sharing a companionable evening at Lady Compton’s with her, and Sussex had been more than a bit perturbed when Miranda sent a note back around to his house, declining his invitation in favor of a previous invitation.

  He’d spent a deadly dull evening with his mind only half engaged in the turn of the cards wondering with whom Miranda had spent the evening. “Miranda at Almack’s,” he echoed. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” Griff said. “She wore a blue evening gown that matched her eyes, and with that figure…” He broke off to allow Sussex’s imagination to take over. “Suffice it to say, Miranda looked magnificent. I’ll wager she fended off a dozen would-be suitors the first ten minutes we were there.”

  “What suitors?” Sussex demanded, scowling at Griffin.

  “What difference does it make?” Jarrod intervened. “Miranda doesn’t have to marry anyone. She’s a peeress in her own right.”

  “What suitors?” Sussex repeated.

  Griff bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning from ear to ear. Alyssa was right. Sussex was interested in her best friend. “I didn’t know all of them. But I saw Linton, Carville, Nash, and an Austrian archduke.”

  “Fortune hunters,” Sussex spat contemptuously. “Linton and Nash, perhaps,” Griff said. “But Carville’s well set, and the Austrian archduke is…well…a young, handsome, very rich Austrian archduke.”

  “He might be young, handsome, and very rich, but the Austrian archduke is wasting his time. Miranda is English clear down to the bone. She would never consider an Austrian,” Sussex scoffed.

  “That’s your opinion. Miranda may feel differently. She is, after all, a marchioness in her own right with far too few single prospects who outrank her. And I hear she’s tiring of her role as everyone’s favorite bridesmaid. She may feel an archduke is quite a catch.” Griff shifted his weight on the sofa, then reached down to massage his right thigh in an effort to relieve the ache from the saber wound he’d suffered during the Battle of Fuentes de Oñoro. The wound still pained him, especially when he stood for long periods of time, and he’d spent much of last night and much of today on his feet.

  “Here.” Colin slid his leather ottoman toward the sofa. “Prop your leg up.”

  “Thanks” Griff propped his leg on the ottoman and accepted the glass of whisky Jarrod got up to fetch for him. “And now that I’ve told you what I learned at Almack’s and about Lady St. Germaine, why don’t you tell us what you learned at Lady Compton’s, Your Grace?”

  Sussex narrowed his gaze at Griff as the other duke tossed him the gauntlet. Sussex knew that his past history with the Duke of Avon and his duchess m
ade for continued friendly competition and relegated his status as a Free Fellow to that of a probationer. It wouldn’t always be that way, but Sussex knew he still needed to prove himself. Unfortunately, Lady Compton’s hadn’t been the place to do it. “I discovered her chef is superb and that most of the people who attend Lady Compton’s soirees are there to feast and gamble. Gossip and marriageable young ladies were scarce.”

  “What about angry papas?” Jarrod asked.

  Sussex frowned. “There were plenty of those.” He focused his attention on Colin. “Including yours. But, for the most part, their anger was directed at Lady Luck and the turn of the cards. I heard a great deal about gambling debts and where to find the most understanding moneylenders. I didn’t hear so much as a whisper about anyone’s daughter’s elopement. What about you?” Sussex asked. “Did you learn anything from your foray into Lady Harrelson’s world of dance?”

  Jarrod nodded. “We heard quite a bit of gossip about a particular young lady who spent much of the evening beside the dance floor rather than on it.” Jarrod lifted his cup and saucer and took another drink of his coffee. “She didn’t dance at all until our hostess persuaded Colin to partner her.”

  “She wasn’t the only young lady who spent much of the evening beside the dance floor rather than on it,” Colin surprised Jarrod and the other two Free Fellows by leaping to Gillian’s defense. “The young lady you partnered didn’t dance with anyone before she danced with you,” Colin reminded Jarrod.

  “You danced?” Griff teased. “Don’t tell Alyssa. She’ll be distraught at the idea.” He pinned Jarrod with a look. Colin liked to dance, although he seldom took the opportunity to do so. But Jarrod... In all the years he had known him, Griff had never seen Jarrod dance with anyone except Alyssa. He hadn’t realized Jarrod could dance until he’d partnered Alyssa for the first time while Griff was unable to. “Is the world as we know it coming to an end? I can’t believe you partnered an unmarried young lady. Her mother must have been overjoyed.”

  “Her aunt,” Jarrod corrected. “Sarah’s mother died when she was a child.”

  “Sarah?” Sussex struggled to recall all the Sarahs in his acquaintance.

  “You don’t know her,” Jarrod assured him. “Her father is rector in the village at my childhood home. Sarah’s an old friend with no fortune. She’s of no interest to our impostor.” But she appeared to be of interest to the Marquess of Shepherdston, and everyone in the room knew it.

  “Now,” Jarrod continued, “the young lady with whom Colin danced is an entirely different story.”

  “Oh?” Griff leaned forward.

  “Yes,” Jarrod affirmed. “Colin’s partner is quite a considerable heiress who was rumored to have spent a month in the country visiting relatives at the start of the season.”

  “What about her father?” Sussex asked. “Is he suspect?”

  Jarrod nodded. “Enough so that I arranged a meeting between Baron Davies and Colin this afternoon.”

  “Baron Carter Davies?” Griff asked.

  “The same,” Jarrod affirmed. “I suspected, from the gossip I gleaned at Lady Harralson’s that Miss Davies might be the young lady for whom we were looking. So Colin and I decided a meeting with the baron was in order to see if the rumors would bear fruit.”

  Griff whistled in admiration. “Davies has got enough blunt to pay Bow Street to investigate anyone connected to the War Office—or anyone rumored to be connected to the War Office—for as long as it takes to find the impostor or until he gets what he wants. He could raise myriad questions about, and cause no end of trouble for, the Free Fellows. Damnation! What a tangle!”

  “Don’t keep us in suspense, Grantham.” Sussex turned to Colin, barely able to contain his curiosity. “Tell us how your meeting with Lord Davies went.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “The world must be peopled. When I said I would die a bachelor,

  I did not think I should live till I were married.”

  —William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

  Much Ado About Nothing

  “I’m marrying his daughter in the morning.” Colin didn’t mince words.

  “What?” The Duke of Sussex choked, spewing brandy across his chair and his fine evening trousers. He brushed the droplets of wine from his clothing and gave Colin his full attention. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not.” Colin looked at Jarrod. “If you’ll be so kind as to open your safe, I’ll deliver on my wager. I believe I owe each of you five hundred pounds.”

  Jarrod got up from his seat on the sofa, walked over to the safe concealed behind a tasteful landscape, and spun the dial. He removed a heavy metal cash box and handed it to Colin.

  Colin unlocked the cash box and began counting out the fifteen hundred pounds needed to cover the wager.

  Sussex set his brandy glass aside and shook his head. “Damn the wager, Grantham,” the duke said. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m not an original Free Fellow. I wasn’t one of you when you made that wager.”

  “You’re one of us now,” Colin said. “And, unlike my father, I always pay my debts. Take the money.”

  “All right.” Sussex held up his hand. “But I reserve the right to repay the wager at a later date.” Sussex wasn’t trying to be insulting, but he was very much aware that Viscount Grantham’s resources were not as large as those of the other Free Fellows.

  Colin frowned. “Unless you’re getting married on the morrow, too, there’s no need to repay me at a later date. According to the terms of the marriage contract I signed this afternoon, making good on my wager isn’t going to beggar me.” He acknowledged the other two Free Fellows. “Neither will financing a season for my sister.” He handed a bundle of pound notes to Jarrod and another to Griff, then locked the cash box and put it back in the safe.

  “Remarkable.” Jarrod closed the door of the safe, spun the dial, and swung the landscape back into place before returning to his seat on the leather sofa. Reaching over the back of the sofa, he opened the lid of the intricately carved teakwood box on the table and selected a cigar. Jarrod snipped the end off the cigar, struck a match to light it, and inhaled a lungful of aromatic smoke, then blew it out. “You danced one dance with Miss Davies last night and signed a contract to wed her this afternoon.” He narrowed his gaze at Colin. “Did I miss the love at first sight? Or did you make such an impression on the baron that he immediately chose you to become his son-in-law? Satisfy our rampant curiosity and tell us how your impending nuptials came about,” Jarrod prodded.

  “It appeared to be either the foregone conclusion or the natural progression of the meeting,” Colin replied sharply.

  “Bloody hell!” Jarrod exploded. “Damnation! It went that badly, eh?”

  “If we’d been fighting with swords, I’d be severely wounded or worse.” Colin managed a self-deprecating smile. “As it was, I managed to survive the verbal encounter with a bit of dignity and a small measure of my pride intact.”

  Sussex shifted in his chair. “There’s no doubt that Miss Davies is the young lady who eloped to Scotland, then?”

  “No,” Colin said. “There’s no doubt that she eloped with someone using the name of Colin Fox or that her father hired a very good Bow Street runner to locate him. Unfortunately, I was the first Colin Fox they found.”

  “Happenstance?” Jarrod asked.

  “Not bloody likely,” Colin replied. “But the other Colin Fox has proved more elusive than I. It’s as if he’s disappeared from the face of the earth.”

  The Duke of Sussex inhaled deeply, then slowly released the breath. “It’s likely he has, for a while.” He looked Colin in the eye. “He’s probably gone to ground. Quite possibly for all eternity. You did kill the man who attempted to kill you. And it’s possible that the man you killed was the impostor Colin Fox.”

  Colin took time to frame his reply. “The man I killed was a hired assassin. He had brown eyes. He couldn’t have been the impostor Colin Fox.”

>   “He couldn’t have been the impostor because his eyes were brown,” Jarrod said, “and the impostor’s eyes are green like yours—”

  “Blue,” Colin corrected. “According to Lady Davies, the impostor’s eyes are a nice shade of blue.”

  “Then why are you marrying the baron’s daughter?” Sussex demanded.

  “Because he chooses to believe that his wife and daughter might be mistaken,” Colin answered. “He chooses to believe that the impostor’s eyes might be a nice shade of grayish green. Like mine.”

  “The baron intends that someone shall redeem his daughter’s virtue, and better the viscount he has than the rogue he doesn’t,” Griff summed up the situation.

  “Exactly,” Colin confirmed.

  Sussex frowned. “And now that the other Fox has disappeared, you’ve no way of proving he existed or that he eloped with Lord Davies’s daughter.”

  Colin shot the duke a nasty look. “That’s right. But I don’t intend to prove he existed or that he eloped with Miss Davies. Attempting to prove it would put Miss Davies’s reputation at risk and endanger our mission. And that’s what we’re trying to avoid.”

  “Point taken, Lord Grantham.” Sussex gave Colin a mock salute. “But it’s a pity that you’re assuming responsibility for someone else’s actions.”

  “Isn’t that what life’s about?” Colin asked. “Isn’t that what we do nearly every day of our lives?” He shrugged his shoulders. “Bonaparte wreaks havoc on the Continent. We assume responsibility for protecting this little corner of the earth. My father gambles. When he doesn’t pay his creditors, I assume responsibility and make good on his debts. At some point in his life, nearly every man assumes responsibility for someone else’s actions.”

  “And now you’re accepting responsibility for the actions of an impostor who used your alias in order to prey on an unsuspecting young lady,” Sussex said.

  Colin took a deep breath. “I did what I had to do in order to squash Lord Davies’s investigation of Colin Fox.” He lifted his whisky glass and took a hefty swallow, savoring the fiery liquid as it made its way from his throat to the pit of his belly. “He’s not the sort of man to give up. And our confrontation wasn’t the sort of meeting I care to repeat any time soon.”