Barely a Bride

  * * *

  A half hour later, Griffin crossed Hyde Park and rode through the gates of Number Three Grosvenor Square. He dismounted, handed Apollo’s reins to a groom, then bounded up the front steps and knocked on the front door.

  “Lord Abernathy to see Lord Tressingham,” Griffin announced as the butler answered his knock.

  “His lordship is in his study.” The butler stepped back to allow Griffin entrance. He closed the front door behind him, then reached for Griff’s hat and gloves. “If you’ll follow me, sir.”

  Griff obeyed, following the butler across a polished marble floor, past the curved banisters of the central staircase, down the hall to a pair of intricately carved oak doors.

  The butler knocked on the door and announced him. “Lord Abernathy to see you, sir.”

  Griff waited quietly, glancing around the study, taking note of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on two walls and the numerous oil paintings adorning the burled wood paneling on the remaining walls. Griff noticed that the paintings, all skillfully executed, were of horses and hounds. Even the massive oil painting hanging above the fireplace was of a tricolored foxhound.

  Griff smiled and offered his hand in greeting as the butler withdrew from the room.

  The Earl of Tressingham folded his morning paper and stood up. A jovial and good-looking man who stood a foot or so shorter than Griff, Johnny Tressingham more than made up for his lack of height with a prominent display of brawn. The earl came around his desk, right hand outstretched.

  The two men shook hands, and Tressingham offered Griff a seat. “Come in, Lord Abernathy. Sit down and tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Griffin remained standing, frowning in concentration at the earl’s question. “Your daughter, sir.”

  It was Tressingham’s turn to frown. “Which one? I’ve nothing but gels. Four of them, you know.”

  Griff hadn’t known. Or hadn’t remembered. He had been a confirmed bachelor until a few days ago, and there had been no need for him to concern himself with keeping track of which families had marriageable daughters.

  “Adelaide, Alyssa, Amelia, Anne. All my gels favor and all of them have names that start with an A. Damned if I can keep them straight.” He looked at Griffin. “But you understand the problem, of course, seeing as how you’re acquainted with them.”

  “I’ve only had the pleasure of making Lady Alyssa’s acquaintance,” Griff replied. “That’s why I’ve come.”

  Tressingham took a deep breath. “What’s the gel done now?”

  Griff blinked in surprise. “Something quite extraordinary, really. She managed to catch my eye.”

  Tressingham snorted. “Nothing out of the ordinary about that. All my gels are lookers.”

  “I wouldn’t know about the others, sir,” Griff told him. “Only Lady Alyssa.”

  “Alyssa. Alyssa. Oh, yes, that one. Filly. Light brown mane, streaked with blond. Nice big eyes. Blue, if I’m not mistaken. Good ground manners. Hasn’t been broken to ride. But that’s only natural as she lacks an adequate handler.”

  Griff had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping in astonishment. The earl described his daughter as if she belonged in someone’s stable. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Lord Tressingham, you appear to be discussing horseflesh. I’m talking about your daughter.”

  Tressingham laughed, a big, booming guffaw that spoke of a male camaraderie Griffin didn’t feel. Tressingham stopped laughing and stared at Griffin. “No sense of humor, eh?”

  Griffin tried not to appear affronted. The man before him was, after all, the man he hoped would become his father-in-law. “On the contrary, sir,” he answered. “My friends tell me I have quite a good sense of humor.”

  “No evidence of it,” Tressingham murmured. “And who can trust what their friends say? Friends are supposed to minimize your shortcomings and maximize your attributes. If they’re loyal. That’s their job. Abernathy…” He reached up and scratched his brow as if trying to place the family name. “Abernathy. What rank did you say you were?”

  “Major, sir, about to take commission in His Majesty’s Eleventh Blues.”

  “Going off to war to fight the Frenchies, eh?”

  Griff nodded.

  “I suppose someone has to do it,” Tressingham said. “And I guess it’s all right for younger sons and those unfortunates who’ve no money to go along with their titles. Or the blighters who actually like the army life.” Tressingham turned to the sideboard to the right of his desk and poured himself two fingers of Scots whisky. He looked at Griff and gestured with the whisky decanter. “Join me?”

  Griff shook his head. “No, thank you, sir, it’s a bit early in the day for me.”

  Tressingham snorted in derision as if to say there was no such thing, then took a deep draught from his glass. “Go on,” he urged. “Explain yourself. Are you going into the army to make your name or your fortune?”

  “Neither,” Griff replied. “I’m going into the army to fight Napoleon. I’m not a younger son, I’m the heir. And I possess an ancient and honorable title.”

  “Good for you.” Tressingham’s offhanded congratulations sounded entirely genuine. “And what rank might that title be?”

  “Viscount,” Griffin answered. “I’m the seventeenth Viscount Abernathy.”

  “A viscount, eh?” Tressingham clucked his tongue in sympathy and eyed Griff more carefully. “That’s too bad.” In his experience viscounts tended to be perpetually short of blunt and always looking to marry heiresses. This one, however, wore a well-tailored coat of dark blue superfine, a snowy white shirt of fine linen, an impeccably tied four-in-hand, a brocade waistcoat, and buff doeskin trousers that molded his long, muscular limbs. He looked exceedingly prosperous. But looks could be deceiving. Beau Brummell always looked exceedingly prosperous, and Brummell was always borrowing money from the Prince of Wales or some of his other more prosperous cronies in order to buy off his creditors. “And you’ve come about my filly, Alyssa.”

  “I’ve come about your daughter, Lady Alyssa. And I don’t expect to find her in residence in the stables.”

  “Then you must have Amy or Adelaide or Anne in mind,” Tressingham said. “Unfortunately for you and fortunately for me and Lady Tressingham, they’re safely married.”

  Griff shook his head. “I’m not interested in your other daughters. I’ve come about the unmarried one. Lady Alyssa.” Griff paused for a moment. “The one who likes to garden.”

  “Then surely you know the best place to find her is in the stables.” Tressingham blew out an exasperated breath. “She’s probably mucking them even as we speak.”

  “Mucking stalls?”

  “For the fertilizer, don’t you know? But the gardens at our country house have never looked better. Course, her mother has forbidden her to help out in the stable or work in the gardens while we’re here in London.”

  “Why?” Griff wondered.

  “Because the gel cares about little else but gardening and riding, reading and puttering about. Half the time she looks and smells like a stableboy. Which would be fine if she smelt that way because she was riding all the time, but she’s experimenting with different types of muck for the gardens. And that’s no way to catch a suitable husband. Not in London. Course, she has had a pile of suitors in spite of it.” He paused. “But none to suit her mother. Lady Tressingham has her heart set on the Duke of Sussex. You seem like a nice sort of chap, but if you’re only a viscount, you’ve come too late. My other gels married lads who are earls or better. We’ll not be settling for a mere viscount for the last one. Especially since my wife and Her Grace have had an understanding since our gels came into the world.”

  Griff frowned.

  “Both of them are determined to make it so. And Alyssa’s their last chance.” Tressingham still appeared to be a genial host, but his voice had taken on a distinct mercenary tone. “Sussex is a duke. And if Sussex doesn’t come up to snuff, there’s always Linton. He paid me a c
all earlier and he’s a marquess.” Tressingham fairly crowed with success. “You’re a viscount and a soldier. Why should I give you any consideration?”

  “Linton is a marquess, but an impoverished one. He’s looking to marry an heiress for her fortune. I’m not,” Griff told him. “As I told you earlier, my title is as old as Sussex’s, and I’m as well set financially. Perhaps Abernathy Manor can’t compete with Sussex House or its famous gardens, but I’ve something better to recommend me. Something you’ve been angling to acquire.”

  Tressingham frowned. He didn’t like having a mysterious carrot dangled in front of him by a young man seeking to court one of his daughters. “And what might that be?”

  “Access to some of the finest breeding stables and kennels in England.”

  Tressingham swallowed hard and looked as if he’d just been handed the keys to paradise. “I don’t keep up with Debrett’s,” the man admitted, “or frequent clubs other than Boodles, but I know we’ve met before.” Too vain to don his spectacles and bring the younger man’s face into proper focus, he squinted at Griffin.

  Griff nodded. “We’ve met on several occasions, but only in passing.”

  Tressingham’s reaction was typical. He rarely attended social events, and when he did, his topic of conversation was generally horses and hounds and little else. Although they had met and conversed several times over the years, Griff had done his utmost to avoid Tressingham partly because Tressingham was a frightful bore who rarely, if ever, allowed anyone a chance to speak about anything except his favorite topic.

  Tressingham grunted. “Whose get did you say you were?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then, I’m asking. Whose heir are you?”

  Griff gave Tressingham an inscrutable smile. “I should thank a horse and hounds man and a member of Boodles, like yourself, would know to whom I refer.”

  “Weymouth.” Tressingham breathed the name in a reverent tone. He looked as if he expected church bells to toll and a choir of angels to descend from heaven singing hymns of praise. “Weymouth has the finest stables and kennels in England. Now I recognize you.” Tressingham snapped his fingers. “Abernathy is Weymouth’s family name. You’re the Earl of Weymouth’s get.”

  “I’m the Earl of Weymouth’s son and heir,” Griff corrected. “And a mere viscount because the traditional courtesy title of the Earls of Weymouth’s heirs is Viscount Abernathy and Baron Maitland.”

  Tressingham drained his whisky, set the glass on the sideboard, then walked over to Griff and clapped him on the shoulder. “I agree, my lord.” He grinned broadly. “You’ve much to recommend you.”

  “I thought you might feel that way,” Griff replied dryly, “once you understood that I have more to offer than mere money and a title.”

  Tressingham pointed to the massive oil portrait of the tricolored foxhound. “Sir Thomas Lawrence painted it,” he said. “That’s Carrollton’s Fancy Mistress. I bought her great-great-grandmother when I was barely out of short pants, and I built my kennel by breeding my females to the best stud dogs I could find. Fancy is the culmination of all those years of careful breeding.” He stared at Griff. “Do you realize how many times I’ve attempted to persuade Weymouth to allow me to breed Fancy to his King George’s Prince of a Fellow?”

  “Quite a few, I suspect.”

  “At least a half dozen times this season.” Tressingham lifted an eyebrow in a sign of skepticism. “You’re absolutely certain that giving you permission to court my youngest gel will guarantee Fancy a breeding to Prince of a Fellow?”

  Griff shook his head. “Not permission to court. Permission to marry.”

  “Marry?” Tressingham was stunned. “You want to marry my daughter?”

  “Yes.” Griff studied the older man for a moment longer, then decided to sweeten the pot. “And, as a member of the family, you will, of course, be allowed to align your kennels and stables with the earl of Weymouth’s.”

  “Would your father be willing to put that in writing?” Tressingham asked eagerly.

  Griff nodded. “You’ll be granted unrestricted entry to Weymouth’s kennels and stables, allowed to ride and hunt with the local hunt using Weymouth mounts and hounds if you like, and you shall be granted, in writing, exclusive breeding rights to the earl’s prized equine and canine studs and dams.” Griff watched Tressingham’s eyes light up. “So long as the agreement is written as part of the marriage settlement between your daughter, Lady Alyssa, and myself.”

  Tressingham stared at Griff for a full moment before responding. “The stables as well as the kennels?”

  “The stables as well as the kennels,” Griff confirmed.

  “Even while you’re away at war?”

  “Even so. As a matter of fact, I had hoped that since I am preparing to join my regiment, you might consider overseeing the care and management of my breeding stallion, Apollo.” Griff paused. “I’m leaving him behind, and my father is too busy with his government work and politics to attend to his breeding stable and my own…” Griff let his words fade away.

  “I would consider it an honor.” Tressingham was fair to bursting with excitement and pride.

  “The loan of Apollo would be temporary,” Griff clarified. “For the duration of my service abroad. I would, of course, expect to find him munching hay in my stables upon my return.” He smiled to ease the sting.

  “What happens if you don’t return?” Tressingham asked. “Would the agreement become null and void should you be killed in the war and my daughter made a widow?”

  Griff frowned. One would think that Tressingham might finally come to consider his daughter’s needs above his own. But as that didn’t appear to be the case, Griff intended to finalize the deal. Once the marriage contract was drawn up, Griff would ensure that his father agreed to abide by and enforce the terms and to protect his viscountess and their child. If Griff failed to return from the Peninsula, the future Lady Abernathy would lack for nothing whether she chose to remarry or not. Weymouth could be counted on to honor all of Griff’s wishes and to leave nothing to chance.

  Tressingham shrugged his shoulders. “Men are killed in battle and daughters made widows every day. Have I your word as a gentleman that your father would honor our agreement?”

  “You have my word as a gentleman that my father would honor any and all agreements between us—so long as you honor yours. You should also understand that if I should be fortunate to have one, my heir would inherit my title and all my possessions—except Apollo. You could keep him with my blessings and thanks,” Griff affirmed.

  “Done,” Tressingham said, beaming at Griffin. “I’ll send for my solicitor this afternoon.”

  Griff nodded. “I’ll send word to the newspapers. Notice of my betrothal to your daughter and our impending wedding will appear in the morning editions.”

  “Agreed.” Lord Tressingham offered Griff his hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’m pleased that we could come to an understanding.” Griff shook his future father-in-law’s hand, then took out his pocket watch and looked at the time. “I’ve a meeting with my father at his club in half an hour, but I’ll return with my solicitor and the preliminary contracts later this afternoon.”

  “Haven’t you any interest in the size of my gel’s dowry?”

  “I’m sure it’s quite handsome.” Griff actually hadn’t given her dowry a moment’s thought.

  “It is indeed,” Tressingham replied proudly.

  “I would not have thought otherwise,” Griff pronounced, “from a gentleman of your stature and breeding. Now, if I might trouble you for one of Lady Alyssa’s gloves.”

  “One of her gloves? Whatever for? A keepsake?”

  “A measure. I’ll be paying a brief call on my jeweler, and I want to be certain the ring is properly sized.”

  “Of course.” Tressingham rang for the butler, relaying his instructions as soon as the man entered the study. “Needham, please ask Lady Alyssa’
s personal maid for a pair of Lady Alyssa’s gloves.”

  “Gloves, sir?” Needham frowned. Lady Alyssa was notorious for ruining her gloves.

  “Yes, gloves,” Tressingham confirmed. “A new pair, and have them brought to my study as soon as possible.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “And bring a bottle of my best French brandy.” He turned to Griff. “You will join me this time in a toast to your future and to your good fortune?”

  Griff smiled. “Of course.”

  “Good,” Tressingham said, waving his hand and shooing Needham out of the study. “Go on, man. Lord Abernathy doesn’t have all day.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  Tressingham closed the door behind the butler before turning to face his future son-in-law. “If you’ve no objection, I’d like to take a close look at your stallion in the next day or so. If you’re joining your regiment soon, you’ll want to see that he’s properly settled into my establishment before you leave.”

  “I’ve no objection.” Griff smiled. “I rode him across the park. He’s in your stable even as we speak.”

  “Excellent.” Tressingham rubbed his palms together in anticipation. “I’ll walk you out when he’s brought around and take a good gander at him then. Unless you’ve time for a ramble along the Row as another way of sealing our agreement…”

  “I believe that can be arranged,” Griff said. “I’ll send a note around to my father’s club informing him of my delay.”

  Tressingham walked over to his desk, pulled out a sheet of stationery and a pen, and handed them to Griff.

  Griff wrote a brief note to his father, sanded and sealed it, and handed it to Tressingham. “I intend to call upon Lady Alyssa once the contracts are in order and we’ve concluded our business. Has she any social engagements this evening?”

  Tressingham took the note to give to Needham upon his return. “I believe Lady Tressingham mentioned that she and Alyssa are scheduled to attend Lady Harralson’s ball and midnight supper this evening.”

  “I’ll plan my arrival here accordingly,” Griff answered. “Unless you intend to act as their escort…”

  Tressingham shuddered. “Not on your life.”

  Griff laughed. “Then, you’ve no objection to my escorting them?”

  “None at all, my boy. You’re welcome to it.” He pinned Griff with a look of glee. “I can’t believe my good fortune. Here, I thought the best I could do would be to marry the gel to a duke or a marquess. I never dreamed I would be marrying her to Weymouth’s heir. I can’t help but think I’ve gotten the best part of this deal. Strange, your coming along like you did. I had heard you were in league with a circle of confirmed bachelors.”

  The Free Fellows League. Perhaps they hadn’t been quite as mysterious and discreet as they thought. “I was,” Griff allowed. “Until I laid eyes on your daughter.”

  “Well,” Tressingham shrugged his shoulders. “To each his own. That’s what I always say. And whatever the reason, I’ll be as pleased to call you my son-in-law as I would have been to call the Duke of Sussex the same. Probably more so,” he admitted. “For Sussex’s horseflesh is passable at best, and he doesn’t hunt or keep a kennel. He has nothing to offer except a royal title, wealth, and that monstrosity of a house and garden.”

  And a domineering mother. “And I’ll be honored to make Lady Alyssa my wife.” Griff looked Tressingham in the eye. “There is one other thing I failed to mention…”

  “Oh?”

  “Once the contract is signed, my betrothed answers to no one but me. I’ll take full responsibility for her behavior.”

  Tressingham opened the door to Needham’s knock, then stood back to admit the butler. “Suit yourself,” he said, removing Alyssa’s gloves from the butler’s tray before passing them along to Griff. “But not until the notice appears in the morning paper.”

  “Fair enough,” Griff said.

  Tressingham turned to his butler and handed him the note Griff had written for his father. “See that this note is immediately sent round to Lord Weymouth at White’s.”

  “Very good, sir.” Needham tucked the note away for safekeeping, and then set the tray on the side table. He uncorked the brandy, poured two glasses, and passed them to the gentlemen.

  “Pour one for yourself, Needham.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “We’re celebrating Lady Alyssa’s betrothal to Lord Abernathy.”

  Needham raised an eyebrow. “My understanding is that Lord Abernathy is a viscount.”

  “Indeed, he is,” Tressingham said. “The Earl of Weymouth’s viscount.” He poured Needham a glass of brandy and handed it to him before raising his own. “To Lord and Lady Abernathy.”

  “Hear, hear,” Needham agreed.

  “Thank you,” Griff acknowledged the toast and the good wishes behind them.

  “And here’s to Fancy.” The Earl of Tressingham gestured toward the oil painting hanging above the mantel. “And to Prince of a Fellow and the litter of champion foxhound pups we’ll be raising come fall.”

  Chapter Nine

  “The foundation is set, and my objective is in sight. I shall be taking up my commission and joining my regiment ere long.”

  —Griffin, Viscount Abernathy, journal entry, 26 April 1810