“How did it go?” Jarrod, fifth Marquess of Shepherdston, asked when Griffin joined him and Colin, Viscount Grantham, at their usual corner at White’s an hour or so after the conclusion of Lady Harralson’s soiree.
Griffin grunted in reply.
“We expected you earlier,” Colin informed him.
“I’ve been vetted by Lord Tressingham,” Griff answered. “And blooded by his wife. That takes a while.” He sank down onto his favorite chair, propped his elbows on the arms and his feet on the leather ottoman before the fire, and let out a sigh.
“As does escorting one’s intended and her mother to Lady Harralson’s soiree.” Jarrod smirked.
“How would you know?” Griff shot back. “Have you got an intended or a future mother-in-law?”
Jarrod laughed. “No, but you do.”
“And the rumor about town is that Lady Tressingham is none too happy. The wags all say she was hoping to snag Sussex for her daughter,” Colin offered, reaching over and pouring Griff a snifter of brandy from the carafe on the table beside him.
“That was no rumor,” Griff told him, shoving the ottoman out of the way with his foot before pulling his chair closer to the table Jarrod and Colin were sharing.
“That was fact. The wags are right. And Lady T makes no bones about it. She would most definitely prefer His Grace to me.”
“Odd that you haven’t been able to win her over,” Jarrod replied. “You’re usually most adept at charming the ladies.”
“Not this lady,” Griff said ruefully. “Not unless I suddenly inherit and I’ve no wish for my father to turn toes up just to please Lady Tressingham.”
Colin nodded his head in understanding. “Aye, as a mother, she wanted a loftier title for her daughter.”
“Much loftier,” Griff agreed.
“So her preference for His Grace has nothing to do with you,” Jarrod said. “It isn’t personal.”
Griff took a swallow of brandy. “It’s very personal. She hates me.”
“She can’t hate you,” Jarrod said. “She doesn’t know you well enough.” He smiled at Griffin. “You’ve only had one day in which to become acquainted. Perhaps she simply hates the fact that you’re a viscount instead of a duke.”
“Or a marquess.” Griff lifted his snifter of brandy in salute to Jarrod.
Jarrod raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Griff said, “or so smug. Surely, you realize you were next on Lady Tressingham’s list—behind His Grace.”
Jarrod held up both hands. “She was barking up the wrong tree with me. You know I’m not the least bit interested in Lady Alyssa or any other debutante at Almack’s. I’m not looking for a bride, and no one is coercing me into accepting one. I’m a Free Fellow.”
“We’re all Free Fellows,” Colin reminded him.
“We were all Free Fellows,” Griff retorted. “My status as one seems to be coming to an end.”
“Once a Free Fellow, always a Free Fellow.” Jarrod lifted his glass. “We’re brothers, remember? Blood brothers. Nothing can change that. Not even wives.” He winked at Griff. “Here’s to your future, Brother.”
Griff lifted his glass, clinked it against Colin’s and Jarrod’s, then swirled the warm liquor around in the bottom before draining the contents. “Here’s to Lady Tressingham learning to live with her disappointment.”
“She’s not the only one.” Jarrod met Griff’s gaze over the rim of his glass. “His Grace is none too happy about the situation.”
“He knows? So soon?”
Colin nodded. “Apparently, your father-in-law felt honor bound to send His Grace a note informing him that Lady Alyssa was no longer available.”
“How did you find out about this?” Griffin asked.
“We’re spies,” Colin whispered. “We haven’t spent nearly a year slipping in and out of France without learning something about gathering information.”
Griff stared at Colin. He and Jarrod were spies. While Griff had been attached to the Quarter Master General’s office at the War Department, Colin and Jarrod had trained under Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant, known in British military circles as the Spy Maker. While Griff had been memorizing military strategies and learning the business of supplying and moving vast armies of troops across continents and oceans, Colin and Jarrod had been learning the art of subterfuge and code breaking, consorting with smugglers, and slipping in and out of France at will. “Have you been gathering information on Sussex or on me?”
“Neither.” Jarrod snorted. “He’s foxing you. We know everything there is to know about you. And although he’s a duke, Sussex is a rather nice and boring sort of fellow. Not worth expending the time or the energy to follow—at least until a few hours ago.”
“What do you mean?” Griff demanded.
“His Grace came into White’s a few hours ago, drank a bit more than is his custom, and let it be known that he’d been eliminated from the list of suitors of a certain young lady whose father cared more about his horses and hounds than he did her welfare. He let slip that he’d lost out to a certain viscount who had used a prized Thoroughbred stallion to bribe the father.” Colin shook his head. “Did you really trade Apollo for Lady Alyssa?”
“Is that what Sussex is telling everybody?” Griff shoved his fingers through his hair, then slid his glass forward, motioning for Colin to refill it.
Jarrod took a deep breath. “Fortunately, His Grace, although deep in his cups, didn’t take complete leave of his senses—”
“Just his sense of self-preservation,” Griff retorted.
“He made his remarks to us,” Colin said. “Here at the club. His Grace said he knew he’d find us here because everyone else was at Lady Harralson’s or Madam Theodora’s. And he was right. The club was practically empty. His Grace called us your ‘fellow cohorts’ and said he was certain we would see that you got the message. Apparently, he has some feelings for your bride-to-be, because His Grace took exception to the fact that a gentleman would actually bribe another gentleman with livestock—his words, not ours—in order to secure a bride.”
“He ought to take exception to the fact that Tressingham could be so easily manipulated and bribed by the promise of livestock.” Griff fought to control his rising temper. “I did.”
“That didn’t stop you from bribing him,” Jarrod pointed out.
“Of course it didn’t.” Griff pinned Jarrod with a sharp look. “It wouldn’t have stopped you, or Colin, or His Grace, either. I wanted Lady Alyssa, and I used whatever weapons I had at hand to win her. Fair and square. His Grace is upset not only because he lost to a mere viscount but because he didn’t put forth any real effort into winning her.”
“Who did you win?” Jarrod asked. “Lord Tressingham or his daughter?”
“Both. Blister it!” Griff slammed his glass down on the table. “I had to win Tressingham to get his daughter. But he was only a means to an end. Sussex gave up too easily. The truth is that I would have ended my pursuit of her if I had thought she cared anything about the duke.”
“Would you?” Jarrod questioned.
“Yes,” Griff answered. “I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, but I would have stepped aside if she had wanted to be a duchess—or a Marchioness.” He looked at his two blood brothers. “I didn’t deprive her of the life she wanted. Quite the contrary. She prefers a lesser title. She wants to be a viscountess. She chose me and Abernathy Manor over His Grace and his too-perfect gardens.”
“I’ll be damned.” Jarrod whistled. “I’ve known lots of women who settled for less, but I’ve never heard of any woman who actually wanted less than she could have had.”
“Why not?” Griff demanded. “You know men who want less complicated lives. You are one.”
Jarrod smiled. “Why, yes, I guess I am.”
“Why should women be any different? You’ve always said you’d rather be a marquess than a duke any day. It’s the same for Lady Alyssa and many other women. Why take on the responsibilities o
f a higher rank when you know you could be perfectly happy with a lesser one?”
“I never thought about it like that,” Colin admitted.
Jarrod nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”
“And you should thank your lucky stars Lady Alyssa had lower aspirations, else you might find yourself with Lady Tressingham as your mother-in-law.”
Jarrod grinned. “You seem to think the bride is worth the aggravation.”
“She is,” Griff confirmed.
“Good, because His Grace may not give up as easily as you think.”
“He’ll have to. Lady Alyssa and I have an understanding. She has dreams of her own that make her the perfect sort of wife for a Free Fellow.” Griff finished his brandy, then held up his index finger, indicating that he would like one more glass of brandy.
“So…” Colin drawled, pouring the final round of drinks. “When’s the wedding?”
“The announcement will appear in tomorrow’s edition of the Morning Chronicle and the Times. And I believe Mother and Alyssa decided the wedding will be Friday morning,” Griff replied, matter-of-factly. “At Saint Paul’s. And we’re leaving for Abernathy Manor right after the wedding breakfast.” Griff glanced from Colin to Jarrod and back again. “I’d like to ask you to stand up for me, but…”
“Free Fellows don’t attend weddings,” Colin said. “Except our own. When we’ve no other choice.”
“We won’t be there,” Jarrod said. “But our thoughts will be with you.” He whistled through his teeth. “I must confess I’m impressed. I didn’t think it was possible to put a society wedding together that quickly.”
“Alyssa is determined to make it possible.” Griff smiled. “Earlier this evening, she and my mother were planning to mobilize an army of household staff to make it possible.”
“You know you’re welcome to mine,” Jarrod offered. “My London staff and the staff of Shepherdston Hall. Will you be stopping off at the hall on your way to Abernathy Manor?”
Griff had made a habit of breaking up the daylong journey from London to Abernathy Manor with a stopover and change of horses at Shepherdston Hall. It had become such a habit that Jarrod had given Griff a permanent suite of rooms at the hall and kept a team of Griff’s horses in his stables so Griff was able to exchange one team of his horses for another team of his own horses.
“For a brief respite and a change of horses,” Griff said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Why should I mind?” Jarrod said. “I’d be pleased to have you and your lovely bride as guests. I’ll send word to the staff to expect you. I won’t be acting as your host though.” Jarrod paused to take a drink of his brandy. “I’ll be in London.”
“As will I,” Colin added.
Perpetually short of blunt, Colin kept suites of rooms at Griffin’s rented town house in London and at Jarrod’s country house. “Oh, and I’ll be relinquishing my suite of rooms in your town house,” Colin said.
“You don’t have to do that,” Griff told him.
“I’m afraid he does,” Jarrod said. “You’re getting married in a few days. Your bride may want to come to London for the remainder of the season and take up residence in your town house.”
“She can’t do that with me in residence,” Colin said. “It wouldn’t look right.”
“She won’t come to London while I’m gone,” Griff told them. “She doesn’t want a London season. She wants a home of her own far away from London. She wants Abernathy Manor.”
Colin held up his hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve already arranged to move my belongings into Jarrod’s town house.”
Griff took a deep breath, then cleared his throat. “She’ll have her parents,” he said. “And my mother and father, but she’ll be alone at the manor.” His voice cracked, and Griff took a moment to compose himself. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I was hoping you two would check on her from time to time while I’m away.”
“Of course,” Jarrod said.
“That goes without saying,” Colin agreed. “We’re brothers. We take care of our own.”
“Thank you.” Griff stood up.
“Good luck, Griff. Don’t worry about Lady Alyssa or the manor. We’ll take care of the home front,” Jarrod promised.
“Take care of yourself,” Colin reminded him. “And keep your head down.”
Griff smiled. “It’s been a hell of a day.”
Jarrod stood up and clapped him on the shoulder. “And the coming week is going to be equally challenging.”
Colin laughed. “Go on home, man. Get some rest. With a wedding, a honeymoon, and the joining of your regiment, you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Fifteen
“For better or for worse, I am married.”
—Alyssa, Lady Abernathy, diary entry, 04 May 1810