Barely a Bride

  * * *

  The staff is concerned about her,” Jarrod announced to Colin after reading the note Keswick sent from Abernathy Manor.

  The two lords were still in London, but Pomfrey relayed the note by messenger to Jarrod’s town house with the news. Since Jarrod and Colin weren’t in residence when the messenger arrived, having gone to their club for dinner, Jarrod’s butler had sent the note around to White’s.

  “You know Keswick, and you know he isn’t given to alarm, but Alyssa withdrew to her room and hasn’t emerged from it for any length of time in several days,” Jarrod explained.

  “She’s probably just upset,” Colin said. “After all, she’s a new bride without her groom.”

  Jarrod ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s possible, but somehow, I don’t think so. Everything I’ve heard about our new Lady Abernathy suggests that she isn’t given to fits of crying or bouts of withdrawal. She knew Griff meant to join his regiment, so there must be another reason for her behavior. Something that’s happened since he left. But what?” He paused for a moment, then began stating his case. “Let’s look at this logically. Griff married her. She’s Viscountess Abernathy, no matter what. And Griff deeded the manor to her and gave her a generous allowance with which to manage it.” Jarrod shook his head. “And she should know by now that Griff isn’t the sort of fellow to renege on a deal regardless of…” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it Keswick wouldn’t write of anything so personal, but that must be the answer.”

  “What answer?” Colin demanded.

  Jarrod shot Colin a disgusted look. “She’s failed to conceive.”

  “Impossible,” Colin proclaimed. “Griff…”

  “Griff is an only child,” Jarrod reminded him. “And it’s no secret that the Abernathys have never been prolific. The reason Lord Weymouth forced this marriage is because the Abernathys have been so unprolific. According to Griff, his father told him that he and Lady Weymouth have been trying to provide Griff with a sibling from the time he was born until now.”

  Colin shuddered. He had nothing against Lord Weymouth attempting to give his only son a sibling or to give himself the heir and a spare, but Colin didn’t especially care to know that the quest continued. Weymouth was fifty if he was a day, and although still an extremely attractive woman, Griff’s mother had to be pushing forty-five.

  “I mean, all you can do is work at it…” Jarrod shrugged. “And from what I’ve gleaned from Keswick, Griff did his damnedest working at it…” He tapped his fingers on the table. “So she must have failed to conceive the heir. Why else would she be so upset?”

  “Unless she’s changed her mind about refusing him,” Colin speculated, nodding toward the Duke of Sussex, who had just entered the club.

  “She didn’t refuse him,” Jarrod corrected. “His Grace offered too late. After Tressingham had accepted Griff’s offer. Alyssa had little say in the matter.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Colin murmured.

  “Oh?”

  “We should have attended the wedding breakfast,” Colin said ruefully. “Because the talk among the ton who were in attendance was that she turned His Grace down flat there. She didn’t give him the cut direct,” Colin continued, warming to his subject. “Not Griff’s bride. No, she told His Grace she chose Griff over him. And threatened to shoot the duke if he didn’t stop trying to ruin her wedding day.” Colin gave a low whistle of admiration. “Just when you think they’re all cold-hearted mercenaries, they go and surprise you by telling a duke that they’d rather be a viscountess than a duchess.”

  “I can’t believe His Grace had the ill manners to attend,” Jarrod said.

  Colin chuckled. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”

  “He’s had the benefit of the best schooling. He was taught better manners,” Jarrod answered, secure in the knowledge that one could always count on a gentleman to behave honorably.

  “He’s a duke,” Colin retorted. “Have you ever know a duke who didn’t bend the rules of etiquette whenever it suited his purpose? Especially a bloody arrogant English duke?”

  Jarrod shook his head before resuming their discussion. “Suppose for the sake of argument that she’s changed her mind. Suppose that after failing to conceive his heir, Griff’s viscountess is mourning the fact that she chose to become a viscountess instead of a duchess.” Jarrod frowned. “I admit that it doesn’t seem likely, nor do I necessarily believe it, but it’s possible and could also explain her behavior. Because she had everything else she could want and nothing to lose…”

  “Except Griff and the child she might have borne him.” Colin looked at Jarrod. “What if all she really wants is Griff?”

  “She has Griff.” Jarrod helped himself to the whisky decanter, pouring a glass for himself and for Colin.

  “What she has is a title and a house,” Colin told him. “That’s all.”

  “So?” Jarrod demanded. “It’s what she claimed to want.”

  “So she changed her mind,” Colin suggested. “Not about the duke, but about Griff. What if what she wants is Griff? Or some part of him. Jarrod, think about it. Griff is in Spain, and we all know, whether we want to admit it or not, that he’ll be damned lucky to make it back in one piece.” He met Jarrod’s gaze. “Lord knows, I know very little about ladies, but I do know women and I think Griff’s bride may have fallen in love with him.”

  “Fat lot of good it’s going to do her with him a sworn Free Fellow,” Jarrod muttered.

  “She doesn’t know he’s a Free Fellow,” Colin reminded him. “She doesn’t know the Free Fellows exist, why we exist, the work we’ve undertaken for the good of our country, or the charter we’ve sworn to uphold.”

  “Blasted female! What a tangle! Damn, but I hope she doesn’t make herself ill!” Jarrod threw back the glass of whisky and stared at Colin. “We gave our solemn oath that we would take care of her in Griff’s absence. He’ll have our hides if word of this reaches his ears.”

  “It isn’t going to reach Griffin’s ears,” Colin said.

  “And how do you plan to keep it from him?” Jarrod asked. “Keswick’s note said that immediately before she retired to her chambers, Alyssa sent a letter addressed to Griffin by messenger to Lord Weymouth’s office.”

  Colin pursed his lips in thought. “If we’re right about her failure to conceive, we can’t keep her from telling Griff about it. He has a right to know and she is the person who should tell him. But he doesn’t have to know she’s taking the news so badly. He isn’t going to have to worry about her not eating or sleeping or taking care of herself.” Colin nodded, pleased with the course of his thoughts. “He’s at war. He has to worry about keeping himself alive. He can’t worry about his viscountess, too. Besides, what can he do? He’s in Spain.”

  “The question isn’t what Griff can do,” Jarrod answered thoughtfully. “The question is what are we going to do in his place?” He faced Colin. “Well?”

  “We’re going to come up with a way to snap Lady Abernathy out of her fit of depression.”

  “Fine. How?” Jarrod prodded.

  “Damned if I know,” Colin admitted.

  Jarrod laughed. “A fine pair of guardian angels we turn out to be.”

  “At least we have a plan,” Colin said.

  “Are you certain?” Jarrod asked. “Because I disagree. I believe that all we have is an inkling of what we should do and no idea how to go about it.”

  “We don’t have the details.” Colin dismissed Jarrod’s argument. “But we have a plan.” He thought for a moment. “Part of the problem is that she’s alone at Abernathy Manor.”

  “All alone with a full-time staff of sixty,” Jarrod snorted. “You’re a fine one to talk,” Colin reproved. “Until you started working for Grant, you’d never been alone a day in your life.”

  “That’s true,” Jarrod admitted. “I had, however, been alone in a room—once.”

  Colin laughed at Jarrod’s joke.

  It was
no secret that the Marquess of Shepherdston had been born with a longer silver spoon in his mouth than most of his peers.

  What was remarkable was that he had finally learned to joke about it.

  Jarrod had grown up surrounded by wealth and luxury and a half a dozen households full of doting servants. And as the heir to a vast fortune, he had never wanted for anything—except parental affection.

  Colin and Griff had learned to overlook Jarrod’s arrogance and many of his increasingly cynical views of marriage over the years, because Jarrod had been brought into the world by parents who cared no more for him that they did yesterday’s scraps.

  Theirs had been a marriage of state, an alliance of two important families and Lord and Lady Shepherdston had despised the sight of one another—from the day they met until the day Lord Shepherdston died—and beyond.

  Unfortunately for Jarrod, his loss of parental regard had been more than compensated by false regard, provided by a succession of sycophants and playmates his parents hired to keep him entertained and out of mischief. Colin and Griff had been Jarrod’s first real friends. The first acquaintances he’d ever met who didn’t give a rip about his name, his title, or his fortune.

  Jarrod’s lofty birthright hadn’t mattered a whit to Griff because Griff was secure in his own birthright. He was secure in his parents’ love and in the position to which he was heir.

  And Colin had simply disregarded Jarrod’s status and regarded the boy, first as an unworthy adversary and then as a friend because, although Colin had no real money, he had charm and intelligence and prospects. Colin was Scottish. His ancestors had spent centuries learning to survive and thrive in the Sassenach world, and he was the beneficiary of that training.

  Colin had no qualms about trading a title that had existed before the time of Macbeth for a fabulously wealthy heiress, preferably one that would be suitably impressed by his title, if not his person. He considered it a fair trade. He was, after all, a Scot and superior to the English in every way that mattered.

  “And what did you learn from that one time experience?” Colin asked, setting himself as Jarrod’s gull.

  “That people need other people around them—for entertainment, if for no other reason.” Spoken like a true cynic, but Colin and Jarrod both understood that Jarrod didn’t quite believe it. “I suspect company would be good for Lady Abernathy right about now. She needs cheering up.”

  “Who do you suggest we send?” Colin asked.

  Jarrod snorted. “I was going to suggest you go,” he answered honestly.

  Colin shook his head. “Can’t. I’m going fishing in Scotland. I leave tonight. You’ll have to go.”

  “Can’t.” Jarrod answered as succinctly as Colin. “I have to remain in London and see to some unfinished business at the ’change.”

  Anyone who happened to overhear their conversation would think they were old friends discussing upcoming schedules. Lord Grantham was leaving for a fishing holiday in Scotland, and business kept Lord Shepherdston near the financial district and the stock exchange. But their conversation had a different meaning for Jarrod and Colin. They knew that the day’s code word was fishing.

  Translated, their conversation meant that Colin was leaving for France on the evening tide, and that Jarrod would remain in London to process information they’d already received from their broad network of spies and smugglers.

  “Well?” Colin asked. “Who do you suggest? Her mother?”

  It was Jarrod’s turn to shudder. “I suspect that if Lady Abernathy wanted her mother, she’d have sent for her.”

  “How do you know she hasn’t?”

  “Apparently, someone is reading her mail.” Jarrod grinned. “Alyssa hasn’t contacted her mother since the wedding. And besides, Lady Tressingham is attending Lady Buckingham’s masque tonight. She’s going as Juliet.” Jarrod’s ability to ferret out information never ceased to amaze Colin. But, then, Jarrod was invited everywhere and knew everyone.

  “How?”

  Jarrod gave Colin a look that said, Don’t ask.

  “Never mind.”

  Jarrod gave Colin an innocent look. The snippets of information one could pick up at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon constantly amazed him—and his superior at the War Office. “There were seven at last count,” he added just to tantalize Colin.

  “Seven what?”

  “Juliets.”

  “Good lord!”

  “The Duchess of Devonshire is one of them.”

  “Are you going?” Colin asked.

  Jarrod shrugged. “Depends on how much work I have to do.”

  “I’m glad I’m going to Scotland,” Colin said. “Less excitement.” He was silent for a moment. “What about one of her sisters?”

  Jarrod shook his head. “One has an infant and the other two are increasing.”

  “Too much like rubbing her nose in it,” Colin agreed. “We need someone who will rouse her from her megrims. Someone whose presence would demand she get out of bed and attend them.”

  “What we need is Griff,” Colin remarked dryly.

  Jarrod’s eyes lit up. “Or the next best thing…at least according to Lord Tressingham.” He glanced across the room.

  “Oh, Christ!”

  “He fits the bill,” Jarrod said.

  Colin nodded. “Agreed. But this could blow up in our faces. Especially if she is reconsidering her decision to become a viscountess instead of a duchess. She might learn to like his company too well.”

  “She chose Griff once,” Jarrod said, his voice full of conviction. “I am willing to bet that she will again.”

  Colin nodded. “Now, how do we manage to make our little proposition attractive to himself?” he asked in the well-modulated Scottish burr that sent shivers of anticipation up the spines of his favorites at Madam Theodora’s.

  “That’s easy.” Jarrod poured another dram of whisky for himself and for Colin. “We negotiate. He’s been nosing around us for weeks. He’s not working for Grant or for anyone else we know, so my guess is that he wants something we have. We discover what it is and offer it to him in return for this favor.”

  “How do we accomplish that?”

  Jarrod smiled. “We ask him.”

  “Bloody hell!” Colin took a deep breath, then exhaled it. “All right,” he said finally. “Invite His Grace over.”