“I’m the man whose movements his Bow Street runner is tracking,” Colin said. “You arrange the meeting. I’ll attend it.”
Jarrod raised an eyebrow. “We don’t know who the impostor is. We don’t actually have proof that an impostor exists. All we know is that someone eloped with a young woman using your alias. If that young woman turns out to be Gillian Davies, her father may hold you responsible, despite our best efforts to prove otherwise.”
“She may have eloped with someone using the same name, but Miss Davies knows she didn’t elope with me.”
“That may not matter to her father,” Jarrod warned. “Baron Davies is a man of considerable wealth and influence. If he’s determined to salvage his daughter’s damaged reputation, he may not care whether you were the man responsible for damaging it or not.”
“I’m aware of that,” Colin said. “And I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to protect our mission.”
“Then, bon chance, mon ami,” Jarrod said. “I’ve dealt with the man, and I know firsthand that you’re going to need it.”
Chapter Eight
“We were not born to sue, but to command.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
Richard II
Baron Davies faced the Bow Street Runner from across the vast expanse of a heavy mahogany desk. “What do you mean, my daughter’s marriage isn’t legal?”
“Exactly what I said, sir.” Wickham took a deep breath, mentally counted to ten, and explained his latest findings in greater detail. “I’m sorry to be the man responsible for relaying this information to you, Lord Davies, but I’m afraid your daughter’s marriage cannot be legal.”
“She told me she eloped to Scotland, stood before a magistrate, and repeated her vows before witnesses,” Lord Davies related the facts he’d gleaned from Gillian. “Once she crossed the border into Scotland, she no longer required my permission to wed. Under the law, her marriage was perfectly valid.”
“That’s true, sir,” Mr. Wickham agreed. “And had it not been for the fact that the man she wed has two other wives, her marriage would be quite valid—providing he signed his true name. Unfortunately, your daughter’s bridegroom has two other wives he married, under different names, before he wed your daughter.”
“So, he’s a bigamist?” Lord Davies’s face turned a dark shade of scarlet.
“It would seem so.” Wickham nodded. “He married the other two women and your daughter within three months of one another. And all at the same anvil in Gretna Green.” He paused a moment in order to frame his next words. “It seems the magistrate—and I use that term loosely—who married him was equally unscrupulous and quite amiable to well-placed bribes of coin and jewelry. He swears that the man who married your daughter also married two other women—under different names, of course. According to the magistrate, your daughter’s husband wed three women in order to—” The Bow Street investigator cleared his throat. “In order to—well, I’m sure you can imagine why a scoundrel would pretend to marry an innocent young woman.”
“To seduce her?” Lord Davies banged his fist down on his desk. “That bounder married my daughter with full knowledge of the fact that he had already married two other women in order to seduce her?”
“Well, yes,” Wickham admitted. “And to relieve her of her coin and her valuables before sending her home in disgrace, where he would then continue to blackmail her for more cash in return for his silence.”
The baron was livid. “How dare he make my daughter his third wife? If he was going to become a bigamist, he should have made her his first wife. How dare he consider Gillian his third choice?”
Mr. Wickham thought the baron’s display of temper was misplaced. It seemed to him that Lord Davies’s concern should be for his daughter’s emotional state of mind and the physical complications that might arise from her brief encounter with a scoundrel. As far as Wickham was concerned, a bigamist was a bigamist, and the order of any marriages, beyond the first legal one, was of no importance. But the rich were different from ordinary folk, and Wickham had had enough dealings with the rich to know that the best way to handle Lord Davies’s display of temper was to wait until it passed before he continued.
“This cannot, in any way, be construed as an insult to your daughter, sir. In fact, our Mr. Fox would consider his choosing your daughter a compliment. He found her worthy of his attention.”
“Of course she’s worthy of his attention! He’s a scoundrel, a criminal, and a bigamist, while she is a lady, a beauty, and a considerable heiress!”
“That goes without saying, sir,” Wickham attempted to soothe the baron’s wounded pride. “And it is quite possible that Mr. Fox’s fondness for your daughter outstrips any affection he feels for the other two. He may even have genuinely desired a legal marriage with your daughter. But the fact that he married your daughter after he’d married the other two women makes your daughter’s elopement and marriage null and void.”
“What of her reputation?” Lord Davies demanded. “My daughter made a mistake by eloping with a bounder, but she married him in good faith.”
“Yes, she did,” Mr. Wickham, agreed. “And I believe your daughter is an honorable young woman. Unfortunately, she ran afoul of a man who uses a number of different names and to whom honor means little.”
Mr. Wickham’s diplomatic turn of phrase went a long way to mollifying Lord Davies. During their association, the Bow Street runner had quickly learned that Lord Davies tended to be very prickly wherever he perceived an insult or slight to his rank or his name. And the idea that a scoundrel would marry two other women before he married a baron’s daughter was abhorrent to him.
“Have you any idea where to find the rogue?” Lord Davies asked.
The Bow Street runner did have an idea where to find the rogue, but only because he’d found a note from Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant of the War Department awaiting him as soon as he arrived in his office this morning. The note from Colonel Grant requested an afternoon meeting between Viscount Grantham and Baron Davies to discuss the runner’s current search for Mr. Colin Fox.
Wickham related the details of the note, then followed by saying, “I took the liberty of issuing an invitation to Viscount Grantham to meet with us this afternoon in order to discuss information Viscount Grantham claims to have about the identity and the possible whereabouts of our elusive Mr. Fox.”
“Grantham?” Baron Davies cocked his head. “What has he to do with this?”
“Mr. Fox has lived up to his name. He’s been almost impossible to follow,” Wickham admitted reluctantly. “And every trail I’ve managed to uncover has led, in some way, to the War Office. Lord Grantham is attached to the War Office. I haven’t been apprised of the nature of his connection or the extent of his involvement in the department.” He frowned. “That part is rather murky. But the fact remains that the colonel sent word that Viscount Grantham had information to impart about the man we seek but would only do so in a private meeting with you.”
Baron Davies gave a thoughtful nod. “My daughter told me her husband was attached to the War Office and was acting as a clandestine agent for our government against Bonaparte and the French.”
Wickham sighed. He hoped Miss Davies’s information was correct and her erstwhile spouse was exactly what he pretended to be. But declaring oneself an agent for the government had become the latest fashion among young thieves and confidence men. It sounded heroic, romantic, and exciting, and young ladies flocked to heroes in droves. And the idea that a young man was a clandestine agent working for the good of his country appeared to give license to all sorts of behavior, on the part of all involved that would otherwise be considered quite beyond the pale.
According to Bow Street’s most recent estimates, approximately one in every six young men of a certain age and background in London claimed to be acting on behalf of the British government or on behalf of one of its allies. “I’m afraid your daughter may be mistaken, sir.”
&
nbsp; The runner didn’t need to elaborate.
Baron Davies understood that his daughter had trusted a man who lied to her, married her under false pretenses, and abandoned her in a foreign land, leaving her to make her way home as best she could. If he lied about marrying her, then he’d most likely lied about everything else. “When is the meeting to take place?”
The Bow Street runner glanced up at the clock on the mantelshelf. “Lord Grantham should arrive any moment.”
“Good,” Baron Davies pronounced. “I’ll be interested to hear what the young viscount has to say.”
Colin entered Lord Davies’s study some ten minutes later. He extended his hand to the baron as Lord Davies’s butler announced him. “Good afternoon, Lord Davies.” Colin greeted the baron and then shook hands with the Bow Street runner. “Mr. Wickham. I’m Grantham. And before we begin, I must inform you that anything that’s discussed in this room must remain entirely confidential. We three”— Colin cast a sideways glance at the butler—“are the only participants, and if word of this meeting or any of the subjects we discuss leaves this room, I shall hold you entirely responsible.”
“Of course.” Lord Davies wasted no time on pleasantries. “Your warning is well taken and your threat quite unnecessary. I assure you that neither Mr. Wickham nor I wish to have the contents of this meeting divulged. We are all gentlemen and shall be held to the highest standard of behavior.”
Colin nodded his assent.
Davies motioned the younger man into the study before dismissing the butler. “That will be all, Saunders. I’ll ring if there’s anything we require. Otherwise, we are not to be disturbed for any reason.” Lord Davies waited until the butler withdrew from the study before turning his attention back to Colin. “So tell me, Lord Grantham, what do you and the War Office know about the man known as Colin Fox?”
Colin narrowed his gaze at the baron as the older man quickly dispensed with polite formalities and began demanding answers. Colin recognized a formidable opponent when he saw one. Baron Davies didn’t mince words.
But Colin wasn’t easily quelled. “I’ve come to ask you and your Bow Street detective the same questions.”
Lord Davies was momentarily taken aback. “Why would you ask us about the man we’ve been hunting?”
“I ask because you’ve been hunting the wrong man,” Colin answered.
“Impossible!” The Bow Street runner exclaimed. “I’ve been on Colin Fox’s trail from the moment Lord Davies’s daughter returned from Scotland.”
Colin felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He ground his teeth together to keep from giving voice to his sudden, acute disappointment. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had wanted Jarrod’s information to be incorrect. But Jarrod’s sources of information were impeccable, as always.
Colin didn’t believe in coincidence, and even if he did, he’d be hard pressed to believe that the reason for this meeting and Gillian Davies’s return from Scotland were unrelated. “You have been on the trail of one Colin Fox,” Colin informed the Bow Street runner. “Unfortunately, you’ve been on the trail of the wrong Colin Fox.”
Wickham looked skeptical. “Are you telling us there’s more than one?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Colin said.
“How do you know?” Lord Davies demanded.
His hopes of surviving the meeting with Baron Davies and the Bow Street runner with his secret identity intact were dwindling, but Colin followed Colonel Grant’s orders and did his best to stanch Lord Davies’s quest for information. “My position in the War Office makes me privy to information about Colin Fox of which ordinary citizens are unaware.” Colin paused before elaborating. “Of which you are unaware.”
“I am aware that the man is an unscrupulous criminal who should make his home in Old Bailey or aboard a transport ship,” the baron replied. “And I’m not going to rest until I see that he does.”
Colin inhaled. “And I’m here to ask that you suspend your search and allow the War Office to handle this matter.”
“I will do no such thing!” Lord Davies exclaimed. “That bounder eloped to Gretna Green with my daughter and abandoned her at a coaching inn after relieving her of her virtue.” The baron’s voice shook from the force of his anger. “He ruined my daughter, and I intend to see that he pays for it.”
“Your daughter must have been a willing participant in her elopement,” Colin said, playing devil’s advocate and baiting the hook to see if the baron would bite. “Eloping to Scotland is scandalous behavior, but it’s not insurmountable so long as your daughter’s paramour had the clergy or the authorities bless the union before he relieved her of her virtue. It may take a while, but marriage tends to soften attitudes, and your daughter should be able to recover her position in society.”
“That might be true if my daughter was legally wed,” Lord Davies snapped, “but the fact that the scoundrel with whom she eloped already had two wives makes her marriage redundant. If it becomes known that my daughter married a bigamist, I’m afraid it will cause a scandal from which she may never recover.”
“Does she know her marriage isn’t valid?” Colin asked suddenly.
“Of course not! We just discovered it ourselves.” Lord Davies raked his hand through his thinning hair. “And to think I sent her back into the ton last night to try to quash the rumors. If word of this gets out...” The baron glared at Colin. “If you or the War Office are protecting or harboring this scoundrel, I demand to know why!”
The knot in Colin’s stomach grew tighter as he recalled the look of betrayal on Gillian Davies’s face when they’d talked of honor and chivalry. Colin took a deep breath before carefully choosing his words. “The War Office is not protecting the man with whom your daughter eloped.”
“But it is protecting someone,” Mr. Wickham guessed, looking Colin in the eye. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I came to find out how much you knew.”
“About Colin Fox?” Wickham queried.
“About the man you are hunting,” Colin corrected.
“We know enough,” Lord Davies interrupted. “My daughter told me that the man she married was attached to the War Office and was acting as a clandestine agent for our government against Bonaparte and the French.”
“Miss Davies claimed her husband was a government agent?” That was news to Colin. Unpleasant news. Dangerous news. Jarrod wasn’t going to be happy about it at all.
“Yes,” Lord Davies answered. “And now the War Office has sent you to keep us from bringing one of your spies to justice.”
“One of my spies?” Colin managed to sound incredulous. “I’m afraid you overestimate my importance to the War Office.” He looked first at the baron and then at the runner. “I have no spies.”
“You are attached to the War Office,” Wickham reminded him. “And while the nature of your involvement is shrouded in secrecy, those of us at Bow Street are aware of Colonel Grant’s role in recruiting and training covert agents to act on behalf of His Majesty’s government.”
Colin didn’t attempt to dispute Wickham’s word. When he replied, his answer was truthful. “I was unaware that the man you are seeking claimed to be an agent of His Majesty’s government.”
“Every trail I followed led to the War Office,” Wickham said.
“Only because you’ve been following the wrong trail,” Colin insisted.
“Then how is it that you are involved, Lord Grantham? How did you know we were hunting anyone?” The baron finally asked the most obvious questions. “Especially, a man who shares your Christian name? Unless you are the man we seek? Unless you and Colin Fox are one and the same?”
Chapter Nine
“The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
The Merchant of Venice
“I am not the man you seek,” Colin denied calmly.
“But you are Colin Fox,” Wickham stated,
pinning Colin with a knowing look as understanding finally dawned.
Colin met his gaze. “Colin Fox is a name I’ve had occasion to use.”
“Did you use it when you eloped with my daughter to Gretna Green?” Lord Davies accused.
“I’ve never been to Gretna Green,” Colin said.
“I suppose you’re going to deny an acquaintance with my daughter as well,” Lord Davies sneered.
“Not at all,” Colin retorted. “I met your daughter for the first time last night at Lady Harralson’s soiree. I partnered her in a dance. I didn’t elope with her.”
“But Colin Fox did,” Wickham said. “And shortly thereafter, Lord Davies hired me to find him.”
“Exactly,” Colin said. “And every trail you investigated led to the wrong Colin Fox.”
“My investigation has made the War Office uncomfortable,” Wickham surmised.
Colin nodded once again. “The work I do is vital,” he said. “We cannot afford to have anyone inquiring about Colin Fox.”
“Especially when the Colin Fox I’ve been seeking has no connection with the War Office,” Wickham added.
“Now you understand my dilemma,” Colin told him.
“I don’t care about your dilemma.” Lord Davies crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Colin and at Wickham. “I care about my daughter’s disgrace.”
“I had nothing to do with your daughter’s disgrace.”
“That’s of little consequence to me,” Lord Davies informed him. “I hired Bow Street to find Colin Fox, and Mr. Wickham has accomplished that task.”
“Lord Grantham has green eyes. According to Lady Davies, the other Colin Fox’s eyes are a nice shade of blue. Since Lord Grantham cannot change the color of his eyes, he cannot be the only Colin Fox,” Wickham reminded the baron.
“Unless my wife and daughter are mistaken about the color of the rogue’s eyes being a nice shade of blue,” the baron said, “instead of a nice shade of leaf green.”