Alyssa set the basket of gifts on the nearest table and rushed forward.
Gillian attempted a curtsy at the sight of the duchess, but Alyssa stopped her. “Bother that!” She looked at Gillian. “Your maid told us you were indisposed and weren’t receiving callers, but we had to see for ourselves. Now, get back into bed before you fall down. We’ll only stay a few minutes.” She stood on Gillian’s left, and Miranda stood on Gillian’s right, and together, they walked her back to the huge master bed.
“Is there anything we can do?” Miranda offered as they helped Gillian back into bed.
Gillian blushed.
Alyssa raised an eyebrow in query. “Pardon me for being forward, but is it possible that you’re...” She paused and cleared her throat. “With child?”
Gillian shook her head. “Quite the opposite. My monthly has started with a vengeance.” She blushed. “Thank goodness Colin isn’t here. I would hate for him to see me like this.”
Alyssa chuckled. “It is a bother, but you would be amazed at how sympathetic, thoughtful, and inventive husbands can be at this time of the month.” She frowned. “Are you in a great deal of pain?”
Gillian nodded. “It’s been late before, but never this uncomfortable.”
“I have just the thing,” Alyssa told her. “Miranda will stay with you while I run home and get my potions.” She smiled at Gillian. “Don’t worry. I’m very good. I’ll have you feeling better in no time.”
“Please,” Gillian said. “Don’t bother.”
“It’s no bother,” Alyssa assured her. “I’m happy to do it. We’re just down the lane. Practically neighbors.” She started for the door. “I’ll only be gone a few minutes if the little dragon doesn’t try to stop me again.”
Gillian started to protest, but Alyssa was already heading out the door.
“Let her do it,” Miranda advised. “You’ll feel better, and Alyssa will be thrilled that she was able to do something for someone besides pay social calls.”
“Thank you.” Gillian managed a smile..
“I’m Miranda St. Germaine, by the way,” Miranda told her. “We met at your wedding breakfast, but we didn’t have an opportunity to speak.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, posh!” Miranda waved her apology aside. “You had better things to think of on your wedding day than meeting me. Besides, we have plenty of time to become friends. Alyssa likes you. And if Alyssa likes you, I like you. I was her maid of honor. And she was thrilled that she got to be yours.” Miranda made a face. “And although I would have been honored to do it, thanks for not asking me. I’ve earned a reputation as the ton’s perpetual bridesmaid, and I’d just as soon let someone else have the title and the gossip that goes with it.”
Gillian laughed.
“Speaking of which...” Miranda took a deep breath. “You needn’t worry about the ton crucifying your reputation anymore. That’s one of the benefits of having Alyssa and Griff as friends. They’re the Duke and Duchess of Avon, and no one wants to upset them. And it doesn’t hurt to have their parents on your side, either.”
“Or you, I suspect,” Gillian offered, thoroughly at ease with Miranda.
Miranda shrugged. “That’s one of the benefits of being a marchioness in my own right. Nobody knows what to make of me, so they generally leave me alone and let me do what I want.” She met Gillian’s gaze. “Perhaps this isn’t the time or place to mention it, because I’m probably stepping in where I don’t belong, but you did receive references when you hired your lady’s maid, Lavery, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Gillian said, “she came with glowing references from the Lady Exeter, Lady Barfield, and Lady Chemsford.”
Miranda frowned. “Are you certain she gave you references from Lady Chemsford?”
“Yes. She came to work for me shortly after she left Lady Chemsford’s service. She came highly recommended, and I’ve had no complaint with her service.” Lavery’s skills couldn’t compare with a certain viscount’s, but Lady Miranda didn’t need to know about that. “Why?”
“She was dismissed from Lady Chemsford’s service for forging her references from her former households—including Lady Barfield’s and Lady Exeter’s. She was dismissed from both of those households without references.” Miranda shrugged. “But as long as she’s working out well and you’re happy with her, that’s all that matters. Skilled lady’s maids are difficult to come by and even harder to keep. So it’s good that Lavery has been given another chance.”
“I didn’t intend to give her another chance,” Gillian answered honestly, “because I didn’t know she needed one, but I am a firm believer in granting them.” She smiled.
“You’re very fortunate to have Lord Grantham,” Miranda told her.
“I know.”
“And I think he’s equally fortunate to have you.”
“I’m back,” Alyssa announced, making her way into the room before busying herself with her bag of potions. “Your butler is bringing up a pot of strong tea and a tray of cakes to go with this...” She waved a bottle at Gillian. “And then we’ll fix you right up.”
Alyssa was as good as her word. When the tea arrived, she filled a teacup half full of her potion, topped it off with tea, and then handed it to Gillian.
Gillian drank it down, and soon her discomfort vanished.
Alyssa and Miranda spent the afternoon entertaining her, and the master bedroom reverberated with the sound of laughter.
“Will you come back soon?” Gillian asked when Alyssa stood and announced that she had to get home to Griffin.
Alyssa nodded. “We’ll be back to check on you tomorrow and to bring you the remedy for the headache you’re going to have.”
Gillian was puzzled. “How do you know I’m going to have a headache tomorrow?”
“After an afternoon spent imbibing tea laced with mead and Scots whisky.” Alyssa laughed. “How could you not?”
Miranda groaned. “We’re all going to need the remedy tomorrow.”
“How did it go?” Griff asked, as soon as Alyssa and Miranda walked through the door.
“She was indisposed,” Alyssa told him. “But we saw her anyway.”
Miranda laughed. “That lady’s maid didn’t stand a chance against the Duchess of Avon.”
“Is she all right?”
Alyssa nodded matter-of-factly. “Her monthly arrived with a vengeance.”
Miranda blushed bright red. Almost as red as Griffin. He coughed. “I’m not so sure that Lady Grantham would appreciate your confiding such personal information, my love.” He gave her a rueful look. “I’m not certain I want to have such personal knowledge.”
“You don’t,” Alyssa told him. “But Colin will.” She looked at her husband. “Especially when he learns he’s not going to be a father right away.”
Griff nodded. Although Colin had accepted full responsibility when he married her, there was no doubt that this would be welcome news. For now he knew that when he did become a father, there would be no doubting the paternity. “That will be welcome news, given the circumstances.”
Alyssa turned to Miranda. “Did you tell her about her lady’s maid?”
Miranda nodded. “I told her that her maid had been dismissed from Lord Chemsford’s, Lord Barfield’s, and the Earl of Exeter’s households.”
Griff froze at the sound of the three peers whose wayward daughters had eloped to Scotland. “What is this about her maid?” he asked. “Tell me everything.”
Miranda related everything she could remember, and when she finished, Griffin asked, “Do you think the maid suspected you knew anything?”
“Of course she suspected,” Alyssa answered. “She was a perfect gorgon to Miranda. They recognized each other on sight.”
Griff crossed the drawing room in several long strides and rang for the butler and the footmen. “Send someone through the back garden to alert Manners and Shepherdston. Hurry. It’s time to put the plan into action.”
“What
plan?” Alyssa demanded.
“I’ll tell you later.” Griff grabbed the tall hat and overcoat his butler handed him, kissed his wife, and hurried out the door.
Chapter Thirty
“Saint George, that swing’d the dragon, and e’er since
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess’ door!”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King John
Gillian looked up from the book she was reading as Lavery entered the bedchamber.
“Did you have a pleasant afternoon, madame?” Lavery asked, straightening the bed Gillian had left.
“Yes, I did,” Gillian answered. “Very much. Thank you.”
“Then you didn’t mind receiving visitors after all?” There was an edge to Lavery’s voice that made the hair on the back of Gillian’s neck stand on end. “No,” she answered cautiously.
“Then you won’t mind receiving one more.”
“What are you doing here?” Gillian felt a heated rush of outrage ripple through her as she recognized the voice from her past. She pushed out of the wing chair and stood up to face him.
He smiled at Gillian, then began moving closer. “What? No kiss for your long-lost husband? No greeting? No words of love?”
Gillian raised her chin a bit higher. “You are not Colin Fox. And you are not my husband. I may not know your true name, but I know what you are,” she told him. “The only thing I have to say to you is get out of my house.” She glared at Lavery, who moved to stand by his side. “And if you engineered this reunion by letting him in, you may go with him.”
“Gillian, Gillian,” he taunted. “That’s no way to talk to my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Joel Lavery, at your service.” He gave her a mocking bow. “But my English friends call me Joel Holder.” He chuckled. “You, of course, know me as Colin Fox, a name I chose from the myriad payment vouchers that crossed my desk during my brief tenure as a clerk at Scofield’s Haberdashery. I thought it apropos as I was, so to speak, a fox in the henhouse.” He chuckled once again. “A very rich henhouse. And you were such a pleasant little hen.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid my sister doesn’t take orders from you. She takes her orders from our beloved Emperor Napoleon and me.” He grinned at Gillian, allowing her to see, for the first time, the pistol he held in his hand. “And so, Lady Grantham, do you.” He jerked Gillian up against him and shoved the barrel of the pistol against her ribs. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m taking you back to Scotland, where you’ll stay until my sister and I receive our ransom.” He tried pulling her along behind him, but Gillian lifted her feet off the floor. He dragged her as far as the stairs. “Walk, my lady,” he ordered. “Or I’ll shoot you where you sit.”
“Then shoot me and be done with it,” Gillian told him, “because I’m not leaving this house.” She had promised Colin she’d be waiting, and that was a promise she intended to keep. “I made the mistake of going to Scotland with you one time, and I refuse to go back.”
Holder pulled the hammer on the pistol and prepared to fire.
“No!” his sister shouted. “She’s no good to us dead. Think of the money and the ships. We must have the ships.”
Holder eased his thumb off the hammer. “Did you take care of the staff?” he asked his sister.
She nodded. “They are all indisposed.’’ She looked at Gillian as she emphasized the word. “From the medicinal I slipped into the ale at the noon meal.”
“And the butler?”
“He met with an iron in the butler’s pantry.” She smiled. “He won’t bother us.”
“Can we make our way out the front door?”
She nodded. “The coach is waiting out front.”
“Good-bye, Sister,” Holder said, “I’ll meet you in Scotland. Come, Gillian, let us away.” He cuffed Gillian on the side of her head with the pistol and half-dragged, half-carried her out to the waiting coach. He snatched open the door of the coach and shoved her inside.
“Go! Go! Go!” came the shout from within as soon as the door slammed.
The driver obeyed, whipping the horses into a gallop as the coach pulled away from the sidewalk and raced south.
“Gillian, my love, are you all right?” Colin scooped her into his arms and cradled her next to his heart.
Gillian recognized his voice, smelled the intoxicating scent of his sandalwood soap, and knew she was safe. She opened her eyes, saw her husband’s dear face, darkened with concern, and began to cry. “I thought you were gone,” she sobbed. “I thought you’d gone back to Scotland or France or wherever it was you had to go.”
“I told you I’d be back.” He gazed down into her shining eyes. “Galahad always returns. And I kept my promise.”
“So did I,” Gillian told him. “I promised I’d be waiting for you, and I was.”
“And I was never more glad to be home with you than in this moment,” Colin told her. “I thought I had lost you, Gillian.” He hugged her closer. “Dear God, how I love you!”
“And I love you, my Sir Galahad.”
* * *
“Wait!” Holder shouted as he watched the coach tear away. “Wait! You left me!”
“Indeed, they did,” the Marquess of Shepherdston commented, dryly. “For they have a honeymoon to finish. And three’s a crowd on a honeymoon.”
Holder turned to find himself surrounded by several men brandishing shiny pistols. “Shepherdston.”
“At your service.”
“And so am I,” the Duke of Sussex said, pointing his own weapon at Holder. “Drop the pistol!”
Holder hesitated.
“Drop it or turn it on yourself,” the Earl of Barclay declared. “I don’t care which. But do it now or die.”
Holder dropped his weapon. “My sister—”
“Is already in the Marquess of Courtland’s custody.” Shepherdston informed him, waving the all-clear signal as Courtland led Lavery out of Herrin House and into the custody of Mr. Wickham, the Bow Street runner.
Joel Holder, escorted by the triumphant members of the Free Fellows League, joined his sister on her journey to the Brixton Gaol.
Epilogue
“This word, ‘ love,’ which greybeards call divine.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry the Sixth, Part IV
“Your father was right,” Colin said as he cradled his wife against his heart. “Herrin House is no Plum Cottage.”
“It’s wonderful,” she said, glancing around the modest cottage. The plum trees were blooming, and the fragrance wafted through the bedroom window. “I can’t believe you brought me here,” she said, “when you could have driven me around the block and taken me right back home.”
“And waste a perfectly good opportunity to kidnap you? And make memories in Plum Cottage?” He chuckled. “Not bloody likely.”
“He was taking me back to Scotland.” Gillian shivered at the memory.
“He wouldn’t have gotten very far,” Colin told her. “Not with Griff driving.”
“How did you know who he was or when he would come?” Gillian asked.
“We set a trap and waited to see who would walk into it.” He kissed the bump on the side of her head. “We suspected it had to be a clerk in your father’s firm, so we alerted Lord Davies and Wickham, the Bow Street runner, and told them of our suspicions. We learned that Holder was one of three clerks recently employed by your father, and that he had clerked at other firms that handled vouchers in the name of Colin Fox—my alias,” Colin explained. “Lord Davies pretended to discover the irregularities in the shipping routes and called a meeting of all the clerks with access to the shipping orders and manifests after he signed them. Holder proved quite adept at forging Lord Davies’ signature and reassigning the trade routes. Because he’d only been employed by Davies Silk and Linen Importers a short time, he wasn’t aware of the significance of the names of the ships. He simply sent the ships with the cargo Bonapa
rte required to French ports.”
“Didn’t anyone question the change in the routes?” Gillian asked.
Colin nodded. “Several senior captains and members of the crews. Unfortunately, Holder was in a position to intercept the captains’ written inquiries. He replied to their queries with letters informing the captains that the state of war between England and France and the very real fear of spies and piracy dictated immediate changes in trade routes and constant rotation of the crews, and then forged your father’s signature to the documents.”
“Good heavens!” Gillian blanched. “He could have gained complete control of the shipping line.”
“He very nearly did,” Colin said. “No one would have suspected a thing if his hubris hadn’t gotten the better of him.”
“I don’t understand.” Gillian frowned.
“He loves France and worships Bonaparte, but he craved a way of life he couldn’t have. He had been born into a family that had served aristocrats for generations. But Holder didn’t want to serve. He wanted power. And he found a way to get it by supporting Bonaparte’s rise to power. Bonaparte promised to reward his service and his loyalty once the war was won with an English dukedom and all the lands, money, and power that accompany the title. Unfortunately for Holder, war is expensive and he needed to find another way to help Bonaparte finance it, so he and his sister devised a scheme to marry English money. But his position as a French agent necessitated that he work as a clerk and no gentleman member of the ton would allow a clerk to marry his daughter. He...”
“Eloped with foolish young ladies like me with more money than sense...”
“Overstepped his bounds when he began courting ladies who should have been beyond his reach. All of his victims were daughters, wards, and widows of newly elevated and minor peers. He targeted ladies at the bottom or on the fringe of society. Ladies who had means, but who would generally be ignored by the ton.” Colin managed a smile.