Merely the Groom by Rebecca Hagan Lee
She started at the sound of a knock on the door. Rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands, Gillian scrubbed away all evidence of sleep before answering. “Who is it?”
“Mistress Douglas,” the innkeeper’s wife answered. “I’ve brought your breakfast.”
“I didn’t order breakfast,” Gillian answered, trying hard to ignore the insistent rumbling of her stomach at the mention of food.
“I brought it anyway,” Mistress Douglas explained. Gillian frowned. “I cannot pay you for it,” she admitted reluctantly in a voice tight with pride.
“No need,” the innkeeper’s wife answered. “Meals are included with your bed and board.”
Meals hadn’t been included at supper last night or yesterday’s nooning hour, or at breakfast when Gillian had waited in vain for a meal, hoping the innkeeper or his wife would take pity on her.
“Unless you’ve a mind to go without, I’d open the door,” Mistress Douglas told her. “This tray is heavy, and I’ve customers waiting downstairs.”
Gillian didn’t need further prompting. She unlatched the door and swung it wide, stepping back to allow the innkeeper’s wife to enter. The aroma of eggs and kippers, fresh-baked bread slathered in butter, accompanied by a pot of steaming tea, filled the room. Gillian came close to swooning as she watched Mistress Douglas set the wooden tray on a table near the fireplace. “It smells heavenly.”
Mistress Douglas gave Gillian a dismissive snort, then turned on her on her heel and headed for the door. “Mr. Douglas will bring you a bucket of coal for the fire once we’re done with breakfast.”
Undaunted by the other woman’s rudeness, Gillian tried again. “I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness.”
“It ain’t kindness,” Mistress Douglas said at last. “And there’s no need to thank me. I was only doing what he paid me to do.”
“What my husband paid you to do?” Gillian asked.
Mistress Douglas shook her head.
“Then whom?”
“The smuggler.”
“I don’t know any smugglers.”
The innkeeper’s wife shrugged. “Don’t matter,” she replied. “So long as he knows you.” She nodded toward the wooden tray. “There’s an envelope. He left it for you.”
Gillian waited until the innkeeper’s wife left, then closed the door behind her and secured the latch. She hurried over to her breakfast tray and picked up her fork.
An envelope of cream-colored vellum lay on the tray exactly where Mistress Douglas said it was. Gillian stared at it as she poured a cup of tea. She managed to keep her curiosity about her mysterious benefactor at bay until she’d satisfied her overwhelming hunger, but once she’d finished her eggs and kippers, Gillian lifted the envelope from the tray.
Her fingers trembled as she lifted the heavy cream vellum and turned it over to study the seal. The green wax puddle over the folded edge of the envelope bore the impression of a mounted knight.
Gillian ran the pad of her finger over the impression, intrigued by the choice. The vellum wasn’t the sort of stationery one would expect a smuggler to use; neither was the wax seal.
Seals were personal representations. Before he’d been awarded his title and coat of arms, her father had used gold wax pressed with the symbol of a lion. He’d selected the lion because it reaffirmed what everyone already knew: Carter Davies was the acknowledged king of the silk merchants. So, why would a smuggler choose to use green wax and the figure of a mounted knight? Why not a boat? Or a Jolly Roger? Or a cutlass? Or were those symbols a bit too obvious?
Gillian broke the seal and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. She unfolded the sheet of paper and was astonished to find a fifty-pound banknote issued by the Bank of England and three gold sovereigns.
A sheen of unshed tears burned her eyes as Gillian read the note and realized her prayers had been answered:
Madam,
I have taken the liberty of presenting the innkeepers with full payment for your complete room and board until the end of the month.
It is my way of thanking you for allowing me to intrude upon your privacy while I sought shelter from the cold. You gave me refuge when I needed it most, and I’m grateful.
I have also taken the liberty of securing a coach and hiring a driver to take you wherever you wish to go. Please do not hesitate to avail yourself of his services as soon as possible.
I enclose additional funds should you require them for the journey.
The Blue Bottle Inn is no place for a lady.
You needn’t stand watch at the window any longer. The way home is yours.
I am,
Your servant,
Galahad
Gillian’s breath caught in her throat. He wasn’t a figment of her imagination. Nor was he her husband. She had shared a bed and an intimate kiss with a stranger. A smuggler. A smuggler who knew she waited at the window and watched. A smuggler who knew she had seen him in the early morning fog and the nighttime shadows. Gillian folded the sheet of paper and returned it to its envelope.
She should be shocked, perhaps, even ashamed. But she was not. She was grateful. She was deeply, profoundly grateful to her mysterious benefactor for coming to her rescue. Gillian hadn’t been alone after all, because the man who called himself Galahad had known she was there.
The original Galahad had been renowned for his purity and virtue. Gillian tucked the envelope and the fifty-pound banknote in the lining of her bodice. She couldn’t vouch for this Galahad’s purity, but Gillian had to commend him on his virtue for, like all true chivalrous knights, he had come to the aid of a damsel in distress. And he kissed like a dream...
She scooped up the gold sovereigns and hid one between the lining and the sole of her right shoe, then removed a stocking from the small traveling case she’d packed in preparation for her elopement and dropped the remaining sovereigns in the stocking, fashioning a knot between each one to keep them from clinking together. Once the coins were secure inside the stocking, Gillian lifted her skirts and tied the stocking around her waist.
He may not have meant to, but her husband had taught her a valuable lesson when he’d taken her jewelry and her emergency cash. Now Gillian knew better than to be so trusting and careless with the things she valued. She knew better than to be swept off her feet by a handsome face and a charming manner. She knew better than to give her heart and her self away to a man who would leave her behind without so much as a note or a kiss.
Gillian was going home to London where she belonged. She was going to take her mysterious Galahad’s advice and find a way to make amends to her parents. And if that failed and her father refused to take her in, the money Galahad had given her would allow her to find suitable lodging until she could locate her errant husband and demand explanations for the many questions he’d left unanswered.
Chapter Four
“The very life-blood of our enterprise.”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King Henry IV, Part I
London
“You’re late.” Jarrod, the fifth Marquess of Sheperdston and founding member of the Free Fellows, spoke without preamble when the doors opened and Colin entered the room.
“As you can see, I came as quickly as I could.” Colin’s hair was still damp from his quick bath when he walked into the private meeting room to find Griffin, Duke of Avon; Daniel, Duke of Sussex; and Jarrod conversing over glasses of Scotch whisky while they waited for him to arrive. Colin had only arrived in London a little over an hour earlier, having landed in Dover the previous afternoon following a brief journey to Paris. He had traveled straight through to London, stopping only long enough to change horses and barely had time to pop into the suite of rooms he kept at Jarrod’s London town house to bathe and change before Henderson, Jarrod’s butler, had delivered several messages, including one from the marquess requesting Viscount Grantham’s presence at White’s. The marquess had, Henderson said, called an emergency meeting of the League in their
“I’m sure we’re all pleased that you bathed and changed out of your travel clothes, but time is of the essence here.”
“I’m pleased to see you, too, Jarrod,” Colin retorted, meeting Jarrod’s unwavering gaze. “Henderson didn’t relay your message until after I’d begun my bath. And for your information, I needed a bath because I rode like bloody hell to get here.”
“When did you get in?” Griffin asked, deflecting a bit of the verbal sparring.
“A little over an hour ago,” Colin answered.
“From where?”
“Paris by way of Dover.”
Griffin gave a low whistle of admiration. He pulled out a chair and pushed it in Colin’s direction. “Sit down before you fall down.”
Colin sank down onto the chair and stretched his legs. “Pour the man a whisky.” Griffin nodded toward Sussex. “And you—” He stared pointedly at Jarrod. “Ease off and give the man a chance to catch his breath before we begin.” Accepting the whisky Sussex proffered, Colin sent Griffin a grateful smile before he downed a swallow of the warm, soothing liquor. Jarrod had always been the leader of the Free Fellows League. A year older than Colin and Griffin, he’d been a natural leader at ten and the one they had always admired and to whom they had looked for answers. Jarrod was older and richer, and as a marquess, he had been the highest-ranking Free Fellow. But Griffin had returned from the Peninsula as the hero of Fuentes de Oñoro, and the Prince Regent had elevated him from a viscount to a duke.
Now that he was the Duke of Avon, Griffin outranked Jarrod, and he enjoyed using his new status as leverage on occasion. But Griffin was careful not to abuse his newly acquired power. He didn’t have any intentions of taking over Jarrod’s position as leader of the Free Fellows League. He simply enjoyed lording it over Jarrod once in a while. It made up for all the years Jarrod had lorded it over him and Colin.
The Duke of Sussex was another matter. Technically, Daniel, Duke of Sussex, took precedence over all the other Free Fellows because his title was older and because he’d been born the son of a duke. But Daniel wasn’t an original member of the Free Fellows League. He hadn’t attended the Knightsguild School with Jarrod, Colin, and Griffin. Daniel had been educated at Eton. He had only learned about the secret Free Fellows League through happenstance and his cousin, Manners, who also attended Knightsguild and had occupied the cot next to Jarrod’s.
Sussex had only gained entry to their secret league because Jarrod and Colin had persuaded Griffin to allow him in on a probationary basis when Griffin returned from the Peninsula because the young duke had proven himself useful, loyal, eager, free, and readily available while Griffin was away serving with his cavalry regiment in Spain and Portugal.
Jarrod watched as Colin savored his whisky and exchanged a knowing look with the new Duke of Avon. “All rested and comfy now?” he asked, continuing the familiar verbal skirmishing he and Colin had established over the years.
“Quite, thanks,” Colin replied, taking another sip of his whisky.
“Then you won’t mind if we return to the purpose of this meeting and begin the briefing. I believe you’ll want to hear this, Colin,” Jarrod confided, “especially since you’re the primary topic.” Jarrod frowned, then glanced at each of the other Free Fellows to emphasize his point and the importance of the information he had to impart. “We’ve a problem with the current operation.”
“Go on,” Sussex prompted.
“Colonel Grant received information from one of his confidential sources that a prominent Bow Street runner has been investigating the movements of a gentleman known as Colin Fox.”
“What?” Colin sat up in his chair.
“You’ve attracted the attention of Bow Street,” Jarrod replied.
“Are you certain?” Sussex asked.
“Colonel Grant’s sources are extremely reliable,” Jarrod reminded them. “And I confirmed the information earlier today.”
“Is there any way to put them off Colin’s scent?” Griffin asked.
Jarrod shrugged. “This particular runner has a reputation for unimpeachable tenacity, and he’s being paid a handsome sum to investigate a very personal matter involving Colin Fox and a young woman of good family.”
Although they’d originally begun as a secret group of schoolboys, the Free Fellows League had grown and changed as its members had grown and changed. The members had put their secret league to work against Bonaparte, working very closely with the Foreign Office and the War Department. The covert work that Colin and Jarrod and Sussex did came under the auspices of a staff of graduates of the Royal Military College and Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant. While Grant gathered battlefield information on the Peninsula, Jarrod, Colin, and Sussex gathered information on a much larger field of battle, and all of it was analyzed, enciphered, deciphered, and included in the constant flow of military dispatches overseen by Griffin’s father, the Earl of Weymouth.
While Griffin’s role as a cavalry officer and a national hero had become public, the Free Fellows League and each member’s connection to it remained secret to all but a handful of close associates.
The Free Fellows used code names, aliases, and secret personas, and all the Free Fellows knew that Colin Fox and Colin McElreath, Viscount Grantham, were one and the same. As Viscount Grantham, Colin McElreath lived the life of a London gentleman, but he moved within the underbelly of London and traveled the width and breadth of England and Scotland as Colin Fox. He did the same in France, using his French mother’s family connections to move within French society as Viscomte Grantham, and assuming the persona of Colin Reynard in the seamier waterfront districts and in the French countryside.
Having Bow Street runners nosing around investigating one of their own was cause for alarm. Bow Street runners were investigators organized in 1750 by novelist Henry Fielding and his brother John to patrol the streets of London and keep the city safe. The runners’ office was located on Bow Street in London, but the investigators didn’t confine their activities to London. They worked for fees and rewards and were often hired by businessmen and members of the peerage to investigate private matters.
“Impossible!” Colin reached across the table and helped himself to the whisky decanter. After pouring two fingers of whisky into his glass and offering to refill Griff’s and Sussex’s glasses, Colin turned his attention back to Jarrod. “I haven’t been with a woman in over a month. Not since our last visit to Madame Theodora’s.” The color rose in Colin’s cheeks, and he gave Jarrod a meaningful look, reminding his friend and colleague that the last time he’d spent an evening with a female, Jarrod had accompanied him to the exclusive Portman Square town house Madame Theodora and her girls occupied. “Since that time, I certainly haven’t had the time, energy, or inclination to become involved in a very personal matter with a young woman of good family, whomever she might be.”
His curiosity piqued, the Duke of Sussex smiled at Colin’s reply and asked, “Have you any idea who the young woman is rumored to be or what Grantham was supposed to have done?”
“Colonel Grant didn’t reveal her name to me,” Jarrod said. “But my own sources suggest that she’s a member of the ton. At the moment, I don’t know who the young woman is.”
“Who hired the runner?” Griffin joined the discussion. “The girl’s father,” Jarrod answered. “But I don’t know which girl or which father. Apparently, there’s been a spate of elopements to Scotland recently. All involving daughters of minor peers.”
Scotland. The memory of the face at the window of the Blue Bottle Inn in Edinburgh flashed through Colin’s mind as he listened to Jarrod speak. Apparently, there’s been a spate of elopements to Scotland recently. Colin sighed. His instincts hadn’t failed him. He hadn’t been mistaken. The woman standing at the window had been a lady. A lady in need. A damsel in distress. Some unfortunate young woman had eloped to Scotland and been abandoned by some pinchbeck gentleman, by the man she trusted and married.
“Damnation!”
“What?” Jarrod demanded.
Colin slapped his forehead with the heel of his hand. “I thought it unusual at the time,” he said. “Because I had never seen one there before. And now, it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?” Jarrod prompted.
“There was a lady at the Blue Bottle Inn.”
“So?” Griffin prompted.
“The Blue Bottle is not the sort of establishment that caters to ladies. Certainly not the sort of establishment to which a gentleman would bring a lady. And yet, there was one. I saw her through the window.” Colin didn’t see the point in confiding that he’d also spent the night holding that same lady in his arms or that he could still remember her scent and the taste of her lips. “I had never seen any women at the Blue Bottle other than the innkeeper’s wife, the serving girls, or the waterfront whores who keep company with the sailors and smugglers who frequent the place. And I overheard the innkeeper and his wife discussing the fact that she was a lady whose husband had left her in their dubious care.”
“Have you any idea who she was?” Griffin asked.
“No,” Colin said. “But I know she was English.” He wiped his hand over his face. “Bloody hell! But I should have paid closer attention when I signed the register. It might have given me a clue.”