Truly a Wife

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

“So no one was hurt?”

  Daniel made a face. “We suffered two minor injuries and one slightly more serious one.”

  “How serious?”

  “The rifle ball passed through my right side and bounced off my ribs.”

  “Your ribs?” Colin’s Scottish burr grew more pronounced with his agitation.

  “Aye,” Daniel replied. “My ribs. I was shot in the back as we rowed toward shore.”

  “In the back?” Colin was surprised. “But that would mean that …”

  “I was shot by someone on the English side of the Channel. Presumably someone on the frigate.”

  “An English frigate firing upon the coast watch shouldn’t have been firing down at the water.”

  “Exactly,” Daniel said.

  “Could they have been providing cover for you?”

  “It’s possible,” Daniel speculated, “but they would have had to have known we were there in order to provide cover, and the fog was so thick the frigate nearly rammed us before we could get out of the way, yet it gave no indication that it knew we were there.”

  “And if it knew you were there, why didn’t they shoot you or arrest you for smuggling?” Colin thought for a moment. “As far as I know, we didn’t alert the Royal Navy to ask for cover. But someone either knew you were there … or expected you to be.” He looked at Daniel. “Did you catch sight of the name of the frigate?”

  “I didn’t,” Daniel admitted. “One of the crew might have.”

  Colin frowned again. “Without the name of the frigate, we have no way of knowing if they knew you were there.”

  “I may have a way,” Daniel said.

  “How?”

  “A list of all the officers serving on frigates patrolling those waters should provide the answer.”

  “You’ve someone in particular in mind, haven’t you?” Colin asked.

  “What I have at the moment is only a suspicion,” Daniel offered, walking rather stiffly over to the window and opening the drapes to look down at the street below, where a familiar carriage was parked on the opposite side of the street.

  “A suspicion?”

  Daniel nodded. “Would you ask Lady Grantham to join us?”

  “Aye. Of course.” Colin crossed the room and opened the door that connected the library to the study. “Gilly? His Grace would like to speak to you if you don’t mind.” He stepped back to allow his wife to enter the room, and Gillian walked in.

  Colin’s wife possessed a quiet beauty, and quick intelligence radiated from her like rays of sunshine. She adored her husband and it showed.

  “Good morning, Your Grace,” she greeted Daniel. “How can I be of service?”

  “Good morning, Lady Grantham.” Daniel left the window and walked over to take her hand and raise her from her curtsey. He smiled at her. “I’ve a question or two about the work you’ve been doing.”

  Gillian nodded.

  “Have you noticed any gaps in the missives you’ve deciphered? Any letters or messages out of sequence? Any parts that haven’t made sense?” Daniel asked.

  “No,” Gillian answered. “Every letter I’ve deciphered has made perfect sense in relation to the other letters I’ve deciphered. As far as I can tell, nothing has been missing.”

  “And I’m correct in assuming that you provided the men in Abchurch Lane with the latest corrected cipher tables?” Daniel inquired.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “It occurred to me that Abchurch Lane has missed vital bits of information they shouldn’t have missed.”

  “I’ve thought that, too,” Gillian told him.

  Colin nodded in agreement.

  “Some of the work I’ve done seemed far too easy,” she continued, “and yet the other ciphers missed it. I know I’ve a talent for this, but I’ve wondered how I could be so accurate and they could make such big mistakes.”

  “What if the men in Abchurch Lane only received the complete information when we supplied it?” Daniel posed the question that had been troubling him.

  “I don’t understand,” Colin admitted.

  “What if the information you and Gillian decipher and give to Shepherdston are the only complete ciphers they receive?” Daniel repeated his theory.

  “That’s highly unlikely,” Colin replied, “since the men in Abchurch Lane receive information from the front lines and from couriers in the field.”

  “Do they?” Daniel asked. “What if they only get bits and pieces of seemingly unrelated information?”

  “How?” Colin demanded.

  “Couriers. At least one, perhaps more, who withhold information.”

  “For what purpose?” Gillian asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Daniel told them. “It could be for personal gain or monetary reasons, but I suspect it may be political.” He walked back over to the window and looked out. The coach was still there, parked where he knew it would be until he left for his next destination. He motioned for Colin and Gillian to come to the window. “Recognize that coach?”

  Colin shook his head. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “It appears to be following me.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I’ve only been a few places since I returned, and I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that I’ve seen this coach everywhere I’ve been.” Daniel took a breath. “I saw this coach parked outside Albany yesterday afternoon, Curzon Street yesterday morning, Park Lane the night of my mother’s party.”

  And it was parked on Park Lane once again. Colin thought Daniel was right but felt compelled to point out, “The night of your mother’s party, you could have seen every coach in town.”

  Daniel looked him in the eye. “Except yours.”

  Colin shrugged his shoulders.

  “Barclay informed me that my mother neglected to invite you and Gillian.” Daniel looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch the oversight in time to correct it.”

  “That’s all right, Daniel. Gillian and I understood that the omission was the duchess’s, not yours.”

  “It won’t happen again. I promise you that.” He looked at Gillian, then extended his hand and offered it to Colin.

  Colin grasped it firmly and shook it in friendship. “Apology accepted.”

  “Thank you.”

  Colin released his hand, and Daniel moved to sit down on a leather chair near the fire. A pretty embroidered pillow in a Scottish thistle design rested in the seat.

  “If there’s nothing more you require of me, Your Grace, I’ll return to work on the ciphers,” Gillian said.

  Daniel pushed himself to his feet, took Gillian’s hand, and brought it to his lips. “I’m deeply grateful for your help, Lady Grantham.”

  “I’m thrilled to be able to help.” Gillian lifted her face for her husband’s kiss, then quietly returned to her work in the room next door.

  Daniel settled gingerly onto the seat of the chair he’d just vacated.

  “Does your injury pain you much?” Colin asked. “I can offer you some whisky.”

  “I’m a bit stiff, but that’s mostly due to the bindings around my ribs.” Daniel smiled. “I thank you but I’ve had as much whisky as I can stand for a while.” He related the story of his journey from the coast to London. “I saw that coach at the docks at Dover as well.”

  “You’re certain?” Colin flushed red. “I don’t doubt that you thought you saw it, but you admit you were quite drunk.”

  “I saw it before I became so intoxicated,” Daniel explained. “Before I reached London. Before my wound began to hurt like the very devil. Before it kept me confined to bed for a couple of days …” He stared down at the side table near his chair, where a copy of the Morning Chronicle lay folded to the “Ton Tidbits” column. Turning to Colin, he said, “I see you read the Chronicle this morning and know to whose bed I was confined.”

  “So it’s true.” Colin frowned mightily.

  “It’s true,” Daniel confirmed. “But not in the way you think.”r />
  “I’ve a vivid imagination, Your Grace, and a good idea of human nature. I know what I’d be doing if I were confined to bed with a beautiful young woman if injury permitted.”

  “Injury permitted,” Daniel replied.

  “And now her reputation is ruined.” Colin was especially touchy where ladies’ reputations were concerned, for he had had to marry his beloved Gillian under exceptional circumstances in order to save hers. “How are you going to make amends to Lady St. Germaine?”

  “Making amends with Lady St. Germaine isn’t necessary,” Daniel said. “Making up with her will be.”

  Colin lifted his eyebrow in query.

  “I married her before we shared a bed,” he explained. “Which is, I believe, the preferred method. Unfortunately, I was quite intoxicated when I did so and had no memory of it until this morning.” He gave Colin a halfhearted smile. “Hence the making up.”

  Colin slapped him on the back, congratulating him. “There must be something in the air. You, Jarrod, and Lord Rob within a week of one another. I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m having trouble believing it myself,” he admitted.

  “Imagine how Miranda must be feeling after that article in the paper this morning,” Colin reminded him.

  “And a visit from my mother.” He shuddered but finally managed a small smile. “I’d like to think she’s fighting mad about it. At least I hope that’s the case. But I’m afraid she’s retreated to lick her wounds.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Miranda.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Daniel agreed. “But I tried to see her this morning when I discovered our marriage license in my coat pocket, and she wouldn’t see me. She had her mother tell me she wasn’t at home.”

  He still couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that after all these years of taunting and teasing him, of offering herself and of challenging him, Miranda had let him go after one night in his bed. And had returned the only piece of proof she had that she was, in fact, the new Duchess of Sussex.

  Why would she decide to set him free now? After working so hard to get him? He couldn’t make sense of it. Why would she let him walk away without a word?

  Because love sought is good, but given unsought is better. Shakespeare’s quote lodged itself in his brain and refused to leave it. Miranda had sought his love for as long as he could remember and had despaired of ever having it. She had always been there for him, waiting for him to claim her steadfast and loyal heart. She had become his bride to protect him from the consequences of his actions, only to discover that he had no memory of the deed. And she had sent him on his way without telling him, in order to prove that she had no intentions of binding him to her if he would rather be somewhere else.

  Daniel closed his eyes and saw her face, heard her sharp-tongued replies, felt the surge of energy she gave him, the spark of desire that ignited whenever they were together. Miranda. He had always had Miranda. And he had always managed to disappoint her.

  He looked up at Colin. “I think Miranda is afraid I’m going to let her down.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.” He smiled. “For once, I am going to exceed the Marchioness of St. Germaine’s wildest expectations.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “There are truths which are not for

  all men, nor for all times.”

  —Voltaire, 1694–1778

  Daniel exited Colin and Gillian’s house some twenty minutes later, crossed the street, and called out to the driver. “Driver, have you a passenger?”

  The driver doffed his hat and shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Are you for hire?”

  The driver shook his head once again. “No, sir. I’m a private coach.”

  “Then, may I ask why you’re following me?”

  “I’m not following you, sir.”

  Daniel lifted an eyebrow at that falsehood. “Interesting, since I seem to run into you at every turn …”

  “Perhaps you’ve mistaken my coach for someone else’s,” the driver suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Daniel allowed, gesturing for the driver to lean down. “What is your name?”

  “Yates, sir.”

  “Well, Yates, am I to assume that as a private coach, you are in someone’s employ?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Might I have the name of your employer?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, sir,” the driver replied.

  Daniel paused. “I’m the Duke of Sussex,” he told him, “and there’s fifty pounds in it for you if you’ll be so kind as to return to your employer and stop shadowing me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” the driver answered as Daniel peeled off the pound notes and handed them up to him.

  “Be off with you, then,” Daniel instructed. “And don’t let me catch sight of you or your coach again.”

  “I can’t promise that, Your Grace,” the driver protested. “I work for a living, driving my employer to and from. We’re sure to cross your path now and again, as you gentlemen all frequent the same establishments.”

  Daniel nodded. “I see your point, Yates.”

  “I knew you would, Your Grace.”

  “So, let’s amend my earlier advice to don’t let me catch sight of you or your empty coach again.”

  The driver groaned.

  “I never forget a face,” Daniel warned, “or a vehicle. If I see you or your coach anywhere near me, you’d best have your employer inside it or there will be dire consequences for you, Mr. Yates. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir, Your Grace.” The driver doffed his cap.

  “Good,” Daniel pronounced. “Here’s another ten for your trouble.” He handed Yates another pound note, then waved him on his way.

  Daniel watched as the coach Yates was driving rounded the corner, then climbed into his own vehicle and waited for Colin to join him before heading to his appointment with Griffin and Lord Weymouth at White’s.

  “I see you lost your shadow,” Colin commented as he climbed aboard.

  “Indeed,” Daniel acknowledged.

  Colin was curious. “Mind if I ask how you managed?”

  “I paid the driver to go away.”

  “That simple?”

  “One of the advantages of being a duke is that I can pay most coach drivers to do my bidding—whether their employers like it or not.”

  “Will he return?” Colin asked.

  Daniel looked at Colin, then shook his head. “Not without his employer. I saw to that.”

  * * *

  The Free Fellows League minus Jarrod but with the addition of Lord Weymouth assembled in their usual meeting room at White’s.

  Griffin, Lord Weymouth, and Alex Courtland expressed relief at finding Daniel relatively unharmed. And after ordering coffee and drinks, they and the other Free Fellows—Jonathan and Colin—sat down to business.

  “I asked you to meet us here,” Daniel was saying, “after Barclay informed me this morning of the problem within our network. When he explained the nature of the problem, I realized, quite by accident, that I may have discovered the source of it. But before I continue, I must ask if we are all in agreement that there is a leak in our network that threatens our identities and the work we do?”

  “Yes,” the Free Fellows answered in unison.

  Daniel nodded. “I had to be sure because I’ve no wish to put forth a theory that would result in our accusing a man unjustly. After Barclay and I spoke, I paid a call on Lord Grantham to discuss the result of my most recent mission. I shared my concerns with Colin, and he informed me that he and his w—” He glanced at Lord Weymouth and decided to use discretion where Gillian was concerned. The deciphering Gillian did had provided invaluable information to the government, but there were men in government who would never accept that such critical information came from a woman, so Daniel thought it best to omit that bit of information until he discovere
d how Weymouth felt about it. “Colleague had concerns of their own. Their concerns were identical to my own and have confirmed my suspicion.”

  “What suspicion?” Lord Weymouth asked.

  “My suspicion that the information Lord Grantham and his colleague have been deciphering and the information the men in Abchurch Lane have been deciphering are not the same.”

  “Impossible!” Lord Weymouth was stunned. “All ciphered messages come to me. I make a copy of each message that crosses my desk. I give the originals to Lord Shepherdston to give to his ciphers, and I give the copies to Lord Bathhurst’s courier to present to the men in Abchurch Lane. The messages are always identical, for I copy them myself.”

  That was the answer Daniel had hoped to get, but he had to be sure. “No one else copies them for you? Or helps you copy them?”

  “Do you take me for a fool, Your Grace?” Lord Weymouth shot to his feet and began to pace in a manner very similar to Jarrod’s. “I copy each message myself, and they do not leave my person until I give them to Lord Shepherdston and to Lord Bathhurst’s representative.”

  “Not to Lord Bathhurst directly?” Griffin asked.

  His father shook his head. “I’d prefer that, of course, but unfortunately, Lord Bathhurst does not. And as he is my superior in the War Office …”

  “If the messages do not leave your person until you give them to Shepherdston and to Lord Bathhurst’s representative, how do we explain the discrepancies in them?” Daniel asked.

  “What discrepancies?” Lord Weymouth demanded. “I’m not aware of any discrepancies.”

  Daniel turned to Griffin. “He doesn’t know about the list?”

  Griff shook his head. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell him yet.”

  “What list?” Weymouth demanded.

  “Colin, you’re the one who deciphered the message.” Griffin looked over at Colin. “Tell Father what you discovered.”

  Colin quickly relayed the details of the dispatches he and Gillian had deciphered about the plot to assassinate Wellington and other prominent members of the English government—including them.

  “Good lord!” Weymouth exclaimed. “Even Bathhurst’s name is on the list and his primary job was to assemble the men in Abchurch Lane and to collect their reports and present the information to the Prime Minister.”