“That’s the spirit, lad. Now, buck up, for the party’s about to begin.”
“Ride in,” Daniel said quietly, lifting his oar and locking it into place as the others did the same, allowing the skiff to ride the tide to shore.
They clamored out of the boat and into the surf, beaching the craft before unloading the French brandy, the leather dispatch pouches, and Micah.
“I’ll take that.”
Daniel turned to find Lord Espy exiting a coach that Daniel knew all too well, pointing a gun at Pepper, who stood holding a case of brandy.
“Have you a sudden taste for brandy, Lord Espy?” Daniel asked. “Or has your cellar run dry?”
“Consider it payment,” Espy said. “For the commander of the frigate. He likes fine brandy.”
“Would that be your brother? Commander Selwin Espy?”
“Touché, Your Grace.”
Daniel nodded to Pepper. “Give the man the case of brandy with my compliments.”
“You are a gentleman, Your Grace.” Lord Espy gestured with the gun. “Over here.”
Pepper carried the case of brandy to a spot in front of Espy’s coach and put it down.
“Now I’ll take the rest of it,” Espy directed.
“Greedy, my lord? Or merely thirsty?” Daniel taunted.
“A little greed is a virtue, Your Grace. And a great thirst for the finer things in life is likewise.” He brandished the weapon. And Daniel signaled to Pepper to unload all the brandy and give it to Lord Espy. “Now the rest.”
“I’m afraid that’s all there is,” Daniel told him.
“Not the brandy,” Espy said. “I want the spy and the dispatches.”
“We’re not carrying spies.” Daniel met Espy’s gaze without flinching. “And what makes you think I would turn one over to you if we were?”
“I have something you want.”
“Have you?”
“Yes, indeed,” Espy elaborated. “That is how this game is played. I have something you want. You have something I want. The gentlemanly thing to do is make an exchange.” Espy kept his weapon trained on Daniel as he backed up a step, reached into the coach, and pulled Miranda out, and twisted her arm behind her back. “May I congratulate you on your nuptials, Your Grace?”
“Hello, Daniel.” Her voice was a tiny bit wobbly, but she kept her head high, refusing to show fear.
“And here I thought Lady Miranda was merely your lover,” Lord Espy said. “Imagine my surprise and delight when I learned she was your new bride.”
Daniel thought his heart might stop at the sight of her. He’d planned everything to the utmost, but the sight of Espy holding his wife by the arm while brandishing a weapon gave him chills. But he had a part to play. He looked Miranda up and down. “Has he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then may I say that you look as fetching in that dress as you did in the one earlier?” She had dispensed with his trousers and changed dresses. He smiled at her. “New frock?”
She nodded. “Your mother invited me to Sussex House for refreshments. I thought I should look my best …”
Daniel’s heart skipped another beat. “Is my mother … ?”
“I’m a gentleman,” Espy informed him. “I would never hurt your mother.”
“Yet you manhandle my wife,” Daniel growled.
“Only as a matter of business,” Espy said. “Your wife was leaving Sussex House as I arrived.”
Miranda glared at Espy. “Did you know that he and the duchess were keeping company?”
“I knew she had a gentleman friend,” Daniel admitted. “I didn’t know her taste in them was so deplorable.”
“You should stay home more,” Espy told him. “Then you’d know what is going on beneath your nose. You would know that I’ve been paying court to Her Grace for several weeks now. She is still a very lovely woman and a most generous companion.”
Daniel thought he might be ill at the thought of the companionship Espy and his mother had shared.
“At any rate, your wife made the mistake of exiting Sussex House and calling for her coach immediately after her driver recognized mine.” Lord Espy shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately, I was in the process of rendering her footman unconscious when she saw me.”
“I didn’t see Rupert,” Miranda told Daniel. “But Lord Espy swung his walking stick at Ned and hit him upon the side of the head, then left him lying on the street.”
“I was in a bit of a hurry. There was no time to waste,” Espy continued. “Your bride proved to be quite a handful. Naturally, I had no choice but to bring her along on the journey. Especially after she tried to emasculate me with her knee.”
“My men?” Daniel queried.
“Your driver is tied up inside your coach,” Espy replied. “And when we departed, your footman was still lying in the street.” He tightened his grip on Miranda’s arm.
She gasped as the pain shot up her arm, then kicked at Espy through her skirts. “You blackguard!”
“Enough!” Espy let go of Miranda’s arm long enough to grab hold of her waist, anchoring his arm around her from behind, waving his weapon around before calmly pointing it at her. “Give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want. Hurry,” he advised, staring at Daniel. “The clock is ticking.”
“Very well,” Daniel said calmly. “Give me my wife and I’ll give you the dispatches.” He reached back and Micah placed the leather pouches in his hand.
“And the spy,” Espy insisted, licking the drops of perspiration that beaded on his upper lip. “I need them both.”
“For what reason?”
“For money, of course,” Espy spat. “There are those who have more than enough, like you, Your Grace. And there are those who never have enough …”
“Like you.”
Espy nodded. “So I devised a way to get more of it.”
“In lieu of marrying my mother?”
Lord Espy chuckled. “You know the duchess. She would never marry a man of lower rank, no matter how good he is in bed.”
“So you decided on espionage and ransom,” Daniel guessed.
“Of course,” Espy crowed. “And a spy in the hand is worth a great deal more than dispatches to the French. Give him to me!”
“Miranda,” Daniel spoke softly. “Do you know that I love you?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“Do you trust me never to do anything that might jeopardize your life?”
“Without question.”
“Then pick up your feet. Now!”
Miranda did as he instructed, lifting her feet from the ground in the same instant that Daniel flung the leather pouches at Espy’s head and sprinted toward him. Espy fired his weapon as Daniel knocked him to the ground. Miranda fell back, landing in the soft sand beside the leather pouches.
“Is everyone all right?” Daniel asked, gingerly rolling to his knees to watch as Micah, Billy Beekins, Pepper, Shavers, Colin, and Griff surrounded Espy and jerked him to his feet.
“We’re fine,” Micah called. “His shot hit the water.”
“Miranda?” he gasped.
“I’m all right.” She reached out and touched him on the shoulder.
“Thank God,” he breathed. “My head knew the danger was minimal, but my heart …”
“Your heart?” she prompted.
“My heart was in my throat,” he whispered. “I thought I might die of loving you.” He closed his eyes and keeled over on the beach.
“Daniel? Daniel!” She shook him. “Are you shot?”
“No,” he groaned. “But I’m afraid I’ve destroyed your needlework.”
“Lean on me,” she ordered as she attempted to lift him and fell to her knees. “You still weigh a ton.”
Daniel yelped. “You’re no featherweight yourself. Thank God.”
“Allow us.”
Miranda looked up as Colin and Griffin helped Daniel to his feet.
“Now you know what we do for an evening’s enterta
inment away from home and hearth,” Griff said with a wink.
Colin nodded. “And we’d appreciate it if you’d keep all this excitement to yourself, Your Grace.” He smiled at her. “No need to worry our lovely wives.” Colin put an arm around Daniel’s waist, and together he and Griffin boosted him into the coach.
“Indeed,” Miranda replied. “I’ll have nightmares just thinking about it, but your secrets are safe with me.”
“Well done, Your Grace.” Micah offered his hand.
“Thank you.”
“I’m Micah Beekins,” he told her as he helped her into the coach, then climbed up beside her. “Not to worry, ma’am. We’ll take Danny Boy … I mean … His Grace … to my mother. She knows just what to do. She’s done it afore and she’ll have him stitched up again in no time.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Kiss till the cow comes home.”
—Francis Beaumont, c. 1584–1616,
and John Fletcher, 1579–1625
REGENT’S PARK, LONDON
One month later
“The morning post has arrived, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Ned.” Miranda lifted the letter from the silver tray he offered to her and placed it on her lap.
“It’s Beckham, ma’am.”
Miranda looked up from the newspaper she was reading. “Pardon?”
“It’s Beckham, ma’am,” Ned insisted. “Now that I’m a butler, you should call me by my surname, Beckham.”
“I’ll try, Ne … Beckham,” she promised, as Daniel walked into the room and placed a kiss on her neck.
“Problems with the help?” he teased.
Miranda nodded. “Now that he’s recovered from his wound and been promoted to butler, Ned insists on being called Beckham.” She looked over at her husband. “I’ve known him all my life and I’ve always called him Ned.” She sighed. “Beckham is going to take some getting used to.”
“You elevated him to the position of butler, Your Grace,” Daniel reminded her. “And that entitles him to be called by his surname.” He leaned over her shoulder. “Anything newsworthy in the Chronicle?”
She shook her head. “I keep waiting for the “Ton Tidbits” column to recant their earlier article about us.”
“No luck?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“No matter. We can always bring suit against them.” Daniel stared at the cream-colored heavy vellum envelope in Miranda’s lap. “What’s that?”
“Morning post.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
Miranda folded the newspaper and laid it aside, then reached for the envelope in her lap and flipped it over. “That’s odd.”
“What is?” Daniel had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from grinning like a jackanapes.
She frowned. “It’s from your mother.”
“Well, open it,” he urged, “and see what she wants.”
Miranda ripped open the envelope and read: “ ‘Her Grace, the dowager Duchess of Sussex, requests the honor of your presence at the wedding of her son, His Grace Daniel Edward Arthur, Ninth Duke of Sussex, to the Most Noble Miranda Margaret, Fifth Marquess of St. Germaine on Wednesday, 30th June at nine o’clock in the morning at St. Michael’s Church, St. Michael’s Square, London. Gala breakfast to follow at Sussex House.’ ” Puzzled, Miranda looked up at her husband. “She’s inviting us to our wedding.”
Daniel shook his head. “The invitation was addressed to you,” he said. “She’s inviting you to the wedding she’s hosting for us.”
“She wants us to get married again?”
Daniel leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “She wants to make amends by publicly inviting you to her second gala celebration of the season.”
Tears formed in Miranda’s eyes. “She doesn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, she does.”
“Thirtieth of June?” Miranda squeaked. “That’s barely a fortnight away. What should I wear?”
Daniel laughed. “Strange that you should ask that particular question.” He leaned down and picked up a dress box from Madam Racine’s and handed it to her. “For I seem to recall owing you a ball gown fit for a queen.”
Miranda untied the bow on the box, removed the wrapping, and gasped at the cream-colored dress inside it.
She lifted it out of the box and held it up.
It was a dress fit for a queen, made from yards of silk and lace and embroidered with hundreds of pearls and diamonds.
“I almost ordered a green one identical to the one you wore to our first wedding,” he admitted. “But I decided that only something extraordinary would do.”
“Oh, Daniel …”
When she said his name like that, something inside him melted, then thrilled with pride. “Marry me again, Miranda,” he said softly. “So I might have the opportunity to repeat my vows before all of London and let everyone know how happy and honored I am to be the man with whom you walk down the aisle. Because I love you and I want everyone to know that I’m the luckiest husband in all the world to have you for a wife.” He kissed her then, a kiss that was long and hot and sweet and full of the promise of tomorrow.
“I love you, Daniel,” she whispered. “And I’ll be happy and honored to marry you as often as you like. Because I’m yours. Truly and forever.”
Epilogue
“It is good news, worthy of all acceptation!
And yet not too good to be true.”
—Matthew Henry, 1662–1714
From the “Ton Tidbits” column of Wednesday, 30th June 1813:
The editors and publishers of the Morning Chronicle are pleased to offer to Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, our most humble apologies for an earlier column suggesting Their Graces committed acts of impropriety in a house on Curzon Street earlier in the season.
According to the parish register of St. Michael’s Church, the Duke and Duchess of Sussex were married by special license in a ceremony performed by Bishop Manwaring immediately prior to their sojourn on Curzon Street, where they spent the first two nights of their honeymoon.
The editors and publishers of the Morning Chronicle deeply regret the unfortunate error and extend our sincere felicitations to the happy couple.
Official Charter of the
Free Fellows League
On this, the seventh day of January in the year of Our Lord 1814, we, the sons and heirs to the oldest and most esteemed titles and finest families of England and Scotland, do amend the original charter of our own Free Fellows League.
The Free Fellows League is dedicated to the proposition that sons and heirs to great titles and fortunes, who are duty-bound to marry in order to beget future sons and heirs, should be allowed to avoid the inevitable leg-shackling to a female until we find the love of our lives, for England’s and Scotland’s greatest heroes deserve no less than the love of extraordinary females.
As active and equal members of the Free Fellows League, we agree that:
1) “We shall only agree to marry when we’ve no other choice, or when we’re old enough, or when we know in our hearts that it’s the right thing to do.
2) We shall no longer require our fellow Free Fellows to pay the sum of five hundred pounds sterling to each of us upon the occasion of a marriage before reaching our thirtieth year. We shall not refuse the sum should our fellow Free Fellows choose to follow established tradition and offer it, but we shall not expect or require it.
3) We shall reserve the right to never darken the doors of any establishments that cater to ‘Marriage Mart’ mamas or their desperate daughters unless forced to do so. Nor shall we frequent the homes of any relatives, friends, or acquaintances that seek to match us up with prospective brides, unless we want to do so.
4) When compelled to marry, we agree that we shall only marry women we love or women we hope to love or women we pray will one day love us.
5) We shall never feel encumbered by the sentiment known as love or succumb to female wiles unless we
choose to do so because love is a gift, not an encumbrance, and the females who hold us enthralled are wives who love us to distraction and are dearly loved in return.
6) We shall sacrifice ourselves on the altar of duty at every opportunity in every way we can, in order to give and receive pleasure and to beget our heirs and pray that we always find great satisfaction in doing so.
7) We shall install our wives in our hearts and keep them there and by our sides in our country houses, in London, or wherever our journeys take us.
8) We shall drink and ride and hunt, and consort with our boon companions whenever we are pleased to do so, and then eagerly return home to our wives and families with smiles on our faces.
9) We shall not dictate to the wives who have given us their hearts, but shall love, cherish, and respect them and do everything in our power to share our work and our lives with them. Furthermore, we shall take care not to put our feet upon tables and sofas and the seats of chairs, or allow our hounds to sit upon the furnishings and roam our houses at will, if such behavior causes our spouses distress.
10) We shall give our loyalty and our undying friendship to England and Scotland and our brothers and fellow members of the Free Fellows League, and equal loyalty to the wives and families we love and who love us in return.
Signed (in blood) and sealed by:
Griffin Abernathy, 1st Duke of Avon and 1st Marquess of Abbingdon, aged thirty years and two months. Happily married since May 1810.
Colin McElreath, 27th Viscount Grantham, aged thirty years and five months, eldest son and heir apparent to the 9th Earl of McElreath. Happily married since June 1812.
Jarrod, 5th Marquess of Shepherdston, 22nd Earl of Westmore, aged thirty-one years and three months. Happily married since May 1813.
Daniel, 9th Duke of Sussex, aged eight and twenty years and eight months. Happily married since May 1813.
Jonathan Manners, 11th Earl of Barclay, aged eight and twenty years and ten months.
Truly a Wife Page 29