“I have enlisted the aid of my brothers in arms, and together, we have formulated a plan of battle.”
—Griffin, Lord Abernathy, journal entry, 24 April 1810
“Leaving so soon?” Jarrod asked as he cornered Griff in front of a row of densely fronded potted palms separating the refreshment tables from the designated dance floor.
“So soon?” Griff arched an eyebrow. “It seems as if I’ve already spent an eternity here in Free Fellows Purgatory.”
Jarrod chuckled. “It may seem like an eternity, my friend, but in reality, we entered Almack’s hallowed doors less than an hour ago.”
“You’re joking!” Griff exclaimed. “I’ve already fended off a half dozen marriage-minded mamas and their offspring.”
“You’re not supposed to fend them off,” Colin said, coming up to join them with two glasses of watery orgeat in hand. “The whole point of being here is to find a bride.”
“I thought the point of being here was to do what has to be done so that I might join my regiment,” Griff answered.
“Call it what you will,” Colin told him. “But you’re here to find a wife.” He glanced at Jarrod and down at the glasses. “Sorry, old man, but I could only carry two, and I had to fight my way through the crowd to get these.” He handed a glass to Griff and kept one for himself. “It’s abominably hot in here.”
It was. And Jarrod was as hot and thirsty as the other two Free Fellows, but he shuddered at the sight of the watery liquid. “None for me, thanks.” While Almack’s was the place to see and be seen while bride hunting, the patronesses’ idea of refreshments suitable for unmarried ladies left quite a bit to be desired. He turned to Griff. “Grantham’s right. You came because you have to secure a bride as soon as possible if you want to join your regiment. Any sign of her?”
“None.” Griff took the glass Colin offered and downed the orgeat. “Damnation! I can’t believe I thought this was a good idea or that the two of you agreed to come here tonight. It’s worse than I thought it would be. I don’t want a bride. I don’t want to get married. All I want is to join my regiment. All I want is to fight for England.” He glared at the other two. “I’m a founding member of the Free Fellows League. I want to remain a Free Fellow. I am going to remain a Free Fellow. I cannot believe I thought I could actually go through with this… What the devil was I thinking?”
“No bride. No regiment,” Jarrod declared. “That’s what you were thinking.”
Griff shook his head. “I was thinking that I could choose the young lady who caught my fancy, offer her nothing but my name, my title, and my property, sail away without a backward glance, and still call myself a gentleman.”
“You can,” Colin assured him. “You can call yourself a gentleman and a Free Fellow as long as you don’t forget your oath.”
“My oath not to marry?” Griff asked.
“Your oath not to marry unless you have no alternative except to marry,” Jarrod answered. “And the fact is that unless you’re willing to give up your military career and our mission to defeat Bonaparte you have no alternative.”
“I’ve no wish to be any young woman’s husband, or jeopardize our mission. And forcing this decision upon me isn’t fair to either of us,” Griff said.
Jarrod shrugged. “What is ever fair in life? That’s the way these things are done. You know it, and the young lady you choose will know it. That’s all that matters.”
“Is it?” Griff demanded. “Do you think they really understand? Do their mamas explain that this is all business?” He swept his hand out in a gesture that encompassed the whole of the assembly room’s female population. “Or do these young ladies believe, no matter what their mamas tell them, that their marriages will be different. That their future husbands will love, honor, and cherish them? And if they believe in romance, what are the odds that I will find a young woman who won’t be brokenhearted when she learns I’m never going to love her. Or one that won’t mind being left all alone while I go off to war?”
Colin chuckled. “You might be surprised.”
Griff lifted an eyebrow.
“Virginal young ladies of good family are generally thought to find the marriage bed messy, uncomfortable, and shockingly distasteful—especially on their wedding night,” Colin elaborated.
“How many virginal young ladies have you bedded?” Griff demanded.
“None,” Colin admitted cheerfully. “I try to steer clear of marriageable young ladies and virgins. But I’m told—”
Griff snorted.
“Ask any of your newly married friends,” Colin insisted. “They’ll tell you.”
“Not if they’re gentlemen,” Griff protested. “Besides,” Jarrod added, joining the discussion, “we don’t have any newly married gentleman friends. We’re Free Fellows. Remember? And Abernathy’s right. No gentleman is going to discuss his bride’s reaction to the pleasures of the marriage bed.”
“That’s the point I’m trying to make,” Colin reiterated. “Gentlemen don’t discuss it. But Abernathy’s bride might be very happy to see him ride away, because most young ladies view the marriage bed as a chore that must be endured. According to everything I’ve heard, young ladies seldom find pleasure in the marriage bed.”
“Then their husbands are ignorant fools,” Griff pronounced. “I’m neither.”
“Right you are,” Jarrod clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re an unlucky devil, at the moment, because you’re forced to marry, but you’ve never been accused of being a fool or of being ignorant in the ways of pleasuring a woman.” Jarrod took Griff and Colin’s punch cups out of their hands, then turned and set them beneath the drooping fronds of a potted palm. “Now,” he said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of the hunt, “let’s go find your viscountess-to-be.”
None of them noticed the slightly red-faced young lady emerge from behind the potted palms and hurry to the refreshment table in search of orgeat and Lady Cowper.
Barely a Bride Page 9