by Ann Chaney
“Oh, I almost forgot, that is the reason I am here. Philly and your mother are waiting for us in the drawing room. Shall we join them?”
His wife gave him a wink and waited. He fought the urge to roll his eyes in her direction. He lost the battle and sighed before reaching for her hand then placing it on his sleeve.
“Come, Cross, tea awaits.” He called to his friend over his shoulder. If he had to endure tea with his mother and Philly, then so did Cross.
To Moreham’s surprise Cross stepped around him and offered his arm to Gillian. “My lady, I must share some of the tales of Moreham’s misspent youth. Have known him since our first year at Eton, you know.”
“Cross, Gillian doesn’t need to hear off-color tales.” Moreham growled as he followed the pair to the drawing room.
Both laughed and sailed across the hall into the drawing room. Gillian looked at him and smiled. The minx had the nerve to gift him with a second wink before giving her full attention to Cross. “My lord, my aunt refuses to discuss Moreham with me. Something about far too scandalous for my ears.”
Cross laughed once more and led Gillian over to a settee. To Moreham’s ire, his so-called best friend dropped down to sit by his wife. Due to the gleam in the man’s eyes, Moreham decided Sturm was his new best friend.
“Oh no, I must tell about our first year at Cambridge, Moreham had a running competition with an upper classman named Nigel Brownley. They made every aspect of their academics a competition. You see, Moreham had a private tutor at Eton so he was able to move up a year ahead of the rest of us. Your husband is a very bright fellow,” Cross leaned closer to her and confided in a loud voice.
Moreham cringed. A catastrophe was about to happen, and he couldn’t stop Cross. He knew Gillian would have heard the tale at some point. His mother and Philly stopped talking and gave Cross their attention.
His sense of impending doom eased when Gillian favored him with another smile. Who was he to deny his wife a reason to admire him? “Yes, indeed my husband is very intelligent.”
“After our first year, Moreham invited a group of us to accompany him up to Town for the last week of the season. Stayed with him at More House. We were a cocky bunch of lads to be sure. Somehow, Nigel was included.
“After a night of going from ball to ball, we ended up in Moreham’s library. Can’t remember how it happened but Nigel challenged your husband. Moreham said we were too young to duel and countered with a dare to swim the Thames at high tide. Nigel looked like a fish on a hook. The man could not swim. Moreham adapted and changed the challenge to low tide.”
“Oh Moreham, you are a wicked man. Low tide? In all that muck?” Gillian chastised him with her eyes shining with mirth. He couldn’t keep the grin from his face for an instant longer.
He suddenly felt happier with Gillian’s attention focused on him. “Dearest, I thought it only right a man named Brownley should look the part. Though, I rather miscalculated where we were to swim—
“—Moreham, this is my story to tell,” Cross interrupted.
Moreham waved his hand for his friend to continue and sat back basking in his wife’s good humor.
“Moreham was concerned about being discovered, so they agreed to wait until after the low tide the next night. We all congregated upriver from Blackfriar’s Bridge. The rules of the engagement, Moreham as the challenger, would go into the river first. Take twenty paces into the river, turn and walk back to the shore. Your husband being the honorable man did as the agreement dictated. What my friend didn’t count on was a hole. He went down into the muck, face first.” Cross laughed so hard tears flowed down his cheeks.
Every time Cross appeared to be regaining control, he looked over at Moreham and went off into another fit of laughter. Moreham winced at the sight of Gillian, his mama and Philly all tittering at his expense.
Since Cross’ laughter precluded the man from finishing his version, Moreham decided to take the reins in the telling of his ignominious tale. “Just as Cross says, I fell down. Covered from head to foot in the putrid mud of the Thames. When Nigel saw my state, he turned tail and ran. The fellows chased after him to broadcast his cowardice. Cross and Sturmbridge remained with me and aided me in my journey home.”
“We couldn’t leave him as he was.” Cross snickered. “Moreham stood in the mews and we poured buckets of water on him to clean the muck off.”
“Once I was de-mucked, Timmie allowed me into the house where he subjected me to several baths before he deemed me clean enough to leave my rooms.”
Lady Sylvia piped in. “I was in residence, but the boys swore the servants to silence and I only found out what transpired when I called on a bosom bow the next week, after Moreham had returned to Cambridge. I sent him a scathing letter about the risk to his health from the dunking in the filthy river.”
Philly folded her handkerchief and tucked it in her sleeve. “All of this to say Moreham had boasted to others of the dunking Brownley would suffer. When he was the one to get doused, he learned a hard lesson. Boasting is a fool’s game. A hard lesson for most to learn. All it cost Moreham was a dunking in the muck and a little ribbing from his school chums.”
Gillian rose to her feet and joined him by the fireplace. “I have only one question. Whatever happened to Nigel Brownley? I do not know the name. Does he come to Town?”
Moreham pulled her into his arms and frowned down at her. “Wife, you are a sassy piece of baggage.”
Cross, no longer laughing, interceded. “That is the best part of all. Moreham hired the man to be his steward. Nigel’s only request was to be assigned to an estate as far from the River Thames as possible. The fellow has lived for the last ten years, in Yorkshire. Not a river in sight!”
This time even Moreham broke out laughing. At that moment, he could never remember being as happy.
The joviality of the afternoon carried over into the evening. Gillian cringed at the twinge of guilt for enjoying her time with James and the others. Thought she tried to tell herself, Uncle Whitney was innocent, each day she learned more details that could only be mean he was guilty. The more she feared his guilt the more Moreham appeared to believe her uncle was being manipulated. She prayed Moreham was the one right.
For the first time since she had waited for Moreham to arrive at Philly’s house on Berkley Square the week before, her heart was lighter. Everyone decided to seek their beds after the ladies had enjoyed a tea tray in the drawing room. Moreham escorted her upstairs. Moreham ushered her into their sitting room. Once he closed the door, he leaned against the door and listened.
“What—”
“Shhhh…” He held up a finger to stop her from speaking.
After a few moments, he crossed the room and took her hand to lead her to the far side of the sitting room to a window seat. He pulled her down into his arms and leaned closer still to speak softly. His mouth feathered the shell of her ear. It tickled. “The footman? Do you know him?”
When she tried to answer he placed his finger over her mouth. “Whisper.”
She nodded. Deciding to give the man a bit of his own medicine she in turn leaned closer and pressed her lips to his ear. She relished when he shivered ever so slightly. “I don’t know him. But as I said, servants come and go at all the houses.”
“We must divine a way to visit Mama and Philly before dinner. We must keep them informed as to what we have learned today. I’d hoped we would have a moment tonight, but with the servants coming and going, I feared we would be overheard.”
Gillian looked around the room. Only when she spied the bookcases by the fireplace did she remember the hidden staircase.
“The middle bookcase is a door to a hidden staircase. The stairs run to all floors. Fortunately, the stairs to the floor above are in a sitting room next to your mother’s bedchamber. We will have to venture into the corridor but ’tis better than going up the main staircase.”
Moreham smiled at her and kissed her hard before releasing her. “Excellent.
Shall we summon Maisy and Wilson and prepare for bed. When Maisy leaves you, wait until she opens the door to tell her that you’ll ring for her in the morning. I want the footman to hear you. He will think he has an easy night ahead of him. Once the house is quiet, we will go to Mama and Philly.”
Moreham moved away from her and took his warmth with him. He tugged on the bell pull twice. Then they both left for their respective dressing rooms.
As Moreham had instructed, Gillian made sure she called out to her maid, as she was about to leave her for the night. “Maisy, I’ll ring for you in the morning. The earl and I are exhausted and hope to sleep in.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and left Gillian. Moreham opened his dressing room door carefully and joined her in their bedchamber. He joined her once more by the window. “Now, we wait another hour. You may want to rest on the chaise until the house quiets down.”
“No, I’m fine. The sooner we speak with the ladies, the sooner we can return to our bed.”
To her surprise, Moreham shrugged and availed himself of the chaise. He wiggled around until he was comfortable then proceeded to fall asleep.
Chapter 14
The minute hand on the mantel clock travelled tick by tick as she watched her new husband sleep on the too small chaise. What an interesting pastime to watch another sleep, especially a husband who never lowered his guard. Now she knew one of his secrets.
Her heretofore perfect specimen of a mate…snored. Not so loud as to keep her awake all night snore, but a rather comforting exhalation of air she found endearing.
“Ooohh!” Startled at the sight of Moreham’s eyes staring at her as she watched him, Gillian refused to be defensive for her intense regard. He was a virtual stranger who was also her husband. She was entitled to stare. Moreham rose to his feet and stretched his arms above his head with a moan.
“How’d you do that?” Gillian asked over the chiming of the clock.
“What?” Moreham frowned.
“How did you know to wake up before the clock chimed the hour?” She persisted.
“Oh that, I have this defined sense of time even when I sleep. Before I go to sleep, I just tell myself when to wake and I do. Has caused many a wager to be won. Weatherington used to supplement his income at Cambridge by wagering against the younger lads when I would wake.”
Moreham stood, tugged at his waistcoat and looked around the bedchamber. His eyes landed on her or rather behind her. He reached over her to pick up his jacket.
Once dressed, he nodded to the secret door. “Ready to call on your new mama?” he asked.
Frustrated by his playful regard, Gillian huffed a deep sigh, stepped over to the wall then worked her hand around the hidden latch. He took over and pulled the door open. He peered into the darkness before retrieving a lit candle, taking hold of her hand and leading the way up the stairs.
She had never liked moving around on the secret stairways in the house. When she was little not long after she came to live at Whitings, she ventured through one of the secret doors to find herself unable to open the door. She could hear her aunt and others calling for her to come out of her hiding place. No one heard her when she called out she was in the wall. After what seemed like hours, her uncle opened the door. She begged him to not be mad. The memory of him holding so tight she had to tell him to loosen his hold brought tears to her eyes. She’d never ventured into the walls again.
With Moreham’s hand surrounding her own, she found she rather enjoyed being in the darkness with him. Maybe he would enjoy a tour of all the stairs inside the walls. Never knew when they would need to escape into the night. Wouldn’t a good spy want to be prepared?
Far sooner than she would have liked, Moreham stopped and moved her closer into his arms. “Gillian, where is the latch?”
She reached forward, felt for the hidden lock and lifted the metal catch. A thin beam of silver light shot across Moreham’s face. The man was smiling. How he could be so jovial at such a dangerous time was far beyond her comprehension. She pushed on the door only to have him grab her around her middle.
“Allow me…” Moreham pinched the candle’s flame and poked his head out the narrow opening before stepping forward into another bedchamber.
They both crept into the unoccupied bedchamber. Neither spoke as they stood still and listened. Moreham nodded to her and they moved across the room to the chamber’s doors. He pressed his ear to the door and listened once more. She appreciated his caution. Servants came and went well into the night. The thought of running into a member of the household and having to explain why she and her new husband were wandering the hallways wasn’t a pleasant thought at all.
Gillian wiggled to ease the stiffness in her back. Moreham motioned her over to the door. He turned the handle slowly then waited a moment. When all remained silent, he opened the door and poked his head out to look both ways down the hallway. Once more, he waited before taking her hand and tugging her down the hall. Neither spoke until Moreham reached the doors of the dowager’s room.
The hall long case clock struck the quarter hour. Gillian held her breath and waited for footsteps. To her horror, the distinctive clicking of heels rang out in the dark. What now?
She leaned into Moreham’s back and whispered. “Do you hear the footsteps. I think someone is coming.”
Moreham opened the door and shoved her inside the very pink bedchamber. Aunt Isadora had ordered the renovation of the room for her most favored bosom bows.
“Moreham, I am certain you have a good reason to disrupt my sleep this night.” His mama called from the monstrous bed situated in the middle of the room.
Before he could reply, the bedchamber’s doors opened. Philly slipped into the room.
“Really, Moreham if you are going to sneak around in the night, shouldn’t you be quieter. I heard you open the door. Gillian, you really should speak to Mrs. Osgood about oiling the hinges, but not until we leave. The noisy hinges will work to our advantage.”
Philly gave them each a hard look. “I am assuming we are all standing around in our nightclothes because the pair of you have something to tell us.”
Moreham gave an accounting of their visit to the abbey and what they’d overheard. Once he finished speaking, Philly asked, “Moreham, what is your plan? Don’t give me that look of innocence. I have worked with you for far too long to believe you haven’t devised a plan to gain the most intelligence you can from this meeting.”
“Cross and I will ride out in the morning to the abbey so he can familiarize himself with the layout. Before Whitney and the others arrive from Town, we will be back, dressed for an at home afternoon. Once, everyone retires for the evening after dinner, we will return to the abbey and wait. Between the two of us, we will identify as many of the attendees as possible. No one will be the wiser of our presence.”
“What do you think Philly?” the dowager asked from her bed. “I think his plan is brilliant. I am for any plan that will keep both he and Cross safe from discovery.”
“I agree, Sylvia. Moreham, what about Gillian’s part?”
“She will remain here in the house.”
“Gillian, do you agree with Moreham’s intent to leave you behind?”
“No, I do not, but he is right. My presence could be a problem for them. I don’t want to be the reason they fail to identify the traitors.”
Philly paced the floor back and forth. “Very well, I agree as well. Moreham, you will elude capture at all cost.”
“Believe me, my lady, avoiding the wrong end of a pistol is my prime consideration.”
Lady Sylvia waved her hands to the door. “Now that is settled, off to bed everyone. Tomorrow sounds like a busy day for us all.”
Moreham ignored his mother’s flapping hands and crossed the room to kiss her cheek. Gillian joined him and did the same while Philly went to the door and listened.
The older woman nodded and all three of them left the dowager’s bedchamber as quietly, or maybe more so, than when they
arrived. Philly crossed the corridor to her bedchamber and disappeared into the room while Moreham held tight to Gillian’s hand and escorted her back to the sitting room door and their escape route.
Only when they were once more in their bedchamber did Gillian draw an easy breath. Moreham’s business was not for the faint of heart.
Before she could say a word, he slipped his arm behind her knees, swung her up into his arms and carried her over to the massive bed. He settled her gently under the bedcovers before joining her. The gesture was the stuff of dreams. She had never been so caught up in a moment as she found herself at that instant.
This man, her husband possessed her heart though he had no notion of the fact. On top of the quest to clear her uncle’s name and find the traitors, she now had to keep her newly realized affection for her husband of all people from being revealed. However, was she going to do such a thing?
From the moment they’d left Gillian’s bedchamber through the secret staircase, Moreham had focused all his attention on protecting Gillian. All concern for capturing the conspirators planning to meet at the old abbey fled from his mind as he held her hand and slinked off to his mama’s bedchamber. During that journey, he had cared not one whit whether they ever found Percy Arnold’s accomplices as long as his wife was safe.
Moreham forced his breathing to slow down. How like Gillian to fall asleep the moment her head touched the feather pillow on her side of the bed. He, on the other hand, was fully awake with sleep nowhere in his future. Only now, did the risk he had taken with her well-being hit him full force. He tightened his hold on her as the importance of his thoughts shook him. He had never cared as deeply for any woman as he did at that moment for Gillian.
“I thought we agreed sleeping together would help us sleep,” Gillian mumbled from her side of the bed.
“I’m thinking. I’ll doze off soon. Go back to sleep, little one.”