“For the most part,” Grantham said, “I would agree with you. There are those in the ton who take great pleasure in spreading rumors and gossip and fostering scandal. But there are others in the ton who…”
“Value the attributes Jarrod named,” Sussex answered, finishing Colin’s sentence. “We admit to being in the minority among London society, but we have need of men who meet the requirements of bravery, loyalty, honor, friendship, and absolute discretion.”
“We believe that you are such a man,” Avon told Alex. “And that is why we’re asking you and Barclay to aid us once again.”
Barclay sat up straighter on his chair, his excitement at Griffin Abernathy’s announcement palpable.
Alex took a deep breath. “How?”
“By providing a great service to your king and country,” Avon replied.
Alex glanced at the Duke of Avon, then shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot help you, Your Grace.”
“Oh?” Griffin arched his right eyebrow in query. “Why is that?”
“I attempted to purchase a commission in the army, Your Grace,” Alex elaborated. “But to no avail. I was summarily refused and rejected because His Majesty and His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent, are unwilling to risk the life of the sitting Marquess of Courtland.” He frowned. “Unlike Your Grace, I was unable to secure a commission at any price.”
Avon nodded in understanding. “Had I been a sitting earl like my father or a marquess like you, my commission would have been refused as well.”
“I was given to understand that I was unsuitable for service not just because I am the sitting Marquess, but because I am an only son with no other male blood relatives in the family to inherit the title.” Alex answered. “A situation very similar to your own…” It was common knowledge among members of the ton that the Courtland and Abernathy families had produced far too few male offspring to risk any of them in battle.
Avon nodded once again. “The difference being that while I am my father, the Earl of Weymouth’s, only son and heir, he is the sitting earl. And although he is in his middle years, my father is still considered young enough and healthy enough to sire another heir if necessary…”
“All evidence to the contrary,” Jarrod remarked, dryly. “Though not for lack of trying…”
“Indeed,” Griffin agreed, good-naturedly. For as embarrassing as it was to imagine one’s parents’ enjoying the marriage bed, it was no secret that the Earl and Countess of Weymouth continued in their efforts to provide Griffin with a sibling, the greatly desired “heir and a spare” that every noble family strove to produce in order to perpetuate the line. “Therefore, I was able to secure my commission.”
“Much to your father’s displeasure…” Colin added.
“And our envy…” Jarrod admitted. “Except, of course, the caveat your father added that you marry and sire an heir before you left.”
“An unreasonable demand I thought at the time,” Avon admitted with a smile, remembering how he railed at his fate—and his father’s decree that he marry or forfeit his commission.
Grantham, Shepherdston, and Sussex, nodded in agreement
“Now, I marvel at my father’s wisdom,” Avon said. “And my own good fortune. Because marrying Lady Alyssa Carrollton and winning her heart has been my greatest accomplishment—and my saving grace.” His voice wavered with emotion. “I am proud of having served my king and country faithfully and with distinction. I’m proud that I’ve been able to bring honor and acclaim to my family name. But those achievements pale in comparison to my devotion to this group of friends and to my love for my wife.” He glanced at his compatriots’ faces before turning his attention back to Alex. “My elevation in station from viscount to duke, my marriage, and my injuries—” Griffin grimaced at his aching leg.
“Not to mention your status as national hero,” Jarrod interrupted.
“—make it difficult for me to fulfill my duties to this group without drawing unwanted attention to it and the work that we do.” He made another wry face. “Since my return from the Peninsula, I seem to garner a crowd of onlookers wherever I go. Unfortunately, I’m no longer able to outrun even the slowest of them. And I fear that my newly acquired status and my physical limitations could put one or all of us at risk.”
“Which is why the three of you”—the Duke of Sussex glanced at Griffin, Colin, and Jarrod in turn, before continuing his explanation—“asked me to join you. I’ve been a duke long enough to be old news to most members of the ton. I’m unmarried. And I have an heir apparent in Cousin Jonathan.” He nudged Barclay’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Should anything happen to me, he becomes the new duke.”
When they were younger, Daniel had been so envious of Jonathan for having the great fortune to attend The Knightsguild School for Gentlemen with Griffin, Colin, and Jarrod instead of being sent to Eton that Daniel had insisted on telling everyone that his whiny, timid, irritating cousin was a distant cousin, when in fact, everyone in the know in the ton knew Jonathan was Daniel’s first and closest cousin.
But no one had blamed Daniel for the lie. Not the Free Fellows or Jonathan. Because Jonathan had been whiny, timid, and irritating in spades. Fortunately, he’d outgrown those tendencies and had proven himself a devoted friend and loyal confidante to the Free Fellows and to Daniel. While at university, the two cousins had grown as close as brothers and were devoted to each other, their friends, and family.
“Perish the thought!” Jonathan frowned. “Unlike a great many of our noble peers, I don’t relish the idea of anything happening to you or of inheriting your title or fortune or the headaches that go along with it…”
“Namely my mother,” Daniel inserted. “Johnny’s favorite aunt, who is, admittedly, a handful to manage—even for those of us who love her best.”
“Agreed,” Jonathan answered. “Especially when I have an equally challenging mother of my own—” He gestured toward his cousin. “Who happens to be his favorite aunt with whom to contend.”
“And Colin’s recent marriage,” Jarrod continued, “has provided him with a charming bride to which to account and makes lengthy absences from her suspect…”
“And most unwelcomed,” Colin added.
“So, that leaves Sussex and me to do the legwork,” Jarrod said. “Unfortunately, neither one of us can be in two places at once. My forte is organization and planning and Sussex’s is directing the operations and providing misdirection for our adversaries. But neither of us can fulfill our roles if we’re called to do Avon’s and Grantham’s.”
“Which is why we have need of two new members,” Daniel told them. “Brave, loyal men whose honor, integrity, and discretion are absolute.” He glanced from his cousin, Jonathan, to Alex Courtland. “Men like you.”
Jonathan grinned. “You’re actually inviting us to join you?” The Earl of Barclay’s voice held a tone of reverence ordinarily reserved for miracle workers and cathedrals.
“Yes.” The men answered in unison. “If you are willing to swear allegiance and take the solemn oath.”
Barclay closed his eyes. This was the answer to his fondest wish. He’d waited years for the opportunity. Ever since he was a boy lying in his cot at The Knightsguild School for Gentlemen, pretending to sleep while he listened as Jarrod, Griffin, and Colin formed the alliance that would make them England’s greatest heroes. “Finally,” he breathed, offering up his right palm, as Jarrod Shepherdston produced a sharp knife. “I’ve been waiting years to swear allegiance and take the solemn oath.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow. “Swear allegiance to what?”
“To us,” Colin answered. “To those of us who work behind the scenes in order to secure England’s victory over Bonaparte and the French.”
“Behind the scenes?” Alex came halfway out of his chair. “You mean spy? You’re asking me to become a spy?” There was nothing brave or honorable about spying. To Alex’s way of thinking, that distasteful job was best left to the rogues and scoundrels bor
n to it. It was not the work of a gentleman.
Jarrod Shepherdston gave Alex a mighty frown. “Have we been misled by your enthusiastic participation in our previous adventure? Or is this an unexpected bit of snobbery on the part of a sitting marquess?”
Alex straightened his spine. The aid he had offered on the previous occasion had been a matter of life and death. Discretion had been paramount, but there had been nothing dishonorable or underhanded about it. “You cannot deny that spying is looked upon with contempt.”
“As is privateering,” Colin replied. “By some. But noble gentlemen have actively engaged in both in order to provide a needed advantage for their king and country.”
“It’s a misconception to believe that spying is best left to thieves and rogues and guttersnipes,” Sussex added. “A misconception we choose to perpetuate amid the members of the ton.”
“And why we’ve never come under suspicion amongst our peers,” Colin pointed out.
“When it comes to defending our government and our fundamental liberties, I, for one, would rather have honorable gentlemen like Griffin and Colin and Sussex providing that clandestine service,” Jarrod announced. “Rather than the questionable characters who define the common misconception.”
“So, you see,” The Duke of Avon said, “We’re not just asking you to become a spy, we’re asking to you to become something far more important than that. We are asking you to mingle your blood with ours and sign an oath to become our brothers and members of The Free Fellows League. We’re asking you to join us as we fulfill our duty to our king and country by preserving our way of life and by making England safe and secure for generations to come.”
Put like that, how could Alex refuse? Why would he refuse the adventure of a lifetime?
Extending his right palm, Alex allowed Shepherdston to draw the tip of the blade across it, scoring a thin line of blood that would mix with the blood of the other Free Fellows.
His new blood brothers-in-arms.
Chapter One
“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
—John 15:13, New Testament
Creighton Place
12 Upper Brook Street
London, England
February, 1815
“Well, are you or aren’t you?”
The demand came without warning.
Finding his way blocked by a gorgeous Amazon wearing a shimmering gold gown, Alexander Courtland took an involuntary step backward, narrowly avoiding bumping into a passing matron wearing a feathered turban, yards of purple silk, and a cloud of sickeningly sweet perfume.
Since he’d been contemplating making his excuses to his hostess and exiting the party in favor of the comfort of a warm bed and an equally warm companion, plucked not from the ranks of the Season’s newest eligible young ladies, but from Madame Theo’s elegant house on Portman Square, Alex wondered if the lovely Amazon had read his mind.
Lifting an eyebrow in query, Alex did his best to disguise his chagrin at being taken by surprise. “Do what, Your Grace?”
Miranda, Duchess of Sussex, pursed her lips, then gave a quick, decisive nod of her head that set the yellow diamonds in her drop earrings dancing. Alex followed Miranda’s line of sight to a woman sitting with a group of chaperones near the dance floor. “Help her.”
“Lady McElreath?” Alex was surprised and a bit nonplussed to discover Miranda had nodded not toward this season’s crop of young hopefuls, but toward the mother of one of his Free Fellow colleagues.
“Of course, Lady McElreath.” Groaning in frustration at Alex’s apparent dim-wittedness, Miranda flicked her lace fan closed, then drew back her hand to rap Courtland on the arm with it.
“Now, now, Your Grace, no fair whacking the man now that you outrank him.”
Instantly recognizing her husband’s teasing drawl, Miranda looked up to find Daniel frowning down at her. “I’m not whacking him because I outrank him,” she said. “I’m whacking him for pretending ignorance and indifference to a desperate woman’s plight.”
Daniel reached out and gently took hold of his wife’s arm before slipping the ribbon of her frilly gold lace fan off her wrist and over her gloved hand, expertly removing Miranda’s makeshift weapon from her grasp. Only after he’d accomplished his goal did the duke dare to kiss his wife’s gloved fingers.
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Not that he was afraid of Miranda. But she did have a redhead’s temper and more than a fair amount of strength. If she’d whacked him, she’d have made sure it hurt.
“He makes me so mad I could scream. He’s the only one who can help her. The only one who can do what has to be done.” Miranda fought to keep from stamping her foot in frustration. “We didn’t go to the trouble of getting her here alone so that he can pretend ignorance of her plight and ignore her.”
“You’re doing our friend an injustice, my love,” Daniel explained, slipping Miranda’s fan into the inside pocket of his evening jacket. “He’s not pretending. His ignorance is genuine.”
Alex frowned at his friend. He didn’t know whether to be affronted or pleased by Daniel’s timely intervention. Alex would willingly risk life and limb for his Free Fellow brethren and their families, and had done so on several memorable occasions. But having Daniel describe him as ignorant of any situation stung his pride.
Alex respected the Duke of Sussex, loved him as a friend and a brother, and trusted and admired him as a talented and courageous leader. Alex was honored to call Daniel his friend and he felt the same way about Miranda. He was glad Daniel and Miranda had finally realized what everyone else in London society had known for years—that they were made for each other—and had married. Glad Miranda had finally rid herself of her unofficial title of ‘Society’s Perennial Bridesmaid’. But he was wary of her new reputation as the ‘Married Matchmaker of Mayfair’.
Alex dreaded having the new duchess turn her matchmaking eye in his direction. He’d been lucky so far because Miranda and Daniel were still newlyweds and engrossed in each other almost to the exclusion of all else, but tonight his luck had apparently run out. Alex appreciated Miranda’s well-meaning intentions to see all of her friends as happily wed as she was , but he could attend to his own affairs without her assistance.
“He’s been avoiding her for days,” Miranda insisted. “Ignoring her urgent notes and the calling cards she left with his butler.”
Alex frowned. What notes? What calling cards? This was the first he’d heard about urgent notes and calling cards. From Lady McElreath or anyone else. He’d only just arrived home from his latest mission and had barely enough time to bathe and dress in order to honor his commitment and make an appearance at tonight’s party. The only exchange he’d had with his butler had consisted of a greeting and an order for a hot bath.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I am guilty of many sins, but avoiding Lady McElreath isn’t one of them,” Alex protested, straightening his shoulders and pulling himself to his full height to give himself an inch or so advantage over the nearly six-foot tall duchess. “I wouldn’t hesitate to rush to her aid in a moment had I known of her distress.” He glanced toward the area just beyond the dance floor where Lady McElreath was sitting, now partially obscured by the whirling skirts and the movements of the dancers, automatically searching the crowd for a glimpse of Lady McElreath’s eldest daughter before turning his attention back to the duke and duchess. “I wasn’t aware Lady McElreath was in need.”
Miranda pounced. “If you answered your correspondence you would know.”
“Alex has been away, sweetheart,” Daniel told her, changing his inflection ever-so-slightly as he added, “on business.”
Immediately grasping her husband’s meaning, Miranda sheathed her claws. Business in that tone of voice always meant important, secretive business neither Daniel nor his friends could discuss.
“For the past sennight,” Alex added. “I returned this afternoon and was home only long enoug
h to bathe and change.” He glanced down at his evening wear as if checking to make certain he was socially presentable. “In my haste to get here on time, I’m afraid I neglected to ask Langdon for my social correspondence.” Alex’s urgent business had been in France, playing cat and mouse with Bonaparte’s spies. The war might be over and Bonaparte might have abdicated and be safely ruling over the twelve thousand residents of the Island of Elba, but his network of spies continued operating in the service of their former emperor. And rumors abounded around town that British security on Elba was extraordinarily lax and that Bonaparte spent most of his time scheming to escape the island and return to his former glory in Paris.
The French spies had been more active of late and as long as their enemies continued their work, Alex and the Free Fellows League would continue theirs. That meant that while Colin, Jarrod, and Jonathan and their wives and Griffin’s father, the Earl of Weymouth, remained in Vienna as part of a large English contingent attending the Congress of Vienna, Alex, Daniel, and Griffin continued their work at home.
Daniel had temporarily assumed Jarrod’s leadership role in London so Griff could remain at his country house with his duchess and with his mother, both of whom were impatiently awaiting the births of their children. Griff’s first child, and as unlikely as it seemed, his first sibling.
As the lone remaining bachelor of the group, Alex continued to cross and re-cross the Channel, sneaking in and out of France, keeping a close watch on his French counterparts sneaking in and out of England. Alex was concerned at the rise of covert activity. Something was happening and he could only pray the Free Fellows and the British government were up to the challenge.
“I surmised as much,” Daniel said, “when your man, Langdon, came to me with his concerns early this morning. He told me Lady McElreath had sent you several urgent notes. He was afraid you might not arrive home in time to respond promptly.”
A Bachelor Still Page 2