Merely the Groom

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Jarrod shook his head. “To what? She could have used any number of names to sign the register. Or the man who accompanied her, if a man did accompany her, could have used any number of names.” He looked at Colin. “And it’s possible that she was some gentleman’s wife or mistress. Reputable or not, the Blue Bottle is a waterfront inn. Ships dock in the firth every day. She might have sailed into Edinburgh. Or journeyed there in order to sail out. What clue could you have found when you were unaware that someone was eloping with young women and using your alias to do it? There was no way for you to know anything was amiss.”

  But Colin had known something was amiss. He had known it the moment he saw her staring out the window. And his suspicions had been confirmed when she’d called him by name. Colin nearly choked on his whisky as a horrible thought took root. “That spate of elopements you mentioned... Did they all involve the same man?”

  Jarrod shrugged his shoulders in an eloquent but uncharacteristic gesture. “We don’t know if it’s the same man. We do know that he only used your name in one elopement.”

  “The question is whether he is using my alias,” Colin said. “Or whether I’m using his name.”

  “Or whether it’s simply a coincidence,” Jarrod replied.

  Colin didn’t believe in coincidences. As far as he was concerned, everything happened for a reason. And everything that happened occurred naturally or was manufactured. “Is that a possibility?”

  Jarrod looked to Sussex and Griffin for answers.

  “It’s possible,” Sussex told them.

  “But not likely.” Griffin agreed. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Sussex and I checked parish registers, government rolls, militia, regular army, and navy enlistment rolls, and court records when we decided to use it as Colin’s alias. We checked everything we could think of. We found the surname connected with men named Charles, Edward, James, George, Paul, Matthew, Christopher, Michael, Stephen, Tristan, David, Daniel, William, Harry, Robert, and a half a dozen others. But we didn’t find a single living adult male named Colin Fox in London proper or any of its surrounding areas.”

  Griffin and Sussex had used their positions as dukes to gain access not only to public records but also to records that were part of the military and the government. The two of them, along with a handful of trusted staff members, had spent countless hours personally checking those rolls. Griffin and Sussex were nothing if not thorough. And Jarrod knew that they were very aware of the danger Colin faced.

  Now that Griff had become a national hero and had retired from active duty in his cavalry regiment at the Prince Regent’s and the prime minister’s request, Colin had become the Free Fellow most at risk.

  Because Griffin and Jarrod and Sussex occupied higher positions in society and were subject to more social obligations and more scrutiny than Colin, they were limited, in many ways, to planning, arranging, and financing the clandestine war against Bonaparte. The others engaged in the occasional secret smuggling holiday, but Colin, as a relatively unimportant and poor viscount, was the primary foot soldier in the field.

  The duty of protecting him and his secret identity fell to Jarrod, Griffin, and Sussex, and they took the duty very seriously.

  “Griff and Sussex didn’t find any other man named Colin Fox in London or any of its environs, and now we suddenly have two Colin Foxes operating in the same territory,” Jarrod said, finally reaching for his glass of whisky. “That’s too provident—even for coincidence.”

  “I agree,” Colin said. “But there was that incident in London before I left for France and another, at the Dover docks upon my return.”

  “What?” Griffin leaned forward on his chair.

  Colin looked at Jarrod. “Remember the statement we received from Scofield’s Haberdashery for a suit of clothes billed to Colin Fox?”

  Jarrod nodded and began to explain the circuitous route he used in order to protect the source of the income used to pay the Free Fellows League bills. “We thought it odd at the time. When he’s working, Colin almost always pays in cash.” He looked at Sussex and Griffin. “Except when carrying large amounts of cash would be imprudent. Any charges he makes are routed through a series of clerks and factors in half a dozen different businesses. All charges eventually make their way to me. Colin and I review the charges, and my private secretary sends payment through the same series of clerks and factors that we change quarterly.”

  “But in this case,” Colin continued. “The man wasn’t my tailor, and I hadn’t ordered a suit of clothing from him.”

  “Did you investigate?” Griffin asked.

  “Yes,” Jarrod answered. “Unfortunately, the tailor was the same tailor Lord McElreath uses, and we thought it possible that Colin’s father might have some knowledge of his alias and used it in order to...” Jarrod broke off to avoid causing Colin any embarrassment. Everyone knew Lord McElreath was a source of embarrassment to his son, and the Free Fellows did their best to avoid causing Colin grief about it. After all, one couldn’t choose one’s sire or prevent him from indulging in embarrassing behavior.

  But Colin would have none of it and quietly resumed Jarrod’s explanation. “Avoid incurring more debt in his name.”

  “In which case, it was better to pay the bill and keep things quiet until Colin had a chance to speak with his sire and see if our suspicions were correct,” Jarrod concluded.

  “Unfortunately, I haven’t had an opportunity to speak with my father about it.”

  “And the other incident?” Sussex prompted. “Did it involve your father as well?”

  “No,” Colin answered. “It happened as I exited the ship in Dover. I was one of the last to leave the ship, and as I came down the gangplank, I heard a gentleman ask if Colin Fox was aboard. The crewman pointed to me and said, ‘There’s Colin Fox.’ The man looked at me, then shook his head and said, ‘Can’t be. Wrong eyes.’ That was two days ago.”

  “Could it have been the Bow Street runner?” Griff asked.

  Colin took another sip of his whisky before answering. “It could have been, but if it was, he was without his scarlet waistcoat. And I didn’t recognize him.”

  “Anything else happen on this trip to raise your suspicions?” Sussex wanted to know.

  “Someone tried to kill me.”

  Chapter Five

  “The attempt and not the deed confounds us.”

  —William Shakespeare, 1564-1616

  Macbeth

  “Were you hurt? What happened?”

  Colin recognized the note of alarm in Jarrod’s voice. “I was set upon as I left Lord MacMurray’s reception in Edinburgh. At first I thought a footpad had attacked me, but he turned out to be a hired assassin. His blade glanced off my ribs. It hurt, and it bled like the very devil, but it did little damage beyond slicing my waistcoat and shirt.” He frowned. “The blade must have glanced off one of the buttons on my waistcoat.”

  “What happened to the assassin?” Griff asked.

  “He should be paying his respects to Lucifer about now,” Colin answered.

  Jarrod pursed his lips in thought. “You’re quite certain he was an assassin and not an agent for the French or the Spanish government?”

  Colin snorted. “I don’t know, Jarrod. He could have been an agent for someone’s government, but quite frankly, I didn’t have time to ask. He tried to skewer me in the heart. At the time, I thought it more important to dispatch him as quickly as possible rather than keep him alive so that you might have a chance to interrogate him.”

  Jarrod glared at the man he loved like a brother. “Jesus, Colin, you know what I meant!”

  “If you’re asking if I recognized him as an agent, the answer is no,” Colin replied. “I’ve been playing cat and mouse with the French and the Spanish for months. I’d never seen this man. And he wasn’t carrying any papers, any money, or any personal items that might aid in identifying him. He was hired for the purpose of killing someone—either the impostor or me. I don’t know which.” C
olin paused, trying to sort out the pieces of the puzzle.

  “You think the impostor Colin Fox might have been the target instead of you?” Jarrod asked.

  Colin shook his head. “I didn’t know there was an impostor until I came here. But I believe someone has been to the Blue Bottle and that he’s used my alias.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Sussex asked.

  “The presence of the lady and the fact that someone tried to kill me.” Colin looked up and found three pairs of eyes focused on him. And the fact that the lady called me by name and assumed I was her husband. “We’ve been playing a game of cat and mouse for months, and no one has ever attempted any violence. But someone meant to kill me in Edinburgh.”

  “Or him,” Griff pointed out.

  “Or him,” Colin agreed. “But the impostor had good reason to kill me if he thought there was a possibility that I might discover he was committing crimes using my alias...

  “And there was every reason to believe you would discover it if someone at the Blue Bottle Inn realized there were two Colin Foxes,” Jarrod picked up where Colin left off.

  “Especially if one of the Colin Foxes had a bride who might question the presence of another Colin Fox,” Griffin added.

  “And there’s always the possibility that you might have discovered he’d eloped with other young ladies,” Sussex said. “All of whom remain mysteries.”

  “Unfortunately,” Griff said. “And unfortunately, there’s an equally good chance that none of these incidents are related. It may all be coincidental.”

  “You think so?” Colin asked.

  Griff shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. But we won’t know for sure until we learn who hired the runner.” Jarrod raked his fingers through his hair. “We’ve got at least two Colin Foxes—one we know and another we don’t know who eloped to Scotland with one or more unidentified young ladies of good family. We have a mysterious lady in an inn in Edinburgh and an unidentified dead assassin who may or may not be the Colin Fox we don’t know and at least one father and a Bow Street runner trying to figure it all out.”

  “It should make for a very interesting investigation,” Sussex said. “For Bow Street and us.”

  Jarrod nodded. “I agree. And even if it is a coincidence, it’s much too close for comfort or safety.”

  “So is that Bow Street runner,” Colin reminded them. “I have enough trouble with the French and the Spanish. I can’t have robin redbreasts following my every move. How are we going to manage them?”

  “We’re going to manage them by getting to the bottom of this little mystery. We need to find out who hired our tenacious runner and how much he or she knows before the runner finds you,” Jarrod replied.

  “When do we begin?”

  “Tonight,” Jarrod replied. “And we begin with the heavy artillery.”

  The other three Free Fellows groaned.

  “That’s right, my friends.” Jarrod smiled. “This mission calls for evening wear and a night on the town.” He glanced over at the clock on the mantel. “Time to vote. I know you’ve all received invitations for tonight. So, what’s it to be? Lady Harralson’s? Lady Compton’s? Or Almack’s?”

  To anyone else in London society, the obvious answer was Almack’s Assembly Rooms. But Lady Harralson and Lady Compton were two of the ton’s leading hostesses. They were universally liked and openly generous with their invitations, including men and women whose family connections involved trade or commerce—the men and women who would never receive the coveted vouchers to Almack’s.

  Lady Harralson was a popular choice of the young ladies who were unable to gain admission to Almack’s, and her parties were well attended. The food was good and the libations adequate. Lady Harralson loved to dance and always hired the best orchestras, but she disliked gambling and rarely allowed her male guests to escape the dancing in order to while away the hours with cards and liquor.

  Lady Compton, on the other hand, was an inveterate gambler. She limited the dancing and devoted a great many rooms to all sorts of gaming. She liked what men liked and put on the best spread in London. Her wines and liquors were the best vintages and the highest quality. Gentlemen flocked to her gatherings because she made them feel comfortable and at home. Unfortunately, the only women who truly enjoyed Lady Compton’s were gamblers, older widows, and the hunting set.

  Of the three, Almack’s was the best place to learn the latest gossip, but Free Fellows generally avoided Almack’s like the plague.

  Almack’s was the place where every ambitious, marriage-minded young woman and her mother wanted to be. It was the place where young ladies of good families went to find husbands and young bucks went looking for brides and fortunes. Griffin, the only married Free Fellow, had found his bride there. Everyone who was anyone in society sought the coveted vouchers that granted admission, but only a select few actually received them.

  The Free Fellows were among the select few. All of them possessed vouchers guaranteeing admission, although none of them used them unless absolutely necessary. The Free Fellows despised the place. It was hot, overcrowded, and the refreshments were cheap and uninspiring. Almack’s was the last place any of them would ever choose to go—including Griffin, who was beyond the reach of the marriage-market mamas and their marriageable daughters because he had been happily married to his duchess, Alyssa, for nearly two years—but it was also the place most likely to yield the information they needed.

  “Lady Compton’s,” came the unanimous reply.

  “We can’t all appear at Lady Compton’s,” Jarrod told them as he walked over to the bell pull and rang for a waiter. “The fairest way to settle this is to cut cards. High card goes to Almack’s. The next highest card goes to Lady Harralson’s. The next highest card goes to Lady Compton’s. Agreed?”

  Griffin nodded an affirmative, and the others followed suit.

  “Good,” Jarrod pronounced.

  After the servant delivered the sealed deck and exited the room, Jarrod broke the seal and shuffled the cards. He offered the first cut to Griffin, then to Colin and Sussex, taking the last cut for himself.

  “All right,” he said when they’d finished, “Show them.”

  All four men flipped over their cards.

  “King,” Griffin said.

  “Six,” Colin replied.

  Sussex smiled. “Two.”

  “And six for me. It’s settled.” Jarrod lifted the whisky decanter and refilled their glasses. Raising his, he offered a toast to the Free Fellows League before bringing the meeting to a close. “Colin and I will put in appearances at Lady Harralson’s.”

  “Fine,” Sussex replied amicably. “And be sure to wear comfortable shoes. The last time I attended one of Lady Harralson’s parties, she had me partner every woman in the place. I thought the dancing would never end.”

  Colin grimaced. He liked dancing but he didn’t like being on display or having members of the ton judge him by the cut of his coat and the quality of the fabric. It made him uncomfortable to have strangers openly speculate on the weight of his purse or whether or not he was going to be the final ruination or the salvation of the McElreath family. Colin hated knowing that so many people were privy to the fact that his father was a reckless gambler who owed nearly everyone in London and Edinburgh and paid no heed to how his wife and children endured constant shame, humiliation, and deprivation.

  He liked the dancing but the crush of curious spectators and the thought of seeing his hostess filled him with an odd sense of trepidation. But he wasn’t going alone, and he’d rather attend Lady Harralson’s evening of dance than appear at Almack’s, where the scrutiny and speculation was tenfold. Or find himself at Lady Compton’s, where his father often sat down to cards. As far as Colin was concerned, he couldn’t have cut a better card.

  “Sussex is attending Lady Compton’s evening, so that means it is knee breeches and buckles for you, Your Grace.” Jarrod nodded toward Griffin. “And diamonds for your duchess.”
>
  Griffin arched one eyebrow. “She’s not going to be happy about this.”

  Jarrod grinned. Alyssa, Duchess of Avon, hated Almack’s almost as much as they did. “I know. But you’ll need her to help you identify the newest crop of eligible young ladies.”

  Griff rolled his eyes at Jarrod’s logic. “If that’s the case,

  I’d do better to escort my mother-in-law. Alyssa pays less attention to Debrett’s than any woman I know, and she’d much rather stay home.”

  “Persuade her,” Jarrod urged. “Tell her the League will make it worth her while.”

  “I’ll make it worth her while,” Griff said. “The League doesn’t have anything Alyssa wants.”

  “I don’t know,” Sussex teased. “I seem to remember your duchess inquiring rather pointedly about my mother’s latest hothouse creations...”

  “Name your price.” Griff laughed.

  Two years earlier, Alyssa had rejected Sussex and his magnificent gardens, and married Griff, not only for love but also in part for the challenge Griffin’s neglected country house, Abernathy Manor, had offered. “Because identifying a bevy of eligible young ladies isn’t the only reason I want my wife by my side.” Griff was under no illusions about his progress since he’d returned home from the battlefield. He still had nightmares, and it was no secret to any of the Free Fellows that Griff had returned from battle on the Peninsula with an intense dislike of large crowds and loud noises. Griff would never appear at Almack’s without his wife, and everyone knew it. Not only because Griff loved his duchess, but also because Alyssa’s presence provided the sense of calm and security he needed in order to complete his mission in Almack’s uncomfortable environment.

  “Gratis,” Sussex replied.

  “I’m obliged.” Griffin nodded, knowing that Sussex made the offer of a plant for Alyssa, rather than risk insulting him by offering to take his place at Almack’s. He also understood that no matter how much they dreaded darkening Almack’s Assembly Room doors, his friends knew he dreaded it more and would offer to take his place without hesitation. But fair was fair. They had agreed on a cut of the cards, and Griff had no intention of allowing his friends to take on the task he’d drawn.