Barely a Bride Page 8

Griff was rapidly running out of time.

  It had been nearly a week since his father’s ultimatum, and he was no closer to finding a suitable bride than he had been when his father had insisted he do so.

  Because a cavalry officer was expected to provide his own horses and provisions, Griff spent nearly every waking moment preparing for war. He journeyed to Newmarket and visited Tattersall’s, inspecting the horseflesh before he purchased the three horses he was obliged to take with him. The rest of his time was spent at his tailor’s and his boot maker’s, where he endured fittings for uniforms and boots. He purchased camp furniture and a comfortable campaign tent as well as supplies and clothes for his groom and for his personal manservant.

  His days had been so full that Griff had barely made appearances at the rounds of balls and parties to which he had been invited. And none of the young ladies at any of the parties he’d attended had made him consider staying long enough to dance with them.

  Acknowledging the fact that he needed help, Griff called an emergency meeting of the Free Fellows League on the afternoon of the sixth day. He sent personal notes to the members asking that they meet in one of the private dining rooms at White’s.

  They did not disappoint him.

  Griff rose from his seat and greeted his friends and cofounders of the League as Colin, Lord Grantham, and Jarrod, Lord Shepherdston, entered the gentleman’s club at the appointed time. He poured three snifters of brandy from a bottle smuggled in from France by way of the Cornish coast, then handed one to Jarrod and one to Colin before raising his own.

  “To the Free Fellows.” Griff proposed the toast, then tossed back half the liquor in his glass.

  “To the Free Fellows,” his friends echoed.

  But Jarrod raised an eyebrow at Griff’s uncharacteristic behavior. Griff never tossed back brandy—especially fine French brandy they had gone to a great deal of trouble to smuggle into the country. French brandy of a vintage meant to be savored. “Problems?” he asked.

  “You might say that,” Griff answered. “I am, after all, about to become the first Free Fellow to relinquish his status.” He downed the rest of his brandy in one swallow.

  “Say again?” Colin sputtered.

  “We heard you’d been busy making the rounds about Town,” Jarrod commented dryly. “But we didn’t know you’d been that busy…”

  Griff nodded. “I’ve been ordered to secure a bride before I join my regiment.”

  “Ordered?” Colin repeated. “By whom? Your commanding officer?”

  “First by my father,” Griff answered. “And then, by my commanding officer.” He pulled a letter from his pocket and handed it to Colin.

  Colin unfolded the sheet of paper and read aloud. “To Major Lord Abernathy from Colonel Sir Raleigh Jeffcoat. Major Abernathy, the note contained herein is a direct order from commanding officer to subordinate ordering you, as the only son and heir of the Earl of Weymouth, to attend to your marital obligations and fulfill your duty to your family before you join the regiment.”

  Colin stopped reading and handed the letter to Jarrod, who continued reading. “His Majesty’s Army does not make a practice of commissioning members of the peerage who are their family’s only sons and heirs because His Majesty’s Army has no wish to play a part in the extinction of a great family name. You are further informed that should you decide to disavow this direct order, your commission will be declined and the price of your commission shall be forfeited.”

  “Well, that’s a first,” Colin announced as he stood at Jarrod’s shoulder and studied the colonel’s signature and seal. “The army usually prefers its officers to be bachelors. I’ve never known it to actively order a man to marry before.”

  Jarrod snorted. “His Majesty’s Army didn’t order Griff’s marriage; his father did. And this must have cost him a pretty penny.” He gave a low, admiring whistle.

  “I knew he had powerful friends in the War Department,” Griff muttered. “I just didn’t know how powerful his friends were or how determined he would be.”

  “Judging from this unprecedented order, I’d say the earl is very determined to have his way and that his powerful friends are probably the highest in the land.” Jarrod tapped the letter against the edge of the table. “Lord Jeffcoat can be bought, but not cheaply.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Griff groaned. “My choice is the same in any case. Give up my bachelorhood or give up my commission.”

  Although both of his friends currently held army commissions, they worked with Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant, who had served as General Wellesley’s intelligence officer and was quite adept at breaking French codes. Jarrod and Colin had proved similarly adept at ferreting out information and at code breaking and had been assigned to gather intelligence for the army. Currently, both remained headquartered in London.

  Griff knew that Colin and Jarrod supported his decision because they understood how much it meant to him. Serving in the Horse Guards was all Griff had ever dreamed of doing. Joining the cavalry and fighting the French had been his greatest ambition, and although he’d managed to keep it a secret from his father until now, Griff had been on the waiting list for a commission since he’d left university.

  When a vacancy finally opened up, Griff had been quick to purchase it. Unfortunately for Jarrod and Colin, that vacancy had been in a regiment bound for the Peninsula. Griff was ready to leave, but his friends were not. They were still trying to come to terms with the fact that Griff had accepted a commission in the Eleventh Blues, a regiment sure to become a part of General Wellesley’s major push to topple Bonaparte from the French throne.

  Griff set his empty glass on the top of the sideboard, then reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and removed two thick parchment packets. He handed the envelopes to his friends. “I believe the recorded wager was two hundred pounds.” He frowned. “I trust paper currency is sufficient.”

  When they’d reached their majority, each of the Free Fellows had wagered an additional two hundred pounds on who would be the first to marry. Two hundred pounds in addition to the five hundred they had agreed to forfeit in the Charter. Griff had bet on Jarrod, because Jarrod had been the first to inherit his father’s tide.

  Jarrod had wagered that Colin would be the first to marry, because Colin was always short of funds and desperately needed to marry an heiress to help restore the family coffers.

  Colin had wagered on Griff. Not because Griff needed money or because he was likely to inherit his tide any time soon, but because Griff had always been the most tenderhearted of the three and the most romantic.

  Although he desperately needed the cash, Colin was reluctant to accept it. He glanced down at the envelope, then back at his friend. “Griff, you don’t have to do this.” He attempted to press the money back into Griff’s hand.

  Griff shook his head, refusing to accept it. “A wager is a wager, Colin. Take the money. You won it fair and square.”

  They had made their first wagers when they formed the Free Fellows League. Griff and Colin had been nine years of age, and Jarrod had been a year older. They had had to wait until they were old enough to join the venerable gentleman’s club in order to record the wager on the betting books at White’s. Recording the original wager and adding to it had been the first order of business the day they became members. Now, nearly seventeen years later, Griff was paying his debt.

  “Who’s the future Lady Abernathy?” Jarrod asked.

  “I have no idea,” Griff answered honestly. “Only that there is going to be one. And if I don’t choose a bride for myself, my father will choose one for me.”

  “You’ve no young lady in mind?” Colin was stunned.

  “None.” Griff sighed. “I’m going to war. Besides, I had no intention of going against our League rules. I didn’t intend to marry at all and certainly not before I reached the age of thirty. Unfortunately, my father is determined to secure the succession.”

  “Of course he is,” Jarrod said.
“You’re an only child, and it’s natural that your father make demands of you in order to insure his family name and holdings not become extinct.”

  Griffin glared at him.

  Jarrod held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m not saying I agree with his method. I’m simply saying that I understand why he’s employing it.”

  “I understand it, too,” Griff admitted. “That’s what makes my decision so difficult.” He looked at his friends. “I want to do right by my father and my family, but I am determined to be my own man. My own cavalry man.”

  “So,” Colin cut right to the heart of the matter. “I guess that means you’re getting married before you leave. How long do you have?”

  “A week.”

  Jarrod swore. “How in the bloody hell do you expect to find a suitable bride in one week’s time? Especially when you’ve spent your evenings cavorting with the ladies at Madame Theodora’s.”

  “I haven’t been to Madame Theodora’s in over a week,” Griff retorted. “And you know it, or you would have seen me there.”

  None of the Free Fellows kept mistresses, choosing to frequent several very discreet, very select, houses of pleasure instead.

  “Unlike the two of you,” Griff continued, pinning his friends with a knowing look, “I’ve made at least a cursory appearance at every ball, rout, musicale, and soiree to which I’ve been invited for the past six days.”

  Colin tried to keep from shuddering and failed. “I heard you were among the crush at Lady Cleveland’s the other night, but I thought it must have been a mistake.”

  Griff shook his head. “It was a mistake, but not a case of mistaken identity. If someone told you they saw me there, they were telling the truth. I did make a brief appearance.”

  “And no one caught your eye?” Colin asked.

  Lady Cleveland’s party was one of the highlights of the season. It was crammed with carefully chaperoned young debutantes all vying to catch the attention of the wealthy gentlemen. Unfortunately, there had been such a crush of people there that Griff had opted to leave as soon as possible in order to make way for some other poor bride-questing bachelor.

  “Plenty of women caught my eye, but none of the sort I should be seeking as a wife.” Griff paused for a moment, reconsidering. “There was one young lady.” He’d only caught a glimpse of her from across the room. He had seen her again, two nights later, at Lady Dorrance’s musicale, but he hadn’t spoken to her. Nor had he gotten her name. He’d only seen her twice. But she had caught his attention. “Unfortunately, I’ve no idea who she was.”

  “I know just the girl you’re talking about,” Jarrod drawled. “Pale blond curls? Big blue eyes? Flawless complexion? Pink lips? Weak mind? Eager mama?”

  “You’re loads of help.” Griff scowled. “Especially since you know more than half of the debutantes this season fit that description.”

  “More than half the debutantes fit that description every season,” Jarrod said. “And except for the eager mama, the knowledge I’ve gleaned from observing you at Madame Theodora’s would lead me to believe that that’s the sort of girl you would choose. It does appear to be your usual preference.”

  “My usual preference has nothing to do with it,” Griff snapped. “I’m searching for a wife, not an evening bedmate.”

  Jarrod raised his eyebrow in question, then shrugged his shoulders. “You’re the one searching for a bride.”

  Griffin felt the color rise in his face. “You know what I mean,” he said. “There is a difference in amusing oneself with a woman with whom you share a bed and breakfast and little else and selecting a woman to share the remainder of one’s life. My lady must possess a brain and a few more talents. She must meet a higher standard than my usual bedmates.”

  “Spoken like a true Englishman,” Colin scoffed. “I’d rather my bedmate possess the brain and the talents. All I require of my wife is a pleasing face, a relatively slim form, and a very fat dowry.”

  “Spoken like a true Scot,” Jarrod retorted. “And it’s lucky for you that unattractive girls are often equipped with fat dowries. But we’re looking for Abernathy’s bride-to-be.”

  “The one for whom he failed to get a name,” Colin reminded them. “Unless he manages a better description than the one you supplied, I’ve no notion how we intend to find her.” He turned to Griffin. “Can you describe her?”

  Griff could. Right down to the last detail on the dress she was wearing, but he didn’t care to share that bit of information with Colin or with Jarrod. “I would know her if I saw her again.”

  “Are you sure?” Colin asked. “You only caught sight of her twice.”

  “I’m certain of it,” Griff replied as Colin and Jarrod exchanged knowing looks.

  “Then we’d better get busy before someone else snaps her up,” Colin said.

  Griff was suddenly wary. It was one thing to ask for help; it was quite another to have his friends assume command of the mission. “What do you have in mind?”

  “We considered going door to door,” Jarrod teased. “To ask if the young ladies of the house would step forward and make themselves available for your careful inspection…”

  “But that would take too long,” Colin added. “So we decided the most efficient way was to go home, change into our court dress, and make use of the Almack’s vouchers we’ve received.” He laughed at the grimace that crossed Griff’s face.

  “Surprised you didn’t think of it yourself,” Jarrod teased.

  “I did,” Griff said wryly. “But I hate knee breeches and buckled shoes, and after avoiding the place all these years, I knew better than to go alone. That’s why I invited the two of you.”

  Chapter Four