"I know," she said sadly. "It's just that you don't want to marry. It's not me you find abhorrent, just the idea of being lied to me for life."
When she put it that way, his reasons for not wanting to marry seemed inconsequential, but Jarrod knew better. Nothing was ever inconsequential once vows were spoken. There were always consequences. And he was involved in a dangerous enterprise. So dangerous that he dare not risk Sarah's life. And yet… Jarrod thought of Griffin and Alyssa and Colin and Gillian. His colleagues were involved in the same enterprise yet they had wives they cherished and who cherished them in return. Wives who shared their burdens and kept their secrets. Wives who were completely dependable and trustworthy. Wives who gave them a home to return to instead of an empty house. Wives who gave them a reason to return home.
But Griff and Colin had been born to parents who loved each other. His friends understood the language and the rules of love. His friends believed in the ideal and had been fortunate enough to find wives who shared their beliefs and spoke the same language.
Sarah's words had been truer than she knew when she accused him of hardly being husband material. Jarrod didn't know where to begin. He was ignorant of the rules and the language and more than a little leery of the ideal. He'd grown up with parents who shared a name, a title, and a son and very little else — outside the bedchamber. His parents hadn't liked or respected each other, but they were both passionate about pleasure. He was too old to blame his parents for his bachelor state — that was his own doing. But his profound distrust of the institution of marriage, and of the world in which he lived, had been deeply rooted in his childhood. "Sarah…"
She glanced toward the chairs on the sideline beside the dance floor, where the older ladies and gentlemen, the ladies who were increasing, and the ladies who were in mourning sat, and managed a smile. "Just escort me to the chairs on the sidelines beside Aunt Etta and Lord Mayhew. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine."
"I'll sit with you," he offered.
"And do what?" she asked. "Twiddle your thumbs? You'd be bored to tears inside five minutes." She sighed. "I know I will. Besides, you've better things to do." She nodded at someone across the room. "The Duke of Avon is trying to get your attention."
Jarrod turned and saw Griffin beckoning to him, then turned back to Sarah. "We've business together."
"I've known you since we were children, Jays," she said. "I know about your business together. I'm aware that Griffin Abernathy and Colin McElreath are your closest friends."
Free Fellows League business. Important business. But Jarrod was torn between staying with Sarah and fulfilling his obligations to his colleagues. "Sarah…"
"Go on," she urged, shooing him away with her hands. "You mustn't keep the duke waiting."
"I'll be back to claim my waltz," he promised. "With or without Aunt Etta's approval."
* * * * *
"You certainly know how to stir up the ton and set tongues a-wagging in speculation," Griffin said when Jarrod joined him and Alyssa after dutifully escorting Sarah
Eckersley to a chair near her aunt and fetching her a glass of punch.
Jarrod nodded. "It's a gift I was born to. We Shepherdstons seem to possess it in abundance. And this house seems to bring out the worst of it. Fortunately my appearance inside the house has caused more speculation and whispers than my disappearance outside it."
"Oh, there have been whispers about that as well," Griff told him. "And we've done what we could to minimize the damage."
"I wondered if you saw us," Jarrod said.
"Going out and coming in," Alyssa said. "And I must say your entrance was very nicely orchestrated. Who is going to suspect you went to the garden for any reason except to view it? Or question the length of time it took you and Miss Eckersley to negotiate the maze when you and Miss Eckersley and Lady Dunbridge and Lord Mayhew made such a congenial entrance when you returned?"
"You," Jarrod replied.
Alyssa's eyes sparkled. "Well, except me, of course," she told him. "Because I suspect everyone of behaving as Griff and I would have behaved if we had had the chance to slip out of a ballroom and find a private place away from the noise and the crowd before we were married. Especially if there was a terrace and a beautiful moonlit garden just outside the door." She smiled up at her husband, recalling the night they had slipped away from the noise and the crowd and nearly made love on the fainting couch in the ladies' retiring room at Almack's.
"As if that ended when we were married," Griff replied, remembering all the other times he and Alyssa had managed to slip away since he'd returned home from the war to a duchy and a hero's welcome and invitations to every fete and party in England.
Jarrod looked serious, but he didn't confirm or deny. "You're my dear friends. If you suspect, you can bet there will be others here who aren't my friends who will think the same. Especially since we're here. It will bring back some of the old gossip. Like father, like son."
"I believe you mean the gods visit the sins of the fathers upon the children," Griffin said.
"Or I am a man more sinned against than sinning," Alyssa offered.
Jarrod managed a smile for Alyssa's benefit. "You've heard the gossip going around tonight. Will she suffer for agreeing to accompany me on a tour of the garden?"
"I haven't heard any unfavorable comments about her." Alyssa chewed on her bottom lip. "But now that I'm a duchess no one ever confides the juicy gossip to me. Miranda's the one…"
"Speaking of which," Jarrod said, "I thought she'd be here tonight."
"So did I," Alyssa told him. "I know she was invited and I know she planned to come, but I haven't seen or heard from her since last night."
"No one has," Griff added. "Or from Sussex either."
Jarrod looked at Alyssa. "Is there any chance that Lady St. Germaine and His Grace are together?"
"One can always hope," Alyssa said.
"My sentiments exactly," Griff added. "In the meantime, no one I've talked to today knows where they are or what's happened to them." He fixed his gaze on Jarrod. "I'm beginning to get alarmed. Have you spoken with Colin yet?"
Jarrod shook his head. "Not yet. Why?"
"He told me to tell you that you should ask Gillian to dance," Griff said.
Alyssa gave her husband a funny look.
"It's code, Puss," Griffin told her.
Jarrod frowned. "Yes, it's code. And what the devil is the good of having one if you tell your wife about it?"
"She'll find out eventually," Griff said with a shrug. "Telling her is quicker."
"But not nearly as fun," Alyssa reproached. She rapped Jarrod on the forearm with her fan. "Besides, you know that I'm completely trustworthy."
"That's not the point," Jarrod said.
"It never is," Alyssa retorted, rapping him again with her fan. "But the results are the same."
"Now, Lys." Griffin closed his fist around her fan. "No need to beat him into submission, because he's absolutely right. You are completely trustworthy, but there are others within hearing distance who aren't."
Alyssa sighed. "Shall I make our excuses?"
"I don't know yet." Griff looked at Jarrod. "What do you think?"
"Let's hear what he has to say and decide afterward," Jarrod reasoned.
Griff leaned down and kissed his wife. "I'll try not to be too long."
Alyssa nodded, knowing her husband would tell her what he could when he could despite Jarrod's objections. "Lord Shepherdston?"
She addressed him formally, so he answered in kind. "Yes, Your Grace?"
"Once you've danced with Lady Grantham, perhaps you should ask me to dance," she suggested much to Griffin's surprise.
Griff gave his wife a disapproving glance. "Lys."
Alyssa ignored him and smiled up at Jarrod. "That's code for 'He doesn't want me to know it, because he knows how much I like to dance, but my husband's leg is paining him tonight. He's trying his best to ignore the pain and partner me, but I'm afraid the wal
tz is beyond him.'"
"I understand and obey, Your Grace," Jarrod told her. "And will be honored to waltz with you."
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Three
Contents - Prev | Next
What is not clear is not French.
— Antoine de Rivarol, 1753-1801
"You sent for us?" Jarrod asked when he and Griffin joined Colin and Gillian. Colin nodded. "Are you done with dancing?"
"For now," Jarrod answered. "I promised Her Grace a dance and Sarah a waltz, but we are sitting these dances out on orders from Lady Dunbridge and Lord Rob."
Colin glanced down the way to a row of chairs set along the sidelines where those who chose not to dance could watch. Sarah and her aunt were sipping glasses of punch alongside Lord Rob and the Duchess of Avon. "I noticed that Lady Dunbridge and Lord Rob appear quite cozy together and that Miss Eckersley hasn't danced with anyone except you all evening," Colin said. "Are they protecting her reputation or yours?"
Jarrod's face and the tips of his ears reddened. "Probably both. And she hasn't danced with anyone except me because I don't dare let anyone else near her," he confided. "Unless it's someone I trust implicitly like you or Griff or Lord Mayhew."
"Why not?" Colin asked.
"Have you seen the dress she's wearing?"
"It's lovely," Gillian said with a smile.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Grantham," Jarrod said. "But it's damn — almost — indecent. I can't look down without…"
Gillian chuckled. "That's funny, Lord Shepherdston, because Colin says the same thing about mine."
Jarrod glanced at Gillian's evening gown and saw that except for the color and fancy embroidery on the skirts, it was an identical style as Sarah's. Right down to the low cut of the squared neckline. But he'd barely noticed it on Gillian. And it wasn't because Gillian's bosom was any less gorgeous than Sarah's or any less visible; it was because Gillian was Colin's wife.
"You're in trouble, my friend," Colin told him.
Jarrod shook his head. "It's just that it's Sarah. I've known her since she was five. We grew up together." He looked at Colin and Gillian. "Red-haired, knobby-kneed, freckle-faced, hoydenish Sarah, who hadn't a prayer of growing up to be a beauty or of having a real figure, and look at her." He nodded toward her and Sarah looked over and smiled. "Look at the way she's turned out."
"It's a good thing you aren't her guardian," Colin said. "Or you'd be fighting the fellows off with a stick."
"That's just it," Jarrod said. "She doesn't have a guardian to fight the fellows off with a stick. She doesn't have anyone to look out for her."
"Except you," Gillian said softly. "And the way that you're scowling, it's going to take someone very brave or very foolhardy to approach her." She smiled at Jarrod. "I'd say Miss Eckersley has quite a champion in you, Lord Shepherdston."
"That may be, but I'm not supposed to be her champion," Jarrod protested. "I'm supposed to help her find one."
"It looks as if you've accomplished your mission," Gillian told him.
"Killed two birds with one stone, so to speak." Griffin grinned.
"Speaking of which," Colin said. "Gillian needs a few moments of your time, Jarrod."
"Oh?" Jarrod turned to Colin's wife.
"I apologize for taking you away from your amusements, but I believe I may have the solution to the puzzle you presented to me," she said. "Unfortunately, it only came to me a short time ago when Colin and I were dancing."
"Can you tell us about it here?" Griffin asked. "Or will we need to see the puzzle?"
"You'll need to see it in order to confirm it, my lords, but I can tell you what I think and why I think it," Gillian said.
"She's already explained it to me," Colin said. "And I thought that you should hear it as soon as possible."
Griffin glanced around. "This is my sister-in-law's gathering and it should be fairly secure, but I'll wager there are a good many curious ears about. So much so that I suggest we separate."
"I agree," Colin said, as two couples he didn't know and who had appeared to be making their way to the dance floor stopped to chat with one another directly behind Shepherdston.
"I could drop by after the ball," Jarrod suggested. "If you don't mind."
Gillian bit her bottom lip then looked to Colin for help.
"We may need to act before then," Colin said. "That's why we wanted to speak to you and Griffin as soon as possible. Gillian can explain what she's discovered while you two dance."
Jarrod lifted an eyebrow at Colin.
Gillian smiled. "It was my idea, Lord Shepherdston. You're the center of attention here tonight. If you dance every dance with Miss Eckersley, everyone will remember it and talk. If you dance one or two dances with other ladies, no one will think anything of your dances with Miss Eckersley. So, I'll tell you what we've discovered and Colin will explain it to His Grace."
Jarrod nodded. "Lady Grantham, will you do me the honor of a dance?" he asked, reaching for her hand.
"I'd be delighted." She placed her hand in his.
"With your permission, of course." Jarrod grinned at Colin.
"Of course," Colin replied. "So long as you allow me a dance with Miss Eckersley." Jarrod scowled.
Colin smiled at Jarrod's reaction. "That's my wife you're holding," he said. "I'm aware of that."
"And we're trying to prevent you from doing further damage to Miss Eckersley's reputation," Colin said, looking Jarrod in the eye. "So, why don't we agree to be the gentlemen we profess to be and refrain from looking down when we dance. Agreed?"
Griff watched the standoff with some amusement. Neither Jarrod nor Colin had ever been possessive, but then, neither had he until he'd met and married Alyssa.
"Agreed," Jarrod replied.
"Good," Griff said. "And since I'm unable to do my share of the dancing tonight, that goes double for me."
And as Lord Shepherdston led her onto the dance floor and guided her into the first steps of the waltz, Gillian, Lady Grantham, struggled to hide her knowing smile.
"What have you learned?" Jarrod wasted no time in getting to the point, for the waltz would only last a few minutes.
"I believe the large numbers refer to the numbers of troops Kin" — she'd almost said King Joseph, but quickly corrected her error — "the author of the message intends to move in or to have ready to meet ours." She gave Jarrod a moment to digest the information before continuing. "It's the only thing, other than large denominations of cash, that fits." She bit her bottom lip. "And there were no references to pounds or francs that I could find."
"He might still be ordering supplies," Jarrod reminded her.
"That's true," she agreed, "but if that is the case, there would be no need to encode the entire missive when most of it could be written en clair."
Jarrod nodded. "You're right. We've already intercepted numerous letters of complaints he's written to his brother about the lack of supplies for the court. Although they contained a sentence or two of code, none of them were written wholly in code."
"Exactly," Gillian said. "And if there's no need for him to complain about the lack of supplies for the court in code, there would be no reason for him to order them in code. He's made no secret of the fact that there isn't enough cash to keep his court in the style to which they've grown accustomed. Or that he's terribly upset with his brother for not doing more to help him fill the lack."
"Five thousand. Eleven thousand. Fifteen hundred. Troops." He smiled at Gillian. "It makes perfect sense. I believe your supposition is correct, Lady Grantham."
"There's more," she said. "The abbreviations I thought were random weren't."
He frowned.
"I thought the placement of the abbreviations were random. I thought they had been inserted to confuse us. But I believe I was wrong in that assumption," she elaborated. "After giving it a great deal of thought, I've decided that the abbreviations are there to help the recipient of the message — whom I've concluded is a marshal named
Jourdan."
"Jourdan?" Jarrod had read the message Gillian had deciphered and he couldn't recall seeing Jourdan's name or an abbreviation of it anywhere. "Are you sure it was Jourdan?"
"Yes."
"Completely sure?"
"Almost."
"If I'm to present this information to the gentlemen in the War Office, I need to be confident that it's correct," Jarrod told her.
Gillian took a deep breath. "I can't prove it," she said. "The information will have to do that. But I believe that I'm correct." She looked up at Jarrod. "I feel it."
"All right," he said. "Now, tell me why."
"Because the only other similar name is Junot, and Colin said that Junot was recalled to Paris in January and retired from active duty. It has to be Jourdan. I went down the list of all the names of all the known officers with whom the author might correspond on a regular basis."
"How do you know they correspond regularly?" Jarrod asked the questions he knew the gentlemen in the War Office would ask.
"The greeting was informal, even friendly," she answered before resuming her theory. "I compared the names on the list to the abbreviated words. But none of the letters were right, of course, until Colin said something tonight that made me think that I might not be looking at them in the right way."
"What way?"
"Backwards. That's the answer," Gillian said. "The abbreviations are backwards. I'll stake my life on it. The author of this message sent it to Marshal Jourdan. The other abbreviations coincide with other officers' names — and not merely subordinates, but generals and colonels. When I discovered that, I realized the large numbers had to be troops." Although she struggled to keep a neutral countenance as she waltzed with Jarrod, she was practically vibrating with energy.
Jarrod grinned. It was the opportunity for which the Free Fellows League had been looking. It was a chance to make a real difference in the war and help further the work that Scovell did in the field and the argument Lord Weymouth had put before the prime minister that the government needed a department devoted to the recruiting and training of ciphers in time of war and in time of peace. Lord Bathurst's current group of decipherers in London was ragtag at best, and far too slow to be of any real use.