Barely a Bride (Free Fellows League 1)

Jarrod laughed. “No, but you do.”

“And the rumor about town is that Lady Tressingham is none too happy. The wags all say she was hoping to snag Sussex for her daughter,” Colin offered, reaching over and pouring Griff a snifter of brandy from the carafe on the table beside him.

“That was no rumor,” Griff told him, shoving the ottoman out of the way with his foot before pulling his chair closer to the table Jarrod and Colin were sharing.

“That was fact. The wags are right. And Lady T makes no bones about it. She would most definitely prefer His Grace to me.”

“Odd that you haven’t been able to win her over,” Jarrod replied. “You’re usually most adept at charming the ladies.”

“Not this lady,” Griff said ruefully. “Not unless I suddenly inherit and I’ve no wish for my father to turn toes up just to please Lady Tressingham.”

Colin nodded his head in understanding. “Aye, as a mother, she wanted a loftier title for her daughter.”

“Much loftier,” Griff agreed.

“So her preference for His Grace has nothing to do with you,” Jarrod said. “It isn’t personal.”

Griff took a swallow of brandy. “It’s very personal. She hates me.”

“She can’t hate you,” Jarrod said. “She doesn’t know you well enough.” He smiled at Griffin. “You’ve only had one day in which to become acquainted. Perhaps she simply hates the fact that you’re a viscount instead of a duke.”

“Or a marquess.” Griff lifted his snifter of brandy in salute to Jarrod.

Jarrod raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Griff said, “or so smug. Surely, you realize you were next on Lady Tressingham’s list—behind His Grace.”

Jarrod held up both hands. “She was barking up the wrong tree with me. You know I’m not the least bit interested in Lady Alyssa or any other debutante at Almack’s. I’m not looking for a bride, and no one is coercing me into accepting one. I’m a Free Fellow.”

“We’re all Free Fellows,” Colin reminded him.

“We were all Free Fellows,” Griff retorted. “My status as one seems to be coming to an end.”

“Once a Free Fellow, always a Free Fellow.” Jarrod lifted his glass. “We’re brothers, remember? Blood brothers. Nothing can change that. Not even wives.” He winked at Griff. “Here’s to your future, Brother.”

Griff lifted his glass, clinked it against Colin’s and Jarrod’s, then swirled the warm liquor around in the bottom before draining the contents. “Here’s to Lady Tressingham learning to live with her disappointment.”

“She’s not the only one.” Jarrod met Griff’s gaze over the rim of his glass. “His Grace is none too happy about the situation.”

“He knows? So soon?”

Colin nodded. “Apparently, your father-in-law felt honor bound to send His Grace a note informing him that Lady Alyssa was no longer available.”

“How did you find out about this?” Griffin asked.

“We’re spies,” Colin whispered. “We haven’t spent nearly a year slipping in and out of France without learning something about gathering information.”

Griff stared at Colin. He and Jarrod were spies. While Griff had been attached to the Quarter Master General’s office at the War Department, Colin and Jarrod had trained under Lieutenant Colonel Colquhoun Grant, known in British military circles as the Spy Maker. While Griff had been memorizing military strategies and learning the business of supplying and moving vast armies of troops across continents and oceans, Colin and Jarrod had been learning the art of subterfuge and code breaking, consorting with smugglers, and slipping in and out of France at will. “Have you been gathering information on Sussex or on me?”

“Neither.” Jarrod snorted. “He’s foxing you. We know everything there is to know about you. And although he’s a duke, Sussex is a rather nice and boring sort of fellow. Not worth expending the time or the energy to follow—at least until a few hours ago.”

“What do you mean?” Griff demanded.

“His Grace came into White’s a few hours ago, drank a bit more than is his custom, and let it be known that he’d been eliminated from the list of suitors of a certain young lady whose father cared more about his horses and hounds than he did her welfare. He let slip that he’d lost out to a certain viscount who had used a prized Thoroughbred stallion to bribe the father.” Colin shook his head. “Did you really trade Apollo for Lady Alyssa?”

“Is that what Sussex is telling everybody?” Griff shoved his fingers through his hair, then slid his glass forward, motioning for Colin to refill it.

Jarrod took a deep breath. “Fortunately, His Grace, although deep in his cups, didn’t take complete leave of his senses—”